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Draco was going to kill him, Harry was sure of it. Another hex whizzed by Harry’s ear, sending Harry sprawling onto the floor in an attempt to evade it. Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
“Coward, Potter!” Draco yelled. Another hex, this one smashing the tile beside Harry's head.
The sink continued to spray water as Harry pulled himself back to his feet and swung his body around the side of the bathroom stall. Draco was there; open, unconcealed. Harry’s mind raced, he thought of the spell he’d read in his potions book, Sectumsempra. He could use it against Draco.
Harry pointed his wand, but Sectumsempra did not follow.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, knocking Draco’s wand from his hand, “Flipendo!” Draco fell, his legs giving beneath him. Harry rushed to him, pinning the blonde’s shoulders to the ground as he dropped his own wand. Harry’s hands went to Draco’s throat, the sound of water rushing becoming louder and louder until it was like drums, deafening and almost too much.
Wizards didn’t do hand-to-hand combat – when they dueled it was wands only, no physical contact. In no means was it the best way to release anger, as Harry often found his mind too clouded with emotions to cast the appropriate spells. But, with his hands, he didn’t have to think much at all. He just had to squeeze.
Draco gagged below him, grey eyes going wide and filling with tears as Harry began to choke him. Pale, slender fingers grappled at Harry’s wrists, a nimble body convulsing in the water below. But Harry had pinned Draco down, legs on either side of Draco’s shaking form; and he was choking him. Draco's fight for air was weak and in vain; Harry’s hands were strong and calloused, and Draco was no match for Harry’s stockier build that Harry had grown into over the years. Draco was completely prone and at Harry’s disposal; It was the most liberating feeling Harry had felt in years.
Every awful word Malfoy had ever said to Harry came to mind; each time he’d called Hermione a mudblood, each time he’d embarrassed Harry in front of the other students. It was gasoline to the fire Harry had lit, and it drove him to squeeze harder. Draco’s hands fell from Harry’s arms, his body beginning to go lax.
Harry, through his blind rage, noticed that Draco had stopped crying, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Rose pink lips hung open gently, as if he was nodding off for a nap. He looked at peace with his fate.
The realization that he was about to murder Draco Malfoy fell on him like a brick house.
Harry pulled his hands away in an instant, climbing off Draco and backing up against the nearest stall. Harry’s body trembled, watching Draco curl onto his side and take large, painful breaths while he coughed, wretched, and began to cry.
Harry covered his mouth with his hands – the hands that he’d just tried to kill Draco Malfoy with. His stomach lurched; he was fully prepared to kill Draco just then – choke him to death inside Hogwarts on a dirty, wet bathroom floor, and then Harry would’ve been thrown into Azkaban and had his wand snapped. Harry could’ve pleaded defense; but what would he say? Malfoy threw a few hexes, and then he’d retaliated by choking the life from him?
Draco began to sob.
“Coward!” Draco screamed at him, voice bloody and raw, “Couldn’t finish it, could you? Coward Potter!”
“Shut up!” Harry yelled back, breathing heavily and trying to keep down the bile that had risen in his throat. Draco reeled forward and grabbed Harry by his shirt, yanking Harry down onto the wet floor, effectively soaking them both. Harry closed his eyes and prepared for the blow from Draco that was inevitably coming; wither that would be from a wand or Draco’s own hands, Harry did not know.
Harry clenched his eyes shut. Nothing came.
“Finish it!” Draco spat in his face, Harry opening his eyes in shock. The opalescent skin on Malfoy’s neck had turned dark red and, where Harry’s fingerprints rested, purple. “Do it!” Draco demanded, blood pooling on his bottom lip where his perfect teeth had bit as result of Harry suffocating him.
Harry shook his head, terrified and confused. Draco took Harry’s hands and pressed them against his throat where they fit perfectly back into the quickly darkening handprints Harry had left previously. Draco opened his mouth to speak but nothing came, his opened mouth quivered. Dark, tired, heavyset eyes bore into Harry's own. Draco pressed Harry’s hands further.
Draco was begging Harry to kill him.
Harry became sick. Shoving Draco off him and scrabbling over to a toilet, Harry vomited, his stomach clenching and heaving until he could do no more than cough.
The water continued to spray. Harry drug himself from the stall on his hands and knees, unable to stand. Draco was gone. Harry extended his hand, croaking out Accio, and his wand flew to him. A flick of his wand, a quick charm, and the water stopped.
“Oh, Harry, what have you done?” Myrtle. Harry turned, looking the ghost in the eyes. She shook her head at Harry as if he was a child who’d eaten cookies before dinner.
Harry began to cry. Myrtle flew down, resting beside him. Harry’s sobs turned into ugly, rasping breaths as he laid down onto the wet tile. The image of Draco, staring up at him in terror and relief as Harry squeezed his throat was burned into Harry's mind.
What had he done?