Chapter Text
"Sectumsempra!"
Harry flicks his wrist; his wand follows – and the air shakes violently.
"Prote- GAH!"
Harry hears flesh rip apart as he utters the incantation.
"Ugh..." Delphyne stumbles backwards, her wand slipping from her lithe fingers.
Harry couldn't move.
"Ah..." Her legs tremble, ligaments buckling under the weight of her wounded body: one step, two steps – Delphyne then collapses on the wet tiles with an audible splash.
"Potter..."
Her blood seeps into her once-ivory button-up and slithers across the tiles, dyeing the waters a vibrant red.
"...It hurts..."
Harry's wand falls into her growing pool of blood. Beads of cold sweat form at his temples and at his back.
"I..." He stammers.
Delphyne spasms on the ground.
"...H-help!" Harry stumbles to her body, crawling across the floor as he grasps his wand once again. "Help! Anyone!"
With haste, he rips off her robe; the cuts span her body from head to toe, and the torn garments indicate where the spell has cut. "V-Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur!"
"Potter..."
Harry carefully traces each cut, tears brimming in his eyes as he yells for help in between.
In the days that followed, Harry kept mostly to himself.
Professor Snape arrived shortly after the incident and had whisked Delphyne off to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey tended to her wounds.
When interrogated about the spell, Harry didn't bother hiding anything.
"Banned from the Quidditch final?" Ron asks, staring up at the ceiling of his bedpost. He plays with Harry's Golden Snitch in one hand, tossing it up and down.
"Mm," Harry hums in response, his limbs spread on all four corners of his mattress.
The firelight flickers within the lamp between them.
Outside, the moon is full and bright; Harry could hear the wolves howl and the owls hoot within the forbidden forest. A mild breeze caressed his cheek from a nearby open window.
"Is it curfew already?" He asks suddenly.
"Almost," Ron replies.
Harry springs out of bed, tying his laces. "I'm going to check on Malfoy."
"Mm… Huh?" Ron similarly springs out of bed, eyes wide. "You're going to the Hospital Wing?"
"Yeah." Harry slips on his robes and heads for the door. "Be back soon."
He doesn't give Ron time to reply, and he's out of the Gryffindor Common Room before he can.
With haste, Harry makes his way to the Hospital Wing; students pass him by with derisive whispers and sharp glances – he has grown accustomed to it in the past few days.
It did not matter - only Delphyne lingers in his mind.
Before long, he faces the doors of the Hospital Wing – and Madam Pomfrey.
"It's almost curfew, young man," she chides, crossing her arms, "Off to your room now, go on."
She stands before the doors, effectively blocking him, with a stern glare and pursed lips that imply she would give him nothing.
Harry clenches his fists.
"I just want to see her," he blurts out, "Please?"
Madam Pomfrey looks him up and down with a snort. "Ten minutes," she states, "and you're out."
He visibly perks up. "Thank you," he smiles, moving past her to slip past the doors.
"Boys these days…" she sighs.
Having successfully gained entry, Harry immediately began to scan the infirmary for Delphyne – it didn't help that some patients had curtains and borders drawn around them; he had to tiptoe to glance at the top of their heads.
He comes to a stop when he catches a spot of milk-blonde hair poking out from the far corner of the infirmary.
"Ah..."
Harry's palms suddenly grow oddly clammy; his heart begins to throb excessively, and his breaths tremble with each second that passes.
"Um..."
There is no time to waste, he tells himself, but…
"What do I say…?" He murmurs under his breath.
Harry has not spoken to her since the incident, believing that she would rather not gaze upon the eyes of her assailant shortly after almost bleeding to death.
And now, thinking about it...
"Why did I even…?"
After a second, Harry turns on his heel, when-
"Potter?"
He whips around.
Her turquoise eyes catch him from across the infirmary. Her pale skin reflects the moonlight in an almost ethereal way, and her lengthy, milk-blonde locks sway in the passing wind, framing her face and enveloping her timid frame.
She stands before him, no slippers on her two feet, one fist pressed against her chest.
How dare he make her leave her bed?
"Malfoy..." He whispers breathlessly, stumbling toward her, "W-why are you standing up?" He stammers, "Get back to bed..."
She averts his gaze. "Y-you were standing there like some… dummy, so..."
"Sorry," he blurts out, his cheeks flushing pink. His throat grows tight and dry, and his mind blanks as he searches for his next words.
A moment of silence passes between them, and Harry's mouth opens and closes wordlessly.
His fingers twitch, unsure if he should reach out – wanting to reach out.
He does not.
"H-here," he mutters, guiding her back to her bed.
Delphyne awkwardly climbs in.
Harry hesitates for a moment, fingers hovering over the edge of her sheets before finally pulling them up to her chin. The fabric is warm from her body, and he can smell the faint floral aroma of her perfume mingled with the antiseptic.
"...Thanks," she mutters, still refusing to meet his eyes.
The firelight casts a soft glow over her face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones and the small mole beneath her right eye. Harry catches himself staring at it—something he's never noticed before.
"What is it?" she asks, perhaps a bit sharply, as she notices his gaze.
"You look... pale," he manages. His voice comes out rough, strained. He clears his throat.
Delphyne huffs a small laugh. "Imagine that."
Harry's fingers tighten slightly around the edge of her bedsheets. He watches as she lifts one hand to touch where the spell had cut—right at the base of her ribs—and winces.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
Delphyne finally meets his gaze, and Harry's breath catches at the intensity in her face.
"You didn't mean it," she says quietly.
Harry shakes his head, his throat tightening. "But I-"
"I thought you would never come," she mutters, her words barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the distant rustle of Madam Pomfrey shuffling papers at her desk.
Harry flinches slightly. "I... I wanted to. But I didn't know if you wanted to see me."
Delphyne's face shifts, something complicated flickering across it. Her lips part slightly, then press together again. She turns her gaze downward, fingers plucking restlessly at the edge of her sheets.
"I'm not sure," she admits after a beat.
Harry's stomach twists. He moves closer, resting his palms on the mattress beside her. She doesn't pull away.
"I know I hurt you," he says quietly. "Not just your body."
Delphyne squirms slightly. "I'm... more at fault," she mutters.
"No!" he says rather loudly, and heat gathers in his cheeks as stares do at his back. "Um..." He licks his lips. "I wasn't thinking." He clears his throat again, loosening his tie with a clumsy tug. "That was out of line."
Harry swallows hard, glancing at her face. She watches him with intensity, her expression unreadable.
"I don't know what I'd do if..." he trails off, unable to finish the thought.
Delphyne's face tightens. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her sheets.
"Stop," she murmurs.
Harry freezes.
"Don't say things like that," she continues, speaking with a slight quaver.
Her eyes are like two wavering mirrors reflecting the flickering firelight - and they glisten with tears that start to form.
Harry clenches his jaw. "Don't cry," he whispers, "I'm sorry."
Delphyne inhales sharply. "Stop saying that," her voice cracks.
Harry's breath stutters. He's never seen her so raw before—so exposed.
"I don't know what else to say," he admits, speaking hoarsely.
Delphyne's fingers twist in the sheets. "Then don't say anything."
She looks away, but a beat later, Harry feels her fingertips graze against his.
His entire body locks up. Her touch is light, tentative—fingers curling just slightly against the back of his hand where it rests on the mattress beside her. Harry doesn't move, doesn't even breathe for a moment.
Then, with terrifying slowness, he turns his hand palm-up.
Delphyne's fingers tremble against his.
The moment stretches, taut as a bowstring, with the sound of Delphyne's steady, measured breathing and the distant creak of Madam Pomfrey's chair as she shifts in her seat.
Harry's thumb brushes against Delphyne's knuckles.
"Can I... visit again tomorrow?"
Delphyne's grip tightens almost imperceptibly. "...If you want to," she says softly. "Yes."
Harry exhales - a slow, unsteady breath. "I do."
The fire crackles beside them, throwing golden light across their joined hands. Delphyne's breath comes a little quicker now, her shoulders rising and falling with more urgency.
"I'll bring you breakfast," he adds softly. "Any requests?"
Delphyne's lips part slightly at the offer. Her free hand comes up to absently toy with the edge of her sheets again.
"...No toast," she says finally, her words soft but clear.
Harry's lips twitch upward. "Noted." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
A strange, tender quiet settles between them.
Then Delphyne whispers, so softly Harry almost doesn't catch it:
"...Stay awhile longer."
His heart pounds against his ribs. "I can do that," he murmurs.
And so he does.
For several minutes, Harry simply holds her hand, letting his thumb trace slow, comforting circles against her skin.
Alas...
"Ahem." Madam Pomfrey towers before them, arms crossed.
Harry's hand flies away from Delphyne's as if burned. The older woman's eyes narrow slightly.
"Ten minutes was up three minutes ago," she says curtly.
Harry stands quickly. "I'm sorry, I just—"
"No more excuses, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey interrupts. She gestures sharply toward the door. "Out. Now."
Delphyne doesn't speak as Harry gathers himself. He lingers just a second longer, looking down at her in the dim light of the infirmary.
"Tomorrow," he whispers.
Delphyne's fingers twitch beneath the sheets.
"I'll be here," she replies, voice barely audible.
Harry forces a smile as he backs away.