The edges of his anguished scream threatened to tip into his throat, when he saw Harry’s eyelashes flicker. He had blinked, though the action seemed to Draco’s perspective to be in slow motion. His lashes had barely brushed his cheek when his chest stuttered, and the first spurts of bright red blood appeared at his throat. Draco watched, transfixed, as the blood splashed against the floor, tiny droplets bouncing up in the air and making a red arch before coming back to earth again. When Harry gasped, the sound stuttering and choked, understanding dawned on Draco: Harry wasn’t dead. Not yet. He needed him. He needed him right  now.