A sickening dread threatened to take her over, the pull of unconsciousness beckoned lazily, she knew it would be safe there, locked up in her own mind where the world was not slipping through her open fingers like a sieve. Draco was pale on a good day but here, in the bathroom, he was a ghost, not unlike Nearly Headless Nick in colouring. White like a fresh cover of snow on the rooftops in Hogsmeade his skin was ghostly but his school uniform, still worn since their apparition test earlier, was a sickening shade of red. All the blood that was supposed to be pumping through his body was wasted and spilled to the empty bathroom floor where his shirt soaked it up greedily.