For a long moment, Harry simply stared at the spot where Draco had been just a moment before. All he could hear was the whooshing of his blood in his ears, and all he could feel was the cold stone beneath his hands. He was struck by the feeling of detachment that had descended over him like a shroud. It reminded him of the black veil that Molly Weasley had worn to Fred’s funeral - he could see the world ahead of him, but it felt like it was happening to someone else, and he just happened to be there too. He was well aware of how painful reality would be when it set in -  Draco had left - and so for now he embraced the dissociation and turned to practical matters.  