Draco was less sure but said nothing. All he could see was the vacant way Harry’s eyes had stared up at the ceiling above them. No recognition, no awareness. What if the damage had been done, and there was no bringing him back? It was only when McGonagall began encouraging him forwards into her open arms that he realised he was crying again. He felt like he was collapsing in on himself. As if his entire person were narrowing down to the crushing sensation in the centre of his chest. He could hear her murmuring in his ear, soothing him, stroking his hair and his back. But he felt no better for it. He didn’t feel comforted. He only felt more aggrieved.