Then he was upright – held up by unseen people, or he would have collapsed to the ground in a heap as his desperate burst of strength ran out. He hung his head, hearing again the sound of the heavy oaken bookcase thudding onto Hermione’s limp body. Draco wished it was him lying dead on the ground. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take having nothing. At heart, Draco knew he was selfish, a coward, weak. He needed her – even if she wasn’t with him, he at least needed to know she was alive.