The thought was barely half formed when Harry noticed the appearance of a coat rack just beside the door, a clean and pressed white shirt hanging by its collar, and a pair of neatly starched black trousers hooked on by its belt loop waiting for him. Standing and dressing himself felt unwise -  Draco had abandoned him - and so Harry elected to strip himself on the ground first, changing the bandages around his neck at the same time and trying not to think too hard about the state of his neck underneath. He was almost painfully lightheaded when he finally made it to his feet, and he could hear his heart racing in his ears. He felt sick and shaky -  oh Gods, what was he meant to do? - like he could faint at any moment. He embraced the feeling though, dreading the moment that everything else came rushing back to him. Passing out? Vomiting? Those he could deal with.