Draco swam up to consciousness being hauled unceremoniously by a firm hand on his maimed arm, and he flailed out with a fist and shook the rough grip off and turned and swung his wand at – Johns. He bit back the Avada on his lips just in fucking time and lowered his wand, looking about him, dazed and surrounded by dust, coated in the fine grit, his back on fire, his head aching fiercely, and his stump killing him with pain. He'd hit it on something very fucking hard and jagged when he'd been thrown to the ground, and it was bleeding.