He blinked at his hand, tracing the palm holding it up to Malfoy's face. It was the picture of calm; not a furrow to his eyebrows. He looked kind of sad, really. "Deep breaths," and he was in the locker rooms and there were fingers near his chest, lacing his robes up and his eyes were closed and the riots of the crowds were blocked out by the sound of Malfoy's quiet voice. "Breathe in for me," and Harry did, because nothing else was working right now, and his chest hurt with the need to take in oxygen and his fingers were trembling, vision going in and out of focus. "And out, slowly," it didn't come out slowly; it came out in rush, nearly coughed out —expelled from his chest; but Harry was pleased that it came out at all. 