Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe, his throat burning. Even with his stomach emptied, he coughed, heaving up something that wasn’t there. Draco’s hands were steady against him, and Harry clung to Draco’s hand as he coughed once more, tears pricking his eyes.<br/>“Fuck,” he fumbled, voice like gravel. His breaths remained shallow, carelessly wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his right arm, trying to straighten himself out. “Sorry.”<br/><br/>While Malfoy had been quick to react, Paul was stunned by the impact of Potter’s vulnerability, taking a step back. Too old to have known Potter during the war, the sight of his control wavering made him more uneasy than he could have ever anticipated; it was intimidating.<br/>It was clear Malfoy shared no such sentiment.<br/>Paul saw an unexpected intimacy in how willingly Malfoy inserted himself, how readily he caught Potter. It could almost be excused by Malfoy’s Healing degree, had it not been equally obvious how desperately Potter clung to him.<br/>“Right,” Paul stuttered, finding that nothing else could suffice.