*** Day 69 - Draco ***
That night had been one of the longest nights of Draco's life. Hours passed like the slow drip of molasses, and Draco found himself intensely aware of each second that filled them. It took two seconds for Potter to breathe in, and two to breathe out. That meant he breathed roughly fifteen times a minute, and nine hundred times an hour. So far there had been five thousand six hundred and eighteen breaths…nineteen…twenty.
Potter's hand had never left his wrist, but Draco had been thankful for it. As long as Potter held on, it meant he wasn't dead.
Twenty-six…twenty-seven.
Potter couldn't die. Not like this. The Dark Lord wouldn't have Carrow take his prize prisoner's life in his stead. Surely.
Thirty-three…thirty-four.
Potter's bottom lip trembled, and Draco could hear liquid bubbling in his lungs every time he tried to take a deeper breath. He was drowning in his own blood, and it didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense at all. Why hadn't Potter stopped Carrow? He obviously had the power. He'd killed Avery after all…
Thirty-nine…forty.
Draco glanced at the clock beside his bed. Only four more hours. Potter could make it four more hours, couldn't he? Draco's eyes shifted back to Potter's face, his stomach sinking. Yes, of course he would make it. He had to.
Only two thousand forty-three breaths to go.