Lily looks at Scorpius, lying peacefully on the floor. She keeps looking. Her eyes are scanning for the hint of even a shallow breath, or the smallest twitch of a heartbeat in his pale neck. She would crouch down and check for a pulse but she was too scared to touch him. She's never going to hurt him again, and yet she's scared she might. She's scared that her touch could taint him. That as he watches over her, he might be cringing away from her hold. She's been meaning to ask him how he truly felt about her for a very long time, and now it's too late for her. She knows the truth, but she won't say it to herself, even in her panicked subconscious.

He didn't do very well, longevity-wise, but the good have always died young.