The idea that he was supposed to have gone to Weasley for help at any point was so laughable that for a moment Draco could only glare incredulously at him. "Firstly," he said finally, still breathless, wishing he had more energy to be actually angry, because he mostly felt like a quaffle that had had all the air squeezed out of it, "if you'd have just left me alone, you wouldn't have been insulted, so that's really on you. Secondly, what do you expect me to do, exactly? To 'make up for it'? What apology would you like for my almost killing you by accident?" He hugged his arms to his chest, trying to stop himself shaking with the adreneline. "Or anything else? You want a thousand Galleons? Two?" He rolled his eyes.