Isolation

37. Flaws

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Draco wasn't sure if he'd woken up with a headache, or if it was the headache itself that had caused him to stir not long before five in the morning. Either way, it was there, hammering against the backs of his eye-sockets, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

While he couldn't remember anything specific, he knew he'd been tormented by nightmares for the majority of the night - could feel the ruthlessness of them in the cold sweat dribbling down his back - and instinct told him they'd most likely revolved around Granger, his parents, and Voldemort. It was probably why his arm was wrapped so tightly around Hermione's midriff, and why her hair was tousled at an odd angle, disturbed by his heavy breathing.

He released his hold on her and sat up, trying to ease away his headache by clicking his neck and massaging the bridge of his nose. At the foot of the bed, Crookshanks was curled up into a tight ball, one eye peeking out from under his paw and studying Draco curiously.

"Bugger off, ugly," he whispered, tossing back the covers and leaving the bed.

As expected, he was parched, and he pulled on some clothes and collected his wand before he left the bedroom, intending to grab a drink from the kitchen and hunt for a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion. But when he collided with something that felt very much like a human just outside the door in the dark hallway, he jumped and barely managed to stifle a bark of surprise. Fumbling with his wand and casting a Lumos, he rolled his eyes when the light caught the offending person's lopsided grin.

"Fucking hell, Theo," hissed Draco. "Are you trying to scare the shit of me?"

"Well, I wasn't trying," he quipped. "But it was certainly an amusing accident."

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I'm assuming the same thing as you. I can't sleep, and I'm thirsty. Or are you just going to the bathroom?"

"No, I'm going to the kitchen," he said, heading towards the stairs. "Come on then."

"So, why can't you sleep?" asked Theo. "Does Granger snore?"

"No."

"Does she fidget a lot?"

"No."

"Does she-

"It's nothing to do with Granger!" he growled as harshly as possible in a hushed voice.

"Nightmares then," he said in a knowing tone, shrugging at Draco's confused look. "We all get them. Blaise used to have really bad ones; used to wake up screaming his lungs raw and puking for hours. It's kind of inevitable, I guess. No one ever really sleeps during war."

Draco was still contemplating how he could rationally reply to Theo's remark as they reached the kitchen door, and had either of them been paying attention, they might've heard the muffled voices on the other side. Ron and Harry were sat at the table, their heads snapping up and their mouths falling shut as Draco pushed open the door and interrupted whatever conversation they'd been having. Ron was on his feet in a second, straightening his spine and glaring at Draco, his lip curled back in anger and his hands fisted at his sides. Taking a few nonchalant strides into the room, Draco simply cocked his head and flashed Weasley a condescending smirk, eyeing his rival up and down for effect.

Ron still possessed that slightly disorientated and frazzled air about him, like someone had flipped him upside down and he was unsuccessfully trying to adapt to a topsy-turvy world or, Draco thought, that Muggle metaphor about a fish out of water. Despite an improvement since the last time they'd quarrelled in this very room, Weasley still looked on edge, and even from a distance, Draco could make out his bloodshot eyes and gnawed fingernails. Judging from Potter's exasperated expression and Weasley's flushed complexion, Draco deduced that he and Theo had interrupted a rather intense discussion, not that he particularly cared.