Draco bit his lip and carefully rolled on to his side, not bothering to choke back the moan of pain the motion wrenched from him as the flex of still-healing muscles reopened the wounds on his back and he felt the trickle of blood down the skin. Draco curled up in a tight ball, staring longingly at the pain potion and wand sitting on the table. It all hurt. He would reach to get the potion or the wand to summon it, but with last night's potion worn off, it hurt too much to move that far. And with Harry gone... Draco shied away from the thought. He was too tired, hurt too much to deal with it right now. He hadn't slept hardly at all, too plagued by violent nightmares, and the resulting thrashing around on the bed had only made the pain worse. And there was no one to talk to, and he couldn't get to Summer to curl up with and hold her, and everything hurt and he was angry and he couldn't stop thinking about it and he hated Daphne and he hated Lucius and he hated himself and everything hurt and why won't it just go away?
Draco buried his face in the pillow and started to cry. It wasn't as if there was anyone there to see.