Draco had an annoying habit of touching upon his troubles with others, but never outright saying how terrible everything was for him. When he tore up his arm during a nightmare his first month in the village, he withheld the truth from most everyone. Even after the accidental potions overdose, Draco shrugged off any concerns. He hated appearing weak. Only Summer really knew the extent of his torment.
Nights were always the worst. He hated relying on potions. He hated not sleeping when he didn't take them. He hated that nightmares sometimes still intruded regardless of the dose. He hated his bloody arm.
He took extra time closing and locking the door. He already set up plenty of wards, but he flicked his wand in favor of performing an extra one. He still hadn't really looked at Severus. When he did, he noticed the man didn't look too hot either. "I didn't mean to drag you out of bed," Draco told him. He gestured toward the kitchen. "Do you want tea? I have some left over cupcakes from the party too." He didn't bother waiting for an answer, but took off. Even if Severus didn't want anything, Draco needed the distraction. "Thank you for coming," he added. "It means---" He cut himself off.