The appearance of Percy was so close after his own realization that he hated being alone when he was ill, Draco's first thought at the sound of his voice was that Percy had somehow managed to read his mind. The next thought was that the red head was just a hallucination. In the off chance that he wasn't, Draco pulled his sheet up with a dull groan of pain to shield himself from view. He was a mess, a big mess, marked like that and sick, unbathed and ungroomed. It hurt to do that, to move at all. It was Percy's fault.
"What are you doing here?" He asked hoping he wasn't talking to an illusion.