"You don't say," Draco muttered. He struggled into an awkward sitting position, reaching up to touch the side of his head. His hair was cleaner than it had been in months, though still overgrown, and his stubble had grown long enough that it was soft to the touch. There was no trace of a wound, but he could sense a strange echo of where it had been; a throbbing sensation under the skin. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "Is there water?" he asked, his discomfort overruling his pride for a moment.