He was so wrapped up in trying to shut out everything but the Glanmore Troll Conquests that he didn't hear her arrive. He gave a start when something dropped right in front of his nose, and his face snapped up to her - and though his expression immediately faded away from the look he might have given any other intruder, it was still quite clear he was on a short fuse; and he couldn't find it in him to stand up.
"It isn't my fault," he said, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the table before taking the cloth in hand as he tugged irritably at his already rumpled sleeve. "I assure you, I would much rather be in bed. And I thought perhaps you'd rather sleep than feel me tossing and turning all night long. Do forgive my thoughtlessness."
And then, every time he looked at her, he could only think of Draco - because he was quite certain that was what she thought of when she saw him like this. It was enough to keep him from meeting her eyes. "Thank you," he muttered, more than a little petulantly, as the wrapped the cloth around his arm, and did his best to settle back into something like a proper posture. There was nothing about the situation he found comfortable, and it was all miserably unfair. He hadn't had a thing to do with any of it. It only made it worse to think on things he couldn't help.