He is in the bedroom. This time it took rather longer to arrange, because first he had to go back to the staircase and his nightmares and close his eyes tightly against the sight of Ginny falling, falling, and then he had to try with numb fingers to turn it over just the right number of times, but now he is here.
Ginny is writing a letter on her side of the bed, her quill scratching against the parchment, her wand's slight Lumos charm illuminating just her end table. On his side of the bed, he is still sleeping heavily. The light will not wake him.
He has thought about waking himself up now, but he's decided that it probably won't do any good, will probably just make her leave later, so instead, he waits until she finishes writing and folds the letter. He knows that her bags are already out in the hallway, since he passed them on his way upstairs, and when she disappears into the enormous closet, he moves closer to the bed. There is the faint rustling of clothing from the dressing room, and then Ginny walks out quickly, never looking at him. As soon as she closes the door, he presses the tip of his wand into his sleep self's neck, just at the pulse point.
He can see himself shudder awake violently, reflexes from the war working overtime, and Draco makes sure to step backwards so that his out flung arm will brush only air. The younger version of him blinks owlishly, coming fully awake, and running his hand in a confused way over the empty sheets beside him. Then his eyes find the letter, and he is suddenly out of bed and running down the hallway to the stairs. Draco remembers living with this fear every day and hopes that he knew what to say back then, because now he can't think of a thing. He hears voices from near the front door, and he lets whatever will happen happen.