Draco almost trips over something in the dark and yelps.
"Are you ok?", Harry asks, sitting up in alert, one hand already grasping for the wand under his pillow, the other coming up to his nose in a small but persistent nervous gesture and dropping again when there's no glasses to push up.
"Yeah just, tripped over... a bag?"
Harry cringes. He knows at once what Draco has tripped over, and he really does not want to face the other's reaction.
"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it in the morning", Harry says and prays that Draco doesn't press the issue.
He doesn't, thank Morgana, but he does hesitate slightly before he pads back over to the couch that is his temporary bed and doesn't mention it further.
Harry exhales slowly and lies back down. He focuses on the soft breathing of another person in the room and tries to ease himself back into sleep.
He needs someone's breathing with him in the room to sleep now; after the year he'd spent camping with Ron and Hermione he couldn't rest without the reassurance of it. If he woke up to silence his thoughts would, without fail, immediately race back to that year, and his body would tense with the paralyzing fear that came with the thought of being the only one left alive.
So when Hermione and Pansy were on vacation and Ron had been called away on auror business on short notice, he'd found himself in quite a pinch. The house was emty now, but he desperately needed someone, and quick.
Harry had not slept for almost a week before his exhaustion won out and he woke up to a nervous breakdown bad enough to make him swallow his pride and floo to Malfoy Mannor to ask for help.
And now here the Malfoy heir was, spending his nights on Harry's uncomfortable couch, the only reason the boy who lived could sleep at all.
He could not put into words how grateful he was to him, and yet, he knew he'd give anything to keep Draco from discovering the contents of the douffle bag he'd stumbled upon. The bag, you see, was the one he always kept stocked with fresh potions and everything he might need should something force him to flee on short notice. He was too much of a coward to talk about 'the bag', as Hermione, the only person who knew about his shameful habit, called the issue, and especially to talk about it with Draco. First the sleep thing, now this would really make the pity palpable.
He might have been a Gryffindor, but the war had beaten a lot of the reckless bravery right out of him.