Draco opened his eyes and groaned pathetically. The waft of damp dirt filled his nostrils, and his cheek was squashed onto something hard and gritty, a trail of drool half-dried down his chin. He blinked and realised he was lying on the cellar floor, his drool a small damp puddle on the packed dirt. He groaned again and struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, his head pounding murderously, and his mouth feeling like someone had stuffed it with a rank, unwashed sock after he'd fallen asleep. Or more accurately, passed out rather ungracefully on the floor beside his bed, it seemed – his memories of the night before were somewhat hazy, to say the least.