Harry's new cot was covered with spells that made it as soft and comfortable as sleeping on a cloud, but it was still a narrow little cot.

The first night Harry was in the tower, Draco awoke with a start from a loud thump from downstairs, followed a string of muttered curses as Potter got up off the floor and back onto the cot, and Draco laughed himself back to sleep.

-

Potter came up after dinner. Well, most nights, he came up right after dinner. Sometimes Potter was late. Once he was very late. Draco did not think about what Potter might be doing when he was not in the tower.

When Draco was feeling charitable, which wasn't often, he assumed Potter must be spending time with his friends. Most of the time, he imagined Potter must be spending time with his many admirers or was getting reacquainted with the Weaselette. Not that Draco could blame him, all he and Potter did together was study, mostly in silence.

Occasionally, Draco asked Potter a question about one of the day's lectures, which he was woefully bad at answering. Sometimes Potter asked Draco questions if they were working on an assignment.

It wasn't bad. They didn't argue. They didn't talk enough to argue.

Draco had just thought-

Had hoped-

For foolish things.

Everything was perfectly fine as it was.

He could keep up with his studies.

Potter could get any books he needed from the library.

And he could practise the spellwork.

-

"This isn't a difficult question, Potter," Draco said impatiently, "is it a half-circle twist or a quarter?"

Potter looked at his wand with a rather bewildered expression. He turned and aimed at the conjured piglet sitting under the window and wordlessly turned it into a parakeet, still pink as a pigs bottom, "It's like that."

"Which is?" Draco asked.

Potter brushed back a few locks of his fringe that had fallen into his eyes, "If I think about it too much I can't do it. It's muscle memory, not something I can sketch a diagram of!"

"You must have known when you learned it!" Draco said, throwing up his hands.

"I watch the professor cast it, I watch Hermione cast it and I just-," Potter shrugged, "-figure it out. I mean sometimes it takes a while, but that's how I've always done it."

Draco frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How do you do it then, if it's so different?" Potter asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

"I listen when the professors explain the wand movements," Draco said.

"So did I when I was eleven," Potter said tartly.

Draco felt himself start to flush and turned away, "You're utterly useless, and this is a waste of time."

"Good grief, I thought you were right behind Hermione in score, weren't you?" Potter said.

"I am- I will be once I'm back in class," Draco said.

Potter waved a hand, "Then just do what you always do-"

"I am trying. I normally have a competent teacher," Draco shot back, "and full access to the library-"

"I'll get you any books you want," Potter interrupted.

"Oh, shut up!" Draco snapped.

Potter sighed and rolled his eyes.

Draco picked up Granger's notebook, scanning through the notes for that day, but apparently it hadn't been something Granger considered important either. Everything was so much easier when he could actually be in class and had enough time to study and practise until he had everything memorised. Of course, that only worked if he wasn't fighting against short-lived fevers that none-the-less sapped his strength and forced him back to bed for most of the day.

His two major fevers had been a month apart, so Draco estimated he had about a week or so before he had another.

"Come on, I thought we were taking a break from studying," Potter said.

"We were until you proved to be useless," Draco muttered, still looking at the page of notes so he wouldn't have to look at Potter.

Potter vanished the parakeet and conjured another piglet, this one had just enough intelligence to start walking in a circle, slowly chasing its tail in an endless loop, "Come on, chickadee, don't give up."

"Don't call me that," Draco snapped, dropping the notebook back onto the table.

Potter smirked.

"One more time," Draco said, waving for Potter to cast the spell again.

Potter raised his wand and Draco walked up behind him, placing his hand over Potter's.

Potter froze.

"Cast the spell," Draco said, keeping his eyes trained on their hands.

"Errm," Potter said

"You're not going to use my condition as an excuse," Draco said stiffly.

Potter's brow furrowed, "It's not a condition. It's just you."

Draco felt a flare of anger in his chest, and where usually he would snarl of frustration, Draco hissed, dry and deep and utterly terrifying.

Potter jerked away, his eyes wide.

Draco remained where he was, utterly frozen in horror.

"See, it's you," Potter said, sounding far too calm.

Draco slowly pulled his hand back, pressing it to his chest to try and stop its shaking.

"You sound like an owl," Potter said lightly. He stepped back in front of Draco and pointed his wand at the piglet, "Come on."

When Draco didn't respond, Potter glanced back over his shoulder, "You want to learn this spell, right?"

Draco reached back out, putting his hand over Potter's feeling numb. Potter cast the spell again, a half-circle twist with an upward twitch at the end. The piglet turned into a beautiful green parakeet that promptly began walking in a circle.

Potter grinned, pocketing his wand, "You got it this time?"

Draco nodded.

"That's the best I've done so far. Hermione wouldn't stop harping on me getting the colour wrong," Potter went on, walking back to the couch and dropping himself heavily on the cushions, "You want to get back to studying?"

"No," Draco said roughly and cleared his throat before going on, "I- I'm feeling tired. I think I'll go to bed early."

"Alright, I'll be quiet when I use the loo," Potter said as if he was ever quieter than a herd of centaurs.

Draco nodded and headed up the stairs.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend-"

"I can't go, but thank you ever so much for rubbing it in my face," Draco muttered.

"I was going to ask if you wanted anything!" Potter shouted after him, adding a quieter, "tit," that was still just loud enough to make out.

Draco collapsed onto his bed, grabbing his pillow and squeezing it tightly to his chest.

-

"Mate! Harry!"

Harry looked around the rowdy crowd of students moving down Hogsmeade's main street until he spotted Ron's shock of red hair floating above it all and waved him over.

Ron pushed through, Hermione at his back, and the three of them slowly made their way down the street to where it was less crowded, and they could hear one another talk without shouting over the noise.

"Been shopping?" Harry said, looking at the two heavy bags Ron was carrying.

"Books and quills, study stuff," Ron said gesturing to Hermione.

"I said, I'd carry them myself," Hermione said.

Ron smiled, "Nah, I got it. Besides you don't let me dote on you very often."

Hermione flushed, "I'm not used to it is all. I like to take care of myself."

"And I like that you take care of yourself, I just want to help sometimes," Ron said.

"Fine...," Hermione said grudgingly. "But I am not a damsel in distress, and I don't need you to carry anything for me."

Ron nodded, "Course, Mione. No need to hex a flock of birds after me."

"That was one time," Hermione said.

"Just teasing," Ron said.

Hermione huffed a sigh at them and asked, "What have you been doing, Harry? You left at the same time as us, I thought for sure we would see you sooner than this."

"I was, uhh, asking around, talking to people," Harry said, shrugging one shoulder, "I wanted to find out more about the wolf rumours."

Ron and Hermione looked at one another, and Harry wanted to groan.

"That's, well, I was curious too-" Ron started.

"But it's Hogsmeade, we're meant to be enjoying ourselves-" Hermione said.

"It's more of the aurors job to figure those sorts of things out-"

"And it's just a rumour." Hermione finished.

Harry gave them a look he hoped expressed his complete disagreement with all points, "First off, it's not just a rumour."

Ron's eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"The witches that own the grocers, Tabitha and Bonny, they take a walk every morning and about a week ago they saw something like a large grey dog or a wolf," Harry said, "They watched it walk into the forest, kind of staggering and weaving like it was hurt or sick."

"Could just be a dog?" Ron said, looking at Hermione without much conviction.

Hermione sighed, "Look if it is a-" she dropped her voice to a whisper, "-werewolf. What can we even do?"

"Warn people," Harry said, "but I don't want to be accused of lying again-"

"Crying wolf?" Ron suggested.

Harry glared at him half-heartedly.

"What? It was right there!"

Harry went on, "So I was going to go look around the forest where the witches saw him and look for clues, prints, fur, something."

"You're not going to find prints," Hermione said, "The ground is frozen."

"But it was raining just last week and only got really cold recently, maybe it was still soft before and then froze, that would preserve the prints even better," Ron said.

Hermione gasped, "Oh, that's brilliant!"

Ron grinned.

Harry smiled tentatively, "So you'll help me?"

"Course we will, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Just got to stop in at Honeydukes and then we can search together."

"Alright, thanks," Harry said gratefully, "I'll come with. I was thinking of maybe buying some sweets."

-

Harry sighed as the wizard at the till slowly rang up his order, too busy glancing at Harry and blushing to punch in the numbers right. His hair was a dirty blond that caught the lamplight strangely so it looked slightly brighter, slightly golden. Harry was trying very hard not to make any eye contact whatsoever, but the flashes of pale blond kept catching his eye, and Harry was afraid he was quickly giving the entirely wrong impression to the bloke.

Not that it took much with most people that thought he was some sort of hero.

Harry felt a familiar weight drape over his back as Ron leaned against him, groaning dramatically, "Are you done yet?"

"Almost," Harry said.

"It's been ages!" Ron said, his voice carrying over the crowd.

The blond wizard flushed and began ringing Harry up a lot quicker.

Harry grabbed a random handful of coins from his pocket, dropping them on the counter for the clerk to sort out, "We'll be leaving- ah fuck!" he staggered against the counter, holding the edge to keep upright as another weight was added to his back only to let up a moment later.

"You almost crushed Harry, Mione," Ron said, standing up and slinging an arm around her shoulder.

Hermione was glaring behind her, "Not on purpose. Someone bumped into me."

Ron nodded, tapping Harry on his shoulder, "It's pretty crowded in here. We'll wait outside for you."

The clerk held out a bag in one hand and a handful of small change in the other which Harry snatched up and hurried after his friends before the wake of their passing closed up and he had to push through the throng of students himself. He sighed in relief as he stepped outside.

They walked back toward the forest near the road that led back to Hogwarts. Harry stopped on the corner, trying to find his pocket to put the handful of coins away, and missing, and dropping most of them on the ground.

Ron took his bag so Harry could draw his wand, summoning the sickles and knuts and putting them away.

Hermione leaned over and picked up something else from the grass, a small slip of parchment, "You dropped this-" She turned it in her hands to read it, "...I think that cashier wants you to owl him."

"Huh?" Harry said distractedly, putting his wand back up his sleeve.

"That bloke at Honeydukes wants you to owl him. He wasn't bad looking," Hermione repeated.

"Have an eye for that sort of bloke do you?" Ron said, sounding like he might be jealous depending on the answer.

Hermione elbowed him in the side, "I'm trying to help."

"So you-"

"No," Hermione said firmly, "If anyone is going to be jealous about other people, it's going to be me with all the letters and looks you get."

"Don't worry about them, you're the only one for me, Hermione," Ron said, his face going red with the ordeal of being utterly truly honest. "I think you're perfect."

Harry sighed.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, looking equally embarrassed, "You're the only one who thinks that. I know my personality can be... rather difficult and how lucky I am and how happy I am. So there's no point in worrying," Hermione said.

Harry sighed again, rather louder this time, "You've had this conversation at least five times already."

Hermione shook her head, "Unlike some people, we talk about our problems so we can fix them."

Ron winced, "Hermione, that was a bit-"

"Sorry," Hermione said quickly before Ron could finish. "Anyway, you've been broken up with Ginny for a long time, and it wasn't really- it's time to move on, is all." She held out the slip of parchment, "It wouldn't hurt to try."

"I'm not hung up over Gin. I'm just not interested. Especially in people who only care about my being a 'hero'" Harry said, taking the parchment, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it away.

"You are a hero, mate," Ron said.

"Oh, fuck off," Harry said.

Ron laughed, "It's true, though."

"You know what I mean."

Ron held up Harry's Honeydukes bag, "Besides, there's already someone else, right?"

"What?" Harry said

"What?" Hermione echoed.

Ron frowned, looking thrown off. He held the bag open, "Fancy chocolates? Liquorice wands? Ice mice? You're more chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes. You don't even like liquorice?" He narrowed his eyes, "Are you really Harry?"

"Yes. They're for..." Harry sighed, "They're for Malfoy because he can't come."

Ron's eyebrows rose in further disbelief.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Go on, check anyway."

Hermione cast a few spells over him, "No polyjuice or glamours."

"He's still sick then," Ron said slowly.

Harry nodded.

Ron looked thoughtful, "So you li-"

"Is it an inherited condition?" Hermione asked.

"What-?" Harry shook his head, "Hermione, I'm not going to talk about Malfoy's personal medical stuff."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "I'm just curious and that's hardly personal. I mean if it's gone on this long and it's not contagious then it's most likely genetic-"

"Hermione. You're going to be St Mungo's best healer in no time at all, but you aren't now so leave off," Harry said with as much patience as he could manage.

Hermione frowned, but before she could dig in her heels, Ron put an arm over her shoulder, "Come on, you can tell me all your theories about Malfoy while we look for werewolf bits."

-

Harry led the way to where the witches had pointed out seeing the animal, and they did their best to walk along the forest edge, an arms-length apart, scanning ground and brush for any signs of- anything.

Just as it was starting to get dark, they found them, large paw prints frozen into the ground.

Together they transfigured some branches into rough wooden boards and leaves into plaster to make a cast of the prints. They used as much magic as they dared to speed the drying, working under wandlight as the light faded.

They got back just before curfew, following the last of the students inside with a large plaster cast, hidden from sight under Harry's invisibility cloak.

-

Draco was just resting his eyes. Just for a moment. But he seemed to have lost a chunk of time to sleep when he woke in a drowse to Potter standing by his bed, carefully moving the books and notes Draco had left strewn across his bedspread.

"I was studying," Draco said, pulling his eyes open.

Potter flinched in surprise and frowned at him, "Stop doing that."

"It's not on purpose." Draco smiled faintly, "Sometimes."

Potter hesitated, then took the last piece parchment, making a small pile and setting on the chair beside his bed, "Running a fever again?"

"How did you guess?" Draco said, intending to sound sarcastic and not quite managing the proper tone.

"You turn pink," Potter said. He lifted his hand and brushed Draco forehead with the back of his fingers.

His skin was cool, and Draco leaned into it without thinking.

"You look a bit boiled, to be honest."

Draco frowned at him though it might have been more of a pout, "Wrong. You're supposed to say I'm beautiful."

"You're a veela, that goes without saying," Potter said.

"But I don't want to be," Draco said.

"Not all bad is it? You've always liked pushing people around and manipulating them," Potter said blandly.

Draco wished Potter sounded more upset about that. Draco was. He had just been playing pretend at being his father, with none of the subtlety and all the cruelty.

"I don't want to be," Draco repeated in a small voice.

Potter ran his hand through his hair. The tie that had just barely been keeping it pulled back fell out and disappeared beneath the bed. "I got you this," Potter set a paper bag on the chair, "since I never got to ask you properly."

"...is it nice?" Draco asked.

"I- yeah, yes," Potter said, stumbling over his words, "yes, it's nice."

Draco nodded.

Potter sighed, "Are you always... like this when you're sick?"

"Don't know," Draco said, shifting his cheek against the pillow, "I always took a potion, and it went away."

"Yeah but there must have been times when your parents didn't catch it right away so you- had to be sick a little, sometimes," Potter said.

Draco didn't really remember that ever happening. There was always an elf watching him, and plenty of potions on hand. "I turn pink," Draco said with what seemed like a perfectly logical conclusion to the question.

Potter bit his lip, and then turned on his heel, "Get some sleep."

Draco watched until he couldn't see Potter anymore and then let his eyes drift shut again.

-

Draco woke slowly, even as he grasped after the sleep slowly being drawn away, moving further and further with every step Potter took away from him.

He groaned and stretched and lay in bed until he couldn't any longer and dragged himself up, getting ready for the day. He dressed, in black trousers tailored to fit, a white dress shirt that he carefully buttoned by hand, tucking it in before fastening the cuffs and straightening his collar. He carried his socks and shoes to the chair and paused at the pile there sitting on the cushion.

Draco had thought... it had been a dream. A dream made sense.

He picked up the bag and held his breath a little as he opened it, expecting the worst and finding... sweets.

Draco dumped it out on the bed and sorted them out so he could look at them all neatly laid out. Liquorice wands, ice mice, sugar quills, and a box of chocolates, one of the nicest Honeydukes carried though it was still subpar compared to the chocolates his mother would send him. But it was- it was all things he liked, and it was... something. It had to mean something.

Draco stared at the little collection for longer than he would ever admit before moving the pile of notes out of the chair and sitting down, pulling on his socks and shoes, tugging the laces until they were perfectly tight. A flash of blue caught his eye, and he leaned forward, reaching under bed, and picked up a pale blue elastic hair-band. The blue had begun to pull free from the glued edge, exposing the white elastic underneath. A single black hair was tangled around it.

Draco ran his thumb over the fabric and then slipped the band around his wrist, pushing it down so his shirt cuffs would hide it. He very much didn't think about it as he went downstairs or the entire time he ate breakfast. He also didn't keep touching the line of it under his shirt, feeling foolish the whole time.

He stood, mentally preparing himself for another day of studying and bumped into the couch as he stretched his arms above his head. Something fell over. Something heavy...

Draco walked to the end of the sofa and the source of the sound, finding the corner of something white, mostly covered with Potter's invisibility cloak. He knelt down, pulling the silvery cloth off of a rectangle of plaster, which showed a line of animal prints...a dog? No. Draco stretched out his hand over the clearest paw print, finger to palm, they were the same size. Not a dog.

A shiver went up Draco's spine. The beast of a dog that Hagrid kept, it had been massive, but even its paws weren't this big. But Draco remembered, just last year, seeing a paw print that looked just like this and shivered again.

He felt the prickle in the back of his mind announcing Potter's return and quickly wrapped the cloak back around the plaster cast, leaning it back against the couch before he could even hear Potter's footsteps. He sat back down, picking up his fork and pretended to still be eating as Potter came into the room, looking winded and not at all pleased to see him.

"Oh." Potter said, "I thought you'd still be asleep."

Draco stared at him, "And how would I do that?"

"You- oh," Potter said and blinked, "So... you always wake up right after I leave?"

"That is how it works, yes," Draco said flatly.

Potter stood there, looking lost and like he had forgotten how to hold his arms without it looking stiff and strange.

"Was there something you needed?" Draco prompted him.

Potter twitched and nodded with relief, "I- yeah, I just forgot something." He hesitated and then gathered up the bundle from the end of the couch, his hands carefully keeping the cloak wrapped around it.

"What's that?" Draco asked with forced nonchalance.

Luckily for him, Potter was too agitated to notice, "Nothing, really."

"If it's nothing, why is it wrapped in your cloak?" Draco asked.

"It's just... something I borrowed from Slughorn, and I figured I'd return it before class," Potter said, turning towards the hatch, "so I'd better hurry."

Draco made some sort of absent-minded noise in agreement and watched Potter retreat down the stairs.

The lie would have been fairly good if Draco didn't know what was under the cloak. Potter could have said Hagrid or Quintquick, the new Defense teacher, Draco might have even believed McGonagall, but not Slughorn. And he knew it was Potter's free period.

Draco went back upstairs. He put his notes back on the bed and collected the boxes and foil packets of candy one by one, setting them aside.

It was pity.

Potter said he was weak. And he knew Draco needed him.

Pity made sense.

Draco sighed, pushing down the mess of emotions choking through his gut and up his throat. He picked up Granger notebook and his textbook for Charms. It was what he got for being foolish. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't.

-

McGonagall's brow furrowed as she looked over the plaster cast of the wolf prints on the desk in her office. She pursed her lips and tapped her chin and finally said, "I see."

Which wasn't at all what Harry had been expecting.

"What-? But it's- They're wolf prints, from right by Hogsmeade and the road leading the Hogwarts!" Harry said, "People saw the wolf-!"

"Or a large dog," McGonagall said, still studying the cast. "You said yourself they thought it could be."

"Greyback escaped auror custody after the battle of Hogwarts," Harry said.

"And was tracked to several towns away, nearly thirty miles, last seen heading deeper into the mountainous regions of the north," McGonagall said.

"He could have come back," Harry said impatiently, "What's there to eat up there, anyway, bats?"

McGonagall pushed her glasses higher on her nose, "Your concern is commendable-"

"There's a but, isn't there," Harry said.

McGonagall smiled faintly, "-but, despite all the goodwill you have cultivated by sharing Remus' story, there is still a great deal of prejudice against werewolves. And during the war, there were even more people afflicted with the condition."

Harry grimaced, seeing where this was headed.

"If we were to warn the school and the town that there is a werewolf nearby that means to harm them, it could have dire ramifications," McGonagall said, "Has Binn's covered the werewolf hunts of the sixteenth century?"

Harry hesitated, "Maybe?"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, "You would do well to pay closer attention to your classes. This is a very important time for you."

"You sound like Hermione," Harry said.

"That's because she's correct," McGonagall said. She cleared her throat, "As I was saying, during the time muggles were hunting down and burning witches, the magical community became obsessed with ridding itself of werewolves. There was a belief amongst some that werewolves killing muggles and their animals was the cause of the witch hunts. Of course, that wasn't true, they were just looking for someone to blame."

"Erm-"

McGonagall silenced Harry with a stern look, "The point being, that werewolves are only easily identified during the full moon and look like anyone else the rest of the time. And much like the muggles hunting witches, the magical community began looking for scapegoats, for anyone who didn't fit in quite right."

Harry's stomach sank, "You don't mean-"

"Half-breeds mostly, but veela, centaurs, goblins, merfolk, and anyone else who stood out," McGonagall said.

"But why? They weren't- it wasn't what they wanted, there had to be a better solution," Harry said.

"In my experience," McGonagall said picking her words with care, "people tend to be... quite a bit crueller and stupider when they are in large groups. Once a mob is formed, it often will not rest until it has seen it's objective through, sometimes at great cost."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Luckily, this isn't the sixteenth century, people are kinder and more level-headed now and with every generation that passes. But it is still a risk I do not wish to take," McGonagall said.

"Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked, frowning at the plaster paw prints.

"There are some things I can do," McGonagall said firmly. "I admire your tenacity, Harry, but you really must graduate this year."

Harry grinned faintly, "What? Don't want to see me again next fall?"

McGonagall sighed and shook her head, "I have no doubt I will see you, but I have no need to see you as a student. I'm certain you have other things to do."

Harry laughed shortly and nodded, "So, well... what are you going to do?"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, "I believe I said I would-

"I just want to know," Harry said hurriedly, "I'm not going to do anything. I mean, not if I know. It's more likely I'll try something if I don't."

McGonagall said, "...Albus always felt it was best not to tell you things."

Harry's stomach sank.

"-I never agreed. So, very well-"

Harry grinned.

"Speaking of history, beasts of war were fairly common few hundred years ago, animals that were transfigured in terrible monstrous things, made to fight or act as guard animals. They were outlawed, rightly so, because they were inhumane and quite horrifying. However, it is no great leap to assume Voldemort would disregard such laws and make one," McGonagall nodded to herself, "I shall inform the teachers and prefects of the threat as well as the town council and aurors. That way, everyone can be prepared without making prejudices any worse."

She took out her wand and shrunk down the plaster cast, "I shall keep this in my office for now where it won't be stumbled upon. Once this problem is seen through perhaps Quinlan Quintquick could find a use for it in her lessons."

"But..." Harry said, "everything you just said-"

"I know, it seems like a contradiction, but a transformed werewolf is dangerous without wolfsbane. If any of my students are attacked by, any sort of creature, I want them to be able to defend themselves." McGonagall said, putting the wolf prints in her robe pocket, "You don't have to worry about an innocent person being killed. It's extremely difficult to kill a werewolf. Magical creatures are resistant to magic, so bodily effect spells, stunning, cutting spells, and the sort don't work nearly as well."

"So what do you do then? To protect yourself?" Harry asked.

"A conjured net or chain around the legs, both for preference," McGonagall said, "And then you run."

-

Draco walked. He felt restless. Uncomfortable in his own skin. He could only stand for ten minutes at most before he had to move, pacing in the gap between the couch and Potter's cot. He read as he walked but only managed a few sentences at a time before the twitching itching feeling would force him to flex his shoulders and back, running his hands over his arms, scratching at twitching itches that faded without the satisfaction of being scratched.

By lunchtime, he was faintly flushed. By dinner, he banked the too warm fire, and the flush had spread from his face down his chest. Sweat beaded at his temples and dripped down his back but the slightest breeze made him shiver uncontrollably.

He stripped off his shirt first, then his shoes and socks, his bare feet crossing the stone on the outer ring of the tower, the rough wooden floor of the centre, the edges of the faded circular rug in front of the fireplace. The changes in texture and temperature gave his mind something to focus on other than the complete and utter discomfort of existing.

The moment Draco felt Potter coming up the stairs Draco went to his room, stripping down to his pants and collapsing onto the bed, falling into an utterly exhausted sleep.