Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 6: Nightmares

And now we get to hear from Harry...

Harry POV

They retired – to separate bedrooms, despite Harry's unintentional innuendo. He wasn't sure what worried him more: that he kept making comments like that when he would normally never dare, or that Draco had so far refrained from commenting on them, when he normally wouldn't hesitate to. They were both acting out-of-character, and Harry didn't like it at all. It made it impossible to predict what either of them would do. And he needed to make plans – for both of them. He needed to be able to predict what they'd both do.

He was still worrying, turning the questions over in his mind, and not getting any closer to satisfactory answers, when sleep crept over him.

Harry was running. The world around him was hazy, nebulous, unfocused. He fumbled anxiously for his glasses, only to realize that they were right where they belonged. The problem wasn't his eyes, then. He could hear heavy breathing, out of sync with his own. Were those footsteps? He couldn't be sure. He pumped his legs harder, but the world slipped past at the same rate. His lungs burned; his legs shook with exhaustion. A cramp flared to life on his right calf; he ignored it. He knew he couldn't keep it up much longer; he could tell they were gaining on him. A howl sounded in the distance. An eerie moan floated through the mist. His skin prickled; he gasped for breath. The nagging cramp became a sudden, tearing pain that ripped through his leg and pulled tears from his eyes. He stumbled and fell to his knees. The howls turned gloating. He hunched his shoulders, curled himself into a ball, tried to protect his vulnerable parts. He could hear the snapping of their jaws, feel their hot, fetid breath roll over him –

Harry snapped awake, gasping, his heart pounding a frantic staccato in his chest. A dream. It was a dream. It was – his heart nearly stopped beating as another howl rent the air. No. Not a howl. A scream. Draco.

Harry was out of the room before he realized what he was doing, in a rush of frantic shoving – the covers, his door, Draco's door – and pounding feet. He skidded to a stop beside Draco's bed, unsure what to do. Draco was thrashing violently, twisting the covers. His hair was matted to his damp forehead; his eyes were wide, unseeing. His mouth was a slash of red in his bloodless face. He looked terrified. He looked like Harry.

He has nightmares too. The thought shouldn't have calmed him, but it did. We're not that different, then. So maybe what works for me will work for him. Harry climbed into Draco's bed before he could talk himself out of it. Draco needed him. Harry knew how to deal with people needing him. And if a little voice in his head whispered you need him, too, well, Harry also knew how to deal with that. He ignored it, like he always did.

Draco thrashed wildly, flailing his arms and legs. He landed quite a few blows before Harry managed to subdue him, by the simple expedient of lunging on top of him and pinning him to the bed. Draco shuddered under Harry, twisting his neck from side to side. Harry's arms and legs were busy holding the rest of Draco down – Harry didn't know how to stop the thrashing and was afraid he'd hurt himself. So he did the only thing he could think of.

"Draco!" Harry shouted, "Draco! Wake up! It's just a dream! Do you hear me? You're dreaming – it's a nightmare! Draco!"

Draco went completely still, and Harry worried, for a second, that he'd gone into shock. But, no; Draco's eyes were still wide, yes, but there was sense in them now.

"Potter." Draco croaked, gasping, "Can't. Breathe."

"Oh, right." Harry said stupidly, realizing he was still sprawled atop Draco. "Right." Harry's face heated as he rolled off, and he prayed Draco wouldn't notice.

Draco's gaze turned speculative as his breathing slowed to normal. "You know, Potter," he drawled, "you're not nearly as scrawny as you look."

Harry scowled at him. "Right, well. You're clearly fine, now, so I'll see you in the morning." He swung his legs over the edge of Draco's bed.

Draco reached for Harry, snagging the sleeve of his pajama top. "No, Potter – Harry. Don't go. I..." Draco looked down, toying with the blanket. "...I'm not fine. Not really. And, I'm sorry. I don't – Idon'twantyoutogo." He said the last bit all in a rush, flushing as red as Harry felt.

"Well..." Harry frowned. He didn't really want to sleep alone either. "Fine. Budge up, then." Harry shoved at Draco until he shuffled over to the other side of the bed. Then Harry snuggled up against him, flinging one arm over Draco's middle.

"Potter..."

"Draco. Shut up."

Harry drifted off to the sound of Draco's muttered grumbles and the reassuring pressure of Draco's icy feet on the backs of his knees.