Hard Time

Chapter Fifteen: A Remedy for Nightmares

It was late before Draco went to sleep, and the next day Harry avoided him, locked up in what had been his father's study, doing some kind of research on the Manor, according to Kreacher. There wasn't a lot for Draco to do other than eat, sleep, and read what was left of the books in the library, so he actually spent part of the day helping Kreacher, talking to the old elf and finding out more about what he had missed during the final battle and the time since.

Kreacher told him all about Regulus Black, and the Horcrux that he'd tried to destroy, and the fact that Regulus had figured out a lot sooner than the rest of the purebloods what a crackpot Voldemort was and how dangerous it was to serve him. Draco had to wonder what Bellatrix would have thought of it--well actually he didn't have to wonder. She'd have called Regulus a blood traitor. She was cracked too, even more than Voldemort.

He had a quiet dinner with Kreacher, and again Harry avoided them, taking dinner in the study. Draco had a mind to barge in there and ask what the bloody hell he was doing, but then after all the emotional revelations yesterday, he decided he could tolerate a day of silence and solitude. It actually was the first time he'd been alone in some time. At Hogwarts last year, it seemed that somebody had always been keeping an eye on him, whether it was the Carrows, or Snape . . . Or Voldemort.

Draco went to bed the second night with a feeling that he was finally starting to feel normal again, not a wretched jail pet or a psych ward freak. Perhaps there was hope for things after all.

And then of course, the dreams started.

Pain. All was pain, and the dreadful laughter of Voldemort, the horrid snakelike vision of his face close up as he watched Draco writhe on the floor with agony, striking him over and over with the Cruciatus Curse. "No more!" Draco begged--or had that been his mother? His father's back had been turned, ignoring his pleas for help. Or perhaps turned away to hide the tears.

"Perhaps we should take you with us to the Muggle villages, have you watch while we torture the helpless creatures. Teach you how to be a true Eater of Death," Voldemort hissed, and flicked his wand. It felt like Draco's spine was trying to separate itself from his body one vertebrae at a time. He screamed until he was hoarse, until he had no voice left.

And then suddenly the scene shifted and it was Pucey, kissing him again, making him wretch, thrusting into him over and over and Voldemort was watching and laughing, adding little accents with flicks of the wand . . . .

Draco sat up with a start, heart pounding, tasting Pucey and expecting to find him there in the bed beside him. His own room. He was home, yes, and Potter was here, and Voldemort was dead. Pucey was still locked up in Azkaban.

A shout made his heart leap in fear all over again, and for a moment he wondered if he were still dreaming, if Voldemort was in the other bedroom with his father . . . a moan followed the shout, and he had to discount that theory. That sounded like Harry. What was happening to Harry?

Draco rose and crept into the hallway, looking down at the room Harry was supposedly using, but as he took a step towards it, he heard another groan and muffled words coming from downstairs instead. Swallowing, Draco descended the stairs, following the noises, which would fade to silence, then rise in volume to a strangled shout, until he finally found Harry in the living room. It seemed Draco wasn't the only one in the house who suffered from nightmares.

He stood there uncertainly, a few feet from the sofa, watching Harry toss and turn. Harry was still wearing his clothes, his glasses set aside on the side table, hair mussed and damp with sweat. Draco swallowed as a surge of desire went through him, quite unexpectedly. While it was obvious Harry wasn't enjoying his dreams, some of his moans sounded downright sexual.

As Draco stood watching, wondering what to do, Harry gave a loud shout and woke up, blinking. It took him a few seconds to realise someone was standing near, and when he did, he snatched up both his wand and his glasses, ramming the glasses onto his nose and pointing his wand at Draco. Draco raised his hands in surrender, flushing a little in embarrassment at what he had been thinking. "You were crying out in your sleep."

Harry stared at him, not responding for a moment, and then he lowered his wand and set it aside. "I do that sometimes."

Draco's brow arched. "Nightmares?"

"Yeah."

Draco nodded, remembering the look of grief on Harry's face as he listed off the dead, feeling remorse once again for bringing it up, for causing this uncomfortable silence between them. "I get them too."

That received a nod, and a little smile. "I know." Had Harry been watching him, then? Draco wondered.

They seemed to be speaking to one another again. And once again, Draco had no idea what to say. What sorts of things did Harry have nightmares about? Before he could ask, however, Harry shivered, looking around at the dark shadows around them. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, with Him living here."

A shiver of his own went through Draco. He shrugged, feigning indifference, then asked a question that had been burning all day. "Kreacher told me some things today, about how he worked with my mother during our 5th year, working against your side. Also, about how you could see stuff Voldemort saw; how he used that. I can't imagine . . ." He shook his head. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like, to actually know Voldemort's thoughts, his feelings.

Harry nodded, and went silent for a moment, and Draco wondered if he had said too much again. Then Harry surprised Draco by giving him a little smile. "I can't believe we're actually having a civilised conversation."

Draco snorted. "I still can't believe you bought the bloody house."

Harry nodded. "Neither can I."

They were both smiling now. "You're still a crazy git," Draco told Harry, because he still didn't believe the reasons Harry had given for buying it, and for helping him. It just didn't make sense.

"You're still a brat."

Draco laughed a little. "You weren't exactly all roses either, Potter. So full of yourself all the time."

This time Harry laughed. "I can't believe you actually laughed." That brought a sudden realisation to Draco--when had he last laughed? Not since before going to Azkaban, surely. He hadn't laughed much in the last two years. There hadn't been much occasion to.

Harry was giving him a look that made his insides feel warm. Draco wasn't sure where to go from here, now that they'd actually started to have a conversation, now that the fear in both of them was starting to fade away. He glanced back at the staircase, contemplating returning to bed . . . and more nightmares. He sighed.

"You know, I won't be sleepy for a bit--I never can go right back to bed after I have one of those dreams," Harry commented, in a voice that told Draco he wanted to keep talking, wanted Draco to stay a bit longer. Surprisingly, Draco felt the same. He felt safe with Harry, yesterday's little scare notwithstanding.

Slowly, wondering if he was insane or not, Draco walked over and sat next to Harry on the sofa. "Neither can I." Having done that much, he wasn't sure what to do next. "I don't sleep particularly well these days." He stared down at his hands as if something about them fascinated him. What he wanted to do was stare at Harry.

He flinched when Harry slowly put an arm around him, skin just barely in contact with his, as if Harry were afraid to fully touch. Given yesterday, perhaps he was. Draco's heart clenched, and a sense of longing filled him. He needed this. Just this. Just somebody to hold him, to share his pain. He needed the touch to be solid, not faltering. Not afraid.

"Harry, either bloody hold me, or if you're too scared to touch me, don't bother." Draco ignored the pounding of his heart, and looked into Harry's face, to see the expression, to see what Harry was thinking.

What Draco found was utter tenderness. "You're impossible," Harry said. He drew Draco against him, holding him.

They stayed like that for several minutes, not speaking, not really feeling the need to speak, actually. The hold was just right--not the possessive, crushing grip that Pucey had favoured, but just firm enough to convince him that Harry actually wanted to hold him, that he wasn't just doing this for some noble cause. I think I'm starting to figure you out, Draco thought at him. He wasn't tempted to hug Harry back, or to look and see if Harry was having any personal 'problem' like he had the last time. He was perfectly content to just enjoy it for what it was. Comfortable. Safe.

He almost could have fallen asleep, but there was still that air of electricity between them. Draco's head was resting against Harry's chest; he could hear Harry's heartbeat, pounding a little too fast, a little too hard. Draco was enjoying the touch a little too much in turn. He didn't want it to stop, but he'd never be able to sleep like this, not being this aware of Harry.

The way he saw it, there was really only one way to fix things. Slowly, surreptitiously, Draco draped one arm so that it was across Harry's lap, and he confirmed one thing. Harry was being very good. But his body couldn't hide the fact he wanted to do more. Deftly, Draco began lowering Harry's fly. He heard Harry gasp, felt him squirm, and pressed his hand hard against the erection when Harry tried to speak. "Shut up, Harry," Draco said in a calm voice. It had to be this way. The moment Harry moved too much, he would be reminded of Pucey. "And don't move."

Harry let out a low sigh, almost a moan. This of course was no doubt due to the fact that Draco had worked him free, and was starting to stroke him slowly, glancing down to see just exactly what Harry actually looked like. Not bad, Draco decided--not gigantic by any stretch of the imagination, but not puny either. Thicker than he'd expected. Draco shoved his other hand down his own pyjama bottoms, taking himself in hand, stroking in time, letting himself actually enjoy things for once.

Draco kept the pace slow at first. No need to rush things; he could scarcely believe that he was actually doing this--and that Potter was letting him. Well it only confirmed a number of theories he'd had about the fellow. A little moan escaped Draco's mouth, and he began stroking just a little harder, a little faster. Harry's hips gave an occasional twitch, signalling to Draco when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and he took delight in rubbing his thumb over the head of Harry's prick, of listening to Harry swallow and gasp, arms gone rigid around Draco, holding himself to that position. A peculiar thrill went through Draco at that. He rather liked having control of Harry's actions.

Harry's arms were getting in the way, however. "Put your arms over your head," Draco told Harry, and once again, Harry complied, eyes closed; perhaps he was afraid to face what he was doing. Or perhaps he was afraid to face Draco. It didn't matter to Draco, however. This way he was able to stare as much as he pleased, and watch as Harry slowly came undone, making little thrusts with his hips, sweat beading his brow, dark lashes brushing against his cheek. Who'd have thought he'd make such a lovely sub?

On a whim, Draco began slowing down a little, just to watch Harry's reaction. He wished they were both wearing less clothing, but that would require relinquishing one hand to undress them, and he was afraid if he paused in any way, one or the both of them would come to their senses, and this would be over. Harry frowned, squirming, and opened his eyes, a blush suffusing his cheeks. "Don't stop. Please."

Oh that was just beautiful. Draco began pumping him harder, feeling his own need increasing, unable to hold himself back much longer with this tormenting. Harry looked down at Draco's hand, fascinated by it, and Draco wondered if this was the first hand job by a bloke he'd received--or the first hand job by a hand other than his at all. Harry's breath was coming in soft little pants, punctuated by a whimper now and again. Draco watched as Harry's gaze moved over to Draco wanking himself, and a shudder went through Draco at the sheer intensity of being watched.

The sight obviously did it for Harry too. With a muttered curse and a thrust of his hips, he began coming, and it was obvious to Draco that Harry hadn't come in quite a while because there was quite a great deal of it. The sight of it--and the sudden thought, that wouldn't it be nice to have that cock inside of him, was too much for Draco. He stiffened, fisting himself hard, and came with a long drawn out moan, slumping forward. He held still for a moment after the waves of pleasure died down, not sure he wanted to face the aftermath, not sure what he would find in Harry's expression.

When in doubt, go back to the basics, Draco thought. "Well? Are you going to clean us both up?" His hands were covered with come. He wasn't about to move and risk getting semen on Mother's suede sofa. She'd have a heart attack.

"Oh . . . right." Harry sounded dazed and bewildered. Draco straightened, looking at him because it seemed safe to say that he wasn't going to be struck or beat up or ordered out of the room. Harry was still blushing, he noticed. He was acting almost virginal, Draco would say. Glancing at Draco's hand, Harry swallowed hard. "How do I do that?"

He couldn't possibly be that stupid, could he? Draco rolled his eyes. "With your wand, Harry. Simple cleaning spell. I'd do it myself, but of course I have no wand." He smirked. "And my hands are a bit . . . you know."

"Oh! Right!" Harry sat up, reaching for his wand. He seemed to struggle for a few seconds to remember the spell, and Draco hoped he could do this bloody right and that he wasn't about to lose a hand--or worse. Then with a swish of the wand, the spell was done, and they were both a great deal cleaner. Draco tucked himself back and sat back, watching as Harry adjusted himself a little more slowly, as if still half unbelieving. Draco stretched and yawned.

"I think I might be able to sleep now." Sex--well good sex at any rate--did that for him. And he hadn't thought once of his cellmate. That had to be progress.

Harry set his wand aside and looked carefully at Draco. "In your room?" There was a note there that Draco found quite curious. A wistfulness, perhaps?

Draco cocked his head, staring at Harry. "Frankly, I'm comfortable right here. Just don’t be thinking you'll be trying something like that while I'm sleeping." It was important that Harry understand that even if they'd just shared a sexual experience, he was in no way ready to allow someone else to be in control any time soon. There were still too many bad memories.

That brought back Harry's blush. "I wouldn't dream of it." He settled back into his former position, back nestled in against the oversized arm of the sofa, bringing his legs up to stretch out a bit. "I don't mind if you stay."

There wasn't a lot of room on the sofa, so Draco did what seemed natural (and what he wanted to do in any case); he stretched out beside Harry and shoved Harry's arm aside so that he could lay his head on Harry's chest, with his own arms lightly around Harry. Harry blinked in surprise but didn't try to stop him, carefully putting his arm down once Draco settled to rest against Draco's back. Perfect.

Unconcerned how this must appear to Harry or what the Boy Wonder must be thinking, Draco closed his eyes. "Night, Potter. Hope you don't snore." It was strange. He never slept draped over someone like this. But tonight, it just felt natural.

Draco felt Harry's chest move as he chuckled. "Hope you don't either."

After that, neither said a word. Sleep came swiftly, and without dreams.

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TBC

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