Night Terrors

Remus was awake late into the night, flipping through this morning’s Daily Prophet in an effort to distract himself from his worries. It was close enough to the new school year that they’d brought Harry to the house, and his nightmares were enough to give everyone else bad dreams, too. The previous night had been the worst yet; if Harry’s screams had not woken every person in the house, they had woken Mrs. Black, whose shrieking had finished the job. This morning, breakfast had been tense, everyone eating in silence and trying to watch Harry without the boy noticing.

Tonight, though, it was eerily silent in the house, and Remus couldn’t decide if that meant he should worry more or less. He set the newspaper down in his lap, pushing his reading glasses up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

Harry had been through too much, particularly this year, and he was becoming as much a loose cannon as Sirius had been. He was moody and hard to talk to; even Ron and Hermione were hardly able to cheer him, most days. Remus wished there were something he – or anyone, really – could do to stir Harry’s spirits again.

It was in the middle of these thoughts that he heard the floorboards creak outside his room, followed by a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called, and he was strangely unsurprised when Harry opened the door. The boy said nothing, just stood in the doorway like a shadow, the weak light from Remus’ lamp barely touching him. “Is something the matter?”

Harry stood there a moment longer, staring down at his feet, and then he shut the door behind himself, coming closer. “I… I can’t sleep,” he finally said.

Remus pulled off his reading glasses to set them on his nightstand, followed by the paper. “Do you need to talk to someone, Harry?” he asked gently.

“No, I— I just— I don’t want to be alone, and Ron was already asleep, and I just…” Harry trailed off, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hands were twisted in his shirt. Finally he blurted, “Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

Remus was tempted to say no, because it was hardly appropriate, but the please had gotten to him. It couldn’t do any harm, he supposed, and if Harry was going to offer to open up somehow, he couldn’t deny him. “Of course,” he said, shifting over to one side of the bed.

Harry’s lips twitched into a grateful half-smile, awkward as it seemed, and he crawled into the bed. Remus was surprised to find the boy scooting his pillow closer. “Thank you,” Harry said quietly, pulling off his glasses and leaning over Remus to set them on the nightstand. Then he lay down, snuggling up against Remus’ side, one rough hand on his bare shoulder.

Remus reached up to turn down the lamp’s flame, his other arm limp and unmoving at his side. “Goodnight, Harry,” he muttered in the darkness, wondering if Harry had only wanted to feel protected.

“Goodnight, Remus,” he heard sleepily beside him, and after some time, after he’d heard Harry’s breaths even out and grow deeper, he let himself drift off.

He woke again, some time later, because Harry was a heavy weight against him, a leg curled around one of his and that hand resting over his heart, now. Harry’s body was hot, the palm against him sweating, and the boy’s breathing was shallow, fast.

“Harry?” he whispered, afraid the boy might be in the middle of another nightmare. That hand tightened against his chest and Harry made a noise, though he didn’t wake. Then he felt it: the wiggle of hips, the nudge of an erection against his thigh. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

He tried to remain still, tried to ignore it, but Harry’s hips thrust again, scooting the boy closer, his cock humping against Remus’ thigh now. Remus could feel his body responding, against his will, and he stared at the ceiling, trying to think of anything but the hot, lean body thrusting against him.

This was Harry, James and Lily’s son, Sirius’ godson, twenty years his junior and too young even if those other things didn’t matter. But this was Harry, with wide green eyes and a charming smile and a lean, nimble body and who needed somebody to care for him. And who never had to know.

That last thought made him nearly groan; he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from letting the noise out, and he reached over, a hand settling on the boy’s hip. But no, no, he couldn’t, shouldn’t. He was monster enough without giving in to this.

Harry was shuddering now, his breaths coming out in little whimpers, and Remus felt his throat constrict. He pulled his hand away again, wouldn’t touch him, but he couldn’t keep himself from looking. Dim, clouded moonlight slanted in through the blinds, barely bringing in enough light, but for Remus, it was enough. He could see the sweat beaded on Harry’s furrowed brow, could see the black hair clinging to his forehead. Harry’s lips were wet, parted to let out those tempting little whimpers.

He heard the boy’s breath hitch, saw his face contort for a moment, felt the muscles in his skinny body tense, and then there was damp heat against his thigh, soaking quickly through Harry’s pajamas and his own. Harry’s face relaxed, breathing slowly growing even again, and Remus looked back to the ceiling, forcing his erection down with thoughts of Mrs. Black and Mad-Eye Moody and the guilt that wracked him.

He lay that way until he heard the rest of the house begin to rise.