I lay awake, my exhaustion too painful to let me rest. Even sleep had been taken away from me, like the way sweets tasted had been taken away, and how rain felt, and everything else good that I'd ever had. Like Harry. I never should have allowed myself to become friends with him in the first place, not when I knew all along that my family was at least part of the reason that he wore that scar. I was dirty with the guilt of his pain, of everything he had suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord.

And so here I was, wallowing in it. I did that a lot these days, when I wished I could be sleeping. Unconsciousness sounded like such a relief, but even then I woke screaming to nightmares of a brunette boy with broken glasses lying dead on the floor before me. And I was always holding a wand, knowing I'd done it, knowing I'd killed him, and powerless to stop it. Powerless to even fall down to him like every part of me needed to, to hold his lifeless body for just the few moments that it was still warm.

I was glad I'd been made a prefect, and thus had the choice of a room separate from the others in my year. If they'd heard my unconscious mutterings, I was sure they would know all of the traitorous things I kept in my bruised heart.

I opened my eyes when I heard a soft knock on the door, not remembering closing them. The knock was timid, as if it would only wish to be heard if I was awake, but could not quite be bold enough to wake me if I was sleeping. But I never slept. I knew that it was sometime in the ungodly hours of the morning, and I couldn't imagine why anyone would be knocking on my door. I didn't answer for a long moment, just to see what would happen. The doorknob clicked when it was turned, but the door was silent on its hinges as it was pushed open and a shadowy figure slipped inside and closed the door behind them.

"Draco," the voice breathed into the dark, and I couldn't breathe at all. I heard him walking carefully in the pitch darkness, his hand brushing the dresser so as not to trip over it. He stopped at the end of my bed, and I couldn't see him in the darkness, so I couldn't quite believe he was there.

"Harry," I whispered.

"I knew you were awake," he sighed in relief, moving toward the corner of the footboard as he spoke. "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Why are you here?" I asked, instead of answering him, since I didn't know the how. I hadn't spoken to Harry for months, a feat that had been killing me in a very painful sort of way. He was another reason that I was thankful I didn't sleep in the same room with the others in my year; having Harry so close every night would have driven me completely around the twist.

"Scoot over," he said, instead of answering me. I wasn't sure that he knew how anymore than I had. I had tried so hard to keep him safe from myself, but I couldn't do anything but what he'd asked. I moved over in bed, making room for him. The bed dipped under his weight, and I felt his legs touch mine. His breath was warm, but his hands were cold on my arm. My left arm. Panic shot through me and I tried to withdraw the limb, but he held it in a firm, gentle grip that I couldn't break. "I can feel it here, you know. You were always bad at hiding things from me, Draco," he told me, his fingers brushing lightly over the scarred skin.

"Don't," I whispered, not sure what I was telling him not to do. Maybe not to touch the Mark, so that it could make him dirty the way that it made me. Maybe not to touch me at all, so that I would lose the little strength I had left. "Why are you here," I hissed, and this time it didn't even sound like a question. It sounded like a hiss of pain, and it really was.

"Because it hurts, Draco," he murmured, his hands on my arms slowly moving up towards my shoulders. I didn't stop him. "I'm so tired hurting, of watching you hurt," his calloused hands caught slightly on the shoulders of the silk pajamas I wore, but they felt like velvet on my skin as he continued up my neck in a slow caress. "Does this hurt?" he asked, curling his fingers of one hand in the hair at the base of my neck, while the fingertips of the other hand smoothed over my jaw, touching the side of my nose and then my lips in the blind darkness.

"No," I breathed, and I wasn't sure if I was denying that it hurt, or denying his touch altogether. It should have been the latter, but it really wasn't. I wasn't that strong anymore. There didn't seem to be anything else that he needed to say; Harry had never been one of many words. But he'd never needed to be, not with me at least.

His lips brushed mine in the barest of touches, moist and warm, slightly chapped, searching carefully in the dark so that the kiss following was perfect. My heart thudded in my chest as his lips slid against mine, and he stole my breath and gave it back a moment later. He'd moved closer, so that his stomach was touching mine and my arm was trapped between us.

He kept kissing me, so gentle and full of heat that I was sure I would be burned by it, as he propped himself up on his elbow to change the angle of his face. His lips slanted across mine, his mouth open and hot over mine for just an instant before I met him and our tongues twisted against each other. I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him closer and closing my eyes as he kissed me until my entire body was humming with need and the covers had become unbearably warm.

"Harry," I whispered against his lips, my fingers trembling on the top button of his shirt, uncertain and full of desire. "Harry, please." I was so weak. So, so, weak. And I didn't care.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured gently, even though he knew.

"You," I replied without pause. "Please…" I said again, my voice little more than a whimper.

"Shhhh," he whispered, kissing me again, and this time it felt like comfort. His hands slid easily under the shirt of my pajamas, lifting me and sliding it over my head as if we'd done this a million times before. My hands were shaking a bit, making it difficult to undo the buttons on his shirt, but I managed, pushing the fabric open and pressing myself against him. Gods, he was so warm and smooth and perfect. I traced the planes of his chest, his sides, his shoulders, all of it. Maybe because it made him gasp softly against my mouth, and maybe because I was afraid it was all a dream.

He wasn't wearing his glasses. I hadn't noticed before, but I knew he wasn't when I tilted my face against his a certain way and they weren't there. My hand, that had been tangled in his mess of hair, moved toward his face just enough so that I could run my thumb over his scar. The skin there felt different, and I traced its shape easily while Harry was shrugging the rest of the way out of his shirt.

He kissed my jaw, and then my neck, and I couldn't help the little sound I made when he bit softly there. He lingered there, sucking lightly, and the feeling made me want to writhe but I couldn't seem to move. I could barely breathe, so why in the world would I be able to do something like move? Then he returned to my lips, which were swollen and sensitive to his breath on them just before he kissed me. And then he was tugging at the waist of my pants, and I kicked out of them easily. His hands brushed down, barely touching me, torturing me. I wasn't certain when Harry had removed the rest of his own clothes, but when he pulled me back against him, we were both completely naked.

He rolled me under him, like I'd known he would, holding his weight on his elbows so that he was flush against me and kissed me softly. I reached over to the nightstand, pulling a small bottle of oil out of the drawer and pressing it into his hand. He sat back from me, settling between my legs so that he felt too far away from me.

"Draco," he murmured from above. "You know that I love you, don't you? You know that it why I'm here?" he whispered, as if I could doubt. But the soft sobbing noise that escaped me sounded like maybe I hadn't known, or at least like I'd needed to hear it.

"I love you, too," I managed shakily, meaning it with all my heart. I'd always loved him.

That seemed to be all he needed to know. He slipped a slick finger inside of me, making me gasp at the sensation. "Does that hurt?" he asked, and for an instant I forgot that he couldn't see me and I shook me head.

"No," I hissed, and he added a second, twisting and pressing inside me. His other hand stroked, driving me insane, until I thought I would simply break into pieces if he kept me suspended like this any longer. "Harry, please," I gasped, and that seemed to be enough. He settled back over me, and I felt him at my entrance for just a moment before he pushed inside. I was ready for him, but it did hurt. I'd known it would. He pushed himself slowly in until he was completely inside of me.

"Does that hurt?" he asked again.

"No," I lied this time, because I wanted him to move. It felt so completely right that the bit of pain that went with it was so inconsequential I didn't feel wrong lying about its existence. And he moved, a slow, rocking motion. The pain was just a memory now in the heat of my need. Harry was trying to be gently, trying to control himself, but I wanted to shatter it. I wanted him to be as undone as I was. "Fuck me," I hissed, and I heard him gasp. I knew it had the desired affect when his hands gripped at my shoulders, finding leverage to move with. Every thrust rocked the bed a bit, moving in a rhythm that changed when something felt better.

I was a gasping, sobbing mess underneath Harry, gripping at him with shaking hands, trying to pull him closer even though he couldn't be any closer to me than he already was. Harry's hand reached down between us, stroking me a few hard, fast times in time with his thrusts, and that was it for me. White like exploded behind my eyes and I may have cried out. I may have just cried.

When I could breathe and think again, what may have been seconds or hours later, I felt Harry panting softly against my neck. He was still inside me, but was soft now. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling out of me and breathing unsteadily into the dark. I reached for my wand, finding it on the table beside the bed, and cleaned us up.

And then, because I just needed to, I lit it. We both blinked in the sudden light, and I held it above us. Harry was beautiful, with his skin flushed and his emerald eyes bright. He smiled at me, and I kissed him. Neither of us closed our eyes, smiling against each other's mouths.

I let the light fade from my wand and placed it back on the table, settling back down beside Harry. He cuddled easily up to me, soft and sleepy and perfect. I knew that there was a world of darkness that I would have to face in the morning, but right now, with Harry, this was the most wonderful darkness I'd ever known. And until morning, I was safe here with him.

(AN: well, I have to admit that I weirded myself out a little with this. After falling asleep on my couch, I woke up at about two in the morning to the sound of fussing chimney sweeps (stupid damn birds) and was immediately inspired by some forgotten dream to write this. So I did. I've only ever dipped my toes into slash, and this just kind of spilled out of my without any sort of warning. It's supposed to take place in their sixth year. Oh, and Harry is in Slytherin if you didn't catch it. Just because I wanted him to be. And now, because it is, as Draco stated, getting into the ungodly hours of the morning, I am going to go to bed. Enjoy!)

(PS: this was written in the middle of the night and immediately posted, so please excuse any terrible grammatical errors I may have made.)

(PSS: oh, and please review. I have no idea what I think of this, so I really do need opinions.)