Disclaimer: I do NOT own any characters from the world of Harry Potter, they all belong to JKR-otherwise things would have been very different ;)

Chapter 1-Sleep?

Harry Potter shifted in bed once again, his face contorted in a grimace of pain through the thin veil of sleep. His body tensed and tried to relax but the muscles wouldn't release. He rolled over yet again, seeking relief for his aching body. Harry had long since overcome his nightmares, now that he was no longer plagued by a connection to the most evil wizard to have ever lived and the scar on his forehead was just that-a scar. His sleep wasn't disturbed by horrific images and feelings that weren't his own anymore. Now it was his body that ensured his poor sleep. It had all really started when he and Ginny had gotten married right after the war; it had just been expected, even by himself, simply assumed by all that it would happen. Then...well, then nothing. Everything just became routine, even, well, even the little sex they had. It seemed that without the constant threat of death, Harry had very little interest in romancing Ginny. Or perhaps it was something else. Whatever it was, the experience wasn't one Harry cared to dwell on. Either way, Ginny had gotten frustrated and tired of Harry's apathy in their relationship, and when Dean Thomas came to stay for a week while interviewing for a job in London, she had taken the opportunity to reconnect with (now somewhat more mature) ex-boyfriend, and when he left for Manchester, she went with him. While Harry knew he should have been upset, the most he felt was immense relief, and a small sense of guilt for said relief; the yelling and crying was over, it was Dean's problem now, and maybe (probably), Dean could make her happier. The one good thing that had come out of their 4 month marriage was that Ginny had managed to make Number 12 Grimmauld Place mostly livable. However, after she left, Harry had thrown himself so intensely into his career as an Auror that his muscles seemed to have become knotted and tightened beyond repair, as he hadn't ever taken the time to try and relax them while he was living alone. He just worked, only leaving the Ministry for missions and sleep. Now the latter was hardly worthy of its title, with so many nights ending up like tonight. Harry's toned form lay half-covered by his blankets in one of the smallest bedrooms in Number 12. He had never been able to bring himself to use one of the enormous master rooms the house offered. Honestly, who needed that much space?

Miles away, just outside Wiltshire, a slim man the same age as Harry slept just as restlessly in a master bedroom the size of a small house. He lay spread out on a four poster feather bed that could have easily held 3 large men with comfortable space left between. The room was spelled to an ideal temperature for the aristocrat, and the thick, down-stuffed comforter and silk sheets rested over his body with light, warm caresses. And yet, every few minutes, just as the man in London, he would toss and turn, his body tensing and his face tightening. However, his muscles held no knots or soreness, and when his pale face creased, it was in fear, sadness, and anger; pain of a different sort. A moment later, Draco Malfoy's lips parted in a half sob that he would admit to no one, and his fingers clenched in the blankets, groping for something more than cloth. After a few seconds, he rolled onto his side, curling in on himself as tight as he could, as though trying to just disappear off the face of the Earth. A tear slid from one eye, and his hands clenched so tightly that his nails cut into the soft skin of his palms, leaving 4 little drops of blood in their place as he sat bolt upright, waking finally with a strangled cry.

Almost immediately, a house-elf appeared with a pop at his bedside, asking, "Master Draco is requiring assistance?"

Panting slightly, Draco focused enough to answer as calmly as he could manage, "No...no, thank you, Tibby, I'm fine, I'll just go back to sleep now." The elf gave him a slightly concerned look before bowing and leaving with another small pop. The elves cared about Draco, not just for him, as he was the first Lord of the Manor to treat them well. Once the elf was gone, Draco dropped heavily back onto his pillows, pale chest heaving with barely suppressed sobs as he was dragged forcibly down into the depths of his memories, the images burned into his mind's eye and replayed every night in his dreams. Another tear fell, and Draco dragged in a thin breath to sigh in disgust at himself and his weakness, then vaguely waved his hand to clear himself and the bed of the cold sweat he had awoken in. A few minutes later he lay awake, has breathing even, but his mind still a wreck. He hated himself for needing...something. He didn't even know what he needed, but told himself he shouldn't need anything or anyone more than himself.

"Malfoys are self-reliant." Of course, he had lost friends in the war, but so had everyone, why should he be so weak? And yet his dreams held images of the Room of Requirement on fire, Vince still inside, screaming and screaming...images of Hogwarts under attack, all the bodies...his home, the Manor, being used by some crazy, power hungry moron, and the hundreds of people he'd seen tortured and killed there. then there were the dreams that always started when he was younger, when he was happy, the dreams of his parents; his father, the strongest man he ever thought he knew, unable to find the will to live after everything, especially stuck in Azkaban, finally dying alone in a cell, surrounded by creatures hungry for his soul. Then his mother; he supposed he just must not have been enough for her. Coming home one day, finding the note in her beautiful script, and dashing to her rooms, hoping against hope, praying, he wasn't too late. But alas, when Narcissa Malfoy set her mind to something, there really was no hope of stopping her. So now he would always remember her that way-cold, beautiful, lifeless...laying pristinely on her bed, arms folded over her waist, carefully put together in her best dress robes, her hair half-back in the silver and gold hair-clip with the Malfoy crest in emerald and sapphire that Lucius had given her, her fingers pressed against her wedding ring, the only thing out of place being the tiny, empty crystalline bottle that had held whatever lethal potion she had chosen to reunite her with her husband. Even after that, the nightmares hadn't become this bad until he'd come out. After seeing so many people die, he was sick of hiding himself, and assumed his friends would continue to support him, even when they discovered his true sexuality. Unfortunately, he'd apparently been wrong. After losing friends and family in the war, then trying to forget those who chose to continue life on the darker path, Draco was abandoned by most of his few remaining friends for being gay. Pansy had been outright disgusted, and had screamed at him until she'd gone hoarse about being a pureblood and what his parents would think (that was one thing Draco didn't worry about, his father and mother had confessed to him when he was in 4th year that Lucius was bisexual). Theo had had a similar, if somewhat quieter, response, saying only a few words, all of which cut deep, before he left. So it had been with almost everyone, until only Greg and Blaise were left. They had both accepted it, Blaise more readily and easily, but Greg had soon gotten back to the same comfortable friendship they had always had. However, only 2 friends and the lingering sting of the other's abandonment, combined with the stabbing pain of loss left him hauntingly lonely, whether he would admit it or not (he would not, Malfoys needed no one).