AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! I have no idea where this oneshot came from but here we are. Grammar School submission for the IWSC! Angsty beginning, middle, and end! You've been warned.

Title: Nightmare

School: Mahoutokoro

Year: Four

Wordcount: 932

They were twenty four—well, Draco was twenty four but it was the middle of June so Harry was only twenty three. One night stands were supposed to happen in your twenties, right? He tried to tell himself that this was normal, that it didn't mean anything because they were young, and they didn't know what they wanted but… Waking up to a naked Harry Potter was not normal.

Draco tried—he really tried—to slow his breathing and talk himself down from a panic attack. He stared at the man sleeping peacefully beside him and tried to forget what had happened between them that night. Or that day? Honestly, he'd lost all concept of time the second he'd walked into that club and it wasn't like he could read any of Harry's Muggle clocks in the apartment so he just knew it was dark out.

He rolled, slightly, trying to put a bit more distance between them. That was his mistake, though, because escaping the feeling of Harry's breath on his skin was not worth suddenly being face to face with that gorgeous face. Mentally, Draco swore at himself. For years he'd done everything in his power to avoid this. He'd insulted, he'd bullied, and he hated himself for it every day but that little wedge between him and Harry was the only thing that had gotten him through Hogwarts. If this—whatever this was—had happened when the Dark Lord was still alive… Draco shuddered to think about it.

But now? Now, he was lying mere inches away from the man he'd nearly destroyed when they were younger. Now, he was stuck there under a fluffy blue comforter and forced to remember. Harry, grabbing his wrist in the club. Hushed whispers that didn't carry over the music, hands on his waist, and Merlin Harry's lips… The former Gryffindor hadn't tasted like alcohol, though. Neither of them had had anything to drink and that only made the whole situation that much worse.

Because that meant that the light, floaty feeling in his chest wasn't drunkenness. It meant that the tingling on his skin and the butterflies in his stomach weren't some weird kind of hangover, and that Harry's peaceful expression wasn't alcohol induced.

Draco felt like he was drowning. Everything he'd ever wanted—everything he'd ever been terrified to admit to wanting, let alone ask for—had just happened in the span of less than four hours. Harry, clinging desperately to him and kissing the life back into his body. Harry, leading him by the hand and making little snarky comments under his breath like they'd been dating for years. Harry, flushed with desire, breathlessly saying his name. His name.

Draco had wanted this for years. It made shame prickle under his skin and it made his stomach churn when he thought about anyone else finding out but a sick, twisted part of him was glad. Being close to Harry—touching, talking, even just breathing the same air as him—felt like Heaven on Earth. He didn't deserve this. If anyone deserved to glimpse something this perfect and then have it ripped away from them, it was Draco Malfoy—and he knew that. But he couldn't stop looking.

The curve of Harry's jaw, the curl of his lips, even his rat's nest head of hair… Draco caught himself reaching out to run his fingers through the strands again before he realized what he was doing. He loved this. Everything from Harry's soft little sighs in his sleep to the smell of broom wax in the air. He loved Harry's body, the way the man was lying so carelessly with the comforter around his waist—letting Draco see the scars. It was so blatantly trusting…

Something like a sob fought its way out of Draco's throat. He didn't deserve that trust. His mind wasn't helping, though, because all he could manage to think of were more situations like this. Harry plopping down on the couch with him after a long day at work, Harry making dinner with him, Harry curling into his side before falling asleep each night…

Draco imagined waking up to the sight of Harry in sweats and an old T-shirt. That hair would be a bloody mess and he'd probably have spilled at least some kind of breakfast food or drink on his shirt, or at least stained it, but those eyes… Those eyes would be bright and full of laughter. Merlin, Draco loved that thought.

But he didn't deserve it. Tears had started down his face somewhere between scenarios but he couldn't even care. He wanted that future and he wanted all those things… why? Because Harry was attractive? Because Harry had been the one constant in his entire life? Because he liked him? Because he… loved—

"Drake?" Dammit. Harry was awake, though groggy and blind without his glasses, but he clearly hear Draco crying. There wasn't even a beat of silence before Harry had shifted and began gently stroking up and down his spine, trying to soothe him. It only made the tears flow faster.

"What's the matter? Nightmare?" Draco's gut screamed no but he nodded.

"Yeah." Harry just nuzzled into the hollow of his throat and hugged him, but Draco couldn't stop crying. He stared at the ceiling and tried to forget where he was. Nightmare.. Yeah, it was just a nightmare. All those things, all those feelings, they were all just some twisted kind of reverse fantasy. Harry smoothed his hair and whispered that it wasn't real, but Draco kept his mouth shut. Because it was real. Because that's what loving Harry Potter would be—a nightmare.

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