Title: 2 AM
Fandom: Harry Potter
Timeframe: Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
HBP Compliant: Yes/no reference made
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: PG
Summary: The things he's been through scar his heart and his regrets weigh inside of him like a thousand stone, crushing his chest until it's hard for him to breathe. But I'm the only one that can take his breath away.
It's two am and Harry can't sleep. I feel him rise from the bed and begin to pace in front of it, trying to wear himself down enough physically so that is body overtakes his mind in the constant battle of sleep versus insomnia. I know this routine. I know that in ten minutes he'll stop abruptly and turn to the window. I know that in fifteen I'll get up and make him tea. I know that in twenty he'll be in tears and I'll be holding him until the pain subsides. Then we'll both fall asleep, in each other's arms, perfectly.
I know it because we go through it three times a week-at least. Sometimes it's him with the nightmares and sometimes it's me. We've gotten so used to helping each other through these painful nights that I'm not sure I'd survive without him here. I'm not sure I'd survive without him at all.
He's staring out the window now. I can see his silhouette from my position on the bed. He looks like an angel draped in moonlight, so beautiful yet so dark. The things he's been through scar his heart and his regrets weigh inside of him like a thousand stone, crushing his chest until it's hard for him to breathe. But I'm the only one that can take his breath away.
I slowly push myself from the covers, which have grown cold in the minutes since he left the bed. Padding over to him I hug him tightly and kiss the tears away. He offers up a weak smile and I try my damnedest not to fall apart right then and there. Seeing my Harry looking so broken and defeated makes me want to kill whoever did this to him. But they're all dead, or imprisoned, and there's no one free left to blame.
The water's on for tea and I'm sitting in the kitchen counting the cracks on the ceiling. We really should fix them in the morning, but I'm not about to breech the subject to Harry now. A slow whistling sound reminds me of the tea and I'm quick to pour it into mugs and add the teabags. Harry likes green tea and I like black, so it's not hard to distinguish between the two. But we both like ours black and bitter, it's ironic, how much it reminds me of our hearts.
He takes the tea without a word, but the way his shoulders slump proves to me how grateful he is. We both drink slowly, and I'm watching him, waiting for a breakdown. He looks undeniably serene at the moment, which means he can crack at any second.
Then he does. He's crying and rambling and screaming and trying to dispel himself of the demons that still haunt him, even though it's been almost fifteen years. He's crying out for Ron and Ginny and Hermione, begging them not to follow him into the darkness. He's mourning Dumbledore's death and trying to forget the fact that I caused it. It's the same rant every night, but it never gets old.
I pull him to me and allow him to sob into my shoulder before leading him to the bed. He lies down without complaint and we find ourselves spooning, his back to my front and my arms wrapped protectively around him. I hold him close and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, trying to soothe his pain. In about fifteen minutes the sobs subside and he's just panting heavily and dry heaving.
"Thank you," he whispers as his breathing returns to normal. I smile into his neck and plant kisses up to his jaw line.
"I love you," I answer in reply, but I know that he's asleep. We're both out by three in the morning, even though we only have two hours before we have to wake again. It's hard, being with him, watching him fall apart. But he's the only one that can put up with my tears and fears and pain. He's the only one to completely understand me when I rant and babble. For that I'll stay with him until the end of time. For that I'll love him until the end of time.
I just hope that he needs me as much as I need him.