Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
A/N: This isn't properly British.
Harry wakes up to careful hands and a gentle voice, whispering quietly through the darkness, "It's alright, it's alright."
Harry tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, and he rolls over into the warm body next to him, automatically burying his face into it. The same hands that woke him rub soothing circles over his back, and one moves up to stroke softly through his hair. Gregory repeats, "It's alright."
Harry wants to believe that. But it takes a few seconds for the dreams to slip away—for the image of Voldemort to slink out of his mind. They claw at him whenever his eyes close, never giving him a moment's peace. Hogwarts should be a safe zone. Eighth year should be peaceful.
But nothing's ever safe for Harry, and he feels like he just ran a marathon.
His breathing's too fast for someone just out of sleep. He's dimly aware that he's wet—he's slick with sweat and his pajamas are sticking to him. His fringe is glued to his forehead. His fingers are fisted in Gregory's nightshirt, and the more Gregory holds him, the more he doesn't feel so lost.
When his breathing's evened out again, Harry explains quietly, "Nightmare." And he feels silly.
Gregory mumbles, "I know." Probably because Harry always does. That's why they always put silencing spells up and why Gregory won't let him sleep alone. To be honest, Harry doesn't want to sleep alone. But he pretends he does sometimes, because he doesn't want to seem as weak as he is.
He doesn't want to sleep alone. Gregory doesn't ask what happened, and Gregory doesn't make him explain his feelings. Gregory doesn't drag anything up, or drag anything out. He strokes Harry wonderfully and holds Harry tight to his chest, like a mother cradling their child.
Harry relaxes slowly into it and mumbles, "Thanks." Because that's everything he could hope for.
Gregory's an unlikely match. Everyone tells him so. But Gregory's sometimes just the best thing for Harry. He's the sturdy, strong, always-there-for-him, loyal partner that Harry's always wanted. He's the only person that's never asked anything of Harry, never expects anything of him, never requires him to be more than just Harry. Simplicity is all Harry ever wanted. When Harry finally wriggles out of that firm grip, Gregory lets him go, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight through the curtains.
"Sorry to wake you." Harry snuggles back into his pillow before deciding he doesn't want that. He shuffles a bit closer, one hand on Gregory's chest, and pushes Gregory back a few centimeters so that there's more room on his pillow. Harry settles down on the same one, so close their noses almost touch. Gregory's breath ghosts across his face, still smelling of pumpkin juice. Which isn't really either bad or good. Gregory shifts to adjust the blankets, draping it carefully over them.
Gregory lifts a hand to brush Harry's black hair aside and mumbles, "S'okay."
Everything's okay with Gregory. It always is. It's easy and perfect, and Harry nods.