A/N: Wow, this chapter got...kind of out of hand haha. It also took me over 6 months to write, so I'm really sorry for the delay and I hope the length makes up for it! I wish I could say I have a solid update schedule for this fic, but as of now I'm mostly flying by the seat of my pants. My family is moving, I'm going back to college where I'll be taking 21 credits, and I only have the barest outline of chapter 12 atm. I'd like to publish the next chapter by the end of the month, but I can't make any promises.

That said, I'm so incredibly grateful to everybody who has stuck with this fic so far. It means more to me than I can say to get a notification that someone has reviewed or followed or favorited this fic, and you are primarily the reason I'm seeing this fic to the end. So thank you!

I'll let you get to the chapter now haha. Happy reading! :)

Chapter 11

"Draco?" Harry asked frantically, his voice loud, as though he'd tried to catch Draco's attention several times already.

It took Draco a moment to reply, preoccupied as he was with his speeding pulse and debilitating fear. He closed his eyes rather than look at Harry, afraid that he would see the disgusted Harry from his dreams instead of his caring boyfriend. "Just a nightmare," he said finally, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, the sound cutting harshly through the quiet night.

He felt the bed dip as Harry stood up, and he had to suppress a cry when he heard Harry leave the room. Though the details of his nightmare were already fading from his memory, he could still vividly remember the utter contempt on Harry's face as he had walked away from Draco in the dream. For a split second, Draco despaired that the real Harry had had enough as well and was finally leaving.

Draco knew it was an absurd thought the moment he had it. Harry was completely unaware of how deeply Draco's world had been shaken just days before, nor did his behavior suggest he had grown tired of Draco. But the fear lingered in the forefront of Draco's mind until the moment Harry returned to the room and sat back down on the bed.

"Draco, open your eyes," Harry coaxed. Draco realized with a start that his eyes had been clenched tightly shut ever since he'd woken up. He pried them apart with some effort, blinking rapidly to bring the dark interior of the room into focus. Once his vision stopped swimming, he saw that Harry was holding a glass of water towards him. He took it gratefully.

Harry was quiet while Draco drank, but he seemed to have something on his mind. He wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. Instead his gaze seemed fixed on Draco's left arm. Out of habit, Draco made sure the tattoo was still covered, coloring slightly in embarrassment moments later when he realized Harry had already seen it.

"Is it because you showed me your tattoo?" Harry asked at length.

Instinctively, Draco pulled at the hem of his sleeve, even as he said, "No, it's nothing like that. It's just a nightmare, I promise." He turned to look Harry in the eyes, attempting to infuse as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

Harry chewed nervously on his lip. "It seemed like there was more behind it," he said. "You were really thrashing around."

Draco was shaking his head before Harry had even finished speaking. "It was nothing," he said. "Just a bad dream. Certainly you've had those, too?"

Harry still didn't seem satisfied, but thankfully he let the matter drop. Instead, he took the now-empty glass from Draco's hands and placed it gently on the side table, before wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him back down to the mattress. He curled around Draco tightly, the warmth of his chest burning Draco's back even through the layers of clothing that separated them. "Let's sleep in tomorrow," Harry murmured, already falling back asleep.

Draco, however, remained awake for hours after that, too caught up in his own frantic thoughts. He wondered if the sleeplessness and its inevitable resultant exhaustion were better or worse than dreaming, night after night, of Harry slipping through his grasp. He was no closer to an answer when the sun began peeking through the window, and he chose to extricate himself from Harry's grip rather than grapple with the question any longer.

Despite Draco's best efforts, Harry's return sent Draco's paranoia skyrocketing. There was no telling when or where Lucius would strike, nor how or even if he would target Harry. It was Draco's responsibility to make sure Harry didn't get caught in the crossfire of Draco's mistakes.

As a result, Draco made sure to keep an eye on Harry as much as he could, and he made a concerted effort to keep both Harry and himself out of situations where they could be targeted. It was an easy task. After all, he knew how Lucius worked nearly as well as Lucius did; in turn, he knew how to preemptively counteract his father's potential attacks.

For the most part, their lives returned to normal. Draco hadn't survived this long without picking up some ability to act, and he put those skills to good use. When the slightest noise made him jump, he passed his fright off as having seen a mouse or a cockroach. When Draco wanted to reassure himself that Harry was still alive and safe, he manhandled his boyfriend into a lengthy Netflix marathon and buried them both under layers of blankets.

The one thing he couldn't control, however, was the nightmares, and soon Draco's reassurances weren't enough for Harry. The brunette turned the light on and sat up after the sixth night Draco had woken them both up, a serious look settling in his green eyes. "Please tell me what's wrong, Draco," Harry asked, voice tinged with desperation. "I'm your boyfriend, let me help you. I care about you, and I'm worried. Please."

Draco's future, Harry's happiness, the future of their relationship—it all seemed to come down to how Draco responded to Harry's plea. He could tell the truth, or a censored version of it anyway, and take a leap of faith. In doing so, he would be leaving himself vulnerable in a way he never had before.

Or he could lie, and protect himself, even if it meant losing Harry in the process.

In the end, Draco was little more than a self-serving creature of caution. So he pasted a smile on his face, forced his body to relax, and said, "It's just a few nightmares. I'm sure they'll go away soon."

It was spectacular how things fell apart after that.

Draco relegated himself to the couch after the ninth consecutive night of jerking awake in a cold sweat. He told Harry it was because he didn't want to disturb Harry's sleep in addition to his own, and this was true to an extent. More importantly, however, Draco didn't want to give Harry a chance to figure out what he was dreaming about, whether by hearing Draco cry out in his sleep or by asking him questions when he was still too incoherent after waking up to think about what he was saying.

The nightmares only grew worse. The Harry in his dreams stopped accusing Draco of the blood on his hands and started painting them instead. Night after night, Draco woke up convinced Harry was dead, that Harry had died by his hand. He would sneak into Harry's bedroom and simply sit by his bedside for an hour or more, reassuring himself that Harry was still alive and unaffected by Draco's crimes.

He withdrew further into himself, unwilling to give Harry any indication of just what was inspiring such terror in him. When Harry snuck into the shower with him in the mornings, wrapping his arms lazily around Draco's waist, Draco shrugged him off under pretense of not being able to move and steadfastly ignored the hurt expression Harry bore as a result. When Harry brought back takeout from Draco's favorite Chinese place, Draco couldn't taste it through the guilt and fear clogging his throat. He barely remembered to thank Harry for the kind gesture.

One night, Harry pressed Draco to the bed, peppering kisses down his throat, and Draco instinctively tucked his sleeves tightly into the balls of his fists to avoid losing his shirt. He knew he wouldn't be able to stomach a visual reminder of how badly he had messed up.

Harry caught on easily, and he pulled back to look at Draco with furrowed brows and concern in his eyes. "Did I go too fast?" he asked. Nothing but sincerity colored his tone, and Draco felt even worse knowing that Harry was likely blaming himself for Draco's regression to his previous ways.

"I'm sorry," he said in lieu of an explanation. He reached up to kiss Harry on the nose, the cheeks, anywhere he could reach. Simultaneously, he pushed Harry's shirt up until Harry lifted his arms so Draco could take it off entirely. "You're fine, I'm sorry." He caught Harry's lips in a soft kiss, and then another, and another, and soon it didn't matter that he was still fully clothed while Harry was down to his boxers.

When they finally curled into each other an hour later, drowsiness slowly creeping upon them, Draco carefully pulled away from Harry to make his way to the couch. He had barely gone a step before Harry caught his wrist to pull him back.

"Stay," he murmured softly.

"At least one of us should get enough sleep," Draco replied, just as quietly. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He tried for a smile, but he could tell that Harry wasn't buying it anymore. Harry was more awake now, his eyes narrowed and calculating, trying to understand what Draco wasn't telling him. Draco ignored all that and leaned in for one last kiss before hurrying away, but he couldn't stop thinking about the way Harry's gaze bore into his back as he closed the door behind himself.

The start of term crept up on them without a warning. Draco met it with a sense of relief. Soon, he would be able to move back into his dorm room, away from Harry's disappointment and concern. He would be able to confront his father on his own terms, without worrying about keeping Harry in the dark. For a brief moment, he felt guilty that he was looking forward to leaving Harry, but he pushed the guilt aside with the knowledge that he could keep Harry safe this way.

Harry didn't approach the end of break with the same relief, though. He caught Draco when Draco was in the middle of packing up his things, just days before Draco could move out. "We need to talk," he said, arms crossed and shoulders tensed.

Draco froze. He kept his eyes trained on his duffel. He had hoped he would be able to make it to the start of term before being confronted by Harry, but it seemed he had hoped for too much. "Alright."

Harry released a short, explosive breath, and Draco flinched instinctively at the abrupt sound in their otherwise quiet flat. It was a subtle action, a slight tensing of his already rigid body, but he knew Harry had noticed. After a moment of silence, Harry turned and made his way into the living room, and Draco forced himself to follow. He sat on the opposite end of the couch from Harry, leaving over a foot of distance between them. His posture was stiff, his hands clasped firmly in his lap. He waited for Harry to speak.

"Draco," Harry said. He swallowed, started again. "Draco, I know there's something you aren't telling me. I know something happened while I was gone. You haven't been yourself. You're jumpy and scared, and you're having nightmares every night that make you scream and refuse to sleep in the same room as me. You won't even leave the flat unless I force you. What's going on, Draco? Let me help you, please."

Draco glanced at Harry but looked away immediately, unable to handle the helplessness etched on Harry's face. "It's nothing. I'll be okay," he said resolutely.

"But you aren't okay now!" Harry exclaimed, voice rising in volume. "Why are you hiding this from me? Why don't you trust me?"

Draco closed his eyes. It was easier than trying to meet Harry's gaze without feeling guilty. He clenched the fingers of his right hand around his left arm, his grip so tight that he knew he'd find bruises there in the morning. It was what he deserved, he supposed. "I do trust you," he said, injecting as much sincerity into his voice as he could. "I trust you, but I can't involve you in this. I'm telling you things will be okay. Don't you trust me?"

Far from being placated, Harry scoffed in disbelief. "You're not exactly giving me much reason to trust you right now," he pointed out. "You're refusing to tell me anything. The way you've been acting over the last couple weeks is enough to tell me that things won't be okay, not anytime soon." He fell silent for a moment, before continuing with a short laugh, "I guess I should have seen this coming. If you don't want to be with me anymore, you can tell me."

Draco's eyes snapped open at that, and he turned to look at Harry head-on. "Is that really what you think is going on?" he asked, hardly able to believe what he'd just heard.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry argued. His hands were curled into fists by his sides and he was leaning subconsciously towards Draco. "You don't want to go out with me anywhere, you won't spend time with me of your own free will, you won't even trust me enough to tell me what's bothering you! Maybe you're scared of how serious this is becoming, maybe you're afraid of being gay, I don't know. But whatever it is, don't try to spare my feelings by lying to me. I at least deserve your honesty."

Draco reeled. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He had never wanted Harry to feel as though Draco didn't care for him. Draco cared for him more than he had ever cared for any other person; that was why he'd kept Harry in the dark about his past, his family, his Mark.

He could weigh his options, but he already knew there was only one course of action he could take. Harry's safety and wellbeing came before Draco's emotions. Even now, in the face of Harry's anger and upset, Draco couldn't tell him about the Death Eaters. So instead, he buried his inner turmoil and fracturing confidence under a stony façade, and he did what he'd been born and raised to do: he attacked Harry's weaknesses.

"Afraid of being gay? It's true that I don't want all and sundry to know my sexual orientation, but I'm not the person who becomes catatonic from being called a fag!" he retorted. Harry recoiled in shock, but Draco did his best to ignore him. "You want to talk about trust? You're expecting an awful lot of it from me without giving me any in return. Don't be a hypocrite."

"That was uncalled for," Harry said lowly. "I've been trying my best. You know that. It's not like I'm asking you for something unreasonable. I just want to know why you're so scared, Draco. Why won't you tell me?"

Draco scoffed and pushed himself off the couch, preparing to return to the bedroom. "I'm not asking for something unreasonable, either," he said. "Just some time, and some trust. You can give me that much."

"I don't know that I can," Harry replied. "I don't know that I can keep turning a blind eye when you're being hurt like this. But more than that, I don't know that I can stay in this relationship, if you won't let me into your life, or past your walls."

Draco paused, his hands balling into fists by his sides. "Are you breaking up with me, then?" he whispered, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

"Not yet," Harry said after a moment. "I'll let you have the time you want. But you're running out of chances, Draco."