A Cure for Nightmares

Draco stifled a whimper. The very last thing he needed was for his housemates to see him in this state of weakness. He scrunched his face up and buried it in his pillow, breathing erratically through his nose, willing himself to calm down. This dream had been fairly tame in comparison to the others: a basement full of wyrms, underfed and starving. He'd thought they were snakes at first and was drawn to the room, only to fall in and be consumed. He'd tried to close his eyes, and realized his lids had been chewed off.

Often, his dreams were far worse. Pieces of bodies, shredded and burnt. Wading through a flooded graveyard, with the remains of the long-dead floating like driftwood around him. Shrouded ghosts singing the stories of their death to him, and Draco unable to block it out.

He's mostly desensitized to it all. He'll wake with a deep-seated disgust, an uncomfortable feeling of dissatisfaction, and the notion that he'd rather cut off his own fingers than contemplate sleeping again. More than the images he sees, it's the fact that he can't control his own mind twenty-four hours of the day that bothers him. His grades are dropping, even in Potions, because he hasn't had a decent night's rest in weeks. No one sees him on the weekends. He spends the days catching up on sleep.

It's affecting his relationships with others. He's grown closer to Crabbe and Goyle. He'd never admit it, but he was almost dependant on them. Vince brings him food on Saturdays, gently touches his shoulder at sunset and urges him to eat. He's eternally grateful. He'd do the same for them.

He takes his agitation out on Potter. Strangely, Potter absorbs it, ignores it, rarely responds. Potter's even called off his goons from defending him. Perhaps he notices the dark circles under Draco's eyes, or the hazy way he speaks these days. He has a grudging respect for Potter's goodness, but only when he's on the receiving end of it.

Ultimately, that's what lead him to Potter. Draco knows Potter won't judge him or use his confessions against him, even though he probably wouldn't do the same were the situation reversed. On a Saturday evening, he waited outside the doors of the Great Hall as it filled with hungry students. Vince and Greg were reluctant to leave him, but he was able to allay their concerns and send them off to eat.

Potter walked in, accompanied by a few Weasels but no Mudblood in sight. "Potter," he said, certain to keep malice from his tone.

Potter turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy?"

"Could I have a moment of your time?" The Weasels were closing in on him, and he scowled. "Call off your dogs, I just want to talk."

He didn't take his eyes off Draco. "Fred, George, I'll meet you two inside. Tell Ron and Hermione to save me a seat." He waited for them to leave, then crossed his arms over his chest. "What's all this about, Malfoy?"

Draco found himself looking at the floor. He realized how vulnerable he appeared, but was too worn to care. "You've had a lot of bad things happen to you. Do you ever..." He glanced up again. "How do you sleep, with some of the things you've seen?"

"Oh..." Potter's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he gave Draco a concerned look. "I figured you weren't sleeping. You're having nightmares? That's what's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Draco spat, instinctually defensive.

Sighing with frustration, Potter rolled his eyes and turned away. "Fine. I'm not talking to you if you act like that." He looked around at the students still filing past. Occasionally, strange looks would be thrown at the pair. He leaned closer to Draco and lowered his voice, conspiratorily. "If you did want to talk civilly, you can meet me in the Advanced Muggle Literature classroom at one tonight. It's in the south wing, on the sixth floor," he clarified at Draco's confused expression. He nodded, and Potter left him for the Great Hall.

Draco skipped dinner and returned to his room. Behind the thick curtains of his bed, his rendezvous with Potter left him feeling ashamed and angry with himself. To show such vulnerability to a sworn rival... what was he thinking? Foolishly, he'd all but obliterated his guard, and if Potter ever used it against him, he'd only have himself to blame. Cursing softly, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

* * *

When Draco woke again, the room was dark and the world was asleep. He groped for his wand and whispered "Lumos". It was only 12:30, according to his pocketwatch, and he had time to kill before his meeting with Potter. If he chose to go, that is. He could still back out, of course, and neither himself nor Potter would think less of him for it.

A plate of food had been left on the nightstand next to his bed. Three pieces of cake (just like his friends, he thought, considering dessert first!) and two sandwiches, lovingly prepared by Vince and Greg. Famished, he practically inhaled the food.

Draco was already dressed. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair mussed and hanging in his eyes, but he didn't bother fixing it before leaving. It was just Potter, after all. He didn't matter.

Anticipating the meeting, Draco had dreamed about him. The dream replayed itself as he walked through the cold, empty stone corridors of Hogwarts: Potter had pounced on him, his green eyes so bright they nearly blinded him. As Draco squirmed, Potter bit down on his lips and ripped them off, then with a swipe of razor fingernails, tore Draco's throat out.

"You came." Potter seemed surprised. He was sitting cross-legged on a desk, invisibility cloak in a silvery heap on a nearby chair.

Draco nodded and shut the door behind him. "You must realize how absolutely stupid I feel for this. I may have to have Greg obliviate me tomorrow morning." He cracked a slight smile, and Potter chuckled in return.

"So you're having nightmares then?"

Draco nodded. "Bad ones."

"I've known something's been wrong," Potter said, giving Draco a soft look. "You haven't been your usual caustic self lately."

Draco just glanced down. He slumped against the wall til he was sat on the floor, legs curled under him. In a low voice, he admitted, "I'm unsure what to say to you, Potter."

"Well, you ought to relax, as I won't hurt you - unless you strike first," he added hastily. "And you may as well call me Harry... Draco."

"No use for formalities during clandestine meetings," Draco agreed.

Potter sat down next to him. "Exactly." He tilted his head toward Draco, staring at him sympathetically from under long lashes. "Tell me about your dreams."

Draco shook his head rigidly. "No. You tell me about yours first."

"All right, then. I dream in shades of green." As Harry shivered, Draco found himself placing a tentative hand on his forearm. "I dream of Cedric's body falling and hitting the ground, the thump replaying itself over and over. I dream of hearing his bones crack as his dead weight hits them, and dragging his body away from the graveyard. Sometimes, I dream of my parents' bodies, stinking of rot and crawling with insects, and me as a tot trying to wake them..."

"Why green?" Draco asked.

"The killing curse is green," Harry answered in a thin whisper.

Draco squeezed Harry's arm. He no longer felt so vulnerable himself. Even more surprisingly, he felt fiercely protective of Harry's trust. Harry had confided in him, and Draco actually thought he wouldn't break the confidence.

He'd removed his glasses and wiped at his damp eyes. "I, um, I brought you some things. To help," Harry said. He rose to his feet and straightened his robes. "My cure for nightmares is to get them out of my head. Like an exorcism. I write them down, record them in a journal." From the chair, under the invisibility cloak, he picked up two books.

"This one - " Harry held up a worn notebook with canvas cover. " - is mine. Look through it if you'd like, but you'll not take it from this room. And this other journal I've brought for you to start writing your nightmares in. I hope it helps you." He tossed both books onto Draco's lap.

Draco nodded a distracted thanks as he opened Potter's journal. On the first page he opened to, brilliant green snakes writhed over a red carpet. He flipped the page. Now the girl Weasel stood with her back to him. Suddenly she turned, revealing a deformed face - reptilian red eyes, wide and unblinking, her nose pulled back into her face and a mouth full of sharp teeth. She opened her mouth, revealing a forked tongue, and across the top of the page, words appeared: Harry, what's happened to me?

Cringing, Draco flipped through more pages. An image of himself made him stop. In the picture, he was shirtless with a silver fox fur wrapped around his shoulders. Harry was curled into his side, nuzzling his face against the fur...

"Not that one!" Harry flushed, grabbing the journal and slamming it shut. "You've seen enough, I think. I'll just, uh, hold onto this." He grinned sheepishly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes.

Seeing that was more of a nightmare for me than you, he wanted to say to Potter. Instead, Draco picked up his own journal and stood up. "We ought to leave. Don't you think? If one of your nosy friends notices your absence, they'll curse me."

"Look, the picture - it's not anything, really. Not something I dream about regularly, and I certainly don't like dreaming such things."

Draco remembered why Potter annoyed him as Harry babbled in his own defense. "I'll think nothing of it," Draco told him. He was glad for the sparse light of their wands in the room. Potter wouldn't notice the blush on his cheeks as the memory rooted itself in his mind.

* * *

The first dream Draco recorded in his journal was being torn apart by Harry Potter. When he slept again, Potter invaded that dream too. He crawled over Draco and sucked Draco's lips. He gasped, threw back his head while Harry nibbled his throat. Draco felt insatiable, impatient, he wanted it all before the dream ended...

Draco's body was warm and flushed when he woke, his underwear uncomfortably sticky. He shut his eyes tight and groaned. The day may come, he decided, when he actually wished for the nightmares to return.