It isn't until later that evening that Harry sees Draco enter his rooms with Auror robes slung across his forearm. He's muttering something, but Harry can't quite make it out. The door closes and Harry retreats to his bedroom, leaving his own door slightly ajar; a custom he's grown used to with all the elves coming and going.
On the brink of sleep, Harry's startled upright. He hears screaming, but takes a minute to be sure it's not in his head. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. "Not you," he tells himself. "You're all right." The scream comes again. "Fuck."
He's out of bed with wand in hand. "Lumos."
The soft glow gives just enough light to avoid tripping over a carelessly tossed shoe. He gropes for the wall—there it is again. A shudder passes over him, crawls down his spine and wedges itself firmly between his shoulder blades. He's having difficulty breathing. Each inhale seems more difficult because of the damned weight on his chest. His left hand moves up to rub it, trembling as he continues to near the door.
"No! Please don't!" Draco's voice screeches from across the hall and for a fraction, Harry's feet are stuck, unable to move despite his urging. He's having flashbacks of spells flying and people he'd known falling to the ground. "I'm begging you, please." There's whimpering now.
He limbs are freed. Harry surges into the hall, a tangle of hands and feet and bobbing wand light. Once sorted, he's able to open Draco's door and throw up a shield charm. However, there's nothing to shield himself from—only Draco writhing in bed. He's sweating and clutching at the sheets and Harry can only stare.
"Why would you do this? You promised!" Draco's frightened. He curls into a ball and starts crying. He holds his knees to his chest and buries his nose between them.
"Draco?" The name sounds foreign on his tongue. It sticks to the back of his front teeth.
There's no indication he's heard.
"Draco?" He says it a bit more forcefully, hoping this time his emphasis gets the last syllable out clearly, well past his lips. Still—nothing. "Draco, wake up."
Harry steps forward, left hand extended and places it tentatively on Draco's shoulder. Draco recoils and his eyes flash open.
"Are you okay?" Harry asks, more afraid of the answer than he'll admit.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Draco scoots up in bed, running a hand through his hair. When he feels the sweat coating his forehead, he licks his lower lip and stares hard at Harry. "Well?" he questions, a hard glare now in place.
"You were—you were screaming."
"And that means you can come barging into my room? Get out."
Harry's in shock, so he doesn't say anything. He also doesn't move to go.
"Did you hear me, or are you deaf? Get the fuck out!" Draco points straight at his door then crosses his arms.
Harry jolts from his stupor, leaving before he can truly comprehend what just happened.
This continues and each night Harry wakes Draco before being ordered out of the room. By the fourth night, Harry refuses to leave.
"I said I wanted you out."
"And I told you I'm not going anywhere." Harry sits down on the foot of Draco's bed, causing the blond to tuck his legs beneath him.
"Why are you being so bloody difficult, Potter?"
"Because it's in my nature, apparently," Harry says wryly. "Now are you going to tell me why you've up and decided to scream your lungs out every night?" Harry's fiddling with a worn spot on the duvet and Draco slaps his hand.
"Don't make it any worse." Draco huffs and leans back, purposely ignoring the question.
Harry waits.
"Fine. I'm alone, okay?"
"What do you mean?" Now Harry's tucked a hand in the crook of his knee, digging his thumb in repeatedly to some rhythm even he doesn't know.
The sigh that follows is almost weary enough to be called dramatic, but Harry stays steady in his concern.
"I've always been afraid of being alone. There was a time when I was young that both of my parents went out of the country for several months." He looks down at the open hands in his lap. "I think it started there. During the war, when You-Know—"
"Use his name."
Draco's vulnerable when he looks at Harry. "Voldemort—when Voldemort wanted me to kill Dumbledore, the last thing I wanted was to be without them again." He clenches his hands into fists, opening and closing them a few times. "After that, with father…" He's on the edge of crying. Draco takes a steady breath and continues, "Mother was the only person I had left. Now I'm alone." He wipes a few tears from his eye, pointedly not looking across the bed.
Harry doesn't say anything for a while. They sit and listen to the steady rhythm of their own breathing. "It's okay, you know."
Draco's misty eyes meet his.
"It's okay to be alone."
He scoffs and pushes both Harry and his intentions aside. "I'd like to get back to sleep now."
Harry nods, slipping off the bed and exiting the room. He leaves the door ajar just enough for light to slip through.
The following night, Draco's screams continue. Harry makes his way across the hall to find Draco facing away from him. He shakes Draco awake, looks for the comprehension that Draco realizes who he's seeing.
The Lumos he cast before entering shows a glean to Draco's face, but it's not from sweat. He's crying. Harry reaches up and wipes away a tear that wells up.
"I have them, too, you know."
Harry moves to get in bed next to Draco, who stiffens, then scoots over. They lay next to one another in the still of night and feel the uneven breathing, the shaky rhythms of each other's hearts as they try to relax into sleep.
It's a peaceful night. In the morning, Harry wakes and goes about his routine. They form a pattern of sorts for a few nights with Harry showing up when the screaming starts until, finally, Harry shows up at Draco's door before he's even had a chance to lay his head down.
"Perhaps we should just head it off before it happens?"
Draco stares at him. Perhaps he doesn't want to acknowledge anything before the moon is firmly above them, but he pulls the covers back and turns away.
"Don't snore," is all Harry gets before Draco's breathing evens out.