Harry Potter can’t sleep (and neither can Draco Malfoy)
prompt: pillow covers (thanks @miniemcgee)
Fuck this, Harry thinks, listening to the
rustle of Malfoy’s sheets as the insufferable git rolls over for what has to be
the fifth time in as many minutes. And fuck McGonagall for assigning Draco Malfoy,
of all people, to be his roommate. No wait, Harry immediately takes this back.
Even in his internal monologue he isn’t comfortable disrespecting McGonagall.
Still Malfoy is a nightmare to dorm with. Merlin, Harry would much rather be having a nightmare – at least then he’d actually be sleeping! Malfoy tosses and turns all night. He gets up and visits the bathroom two-three times every night. What, does he have a bladder the size of a peanut? It’s ridiculous.
All Harry wants is to sleep. All Malfoy seems to do every night is make as much noise as possible. Harry mentions it to Ron once at breakfast. Even though all the eight years have been given new shared “houseless” dorms, thankfully they’re still allowed to sit at their house tables. Harry is incredibly grateful for this. It’s bad enough staying awake all night listening to Malfoy, he’d hate to have to put up with him in the daylight as well.
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Ron asks.
“He makes noises, Ron, in his bed. All night!” Harry explains, desperate for someone to understand his frustration. It’s constant, night after night. Rustle rustle rustle.
Ron looks at Harry like he’s lost his mind, a faint blush on his cheeks. Harry doesn’t bring it up again.
tired. So very tired. He can’t remember ever not feeling tired. It’s been so
long since he’s been able to really sleep. At least two years, maybe more.
Probably more. He thought things would change after the Battle of Hogwarts.
That Voldemort’s death would give him peace. But it hasn’t. Nothing seems to.
He doubts anything ever will.
Every night it’s the same. He lies in bed desperately willing himself to sleep, for his body to give in and relax. But the relaxation never comes. Sure he gets bits of rest here and there but it’s always fleeting, never enough. The morning takes a lifetime to arrive and yet, somehow, it’s always too soon.
Tonight he studies late in the library. He pushes himself to remain for as long as possible. What’s the point in going to bed anyway? Finally the exhaustion becomes too much for him and he heads back to the dorm, all the while knowing the exhaustion isn’t enough to grant him sleep. It never is.
His dorm is dark. Potter must already be in bed. He is surprised by how early all the eighth years go to bed. In Slytherin lights out was always well after midnight. Unfortunately, not many others from Slytherin have returned to Hogwarts to back him up on this. So everyone seems to retire by 10pm every night.
He stumbles around the dark room, trying to be quiet, his arm reaching out in front of him searching for his bed pole to grasp, while his eyes adjust. There. Using the bed post as a guide, he lets himself fall into bed.
Ah. His body crumples inwards, pleased. It takes all Draco’s determination to keep his body upright throughout the day when all he wants to do is collapse. His body craves for sleep all day and then when he finally gets to bed, nothing. Yet another restless night.
Except today something feels different. His pillow is softer somehow, his blanket warmer. There’s something else too. A strong, commanding scent he’s never noticed before. He breathes in deeply and lets it wash over him. Grapefruit. Honey. Ginger. It’s comforting. And familiar. He takes another breath. And another. His eyes close.