Saving Myself || A Drarry Story

LVI: As If It Weren't Enough

Maybe this was a dead end. Maybe they weren't meant to be together after all. Maybe nothing went Harry's way for long before unravelling right before his emerald eyes.

These were the thoughts that ran through Harry's mind deep into the night, worming their way under Draco's arms and settling in his chest, squeezing his heart.

There was a black owl outside of his bedroom window, which had a full view of the almost completely naked boy trying to sleep with his Draco Malfoy. But he wasn't really his, so why would he think that?

Harry heard the hooting and the rap rap rapping sounds, making him almost fall out of the bed. With a start, he sat up quickly, assuming that he was imagining the sounds at first. But when he saw the owl---that damned "owl"---he had a stoic expression. The owl stared at him reproachfully, its green eyes seemingly narrowed.

Harry's hands shook as the owl fought to get into his dormitory. With his entire body trembling violently, Harry laid back down, trying to smother out the sounds by putting his pillow over his head. He couldn't breathe as the noises we're still as terrifying as ever, his heart pounding so loudly he could hardly think as he sobbed into the sheets.

Harry flinched when he put his hand up, seemingly satisfied by his son's action.

Harry's body shook as he remembered.

"He's lying!" Harry cried out desperately, a small part of him wanting his father to believe him and the other part knowing that he wouldn't.

The hooting and rapping continued, but instead of drowning out the noise, it seemed to have magnified.

James, always the confrontational type, reared his hand back, slapping his son across his face, hearing him grunt as he tried to hold his small body up.

Harry could feel hands on him, shaking him, trying to tear him out of his bed. Away from Draco. Away from Hogwarts. Away from safety.

His knees hit the floor as his father gave him a blow to his face, unable to put his hands up quick enough.

Wanting it all to just end, he started to murmur a prayer. A quiet one. An unsure one. Harry had never done it before---only his mother had been religious before his sister's end and James and Harry only dealt with it to an extent. After Nathalie's death, Lily Potter no longer asked the family to join hands at supper. She no longer asked her son to sit and pray with her.

So Harry abandoned the idea, tossing it away and never wanting to pick it back up. What kind of God would make him live like this; in fear, in sorrow, in constant misery?

The only time he prayed after he had murdered Nathalie was the night his father gave him the Dark Mark, the night he truly found out about Draco.

Maybe this is her payback, Harry thought viciously. Maybe this is her way to get back at me for killing her. Maybe I should have died and not her. Anyone but her. Father could have snuffed it. Hell, even Mother. It shouldn't have been her.

Harry felt a jostle go through his body as his pillow was pried off of his head. "Harry? Harry, what's the matter? Why are you crying?"

With his hands, he tried to grip at Draco's shirt without looking up, but all he could feel was Draco's bare chest.

"Harry, " Draco pleaded. "Harry, just talk to me."

Harry sobbed and sobbed, but there were no more noises. Had he been imagining it all? Had nothing really happened?

"I just thought . . ."

Draco pulled Harry close, whispering in his ear and rubbing his back. "You're okay. You're alright."

Harry choked out, "I thought he was here. I---I thought that---"

Draco could feel Harry's heart beating against his sternum and the smaller boy was covered in goose pimples. "It's okay, Harry. You're with me and he can't get you here, love."

"I thought that---" Harry murmured, his hand pointing to the window. It was as if he were a child, unable to use their words. "It wasn't---"

Draco stroked Harry's hair, feeling his chest expand when Harry sighed and leaned against him. His breath was hot and the sensation gave Draco the shivers.

Harry trembled, his voice equally so as he muttered, "Did I wake you? I'd feel terrible if I did."

"No, " Draco lied softly.

"Okay, " said Harry, "then I don't feel bad. Even if you're lying."

Draco chuckled quietly. "You're soft."

Harry closed his eyes, letting the smell of Draco's skin pull him under after a while and, when he finally did fall back asleep, Draco laid him down. Softly, as if not to disturb a sleeping child, Draco brushed the messy, somewhat curly hair away from Harry's forehead.

His arms enveloped the sleeping boy with green eyes, a wicked sense of humour, and a wonderful personality in his arms, hardly daring to believe how peaceful he looked.

Draco kissed his forehead softly, smiling when Harry shifted and curled against him. Little did he know of the black owl and it's green eyes watching them both, an evil glare in its eyes.

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