Harry Potter Oneshots

Draco Malfoy - Tired

Afraid of the nightmares that plague your mind, you refuse to sleep.
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Prompt : “I haven’t slept in three days.”

TW : nightmares (?)

Word count : 1613
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The house was old, broken down.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, drooping down to the floor. The boards you stepped on were old and creaking, and when you bent down to look at them, they were cracking and pulling apart from each other, revealing a dirty surface underneath.

The walls were stained and grimy, and smelt of damp. The window apne was cracked, thin, spiderweb lines spreading across its surface.

There was an armchair in the room, but it was torn and bent, stuffing spilling out of the ripped cushion.

You shivered, pulling your jumper down your sleeves. You didn't like this.
Something was wrong.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.

There was an owl hooting from somewhere, although it sounded so far away from you, so… unfamiliar.

That was the word. Unfamiliar.

This house, the surroundings, the sounds, smells, feelings, it all felt so… unnatural, so… scary.

You shuddered, your eyes darting around. You had been here before, that much was clear, and you had the feeling something bad was about to happen.

Then, it did.

From out of nowhere, he appeared.
Voldemort.

You didn’t used to be scared of Voldemort. He wasn’t a threat to you, but then, the war happened, and everything changed.

He could have killed Draco that night, and though Draco had recovered from the initial shock and trauma of it, you hadn’t.

For weeks your nightmares were plagued with Draco’s dead body, leaving you waking in a sweat.
For weeks, Voldemort killed your fiance in front of your eyes, as you fell to your knees, sobbing.
For weeks, you dreaded sleep.

And tonight was no different.

There he was, standing over a figure.
Your shaking hand reached forward and you tried to call, but your voice came out in a whisper.
But Voldemort turned.

This time, something was different.
He grinned, and his teeth were barred and sharp, spread in a wide smile.
His eyes were red, his fingers clawed.

And then there was Draco.

He was bleeding, a long trickle of blood dropping onto the stained wood.
He was shaking, and every movement he made, he winced and groaned in pain.

‘y-y/n,’ he stuttered, glancing over at you.
You tried to move forward, but your legs were glued in place.
His eyes darkened.
‘y/n, you… you did this,’

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes.
‘y/n, you… killed me.’

***

You cried out, lurching upwards.
You were sweating, beads of water pouring down your face.
Your hands shook, your heart thumped, your chest rose and fell shakily.

You gripped onto your shirt, pulling it off your skin, fanning yourself with your hands. You fumble with the duvet, throwing it off you and running into the bathroom.

You wanted Draco to comfort you, but he was still sleeping, and you couldn’t force yourself to wake him up. You threw open the bathroom door and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on your face in an attempt to ground yourself.
Beads of water trickled down your face, although, by now, you couldn’t tell them apart from your tears.