ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉˢ,
Stories with you and your favourite Harry Potter characters cause we all know we have one or more Harry Potter characters we're hopelessly in love with. I wrote the first few ones when I was bored AKA when I was...
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Requested by an anonymous reader. It's pretty short so I'm very sorry about that. I hope you still like it.
Warnings: Mentions of abuse and PTSD.
Also, I am very sorry if I wasn't able to portray PTSD properly. I tried to, but idk, please be sure to tell me if I can do anything to make the portrayal more life-like and real.
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You were sprawled across your bed, watching your girlfriend Ginny as she slept. You were propped on one elbow, your face resting on your palm, almost hovering over hers as you traced her cheekbone with your other hand's fingers.
She smiled slightly, almost as if she knew you were watching. She probably did know and was just enjoying the attention. You placed light kisses down her jawline, and she peeked her eyes open smiling and leaning in for a sleepy kiss on the mouth and you obliged, because who were you to deprive her of what she wanted.
She turned to the other side, her back facing your front and you sighed. She was asleep. Time to try and stay awake for the rest of the night then.
It wasn't like you couldn't sleep. you very well could. You were tempted to. Especially since it had been almost a whole week since you'd had a good sleep. Ever since your dream-less sleeping draught ran out, you were itching to buy more of it except the potioneer you were buying it from wasn't willing to sell it to you anymore.
You had been a customer for months after the war, telling her that it was for your entire family and when she had found out that it was only for you, she had freaked out saying that the side-effects of continual consumption of the potion could cause a lot of symptoms some of them being as severe as permanent sleep, or coma.
After that day, you fell asleep anxiously, knowing what was to come. Your nightmares. Being a Hufflepuff disgrace of a Malfoy, your worst memories were from the Manor, a place you had been forced to call home for years until after the war.
Your own father and your very own aunt sending spells your way after you were sorted into Hufflepuff or after they came across the fact that you had befriended the Weasleys or after you were at the Battle of Department of Mysteries or when you and Ginny had started dating secretly only for Draco to reveal to your father about it. You could go on and on about why everything you did just made their behaviour towards you worse, but there was nothing you could do about it now.
After the first night without the potion, that horrible night, you tried not to sleep at all, only dozing off for minutes before you nudged yourself awake. You drank crazy amounts of caffeine loaded coffee, engaged yourself in things you like and listened to lively loud music that made you want to dance.
Tonight was your sixth night without the potion and you tried your best to keep your sleep at bay, trying to think of things that made you awake. But none of it helped, and sleep won its way. You dozed off to a nice, calming sleep. That was until the images filled in.
