All the Ghosts are Screaming

22

Harry

He wakes to screams.

For a moment, Harry can't figure out where they are coming from.  He knows this house is safe- Hermione had ensured it, and his countless checking of every lock and corner and crevice meant that there was no way someone could sneak in unnoticed.   There was no Voldemort to chase after him, no dementors leeching away his happiness, no vengeful death eaters lurking in the shadows to pay him back for what he had done to his master. 

Still, that doesn't stop him from throwing back the covers and grabbing at his wand in a matter of seconds, sprinting down the corridor towards Draco's room, towards the screams, ready to fight off whatever might be hurting him.

Only there's nothing there. 

There's only Draco, sitting up with the sheets pooled around his hips and his hands pulling on his hair, bent over at the waist, taking in breaths that were so ragged that they sounded like it hurt, tears streaming down his face as he tries to calm himself down.  And now there was Harry, who had thrown the door open so hard it actually cracked the wall behind him, standing there just staring at Draco, with wand clutched in his hand and a curse at his lips.

"What?"   Draco was on the defensive in a way that he hadn't been for a long time, maybe since the first night he came here, but Harry supposes being caught in a moment so vulnerable would cause anyone to throw their walls back up.  Still, he doesn't want it to turn into a fight, not when things were just seeming to settle into solid ground. 

"Nothing."  Harry realizes he is still pointing his wand and lowers his arm.  It takes a noticeable effort to slide his wand back into his pocket and stop looking into the corners for an invisible enemy, an extreme force of will to remind himself that everything is okay, that they are safe, that Draco is here and whole, even if he isn't completely happy.  "I just-,"

   Just what?  Just heard your screams and thought I'd come running to save you like Prince Charming, and then you would throw yourself into my arms and we'd live happily ever after?  Just stand here and stare at you forever because I don't have the words to make you feel better? 

"Just wanted to check on me."  Draco manages a smile, even if it doesn't sit right on his face.  It makes something in Harry's chest twist, like someone had reached their hand inside him and squeezed.  "I get it."   They're still just staring at each other.  "But I'm fine."

"Are you really?"

Harry would not walk away from this one.  Not this time.  He'd let Draco push him away every other time, every time Harry tried to show him how he felt or tried to save him or even just tried to kiss him, just the one time so he knew what it felt like, but he could not, he would not, turn his back on this time.

"Of course not."  Draco sounded like a bit of his old self again, exasperated in the way he is every time Harry says something he thinks is stupid.  "But there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"

Harry still doesn't move, just stands there, thinking of all the nights they've had before this, where they both lie awake in the separate rooms and stare at the ceiling, thinking of the ghosts that still must be haunting them.  Where Draco cleans until his skin is rubbed raw from the bleach and Harry climbs through every corner of the house.  How they sleep and face their ghosts alone, all those heroes and martyrs and old friends that only show up in their dreams, and a part of them is selfish enough to like it, even though it would be better for everyone involved if they would learn to let go.

"Don't be stupid."  Harry crosses the room, the floorboards creaking under his bare feet.  He wants Draco to give him a sign if this is okay or not, if he should keep going or turn away, but he gets nothing, just Draco's eyes roaming every line of Harry's face, maybe trying to find some sort of signal himself.  "There's always something."