Title: Chasing you in my sleep
Prompt: # 42
Summary: Draco dreams; Harry sleepwalks. Could the two facts be related?
Warning(s): not epilogue-compliant, poetry, first person (Draco’s p.o.v.)
Word Count: 1340
Author's Notes: fyernaice , you always have the most fertile prompts – I hope you’ll like my attempt to bring this one to life.
I’m grateful to my friend Krios82 (who’s not on LiveJournal) for encouraging me and for being a brilliant beta.
A huge thank you to the mods for making the fest possible.
Chasing you in my sleep
I guess I’ll never know what really was
the reason why you came into my bed
sleepwalking, open-eyed, night after night.
At first it bothered me: your silent, absent weight
tilting the mattress, and your empty face,
the way your breath exhaled against my neck
when you decided that my pillow’s soft
and it’s your place to rest, the way you hogged
my down comforter and my silken sheets.
I tried too many times to bring you back
in your vacated bedroom, dragging you
unsteadily, my arm around your waist
and way too many nights I stayed awake
unable to relax, restless and coiled
waiting for your arrival. You always came
your hair the softest mess, your eyes ablaze
green as the greenest green, unseeing, wide;
your pyjamas a monster of red fleece,
Golden Snitches embroidered on the front
–I am a Seeker, do you need reminding? –
your body pliant, and radiating warmth
until somehow I could no longer sleep
without your presence near me, just the idea
to raise and to get up to drag you away
inconceivably painful. From then on
I had to sneak you back into your room
at the first lights of day, scared to get caught.
When the dreams started, first I saw a boy
too scrawny, left alone in a cold room
hugging his pillow, with gleaming tears’ paths
staining his cheeks, and yet making no sound.
I touched his face in hesitant caress.
My reward was the brightness of his gaze
and I knew it was you, for no one else
has irises like that. When I awoke
I found your eyes were closed, and your lips
curled in the sweetest smile you’ve ever shown
and I could not have done anything else
but lay content beside you and fall asleep.
In the rash of the dawn I spared no time
to think about the meaning of it all:
that you did really sleep curled by my side,
that I did never want to wake again
if not beside you, that I really wished
to see you smile again, night after night
only because of me. I do know now
that was the night a crush turned into love
and once I laid you down on your cold bed
I grazed my fingertips over your face
to see whether you’d smile, and since you did
I felt hope for the first time after war.
Time is the strangest thing; in the next dream
you’re some years older, and I pick you up
when you show me the gap in your front teeth
and there’s nobody else that’s proud of you
You giggle when I tickle you; it feels like
there aren’t many reasons why you laugh
and my heart bursts just thinking I am one.
So I hold you and we cuddle. When I wake
you’re burrowed on my neck, your breathing soft
and I don’t wish to move ever again.
If the same night my hand cards through your hair
I’d only say it almost makes you purr
and yet you stay asleep, pliant and warm
and even when the sun’s about to rise
forcing me, though reluctant, to get up
to bring you back – the worst part of my day–
I wonder: are you aware that you sleepwalk,
that you’re coming each night to lay with me?
Yet when awake you do not even glance
in my direction, not a single time.
It’s like you don’t acknowledge I exist
not even for a fight. I miss the times
when I had your full focus, your full rage
yet I shelter you each night into my arms.
I dream each of your birthdays, every gift you don’t get
each time you scrap your knees, and every way
your cousin bullies you. The moments when you miss
your parents and the memory of being loved
I am there and I let your hidden tears
soak in my sweaters. I see you growing up
into ugly clothes too big for your thin bones.
I help you to repair your glasses’ frame
with sellotape. I visit you in your room
–a dusty place without windows or light–
we play together, and I try to mend
the poor, broken leftovers you call toys.
I’ve been cherished and spoiled; it bothers me
to see that you’ve been not. There’s nothing nice
that you could call your own, so inside the dreams
I bring you sweets and presents, books, a plush
that I know will not reach you in the past.
I’m not the nicest one, but if you like
you may think ‘mine’ when you think about me
–that’s what I am and what I want to be.
You’re always pleased to see me; you do smile
and if I hold you then you hug me back
–that’s how the morning finds us every time
with limbs entangled and up-curling lips.
Night after night it’s harder to let go.
You’re never conscious when I pick you up
and carry you bride-style; I never want
to lay you down – your bed’s always so cold–
to leave you alone might rip my heart in two
– you’ve been all by yourself more than enough
and I ache for your childhood. I’m amazed
to see that you grew up so strong and brave
that you’re not bitter, that you won the war.
As I hold your child-self inside my dreams
and hold your sleeping self every sunrise
I wish to hold you while you’re wide awake.
But nothing changes, and night after night
you flop into my bed, you grip my waist
lay your head on my shoulder, fall asleep
while I dream of your past. Therefore I’m there
to comfort you when you refused my hand
and then regretted it, each time you were afraid
or scared or angered or confused or lost
because of Voldemort, the prophecy, my fist
the time I broke your nose, for the blood spell
you cast on me, the days you spent in chase
of Horcruxes and hope, for having to give up
your life in sacrifice to save us all
That’s how I saw the things you never told,
that I affected you more than I could have hoped.
I felt again the Fire raging on in evil shapes
and your relief in rescuing me, my weight
warm and comforting pressed against your back:
when that dream turned to nightmare, I was there.
More than this, in the dreams I saw myself
so entangled in your life, it made impossible
to believe it is only a fabrication
of wishful thinking, unrequited hope
to finally read something in your eyes
more than judgment, or loathing, pity, fear,
every depth of emotion that we’ve shared.
The latest time I visit you in my dream
you are ready for bed, musing alone
about the way I looked in the Great Hall
and how you wish that I would talk to you,
let the past be forgotten, dare again
to offer you my hand, more than my hand, my heart.
Then you lay down, and I startle awake.
My self-restraint is over. Finding you
cradled into my arms like every night
at last I press my lips upon your mouth.
It’s a fairy tale spell, and yet it works:
your eyes blink open slowly, then you smile,
swallow my breath and plunge into the kiss
like it’s the only thing that keeps you alive.
Every whisper about love that we exhale
over our naked skin, over shared flesh
makes our souls tingle. Vaguely we wonder
what sealed the bond, what made the dream alive.
I guess that your Occlumency is so bad
my pining and desires leaked on your mind
making you walk, asleep, into my bed
while I’m a good Legilimens, therefore
I plucked your thoughts, your feelings, hope, regrets
straight from your brain, and morphed them into dreams.
Much better now: when you come to my bed
it’s wide awake, and willing, for your choice
ready to welcome me, inside a dream and more