There is a little girl at the foot of the bed.
She's small and thin, crouching on the floor - her body is hidden from view from the shoulders down, but he can see her face. Her gray, crooked teeth rest in between gray, crooked lips. Each tooth curves down into something jagged - something sharp - and there's a gap in the middle of the top row, feigning childish innocence. Her little hands are resting on the edge of the bed, just a few inches away from his feet, and the sheet fold under the tips of her fingers - tips that match her teeth, a mixture of black and gray dusting the skin. Her cheeks are thin, gaunt - malnourished - hollow - and her skin is a pale, sickly green. The hair that frames her face comes down in angry, unkempt strands, stringy, oily, and knotted. Her eyes are white - vacant - and blown open wide.
She is staring right at him.
Around her, everything is a blur. Dark figures clutter the room; the night turned everything familiar about it into something strange, foreign, and frightful. Chairs became shadows crouching in the corners, and shirt sleeves on the coat rack became arms, and his reflection in the mirror turned into an unnatural copy of a copy staring at him, studying him with sinister, unfamiliar green eyes as if it were deciding just when to come out of the glass.
The girl leans in closer to him, her little shoulders popping with every slow, calculated inch. Her hand rests beside Draco's pale foot, but he doesn't stir.
Harry can't breathe.
He tries - he can feel himself gasping for air, but his chest doesn't move and his lungs don't work. He's drowning in air. He feels a heaviness on his chest - someone pushing their palm down in the center, crushing his bones; he feels them shatter under the weight. He tries to open his mouth to scream, to call for Draco, to wake him up and tell him there's something here, there's something here and it's killing me but his mouth remains silent, his tongue betraying him, and every time he feels like he can almost get the words out, they die on the tip of his tongue. He has no voice.
He feels like he's underwater - his limbs are heavy, and no matter how much he tries, his hands won't move to get his wand on the nightstand, and his body refuses to sit up. There are invisible hands on him, holding him down - he can feel them.
Only his eyes can move, and even then, only barely. They keep fluttering open and closed as the girl inches closer with her gray teeth and her white eyes, her head tilting to the side as though she's enjoying him struggle. She probably is.
He feels like a rabbit in a hunter's trap - he feels like prey, and she's the predator. As she gets closer, he sees her green-gray skin flake off, her arms littered with scabs and molts. She is a walking corpse. He's certain he would be able to smell the death on her if he could have - he can already see death in her eyes.
There is a lump in his throat that he tries and fails to swallow around - he wants to sob. Draco is sleeping peacefully beside him, and all Harry can think is that if they die, at least Draco won't have to see what killed them.
He wants to clench his teeth, to whisper a mantra of it's not real, it's not real, she's not here, no one is here but you. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut - maybe she won't be real if he doesn't see her. Maybe he's still asleep. Maybe this is a nightmare. Maybe - maybe -
Harry wakes up with a start, his heart beating so hard it feels like it's clawing up his throat. He sits up and fumbles for his glasses; in his haste, he almost drops them on the floor. He puts them on and searches the room, turning his head this way and that, but the only thing he sees is a darkness that he knows well. The sheets fall off his body as he crawls to the edge of the bed, his hands shaking slightly as he rests them on the sheets. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he moves closer - one hand in front of the other, dread seeping through his veins, pumping with his blood. He peers over the edge. He sees nothing - he relaxes.
He jumps when he hears a voice from behind him, almost falling face-first on the stone floor of the castle.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Draco mumbles, his face half buried in his pillow. Harry straightens, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, thoroughly messing up his curls, and then rests his elbows on his knees. Draco hears him draw in a deep breath. His voice quivers when he speaks.
"There - there was - it was a girl - it -"
Draco sits up in bed, his white-blond hair shining in the light of the moon coming through the window. He picks up his wand and flicks it, the fixtures in the walls lighting up the room with flames. Harry visibly relaxes in the light. Draco crawls over to him, moving slowly over the bed and sitting beside him. He carefully puts an arm over Harry's shoulders, drawing him into his embrace.
"Sleep paralysis again?" he says softly, running a hand through Harry's hair, smoothing out the places where it stuck up. Harry just nods, burying his face in Draco's shoulder, the only place where he feels safe. He rubs Harry's arm and uses his other hand to lace their fingers together. His heart breaks a little when he feels Harry shaking slightly and he holds him tighter.
"Nothing is going to hurt you, my love. Nothing. I promise you; I won't let it. I'm right here," he whispers, placing a light kiss on the top of Harry's head.
"It was coming toward us, on the bed. I could almost feel the mattress moving under its weight. It felt so real."
"I know it did, but remember, it's nothing. Nothing is there. Just a trick of the mind," he says as he brushes his thumb over the coarse skin of Harry's hand. Draco closes his eyes for a moment. They're getting more frequent, he thinks, and there is a pinch in his chest when he does - he can't protect Harry from what's in his mind, no matter how much he wants to. It makes him feel weak. He opens his eyes again and puts on a smile for his boyfriend.
"How about we take a walk through the corridors? That always calms you down. Would you like that, love?" he asks, still stroking the other man's hair.
Harry straightens and rubs his eyes. He nods, making Draco's smile grow wider. Draco gives the back of Harry's hand a soft kiss, and Harry's heart warms when he feels his lips on him. Draco pulls Harry off the bed, leading him over to the wardrobe. He picks out a thin jacket for Harry to wear over his T-shirt and holds it up for him to put his arms in, grinning when Harry rolls his eyes at the gesture. He runs his hands down Harry's arms softly once the jacket is on, and leans over his shoulder to place a soft kiss on his cheek. His fingers don't leave Harry as he moves to hold his hand.
Draco knows that the best way to calm Harry down is through touch, so his fingers never stray from Harry's skin on nights like this. He needs an anchor, a presence - he needs to know he's not alone, and Draco does everything in his power to remind him that he'll never be alone in the dark again.
The two leave their bedroom and go into the main living area. Just as they were about to go into the hallway, though, Harry turns to Draco.
"Darling, um, could you get my wand? I - I feel better with it on me. I'd get it myself, you know, but I - I don't want to go back in there right now," he finishes in a small voice. He looks down and rubs the back of his neck - something he only does when embarrassed. Draco gives his hand a light squeeze before nodding his head and turning to go back to their bedroom.
He goes in and quickly takes Harry's wand from the nightstand. He takes one last look at the room before leaving but stops in his tracks when he looks at the foot of the bed. A sooty hand print, about the size of a child's, is partially hidden under the bed frame. A cold chill runs down his spine. He quickly shuffles over to his nightstand and pockets his own wand.
He leaves the room.