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Fic: LDWS Round 8 - Fever Dream
Title: Fever Dream
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Peril, explicit language, suggestion
Word Count: 365
A/N: Prompt for week 2: "Harry’s mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy..." in exactly 365 words.
Also on AO3
Harry’s tired, but he tosses and turns fitfully, his mind working feverishly over the dramatic events of the day.
When he finally finds himself within a dream, it almost catches him by surprise. He relaxes into the familiar fantasised images of Malfoy. He’s given up fighting the subconscious urges for his Auror partner. After all, there’s nothing unprofessional about it, if he doesn’t act on it.
It always starts with the parts of Malfoy that he knows; grey eyes, blond hair, slender fingers, that smirk. Then the images become interspersed with possibilities; arse and cock and the noises he could draw from that clever, wicked mouth.
The topless Malfoy that Harry distinctly tries not to stare at, time and time again, in the changing rooms is advancing on him now. His hands drift towards his fly, a predatory look on his face as he pops the button free. But then, he is startled. His head whips to the side, swiftly drawing his wand and he’s running, he’s running away from Harry, towards something, towards danger.
Harry tries to chase after him—to what end he doesn’t know but he has to do something—but it’s inexplicably like he’s trying to walk through quicksand and the faster he tries to go, the harder it is. He shouts out, calling for Malfoy, Draco, urging caution, but it’s too late.
Fire. There’s fire everywhere. The building is burning. Thick smoke fills the air. All Harry can see is the hair, that ridiculously slicked-back blond hair. The ceiling collapses. Dust. Dust and smoke and screaming. Harry is screaming. But wait, Draco is still there. A little disheveled, a little bloody, but there.
A shout, a curse, shooting brightly through the air, sending smoke and flame swirling aside as it cuts its way through the chaos. Harry can run now, he runs and runs until his lungs are burning. He jumps flaming beams, dodges debris.
He’s too late.
With a sickening jolt, Harry wakes up, sweaty and panting.
“Matron!” a familiar voice calls before speaking softly, “Harry, thank Merlin… You’ve been out for days, I-I thought I’d lost you...”
Grey eyes, blond hair, slender fingers entwined with his own.
Also on AO3
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Peril, explicit language, suggestion
Word Count: 365
A/N: Prompt for week 2: "Harry’s mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy..." in exactly 365 words.
Also on AO3
Harry’s tired, but he tosses and turns fitfully, his mind working feverishly over the dramatic events of the day.
When he finally finds himself within a dream, it almost catches him by surprise. He relaxes into the familiar fantasised images of Malfoy. He’s given up fighting the subconscious urges for his Auror partner. After all, there’s nothing unprofessional about it, if he doesn’t act on it.
It always starts with the parts of Malfoy that he knows; grey eyes, blond hair, slender fingers, that smirk. Then the images become interspersed with possibilities; arse and cock and the noises he could draw from that clever, wicked mouth.
The topless Malfoy that Harry distinctly tries not to stare at, time and time again, in the changing rooms is advancing on him now. His hands drift towards his fly, a predatory look on his face as he pops the button free. But then, he is startled. His head whips to the side, swiftly drawing his wand and he’s running, he’s running away from Harry, towards something, towards danger.
Harry tries to chase after him—to what end he doesn’t know but he has to do something—but it’s inexplicably like he’s trying to walk through quicksand and the faster he tries to go, the harder it is. He shouts out, calling for Malfoy, Draco, urging caution, but it’s too late.
Fire. There’s fire everywhere. The building is burning. Thick smoke fills the air. All Harry can see is the hair, that ridiculously slicked-back blond hair. The ceiling collapses. Dust. Dust and smoke and screaming. Harry is screaming. But wait, Draco is still there. A little disheveled, a little bloody, but there.
A shout, a curse, shooting brightly through the air, sending smoke and flame swirling aside as it cuts its way through the chaos. Harry can run now, he runs and runs until his lungs are burning. He jumps flaming beams, dodges debris.
He’s too late.
With a sickening jolt, Harry wakes up, sweaty and panting.
“Matron!” a familiar voice calls before speaking softly, “Harry, thank Merlin… You’ve been out for days, I-I thought I’d lost you...”
Grey eyes, blond hair, slender fingers entwined with his own.
Also on AO3
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