Many thanks to my beta, Lady Aeolusia :)
A deafening boom and a whispered "Harry!" jerked one bleary-eyed and tousel-haired (not that you could tell) Harry Potter awake with a small grunt and a sleepy "Annngh" sound.
"Harry!" came the voice again, right after Harry had spent the last 0.5 seconds deciding he was too tired and wanted only to go back to sleep. Rolling over partially, Harry cracked open one eye with a mumbled, "Wha'? Draco - "
"Harry," Draco whimpered, as another clap of thunder shook the house, and a flash of lightning lit the room. Comprehension dawned somewhere in Harry's sleep-addled brain as Draco emitted a soft "Meep" and dove under the duvet.
Right, Harry thought, storms.
Draco had developed a phobia of storms sometime during the war. Harry couldn't blame him, really - he was no fan of them himself. During the war, it seemed like every battle, every skirmish, and every death could be linked with the crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder, and the pounding, driving rain that turned the ground to sludge and ran red with blood. Sometimes it even seemed like the storms proceeded the battles: towards the end, a colassal thunderstorm had heralded every attack. Every single one.
It was enough to make anyone wary of thunderstorms, when every bolt and distant boom reminded a wizard or witch of something they'd much rather forget. But for Draco, it was much worse...
The month before that last battle - which had, in Harry's memory, been nothing but a cold downpour, a ground of thick, sticky mud, and Voldemort, his eyes a dull red, his soul half-destroyed along with all but the last of his Horcruxes - Lucius Malfoy, who had remained in hiding for much of the war, had managed to capture Draco during a minor skirmish in Hogsmeade. During the next three weeks (wherein Harry searched frantically for his lover of, then, four years), Draco had been submitted to everything from Crucio to Veritaserum to a new spell, courtesy of Lucius, simply dubbed Temorato. According to Draco, it took a person's fears and magnified them a hundred times, a thousand times, and played them over and over and over.
"Father always preferred psychological terror over physical pain," Draco explained (with disturbing calmness) at the time. He never went into great depth about the spell, but whatever it had done had left him with an intense fear of thunderstorms.
Which would explain why he was currently clinging to Harry like a limpet.
Another roll of thunder shook the house, and lightning bathed the room in a stark, bright white through the half-closed curtains.
"Harry," Draco whined again, curling up in the crook of Harry's elbow, one arm thrown around Harry's bare chest. Harry pushed himself up, using his free hand to rub his eyes tiredly, while he pulled Draco closer with the other, just as another fork of lightning shot across the sky, and with yet another almighty, startling crash, rain began to pour in buckets; pelting the windows with sounds like pebbles hitting glass. Draco scrunched further under the blankets, eyes never leaving the enormous, curtained bay windows of the master bedroom. Harry carded a hand in Draco's hair, running his fingers through the fine, golden strands and whispering nonsense words of comfort in Draco's ear. They would be especially nonsensical right now - he and Draco had been up rather late as it was, and Harry was sure he couldn't have been asleep more than a few hours before Draco woke him. Another clap of thunder sounded, but it was more distant now; and Harry felt the light trembling in Draco's body ease, and his grip on Harry loosened fractionally.
Harry kissed the top of Draco's head, and decided to try and make Draco think of something else. As the sound of the rain eased, Harry was struck by a sudden memory.
"You remember that time we got caught by McGonagall, shagging in the rain?"
Draco snorted, burying his face in Harry's side. "Merlin, yes. When was that?"
"A few months after what would've been our seventh year, wasn't it?"
Draco nodded, a small smile teasing his lips. "It was pitch black but I could still see you were blushing horribly."
Truth be told, Harry was blushing just from the memory, but Draco didn't have to know that. "Yes, well, you can't tell me you were thrilled to be caught mid-shag by McGonagall."
"Personally, I think it was too dark for her to see much."
"She saw your hair. Remember, she said, 'Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing?' And then she saw me."
"Only because you went and tried to get up and made a noise like a herd of Hippogriffs. We were behind the bushes - she wouldn't have known anything if you'd stayed still."
Harry elbowed Draco, none too gently. "I only moved because you were still going at it when she was right there!"
Draco looked up and shot Harry the Malfoy Death Glare(TM), which was completely ineffectual. Even if Harry hadn't been immune to its powers of terror, he would not have been the least bit frightened by Draco's rumpled hair, soft, tired grey eyes or pouting expression.
"She couldn't tell," Draco mumbled. "And besides, how was I supposed to know you weren't an exhibitionist? You were the one keen on doing it outdoors."
"No, I was just horny then and wanted a bloody shag."
Draco sniffed. "Still. How was I supposed to know?"
The thunder was all but a distant grumbling now, with the lightning long since past and the rain a mere drizzle. Draco noticed then, too, and brightened considerably. "I think the storm's past."
Harry yawned, flopping back on the pillows, dragging Draco across his chest, to lie across his abdomen, drawing the taller, slimmer man up for a brief, almost (almost) chaste kiss. "Great," Harry said around another yawn.
Draco pouted down at Harry. "Don't tell me you're tired."
Harry, who had been in the process of closing his eyes, and was halfway back to dreamland already, opened his eyes again and looked at Draco incredulously. "Of course I am. I've got work in the morning - unlike some lazy sods who I know and love."
That earned Harry a smile and a rather discomfiting wriggle - uncomfortable only because it meant parts of Harry weren't as sleepy as others. "But Haaaaaarry," Draco purred, "you can't do the comfort without the comfort sex."
"Guh," Harry said, eloquently, as Draco wriggled again.
Abruptly, the room was lit up by white, and the house shook to its foundations. Draco flattened himself on top of Harry.
"Another storm," Draco whispered.
A series of lightning bolts danced across the sky, and Harry immediatly sat up and rolled Draco on his back.
"Now," Harry said, still half-asleep but resigned to a sleepless night - besides, there were worse ways of losing sleep than shagging one's partner through the mattress, "what were you saying about 'can't do the comfort without the comfort sex'?"
From his position under Harry, Draco wriggled again, and smirked.
Temorato: I was lazy, and just looked up the Spanish words for "fear" and "spell" and put them together. Meh /.