The Boy Who Lived I -- The Alchemist's Prize

Chapter Nine: Night Terrors

Harry slowly blinked himself back to consciousness, unsurprised to find himself lying on one of the beds in the hospital wing. He could tell because of the great sea of white that confronted his eyes, though everything else was blurry. He reached out to feel around for his glasses but someone slid them onto his face. Freckled hands came into focus as they pulled back from Harry's field of vision, and then the small boy sat up. Ron was sitting next to him on the bed, with Hagrid, Dumbledore, and McGonagall all standing nearby, smiles on their faces.

"Good to see you back, mate," Ron said. "Sorry about your ankles, but I didn't have anything else to grab."

"No problem," Harry whispered. "With any luck, I'm a few inches taller now."

"Ah, Harrison," Dumbledore interjected. "I'm glad you're awake. I trust you're feeling no ill effects from your experience?"

"No sir," Harry replied, shaking his head. To his immense relief, this action did not send the room spinning crazily around him.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "I have a few questions for you boys, but first, I think you have a visitor. Hagrid, would you be so kind?"

"O' course, 'Eadmaster," Hagrid said, winking at Harry. "Take care o' yerself," he whispered to the small boy, then ambled off towards the door of the Hospital Wing. He opened it, letting another boy in, then stepped into the hallway beyond.

Neville, for he was the child whom Hagrid had admitted, walked slowly across the large room, glancing nervously between Harry and the Headmaster. Harry suddenly realized that he was still holding the Bouncer, and held it out towards the timid boy. Seeing it, Neville walked a little more quickly to stand next to the bed.

"You're all right then?" Neville asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Neville," he said, shaking the boy's right hand as he placed the Bouncer in his left. "You saved my neck."

Neville grinned as he slipped the ball back into his pocket. "You would have done the same for me," he replied, and Harry knew he was referring to the incident in flying class.

"All the same, Neville," Dumbledore interjected, "your quick thinking saved a classmate's life. I therefore award you twenty points."

Neville's eyes got very large and watery. "Twenty?" he asked breathlessly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Twenty."

"I've never gotten even one before," Neville whispered, and burst into happy tears. Dumbledore showed him to the door, where the boy was promptly swarmed by his proud housemates. As Dumbledore closed the door, Harry caught a glimpse of Neville being hoisted onto their shoulders, smiling like he'd won the lottery.

"So, boys," the Headmaster said as he walked back towards the bed where Harry and Ron were sitting, "can you tell me what happened? Not the hanging and falling part--I've heard plenty about that already. I want to know what happened before."

"W-well sir," Ron said, "we were going back to Gryffindor tower to drop off our books before flying lessons. Harry was in front of me while we were going up the stairs. He stopped for a moment, and I was about to tell him to get a move on, but then I noticed that there was a railing blocking our way. Next thing I knew, I was hanging from Harry's ankles."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "So you were on a staircase that disappeared out from underneath you?"

"Yes sir," Ron said.

"Most curious," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "We have been very careful to ensure that the staircases do not move themselves around during the daytime. Tell me Harry, what made you pause?"

"I... I had a feeling... like someone was looking at me."

"And was this the case?"

"Yes sir," Harry said. "Professor Snape was glaring at me from across the Gallery. He turned and went down a hallway, and when I looked back in front of me the railing had appeared."

"I'll bet he did it," Ron muttered.

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall snapped, "I do hope you understand what a serious allegation you are making against a Professor at this school!"

Ron flinched and started to curl into himself at McGonagall's sharp words, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Calm down, Minerva," the old man said, "Severus was in the area. Tell me, Ronald, what makes you suspect him?"

Harry glanced at Ron, silently begging the redhead not to say anything about their problems with the Professor. If both Dumbledore and McGonagall heard it, one of them was bound to say something... and Harry was determined not to give Snape even more reason to hate him.

Ron, however, said, "Because he's always rotten to Harry! He's always making fun of Harry, and taking house points away from him for silly little things, and he even said he was glad Harry got that concussion! I know he's not the nicest bloke, but he's so nasty to Harry it's almost frightening!"

"Is this true, Harrison?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry looked down at the floor and nodded. "Ron's telling the truth," he said. "Professor Snape's always extra-nasty to me... but I don't know that he'd actually try to hurt me..."

"A wise assessment," Dumbledore said. "You seem to have already learned an important lesson in life--unpleasant people are not necessarily evil, and pleasant people are not necessarily good."

"Why haven't you come to me about this before?" McGonagall asked after a moment.

"I... I figured Professor Snape would only be nastier if he thought I'd whined to you about it."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand," he said, "but his behavior has been inappropriate. I will speak to him about it... in the most general terms, of course."

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said, sighing with relief. The old man smiled and winked at him.

"Well," Dumbledore announced, "there's really nothing more to be done until we can find that staircase and talk to it about this incident. I'll instruct Argus to keep an eye out to see where it turns up."

"Headmaster Dumbledore," a new voice said right next to Harry's ear. The small boy shrieked in surprise and twitched so violently he ended up banging into Ron. When he looked back, he saw a man he'd never met before. The man wore black robes much like Snape's, and had a similar sneer. He had the build of a strong, youthful man, but what little hair was left him had long ago turned grey, and his face was creased with time.

"Heavens, Dougal!" McGonagall exclaimed, "There's no need to startle the boys like that, especially not after the day they've had!"

"Too true," the man said. He turned to the boys, wearing a reassuring smile that did not quite reach his midnight-blue eyes, and said, "So sorry for surprising you. I sometimes forget when I'm englamoured."

"N-no problem at all," Harry stuttered, trying to stop shaking. Ron squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, but said nothing.

Dougal then turned his attention back to the Headmaster. "I merely wished to discuss the incident in the stairwell," he said. "I was in the gallery, disguised as a column. Nobody went on the staircase before these boys that I saw. Quirrell was in the Gallery too, but he was several stories down. He'll not be much help, though... fainted as soon as he saw them dangling there."

"And Severus, Dougal? Did you see him?"

"Momentarily," the burly man said. "He was on the other side of the Gallery, however."

"Thank you, Professor Gudrun," the Headmaster said, "That will be all." The man nodded, then left the room, more gliding than walking. Dumbledore turned back to the boys. "You may return to your House, children," he said. "I believe your friends are rather anxiously awaiting you. Madam Pomfrey should have no complaints."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. As the two remaining teachers turned to leave, Harry added, "You can call me Harry sir... if you'd like."

Dumbledore turned back towards the boys, eyes twinkling. "Of course. And you, Ronald?"

"I... it... you... Ron?" the redhead stammered.

"Very well... now Harry, Ron, run along to your House."

The two boys were only too happy to comply. Ron hopped off the bed, turning to help Harry down. Then they scampered off through the halls, taking the back passages to reach the Gryffindor hallway. Neither of them seemed to feel any real desire to test their luck in the Tower Gallery again that afternoon. In a matter of a few minutes they entered the common room to find Draco and Hermione sitting in front of the fire, both looking rather pale and drawn. Draco spotted them instantly, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Thank Merlin you're all right," he said, crossing the room as quickly as his legs would take him. "I tried to find Flitwick, but he was asleep, and I kept knocking on his door but he wouldn't wake up and..."

"It's okay Draco," Ron said, smiling. "Harry and I are fine."

"But... Harry..."

"It hurt a bit, Draco," Harry said quickly, "but there's no harm done." He could see what Ron had meant when he said Draco was white as a sheet after Harry's earlier accident. The boy's already-pale skin seemed to have lost the last vestiges of color, and his ice-blue eyes were darting quickly from Harry to Ron. Harry worried that the blonde might faint. He reached out and gently pushed Draco back towards the couch in front of the fire. Hermione stood up, sensing that the blonde was most in need of assistance, and guided him to sit down. Harry sat beside him, and Ron took one of the chairs.

"So what actually happened?" Hermione asked. "I've only heard rumors so far, as Draco's not been up to telling the story."

"We were just walking up a staircase in the Gallery, and a railing appeared in front of us," Ron said. "Then the stairs disappeared."

"They disappeared?" Hermione asked. "But they're not supposed to move around at all while the sun's out, and never supposed to disappear while anyone's standing on them!"

"That's what Dumbledore said," Harry replied. "Somebody must have messed with the spells."

"Anyway, Harry grabbed onto the railing and I got hold of his ankles. I climbed up him to the landing, but the railing gave way and he fell. Neville threw him that Bouncer he's got, though, so Harry didn't come to any harm." Ron grinned at Harry, then added, "Damn near gave me a heart attack, though."

"Sorry," Harry said, blushing.

"Not your fault," Ron replied, "besides, it did turn out all right in the end."

"So who messed with the spells?" Hermione asked, ignoring the exchange between the boys.

"Snape, I'll bet," Ron said.

"Ron!"

"Harry saw him just before it happened!"

Hermione turned to Harry and asked, "Are you sure you saw him?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure I saw Snape, but I'm not sure he did it," he explained. After a moment, he added, "To tell the truth, I'm not even sure it was Snape."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember seeing any columns in the Gallery?" Harry asked.

"No..." Ron replied, looking puzzled.

"Draco? Hermione?"

"Not today..."

"N-no," the blonde replied weakly. He leaned his head against Harry's shoulder, then continued, "at least I don't think so..."

"I didn't either," Harry said. "But Professor Gudrun said he'd disguised himself as one."

"So?"

"Gudrun teaches Glamours, Ron. He could have easily disguised himself as Snape," Harry said. "I might have seen him in the Gallery."

"But why would Gudrun try to kill you?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not saying he did," Harry replied. "I'm just saying that maybe I saw him and not Snape in the Gallery today."

"But why would Gudrun lie?"

"I don't imagine that Snape would take too kindly to knowing that Gudrun was walking around the school disguised as him. I doubt Snape's ill temper is limited to students."

"You think he'll lay off, Harry?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

Harry blushed. "Well, Ron let it slip that Snape doesn't like me in front of Dumbledore and McGonagall," he explained. "Dumbledore said he'd look into it."

"I don't think he'll have much success," Hermione said.

"Why's that?" Ron asked.

"Haven't you noticed? Every time Snape unfairly takes points off Harry, he gives just as many back to Draco," Hermione replied. "Even though individuals earn points, only the change to the House total is recorded, so Snape has the perfect defense. As far as the records show, he hasn't been taking any unusual number of points away from Gryffindor."

The boys were silent for a moment, and then Ron said, "That's bloody devious, that is!" He paused, then added, "And that time when he handed out points for keeping our potions together, he gave four points for the four students--he just phrased them so that Harry couldn't take credit!"

Draco, who seemed to have recovered some color, lifted his head from Harry's shoulder and said, "I guess he's lucky Harry and I are in the same House--that means he can get away with favoring me and humiliating Harry. Just imagine the mess if one of us had gotten Sorted somewhere else!"

Harry shuddered slightly, again remembering his desperate pleading with the Sorting Hat. He wondered what the battered old thing had said to Draco at the feast that had nearly made him turn green. Before he could figure out how to ask, however, the portrait opened and Seamus and Dean burst in, desperate for details about Ron and Harry's "adventure" in the Tower Gallery.

Harry spent the rest of the day trying to avoid virtually the entire student population of Hogwarts. He didn't begrudge Seamus and Dean their curiosity; after all, dorm-mates were supposed to share these sorts of things. Fred and George were also undeniably deserving of a full retelling. When a second-year girl whom Harry had never met began demanding the details, however, the raven-haired boy decided it was time he left.

Harry had hoped to avoid dinner altogether, but his stomach started rumbling almost half an hour before the food was due to appear in the Great Hall. Resigned to the necessity of eating, Harry devoted himself to making the experience as brief as possible. He sprinted down to the Hall, wolfed down whatever appealed to him on first glance, then sneaked out as soon as he could.

Ron also seemed less than pleased with the attention he was being paid by the other students. This surprised Harry, given how disappointed the redhead had been when McGonagall barred them from bragging about facing down the wendigo. All the same, Ron ate his dinner no less quickly than Harry, and looked pained when any of the other students asked him about what had happened.

The only person who seemed to be truly pleased by the whole affair was Neville. The plump, clumsy boy was still receiving congratulations from his housemates, and even from some of the Gryffindors. He blushed appropriately at the somewhat lavish praise, but could not hide the broad smile he was wearing. It only abated briefly when Aidan MacNair put in an appearance. The burly boy attempted to put Neville down, but was forced to retreat when his belt buckle started belching out the alphabet song.

Fred and George laughed uproariously through the whole episode, and wore sly grins while they fervently denied having any foreknowledge of the buckle's behavior.

Harry felt positively relieved when he got back to his dorm and sat down at his desk to do some Transfiguration reading. The other boys attempted to involve him in a game of Exploding Snap, but Harry knew that with practice starting again the next day, he'd regret not having his homework done early. So it was that he read through page after boring page, trying to ignore the banter accompanying the game only a few feet away.

Eventually the time came to go to bed, a moment Harry welcomed. The day had been exhausting and stressful, what with the unrelieved tension of the potions class and the incident in the Tower Gallery. Nonetheless, Harry almost didn't manage to fall asleep. It seemed to take an hour for him to find a comfortable position, and even then he lay awake with his eyes closed a while longer, desperately wanting sleep but having no luck getting it.

Eventually, Harry did drift off, but sleep ended up being no more restful than wakefulness. Strange images flitted through his mind, disappearing too quickly to leave anything more than an unpleasant impression. This good fortune could not last, of course, and the images finally coalesced into a dream.

It was not a pleasant one.

Harry found himself standing on a staircase, but not the friendly stone one of Gryffindor tower, nor even a creaky wooden one from the tower Gallery. These stairs were covered in soft beige carpet that scrunched up between his bare toes. It seemed almost cartoonishly large, or perhaps Harry had become very small. Either way, each step down was almost as high as his legs, and he had to reach up to touch the banister.

Harry was going down, towards the sound of many voices in simultaneous conversation. Each tottering step brought him closer, the noises growing more distinct. There was a woman crying, and another woman telling her to shut up. Several men were engaged in a loud argument, and a low, gurgling moan provided a backdrop for all of it. Harry realized that he did not want to see what was at the bottom of the stairs, but his dream-self continued to stumble downward.

When he emerged from the stairwell the room fell silent, except for the moaning. Harry could tell that the ongoing noise was coming from the man rolling around underneath the dining table, drooling on the floor. He seemed familiar somehow, but Harry's attention was drawn to another part of the room, where Mother was crying over a woman who lay unmoving on the carpet, blood trickling from her mouth. An unfamiliar, dark-looking woman was standing over both of them. Two strange men were holding Father's limp body up by the arms. And a thin man holding a long black wand was standing in front of Harry.

"Perhaps this child knows," the man said, and dream-Harry looked at him in confusion. "Or perhaps he'll be useful in making his parents talk," the man added, smiling as he raised his wand. Something flashed in his eyes, a strange glint that made Harry feel very afraid. Then the man said, "Crucio," and Harry's world exploded in pain.

Harry jerked upright in bed, breathing heavily and flailing around for a light. Only when his hand encountered the thick, velvety hangings did he remember that he was in his dorm in Gryffindor tower. He lowered his questing arms and tried to regain control of his breathing. He'd had this nightmare before--so many times that it had in his mind gained capital letters and become The Nightmare. This was not only because of the dream itself, which was even more terrifying than Harry's other recurring nightmares, but also because it was usually accompanied by something equally unpleasant. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry tentatively fingered the covers around his groin, sighing with relief when he discovered that they were dry.

Harry let himself fall back to the pillows, but did not pull the covers back up over himself. His heart was still racing from the aftermath of the dream, and the adrenaline coursing through his body would definitely keep him from sleeping for a while. Harry always had trouble sleeping after The Nightmare, a fact that had both benefited his education and gotten him in a lot of trouble. Even worse, on the rare occasions when he'd gotten back to sleep, The Nightmare had always recurred.

After a few minutes, Harry decided that he shouldn't let his good fortune go to waste, so he clambered out of the bed, hopping down into his slippers. The air in the dorm was very cold, and that out in the stairwell was even colder. The loo was fairly warm, though, which was a relief to Harry. He scurried over to the one of the toilets and peed--this way, if he managed to get back to sleep and had The Nightmare again, at least he wouldn't be in any danger of wetting the bed.

Harry flushed the toilet and left the bathroom, his mind mulling what had happened in the dream. It was pretty much the same as it had always been except for that flicker of recognition, as if the man under the table had been someone he knew. He couldn't remember that ever happening before.

Harry shuddered as he stepped into the dorm room--he wasn't even sure he wanted to know who the man under the table had been. After all, Harry was very aware of the fact that The Nightmare was not an ordinary dream, not just the terrifying creation of an idle mind. The Nightmare was a memory that only came to him while he slept; something that had happened to him when he should have been too young to remember, but had somehow been seared into his mind so that he could never be rid of it.

Harry slid into bed and pulled the covers tight around him. He didn't want to think about The Nightmare anymore, but he couldn't think of any way to get his mind off it. He usually tried reading, but he had a feeling that his dorm-mates wouldn't take it very well if he lit a lamp in the middle of the night. He considered casting the light charm he'd learned in class a few weeks back and reading in bed, but this line of thought was interrupted by a soft noise coming from beyond his drapes. Harry listened more carefully, and when he heard it again, he stuck his head out into the chilly air of the room.

The sound was coming from the other side of the dorm, and Harry clambered out of bed again, his wand at the ready. He slowly crossed the room, moving quietly so he could follow the noise when it recurred. It took only a minute for Harry to realize the sound was coming from Ron's bed. His wand still in hand, Harry pulled back the redhead's hangings to see his friend tossing and turning beneath the sheets, a grief-stricken expression on his face and whimpering noises coming from his throat.

Without thinking, Harry reached out and shook Ron's shoulder. The larger boy woke almost instantly, sitting up so quickly that he nearly knocked Harry over. "Harry!" Ron whispered, then grabbed on to the smaller boy and hugged him tightly for a moment. Then, with a murmured apology, Ron let go and lowered his hands to his lap. "I was having a nightmare," the redhead explained, "It was about today, just like it, except that you... Neville wasn't there, and... you fell all the way down and died, but I could see you like you were right in front of me... and everyone pointed at me and said it was all my fault, and it was true, and..."

"Shh," Harry urged, sitting next to Ron and patting the other boy's back as reassuringly as he could. "It was only a dream; I'm fine."

"I know," Ron said, sniffling, "I just... it seemed so real, and I thought I'd lost you." He covered his face with his large hands, and Harry knew the redhead was trying not to cry. "You must think I'm such a baby," Ron said.

"No," Harry said. "I had a nightmare, too. I understand."

Ron immediately dropped his hands. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Harry said. "But I couldn't get back to sleep. That's when I heard you."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep again either," Ron said. "Not if I have another dream like that." He flopped back onto his pillow. "I want to sleep, but..."

Harry held up a finger to shush him. "I've got an idea," the smaller boy said quietly, then ran over to his bed, leaving his wand and grabbing a pillow. He paused for a moment to pull the hangings shut again, then returned to Ron's bed and plopped the pillow down onto it. "I'll stay here," he explained in response to the redhead's quizzical stare, "and if you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."

"Oh... okay," Ron said, scooting over to make room for Harry to lie down. The smaller boy slid under the covers and lay down facing Ron. The redhead snuggled into his pillow as Harry tugged the hangings closed. The two boys lay silently in the darkness for a while, with several inches of space separating them.

Just when Harry was sure his friend had gone to sleep, Ron whispered, "When I was little, I used to share a room with my brother Bill. Sometimes when I had nightmares he'd let me sleep in his bed. He'd hug me and sing a lullaby until I fell asleep again."

Harry curled up and wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of what to say in reply. He'd always faced his nightmares alone, and felt vaguely jealous of Ron for having an older brother to share the darkness with. He wanted to know what it was like, yet somehow felt that sharing his envy or curiosity wasn't appropriate; not now, at any rate. He decided a noncommittal grunt would be the best response.

Ron was silent for a few more moments, then asked, "What was your nightmare about?"

Harry pondered his answer for a moment, then replied, "It wasn't about today. It was... from when I was little." He hoped Ron would make the natural assumption and leave the matter alone.

"Oh," Ron said, then met Harry's expectations by declining to press the matter further.

Harry curled up a little more, already feeling guilty for deflecting Ron's question. After all, Ron had been honest with him; his own decision to use Ron's politeness against him seemed manipulative and cold. Don't you trust him? Harry asked himself, but he had no good answer.

"I can't sing," Ron said after a few moments.

Harry glanced into the darkness where he knew Ron was laying. "Me neither," he replied.

Ron was silent for several minutes, and Harry began to wonder if the other boy had fallen asleep. He slowly reached out with a questing hand, feeling around gently under the covers until he encountered the slightly fuzzy texture of Ron's threadbare pajamas. He pressed slightly against them with the palm of his hand, feeling the firmness and warmth of Ron's chest underneath. The redhead did not respond to the touch, and Harry decided that he was indeed sleeping.

Harry, however, did not move his hand; something about the feel of Ron's body under his palm was calming, reassuring. Harry relaxed, stretching out slightly and allowing himself to sink into the pillow. His eyes drifted shut, and within moments he too was asleep.

Harry woke feeling very toasty and sheltered. Something heavy was draped over his legs, and something warm and fuzzy was pressed up against his face. He tried to stretch, and discovered both that his arms were wrapped around the warm, fuzzy thing, and that the warm, fuzzy thing's arms were in turn wrapped around him. At this realization, he opened his eyes to see Ron's disturbingly paisley pajamas. He was pressed against the larger boy's chest, with their arms wrapped around each other and their legs intertwined.

To his mild surprise, Harry realized that he didn't mind this at all. He'd tensed up when he discovered where he was, but now relaxed and snuggled up against the larger boy again. Ron made a guttural noise, tightened his own arms around Harry, then relaxed again. After a moment, he quietly said, "Morning, Harry."

"Morning, Ron," the black-haired boy replied, not moving. He felt vaguely relieved that Ron had not pushed him away.

"I woke up like this sometimes," Ron said, "When I used to sleep in Bill's bed, I mean."

A comfortable silence descended on the two boys, lying awake in the dim light filtering through the hangings. Neither one made any effort to disentangle himself from the other, nor really to move at all.

"It wasn't about Voldemort," Harry said before he'd decided to.

"Your nightmare?"

Harry nodded. Now that his body had made the decision for him without his mind's consent, he had no choice but to go forward. "When I was little, some people broke into my house and hurt my mum and dad," he said. "I have a bad nightmare about it. I mean, it's just one nightmare, but I've had it lots of times."

"I have one like that," Ron said. "About when Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider." He paused, then asked, "Did those people hurt you too?"

Harry nodded silently, and Ron tightened his arms around the smaller boy. They said nothing more for several minutes. Then the tableau was interrupted as the hangings were yanked aside and bright light shined on both boys.

"Ron! Harry's not in his bed and..." Draco trailed off. "Oh," he said after several seconds. Harry heard the bedsprings creak as someone sat on the mattress behind him, and a rustling noise as the hangings were drawn closed again. Harry tried to turn his head towards Draco, but his position made it impossible, and he was reluctant to move.

"We both had nightmares," Ron quietly explained, still making no attempt to let go of Harry.

"You're okay, right?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured, his voice muffled by Ron's bedclothes. "What time is it?"

"Early," Draco replied. "Seamus and Dean are still asleep--I heard them snoring."

Harry finally got up the energy to turn over and face Draco. The blonde boy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a strange, wistful expression on his face. "Did you have any bad dreams, Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "I never remember my dreams," he said. His arm twitched, like he'd started to do something with it but changed his mind. "I still feel..." he said, shaking his head in frustration when he couldn't seem to find the words. "I'm still scared from yesterday," Draco finally choked out, his voice breaking. "You're the only friends I've ever had, and... and you could've died, and I'd be all alone again..."

Harry stretched out his hand to pat Draco reassuringly on the arm, and was surprised when the blonde took that as an invitation to lunge forward and hug him fiercely. Somewhat stunned, Harry managed to wrap his own arms around the blonde; he felt Ron shifting so that his long arms would touch both of the smaller boys. Harry's cheek was pressed against Draco's, and he could hear the blonde sniffling quietly.

"It's okay Draco," Harry whispered, "We're all safe now."

Draco let out a quiet cry, and Harry felt moisture on his cheek. "I know," the blonde said, shifting one arm to pull Ron nearer, "I just... I need to feel it." Harry tightened his embrace and felt Draco and Ron do the same. The three of them lay there for a while, arms and legs intertwined.

Eventually Ron stretched, yawned and said, "Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm in the mood for some breakfast." Harry giggled and the three of them pulled away from each other. They ended up in sitting positions, Draco wiping his eyes with his pajama cuff. Ron reached over and mussed the blonde's usually immobile hair. "Feel better?" he asked.

Draco nodded, smiling weakly. Harry realized that he also felt better now than he had the previous evening. Spending the night with Ron had put the terror of The Nightmare completely behind him, and the session with Draco had ensured that Harry felt closer to both boys than ever. Those embraces were a promise stronger than any words; a promise they would always be there for each other.

And for the first time in his life, Harry realized that he wasn't alone.