At the Break of Dawn

At the Break of Dawn

"Kreacher must've guessed you'd have company," said Ron, surveying the large platter the house-elf had just left in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. He grabbed a sandwich and began stuffing it into his mouth.

"Ron!" Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "You could at least give Harry first pick. He did just kill the most powerful evil wizard the world has ever known. And when was the last time you had anything to eat, Harry?" Her tone was demanding, and her frown looked almost angry.

Harry shrugged and slumped back onto his pillows. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, or drunk, or done anything else remotely normal. He was both hungry and exhausted, but for now, it was enough just to lie here, with his two best friends sitting beside him on his bed. Friends who'd stayed with him through every peril and had, by some miracle, survived.

And with the joy of that, unbidden images drifted into his mind like tormented ghosts: Blood draining from Severus Snape's body as he lay dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. The long, terrifying walk into the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort's Killing Curse. The endless journey back to the castle in Hagrid's arms, not daring to show by a breath or the flutter of an eyelash that he was alive. Tonks' and Lupin's bodies side by side in a horrible parody of a wedding. And Fred. Always Fred . . .

"Here, Harry, drink this." He accepted the glass of butterbeer that Hermione handed him and let the bubbly liquid slide down his throat. It tasted wonderful. His spirits should be--would be--for fleeting moments were--as effervescent as the drink.

At that exact moment, he became aware of every bruise, every scrape, every ache, and knew his abused body would hurt far worse tomorrow. Tomorrow. What was he supposed to do tomorrow?

Ron and Hermione were looking at him, worry written all over their faces. "Harry--"

"It's okay." He tried to smile. "I'm okay.

"You're done in, mate," said Ron. "Try to get some sleep."

Harry shook his head. "We're all tired. Don't you remember? While I was hiding in the Headmaster's office or taking a stroll through the woods or being carried about like a baby, the two of you were actually fighting."

Hermione and Ron looked stricken.

"That was a joke!" said Harry. "Look, we're all exhausted. The whole damn world is exhausted. I promise I'll try to get some sleep."

What he wanted to say was, "Don't leave me." For hours now, for days, for months he'd fought back terror, keeping it at bay, keeping in control. In the end he'd confronted Death itself without flinching, but if he closed his eyes now . . .

He was afraid of dreaming. It was one thing to deal with all the dreadful images with a waking brain, quite another to cede control in sleep.

What he did say was, "I promise I'll try to sleep, but only if you do, too."

Hermione looked at Ron again. "We will," she said. "But we're not going anywhere. Now, eat this." She put an overstuffed chicken sandwich into his hands.

And so he did, chewing slowly and washing down each bite with a sip of butterbeer. Food. It was so simple yet so extraordinary. It was extraordinary to be here in his body, which could eat and drink and yes, hurt. A lot.

As soon as Harry swallowed the last bite, Ron rose and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon, let's let our mate here get some rest. He might have a busy day in front of him."

Harry laughed, and once he'd started laughing, he found he couldn't stop until tears were rolling down his cheeks, and then laughter threatened to turn to something else and he had to fight for control. The expressions on his best friends' faces told him that they, too, were teetering between laughter and tears.

"G'night, Harry," said Ron, and he led Hermione over to his bed. Harry was not surprised. Of course they would not want to be separated, tonight of all nights. They loved each other. Love, too, was a miracle.

He lay back and pulled the covers up, not bothering to undress. His repaired holly wand lay on the nightstand, and he reached out to touch it, enjoying the way it warmed his hand. There was one more thing he wanted, but he dared not ask for it. Not from someone in mourning. Not from someone who needed to comfort others . . .

There was a soft knock on the door, and when Harry, Ron, and Hermione all said, "Come in" at once, a very familiar figure slipped into the room.

Her face looked pale and drawn, as all their faces did, and her eyes were red and swollen. But Ginny managed a little smirk at Ron as she said, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Ron, who had his arm around Hermione, just gaped at her.

"Of course not!" Hermione said, with a hint of embarrassment in her voice. But she did not remove Ron's arm.

Ron glared at his sister. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Mum ordered me to go take a shower and get some sleep. You know I can never disobey Mum."

Ron sniggered.

"The plumbing up here seems to be working, by the way," Ginny added.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione just looked at her.

"Oh, go to sleep, you two," Ginny said, and she pulled the curtains around Ron's bed. Then she walked over to Harry. "I don't suppose you could use some company?" she said softly.

Overcome, Harry simply held out his arms, and Ginny let herself be folded into them. He wanted to protest, to tell her she should be with her family, with--but the words did not come.

"Now, sleep," she commanded, snuggling down bedside him under the covers. Harry rested his cheek against the top of her head. Ginny's long hair was still slightly damp from the shower.

Drifting off, Harry breathed in the light, flowery scent of Ginny's hair. Amortentia, he thought, before sleep took him. He dreamed of nothing at all.

The End