Lightning lit the black room in bright white flashes. Thunder shook the window pane that he leaned against.
Harry Potter stared at his reflection and traced the Window-Harry's scar. His long finger traced a lightning bolt in the condensation. Green eyes stared into green.
He stared out onto the tree lined street below. Godric's Hollow was a pleasant neighborhood. It had houses with character, instead of the monotony of Privet Drive. It had interesting people, with differing personalities and an extensive collection of stories about 'that nice couple down the road.'
Mr. and Mrs. Davenport who lived in the cheery yellow house across the street filled Harry, Ron and Hermione with cookies and tales about James and Lily and how Lily would always bring them fresh flowers on Sundays, even in the dead of winter.
Geraldine Fisk, the middle aged woman who had moved in when Lily and James had, and remembered baby Harry and his uncles, Peter, Remus and Sirius. She remembered the terrible fire and marveled that Harry had survived.
"Harry?"
He glanced at Hermione's likeness in the window, "Yeah?"
"You should get some sleep," she came forward, "you're making yourself sick."
Her fingers stretched out and traced the purple crescents under his eyes. Harry gently pushed her fingers away. "No, Hermione."
"But—"
"No."
She sighed and the crease between her eyes became a bit deeper, a bit longer.
Harry watched her pad out of his room, and back to the room she shared with Ron. He then turned back to the window and resumed his staring.