He sleeps fitfully. He always has and it's no surprise really, after what he's been through over the years. I sit here, night after night, watching him. Watching over him. Sometimes, he wakes and smiles up at me before moving closer, wrapping his arms around me as he falls back into his restless sleep.
Two years ago, he finally killed the Dark Lord and I think that was the final straw. I remember the nights before then. Only occasionally would I need to hold him through the dark hours.
For three years I have watched him sleep, for three years I have comforted him through the worst of his nightmares. For three years, I have kept a vigil through the worst of his memories. Maybe one day his nightmares will end and I will no longer need to watch him.
I do not look forward to that day. Will he still need me then? Will he still love me when he no longer needs the comfort I offer? I dread the day he no longer looks to me to get him through the night. Will he still need a lowly Slytherin?
Looking down at him now, his long limbs tangled in the bed sheets, I can't help but think not. He looks relaxed now, his forehead clear of the frown he wears during the daylight hours. I gently trace a finger along that faded lightning bolt scar, the first of many scars now scattered over his body, the still vibrant remnants of countless battles with the Dark.
I don't want to loose him. Not now.
I pull the bed sheet up and over his bare shoulders, tentatively brushing the stray strands of his unruly hair from his face, before lying down next to him almost nose to nose. I lie and watch him, letting his slow, warm breath wash over me. I can't loose him.
"I love you too much, Harry."