A Revision
Harry woke with a start. His heart was hammering, and he was drenched in sweat.
Ginny stirred beside him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly alert.
"Nothing. Just a dream." Harry said rather shakily.
"Let me know if you want to talk about it." said Ginny.
"I think I'm fine tonight, thanks." Harry replied.
Ginny gave Harry's hand a firm squeeze, then rolled back over.
It took Harry a few moments to calm down, although he knew now that his nightmares were really just nightmares. There was a time when he could see into Voldemort's mind, when Harry had terrible visions of the dark wizard's doings, but that time had long since passed. Harry's scar hadn't bothered him since Voldemort's death nineteen years earlier, and he, Harry, hadn't had an uncontrollable vision since. None of this stopped Harry, however, from dreaming of the past, from reliving, or, in some cases, reinventing the terrible things he'd seen during the Second Wizarding War.
Tonight it had been Fred. Tonight, Harry had been standing in Hogwarts nineteen years in the past, fighting with his friends. Tonight, the wall had exploded again, ripping Harry and the others in a frightening instant from the world they had known, casting them mercilessly into another, colder one. Tonight, Harry heard Percy's screams, Ron's sobs. Tonight, Harry stared into Fred's lifeless face again for an unbearable eternity, unable to look away from the terrible vacant eyes, from the mouth, the vestige of a laugh still clinging to it.
Harry had dreamt this before, but each time felt as horrific as the first. In his dreams Harry had watched Fred, Dumbledore, Snape, Cedric, his parents, and countless others die and suffer over and over. Oftentimes he lay awake with Ginny in the middle of the night if either of them had a bad dream, a phenomenon that, between the two, was not infrequent. Sometimes they would talk about the dream, other times they would talk about happy things or even mundane things to lull themselves back into an undisturbed sleep. But Harry didn't want to talk to Ginny tonight, not about Fred. Harry didn't usually mention Fred unless Ginny brought him up. He knew that it hurt her, deeply, to think about him.
In an attempt to keep unhappy thoughts at bay, Harry pushed his son, Albus, to the forefront of his mind. Unlike his older brother James, who bounded into Hogwarts with exuberance, Albus had seemed rather apprehensive to be sent to school. Albus would've been sorted tonight, and Harry knew he would probably receive an owl from one of his sons with the results soon. Harry thought back to his own sorting, remembering how nervous he had felt, and he hoped fiercely that Albus was happy with his own sorting. Harry pictured his son sitting on a stool in the Great Hall with the sorting hat slipping over his eyes, chanting under his breath not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin…