Chapter 9: "Wounded Soldiers"
"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers."
– Jose Narosky
00000
"Stupefy!"
The shouted curse fell on Percy's ears like a hammer as he opened his brother's hospital room door and walked right into a nightmare. In horror he watched as a jet of red light shot from a hooded figure's wand directly toward Fred, who summoned every ounce of strength he had and barely managed to roll out of bed and topple helplessly on the floor just as the spell sailed above him.
"NOOO!" Percy screamed. Moving without thought he hurled himself at his brother's attacker. He crashed into the startled man, knocking them both to the floor in a tangle of robes and limbs. With savage fury, he tore the wand from the Death Eater's hand and threw it across the room. Then he gave in to the rage coursing through him, a rage that was like none he'd ever felt before. He vented all of it at the black-robed figure that had tried to take his brother's life, furiously pummeling the man with his bare fists. He'd watched Fred die once, right in front of him. Watched the light fade from the eyes of a brother he'd barely had time to make up with. Then a miracle had brought him back and there was no way, NO WAY, he was going to watch it happen again!
Just then, Percy caught movement out of the corner of his eye; someone else rushed into the room. He turned from his bloody prisoner, ready to attack this new threat, only to see George's panic-stricken face.
"FRED!" the young man cried, racing to his twin's side.
Finally, Percy's horror-fueled thoughts cleared enough for him to see reason and he remembered the wand in his pocket. Harshly, he whipped it from his robes and pointed it without hesitation at the Death Eater, muttering the binding spell with enough anger to produce ropes two inches thick.
"George, go get help!" he ordered his younger brother, aware of the extremely grey tint to Fred's skin as he lay gasping for breath in a pile of knotted bedclothes on the floor, his twin hovering frantically above him. "NOW!"
His words left no room for argument and for the first time in his life, George obeyed without question, running back into the hall and screaming for Healers and security.
"Fred," Percy said gently, kneeling by his brother's side. "Fred, can you breathe?"
"Yeah," Fred answered after a minute of panting. "Sorta. Chest hurts."
Percy didn't have time to ask any more questions as he was shoved roughly aside by the Healers and Medi-wizards that were suddenly circling his injured brother. In worried shock and growing fear, Percy and George stood side by side in silence and watched as Fred was quickly restored to his bed, a blur of activity surrounding him. It seemed to last for hours; the Healers not even stopping their work as security wizards arrived and took the battered Death Eater away.
Finally, Fred's chief Healer stepped back and wiped at the sweat dripping off his forehead with the sleeve of his robe.
"Is he all right?" George asked at once, his face practically white with worry.
"Yes, thank Merlin," the Healer sighed. "There was some slight re-injury caused by the fall, but the protection and Healing spells held, and none of the magical residue from the curse seems to have come in contact with them. He's bruised and sore, but that's it."
Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Percy glanced at George just in time to see his younger brother's legs give out on him.
"Whoa!" he cried, catching him and guiding him to a chair.
"Sorry," George muttered, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "Just…just…" He couldn't even finish the sentence.
"I know," Percy said, and he really did. His heart was still pounding from terror and shock.
With the exception of the aged Healer, all the extra personnel had left the room, leaving them alone with Fred again.
"Where's Gus?" Fred asked suddenly, his breathless voice tinged with worry and pain.
"Gus?" Percy repeated, thinking maybe Fred had hit his head as well.
"My fox. Luna gave him to me. He didn't get hurt did he, falling out of bed like that?"
"Your fox? Luna?" Now Percy was really confused, but just then a fearful sort of whimper sounded from beneath Fred's bed. Eyes widening, Percy knelt down and peered under. Sure enough, back in the very farthest corner, two little eyes stared at him out of a tiny, furry, red head.
Oh, Sweet Merlin! he couldn't help thinking as he carefully eased the terrified animal out of its hiding place.
Frowning sternly, he stood and turned to his brother. "There is no way you are keeping this animal! Do you realize how many hospital rules you're probably breaking – not that you've ever cared much for breaking rules – and on top of that – "
"Excuse me, Mr. Weasley?" he was cut off mid-rant by the Healer, which was probably a good thing. Percy was letting his panic and adrenaline from earlier run into a full steam lecture, the kind he had promised himself to try harder not to give. He turned and eyed the man expectantly.
"Let me just say it wouldn't be the first animal to spend some time inside these walls while it's owner recovered. Wizards do tend to get very attached to their pets. If it helps your brother, I have no problem with it staying."
Percy felt his jaw literally drop.
"See," said Fred, and Percy got the feeling it was only the pain he was in that kept him from sticking his tongue out to accompany that statement. "Now, can I have him back?" he asked, holding out his good hand.
Giving a long-suffering sigh, Percy deposited the frightened animal in his brother's lap.
"Word has been sent to both the Ministry and your family about what just happened here, so I would be expecting some rather worried company soon," the old man said, standing wearily. "Do not leave him alone until they get here," he added sternly to Percy and George, who both nodded.
"So," said George to his twin as the aged Healer left the room. Percy noticed he looked a little less pale, although he hadn't tried to stand back up yet. "What I want to know is when you decided the beast's name was Gus?"
"I think it was as I was falling to the floor. It sorta hit me, if you know what I mean," Fred answered. Both twins gave a watery laugh at that, and Percy found he suddenly couldn't stay, couldn't handle this attempt at normalcy in the face of what had happened…what had almost happened.
"George, stay here, I'll be right back," he said quickly and then rushed from the room before either of his brothers could say anything. He made it to the lavatory down the hall before he lost it. Bending over the porcelain bowl he emptied his stomach completely and then just knelt there shaking, not only from the shock, but especially the fear of what he nearly lost again.
00000
"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Harry? Have you really thought this through?"
"Yes, Professor, I really have," said Harry earnestly. He was sitting in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office at the Ministry with Kingsley himself and Professor McGonagall. "I know Sirius left it to me, but I can't live there. All I can see is Sirius stuck there, a virtual prisoner. That's not how I want to remember him. Besides, I don't need it, but don't try and tell me the Order couldn't use it."
"The Order is perfectly capable of finding a new home for Headquarters," said Professor McGonagall rather sternly.
"I know, Professor," Harry sighed as he ran a hand tiredly through his messy black hair. He'd been prepared for this argument, but it was still annoying. "But I want to do this. No, I need to do this. You have all been telling me I need to let the past go and start looking to the future – well this is one of those things I need to do. I'd like your help with this, that's why I came to you as I'm honestly at a loss as to the best way to approach it, but one way or the other I want this done."
Kingsley and McGonagall shared a look and then the Minister sighed, leaning back in his chair. "What do you need to know?"
Harry grinned and leaned forward. "What my options are. I wanted to just give you the bloody house as we all know that between what my parents and what Sirius left me I don't need the money, but Bill mentioned some legal stuff I didn't really understand that might be a problem and – "
"You are aware that Albus named you as his heir as well, are you not?" Professor McGonagall interrupted his tumbling words, and Harry felt his jaw go slack as he turned to her in shock.
"Wha—at?" he stammered.
"Albus named you his heir," she repeated gently. "While he did not have a vast fortune one can start to amass a tidy sum when the only things one purchases from year to year are sweets and questionable robes and dressing gowns. Upon his death half of the money went to the scholarship fund at Hogwarts, then some specific bequests and a portion of his money went to Aberforth, but the rest went to you. Surely Scrimgeour told you last fall?"
Harry huffed. "I reckon there's a lot of things Scrimgeour forgot to tell me," he muttered, shaking his head. "But why, Professor?" he continued, turning to his former teacher in confusion. "Why would he do that? It's not like I need the money."
"Because he loved you," McGonagall answered simply. "You were the closest to a son or grandson he ever had."
A lump Harry didn't expect rose up in his throat at her words and tears threatened to fall unbidden as he thought of Dumbledore with his gentle voice and bright, twinkling eyes. He turned his face away and stared at a precarious stack of parchment labeled "Internal Affairs" in the corner for a few minutes, swallowing hard as he blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling. After a few minutes, he forced his emotions back into submission and turned to face Kingsley and McGonagall.
"So what do I need to do to make this happen?" he asked firmly.
"You're one-hundred percent sure you want to get rid of the property?" Kingsley questioned again.
"Yes," Harry answered without hesitation. "Sirius hated that house. I don't want it."
"Well, Bill is right. Giving the house away is probably not the best solution. But then again, neither is outright selling it," said the Minister, seeing Harry's mind was made up. "Part of the reason Grimmauld Place was chosen to begin with is the deep and powerful magical protections that it carries. You may not have the Black family name, but since Sirius legally willed it to you as his heir, they have remained intact. In essence, you have been adopted into the Black family."
Harry must have let his thoughts on that prospect flick across his face involuntarily because Kingsley leaned back in his chair and let out his deep laugh. Even Professor McGonagall's lips twitched slightly.
"Don't worry," the other man chuckled. "I don't reckon that means you have to add the Malfoy's to your Christmas card list. But," he added, getting back to business again, "what it does mean is if you sold or gave away Grimmauld Place the protections inherent in the Black family name would be annulled."
Harry frowned, trying to follow what the other man was saying. "So, you're telling me I can't sell it, but I can't just give it away either? I'm stuck with it, then?"
Kingsley shook his head. "Have you thought of a lease, Harry? You'd retain legal ownership, but you would delegate responsibility to the Order."
Something he'd learned ages ago, long before magic and pre-destined quests and Voldemort had ever entered his life, popped into his mind. Without thinking he blurted, "You mean, sorta like Hong Kong?"
Once again, Kinsgley's rich laugh filled the cluttered office. "Harry, my boy, you may have single-handedly saved the wizarding world, but there's no denying that Muggle upbringing, is there?"
Harry blushed, not sure whether to be insulted or join in the laugher.
"Yes, Harry," said Professor McGonagall, shaking her head slightly at the Interim Minister's antics. "You are exactly right. You set the terms and conditions and we lease the house from you for a determined amount of time and a yearly fee."
"Can I make the fee anything I want?"
"It's your lease, Harry," Kingsley reminded him, still smiling.
"Okay then. I want the yearly lease to be one Knut," he announced, crossing his arms and daring them to argue with him.
"Do you think the Order can handle that exorbitant sum?" Kingsley asked McGonagall, his eyes twinkling.
"We'll manage," replied the professor with mock seriousness. "Any other stipulations, Harry?"
"Yeah," he answered, starting to feel a huge measure of relief at the thought of finally moving on in at least one part of his life. "Kreacher. I'm worried about Kreacher."
"Kreacher is bound to you, not the house itself. Leasing the house to the Order won't change that at all," replied the Minister.
"I know," said Harry, waving a hand impatiently. Strangely enough, through the events of the last year and sealed by Kreacher's act of loyalty in the Battle, Harry had grown rather fond of the ancient elf. He'd tried numerous times over the last month to offer the house elf his freedom, but Kreacher would have none of it. He seemed determined to live out the rest of his days in Harry's service, much to the teenager's embarrassment. "But Grimmauld Place is his home. I might not want to live there, but if he wants to…" Harry shrugged. "I want it part of the terms of the lease that he always has a room there and free run of the place whenever he wants. And for Merlin's sake let him keep the heads of his ancestors there 'cause I really, really don't want him hauling them over to be stored in my trunk or something!"
"You do realize how difficult that's going to make picking a theme for the new décor of the building, don't you?" asked Professor McGonagall. She said it so even and straight-faced that Harry almost believed her, until he saw the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that soon turned into a real smile. "Of course, Harry. Kreacher is always welcome there as well as at Hogwarts."
"So are you happy with this arrangement, Harry?"
Harry nodded at the Minister, feeling more than pleased with what had just been worked out.
"Good. I'll have some of my lawyers draw up the legal documents tomorrow and then if you approve of them we can make it official—"
Suddenly, a slivery Saint Bernard streaked into the room, cutting Kingsley off mid-sentence. "There has been a Death Eater attack at St. Mungo's directed at Mr. Fred Weasley," it spoke in the calm but urgent voice Harry recognized as belonging to Fred's main Healer. "Your presence is requested immediately, Minister Shacklebolt."
Fear froze Harry's insides at the words and he leapt to his feet, rushing from the room with the others, his only thought now to get to the Floo chamber as fast as possible.
00000
With an audible sigh of relief, Ron slipped into the men's room of the ice cream shop and quickly tore off his costume, praising whatever Muggle genius had invented this thing called "air conditioning" as he fought the urge to stretch out on the floor right in front of the vent. Thank Merlin some beautiful Muggle law mandated he be allowed two twenty minute breaks and an hour lunch every day or he would have gone barmy by now. Or melted, like the blobs of ice cream screaming children were always dropping on the sidewalk outside the shop. Who knew being a purple cow was such hard work?
He still hadn't told Hermione what he was doing. Oh, she knew he'd found a job. The minute he'd told her, she'd flung her arms around his neck and started to cry, thanking him a million times over for being willing to do that for her and telling him he was noble and wonderful and some other stuff he hadn't really understood because her mouth was sorta smashed against his by that point. She'd just assumed he'd found a job in the Magical community, and Ron couldn't bring himself to correct her – a man had to have some pride after all.
Besides, he was worried about her. The longer they went with no trace of her parents the more despondent she became. She threw herself into the search with a fervor, but underneath that mask Ron could see the truth – that a little bit of the Hermione he had loved since he first saw her bushy, bossy head poke into their train compartment was dying with each passing day. It terrified him because he was absolutely helpless to stop it.
Exiting the lavatory, Ron grabbed a sandwich from the deli-fridgerator-thingie (he'd been given free reign during lunch) and then headed outside to spend the forty-five minutes he had left on his break. The late Autumn air was chilly without a purple cow suit on; he pulled his jacket closer as he headed across the street to Dell's Bookstore. He knew his brothers and Harry would give him no end of grief if they knew he was frequenting a bookstore during his lunch, but he'd only come in the first time looking for a gift for Hermione to help cheer her up and he'd found it was a quiet, comfortable place to hide and eat. Besides, he'd given up all rights to dignity when he donned the purple monstrosity hanging back in the men's room anyway.
"Afternoon, Ron."
"Hey, Lisa," he replied to the Muggle university student who was manning the shop. Apparently, the store's owners were on a two week vacation. They were expecting their first child and wanted one last trip before it became too difficult to travel. Lisa, who was taking a semester off from school, was covering for them while they were gone.
Grabbing a newspaper, Ron took his sandwich and settled at the same table in the corner he'd been using for the last week. It was incredibly weird to read a paper where the pictures just sat there and didn't move, and where the stories made not a single mention of the epic struggle between good and evil that had just taken place a few weeks earlier. He longed for news from home, an update on the clean-up and search for rogue Death Eaters, a note about how Harry was handling everything, word about Fred…
He sighed and shoved the paper away, bored with it. He ate the last bite of sandwich and then stood up, glancing at the clock and noting that he had roughly half an hour before he had to return to his purple torture. Maybe today he would find that perfect gift for Hermione.
Still feeling rather out of place in a room so full of books, Ron wandered the small shop, haphazardly browsing the stuffed shelves and books that overflowed into stacks and piles. But it was no use. He flipped through book after book but he could never be sure he'd found the right one. Here was a book on macramé – what in the name of Merlin's pet pony was that? Ron thought to himself. He saw another on the art of cooking and nearly grabbed it until he realized that it would be more of a gift for him than Hermione.
He glanced through the "History" section for a while, but soon moved on. He was sure there were books there that Hermione would have liked, but the topics were all on Muggle history and he had no idea where to start. He walked quickly through the "Geography" section, unable to stop a laugh when he saw A Scenic Travel Log of England. After all of the countryside they'd seen, the last thing they needed was pictures of all the rotten places they'd had to camp. He especially had no desire to see the Forest of Dean ever again.
Ambling up the book-strewn stairs, he worked his way through "Home Improvement," "Entertainment" and "Science Fiction" finding nothing that sparked any interest. Then he turned a dark corner and found himself in a dimly lit section called "Comics."
"Wicked!" Ron whispered, a huge grin splitting his face. "I knew Muggles were good for something." With boyish delight, he grabbed the first book off the stack, a volume titled Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat(1) and settled on the floor to read, thoughts of Hermione momentarily forgotten.
It was quite different from the wizarding comics he had grown up with; there were things he didn't understand, but it somehow felt like a bit of home and he found himself loving it, even laughing out loud.
"This is great!" he chuckled, turning a page. "Fred and George would love this," he added to himself, feeling a pang of longing for his family and worry for his gravely injured older brother and the fact that he didn't know how he was doing now. An idea struck him and he turned over the book, glancing at the price. It was an older, used copy and so the price had been reduced.
The clock struck the hour, telling him he needed to hurry back to work. He stood up, making a decision and knowing Hermione would understand. He dug the money out of his pocket and paid for the book, then walked back across the street imagining the happy grin on his brother's face when Fred saw the crazy Muggle book, read the words, and laughed at the pictures.
00000
Exhausted, Harry sank down into a chair in the hospital tea room, letting his head fall wearily into his arms on the table.
This day had been insane.
Hearing Fred had been attacked sent a type of fear and anger he'd rarely felt rushing through him. He'd grown up devoid of any experience with family love, both receiving it and feeling it for others. Ron and Hermione had been his family since year one and he'd honestly never expected more than that, but the Weasleys had adopted him willingly into their family. What had shocked him that morning however, was to realize that he'd also adopted them, allowed them to fill that void in his heart. Not just Ron, Hermione and now Ginny – no, he realized he loved all those crazy redheads as if they were his own blood. It was a wonderful discovery, but it was also extremely scary. Letting people into his heart was dangerous; it meant he could be more easily hurt.
He sighed, not bothering to raise his head from his arms. Oh how he wished Ron and Hermione were here with him. He missed them so much it was a physical pain lodged in his chest, an ache that grew every day that went by. Not only were they his best friends, they had always had the ability to pull him back from the brink when he was teetering on the edge of disaster.
Running fingers through his limp hair, he sat up just as George Weasley slipped into the tea room and sank bonelessly into a chair in the far corner of the room by the window, never even noticing Harry.
Speaking of someone teetering on the edge of disaster…
Harry frowned as he scanned his older friend. George's eyes were blood-shot and ringed with dark shadows, his face haggard and thin and covered in scruffy stubble. His clothes were wrinkled and he sat hunched over like an eighty-year-old man instead of a twenty-year-old kid. Harry knew the Weasleys were deeply worried about him, almost as much as they were concerned for Fred. Mrs. Weasley lived in fear he was going to end up in his own hospital bed before long. As far as Harry knew, George hadn't even left the hospital once since he'd hitched a ride here on Madam Pomfrey's Portkey that fateful night.
Quietly, Harry rose to his feet and left the room, a determined glint in his eyes as he formed a plan. It wouldn't be a fun or pleasant one, but it needed doing. In fact, as Harry reflected on it, taking on unpleasant tasks that "needed doing" had become his life-long specialty. At least this time he knew he would be helping a friend.
00000
"Hey, George, come here for a minute," Harry called out from the far side of the hospital common room when he saw the tall youth enter. George looked around for a moment before spotting Harry and weaving his way through the tables to the dark-haired wizard.
"What d'you need?" asked George.
"Just wanted to show you this," said Harry pulling a Muggle toy out of his pocket. "Thought it might interest you for the shop," he added. He glanced surreptitiously at the corner of the room to Kingsley, who nodded slightly, before he held the toy out to George.
The instant they both touched it, Harry felt the familiar tug behind his navel of a Portkey activating. He registered the shock and surprise in George's eyes before the hospital dissolved around them.
They landed with a thud in the sitting room of the Burrow, and Harry watched the confusion on his friend's face turn instantly to anger as he took in his surroundings. He swore vehemently and rounded on Harry, taking a violent swing at him.
Harry, the product of years of training, easily ducked just as Charlie's thick, muscled arms wrapped around George.
"Expelliarmus!" said Bill from the corner, and George's wand flew from his pocket and into his eldest brother's hand.
"Argh!" George growled wildly, wrenching free from Charlie's hold and backing away from the three of them. He glared furiously at them for a long moment of complete silence before he turned in a rage and hurled the Muggle toy at the wall where it exploded like a bomb on impact.
"You tricked me!" he shouted at Harry. "You bloody traitor!"
Harry, his expression serious and unyielding as he stood his ground, calmly undid the first few buttons on his shirt and drew the edges aside, allowing the top of his still healing bruise to show. "Learned from the best, didn't I," he said bluntly, his eyes boring into George's pointedly.
George narrowed his eyes at him angrily before turning away.
"And you two?" he shot at his brothers.
"Back-up," said Charlie simply as he stood like a roadblock in the doorway, arms crossed.
"And one-hundred-percent behind Harry's plan," added Bill, clearly not in the mood to take his younger brother's temper tantrum.
"I'm fine!" snapped George, running hands through his hair in frustration as he paced.
"No, you're not!" replied Bill. "You haven't been home since the Battle, you haven't even left St. Mungo's! You're hardly sleeping, you barely eat… You haven't even been to check on the shop! Mum's sick with worry over you and we're tired of it!"
"You had no right! No right to bring me here against my will!" George spat.
"Maybe not," agreed Harry stepping toward his friend defiantly, "but I did it and I'm not sorry. George, you're falling apart and we can all see it, even Fred! You need to step back for a bit, sleep in your own bed, eat your mum's cooking and let her fuss over you for a change instead of me! Check in with Oliver and Lee about the shop, turn someone's shampoo into glue – anything!"
"What I need is to be with Fred!" said George desperately.
"George, Fred has six Weasleys, half the Order, and the Minister himself watching over him right now!" exclaimed Bill. "You. Need. To. Stay. Home!"
"I can't! I almost lost him!"
"We all almost lost him, Georgie," said Charlie in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Not like I did, you didn't!" cried George, tears leaking unbidden down his cheeks as his words burst forth, a month's worth of pent up emotion finally exploding. "You don't understand! You can't understand! You lost a brother – I lost half of my soul! It tore a hole so big I knew it was gonna swallow me up, too! I can't lose him again! I have to stay with him!" He sank onto the sofa, completely spent as he stared at his brothers and Harry in desperate pleading, angrily swiping at his wet face.
Harry glanced at Bill and Charlie, feeling like an intruder in a private family moment and not at all sure what to say. Thankfully, he didn't have to think of anything.
"George," said a soft voice, and Harry looked over to see Ginny slip into the room and move over to the sofa. "George," she repeated, sitting beside him and wrapping her arms around her big brother. "He really is gonna be okay. We promise," she whispered. "Now we have to make sure you'll be okay, too."
"I'm…I…I need to stay there," he replied helplessly.
"Fred said you might say that," replied Ginny with a small grin, "which is why he just sent me here to give this to you." She pulled a piece of bright pink parchment from her pocket and handed it to George. The twin read it and suddenly broke out into a watery laugh. "That prat," he muttered, shaking his head.
Curious, Harry took the parchment from George. Large wobbly letters spelled out a message: Stay home and get some rest, you big git! And shower, because this place is really starting to stink and how am I ever supposed to make my move on that Healer's Assistant with the sexy voice if you and your stinky socks are hanging out in here night and day? – Love Fred
Harry laughed out loud. He couldn't help it; it was just so… Fred. The tension of a moment before dissipated, leaving just a heavy weariness.
"Fine," sighed George. "You win. But that was a vile trick and you three are not forgiven, not by a long shot." He held his hand out to Bill for his wand back as he stood.
"Nuh-uh," said Bill, firmly shaking his head. "I'm not a gullible first year. You get the wand back after you look like a member of the human race again. And we decontaminated your room as well, just to be safe. You can sleep or you can count the scorch marks on the ceiling, but you will stay in there until Mum calls you tonight for dinner."
George glared at Bill, clearly ready to rekindle the argument until Ginny spoke up. "Or, I can just hex you until you wish you'd taken option one," she said sweetly, wand pointing unerringly at his head.
"Nutters, the lot of you!" cried George, throwing his hands up and stomping off up the stairs, but no one missed the tired slump of his shoulders or weary sound of his feet as he went.
"If I were the three of you, I'd sleep very, very lightly for the next, oh six months or so," said Ginny, shaking her head as she turned and headed into the kitchen. "You play with fire, expect to be burned eventually…"
Harry gulped. Maybe he should take Kingsley up on that offer of a bodyguard after all…
00000
With a muffled scream, Harry shot up in bed, sweat pouring down his neck and back in icy rivers as he gasped desperately for air and tried to push the images from his mind.
It was just a nightmare, he thought frantically. Just a nightmare, and hardly a new one at that. His life had given him quite a collection of night terrors to choose from and ever since that completely terrifying encounter in the forest a month ago it seemed all the walls he'd built up over the years to keep them back had crumbled to dust.
More exhausted than he'd been before he went to sleep, Harry drew his knees up to his chest and let his head sink to the sheets that covered them, blinking back tears.
"Here, son," a quiet, sorrowful voice said and he jerked slightly as he felt the mattress dip beside him, looking up swiftly. Mr. Weasley was sitting on the bed's edge, holding out a cup.
"Don't worry, it's only warm milk. It used to help Ron sleep when he'd have nightmares." Mr. Weasley's voice was warm and caring, despite being laced with deep sadness.
Harry stared at him for a long moment. Part of his mind was still stuck alone in the void of his dreams, unable to understand this unexpected kindness in the dark of his night. Finally, he blinked and reached out a shaking hand to grasp the cup.
"Thanks," he mumbled quietly. "How…? Why…?"
Mr. Weasley seemed to understand the question he couldn't articulate.
"I heard you tossing and turning. You don't raise seven children and not learn to distinguish the sound," he said gently. "I've been sitting with you for almost an hour. I didn't want to invade your privacy, Harry, but no one should be alone when their mind turns on them at night."
Harry swallowed the milk slowly, marveling at the calming and completely new sensation it sent through him, then handed the cup back. No one, not even Sirius or Remus, had ever done this for him before – calmed him in the night like a…a father.
"They're getting worse, aren't they?" Mr. Weasley continued sadly. "The nightmares."
Still overwhelmed by strange emotions, Harry just stared at the gentle, balding man beside him before he finally nodded. Mr. Weasley squeezed his arm softly, shaking his head. "I wish I could take them away from you, make them stop, give you and all my children back your childhood."
"It's not your fault, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, his voice raspy.
"It's not yours either, Harry," returned the older man. "Something you need to remember. Now, get some sleep."
Mr. Weasley stood but instead of leaving the room, he made his way to a chair in the corner that was barely illuminated by muted lamplight and settled in, picking up a well-worn book.
"You…you don't have to stay," stammered Harry. "I'll be fine." But even as he said it he found he didn't mean it.
"You don't mind if I stay for a while do you? Molly wakes at even a hint of light and I've got to finish this chapter before I can sleep now anyway," replied Mr. Weasley lightly.
Harry shook his head, a feeling of relief shooting through him.
"Get some rest, son," said Mr. Weasley softly.
Suddenly feeling safer than he had for…longer than he could remember, Harry lay back down and closed his eyes, knowing he wasn't imagining the soft whisper that told him that at least for tonight, he wasn't alone.
(1) Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat is by Bill Watterson.