After the final battle, after it was all finally done, Harry walked slowly upstairs to the first room he'd called home, peeled back the covers of the bed that had been his for nearly seven years and slipped beneath them. He closed his eyes and finally slept, and slept, and slept.

He slept through the celebrating and the mourning of the first few hours after the conclusion of the battle. He slept through Hermione poking her head in when no one had seen him for a while and slept as she smiled softly and left him be. He slept through those initial plans and meetings, the beginnings of the clean up. He slept through Mrs Weasley pressing a kiss to his forehead and smoothing back the covers. He even slept when Ginny snuck up into the dormitory, watching him for a few, long minutes before leaving again. He slept, and he slept, and he slept.

The hours passed, stretching and bleeding together, as the whole wizarding world tried to come to grips with what had happened, and Harry slept through them all. No one disturbed him or tried to wake him, everyone agreeing that the rest was well-deserved, and those who went up to check on him defended the choice to leave him the most insistently, having seen for themselves how at peace he finally looked. How much younger he looked in sleep than he ever looked while awake.

So he slept, all through that first day and all through the night, and it wasn't until the next morning that Ron was sent upstairs to wake him. 'He'll be hungry' was the reasoning, or 'He won't want to miss anything more', relief and victory so thick in the air that no one wanted to admit to the concern that was just starting to emerge. Worry that Harry, their saviour, their protector had slept for nearly an entire day and hadn't stirred once.

"Oi," Ron called as he loped into the room, fresh clothes for both himself and Harry folded over his arm. "Are you ever going to get up?"

He spoke loudly enough that Harry should have stirred and yet he slept on, breathing deep and even, eyes still beneath the lids as if he didn't even dream. Ron's hands had been on the hem of shirt, ready to pull it up and off and trade it for the new one, but paused, a cold and uneasy feeling trickling down his spine.

"Harry," he said, forcing himself to sound casual, maybe a little amused. As if his friend's deep slumber was of little consequence, even to be expected.

He aimed a kick at one of the leg's of Harry's bed, hard enough that the frame shifted a little, but there was no response. Ron's smile faded and he approached his friend's bedside without hesitation, reaching out to touch Harry's shoulder. He was warm and solid under his hand, his chest rising and falling without trouble, and Ron could even feel the slight puff of breath on every exhale. But when he shook Harry's shoulder, first gently and then with increasing desperation there was no reaction, no response other than the continued slow inhale and exhale.

Harry was sleeping and would not wake.

Ron stumbled back a step, then turned and ran for the stairs, already yelling for help.

The dormitory was crowded with the Weasleys, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor McGonagall all crammed into it, but Madam Pomfrey didn't seem bothered by the audience as she methodically examined Harry.

"Should we move him to the hospital wing, Poppy?" Professor McGonagall asked, trying not to show her concern as she took in her former student.

Madam Pomfrey's fingers brushed over Harry's chest, and the dark bruise that was forming there, before she buttoned his shirt with a wave of her wand. "I'm afraid it wouldn't help," she said, straightening and turning to address them all. "I can't find anything wrong with him."

"How can that be?" Mrs Weasley cried, shaking hands coming up to cover her mouth. "He's been like this for over a day."

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said sadly, casting a long look at Harry. "But there's no injury that I can find, he's simply asleep. You can ask one of the healers from St Mungo's to confirm, of course, but I doubt they'll be able to do anything more for him."

"Will he wake?"

The question came from Mr Weasley, spoken in the tone of a man who had just lost one son and was trying to come to terms with the possibility of losing another.

"I hope so. But I think that if, and when, he does, it'll be when he's ready. For now it's just a matter of waiting."

The only sound across the entire grounds was the muffled crunch of the grass under each of Harry's footsteps. The day was beautiful, the sky a brilliant blue and completely devoid of clouds, and he had to wonder if it all wasn't quite real, for he had never seen Hogwarts so empty, and especially on a day such as this. There were no students splashing their feet in the lake, none studying in the shade of the trees, not even the distant sound of chatter coming from the castle in the distance. He was completely and utterly alone.

Almost.

Harry wasn't sure what made him turn, they didn't make a sound, not even an exhale or cough, and yet Harry twisted, finding his mother and father waiting for him at the base of a large beech tree.

Definitely not real.

But even though Harry knew it wasn't, he went to them, moving quickly and allowing himself to be folded into his mother's arms. He felt his father's wrap around both of them and he couldn't help but think that he had never known this feeling before, the embrace of his parents. His mother stroked his hair, his father clenched the back of his t-shirt as if unable to bear letting him go, and Harry just let himself stand there, his head resting against them as he just enjoyed being held.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured. "We love you so much."

"We're very proud of you," his father added.

"I'm so tired," he confessed, and the moment he said the words, he realised they were true. He just wanted to lie right there on the grass, under the warm sun, and sleep until that terrible exhaustion had melted away.

"We know," his father said, and Harry got the feeling that they really, really did.

He wanted to stay in their arms forever, feeling safe and comforted, but he needed to know.

"Why?"

That was all he said but they seemed to understand what he was really asking. They shared a long look, a million things passing between them before they turned back to him.

"Last time you went back because you felt an obligation to, because you had unfinished business that wouldn't allow you to rest until it was done. Now you get another chance, and this time, if you go back, it will be because you really want to."

Time felt like it was passing terrifyingly fast and so achingly slow for Ginny. The hours stretched and flew as they took turns sitting by Harry's side and as the time inched towards a second full day of Harry's slumber, Ginny found herself in that chair by his bedside. She knew her mother and Hermione had passed the time by talking to him, while others like George had been completely silent the entire time, and Ginny found herself subconsciously emulating the latter.

Until she realised she did have something to say after all.

She leaned forward with a sigh, and gently took Harry's hand in her own. Calluses from years of playing quidditch perfectly lined up with her own as she tangled their fingers together, and she gazed at his hand in hers, tracing the nicks and cuts and scars accumulated from months on the run.

"I understand if you have to go."

She didn't know she was going to say the words until they were out but she meant them she realised. Losing him would break her, tear her apart so completely, but she would understand if needed to leave all the pain and loss behind. How could she not understand when she was looking at his face, totally at peace, possibly for the first time in his entire life?

"I love you, Harry," she whispered. "I never got a chance to tell you that before, but I do, I love you. And it's because I love you that I'll understand if you do have to go." She leaned closer, clutching his hand like it was a lifeline, as her voice grew fierce. "But I don't want you to. I want more days with you, more kisses with you, more everything with you. So I understand if you need to go, but know that you have someone waiting for you here."

Harry knew Ginny was talking to him, even though she was sitting, arms around her knees, on the grass, looking out across the lake. Her words echoed in his head, I love you, and I want more days with you, more kisses with you, more everything with you, and he wanted to go to her, to hold her when the tears started to slip down her cheeks. But he knew, instinctively, that it would be no use, that he would be little more than a ghost to her in this form, whatever form he was in. He watched as Hermione and Ron seemed to step out of nowhere and approached her, Hermione crouching down to wrap her in a hug while Ron touched her shoulder.

Harry always heard people saying that they would die for their loved ones. But dying was easy, sometimes it was living that was the hardest.

"I want more time with you too," he whispered. "I want to live for you."

He turned back to his parents who had been waiting patiently behind him, and knew what his answer was. He thought that they knew it too because his mother stepped closer and touched his cheek.

"It's time to live now, darling."

Because what he had been doing for so long was merely surviving and they all knew it.

"We'll see you again one day," his father promised him.

Harry drank them both in, knowing that that day wouldn't be for a long, long time, and then as his heart swelled with love for them, he opened his eyes and woke up.

It's been a hot minute since I've wrriten HP fic, hope this was alright :D