It may have been ten years since the Battle at Hogwarts, but Harry Potter was still having nightmares about the war. Tonight was particularly bad for both of us—he was thrashing about more violently than usual, and I had woken up because he had elbowed me in the ribs.
"Harry." I whispered, struggling to keep his arm pinned down. "Harry! Wake up." I shook him slightly—it was painful to watch him tormented like this. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and his muddled voice took on a tone of urgency.
"Ginny, are you safe?" Ugh. Not that again.Why did even his nightmares have to be centered on worries for other people's well being? Sometimes he called for Albus or Lily or James or even Ron and Hermione, but usually it was me. I worried about you the whole time we were looking for the horcruxes, he had once told me. I had winced when Hermione told me about the Marauder's map, and how he had stayed awake looking at the little dot which proved I was still alive.
"I'm fine, love. It was just another nightmare." I said, watching comprehension hit his face even before I spoke. I touched his pale forehead, glad to see the color seeping back into his cheeks. Lightly, I ran the tip of my finger over his scar. "Go to sleep now," I said.
At least the nightmares were getting better. Two years ago he would have sprung out of bed, tendons taut in his neck. He would have grabbed his wand and brandished it like a club, aimless as a troll without his glasses. Maybe the nightmares were becoming tamer, but maybe I had just grown better at keeping him contained in bed. Secretly, I was glad the nightmares hadn't gone away entirely. In the shameful recesses of my mind, I enjoyed the way he looked at me after waking up from them. Sure, watching him being tortured was awful, but in the seconds after he woke up from a nightmare, he always looked at me like I was God's golden gift.
"I love you, Ginny." He said, clutching me to him. I burrowed into his chest and closed my eyes.
"I love you too, Harry."