Harry Potter and the Summer After the War

Chapter 2 - Wands and Dragon Dung

Harry awoke with a start, suddenly sitting up in bed, wand in his hand feeling alert, ready…looking around frantically as though not sure where he was.

“It’s okay mate,” Ron’s voice called. “It’s okay.”

Harry relaxed slightly, his hands groping blindly for his glasses on the bedside table. Finding them, he slid them on. He was in his four-poster in GryffindorTower with absolutely no idea how he’d gotten there. Sitting opposite him atop his own bed was Ron, fully dressed, looking weary but showered and oddly refreshed.

“Why are you awake?” Harry demanded lowering his wand.

“Watching your back mate,” Ron assured him. “There still are death eaters about and I’m sure they would all love to be the one to get you.”

Harry nodded. He’d had that thought himself.

“Thanks.” He looked around as he swung his feet off the side of his bed.

“How did I get up here?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

“We carried you.” Ron shrugged but Harry looked puzzled. “When you didn’t come back last night I got worried, so I went down to the common room and found you sacked out with my sister in that chair. She told me she couldn’t wake you and asked me to help. So we sort of half dragged you half carried you up the stairs and put you to bed,” Ron explained. “Hermione helped,” he added as an afterthought.

“Thanks Ron,” Harry told him, and he meant it. He had no doubt he’d been dead to the world.

Ron nodded looking at his friend in concern. The three of them had gotten Harry up the stairs and into bed, but they’d spent much of their night wondering if he would stay there he’d thrashed around so much at first. Ron, who’d had six years experience as a roommate with his friend knew what kind of nightmares he was prone to on a normal night and hadn’t been surprised he’d been plagued by them again after all that had happened since the last time Harry had slept. And so they’d taken turns looking after him.

Harry looked about, clearly getting his bearings. “Where’s Ginny?” he asked.

Ron jerked his head across the room and Harry looked in the direction of the bed  on the other side of his from Ron’s, the bed normally occupied by Seamus. There Ginny lay sound asleep, curled up on the end of it like a cat.

“Hermione’s there,” Ron nodded towards Neville’s bed.

“You all stayed with me?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah,” Ron said. “You were in a right state mate. I think maybe…” he hesitated… “Maybe Voldemort did something to your head.”

But Harry shook his head. “No, it’s just that I finally got him out of my head.” Harry’s fingers flew to his head feeling the familiar lighting bolt shaped scar. It didn’t hurt anymore so he was surprised when his fingers came away and he found that it was bleeding slightly. He couldn’t remember it ever doing that.  “After nearly seventeen years….It’s just a weird feeling, that’s all,” Harry tried to explain.

Ron just looked at him, his mouth slightly open in that way he had.

“That’s where he was?” he asked, pointing at Harry’s head.

Harry nodded. “That’s what Dumbledore said.”

Ron frowned. “His portrait? I don’t remember.”

“In Kings Cross Station,” Harry started to explain. He frowned trying to remember exactly what he had told Ron and Hermione about that the night before.