After the War

Chapter 35

January 1st, 1999

Per usual with young adults on New Year's Day, the night prior in the Burrow involved dancing, laughing, and most certainly, staying up until midnight at the very earliest. Also per usual, the annual New Year's kiss as the clock counted its way down to that fateful hour was a time-honored tradition that the young couples simply couldn't ignore. What to do after that was mostly up in the air, and once the traditions were upheld, games were played, and snacks eaten, the tired partiers ran out of things to entertain themselves with.

Eventually, they all trudged up to their respective beds in the wee hours of morning and fell fast asleep under the covers as soon as their heads hit their pillows. Harry, Ron, George, and Hermione all decided to sleep at the Burrow for the night since they were all too exhausted to safely apparate home and the idea of spinning through the floo network was not an appealing one to those who had drunk their fair share of firewhiskey. So, Harry and Ron found themselves sharing the top-most room yet again, but their minds were too befuddled with sleep to note the nostalgia. Hermione collapsed promptly into the additional bed that had been moved to Ginny's room, and George and Ginny both awoke to the familiar sights of their childhood bedrooms.

Ron, on the other hand, awoke to the familiar sound of moaning and thrashing sheets from across the room. Bleary-eyed, he rolled over from his stomach to his side to peer groggily at Harry. With the faint headache and dulled senses that accompanied the few firewhiskeys that he had consumed, it took him a moment or two longer to fully process what he was seeing.

The black-haired wizard was flailing and kicking out underneath the few sheets that still remained intact on his mattress. One of the blankets lay crumpled on the floor and the other was pushed against the foot of the bed. Squinting slightly, Ron forced himself to his feet, throwing off his own blankets, and trudged slowly to the opposite bed. Skipping past the usual preamble of gentle nudging and soft interruptions, Ron went straight to what he knew from experience would work.

"HARRY!" he yelled loudly, close to his ear, and shoved him heavily in the arm.

Sure enough, Harry's eyes snapped open and he lay still on his back with his chest still rising and falling rapidly and his shirt slick with sweat. He blinked slowly for a few moments, then took in his surroundings. Ron's blurry face was hovering over him, anxious with a hint of curiosity. The back of his shirt felt damp against his skin and he could not believe the sweltering heat that had apparently accumulated in the room throughout the winter night.

Groaning, Harry pushed himself onto one elbow and reached blindly for his glasses that he knew were somewhere on the bedside table. Ron grabbed them and held them out, then waited for Harry to shove them onto his nose and regain his sight before speaking.

"What was it this time?" Ron asked, not giving Harry any chance to pretend that everything was fine.

"That bloody forest," Harry muttered and pushed himself into a seated position. He hastily kicked off the blankets and took a deep breath, appreciating the slightly cooler air. Ron nodded to himself and grabbed the blanket from the floor. He dropped it in a clump onto the bed and sat beside Harry.

"Same type of nightmare?" Ron asked, feigning casualness.

"Same type of nightmare," Harry confirmed numbly.

Ron turned to look Harry straight in the eye, determined to be able to see if he was lying. "Do you have them every night?"

"Not every night exactly, but... often enough," Harry admitted, not meeting Ron's eye.

"Harry! You should have told me!" Ron cried exasperated.

"It's not like you can do anything about it!" Harry replied, instantly matching his heat.