~ by Barbara Greer
Arthur watched the haggard young man before him. The Weasley patriarch had awakened and couldn’t sleep anymore, so he had thought a walk around the castle would help. He’d exited the portrait hole only to find Harry leaning against the wall, still wearing the clothes he’d worn earlier in the day. The boy’s bloodshot eyes, the deeply bruised skin underneath told a troubling tale. He wondered just how long it had been since Harry had gotten a decent rest.
“Harry,” Arthur asked quietly, “what are you doing up? You should be sleeping.”
“I can’t sleep. Ron and Hermione are sleeping now.”
“Why does that mean you can’t?”
“Someone has to stay awake.”
Harry began pacing like a terrified animal, his hands fisted in his hair. His eyes darted all around, searching, breaths shallow and fast, his entire body shaking. Panic laced his voice as he rushed his words.
“Someone has to make sure it doesn’t come. It always comes at night. If I’m sleeping, I can’t see it when it comes; I can’t stop it. I can stop it if I’m awake. It comes when it’s night. It always comes at night.”
“What comes at night, Harry?”
“Death. Death always comes at night. It came for my parents. It came for Cedric. It came for Sirius. For Dumbledore. For Hedwig and Moody. For Dobby and Snape. Colin Creevey. Remus and Tonks and—Fred. And me. It came for me, too. Don’t you see?” Harry stopped pacing and turned his desperate gaze upon the man before him. “It comes at night, but I can stop it if I’m awake. I have to stop it from taking someone else. I have to.”
Arthur sighed deeply, ran a hand down his face. He told himself he shouldn’t be surprised, knowing Harry’s penchant for taking on more than he should. He’d never given much thought to the amount of tragedy Harry had been through in his young life, and now he found himself wondering how the young man hadn’t broken.
Muttering brought him out of his reverie and back to Harry who had begun pacing again, hands still in his hair. “Can’t sleep” spilled from his lips like a compulsive litany, but it was obvious to Arthur he’d be doing just that—and soon. Harry’s shoulders drooped; he swayed and stumbled with every other step. His body was shutting down. Arthur knew he had to get him back to Gryffindor tower quickly.
“Harry,” he said gently, approaching the boy cautiously, hands held out before him, afraid to make any sudden moves. “Son, your turn is over. It’s my turn now. It’s my turn to stand guard. Let me take my turn. Okay? I won’t let anything happen. I promise.”
Glazed green eyes met Arthur’s blue gaze, and Harry stopped pacing. “You won’t? You promise?”
Arthur nodded and slowly reached out a hand, silently praying that nothing did happen while Harry slept. “I promise. Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
Harry managed two steps before his legs gave out. Arthur rushed forward and caught him around the chest.
” ‘m sorry,” Harry slurred, eyes already drifting shut, voice fading. “Legs won’ work. Don’ know why.”
“It’s okay, Harry,” Arthur reassured him, though he was pretty sure the boy hadn’t heard him. “I’ve got you.”
At first, the Weasley patriarch wondered exactly how he was going to get Harry back to the dorm until he picked Harry up. One arm around the boy’s back and the other under his knees, Arthur could easily carry him – and that bothered the man. There was no way he should have been able to carry a seventeen, nearly eighteen-year-old boy. Not even one with Harry’s slight frame. Positioning Harry so the boy’s head rested on Arthur’s shoulder, he sighed again and held tightly to the boy he’d come to love as one of his own as he walked the few steps back to the tower’s entrance.
“Daddy?”
Arthur looked up at the fearful voice. Ginny stood, frozen, at the bottom of the girls’ staircase, eyes filling with tears as they locked onto Harry. He knew how much his daughter cared for Harry, hearing again her anguished scream when she’d seen Harry in Hagrid’s arms, presumably dead. Realizing he was carrying Harry much like Hagrid had, he rushed to put her fears to rest.
“He’s just exhausted, pumpkin. That’s all. He hasn’t allowed himself to sleep.”
“What? But it’s been two days since…”
“I know, and he’s apparently been going nonstop since then. It finally got to be too much for him.”
Nodding, Ginny rushed to the couch, placed a pillow at one end, and removed the blanket from the back. Once Harry was placed on the couch, she lovingly tucked the blanket around him, knelt beside him, slipped his glasses off, and ran her hand gently through his hair.
She barely spared her father a glance. “You can go on up to bed. I’ll stay with him.”
Arthur wearily patted his daughter on her shoulder before falling into a nearby armchair. “Actually, I told him it was my turn to stand guard and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Stand guard?”
“It’s best to let him explain it—when he’s ready.”
***
Sometime later, both Weasleys woke to Harry thrashing on the couch, moaning, tears leaking from tightly shut eyes, voice hoarsely pleading for something to not be true, drenched in sweat.
Ginny hadn’t moved from her position on the floor and she again ran her hand through Harry’s damp hair, all the while murmuring soft, comforting words to him, occasionally planting a kiss on his forehead. Under her tender ministrations, Harry settled back into a peaceful slumber.
“You love him, don’t you?”
Ginny turned to see her father watching her closely. She smiled tiredly. “I do, Dad. So much. When I thought he was dead…” Ginny quickly swiped away the moisture that gathered in her eyes. “When I thought he was dead, I wanted to die, too. I didn’t see the point of living if I couldn’t share my life with him.”
Arthur opened his arms and Ginny climbed into his lap like she used to do when she was little and needed his comfort. He held her close and kissed her head.
“Well, thankfully, we don’t have to worry about that, so no sense dwelling on it.” Here he paused a moment. “I assume Harry knows how you feel?”
“I haven’t actually said the words, but when we were together I tried to show him. Actions speak louder than words, right?”
“Right you are. And what about Harry? How does he feel?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he feels the same, but I’m not sure he knows it. He’d said he’d felt like he’d been living someone else’s life while we’d been together. He broke off our relationship when Dumbledore died. He thought he could protect me that way. I was upset, but I understood. After I thought about it, I realized what he was really saying. I can still remember his exact words. ‘Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He’s already used you as bait once, and that was just because you’re my best friend’s sister. Think how much danger you’ll be in if we keep this up…’”
Ginny gave a half-laugh. “I said, ‘what if I don’t care?’ and you know what he said to me? He said ‘I care. How do you think I’d feel if this was your funeral…and it was my fault…’ He was telling me then, but I just didn’t pick up on it at the time.”
“Understandable. And yes, it sounds to me as if Harry has come to care very much for you. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better. You know your mother and I had hoped that, one day, the two of you would find your way to each other. We always felt you were what Harry needed to keep him looking for the silver linings of life.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Harry mumbled in his sleep, and father and daughter stilled. More mumbles followed and he tossed his head.
Arthur gave Ginny a quick squeeze and kiss. “Go to him, pumpkin. He needs you. He needs to know you’re close.”
Ginny slipped out of her father’s arms and returned to Harry’s side. After a repeat of her earlier actions, he again grew peaceful.
“Try to get some sleep. He’s going to need you in the upcoming days just as much as you’re going to need him.”
Ginny nodded and wearily let her head sink to the couch cushion. She was out almost instantly. Arthur remained awake and kept watch. He watched as Ginny woke and comforted Harry through yet another disturbing nightmare, one that had apparently centered on his daughter and was bad enough to bolt him upright, wide awake and yelling. He watched as Harry clung to Ginny and broke down completely, finally giving vent to the despair that had filled his heart.
Pride rose within Arthur. His daughter had become a wonderful, strong woman. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she held Harry but she never once faltered in her soothing caresses, constantly whispering her love. Arthur watched her as she lay a now sleeping Harry back onto the couch and tuck him in. Yes, the war had taken its toll, but he drew comfort in knowing the two had each other to help them through.
Arthur yawned. He felt indebted to Harry. Not just because of what the boy had done regarding Voldemort, but for everything Harry had done for the Weasleys. Going down to the Chamber of Secrets and saving Ginny. It still pained him to know how close they’d been to losing both kids. Harry showed incredible selflessness in that act, something that – as they were soon to see – was a habit with Harry.
Giving away his Triwizard Tournament winnings so Fred and George could realize their dream. Yes, Arthur knew. The twins had confided in him right after they’d bought the shop. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered Fred’s disbelief at Harry’s generosity. Arthur wondered now if George would be willing to continue with it. He hoped so.
Saving his, Arthur’s, life when he’d been attacked by Voldemort’s snake. Arthur shuddered. That had been a horrifying time. All he could think about was how he was going to miss seeing his family, watching his children grow up and have families of their own. He’d thought of Molly and how he’d wished he could tell her one last time what she’d meant to him.
Saving Ron’s life when he’d been poisoned. That had been scary. As usual, Harry had brushed off their gratitude by saying anyone would have done the same. Well, Arthur wasn’t so sure. He’d heard that professor, Slughorn, say that Harry had been quick to recognize what was happening and respond appropriately.
Again, trying to save Ginny by breaking off their relationship, willingly sacrificing his own wants. Arthur glanced at the two sleeping forms, Harry clutching Ginny’s hand, even in sleep. Their love had been baptized by fire and withstood the test. For that, Arthur would be eternally grateful.
Arthur shook his head. The boy had done so much for them, and Arthur felt they hadn’t done enough for him. Resolutely, the older man decided that was going to change, starting with himself, starting now. He’d watch over Harry and make sure Harry had everything he needed to live the life he was obviously meant to have.