Chapter Text
.The rhythmic drumming of rain against the tent’s canvas transformed into the sound of gunshots in Harry’s dreams. But these shots didn’t fire spells; they shattered memories.
In his dream, Harry was back in that cold, misty graveyard. Cedric’s lifeless eyes were staring at him, Sirius was waving from behind the veiled archway, and Dumbledore was falling from the Astronomy Tower into an endless void. But this time, something was different. It wasn’t Voldemort’s face looking back at him from the mirror—it was Harry’s own face; his eyes were blood-red, and his hands were stained with the blood of everyone he loved. "You killed them," whispered the Harry in the mirror. "Those by your side are destined to die."
Harry bolted upright in his bunk with a muffled cry caught in his throat. He was gasping for air, his lungs feeling as though they were filled with thick smoke. His hands trembled as they flew to his searing scar.
"Harry? Mate, you okay?"
Ron’s voice reached out to him through the darkness like a lifeline. Even without his glasses, Harry could see Ron’s silhouette sitting by the small table, leaning toward him with his wand held low. He had been taking his turn on watch.
"Just... just a dream," Harry rasped, his voice cracking. He pushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.
Ron dimmed the light (Lumos) at the tip of his wand and pulled a chair closer to Harry’s bunk. "It wasn't just a dream. You’ve been muttering for minutes, Harry. You kept saying, 'Don't go.' And then you started apologizing."
Harry buried his face in his hands. "Ron, it doesn't stop. The weight of that locket... it feels like it’s sucking every happy memory out of me. It might be right. If you stay with me, the same thing will happen to you."
Ron remained silent for a moment. The howl of the wind outside the tent intensified. Then, with his characteristic, unshakable steadiness, he spoke:
"Do you remember?" Ron said suddenly. "Second year, when we followed those giant spiders into the forest. I walked right into my worst nightmare because you were there. Now, I’m sitting here in this tent listening to your 'doom and gloom' because you’re here again. Harry, I don't care what the locket or that snake-faced git shows you. Something doesn't happen to us because we're with you; we're with you because we choose to be."
Harry looked up. Ron’s face was etched with exhaustion, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze was firmer than ever.
"I won't ask what you saw in your nightmare," Ron added, a small, lopsided grin appearing on his face. "Because it was probably me marrying Hermione, and that would be a nightmare for anyone."
Harry couldn’t help but let out a small, weak laugh at Ron’s ill-timed joke. The crushing tightness in his chest began to loosen at the sound of his friend's voice.
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said sincerely.
"Go on, get some sleep," Ron said, standing up and heading back to his post at the table. "I’m right here. If anything happens, I’ll whack you over the head with my wand to wake you up, I promise."
As Harry lay his head back on the pillow, the red-eyed shadows in his mind began to fade. A storm was raging outside, but inside the tent, that small light and the presence of his friend reminded Harry that there were places even Voldemort couldn't reach.