The Gryffindor common room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock. You had fallen asleep first, as usual—curled up on the couch with your head resting on Harry’s shoulder, your breathing slow and even. He smiled down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face, always a little amazed at how peaceful you looked when you slept.

But tonight, something shifted.

Your brow furrowed. A soft whimper escaped your lips. Then your body tensed, and you began to mumble—words Harry couldn’t quite make out, but the fear in your voice was unmistakable. You twitched, then thrashed, caught in the grip of something dark and unseen.

Harry’s heart clenched. He set aside the book he’d been reading and gently cupped your face.
“Hey… hey, love, it’s alright,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

You didn’t wake, but your movements slowed slightly at the sound of his voice. He shifted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, anchoring you to the present. One hand stroked your back in slow, soothing circles while the other brushed through your hair.

“It’s just a dream,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Whatever it is, it can’t hurt you. Not while I’m here.”