Disclaimer: Sadly, the wonderful Harry Potter is not mine. Darn J.K. Rowling for being twenty years older than me and therefore able to think of it first.
A/N: This is a rough version, sadly I don't have a beta. hint hint
The Silent Agreement
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEE-"
With a slap of his hand on the snooze button, Dean Thomas silenced his highly annoying alarm clock and slumped back onto his pillow. He was sorely tempted to skip his morning classes in order to get a few more hours of shut-eye until lunch, where he could pull the "I didn't feel well" card as an excuse for his absence. But the truth was, he essentially felt fine - except for the fact that he was absolutely exhausted and had the accompanying headache that normally goes along with severe fatigue. He had actually got to bed at a decent hour – his mum would be proud. The reason Dean hadn't got much sleep was lying prone two beds over, mouth open, eyes screwed shut against the bright sunshine coming through the windows, one arm dangling over the side of his bed. Harry Potter.
Dean supposed he could not technically blame Harry for waking and keeping him up all bloody night. It wasn't like Harry could help it – or hell, Dean doubted he wanted it, either. Besides, Dean was not going to say anything if Ron or Neville was not going to – no one ever had before. He knew Seamus really wanted to, but that was probably just because he was still smarting over his argument with Harry two nights prior, on their first night back. Dean thought it best to just stay out of that mess. Judging by the night the fifth year boys had had anyway, it sounded like Dumbledore and Harry were telling the truth about You-Know-Who and Cedric Diggory. Dean could not see how Harry could have such horrible and apparently vivid dreams otherwise.
Ever since their first year, Dean had taken to categorizing Harry's dreams/nightmares. First, there were the "Normal" ones, which were your garden variety "ohmigod-this-crazy-lady-is-coming-after-me-with-her-wand-and-a-chainsaw" (or something like that) type. Then there were the "Family," which was rather obvious – not only had Harry had been dreaming about his parents ever since their very first week at Hogwarts, but he had also had had the rare dream about his Muggle family. They sounded positively awful. The next category was the ever-frequent "You-Know-Who" dreams, which had begun at the very end of their first year and increased in number, variety, and intensity ever since. Last night, however, had created a whole new category. Technically, Dean knew that the dream could be placed under the "You-Know-Who" category, but he felt that this nightmare would only be the first of many – "You-Know-Who/Cedric" seemed like an appropriate title.
For Dean had never heard any dream or nightmare like the one he had witnessed last night. All night, Harry had been pleading for Cedric's life, whimpering in a terrified little boy's voice. Even now, remembering the sound of Harry begging You-Know-Who and even his dead mum and dad for help sent chills down Dean's spine. Even though, like Harry, Dean had been raised as a Muggle, he still found it rather unnerving that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Quidditch champion, defeater of trolls, basilisks, Dementors, dragons, and whatever other foul things he had encountered in the Triwizard Tournament last year, was vulnerable. Extremely vulnerable, at that.
Dean looked across the room. Ron Weasley was unsuccessfully trying to get Harry out of bed.
"C'mon, Harry, we're going to miss breakfast."
"Heaven forbid."
"Shut up and get your lazy bum out of bed."
"Leave me alone, mum."
"I'll go get Hermione."
"Okay, excellent. That'll give me a few more minutes. Bye."
"I'll go get Cho."
"Okay, okay! I'm up you stupid prat."
"It's about bloody time. There's not going to be any sausages left by the time we get down there."
"Oh, the horror."
Dean watched Harry as he pulled himself out of bed, drawing a sketch in his head. Same black, messy hair (albeit messier than usual), same scar, slightly taller than last year as well as much more skinnier, with a new scar on his elbow and dark shadows under his eyes, and apparently wearing a tent – or at least, that was what his t-shirt and pajama bottoms looked like. Except for a few minor differences, Harry hadn't changed a bit on the surface.
Yes, the fact that the Boy Who Lived was vulnerable and defenseless beneath all of that courage, bravery, and downright recklessness (the way he had stood up to that Umbridge hag had been bloody brilliant), was extremely unnerving. But Dean knew that not a single one of the fifth year boys would ever say a word to him or anyone else about his nightmares. It wasn't that they were scared of him, like apparently everyone else was, or didn't care, or that they felt that not saying anything would mean it didn't happen. Dean, Neville, Ron, and even Seamus knew that there were just some things that were meant to be left unspoken. It was just one of those things that men and boys left to other men and boys to deal with on their own. But that did not mean that they did not have his back. Friends and brothers just did that sort of thing.
A/N: This was just an idea that made me think. After all, Harry does have quite a few nightmares. Sadly, he has enough reasons to. Well, anyway, reviews are quite welcome.