Magic

Harry was able to perform magic without his words and without his wand. He didn't know when it started, but once he discovered it was possible he conducted furtive experiments whenever he was alone.

Hermione caught him one morning, trying to make a cup of tea with his mind. He wasn't able to make one for himself, but when she requested one the mug and tea leaves left their usual spots in the Burrow's kitchen and materialized on the table in front of her. He hesitantly raised a hand and pointed his index figure into the empty mug. Their mouths gaped in surprise as piping hot water seemed to flow from his veins right into her glass.

She left, immediately, to consult her textbooks. He couldn't repeat the trick after she had gone.

The next time he saw her he was with Ron, heading toward the makeshift Quidditch pitch out back. There was nothing in the books, she told him, but she had a hypothesis; maybe it was because he was finally fully himself, without parts of dark wizard clinging to his soul.

Ron asked what on Earth she was talking about.

Harry grinned and turned toward the Weasley's broom shed. Accio Ron's broom, he thought, extending his wandless right arm. Sure enough, the broom sped into his hand.

"Wicked," Ron whispered.

Harry smiled at his friend's praise, but he couldn't help wondering why he couldn't retrieve his own broom the same way.

It was the best present he had ever received, Harry told her, and he meant it. Ginny reminded him of his cloak, his Firebolt, the watch he refused to remove, and the album from Hagrid he kept at his bedside. Still better, he said, and she smiled.

He turned the charmed coin over in his hand. It looked a lot like the ones they had made years ago to keep in touch with the DA, but the writing was different. On the front, his own first initial shone in his handwriting, while the G, R, and H underneath it were in their owners' script. The back was blank, and she explained that once he had chosen a recipient from the front of the coin, he could pen a message on the back with his wand.

"So I can finally keep track of you," she joked, a typical Weasley smirk on her face and glint in her eye.

He disregarded her careful instructions. Instead, he ran his left thumb over the brilliant G on the front and simply turned the coin over in his hands. She looked down at the matching coin in her lap and gasped.

They both watched as his thoughts appeared on her coin in his messy scrawl.

Thank you. For everything.

Ron's nightmares were getting worse instead of better. Three nights in a row now Harry had been woken up by his best friend's painful cries. Ron would shoot up in his bed, sobbing and sweating, screaming her name.

Harry jumped up himself when he heard him. He didn't even reach for the coin this time, but he knew that somehow his message would appear on Hermione's: Again. Help.

The girls were upstairs in a moment. Harry turned away as Hermione clung to Ron's shaking form. Reassuring words tumbled from her lips.

"I'm here," and "I'm all right." "Yes, you saved me," then "No, that bitch will never lay a hand on me again."

Ginny led him out into the hall, and they settled on the floor by the door. Harry asked if Hermione had nightmares. "Sometimes," Ginny said, "but not as bad."

They could hear Ron retching from outside his room.

"Not nearly as bad," she whispered.

Harry didn't tell her that sometimes he felt as if he was in Ron's nightmare too. He relived that night with him, waking up to Ron's cries just as the chandelier fell. He didn't tell her, because he had never even told her about that night. Some things are just too difficult to say out loud.

Hermione entered the hallway on unsteady legs a few minutes later.

"Stay with him," Harry ordered. "He needs you. I'll stay in your bed."

Hermione nodded, and Ginny and Harry retreated down the stairs.

Ron began sleeping through the night again after Harry and Hermione had switched beds. Well, Harry was sleeping in Hermione's bed. He was sure that Hermione was sleeping in Ron's. He supposed that he could share Ginny's if he asked, but he didn't feel comfortable sharing her space when he had yet to share so many stories with her.

Ron may have been sleeping again, but Harry was still having Ron's nightmare. Ginny had heard him wake up a few times, but she didn't ask why and Harry hadn't told her.

One day, Mrs. Weasley caught him leaving Ginny's room in the morning. She didn't say anything, but he was mortified, and he knew he had to apologize. He needed her to know that he was sleeping in Hermione's bed, not Ginny's, and it was only because it was the only way he could be sure that Ron was all right.

He tried to broach the subject with her that morning after breakfast, but she had stopped him before he could begin.

"What's important is you are all sleeping safely and soundly under one roof," she told him, "not which bed you are sleeping in. Although," she added with a familiar glint in her eye, "It's probably best we don't tell Arthur."

She laughed at her own words and hugged him in a way he suspected only a mother could.

When the chandelier fell, his eyes flew open. Harry tried not to move so as not to wake Ginny, but he needn't have bothered.

"You're having the same nightmare, aren't you? The one that Hermione and Ron won't explain to me?" Ginny whispered, and he was tired of hiding from her.

He climbed across the small gap between the two beds and joined her under her sheets.

"Yes," he said, and he told her everything: even those things he hadn't yet told himself.

This nightmare, he realized, had replaced an old one- the one of that night in Godric's Hollow, nearly 17 years ago. They were silent, for a moment, before Ginny spoke.

"It's not a nightmare," she said, finally. "It's a reminder."

"Of what?"

"The importance of love and family and sacrifice," she said, as if he had missed the easiest question on a first year's charms exam. "You used to dream about the night you lost your family, and now you dream of the night you almost lost your family."

She was right, he realized. The answer was simple, and he had missed it. Ron and Hermione were as much his family as his mum and dad had ever been.

She buried her head in his chest and whispered, "It makes sense now, why Ron's nightmares are worse. When that monster tried to break Hermione's body, she almost broke my brother's heart. Bodies heal quicker, don't they?"

Harry wrapped his arms around her and neither moved till morning.

His magic flowed easier now, out of his head and through his fingers. He ruffled Ginny's hair, moved Ron's chess pieces, and turned the pages in Hermione's books just to get a rise out of them.

"Bloody show off," Ron had called him on multiple occasions.

Hermione told him she had a new hypothesis as to where his new-found talent came from.

"I know where it comes from," he answered with a smile. "It comes from you. All of you," he added, as Ron shot him a ridiculous jealous look.

He demonstrated. "I want to light that lamp," he stated, thinking a spell and gesturing. They all stared, but Harry knew nothing would happen.

"Ron, ask me to light the lamp." Curious, Ron did.

The lamp in the corner of the Burrow's living room glowed more brightly than it had in years.

"The magic is just a reminder," he said, knowing he made very little sense.

"Of what?"

"The importance of love and family and sacrifice," Harry replied, catching Ginny's eye. "Something to live for, remember? I'm here because you all saved me."

"I thought it was the other way around." Ron mused.

Harry smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think so."