Disclaimer: All of this belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing it for a while.
A/N: Many thanks to Jeremy, who challenges me to write better.
Dream and Variations
Albus Dumbledore peered at the many arcane instruments in his office, looking for one
in particular. "Ah," he murmured as he lit upon a small wooden object that looked a little
like a telescope. As he tapped it gently with his wand, a puff of purple smoke appeared.
"Harry Potter," he said quietly.
The smoke formed itself into the shape of a boy lying in bed, staring determinedly at the
ceiling. As Dumbledore watched, the boy stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes, as if trying
to stay awake. "And last night?" asked Dumbledore.
The smoke shifted slightly. Now the boy was asleep, but uneasily. He thrashed about as
if enmeshed in a horrible nightmare. His mouth formed the word "No!" as he woke,
"It is as I suspected. Thank you." The smoke disappeared in a puff. Dumbledore
replaced the telescope on its table under the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus.
"Is he not sleeping?" asked the portrait of Dilys Derwent, former Headmistress and
Healer. "It is quite understandable, but it is not healthy. Is there nothing you can do?"
Dumbledore sighed. "There is one thing, but it is not without consequences."
"But he must be suffering so! What consequences could outweigh helping him?" Dilys
had become quite fond of Harry, particularly after he had saved Arthur Weasley's life last
"The problem is that the consequences are hard to measure. I can perform a spell that
will give Harry a night of dreamless sleep, but instead, others will dream about him
tonight. They will be intense dreams, not easily forgotten, and they may affect how the
dreamers act in the future... for better or for worse. The dreams will focus what the
dreamer thinks or feels about Harry. The dreams may inspire someone to help him rather
than stand aside -- or to fight him to the death. I cannot choose who will dream, or what
they will see. Do you still think that I should help him?"
"Albus," said Dilys quietly, "you cannot always protect him. Those that will hate him
after they dream already hate him now, and there is nothing that you can do to change
that. Harry will prevail against Lord Voldemort, or he will die trying. In any event,
should you not do what you can to make his life more bearable?"
Dumbledore considered her words. He had made many mistakes when it came to Harry,
and was reluctant to do any more harm. But Dilys did have a point. Harry had burdens
to bear, and lack of sleep would not make them any lighter.
Dumbledore sighed. "So be it. I will cast the spell, and what will come of it will come."
Dumbledore was the first that night to dream about Harry. In his dream, he was flying
above Hogwarts. No, he had much experience with flying -- on broomsticks, with
Fawkes, and on Hagrid's thestrals -- and this was different. It was more like floating. At
first he stopped to enjoy the sensation, but he had recognized the dream for what it was
and willed himself to float down, closer to the ground, where he could see something
He saw Harry and Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore knew that this must be their final
confrontation, that by the end of the encounter, one of the two would be dead. He looked
around to see who else was there. He saw many Death Eaters as well as members of the
Order of the Phoenix. He spotted Hermione Granger's unruly hair, and several red heads
that could only belong to Weasleys. He saw professors and students, and was pleased to
see representatives of all four houses. All of them fighting valiantly at Harry's side.
But he did not see himself.
He looked and looked, but saw no glint of his own silver beard. "I should be there," he
thought, "I would not leave him to face this alone." But then it occurred to him that
Harry was not alone. He was surrounded by people who were willing to give their lives
to protect him and the rest of the wizarding world. Harry was not alone, and never would
be. He inspired people. "He even inspired an old codger like me," thought Dumbledore
with a smile.
Before he could see the end of the battle, Dumbledore woke, unsettled but hopeful. "So
that is how it will be," he thought, "Harry will not stand alone, but he will stand without
me. I must teach him while I still can, and I must hide nothing from him, for he is
already stronger than I thought." And then he slept again, more peacefully than before.
Draco Malfoy glowered at the Gryffindor table across the red- and gold-bedecked Great
Hall. It was yet another Leaving Feast in which that wretched Potter and his cronies had
won the House Cup because of some after-hours escapade that the idiot Dumbledore
thought would save the planet. If Draco had tried even half of what Potter did, he would
be on the train home. But not precious Potter. He was praised for breaking the rules.
No wonder he was such an arrogant bastard.
Draco picked at the remains of the quail on his plate, smoldering with anger. He was not
looking forward to arriving at Malfoy Manor the next day, to be smothered by his
mother's attention and coolly lectured by his father about how he had allowed the
Mudblood to achieve higher marks again.
The dream shifted. Draco was walking along an unfamiliar street full of cookie-cutter
houses with perfectly manicured lawns. He wandered aimlessly, scowling at the middle-
class banality of it all. Some stupid Muggle was actually mowing the lawn as though he
were a house-elf. Draco was certain he had never been in a neighborhood like this
He found himself in front of a house whose only distinguishing characteristic was the
elaborately detailed brass number 4 next to the door. He wondered briefly why he was in
such a place, then heard a familiar sneer from behind him.
"Malfoy. What are you doing here? Spying for your father, I'll bet."
Draco worked hard to stifle a laugh, but he couldn't hold back what he was thinking.
"Potter? Is this where you live? With your filthy Muggle family? Ha! What a joke. I
bet you're not quite the famous Harry Potter in this neighborhood."
"Watch what you say, Malfoy. My family doesn't concern you." There was a cold edge
to Harry's voice that made Draco pause for a moment, the laugh dying on his lips. Draco
had always heard that Potter hated his Muggle relatives, but here he was defending them.
What was wrong? Before he could think of a sufficiently scathing comment, he heard
muttering in the bushes between Potter's Muggle relatives' house and the neighbors'.
And then the world exploded as hundreds of green sparks flew into the sky above Potter's
house. Draco knew it immediately, of course. He had seen it at the World Cup two years
earlier, and even then it had filled him with a cold dread that he had never known before.
Dread that he had fought off with all of the strength he possessed. After all, he was a
Malfoy. He would serve the Dark Lord himself once he left school. He should welcome
it, not dread it. But dread it he did. This was the Dark Mark. And the Dark Mark meant
"I'll have you this time, Potter," snarled a low female voice. A hooded figure stepped
from the bushes, aiming her wand at Potter. "It was so nice of you to come outside
where I can reach you. It saves me the trouble of finding a way inside. Which I would
have done eventually. I have wanted ever so much to return the favor." She raised her
wand. "Crucio!" And Potter fell to the ground, twitching and screaming.
As much as Draco fancied himself a Dark wizard, he had never seen an Unforgivable
Curse performed on a human before, and he was shocked. He had wished the Cruciatus
Curse on Harry countless times, but somehow he wasn't enjoying the real thing as much
as he had expected. Then suddenly, the screaming stopped.
The witch had seen Draco.
"Well, well, well. You've got a friend, Potter! Don't think I am finished with you, but I
think I should get rid of him first, and then I can play with you as you so richly deserve,
before we pay a visit to my Master." She aimed her wand at Draco and began,
Draco froze, entranced. He knew what the words meant, but was unable to do a thing to
stop certain death. It was coming, at the hands of someone who should be his ally.
"STUPEFY!" It was Potter. Prostrate on the ground, still recovering from the Cruciatus
Curse, he had managed to hit the hooded Death Eater with a stunning spell before she
could finish the curse. "Get inside the house, you stupid git! She'll wake up in a
Draco dove for the front door... then sat up in his bed with his heart pounding. No. He
couldn't have just dreamt that. It could never happen. The two of them had hated each
other from the first time they had met. There was no way that Potter would ever save
Petunia Dursley returned to Privet Drive from a shopping expedition to find the Dark
Mark shining green above her house. She didn't know that it was called the Dark Mark,
but she knew by instinct what it was -- the symbol of the wizard who had killed her sister.
"Vernon! Dudley!" she screamed, running into the house and expecting to find her
husband and son lying dead in the entryway. But there was only Harry, sitting on the
bottom stair, his head hanging down, nearly touching his knees.
"You! What have you done? Where are Vernon and Dudley?"
Harry shrugged, not looking at her. Petunia ran past him, searching for her family, but
there was no sign of Vernon or Dudley, dead or alive. She stormed back to the entryway.
"What did you do? Why is that...that thing there?" He didn't answer.
Petunia looked a little more carefully at Harry. He seemed exhausted and frightened, and
she softened a bit. There was something else there. Something almost like pity. The
more she thought about it, the more she realized that it really was pity. This surprised her
a little -- she only let herself feel contempt for Harry when she was awake. But after all,
he was stuck with a family that wished he didn't exist. Not to mention that Dark wizard
who was after him.
"What happened, Harry?" she asked in a soft voice -- almost, but not quite, a mother's
"She came. Bellatrix. She was supposed to capture me and take me to Voldemort." His
voice sounded dead.
"But you're supposed to be safe here. That's why you live here."
"I went outside. I needed some air. She was there. They must have found a way around
Dumbledore's spells. I had to fight her. I just barely made it back inside."
"Well, you're safe now," she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. The green glint of
the Dark Mark filtered through the window, illuminating her lie. Petunia had always
known that Harry was in danger, but she had never given it much thought. She was
usually very good at pushing all thoughts of magic out of her mind. When she did think
about it, she generally worried about what the neighbors would say. But when the
Dementors had attacked last summer, she had realized for the first time what it had meant
to the Dursleys to take Harry in.
She had never wanted Harry; his eyes -- and his magic -- were too painful a reminder of
Lily. But here he was, facing dangers Petunia could only imagine, and suddenly she
wanted to do something for him.
"How about some ice cream?" She had never willingly offered him ice cream or any
other treat before, and she expected him to jump at the opportunity. But as Harry
continued to sit on the step without looking at her, Petunia began to realize just how
heavy his burden was. This was her sister's son, her dead sister's son, and there was
nothing she could do for him. She had offered the protection of her blood, and even that
had failed somehow. The grief she never let herself feel for Lily welled up inside her as
she sat silently next to Harry on the step.
Petunia woke from the dream, her face covered with tears. Tears for Lily and for Harry.
She moved closer to Vernon, finding comfort in his bulk, and she slept again, though not
soundly. She woke several more times, thinking she had heard Harry cry out in his sleep,
wishing that she had the strength to go to him.
Hermione Granger was pacing the Gryffindor Common Room. It must have been very
late because she was alone, and the fire had burned down to a pile of ash. She was
carrying a large library book, marked in several places with bits of parchment covered in
her small, neat handwriting. As she swiped distractedly at a lock of hair that kept getting
in her eyes, she realized that she had been muttering to herself. She tried to stop, but
couldn't help herself. "Why would you go? You know we would go with you. Both of
us. And I found spells that could help you. All you needed to do was say something. If
you manage to make it back here alive, I swear I'll kill you."
At a sudden sound from the stairs to the boys' dormitories, Hermione stopped and swung
around to face Ron Weasley.
"Both the map and his Invisibility Cloak are gone. He must have left without us."
"But, Ron...he needs us. And I've done so much research that I know he could use. Why
would he do this?"
"Probably afraid that he'd get us killed, like Sirius."
"But I couldn't bear it if something happened to him and we could have helped!"
"I know," said Ron, as Hermione collapsed against him in tears, "but there's nothing we
can do now but wait."
They stood together, holding each other up, until they were startled by the portrait hole
swinging open. "Harry...?" Hermione gasped, jumping away from Ron and running
towards the opening. But instead of Harry, a very pale and grim-faced Professor
McGonagall climbed into the Common Room.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," she said quietly, showing no surprise at finding them
awake in the middle of the night. "Please sit down. I need to talk to you about... Mr.
"What happened? Did he find...? Is he...?" Hermione felt herself starting to spin out of
control, wanting to know, but dreading the truth. Not until Ron took her hand was she
able to take a deep breath and wait for Professor McGonagall to answer.
"He is alive... for the moment. He has been gravely injured, enough to kill most wizards.
Potter is very strong and very lucky, but Madam Pomfrey does not know how long she
will be able to keep him alive. She has called in a Healer from St. Mungo's who has
experience in these matters. I think you two had better come with me."
The dream shifted, and Hermione was at dinner in the Great Hall with Ron and Harry.
Harry was sitting silently, trying not to look at her or Ron, who was juggling
silverware, trying to get his attention. Hermione could tell that something was wrong.
"Harry, what is it? What happened?" she asked very quietly. Harry's head jerked up.
He stared at Hermione with a look that was half terrified and half empty.
"Nothing. I'm fine." It was the same response he always gave, and, as always,
Hermione knew it was a lie. But Harry didn't like to share his pain. Ron had dropped
the spoons and fallen silent, his eyes darting back and forth between his two friends.
"You're not fine, and we know it. So just tell us what is going on. We can help."
"No! It doesn't involve you. It's none of your business."
"Harry, we're your best friends. If something is bothering you, it is our business."
"Not anymore. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, like... I need to deal with
this on my own."
"We just want to help. Just tell us what it is, won't you?"
"NO! I said no! They're my family and I don't want you to..." Harry seemed to think he
had said too much. He stopped abruptly, gathered his things, and tore out of the Great
"I'm going to the library," Hermione said to Ron. "Maybe I can find something that will
"What else? When in doubt, try the library, right?"
The next thing Hermione knew, she was in the hospital wing, looking down at Harry. He
was so still that he looked dead. She couldn't even see his chest move with his breath.
He was paler than he had ever been. Hermione's heart caught in her throat.
"Oh, Harry... Why didn't you tell us? We could have helped."
Severus Snape was sitting at a table full of people laughing at a joke. Severus scowled.
The joke was not half as funny as the teller thought it was, but this was a celebration and
everyone was inclined to laugh at even the worst joke. There was excellent food and
Butterbeer (and Firewhiskey, if you knew who to ask) and everyone was in a good mood.
This was a far cry from the parties of Snape's youth, celebrating Slytherin's victories in
the House Cup. At those parties, everyone watched what they said. Parties, like
everything else, were about political positioning.
The witch on Severus' right, whose face he couldn't quite make out, lifted a glass to his,
yelling "Slainte!" He raised his glass and toasted the Irishwoman, a bit surprised at
himself. "What am I doing?" he thought uncomfortably, as the wizard on his left lifted a
glass and shouted "Cheers!" Just as Snape returned the toast, he was blinded by a burst
of fireworks from the soup tureen in front of him. "Weasleys!" he thought
exasperatedly, wiping chowder from his face. Was there no end to this wretched party?
Finally, Minerva McGonagall stood up to make a toast. Snape didn't understand why
Dumbledore wasn't the one bringing order to the party, but he cheered McGonagall along
with everyone else, despite his usual disdain for overt displays of enthusiasm. At least
everyone would be quiet for a few minutes.
"Tonight we celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort. All of us in the Order have worked
tirelessly in this effort, and I thank each and every one of you." Snape cheered with the
others and internally sighed with relief. This was something to celebrate.
"I would like to take a moment now to recognize those people who gave their lives in the
course of the war," McGonagall went on. Silence fell over the company. "Foremost
among these is the great Albus Dumbledore, to whom we are all in debt."
Snape was stunned. Dumbledore gave his life?
After a moment, McGonagall continued. "Every member of the Order did what they
could to bring about the fall of Voldemort. But there are a few people who particularly
deserve our thanks. First, I would like to thank Severus Snape, who infiltrated the Death
Eaters and gave us invaluable information."
At this the group went wild. Snape was grateful but a little abashed. His role as a double
agent had been crucial in the war against Lord Voldemort, but he knew he hadn't done
everything he could. Thinking of Potter's Occlumency lessons with him (as well as a
few other things he preferred not to name, even to himself), he wasn't sure the praise was
deserved. He sat perfectly still, hoping not to draw too much attention to himself, but
still the others cheered. The witch on his right nudged him, whispering "Take a bow,"
and Snape stood up briefly and awkwardly to acknowledge the applause.
When the cheers died down, McGonagall spoke again, her voice taking on the warmth of
pride. "And we all owe a debt to Harry Potter, whose courage and capacity for love
defeated Voldemort in the end."
Snape, not entirely surprised by the announcement, stopped breathing as the world
erupted around him. Except, that is, for the wizard on his left. He turned to look and saw
that the wizard was none other than Harry Potter himself, his head bowed slightly,
looking embarrassed by the attention. Was this really the same Potter he had thought so
To his surprise, Snape felt himself lift his glass and cry out in praise.
In his dream, Remus Lupin relived a moment that he didn't know he still remembered.
There was a baby sitting on Remus' knee, a baby with intensely green eyes and a shock
of black hair that seemed to stand on end. James and Sirius were there too. The three of
them were trying to teach baby Harry how to say the word "marauder." This was quite
ambitious as all he could say so far were "Mama," "Dada," and "bwoom." However,
they felt that it was their duty to start training Harry early to follow in their footsteps, not
only in Quidditch, but in trouble-making. It wasn't often that Lily would leave Harry
alone with James, so they had to take their opportunities when they could. They had
good reason to suspect that Lily would not approve.
Sirius kneeled on the floor at Remus's feet, staring intently at Harry. "Come on, Harry.
You can do it. Muh-raw-der. Muh-raw-der."
"Yes! Excellent! Now the rest. Muh-raw-der."
But Harry had tired of the game and grabbed for Sirius's nose instead.
Laughing, Sirius extricated himself from Harry's pudgy but surprisingly strong fist.
"Whoa! That's quite a grip you've got there, Harry. Hey, Prongs, maybe we should train
him as a Seeker, rather than a Chaser."
"Actually, I had thought of that. Usually he goes for my glasses. I guess I should
consider myself lucky to have them if the alternative would be my nose. I would
probably look like Snape by the time he grew up."
As Padfoot and Prongs discussed Harry's future career playing Quidditch for England,
Harry turned around to face Remus and pulled himself up until he was staring into
Remus' face. Hidden, for the moment, was James's mischievous sense of humor; now
Harry was studying Remus with all seriousness, with an expression just like Lily's when
she was reading a particularly difficult Charms text. This boy had all of the best of his
parents' qualities. He was going to be someone special.
Suddenly, a sense of foreboding flooded Remus. He had never had a gift for Divination,
and this was something he had never felt before, but it was powerful.
"Harry," he whispered, not knowing that it would be the last thing he said to the boy for
twelve years, "whatever happens, remember that we all love you."
Ginny Weasley was also holding a dream baby. She was singing softly to him, rocking
him to sleep. He was only a few days old, but already he had a patch of vivid red hair.
She marveled at this. She hadn't known that babies could show family characteristics, or
personalities, so soon. She stared at him, amazed by the tiny bundle of life. He was
everything and nothing like she had expected.
"Ginny?" Harry asked from the doorway. Ginny wondered briefly how long he had been
standing there, watching her. He could still make her feel self-conscious after all this
time. Sometimes when she looked at him, she felt like she was back in her first year,
sending that idiotic Valentine. But things were different now.
"Is he asleep yet? The others are wondering what happened to you. I think Fred and
George have something planned. They've been whispering together in the corner."
"I'll be there in a few minutes. I just... He's just so small. And so perfect."
Harry came over to stand beside her and look at the baby.
"I'm glad he has red hair," she continued. "It makes him seem like a Weasley. You
know, I used to hate having red hair. I hated how it made me stand out everywhere I
went. But now I'm glad. It connects me to the rest of them, my family. Now it seems
like a badge of honor. I'm glad he'll have that. He'll probably hate it too, but my family
would do anything for each other."
"Or for me."
Ginny was surprised. "But, Harry, you're one of us. You always have been. Ever since
the first time you came to the Burrow. Or maybe even since you asked Mum to help you
get onto the platform at King's Cross."
Harry touched her hair briefly and kissed her gently on the forehead. He then bent over
and did the same to the baby. At his father's touch, the baby's eyes opened. They were
the same brilliant green as Harry's. Ginny was overcome with emotion. The tears
threatened to spill from her eyes.
"Sleep now," Harry said to the child, and to Ginny's amazement, the baby closed his
eyes. To Ginny, Harry whispered, "Come when you're ready. We'll be there for you
when you are."
Ginny woke, cradling her pillow in her arms, filled with a warm glow, as if Harry were
still with her. "Well," she said to herself wryly, "I guess I'm not as over that as I had
Ron Weasley did not dream about Harry Potter; he dreamed that he was Harry Potter.
He found himself in a small, dark place. He sneezed from the dust. As his eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness, he saw a door. He tried to open it, but it was locked from
the outside. As he waited for someone to let him out, he felt something scuttle across his
feet. "Oh God," he thought, "Let there not be spiders in here. Please, no spiders."
Just as he thought he would go crazy in the dark, the door swung open and a high-pitched
voice said, "Move it, boy, it's time for you to make breakfast." He nearly leapt out of the
cupboard (for now he saw that was what it was) and ran after the woman into the kitchen.
He stood at the stove stirring the oatmeal. When he brought a bowl to the table for Uncle
Vernon, a pudgy leg shot out and tripped him up, causing the oatmeal to go flying.
"Clumsy idiot! You ruined my tie! Be more careful or you won't eat for a week,"
shouted Vernon. Cousin Dudley smirked at Ron while Vernon wasn't looking.
The scene shifted to a corridor at Hogwarts. Ron could tell the students were nervous
about something. They were traveling in large groups, muttering and shooting suspicious
looks at each other. As he walked by, they seemed to shrink away from him, avoiding
catching his eye. A first-year Ravenclaw dropped a box of Sugar Quills as he passed,
but her friend grabbed her arm and dragged her away before she could pick them up. An
older Hufflepuff clutched an amulet around his neck and ducked into an empty
Ron remembered this incident. He had tried to distract Harry by making some stupid
joke. But there was no ignoring the looks and whispers that followed him. He slumped
lower into his robes, wishing he was invisible.
The dream shifted again. Ron had no idea where he was, but the air was icy cold. He
looked up and, to his horror, found himself facing a Dementor. Before he could move, he
heard a scream. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead..."
Ron heard the words, heard the unfamiliar voice. He couldn't help thinking of his own
mother. He had to stop that screaming. He tried to move, but his body felt like lead. As
he fell to his knees, he felt bony hands grasping at his face...
Now he was alone in the Forbidden Forest. It was quiet -- almost too quiet, as if even the
birds were holding their breath. He felt as if the trees were watching him, though he
could not see far through the darkness. He started walking, hoping to find his way out
without meeting any of the forest's denizens.
Ron jumped at a sudden slithering noise from up ahead. Though terrified, he was drawn
forward, compelled to find out what it was. As he entered a clearing, he gasped --
something was drinking the blood of a dead unicorn. The thing looked up at him and his
head was seared with pain unlike anything he had felt before, pain that was intentional,
pain that was suffused with evil...
Now the pain filled his entire body. It was agony almost beyond endurance. When it
stopped, he was in a graveyard, looking into the snake-like eyes of Lord Voldemort.
"You have been taught how to duel? We bow to each other. Bow to death." He felt his
back bend against his will. "Very good. And now you face me, like a man -- straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. And now, we duel..."
To Ron's relief, the scene changed to something much more pleasant. He was flying,
playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. He filled his lungs with the clean air, and took a
moment to enjoy soaring above the pitch. But as he turned, he saw the Grim, the giant
black dog, the sign of death...
Now he was flying to the Ministry of Magic, but he could see the thestral below him and
could feel the blood pulsing through its veins...
Now he was in the Department of Mysteries, watching a spell hit Sirius Black, watching
him fall backwards through the tattered veil, watching him disappear...
Now he was in Dumbledore's office, asking, "So does that mean that... that one of us has
got to kill the other one in the end?"
"Death," Ron thought, "so much death. How can he stand it? He lived all this and
manages to go on?"
And with that thought, the barrage of images came to a sudden halt.
It took Ron a moment to catch his breath and realize that he was in the sitting room of the
Burrow. All of the hands on the grandfather clock pointed to home, and the whole
Weasley clan was gathered around the fire. Ron was slightly startled to see that he was
badly losing a game of wizard chess to himself. Fred and George whispered together
over a cauldron belching purple fumes, while his father and Ginny giggled over a Muggle
magazine. Hermione was there too, reading a large book with very small print.
Ron was overwhelmed by peace and happiness and belonging. He realized that these
were Harry's feelings when among the Weasleys. Instead of taking his family for
granted as he usually did, he was basking in them, soaking up the warmth. He knew that
he would remember this moment for a long time.
"Maybe that's how he survives," thought Ron, and fell back into a deep sleep.
Dawn broke warm and clear. Harry Potter woke up, well rested from his first night of
dreamless sleep in many months. He didn't feel cheerful, exactly, but he felt stronger
somehow. As he stretched, Hedwig returned from her hunting and hooted cheerily at him
-- she seemed to notice a difference in him as well. Harry stood at the window, stroking
Hedwig's feathers, watching the sky fill with light, believing he could face whatever