Arthur had always thought of Harry as two people. There was Harry, Ron’s quiet and polite friend, a boy as good as his own son who had been burdened with far too much before the age of 18. Then there was Harry Potter, the chosen one, a formidable man who led the final resistance in battle and faced You-Know-Who with a terrifying, confident calmness that reminded Arthur of Dumbledore. Intellectually speaking, he understood that these sides of Harry were one in the same, but he had never fully been able to reconcile the two.
That is, until about a month after the final battle.
Some signs of normalcy were slowly returning to the Burrow, seeping through the cracks that had finally begun to form in the thick layer of grief enveloping all its residents. Molly started humming again when she cooked. Harry, Ginny, and some of the more broom-savvy Weasley boys resumed their quidditch scrimmages over the orchard. George cracked his first joke at dinner the other night and it caught Arthur so off guard, he almost forgot to laugh.
It was a subdued June evening. Molly and Fleur were chatting animatedly over a cup of tea in the kitchen. George and his three elder brothers were outside, sipping some elf made wine around a bonfire. Charlie had to return to Romania soon, and Arthur was glad he was making the most of his last couple weeks at home. Arthur strolled into the living room to check on the youngest of the bunch. Hermione was sitting on the sofa, reading a book with Crookshanks curled up in her lap. Ron and Ginny were playing a game of chess, and Harry had settled into the corner armchair.
Mercifully, he appeared to be in a deep sleep. Of all those who currently called the Burrow home, Harry was the one for whom rest remained the most elusive. He had a seriousness about him these days that Arthur wasn’t sure would ever go away, but at least in sleep he looked at peace, if only for a moment.
Unfortunately that peace was short lived. As Arthur made to leave the room, Harry muttered in his sleep, “No. Not them. Leave them.” Arthur looked back at him. Harry’s brow furrowed and his whole body tensed up as his breathing quickened.
“Harry,” said Ron softly, not moving. “Harry, wake up. You’re at the burrow mate.” Clearly this was not the first time Ron had had to coax his friend from a nightmare. Hermione and Ginny were watching him apprehensively as he gripped the armchair tightly and said, “don’t die. Please don’t die.”
Arthur couldn’t stand it for a second longer. He walked straight over to Harry, reaching to shake him awake.
“Wait dad, I wouldn’t-” Ron started, but it was too late. Arthur’s hand made contact with Harry’s arm and before he had time to register what was happening, he was thrown against the wall, his head making such hard contact with it that his vision went momentarily dark. Harry had him pinned against the wall with one arm, using the other to hold his wand to Arthur’s neck. As the world came back into focus, Arthur looked into the eyes of the person in front of him and at last he saw Harry Potter as a whole. He saw both the traumatized teenager acting on the reflexes of someone who had spent years being hunted and the powerful war hero capable of doing him serious harm. Arthur had never been on the receiving end of Harry’s anger before and he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that he was a bit frightened.
“HARRY! Harry please!” came Ginny’s slightly panicked voice from his left. She put her hand gently on Harry’s wand arm and he finally seemed to register his surroundings. The life flickered back into his eyes as the fire subsided, replaced instead by horror at what he’d done. He stumbled away from Arthur and began to shake, though he did not fully lower his wand.
“Mr. Weasley, I...I’m so sorry...I’m so so-”
“It’s alright son,” Arthur interrupted, speaking quietly. He moved towards Harry to offer a comforting touch, pausing when he saw Harry tense up.
“What is going on in here?” Molly asked as she and Fleur came rushing into the room. “We heard shouting,” she said, looking at Harry with concern. Harry looked deeply ashamed, closing his eyes as he tried to steady his breath.
“Nothing to worry about Molly. Just a little misunderstanding is all,” Arthur said. Ginny walked over to a still trembling Harry and placed her hand around his waist. “Harry,” she said softly. “It’s ok. It was just a dream.”
“I need some air,” he said, pulling away from her and walking swiftly out the front door, closing it firmly behind him. Ginny started to follow him, but Arthur held his hand up to stop her. “Wait. Let me talk to him.” She nodded, her jaw clenched as she exchanged a worried look with Hermione.
Arthur found him sitting at the base of their new pear tree, his head resting in his hands. “You alright son?” he asked.
“Am I alright?” Harry laughed weakly.
“It’s a fair question.”
“I’m not the one who got attacked for no reason.”
“There was no harm done Harry. I should know better than to startle a man awake mid-nightmare.”
“I don’t know what came over me.”
Arthur contemplated the young man in front of him “Do you know what it is that has always impressed me the most about you?” Harry lifted his head and looked at Arthur, who had taken a seat next to him. “Your resilience, Harry. You have been put through more in 17 years than the vast majority of people experience in an entire lifetime. The horrors you’ve faced and the responsibilities you have been saddled with would be enough to make anyone bitter and angry. You’ve come out on the other side of this war with your good heart intact. After everything that has been asked of you, that’s a small miracle.”
They were quiet for quite some time. It occurred to Arthur that they had never had such a personal conversation before. Harry finally broke the silence.
“I don’t feel very resilient. I can’t even remember the last time I slept through the night without a nightmare. I’m so tired,” he said, his voice cracking.
Harry didn’t show weakness easily. Arthur proceeded carefully, not wanting him to put his well-practiced guard back up. “It’s not a long-term solution, but we do have some dreamless sleeping potion. You certainly wouldn’t be the first in the house to use it. It’s not recommended for more than a few days in a row as it can get a bit addictive, but I think a couple nights of uninterrupted sleep would do you some good, don’t you?”
“Yeah. That would be really great actually. Thanks,” said Harry quietly. “I’m really sorry I attacked you Mr. Weasley.”
“Please call me Arthur, and please don’t apologize anymore. It’s understandable after everything that you’d be a bit jumpy. I’m sure that will lessen over time along with the nightmares.”
“What if it doesn’t?” he blurted out. “What if it happens in the future with…someone when we’re alone and there’s no one there to snap me out of it?”
Arthur thought back to the way Harry had tensed up when Ginny touched him and tried not to picture her pinned up against the wall with a wand to her throat. “Well, by the time you’re living alone with someone, I imagine things will have improved. It’s only been a month after all, and if on the off chance things don’t improve on their own with time, there are people who specialize in this who could help you. This is not forever, Harry.”
“Alright. Thank you Arthur.”
“Of course. Ready to head back in?” he asked.
“Sure.”
They stood up and walked together towards the house. As they got closer, Arthur could see that Ginny was sitting on the front step. He turned to Harry.
“Looks like someone's waiting for you.”