sleep, beauty

Harry woke up in a cold sweat and with a rapid heartbeat because someone was shaking his shoulders. “Harry, wake up!” He opened his eyes abruptly and jerked up on the bed, trying to figure out who was in front of him. “It’s all right, Harry, it’s me.” Everything seemed blurry without glasses, besides, it was dark in the room and it was impossible to recognize the person standing in front of him, but Harry recognized them by their voice. “Neville!” he said, exhaling in relief. “How are you? Did you have a nightmare?” Neville said in a whisper so as not to wake the other boys in the room, and Harry followed suit. “Nothing special, just a bad dream,” Harry tried to sound confident, “it’s all right.” Neville didn’t seem too convinced. He sat down on the floor next to the bed, took Harry’s hand and wrapped it in both palms. "You can tell me," Neville said and began to slowly stroke Harry's hand, making it clear that he was nearby and listening to him. Stuttering a little and making long pauses, Harry began the story. "I had a nightmare about my parents. Or rather, how they die... Voldemort kills my dad and then goes to my mom. I used to have this dream almost every night, but then it stopped. And now it's back again, but it seems to have become... scarier." "It's terrible... I couldn't bear to see that. Are you okay?" "No," Harry answered honestly. Neville looked out the window and shivered. "It's a long time until dawn. Do you want me to sit with you until morning? I won't sleep anymore anyway." he said. "Yes, I would like to," said Harry, moving a little to the edge of the bed and lifting the covers so that Neville could lie down next to him. Boy climbed under the covers and took Harry's hand. They lay next to each other, staring at the ceiling and from time to time quietly chatting about everything and nothing until dawn. By dawn, Neville had fallen asleep with his head on Harry's shoulder.