Harry Potter’s breath fogged up the glass of the dormitory window like a thick haze of smoke. Looking out over the dark grounds of Hogwarts Castle, he felt at home, but still strangely out of place. He was not, after all, at the school as a student, as he had been for the past six years, but as a hero. Only days ago Lord Voldemort had been defeated in the final and most violent battle of the Second War, and Harry had had a strange mix of emotions since that time. He was glad for the defeat of his foe, but at the same time it was proving nearly impossible for the thought of the Dark Lord being gone once and for all.
He looked away from the window and gave the entirety of the dark Gryffindor boy’s dormitory a sweeping gaze. In the surrounding four beds, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and his own best friend Ron slumbered peacefully, there dreams free of the nightmares that had been haunting his; nightmares that all included the resurrection of Voldemort, the sting of the Cruciatus Curse, a flash of green light, and a bittersweet reunion with his dead friends in what Dumbledore had called “the next great adventure.”