The next morning, Harry woke up and dressed distractedly. It took him a while to realize he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot as a sock.
His chest felt heavy, as though something were lodged there, leaving him unable to breathe.
Dragons. They were dragons!
He finally managed to get dressed, but there was still no movement from Ron's bed.
"Ron? Ron?" Harry pulled the smelly socks out of his shoes and sniffed them. His face scrunched up, and he tossed them into the laundry hamper in disgust.
If there was one good thing about Hogwarts, it was that you didn't have to do so many things yourself. You only needed to send the hamper bearing your name to the laundry room.
Harry put on his shoes, stamped his feet a few times, and wrapped his scarf around his neck, but Ron's bed remained motionless.
"What's wrong? Are you ill?"
Harry walked over and drew back Ron's scarlet bed curtains, embroidered with the Gryffindor crest.
He found his friend lying wide-eyed, staring blankly at the top of the canopy.
"Harry-I dreamed about a dragon-" Ron looked dazed. "It swallowed me in one gulp. It didn't even chew..."
"I kept crying inside its stomach. It was really dark in there. Then, not long afterward, you came in too..."
Even though Harry was upset about the dragons himself, he couldn't help laughing. He reassured Ron:
"That won't happen, Ron. Dumbledore said he'd make sure everyone was safe, and we'll have the items Nicolas Flamel made."
"Hm?" Ron's eyes began to move, and he looked at Harry.
"And that's Nicolas Flamel! The man who made the Philosopher's Stone. Surely you trust Nicolas Flamel?" Harry pressed his advantage, continuing to encourage him.
Ron's face regained some life. He slowly climbed out