"Fred?"
The older male's presence had already been cause for alarm, what with him having died the previous night, but his disappearance elicited even greater concern. If Fred really were a ghost, he could have hurried off to find Harry help when the first bout of agony had torn through him, but something told him that that wasn't the case. Fred hadn't been a ghost, not the sort he was used to at least, and he hadn't just wandered off, he was gone. Harry was sure of it.
But he could call him back, he could ensure whatever had momentarily incapacitated him hadn't hurt Fred as well, he need only use the Stone to summon him.
The Stone was no longer in his back pocket, nor was the Wand, and the Cloak had fallen free from his shoulders. But that was fine, he'd done quite a bit of thrashing around earlier, they'd likely been dislodged and, even now, were waiting for him to retrieve them. Only they weren't
He had fallen in the few meters of space between his and Ron's beds, shredded bits of his shirt and droplets of blood adorned the small space, but the Hallows were neither around, beneath, or on top of either bed.
His holly wand was still there, having just rolled past the foot of his bed at some point in time. With it, he attempted to summon the Hallows, first altogether ("Accio Deathly Hallows") then each by their individual name. Not so much as a dust bunny stirred.
Panic and an overwhelming sense of wrong spurred his movements as he tore the room apart in search of the three objects; beneath Neville, Dean, and Seamus' beds were searched, between bedsheets and cushions, in nooks and crannies that hadn't been touched in months but were still thoroughly searched anyway. And when it became obvious that the Hallows were not in the bedroom, he moved into the bathroom. It was as he was shaking out one of many neatly folded towels that the door to the dormitory creaked open and two pairs of footsteps entered the room.
"Harry? Are you in here?"
There was one brief moment where Harry considered not answering, where he contemplated diving into one of the shower stalls and hoping Hermione and Ron would go in search for him somewhere else. But then Hermione was there and her eyes were frowning in that way he hated as she took in the destruction he had wrought.
"What are you doing?"
Harry floundered for a moment, it was quite obvious what he was doing (though the why was likely not as obvious) but he wasn't about to explain why she'd caught him in the middle of demolishing the neat towel pyramid that stood as the centerpiece of the boys' bathroom. "I, uh, was about to take a shower."
The fine lines around Hermione's eyes deepened as her gaze traveled from the towel now clutched loosely in his fist, up his arm, before settling on his bare torso. "You're bleeding."
Harry had nearly forgotten about the lines he had cut into his skin in his fit of agonized panic, they still itched and stung like you wouldn't believe, but he'd been too distracted to pay the mild irritation any mind.
"Yeah, I had a nightmare. It was bad."
He knew he should feel bad for using an affliction that had once seriously affected him to get her off of his scent, but Voldemort was dead, there would only be so many more times he could use the nightmare excuse before it began to lose its effectiveness. He may as well milk it for all it was worth while he still had the chance.
Before he could follow up his false admission with even falser assurances that he was, or at least would be, fine, Ron was at Hermione's elbow, taking in the sight of Harry's shredded torso with an awed sort of horror.
"Merlin's balls, you really did a number on yourself."
Harry shrugged self-consciously and only just stopped himself from crossing his arms over his chest in what would no doubt be a painful and entirely fruitless attempt to cover the worst of the damage. "It felt like there were bugs crawling under my skin, guess that was the only way I knew how to make them stop. I'm fine now though, I stopped once I woke up."
Ron bit his lip uncertainly. "They don't look that deep, but there's a lot to get infected. Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey, let her patch you up."
Harry balked at the thought of leaving the tower. As word of Voldemort's demise spread, a slow trickle of tentatively hopeful wizards and witches arrived at Hogwarts' gates; some to see if the rumors were true, others to offer their aid with healing the wounded and repairing damages done to the castle, some came to reunite with loved ones, but then there were the unlucky few who had come to collect their dead. They were the ones Harry had secluded himself up in the tower to avoid, the ones who stared at him with their accusing stares as tears wet their cheeks and hollow condolences from a million people who didn't matter rang in their ears. He avoided them because he knew that their accusations weren't unfounded, maybe if he'd been a bit faster, a tad braver their family members, their sons, their daughters, mothers and fathers would be still alive.
Hermione, beautiful, understanding Hermione, seemed to sense the cause behind his hesitation as she offered an alternative option. "Or I could do it, I've still got a bit of dittany left."
Harry nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that. But maybe let me shower first, I can wash away all this blood and give you a better idea of what you're working with."
Hermione didn't look entirely convinced, no doubt she was eager to rid him of the marks marring his torso, she had never liked seeing her friends in pain, but Ron nodded and gently wrapped his hands around her arms, using the grip to steer her back out into the bedroom.
He smiled softly at Harry, though it didn't fully reach his eyes, as he reached out to grasp the door handle. "Take your time, I'll ward her off the best I can."