Harry jolted awake, panicked and disorientated, and he realised almost at once why he was struggling to breath - they must have left the bedroom door open, as at some point Crookshanks had decided to make his bed on Harry’s face. Shoving the fat ginger cat off his head, he gasped for air, and then coughed and spluttered at the ginger fur that had worked its way into his mouth. He swung his legs around, so he was sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the fluff free with displeasure. Unsurprisingly, Ron slept and snored through Harry’s ordeal. Finally able to breathe, Harry suddenly remembered what he had been dreaming about, and jumped to his feet. As if in sympathy, Harry’s scar suddenly started to burn - something he hadn’t realised was missing from his experience of this summer holiday until now. The wound at his neck also ached, but nowhere near the degree to the lightning bolt on his forehead.