Harry stretches as he wakes up, half-rolling toward the edge of the bed in the still habitual reach for his glasses. He takes potions for that now, though. The stretch proves his rear feels a bit tender, enough to know he’s probably bruised and definitely going to limp, and he falls back on the bed to stretch his back up as well. He arches, pushing his limbs out, like a sleepy cat, and then his hand collides with a warm body. His eyes shoot to the other side of the bed. To Marvolo, still asleep and with a washed out hue from overwork.