There were things about being back at Hogwarts that were bad, and there were things about being back at Hogwarts that were good. When he'd first agreed to return, Harry had been picturing going back to Hogwarts that was exactly as he'd seen it first year, through the eyes of a dumbstruck eleven year old who'd gone from a cupboard to a castle. He hadn't realised that his first thoughts would be of the very last time he'd seen it, blasted full of holes, covered in dead bodies. He had a lot more anxiety than he'd anticipated having.
Gryffindor Tower, though, how it had survived unscathed he didn't know, but he was overcome with the strange desire to wrap himself up in the tapestries and cuddle with the armadillo. Their room was also perfect. Ron's bed even had that beautiful homemade knit blanket on it that didn't match anything. He grinned when Neville collapsed onto his bed, but Neville's words also made him stop and think. Only Ron and Hermione knew what he'd been through the previous year, yes, but Harry also didn't really know that much about what had gone on for everyone who'd been stuck at Hogwarts while Voldemort was basically running the show.
He kicked his shoes off and climbed up onto his own bed. "Better than a tent, as well," he said. There was so much to talk about, he wasn't sure how they were going to start.