Chapter Fifteen

The fog curled around her like smoke and soaked into her woolen cloak, weighting it against her shoulders. Cold dampness seeped into her skin, her shivering doing little to shed its touch. The ground was a wet sponge beneath her feet. It clutched at the soles of her shoes and slowed her steps. In the dark distance, a predator snarled and its prey screeched for mercy. The hairs along her neck prickled in response to the million eyes peering at her from the forest's depths.

Both dark figments of death turned toward her. Ron's familiar cerulean eyes shone from beneath one of the hoods. Soundlessly, he swept toward her, a lecherous smile curling what remained of his humanlike lips. His hand, bony and disfigured reached...

"Hermione?"

Fear whitened her complexion to near translucent in the pale moonlight streaming through the cottage's guest room window. The mottled silver beams illuminated the tears leaking from beneath her closed eyes and seemed to dance on the glistening trails bisecting her cheeks. Ragged breaths expanded then shrank her chest as if she were a marathoner mid-race. Unintelligible syllables with the rhythm of pleas tumbled from her sleep-slackened lips and tugged at Severus' heartstrings.

With Rose's christening tomorrow, and Hermione's pent-up nerves over the Weasleys attending the reception afterwards, he should have expected this. Of course, he thought the sleep deprivation that frequented the lives of a newborn's parents coupled with the long drive to the small village near Edinburgh would render them both too exhausted to dream. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

"Hermione," he whispered. He leaned over her but allowed only his breath to caress her skin... He'd learned early on she didn't respond positively to touch whilst in the clutches of a nightmare. Wandlessly he cast Muffliato around them, cocooning them in their own little world while protecting the peaceful sleep of their newborn daughter sequestered in the bassinet at the end of their bed as well as the other inhabitants of the small cottage. "Wake up my darling girl."

She whimpered in her sleep, her back arching as if fighting against some invisible restraint tethering her to her dream world. Carefully, he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek willing to risk a nightmare-induced retaliation to break the hold it had on his wife. "Hermione."

"Take me instead," she screamed, bolting upright and clawing at the sheets. "Please."

"Hermione." He caught her from behind, pinning her arms to her side to keep them both safe as he attempted to rouse her further. "Come on, love." He nuzzled her wild curls, easing them away from cheeks with his nose, inhaling as he went the intoxicating citrus sweetness that clung to her hair after her nightly shower. "Your safe," he soothed against her ear. "Open those beautiful eyes and see." He shifted enough to hold her captive against his chest with only one arm. He trailed the fingers of his now free hand along her jaw. "I've got you, darling girl. Always."

Her eyelids twitched, and he held his breath. Gently, he brushed his thumb across her lips. "That's it, love. Come back to me."

With a sharp gasp, Hermione woke. Her eyes darted, searching and filled with confusion. He released her enough to shift into her peripheral vision. Although they'd spent enough time in this guest room over the last few years, the nightmare would leave her disoriented, frightened. "I'm right here," he murmured. He brushed his hand against her back. "I'm always right here."

"Severus."

Without warning, his witch launched herself at him. Reflexes honed to razor-sharp precision by years of servitude to two equally manic despots reacted before his mind actually registered the movement and kept them from tumbling off the bed. Her quiet sobs rattled through him as if they came from his own chest. "It's all right, love," he cooed, enfolding her in an embrace so tight air was barely able to infiltrate their lungs with every breath. "It's all right."

"I couldn't save you," she whimpered, her voice muffled against his chest. "But Ron and Molly..." She shivered, and Severus held her closer still. "They were hideous, hovering over you and Rose in those ragged robes. I tried to..."

Dementors. He groaned softly. Why in hell had Minerva included that little detail during her explanation of Molly and Ron's affliction? Probably because, at the end of the day, she was still a bloody Gryffindor who too often spoke without first engaging mind.

"Changelings, once their souls have reached saturation with the dark magic they absorb, must either find a pure soul to cleanse their own, or they become Dementors." The headmistress' voice strolled around his memory while Hermione's ramblings blunted to the soft sniffles of slowly recovering composure. Reclining against he antique headboard with his witch still in his arms, he once again cursed the day he learned the depths to which Albus Dumbledore would sink for his damnable 'Greater Good'.

Severus spun to face his one-time mentor. "You can't honestly consider it safe for the boy to remain here, Albus. At the least he's unstable, at the most, he's a danger to both Potter and Miss Granger. If he were to turn on one of them once they leave the safety of Hogwarts..."

Albus' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not be so foolish as to think such destinies can be overcome, Severus. Ask Poppy if you do not believe me."

Severus slid down in the bed, taking Hermione with him. For all Albus' plotting, his death thankfully ended whatever control he'd exerted over that relationship. Plus, the plot to allow Severus to die 'like the good pawn he was' failed. Thank God the plot failed.

And thank God his Hermione had been meant for him and not the redheaded Changeling that was still the stuff of her nightmares. Now all he had to do was keep those nightmares from coming true.