Hermione wakes up some nights terrified.

But only the calm, quiet summer nights. Only when she is safe at home, immersed in peace.

She lies in her London bed in her London home and blinks away images of magic, adventure, and two foolish boys.

The haziness fades as she realizes she was only dreaming, and genuine fear takes its place with the thought that always follows on these trouble free nights; it was all a dream.

And that's the difficulty of being a Witch in the Muggle world- believing in something no one else knows exists.

How much of it was a dream?

Her fingers grope in the darkness for a scarf of scarlet and gold, and she doesn't breathe until it's gathered on her pillow, the smell of books and midnight under her nose.

Hermione holds the scarf and thinks of winter; of pages of spells and rules disregarded and the cold bite of the wind; the ever present danger.

The thought of danger is a lullaby to her as she lies in her safe home.

With her eyes open she can only stare up at a ceiling that doesn't do much of anything except hide the stars, and so she closes her eyes to the world that awaits her (as frightening as it can be.) And she is grateful, because nights like these remind her that the possibility of magic not existing is a thousand times scarier than anything it can ever do to her.

So she keeps her eyes closed and her heart fills up at the images that surface; dreams, for now, of red hair, of glasses, of scarlet and gold.

Note: I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter, nor am I making a profit from this.

Hello! This is my first time writing for this particular fandom, and I'm planning on updating this as often as possible with short drabbles as a way to get a feel for this. Most will probably end up being Hermione centered.

Feedback would be wonderful! :)