AN: hey, guys. Here's a little something I wrote. Hope you enjoy.


She dreamt of him every night.

She dreamt of him. But he dreamt of another.

At first, it was more like a companionship. She needed him, and he needed her. Not for romantic reasons, of course. No one was above the law.

She admired his sense of purpose. His intelligence. But she never spoke a word.

After a while, however, things grew more... intimate. She had to bear a child. No one was above the law.

They had thought of names together. Discussed what it might be like to have one more member in the household. He had even pulled out his old crib.

And just when she thought, when she hoped, perhaps this marriage would get better- the world collapsed around her. Her stomach ached. She saw blood.

The child did not survive.

She cried. She cried and cried, until her throat went raw and the tears ran out.

But he was quiet. Never spoke a word. Yet he supported her in her misery.

At first, he would feed her. Wake her up before work. Help her dress. Then he would speak to her. It will get better.

It had been months since then. She sat down, picking at her breakfast. There were new bags under her eyes, the darkest yet. Her sadness had come back, caught her unawares. She could not eat, could not sleep, could not speak.

He stood in the doorframe, ramrod straight, arms crossed. He stared at her, but she stared at her cold food. She refused to meet his eyes. I can't keep doing this.

She stood up, heading to the sink. Her feet dragging, shoulders slouched; she threw the food away and washed the plate. Hoping to sleep this time, she walked to the kitchen door.

She slipped.

She slipped and almost fell. Almost. He caught her, and she was momentarily embarrassed. But she couldn't hold it in anymore. It was overwhelming. Too overwhelming. Her hands clutched his robes, and she sobbed. She sobbed and sobbed, until her throat went raw and the tears ran out.

It was different this time. He hugged her. He held her close to her chest, smoothing out her curly hair and softly whispering loving nothings. Patiently, he waited for her.

Almost a year later, she walked into the bathroom on him. He was standing in front of the mirror, a sorrowful look on his face. His eyes glared at his left forearm, his right hand following the contours of his faded mark. He was shaking.

Then he saw her. His eyes widened, and he quickly covered his arm. His shoulders straightened and he held his chin high.

But he was still shaking.

She ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. His hands dug into her hair, his nose resting on her forehead. Violently, he shook. Patiently, she waited for him.

She watched him leave for work. She left minutes after. Her boss was sympathetic. But she was not weak. She refused to be week. She was strong, no matter what. No battle was strong enough to get to her.

He'd just come out of the shower when she walked in. He said nothing about her double shift. She hung her coat, untied her hair, and threw herself onto the couch. It was quiet. He then sat on the opposite chair, reading a book. They sat in peace.

She refused to succumb to sadness. The past was the past. No battle was strong enough to get her.

But then her eyes fell on Severus.

She had come to care for him. She had grown to love him. But could he tell?

This love was not just a battle. It was a war.

She sat next to him in bed. He whispered nox, and she watched as the light was snatched out of her eyes. She whispered, good night, but he did not reply.

She dreamt of him every night.


Hermione spoke. He could not reply. He did not have it in him.

After all, he had broken her heart. He did not deserve to live with her, let alone speak to her.

He was a horrible man. And it haunted him, it haunted him how such a pure soul could love him.

But he would hurt her. He would destroy her, and she would never forgive him.

She dreamt of him every night.

And he dreamt of her.