Chapter 1: Trauma Coming Back
A scream pierced the dreamless slumber of Ronald Weasley. He could hear his wife's voice piercing through the night.
"No, Harry! Don't you dare die on me, Harry Potter! I've lost him; I've lost Ron already! I won't lose you too! No, don't leave me here alone! Come back! HARRY! RON! NOOOO!"
Ron rolled over in the bed they shared to find Hermione trashing under the covers. She finally came into the conscious world: sweaty, screaming, eyes darting wildly about. Ron refrained from taking her in his arms just yet. Once long ago, he had made that mistake, and Hermione - thinking she was still in a dream with hostile enemies - punched him in the face. He'd had a black eye for weeks afterward…Instead, he used his voice as a calmer.
"Sssh, Hermione. It's OK, my beloved, I'm right here…" Only now, as she began to get her bearings, did he wrap her in a tight embrace, holding her close. She clung to him, feeling his T-shirt and his skin, as if to assure herself that he was real.
"Hermione, who am I?"
"R-Ron Weasley. My husband; my lover. The father of my children," Hermione sniffled.
"And where are we?"
"In our bed, in our home in Ottery St. Catchpole."
"That's right. We're at home, in bed. Our children are safe; Rose and Hugo are asleep downstairs." Ron soothed. He chuckled. "You passed that test with flying colors, like you always have. Because you're brilliant. And you're safe. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing will hurt you ever again." I'll make sure of it, he thought.
Hermione looked up into her husband's face, tears streaming down her face. "I need to see Harry. Now!" She pleaded. "I need to make sure he's safe!"
"Love, Harry is safe. He's with Ginny and the kids…"
"I know! Just…" she took a breath. "Please call him; ask him to come here. For me." She gave him a sweet look that Ron knew he could not resist. After a moment, he sighed and reached for the phone.
Meanwhile, across town, a sudden ringing pulled Harry Potter out of sleep. Through bleary eyes, he saw his landline phone on the bedside table light up. I'm going to kill whoever thinks they can call me at this time of night…it's probably a damn reporter… He picked up quickly so as not to wake his wife or the rest of the house. "Hello?" he groused, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice.
"Harry? It's Ron." Harry sat up a little straighter. The anger in his voice diminished, but only slightly. If Ron was calling him at 3:00 in the morning, there had to be a good reason. What if something's wrong? With Hermione? Or the kids?
"Hermione had another nightmare," Ron continued. "And it was about you. She wants to see you to make sure you're OK."
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
Harry sighed. If it had been anyone other than Hermione or Rose or Hugo, he would have told Ron to take a hike. "I'll be over there in a few minutes." With that, he hung up, quietly got out of bed (Ginny hadn't even stirred) and slipped downstairs to the Floo fireplace. Grabbing some powder, he hissed, "17 Hickleberry Street, Ottery St. Catchpole!" With a whoosh of green flames, he was gone.
