A/N: Here it is, straight from my brain to your internet. Another story (yay me!) Review if you please, and please Review. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Ron Weasley, Hugo, Rose, Hermione ('Mione), Harry, Sirius Black, or anything else in this story affiliated with the Harry Potter empire. I do, however, own the words you are about to read, in the order you are about to read them.
I woke from sleep, kicking out my legs fruitlessly as he stood over me, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. His grin was ghoulish, the charm that it may have once held sucked out by years of imprisonment. I tried to scream, but his hand shot out instantaneously, holding the sound within the cavern of my mouth. I found myself unable to move, my body frozen in fear and in captivation as he lowered himself towards me.
Then the knife came out.
My eyes widened in horror as he pulled the shiny blade out from a fold in his robes, as he lifted it high in the air above my body. Something rustled on my chest, and it would have scared me half to death if I hadn't been there already. Four tiny feet scrambled over my rigid frame and scarpered off the bed.
The look in his eyes was terrifying. His thin lips opened, stretching his gaunt face into a silent curse. He removed his hand from my mouth, turned away and ran for it as the scream, no longer bottled up, released.
XxXxX
Night after night I would wake from this dream, an imitated memory from that night in third year when Sirius Black got in. I would never admit it to Harry (recurring nightmares were his thing, after all), or Hermione. Nobody would think anything of it. Nobody would think twice about it, they would all just think it was leftover fear, or post-traumatic stress.
Hell, I didn't think it meant anything special. I really didn't. It fell somewhere on my priority list beneath "Quidditch" and "Buy new socks" (but somewhere above "Potions Essay".) I would ignore it when I woke from it, and every night I would go back to sleep, dozing peacefully for the next five hours, or seven hours on weekends.
So one night at the end of December, when I woke from the dream, I really could care less. Over the years, it had become one of those things you just do, like brushing your teeth, or hugging your Great Aunt Tessie when she came to visit. I gave my head a quick shake, lay back in my bed, stared up at my favourite Chudley Cannons player for about ten minutes, then closed my eyes to drift back off into more uninterrupted shut-eye.
The knife raised high in the air and paused, pointing at my throat. He brought it down slowly, tauntingly, to rest at the base of my Adam's apple. He spoke in a low, raspy voice. "Scream. I dare you." My mouth opened in response, the skin of my neck stretching to meet the sharp point of the knife. I quickly clenched my jaw shut, refusing to unlock it even for a second.
He threw his head back in raucous laughter. The other boys should have woken at the sound, but they remained asleep, ever peaceful in whatever dreams had captured their minds. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Harry's form, hunched beneath his cover, facing away, the sheets rising and falling steadily as he breathed.
I looked back up into the eyes of my conqueror, and saw some of the light return as he played his game. The knife slid slowly along my clavicle, the blade icy on the skin but never penetrating. He traced patterns with the sharp point down my chest, cutting open the shirt as he went. I could do nothing but stare back at him, paralyzed. I wouldn't move. I couldn't move. He had won.
XxXxX
My eyes snapped open as something very solid and very human collided with my legs, pinning them to the mattress. "Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy!!!!" The voice was high and shrill, I knew it at once to be Rose. I sat up, smiling sleepily.
"Mornin' Rosie." Her face blurred into view, smiling brightly, the gaping hole where her two front teeth should be a the only black mark on her perfect face.
"Daddy, why are you still sleeping? It's Christmas." She tugged on the blankets folded haphazardly on my lap. Her smile was plastered among her pale features, and it wasn't coming off. One of the many things I love about my daughter. No matter what's going on around her, she can always smile.
"Christmas?" I gasped teasingly. Her mouth opened in a laugh at my joke. It wasn't a joke, but I'd never tell her that. I'd thought it was the 23rd, honestly. "Well, honey, let's go!" I picked her up off my legs and swung them out over the side of the bed before carrying her, giggling the whole way, down the stairs and into the living room. I set her down in front of the couch and she crawled immediately towards the tree to scavenge for presents labeled with her name. I sat, sinking into the cushions of the couch.
Hermione's hand found my knee and I turned to meet her with a kiss. She looked concerned. "You alright, Ron?"
I nodded slowly. "I'm fine, 'Mione."
"Okay…" She conceded. Her look of concern did not disappear, but waned until it was almost hidden from view. I squeezed her hand reassuringly. We'll talk later. Enjoy Christmas. I prayed she got my message.
I turned back to watch Rose distribute the presents one by one, to her brother Hugo, 'Mione and myself, and herself in turn. Eventually, the tree produced no more wrapped goodies, and Rose and Hugo busied themselves with the toys they had received. I didn't know what they were. I didn't know what presents I'd unwrapped myself. I wasn't paying attention.
I didn't understand it. There had never been a "Nightmare – Part Two" before. It didn't make any sense, not really. I tried to focus on something else, every time my attention wandered I returned to the dream, tried to puzzle out its meaning. 'Mione, bless her, was so wrapped up with the two little ones that she didn't press me.
I should have let it go. I shouldn't have lingered on the dream. Most of all, I should have just told Hermione right then and there when she dragged me into the kitchen to pester my with her questions. But I didn't. You know what I did? I sat and thought about it. All morning, and partway through the afternoon.
Then the mail came.
A/N: Short chapter, I know. More coming later, when I'm not unwrapping presents of my own (hehe.) Reviewers adored. 3, POE.
