Sleep never came easily. But when it did, it was never peaceful.

Tonight, there was fire and ash.

His eyes burned from wayward cinders as he watched the cloaked men cut down a young girl of seven, grabbing her by her fine blonde hair and dragging her into the a clearing of rubble, hissing with murderous glee as her helpless family looked on in horror.

He wanted desperately to cry out, to yell, to scream for them to stop, but his lips would not form the words, and he couldn't move a muscle, save for his legs that stalked ever closer.

His wand shook in his hand, gathering a familiar energy, as his mind whispered, No, no, no!

He pointed his wand at the weeping, blue-eyed child.

No, please! It's a dream. Wake up, wake up.

He gestured for the others to move.

No. Wake up.

'Avada Ke—'

"No!" Severus yelled into the dark guestroom, sucking in heaps of air as he tried to remember where he was. It was always those dreams that came back. Never the nonsensical, pirouetting hippos.

He wasn't surprised when she came in with a glass of water and a sleepy, concerned expression. She sat on the other side of the bed and waited for him to finish.

Severus took his time, not too keen on returning to dreamland. When he was done he turned to find her curled up in a ball on the pillow next to his, fast asleep, her face covered in curls.

He brushed the frizzy mass away and stared at her awhile, noting how her eyelashes kissed her cheeks, how her freckles dashed across her nose, how her rosy lips drew his eye with every slumberous breath.

This time, when he finally drifted off, he dreamt of tap-dancing llamas.