A/N: Thanks for reading, favouriting and reviewing! This is drabble Post-Absence part two, and this is a companion piece to Madame Voldemort. The next will be set in a more familiar style, with manipulations and power struggle - and some sexy times. ;-)

Please let me know what you think!

She was so tired. Muscles screaming, begging for dreams, for rest, for oblivion, but by now, after five weeks, it was obvious that young Niall Warin didn't even remotely feel the same need. Her beautiful, little baby boy was awake, eating, asleep for half an hour, awake, eating, asleep for half an hour…

The sweet smell of milk seemed to permeate all her clothes, and if she wasn't nursing, her breasts leaked, soaking through her nursing pads in no time, making her nipples sore. As she was on the verge of crying – again, her husband said reassuringly: "Love, I'll look after him, go to sleep,"his hand smoothing her frizzy hair, soothing her tired, facial muscles.

Darkly, she muttered: "Thanks, but he's just going to be hungry again, and then you'll have to wake me up."

"Go to sleep, love, I'll take care of it. You need to rest."

Too tired, too exhausted to protest, she laid down, eyes closing, and she was gone before she knew it.

Xxxx

She woke up, feeling refreshed, so clear-headed like she hadn't been for weeks, but her breasts were heavy, much too warm and aching.

Blinking owlishly at the darkness outside, she couldn't wrap her head around where she was and what had happened. She had fallen asleep in the middle of the day, hadn't she? How come it was dark outside? No, she couldn't have slept for hours, could she?!

"Voldemort!" she yelled, feeling angry and distraught. Poor little Niall Warin, he had to be so hungry!

He poked his head into the bedroom.

"Why did you let me sleep for so long? Where's my baby? He has got to be so hungry, poor thing!" Her voice came out as something between plaintive and furious.

"Oh, he's fine. Sleeping," he said, nodding to the crib in the corner.

"Sleeping?" her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I dosed him with a little Dreamless Sleep," he said calmly, those dark eyes assessing her mood.

She gasped. "He's just a baby! You can't do that, he's supposed to eat every few hours!"

He shrugged. "I figure he needed to sleep a little too."

Then, they both felt the pull. It was strong, taking over their consciousness and bodies.

He staggered on his feet. She, sitting on the bed, had to clutch the duvet, heart hammering in her chest, breath coming much too fast, and she felt like there was made an incision on her heart, causing something to be siphoned out of her.

From the widening in Voldemort's eyes, she guessed he felt the same thing, and he clutched his chest, gasping raggedly.

Two, golden streams of light were pulled out of them, flitting, entwining in the air, before hovering over the crib, sinking down towards Niall Warin. A rattled gasp and a small cough came from the crib, and then her son was crying: Loud, angrily, scared, hungry…

She was on her feet before she knew what had happened, they both were, competing to get to the crib first, but she shoved him aside, lifting her small baby up, holding him in her arms.

"Did he.." she said hoarsely, voice almost unrecognizable.

"Yes," he whispered, "he did. The spell drew on us, anchoring him in his body."

A shuddering gasp tore through her. She had berated him several times on the dark protection spell he had performed when Niall Warin was new born. Now, it had saved him. Kept her son alive. Kept him safe from death.

"The Dreamless Sleep," he said heavily, massaging his brow, "I could have killed him."

She shook her head. "No, no, we don't know that. Lots of people use that potion for their kids, it's not supposed to be dangerous. Though, he's too small for sleeping so long without eating."

His arms came around them and she leaned her head into him. Granted, the spell was dark, but she couldn't find it in her to be angry anymore.

"I know," he said, leaning his brow on her head. "The anchoring worked. Now, we know we can stabilize and save each other."

Yes, she thought, breathing in the sweet smell of her baby and the spicy note that was the comforting smell of her husband. If only the anchoring wasn't a two-way channel, then it hadn't seemed so much like a form of living Horcruxes, saving and resurrecting one another from certain death.