Chapter One: To Slumber In Peace

Everything made sense now, but at the same time, nothing made sense anymore. The war was over. Every small piece had fallen into place to bring about this moment where Tom Marvolo Riddle was dead. The bits that Ron and Hermione hadn't witnessed themselves had been explained by Harry as they made their way up to Gryffindor tower. Yes, it all made sense. It was over.

And yet, nothing made sense. Not the deaths they already knew of or would learn of later, nor the destruction of the castle they had called home, nor the lingering fear that they would all be killed on any one of the staircases they walked up.

An unsettling feeling still churned inside of Hermione as they reached the portrait entrance. They walked through sans password but with the words of the Fat Lady: "Heroes are always welcomed here."

The common room looked the same as the last time Hermione had seen it: sofas still facing the fireplace, parchment and books strewn across desks, an abandoned game of exploding snap in the centre of the floor. It hurt to look at. This was a safe place, but even from the windows, she could see a wisp of smoke, a small sign of all the devastation just outside those walls.

She took Ron's hand, finding comfort in his strong grip. It grounded her. Any time she let go, she felt like she might float away.

He squeezed her fingers as they walked across the room, walking a familiar path to the dormitory staircases. She didn't even notice she was walking up the wrong set until they'd climbed up halfway. Ron stumbled a bit when she suddenly stopped and glanced back at her with a questioning look.

"Is this alright?" she asked, glancing at Harry as well. After all of the laws they'd broken this past year, this should have seemed like nothing, but Hermione still felt odd walking up to the boys' dormitories without the intention of fetching one of the boys in front of her. However, the idea of trudging to her old dormitory alone frightened her. She couldn't imagine trying to sleep away from her boys.

Ron gripped her hand tighter. "Of course it is," he said without any room to argue.

"Yeah, of course," Harry echoed with a nod before turning to lead the way. He walked past the doors of all the dorms he and Ron and the other boys had lived in over the years, going straight to the room they would have been in if they had returned to Hogwarts. "These beds better be as comfortable as McLaggen used to claim they were."

The room looked the same as all of the other dorms, but compared to camping beds, the four-poster frames and pristinely tucked in duvets looked like heaven. No one had slept here in quite a while.

Ron flopped onto the nearest bed, embracing the pillow. "Never thought I'd be this happy to see a Hogwarts bed."

Hermione chuckled, running her hand along the footboard of the next bed over. Her knees were ready to collapse just at the sight of a place to rest. In this room, with just Ron and Harry, she finally felt completely safe. And exhausted.

"I'm going to wash off first," Harry said, already walking towards the bathroom.

"Hold on," Hermione said, reaching into her pocket where she'd shoved her beaded bag for safe-keeping. She untied the strap from the loop on her trousers then pulled out their toothbrushes and a handful of miscellaneous clothes. "There might be a fresh set of pyjamas in here somewhere."

"I'll take anything moderately clean," Harry said and brushed off his shirt so a thick layer of dirt blew into the air.

"Fair point," Hermione conceded, rifling through for only a few seconds more before handing over a pair of pyjama bottoms she thought were his and a plain t-shirt she knew belonged to him. He thanked her then disappeared into the bathroom. He'd forgotten his toothbrush.

"He's gonna be alright," Ron said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "We all will. Eventually. Right?"

He looked to her for affirmation, but Hermione couldn't get out an easy 'yes'. All of her uneasiness stared back in her in his eyes. The war was over, so why didn't it feel over?

"I hope so," she said. Ron shifted his eyes to the ground, seeming disappointed in her lack of conviction. It disappointed her too. She wished all the relief she felt in being physically safe again and being given permission to be happy again wasn't shrouded in melancholy.

She returned to her shuffling through the pile of clothes in search of sleepwear for herself and Ron. Her fingers automatically went for the wand in her pocket, but as soon as she gripped the handle, her hand froze. In Gringotts and during the battle, she hadn't let herself hesitate. She had grabbed the unfamiliar wand and put aside the way it made her entire body ache every time she fired off another spell. Holding it now, she felt the ghost of what that wand had done to her. Her lungs squeezed out all her air, her muscles tingled and tightened, her fingers went numb.

Hermione tossed Bellatrix's wand onto the other side of the bed, reaching her arm into the beaded bag once more. To hell with using a Summoning Charm.

"Here," Ron said, appearing at her side and taking the clothes from her hands. "These'll do for me." He set aside a pair of dingy blue pyjama bottoms and a bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt. They clashed horribly, enough to distract Hermione from her shallow breathing for a just a moment. Then Ron's arm brushed hers, and what should have been a comforting warm touch burned. She gripped the track bottoms in her hand until her knuckles turned white. "And you can wear this." Ron handed her a top, something Gryffindor marron, then packed away all the other clothes strewn across the bed.

She held the clothes against her belly, afraid to say anything or move at all. This wasn't an altogether unusual feeling. This light-headedness and shakiness were all the things she'd experienced at Shell Cottage. There were many times she couldn't stand being touched, not even by Ron. She worked through it–they worked through it–but even after a week had passed, these moments of sudden dread still crashed down on her. Sometimes she could point out exactly what triggered them: a wand pointed at her, a raised voice, even, once, Ron saying her name. Other times, it seemed completely random. Now, at least, she'd perfected the rhythmic breathing she'd figured out to help her ride through it, but the anxiety wouldn't be chased away so easily. Not with all of the other emotions writhing around.

"Hermione." Ron's voice broke her. God, she was so relieved they had all made it out alive, but the relief hurt. For so many months, she hadn't been able to let all those fears overwhelm her, and her mind seemed to be hurtling backwards to all those times she'd suppressed her fright and worry in order to survive. She gasped in air, the tears finally escaping. Her hands shook as she threw down the clothes in her hands and grabbed Ron instead. She buried her face into his chest, the dirt and grime digging into her skin. She didn't care. Her arms were around his waist, his shirt bunched into her fists. He didn't hesitate to hold her just as tight and, locked inside his arms, everything came to the surface.

An hour ago, the elation of Voldemort finally being dead had chased away everything. The embrace she'd shared with Ron then had been pure happiness. This embrace was different. They were alone, and it was quiet, and everything caught up to her.

Caught up to both of them, it seemed. As soon as Hermione felt in control of herself, she stepped back and traced a tear down Ron's face with her fingers. There was a strange comfort in knowing she wasn't the only one hurting. With a deep breath, she finally managed to speak again. "I can't believe it's really all over. And now we're here." Her hand drifted down from his cheek to the back of his neck, her fingers holding on to the collar of his shirt.

"I know what you mean," Ron said as he sniffled and turned the corners of his mouth into what was perhaps meant to be a smile but turned into a trembling grimace. "I was surprised I managed not to die too."

Hermione released the arm she had around his waist to poke him in the chest. "That's not what I meant." He shrugged and took her hand, holding it in place over his fast-beating heart. She wouldn't let him get away with that self-deprecating jab at himself, though. "I'm surprised any of us made it out alive."

"Not all of us did."

Hermione felt her stomach drop to her feet, but she held on to his hand even though it had gone limp. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. And I'm sorry about Fred."

"Guess I'll be hearing that a lot now," he muttered, his entire demeanour falling into himself.

She didn't know what else to say. There wasn't anything she could say to make it better, but she'd already put her foot in her mouth twice in a row. She paused to think through her next sentence. "You'll get through this," she said, squeezing his hand. He straightened a bit in response, coming back into himself a bit as he looked at her with hopeful eyes. "We both will, together."

That got a smile from him. A real and genuine one this time. The air around them felt heavier all of a sudden, as if they both realized how close together they were at the same time. This was the moment that, if she had the confidence and conviction, Hermione would stand on her toes to kiss him, but even though she'd rushed to kiss him in the middle of the battle, this felt so unsure now. There wasn't any danger pushing them together. Coming together now had to be a choice.

"Would it be completely inappropriate if I…" Ron started and didn't need to continue as Hermione was already nodding. He smiled again and brought a hand from around her back to her face to cup her cheek and draw her closer.

They came together slowly, the exact opposite of their collision during the battle. There was no rush now. They could savour every millimetre that disappeared between them until his lips finally found hers. It was only a light peck, his nose pressing harder against her cheek than his lips on hers, and they pulled away for a breath before repositioning and going in again. They took their time, not deepening the kisses to anything more than light brushes, a moment to breath between each one. They tried several different angles, not out of an awkward fumbling to find the right fit, but more to test each one out. They all felt right. Even when one of their noses pressed into the other's cheek so they couldn't breathe or when they didn't quite line up so one of them kissed the corner of a mouth instead, it felt more right than stabbing Helga Hufflepuff's cup with a Basilisk fang.

Soon enough, though, they started coming up for air less and less, expanding their exploration from lips to mouths. One of his hands slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, his fingers lost in her mane of hair, while his other drifted down her arm to her waist then across her back to her opposite hip. He encompassed her, and really, she needed the support. Both of her arms were around his neck to keep herself upright, but she could still feel herself bending backwards a bit. She was lost in him; lost in the way he hesitantly ran his tongue over her lower lip, in the way his fingers rubbed against her scalp, and especially in the way his arm pressed into her lower back and arched her hips against his thighs. A content moan escaped without consent. After all the horror, she couldn't get enough of this simple bliss.

The shower water turned off with a squeak. Hermione gasped at the intrusive noise, having forgotten for a moment that they weren't completely alone.

"Damn Harry and his short showers," Ron grumbled as their grip on each other loosened. They didn't completely break apart though. Hermione settled back on her feet from her tiptoes and Ron stood up straight again, but her arms settled on his chest while his arm still held her waist. His other hand, however, grazed up her neck with his fingertips and his thumb rubbed across her wet lips as they turned up in a smile. He gave her a cheeky but still slightly hesitant smile in return as he said, "At least we can do this now?"

He turned the end into a question, asking permission, as if her response hadn't been enough reassurance. Hermione held back the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, we can," she said, reaching up on her toes to give him one last chaste kiss.

Although a part of her wanted to stay there and let themselves get carried away again, she pulled away and glanced at the bathroom door. "I think Harry's had enough excitement for one day without seeing this."

"I hate when you're right," Ron said, his arms ever so slowly letting her go again. She smoothed down the front of his shirt to erase any crinkles she left behind, then turned to the clothes she had thrown on the bed. Ron helped her put them in her bag, and Harry emerged from the bathroom, his black hair sticking up at even odder angles than normal. "You can go next," Ron said as he handed her the pyjamas she'd chosen earlier.

"Thanks," she said. As she took them, she paused for a moment. They stared at each other, and she wondered if he was having the same sudden urge to kiss her goodbye as she was having for him. She shook it off first. It wasn't like she was going far, and he'd be right here when she got out. No need to be overly affectionate in front of Harry.

Once inside the bathroom, Hermione set down her things and accidentally caught sight of herself in the mirror. Not much of her reflection shocked her–she'd literally just come out of battle–so it wasn't the dark smudges of dirt or harsh red burn marks that grabbed her attention. It was her hair.

Hermione never cared much about the state of the curly mess that was her hair, usually just letting it run wild without her minding, but seeing her usually bushy locks hanging limp and deflated unsettled her. She didn't look like herself. Most of the ends were singed and a whole spot on the left had been burned black. Not to mention all the dust and debris caught in her curls. She didn't know where to start. This wasn't a mess she could simply wash out.

She rummaged in the cupboards, not sure if she'd find anything. Only Neville and Seamus would have been living in this dorm, and she doubted either one would've kept around a pair of scissors in the bathroom. Sure enough, all the drawers and cupboards were empty, but her eye caught something on the edge of the counter: Harry's wand.

He had been in a slight daze since defeating Voldemort, not that Hermione could blame him, but leaving behind his wand–the wand he'd just mended into working shape again–that was concerning even given the circumstances. It appeared he'd left behind his dirty clothes as well, so Hermione pushed away her worried thoughts and instead focused on the relief that she had a tool to deal with the mess of her hair.

Most of the burnt bits fell off as soon as she touched them. She wondered if she'd left behind any bits after her entanglement with Ron, and an embarrassed flush graced her cheeks. Not that it mattered. She chastised herself for being subconscious about such a thing after they'd survived a war and he'd lost a brother. There were much worse things to worry over.

She carefully muttered a cutting charm to remove all of the blackened or burned bits she could see. It was far from perfect and, when she was done, it looked arguably worse than before. Her entire head now looked lopsided, but at least her hair resembled someone simply having a bad haircut than someone escaping a fire.

After setting down Harry's wand and stripping out of her clothes, she turned the shower water on as hot as she could stand. The water ran black down the drain for the first couple minutes as she scrubbed off the grim and ash from her skin. Once she'd washed her hair, twice, she simply stood in the stream of the shower, the warmth soothing her sore body. She had only just started to feel recovered from Malfoy Manor before being thrown into the war again. Her body felt strained and exhausted and wanting nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and fall asleep.

She turned off the water and towel-dried herself. Facing the mirror again, she poked and pulled at her hair a few more times but knew she couldn't do much more. Eventually she would ask someone who knew what they were doing to cut it properly, but for now, she tied it up in a knot to hide the thin or missing chunks.

She slipped on the track bottoms and then the shirt, quickly realizing it wasn't hers. The ends of the sleeves hang past her fingertips and the hem brushed just below her bum. A quick whiff of the collar was all Hermione needed to confirm that the shirt was Ron's, an old practice Quidditch jersey by the looks of it. If she breathed in deep enough, she swore she could smell the fresh-cut grass of the pitch.

The dorm room was lighter than when she had left, the morning sun shining through the windows. Hermione made her way to her bed with her (and Harry's) old clothes in hand, but when she turned to Ron to tell him she was done, she saw he'd fallen asleep. He'd at least changed into his clean pyjamas before doing so, and Hermione added the clothes in her arms to the pile at the end of Ron's bed. She would deal with them tomorrow. Or later that day, she supposed. It was technically the morning.

Harry's bed already had the curtain drawn, and she could hear his deep breathing coming from behind it. She set his wand on the nightstand beside the bed then followed his lead, climbing into her own bed and shutting out the light of the day.

She thought she would have at least a little trouble getting to sleep, but with the muffled sound of both of her boys' deep breaths, Hermione found it shocking that she had no trouble at all. Or she would have if she'd been conscious long enough to contemplate it. Instead, falling asleep really felt like falling. Her head hit the pillow, and her brain flew down into the deep darkness of her subconscious.

Her thoughts drifted unconnected around her: a statue crumbling, a giant chessboard, a chorus of howls, a breeze from the sea, a kiss, a dead body. Mostly there was blackness. But somewhere deep in the abyss, she could hear a voice yelling in anger. It started faint then grew closer and closer until it chased all of her other memories away and left her alone in the darkness with only the voice.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Pain that she would never be able to fully described radiated throughout her entire body. Every single one of her muscles cramped and folded her body into herself, trying to shield itself from the curse. There was no escape, though. It ended just long enough for her to whimper out a reply.

"Nothing. We have nothing."

"Lies."

The fire inside her flared again, setting her bones aflame. The floor hurt to touch, but she buried closer to it, wanting to fall through it and disappear. Anything, anything to escape.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to hold her breath. It hurt to move, and it hurt to stay still. It hurt to cry, it hurt to scream, it hurt to try to stay silent. It hurt to exist.

Hermione gasped as she sat up in bed, a scream at the back of her throat that didn't have enough air to get out. A bead of sweat slid down her forehead, the sensation of something against her body that didn't hurt bringing her back into her body. She shut her eyes, counting in her head as she took a breath, held it, and let it back out again slowly. It was a dream. It was a dream. It was a dream.

It wasn't a dream, though. It was a memory. Her lip quivered, and she brought her legs up to her chest, hugging them with shivering arms. The air was cold against her damp skin, feeling like a sprinkle of salt over a freshly healed wound. It didn't hurt, but she flinched away from it expecting it to.

Her heart raced, and though she had been unable to catch her breath a moment ago, her lungs panted for air now. The thick blankets against her skin became unbearable, so she flung them away and scrambled out from behind her curtain to escape the bed. Even the wood on the bottom of her feet felt too much, and she became painfully aware that no matter what she did or where she went, a part of her would always be touching something. How had that never bothered her before? Why didn't it occur to anyone else? Why hadn't someone fixed this problem already? What was wrong with everyone? What was wrong with her?

She closed her eyes again, covering them in her hands, and tried to concentrate on the ground beneath her feet. If she could ground herself, these spiralling thoughts would stop, or so the logical part of her mind told her. Instead of fearing the floor touching her, she embraced it, really felt it, reminded herself that it didn't hurt, that it was okay, that she was okay, and she was safe. The floor was sturdy, and she wasn't in danger, and Bellatrix Lestrange was dead.

Although still shaky, Hermione grappled some control over her body and mind again. The dorm came back into focus, and she dared a glance at the other two beds. Harry's curtains were still drawn, and Ron had turned in his sleep so his back faced her. She could hear his familiar snores.

Relief washed over her. At least she hadn't woken them up. She only hoped their dreams were much more peaceful than hers.

The idea of returning to bed and to that dark place inside her mind again stung to even contemplate. Hermione could barely even looked at the dishevelled mess she'd left behind. She crossed her arms around herself, stilling her shaking hands in the creases of her elbows, and headed for the door. She just needed a walk to get some space and some air, and then she'd be alright. She had to be.

Once in the common room, she headed towards the nearest window, looking to the sky to tell her what time it was. The sun still hung low, so it couldn't have been past nine o'clock. She must have only been asleep for maybe two hours, possibly less. She'd expected to sleep till late in the afternoon.

People milled about the grounds, a few already repairing some of the damage to the castle. The air had cleared itself of the smoke and dust that had put a haze over the area, but a heaviness still hung around. Everyone's shoulders were weighed down by the death and destruction surrounding them, and they moved slowly through the debris. Hermione wondered how long it would take them all to stand straight again.

The portrait hole opened. Hermione jumped around to face it, her hand reaching for a wand that wasn't there. She'd already taken stock of every object she could throw at the stranger when Charlie Weasley appeared through the hole.

"Oh, Hermione, good, I've found you," he said as he came into the common room, giving Hermione's heart a minute to slow to a normal pace again. "Ron and Harry with you?"

"They're asleep upstairs." Her voice sounded like a stranger's to her ears, filled with much more confidence than she was feeling. The easy task of answering a simple question with the right answer was a thin veil over her vulnerability, a silk cloth covering an exposed bone.

"Good. They could use it," Charlie said. He glanced at the staircase and unconsciously rolled one his shoulders to stretch. The gesture unsettled Hermione, having seen Ron do the same movement in the exact same manner many times before. Hermione briefly wondered if it was a Quidditch player habit or a Weasley quirk. "Well," Charlie said, breaking off Hermione's train of thought, "Dad and Percy have taken Mum and George back to Aunt Muriel's for now. Bill's at the Burrow, making it secure again, and I'll be helping him soon. Fleur's making arrangements." He mumbled the last part, and Hermione didn't need to ask for clarification on what arrangements he meant.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked.

"Somewhere looking for you three as well. We split up, but I'll find her and let her know where you are. Dad wants her back at Muriel's, but I doubt she's going to go willingly." Charlie tried to smile jokingly, but as Ron had earlier, the expression didn't come out quite right. He sighed. "Anyway, we'll send word when the Burrow is safe. I think they all expect you three to be there tonight, but I won't be the one to rush you."

"We'll be there," Hermione said automatically. Where else would they go? It came down to the simple fact that the war was over, and they could all go back to their normal lives. Nothing was as normal as the Burrow. "I'll keep Ron and Harry from wandering off so you can find us here again when it's safe."

"Good plan." Charlie nodded and started to turn back towards the portrait before stopping and saying, "Thanks for keeping our baby brother safe. We all know you kept those two alive."

Hermione flushed, not feeling deserving of the praise. "Actually, I think they did a lot more for me than I did them. Especially Ron."

Charlie smile, small but genuine this time. "He can be terrifying capable at times, can't he? Suppose that's why we've always knocked his ego down whenever we could." He nodded his goodbye before climbing back out of the portrait, leaving Hermione wishing she could bottle up the pride she felt for Ron at his brother's words so he could experience it firsthand.

The conversation managed to chase away most of the shadows in her mind. Sleep still didn't feel like a possibility, but she felt that she could at least handle going back to bed and perhaps read a bit.

As she started up the spiral staircase, a pair of thunderous feet rushed down towards her. She didn't have time to move out of the way as Ron appeared from around the bend and crashed into her. "Shit, Hermione," he said as he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

She rubbed her now aching nose and glared up at him. "Ron, what are you doing?"

"I was looking for you!" The grip he had on her arms tightened. "You can't just disappear like that."

"I didn't disappear," Hermione said, shaking off his hands. "I just needed a walk to clear my head and help me get back to sleep."

"Are you having trouble sleeping? Did you have another nightmare?" Ron reached for her again. "I can go right now and ask Madame Pomfrey for a Calming Draught–"

"Ron, stop." Hermione grabbed his approaching hand to stop it. "I'm fine. It's… just the daylight." The lie came to her quickly and stumbled a bit on the way out, not with her full permission. If she'd given the moment thought, she wouldn't have gone down the lying route, especially not with their relationship finally headed down a romantic path. But instant worry had jumped into his eyes as soon as she'd mentioned trouble sleeping. She didn't want him to worry. He'd already been there for her at Shell Cottage when she couldn't get through the night without a Calming and Sleeping Draught before bed. Now, it was her turn to be there for him.

"Are you sure?" Ron searched her face, and she fought against her natural reaction to look away and hide the lie on her face. That would surely give her away.

She held his gaze and nodded, taking hold of his hand in a much nicer way and let their hands fall together at their sides. "Yes, I'm sure."

Ron let out a breath of relief, his entire posture relaxing and bringing himself ever so slightly closer. "You scared me," he said, his other hand brushing hesitantly against her hip. She grabbed his wrist to press his palm firmly against her, holding on to his forearm and rubbing her thumb up and down against his skin. She enjoyed and appreciated this new distraction she could use, not only to move them away from the subject of her nightmares but also disrupting her anxious thoughts.

"I didn't mean to," she said, "and I didn't want to wake you."

"I thought something bad had happened." Ron resisted her attempts to distract him, though she supposed she couldn't blame him. If she'd woken up to his empty bed, she would've assumed the worst as well.

Before she could reassure him again, he pulled her closer, kissing the top of his head before locking her in a tight embrace. Their height difference was accentuated by the fact that Ron was stood on a step higher than her, so her head leaned more against his stomach than his chest. He folded over her, completely swallowing her up in his arms. Her arms encircled low on his waist, and she gave him a tight squeeze. Whatever leftover paranoia that had hung around from her nightmare shattered in his hug.

When Ron stood straight again and broke them apart just a little, Hermione leaned her chin against his middle and stared up at him. She brought around a hand to wipe off a smudge of dirt on his nose. "You should take a shower," she said. "Charlie came to the common room while I was down there. He said he and Bill were securing the Burrow and would let us know when it was safe to meet everyone there."

"Right," Ron said, a glazed look crossing his face. "Home."

Hermione left him alone with his thoughts for a moment, burying her head into his shirt again and taking in the quiet moment. In just a few hours, they would be back at the Burrow with most, if not all, of Ron's family plus Harry. Moments like this, she assumed, would be rare.

And at the back of her mind, her own home tugged at her brain–her childhood home that, under her spell, her parents had sold, and the box of all her things she'd had to stowaway shrunken and tossed about somewhere in the depths of her beaded bag. Not to mention, her parents. She'd have to deal with all of that soon.

"Come on," she said, no longer content being in her own thoughts and stepping back from their embrace. "You want to go back home clean, don't you?"

"Yes, I s'pose," he said, still seeming a bit unsure of returning to the Burrow, to a family missing one. She didn't need to ask what the hesitation was.

She took his hand and started to climb back up the stairs, but he stopped her before she got far. When she turned around, he put a hand under her chin to lift her face to his. Their height difference was lessened with her being a step above him, but he still had to bend down to kiss her. Their lips met only once, but after a heartbeat, they came together again. For an act they had struggled to achieve for years, it was impossible to stick to just one.

Hermione pulled away before they got too lost in each other again, tugging Ron up the stairs. She insisted on fishing out a fresh pair of pyjamas for him before he got a shower, and once the bathroom door closed, she also fished out a book for herself. She didn't care which one. She left her curtain slightly open to read by the daylight until she heard the shower turn off. By the time Ron came out, she'd shoved the book under her pillow and tucked her head into the blankets to hide her face. She took a few deep breaths for effect.

Once she heard Ron cross the room to return to his bed and his steady snores filled the room, she flopped over again. Her body ached for sleep, but she fought against it, memories of her nightmare making it impossible for her to sleep even if she tried. A single tear slipped out of her as she stared up into the canopy of the bed, wondering how far away normal was for her.


Author's Note: Thank you so so much for everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed this story so far! I am absolutely pissed at myself for missing my goal of uploading every other week. Literally hitting my head against a wall because I can't keep track of days passing. I had the chapter all ready to go too! Ugh! To try to make up for the delay and get back on track, I'll be uploading the chapter two next Tuesday, then I'll return to a biweekly schedule and actually stick to it this time. Hopefully I'll be able to figure at what day it is by then.

Anyways, don't have too much more to say about this chapter other than I hope you enjoyed it! Still ploughing through without a beta, so feel free to point out any mistakes. :) (But still looking for a beta if anyone is interested!)