A/N: Short and quick and angst-y. I promise I'll post again real soon cause this is almost a filler chapter that goes more in-depth to Katie's psyche and Oliver's death. I am drawing the stage. Muhahaha. =) The action will come, I promise. And so will Flint-Flint-Flint. Please R+R. Much love: Jaine.

Disclaimer: Hopefully you can differentiate between my stuff and Rowling's because what's mine is mine and what's hers is hers.

Nightmares

"This could be it, Katie. Tomorrow the War could be over."

His brown eyes met hers and she felt him drag his thumb across her cheekbone. She pressed her cheek harder against his palm and grabbed his hand. She felt unreasonably chilled.

"I know… I just have a bad feeling about this. I don't trust Flint."

"He's not lying. The Ministry… has ways of making people talk. He did it willingly."

"But he wants to lead now, and they're letting him? After all his family's done? I can't believe it."

He leaned forward, his forehead brushing against hers, kissing her brow, pulling back her soft, brown hair.

"I'd rather trust him, than lose hope, Kates. Think about it."

He placed his hand over her flat stomach and smiled patiently at her. A familiar glimmer of mischievous had crept back into his eyes. She knew he was only trying to ease her fears, reassure her that it would be all right, but she couldn't believe it.

Hope.

Oliver was her hope.

"I don't want you to go. Not again." She could feel the tears surging forward. The tears she had tried so unsuccessfully to hide from him time and time again. Nowadays, soldiers who left… didn't always come back. War or no war, she didn't think she could bear the thought of losing him, not after she'd already lost so many friends, her own family.

"You know I have to. It's ending. You can feel it, too, can't you, Katie? We're so close. And wouldn't it be worth the try if our kids could grow up in a world without shadows?"

He kissed her, pulled her down, and for a time, everything was right again.

Someone was rapping sharply on her door.

She pulled on Oliver's old Puddlemere robes and answered it, half-awake. He had left three days ago in the middle of the night. She had been shattered that he hadn't even said good-bye, but she inherently knew why he'd done it. He'd left her on their bed, naked and sleeping, because he wouldn't've been able to say it one more time, another kiss, another hug, more sobbing on her part, one more time he'd promise her he'd come home, and every time he left knowing that he might not.  It was killing them.

What time was it? Almost two in the morning…

Fred Weasley, an old schoolmate and close friend of Oliver's, was standing on the steps of her house. His eyes were red, rimmed with tears. He looked like he hadn't slept in ages. His brother had been killed a year ago. He was holding a red envelope with an official Ministry seal.

She felt her heart stop.

"No." It had been soft at first, an instinctive denial. Then she had screamed it. She'd thrown herself at him, attempting to push him out the door when he had picked her up and pulled her against him. She'd been hysterical. How could it hurt so much? The pain had been unbearable, like someone had ripped out her heart.

And then Fred, "I'm so sorry, Katie. I'm so sorry."

"No, Fred, he's not dead. There's a mistake. He's not. He's not. He's not." Her litany of half-slurred sobs still echoed in her ears sometimes.

He's not.

But he was.

Dear Mrs. Katie Bell Wood,

I regret to inform you that your husband has died in our service. Words cannot express the pain that accompanies the passing of a loved one, nor can it console the living, but I offer you my sincerest condolences. Your husband made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause of greater good in this world. His passing will be forever honored. I wish you nothing but strength and faith in the next few months to help you through this difficult time.

Sincerely,

Arman Belligrant

Chief Commander of the British Magic Military

Katie jerked awake. She sat herself up in bed, still shaking. She lifted a hand to her face and felt wetness, her tears. She kicked off the sheets and pushed herself off the bed. It was freezing but the sting was good. It told her she was still alive, even if she was shuddering uncontrollably.

She couldn't remember what she'd dreamt about. She never did. But she woke up in the same state every night, completely petrified, shaking, and crying.

Her friend, Angelina Weasley, had suggested she see a Psychiawitch when her nightmares had begun but Katie had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She didn't remember what happened in her dreams, but she already knew what they were about. The only way she could function was compartmentalizing her life… compartmentalizing Oliver. If she opened that box again, she was likely to fly off the handle.

She'd already tried to kill herself, supposedly.

She'd told Angelina and Fred that it had been an accident but they hadn't listened. They'd packed up her belongings and moved her into their flat faster than she could blink an eye to protest. She had learned soon enough that if she didn't fake her wellness, she'd never be able to leave. They had thought she'd get better with enough time. "Give her time. Give her time." Time wasn't enough and Katie already knew she'd never stop having nightmares. She'd never go back to the way she'd been before but she was good at faking it. And they'd let her go.

She hadn't been able to stay in that house, hadn't been able to stand the fact that Angelina still had Fred but Oliver had been ripped away from her in the blink of an eye. Seeing them together, knowing that they could share a bed at night, raise a house full of children, spend the rest of their lives together, was almost as maddening as her insomnia or depression.

So she'd blocked everything out.

Survival was funny that way.

She didn't think anymore, didn't feel, didn't care. She didn't smile and she never laughed unless it was a harsh, cutting one as bitter as the rest of her. She didn't hope for the future, ruminate of things to come, she didn't even sleep at night. Her friends, what was left of them, had all settled happily into their marriages, pushed back the past, and continued with the rest of their lives. Katie had, too. In a different way, in a way that didn't require feelings.

And wouldn't it be worth the try if our kids could grow up in a world without shadows?

She had thought yes at the time. Yes, it would. But she'd been such a pretty, little fool. No, Ollie, it hadn't been worth the try. I'm as good as dead now, aren't I? And I'll never have your child.

What time was it? Almost four. No point in trying to get back to sleep.

Katie picked up the book by her bed and began reading by dim candlelight.

Tomorrow was the first day she'd tour with Flint. It had been three months since she'd seen him last. It was a grim thought, knowing she'd be spending the next month of her life with the man who had murdered her husband. How ironic that for the second time in twenty-seven years, she would putting her life into his hands. Technically. She refused to lose the reservations. She just couldn't. Not to Flint, not again.

Maybe she would get into a wand fight with him. They'd draw, aim, fire… and then maybe, peaceful oblivion. For the first time in six years, she might be able to get some rest. She'd kill Flint and follow Oliver to the grave.