Stepping through the Floo, James nearly ran into the end table. He set it upright again to prevent it crashing to the floor. Grimmauld Place was dark and silent. James glanced down at his watch, cursing. It was way too late. He had promised Harry he wouldn’t be out so late but not every promise could be kept.
Stepping towards his room, James rubbed the back of his neck. He was sore, tired, exhausted. If he didn’t make his way to his own room he was going to just fall asleep on the rather uncomfortable heirloom couch in the sitting room. It wasn’t the cleanest but it was comfy. One of these days he would get around to cleaning it. Just not tonight.
Passing by one of the occupied rooms, a noise broke him out of his trance. James halted in the hallway, his ears perking up. He strained to see if he heard it again.
THUMP
Frowning, James turned towards the closed door. She was still awake? Was she rearranging the space? Why else would she be moving around this late at night?
THUMP
There it was again. This time he pressed his ear to the door, hoping to hear something else. Maybe she was just knocking books over in her sleep. Merlin knows she housed an entire library in her room. Hearing nothing else, James slowly stepped away. He dropped his hand to his side when he realized it was reaching for his wand. So much for letting the past go. Some habits never seemed to leave. He was about to head back to his room when he heard it. Clear as day.
A scream.
Turning around, James grabbed his wand from his pocket and prepared himself to open the door. It was a scream, slightly muffled, but a scream nonetheless.
“Alohomora,” he whispered, not wanting to wake up anyone in the old house.
The door squeaked open and he quickly went in, wand raised and ready to hex an intruder. What he found instead was Hermione writhing in bed. Her entire face was scrunched in anguish, her fists clenched on either side of her. The covers were kicked off and she was twisting from side to side trying to avoid a mysterious attacker. James spotted books on the floor next to bed. There was the source of the thump.
“No, no please,” She was whimpering, her brow furrowing further. James sighed. She was having another nightmare. He pocketed his wand and carefully treaded to the side of the bed.
After the end of the war, everyone had nightmares. Harry had them almost every night. On more than one occasion James sat next to him, rubbing his head and waiting for Voldemort to leave the depths of his son's mind. Even after he had fallen asleep James could still hear the names of the fallen Harry would shout. Everyone had demons.
Hermione was no different. It seemed hers took the form of the horrid Black daughter who had left a nasty mark on her forearm. It was a constant reminder.
She was writhing on the mattress again, her head snapping back and forth as she fought the woman who was trying to sink her claws into her. Gently, James grasped her forearms, slowly shaking her. It didn’t stop the whimpers that were leaving her unconscious body.
“Hermione,” he whispered. When she began to quietly sob, James shook her again. His heart was slowly breaking at the sight of such a strong witch succumbing to the horrors of her mind.
Finally, after another sake, her eyes snapped open, wide and scared. She pushed out of his grasp and leaned against the headboard. Her eyes looked around frantically for the woman behind her eyes. She looked as if she was trying to escape into the walls. Her arms wrapped around each other as her hair fanned out around her. Her breathing was labored.
James softly whispered. “Hermione, it’s me.”
Her frantic eyes found him and she slowly relaxed, her eyes becoming distant. He just had to wait for it to pass. For her to calm down. Instead, she began to cry, her body curling in on itself further. James felt his heart breaking into pieces. He had seen her earlier in the day. She was laughing, her head thrown back as her body shook with happiness. Now, that girl was gone.
Slowly getting on the bed, he scooted towards her. Hermione’s shoulders were shaking, her head bent forward and her curls fell over her frame.
Touching her arm, James slowly pulled her closer to him. She let him pull her into his arms. Her body was tense and cold to the touch. James wrapped his arms around her body, letting his head rest against hers as he gently shushed her. He gently rocked her back and forth, hoping the warmth was enough. Enough to scare the demons away.
Sniffing, Hermione’s crying slowly subsided. She let out a hiccup before a small sniff. “Thank you.”
“Of course, love,” James whispered. She didn’t move out of his arms but let herself take a few deep breaths. Frankly, he didn’t want her to leave. Her body was growing warmer and the feeling made him comfortable. Made him feel safe.
“Feel good enough to move?” he asked, breaking himself out of the spell. He felt her nod and their limbs separated. James forced himself to stand up. Hermione remained on the bed, glancing around the room. Her palm touched the sheets and she flinched, drawing her hand back.
“It seems I’ve wet the bed,” She noted, her voice hoarse with embarrassment. James could detect the crack in her voice and he wanted more than anything to stop her from crying again.
Not hesitating at all, James started towards the door. “No worries at all. I’ll get fresh sheets.”
She said nothing, just staring at the wet spot in the center where her body had been writhing moments ago.
James slowly padded into the hallway, feeling the heaviness in his chest. Hadn’t the world taken enough? Why couldn’t the survivors and the heroes be afforded some nights of sleep? He wished that and more for his son and Hermione who had risked their lives so the world could be safe. He grabbed fresh linens from the hall closet and made his way back. She was still sitting on the bed but her hands were clasped together and she was picking at her fingernails.
“Stand up?”
She silently obeyed, stepping away and holding her arms. James quickly vanished the soiled sheets and put on the new ones, Scorgifying the comforter and the pillows. For good measure, he waved a spell sending a scent of fresh cotton in the air.
“It should be good now,” he offered her. She said nothing, simply staring at the ground. She looked so small, so vulnerable. Curling in on herself to protect her body.
James pulled back the comforter, trying to convince her. “Come on, some sleep will be good.”
She silently walked back over to the side, stopping at the edge. She didn’t get in. She just stood there. Her body was shaking. “It never is,” he faintly heard her whisper. Her eyes were staring at the bed, fearful of what it might contain. As if it would suddenly transform into the disturbing Malfoy drawing room.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking again. James felt his heart cracking again. He wished he could take it all away. From Harry, from Hermione. All the pain, all the voices that wouldn’t leave.
“You can sleep with me.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes once again frantic and unyielding. Realizing he was serious, her gaze softened and she nodded. James stepped closer.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay? Just hold onto me.”
And that she did. Her hands held his shoulders as he carried her down the hall and to his room. He didn’t bother turning on the light, he just set her on the bed and waved his wand over the discarded clothes on the floor to fold themselves on top of his dresser.
James changed in the dark, hearing Hermione shuffle under the covers behind him. Throwing an old quidditch hoodie on, James got in as well. Hermione had chosen the left side. She was on her side, his back facing him. She made no sound. She felt so far away, so closed off, so distant.
Since the war had ended and the world had settled down, they had found comfort in each other. While the survivors had been left with safety, the heroes were left with the names and faces of those who couldn’t be saved. Sirius had offered the Grimmauld Place as a safe coven for those who needed healing and comfort. He and Remus lived down the hall, Harry was down the hall from them, and James and Hermione were downstairs just off of the living room. It wasn’t perfect. Half the time they got in each other’s way and made each other mad at their differing habits. Other times they sat together, Hermione’s head in James’ lap, Remus leaning against Sirius, Harry against him. They would talk about the war, about the past, about the future.
When the conversation got to a lull, the three would head up to bed and Hermione would stay with James. She would sit up, leaning against his shoulder. It was a silent request and James would open his arm, slinging it around her shoulders. She would request for him to tell stories, to talk about times before the world went to shit.
James settled deeper in the bed, adjusting the pillow and pulling up the covers. He once again felt the exhaustion now that the threat had been diminished. It would be back, no doubt. But some sleep wouldn’t hurt.
Just when he was about to fall asleep, a soft voice woke him up.
“Can you hold me?”
James paused, feeling his heart rate speed up. Harry would ask him the same thing. It made him feel like he was eighteen again, holding him for the first time. A new father realizing that he needed protecting.
“Of course,” he replied. He felt the mattress move as she inched closer. Rolling on his side, he lifted his arm and relaxed as she nestled into his side. Her body was still facing away from him. Not that it mattered.
“I’m sorry.” she whispered. James tensed. What did she have to be sorry for? If anything, he should apologize.
I’m sorry the world is cruel. I’m sorry it’s not fair. I’m sorry she won’t leave your mind. I’m sorry you can’t leave your bed or the reminder of what lingers on your arm.
“Go back to sleep, I’m right here,” is what he said instead. He felt her nod against his arm before her breathing slowly evened out, signaling she had fallen back asleep. Immediately he relaxed. She was safe. Here.
James stayed awake. Listening to her breathing. It was comforting as was the rise and fall of her chest. He stayed awake, his ears listening for his son down the hall. Listening for anything that might be wrong.
Eventually, James’ eyes grew heavy, Hermione’s body was warm, and he fell asleep, dreaming of a better world for those he loved.