The Protector

His Return

I awoke in the dim light of the candles, the scent of the burning wick wafting throughout the room. I rubbed my face sleepily, and rolled over. I still felt his warmth beside me, his breath in my hair. There he was, sleeping, his face relaxed, his hands under his head. And I watched him for a moment. 

I watched the way his eyes moved slowly behind his lids, and the way he breathed. I watched the way that his nose twitched a little. I watched a slight smile play across his lips. And I thought about how different we were. My dreams were not dreams, but nightmares. As he slept, I could see what he was fantasizing about: his family, at The Burrow, laughing, enjoying one of Mrs. Weasley's home made meals. Pulling pranks with George. Laughing at Ron and Ginny's expense. And I liked to think that he was dreaming of me. 

We were such opposites. He was light, and I was dark. He was so endlessly fascinating, a book which everyone longed to read; they all hoped for a chance to simply glance at the pages, and take in some form of his light and laughter and beauty. I was an obituary from an old newspaper that everyone had read too many times, weathered and torn and stained, the words fading and the photographs all too familiar, but frightening nonetheless. I was death, personified. He was life. I was hopeless, and he was oh so hopeful. He was the ocean, and I was simply drowning. I thought for a moment that I heard him whisper my name in his sleep. I thought for a moment, that I saw him smile. 

I walked to the kitchen, and put on the kettle. As I was bringing the mugs down from the cabinet, I was brought to my knees.

"Jade, lissssssten to me," the voice said, and I clamped my hands over my ears in a desperate attempt to make it stop. "Jade, come to me," it said, and I tucked my head in between my knees. "Rule withhhhh me," it said, demanding. 

"No," I whispered, but it was persistant.

"Do nottttttt deny your dessssstiny," it said, and I curled into the fetal position. The voice was like a razor, slicing through the deep tissues of my brain. It hurt, oh, how it hurt. The scar on my stomach was set ablaze, and I muffled a scream with my hand. It wasn't enough. The kettle began to let out it's familiar screech as I heard footsteps hurrying towards me. "You cannotttttt refusssssse me," it said. I screamed out again. "I will have you by my ssssssside," it said. And then I screamed even louder as it addressed me. "I will have you, my daughttttter."

"NO!" I screamed, and I felt Fred's arms around me. "No, no, no, no," I whispered, as he rocked me back and forth. "No, please, no," I said, clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

"What, what is it?" he asked softly, smoothing my hair. "What is it, dear?" I looked at him with fearful eyes. My lips began to quiver. 

"He's back," I whispered.