Breaking the Chains

Decisions

As Hermione raised her hand to knock on the door to Dumbledore's office, his voice called, "Come in, Miss Granger."

She opened the door, and involuntarily looked around the decorations of the circular room before stepping fully through it. The room was an assault to the senses of all those curious by nature, and she had never seen it before. Recovering herself she moved to the chair in front of the desk, and at a nod from Dumbledore sat herself in it.

"My dear, when I said you were to come and find me, I did not mean to imply that it had to be today. I have no wish to rush you. That said; have you something to tell me?"

"Yes, Headmaster. The main thing is that I intent to have this baby. I think it's best if I take my NEWTs before, so that I can be free to leave Hogwarts before the birth. I think I'd prefer to be out of the limelight. So . . ."

Dumbledore nodded seriously.

"To be frank, Miss Granger, that's the decision I hoped and expected you would make, and you should know that you have my full support in making it. I will have Professor McGonagall arrange what extra preparation is necessary with your teachers, and I will schedule your examinations for April."

Seeing her doubtful expression, he added,

"Professor McGonagall has your best interests at heart. She will get used to the situation."

"This leaves us with the two issues of Professor Snape and your parents."

"What about Sev - Professor Snape?"

"Well, it will be widely assumed that he is the father, especially amongst the staff. I can handle the situation by declaring I know the identity of the father to be a student, but that will mean pressure will be put on me to punish him (and you) in some way. Which means declaring his identity - as well as the reason that I am not expelling or suspending you - something you have already said you do not want.

"So I am left with the options of telling people this is my school and to keep their noses out; or firing Severus and letting him take the role of the father. Either way I need to have both your views to begin with."

"He said . . . well, he offered . . ." her voice trailed of as the oddness of his gesture struck her.

"To marry you? That's something that Severus would do."

"Yes. He said he'd marry me, if I could bear it. His words. But what will he do if he can't teach any more?"

"Oh Severus is highly sought after in research circles - he's quite bright as I'm sure you have noticed. And researchers are notoriously eccentric - impregnating a student could be considered positively tame in comparison to some of the stories I've heard . . . No, being fired will not leave him destitute, if you decide that you want to proceed with this deception.

"Anyway should your other coup de grâce pay off, you will both become celebrities, so immediately be allowed to pursue whatever lifestyle you like. Oh, don't look so surprised, it is my school, and I'm not reputedly omniscient for no reason, you know. I'm fully aware of your research, if not the details.

"Though thinking of it, you might be wise to give some thought to godparents - not intending to be morbid, or any slur on your capability; but taking on Voldemort is a risky business."

He stopped, seeing Hermione mutter something under her breath. "Care to repeat that?"

She looked up guiltily, then shrugged and grinned. "I said, 'he started it'. Childish but true."

"True indeed. Anyway, I shall fight both your corners, and allow you two to decide on the best course of action. Now, your parents. I assume you have yet to inform them."

"Yeah . . . somehow I can't seem to find the right words."

"You need to speak to them if your relationship is to continue with them, and if you want to receive any support from them. I understand that their world must seem increasingly alien to you, as well as their aspirations for you. You must be aware that should you choose to immerse yourself entirely in the magical community, there is no way they can follow."

"To tell the truth, I don't think that informing them is very important to me. I mean, I've not been home since the beginning of the Fifth form, what with the difficulties of securing Muggle homes and all, and now, now I'm not sure what to tell them.

"My mother would want me to have an abortion, and my father would want me to get married, I'm sure. I mean, they both still think I'm going to a sixth form college in September to do my A Levels. They seem to understand that I don't need Muggle qualifications, and that I'm not going to medical school, or into dentistry, that I won't even be going to a university, because the magical world doesn't have or need any.

"They still think I'm a misguided child, doing this in the spirit of teenage rebellion. I'm never going back to their middle-class suburbia, where nothing ever happens, and nothing ever will.

"Not physically; not metaphorically."

"So you don't want me to inform them?"

"It was a rather long-winded 'no' wasn't it. No, I don't want them to be told."

"Very well. Then you will need to start thinking about living arrangements; you are free to stay here until the start of the next academic year, of course. And should you be successful in saving the world, I am sure you will be inundated with offers of research posts, and all the perks designed to win you over. But it always pays to have a back-up plan, just in case."

"I'll put it on my 'Things TO DO Before I Take on Voldemort' list."

"A wise idea." Dumbledore's voice was serious, but his lips twitched slightly. "And now, I'd like you to go to Madam Pomfrey for a check up. I have reminded her the ultimate decision lies with you, and she will respect that."

On which note Hermione decided it was high time she left, before anymore uncomfortable truths were aired.

* * *

By the time Madam Pomfrey had finished fussing over Hermione, and declared her fit (despite what she obviously considered a malady in a student) allowing her to leave, evening had well and truly become night.

As it was already after evening curfew, Hermione decided to pay Severus a visit, rather than keep him in suspense over her decision any longer. Or keep herself in suspense over his reaction any longer. Slipping silently along the halls, tracing her way towards the dungeon, Hermione reflected that it was going to be Severus's support she would count on in the coming months, rather than anyone else's.

She was still no clearer on what to do about his offer, but certain facts she had straight in her head finally, and intended to tell him those tonight.

However when she let herself into his rooms, and found him still absent, she knew with deadly certainty that he had been called away to Voldemort's side, and that the timing was not coincidental. It was probably to discuss her condition - for she was sure Voldemort would take an interest in the child he had helped to father.

Briefly she wondered how deep Voldemort's claim to parentage ran - whether the talents passed to Harry would be passed on to her child. It didn't matter if they were, she told herself; it was the personality not the abilities that made a dark wizard. Then she pushed the unpleasant fact that she didn't have any sure answers to any of it out of her head.

Severus's absence meant that Hermione fell into the now familiar pattern of sitting waiting for his return, starting at every sound, wondering if it was him collapsing, or falling, or calling out for her. Except that tonight she decided it was time to change the routine.

Taking Severus's advise, she set about transfiguring a bed from the pile of collapsed cardboard boxes she had produced earlier, which was the most efficient method she'd found of getting rid of them. She ended up with a double four-poster bed, carved with flowing curves that suited the theme of the room.

With a flick of her wand she added curtains in deep, green velvet, and after a moments though, added silver scrollwork to the edges in the Celtic designs copied from Thaliae's carvings. Finally she removed the one remaining box from the floor, and transferred the clothes into the top of the cupboard she had created for him, reduced the ring box to the size of postage stamp and pocketed it. Flattening out the cardboard, she deftly transfigured it into a headboard, which she levitated and fixed in place with a series of spells.

Kicking off her shoes, Hermione drew back one of the curtains and made herself comfortable on the bed, waiting for Severus to return. She had the feeling she would be spending a good few hours lying in this bed, resting, as her pregnancy advance, and it was certainly more comfortable that the fireside chair that had become hers. She had no idea how Severus could sleep sitting upright.

Looking round the rooms, she admired her work, deciding it was certainly better than dusty heaps of boxes, fit for accommodating only spiders and assorted insects, and more personal than her own room, which she had not been allowed to decorate.

So it was with a sense of pride that Hermione drifted into sleep, before being woken in the dead of night by a slamming door.

* * *

With a few muttered profanities that would have earned any student a detention at the very least, Snape pulled himself into a standing position. He immediately swayed, so braced himself against the ironwork of the gate post. A few steadying breaths, to allow the pain to subside to an ache, and he began walking up the drive towards the main entrance hall. With every step he succeeded in getting wetter, although when he awoke this would have seemed impossible, given that he was already soaked to the skin.

As the sky was cloudy, he had no light to guide him, save the faint flickering of his wand-light, which resulted in him stepping in what seemed like every puddle and pothole that had formed. His cloak and robes were weighing him down, the extra folds of material normally so useful for dramatic swirling, now proving an encumbrance to movement. By the time he veered of the main driveway he was thoroughly miserable, lacking even the hope that Hermione would be there to greet him.

He followed the path that was purposefully overgrown to disguise its existence down to the walls of the castle, brutally trampling any undergrowth that got in his way. Moments later he had ducked into a passageway, known only to himself, Filch and the Headmaster, which led directly to the corridor on which the Potions Classroom opened. It had been protected by a series of strong concealment spells - all Slytherin passageways were - and Snape tool pride in knowing that the old Slytherin cunning had defeated the so-called Marauders, who in their typical Gryffindor arrogance had considered themselves masters of Hogwart's many secrets.

That they should have known better - that he was currently proving them wrong - lent him the energy he needed to make it to the point where the passageway opened into the dungeon corridor. Relieved to be on the homeward straight at long last, Snape excised less caution that he should in opening the portal and crossing the corridor to his own classroom. He was rewarded for his lack of care by a loud call:

"Stop right there, you little blighter, I've got you now!"

The voice was followed by the emaciated form of Argus Filch hurrying around the open door. Seeing Snape, he looked around for the student he believed he had caught, before his triumphant smirk faded and he blustered,

"Oh, my apologies, Professor Snape. I thought you were the student I've been tailing around these corridors for the past hour."

If Filch was expecting an offer of help, he was sorely disappointed. Summoning up his habitual sneer, Snape countered,

"I rather suspect it is your eyesight, and not my stature, that has diminished enough to mistake me for a student. That being the case I will inform you there is no-one else here."

With that he turned and headed for his office, his whole posture a dismissal. The man had not deserved his ire but it had been the last straw in what had been a Very Bad Day. Wondering if he could go any lower in the stakes of self-loathing he opened the door to his rooms.

At once, he saw Hermione's usual chair empty, and decided that he could indeed go lower, and just had. He wanted to scream, to curse the Powers-that-be for ever making him draw breath, he wanted to cry, to race through the corridors railing against the unfairness, the cruelty of it all.

Instead, he slammed the door with every ounce of his failing strength, as if trying to tear it from hinges would remove some of the pain he felt.

Which was the sound that awoke Hermione.

As he stood immobile by the door, lost for any words or actions that had any purpose left, she emerged from the bedroom, looking half asleep and startled.

Severus hung his head and snarled at the bitterness of the dream, the false hope it offered, and it was not until she slipped his arms around his waist, that he realised it was reality.

Resting her head against his chest, his angel murmured,

"Was it so bad?"

Unable to find the words, he merely gathered her in his arms and sank to his knees.

* * *

After a while of holding her close, breathing in her scent, drawing strength form her nearness and warmth, Snape rose to his feet, lifting Hermione with him, and they made their way slowly to the fireside chairs. From her silence, she appeared to be letting him speak first. Afraid to open his mouth, lest his innermost fears of loosing her come spilling out, he cast drying charms on them both to buy himself some time.

Eventually he said, "I though you'd left for good this time. When I didn't see you here. I never realised how much I'd miss you."

"Why should I leave - I realised tat you wouldn't have left unless you had no other choice. I was waiting up for you, but I fell asleep. Sorry." She added sheepishly.

"In there? On the floor?"

"No I took your advice, and Madam Pomfrey's. She said I'd need to make sure I rested and laid down a lot - so I transfigured a bed for me, well, for you I suppose, though you never had one before."

Severus put aside his immediate desire to tell her he'd never needed one before, but that that could change, as an inappropriate comment, and struck to the more pressing issues.

"So that means you're keeping it?"

"Her. And yes, I'm keeping her."

"What did Dumbledore say - about your future - about us?"

"He said my future looked bright if I managed to defeat Voldemort - yes he knows, don't ask me how - and if I didn't, then it didn't really matter anymore. As for us; something along the lines of he would tell people to keep their noses out of where they didn't belong, and then do the same."

"Dumbledore not interfering? That'd be a first. But that's good isn't it; that's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Pretty much"

"What about other things? Your studies?" The pause between the two questions told her exactly what he meant by other things.

"Professor McGonagall is going to arrange things so I can take my NEWTs in April; at least the headmaster is going to tell her to."

Sensing Hermione's anxiety over how her education was to proceed, and that she was fully expecting Professor McGonagall to be difficult, Severus sought to reassure her.

"Don't worry about Minerva, if that's why you're frowning, she values Dumbledore's judgement over her own. If he tells her to help, she will. And don't forget she's immensely proud of you - you're one of the brightest, most capable students she's had in that house in nearly twenty years, if not more. You should have seen the state she worked herself up into when Dumbledore refused to make you Head Girl.

"Anyhow, if all else fails, I'll snarl at and bully every one of your teachers until they agree to give you whatever help you want."

Hermione was grinning now, watching him with those brown eyes that he had seen the spark of life return to over the past weeks, and he couldn't resist asking what she was thinking.

"I was thinking," she replied mischievously "about how that would feed the rumour-mill; you stalking about like an over protective father-to-be. Almost worth it for - how do you Slytherins put it - purposes of misdirection?"

Severus smile in response, but underneath he suddenly looked weary and lost. The aches and hurt of the night's exploits suddenly came flooding back into the warm bubble he had place himself with Hermione, shattering it.

These were facts not lost on Hermione.

"What's wrong? What have I said? What don't I know?" she stared intently into his eyes, willing him to answer.

Faced with such intensity, Snape found he was lacking in strength to lie, when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball.

"We wouldn't succeed in . . . misdirecting . . . the one who matters."

"Voldemort." Hermione's voice was halfway between a statement and a plea.

Severus nodded slowly, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the surge of memories. "Yes, he knows. And he wants the child brought to him, when it . . . she . . . is born. He seems to think she will be his heir."

"Brought by whom? You?"

"By me."

"Then we need to kill him before she's born."

Her voice was cold now, a lioness protecting her cubs, full of deadly grace and determination.

"Now why ever didn't I think of that before."

Snape couldn't resist a snipe, and when the words came out, unbidden, loaded with sarcasm, he would have given anything to take them back. It was a new experience for him. They seemed to have no effect on Hermione, who by now was used to it.

When she answered, he mentally noted: score one to Hermione;

"Of course you thought of it before - everyone has. But no-one else had a way. All we need is practise."

She seemed determined to start now.

"Tomorrow." Was all he said, summoning up all the teacherly authority he could manage. "Rest now."

"Can I stay here?"

He merely pointed towards the bedroom. "You seem to have made yourself comfortable. Go ahead."

She rose from her chair. "Tomorrow, then. And you can tell me why Dumbledore refused to make me Head Girl."

"You don't miss a thing do you?"

She looked briefly haunted, then, "Not any more."

"Goodnight then. Sleep well."

"You too, Severus."

"I'll try." He replied as she shut the bedroom door, and then settled himself in his chair, looking into the cold, empty fireplace. For once, it was colder than his heart.

* * *

Practice, it turned out, was exactly what was needed, Hermione discovered. It brought back memories of trying to learn how to fly. The later she had abandoned gratefully after the first year when it was no longer a compulsory subject, and while she enjoyed watching others flaunt their daring on the Quidditch pitch, Hermione kept her own feet firmly on the ground.

It wasn't that she was afraid of heights, or speed, or even being suspended in the air by what amounted to a flimsy collection of sticks; it was just that her talents lay firmly in the theoretical, not the practical. She just accepted that, jokingly saying that if her life ever depended on having to fly a broom, she'd just have to die.

Only that it didn't seem quite so funny now. She had a hugely practical task to master, and a deadline by which to do it. With the emphasis on *dead*. If she didn't manage it, she would die, of that she was sure.

So the time had come to do what Hermione rarely did, step out from behind her books and admit that research had taken her as far as it was ever going to. And the journey into action was one Hermione had never undertaken alone - no courageous partners-in-crime to carry her along this time.

This was not to say, however, that their research had been unprofitable. The final clue needed had come, ironically, not from a book, but from Voldemort himself. In one of the 'lessons', Potter, or rather Voldemort talking through Potter, had asked to learn the enchantments for the Sanguisuga ritual. Snape had in all honesty had to look up the intricate details - so obscure and forgotten the ritual was. And while it was a highly technical and advanced piece of dark magic, its lack of note stemmed for the fact that it was considered virtually useless.

Foremost, it was only able to be performed once a year, at midday of the spring equinox in the home of the intended victim, in fairly close proximity for all that. The constraints of use, as well as the length and complexity of the incantations meant that the request was not an idle one. Could not be an idle one, or their whole planned suddenly developed a very large flaw.

However, assuming that Voldemort was going to use the Sanguisuga ritual, this gave Severus and Hermione a deadline, March 21^st, the day the ritual would have to be performed. They surmised, from the significance of the day, and to be sure of success, Voldemort would have to put the whole of his essence, hi blackened soul in its entirety, into Potter. The ritual itself made use of the fact that the spring equinox was a day of balance; the day when the hours of daylight equalled the hours of darkness to the minute.

The day when everything stood in perfect symmetry - most particularly magical power. It was fairly well known that if a witch or wizard overextended themselves on the day of spring equinox, their magical ability would be reduced for a period following, how long depending on how big a drain they placed on their innate reserves of magic. In severe cases, they could drain themselves of magic entirely, an event which usually resulted in their death.

It was this fact that meant not all of those with innate magical talent were trained in the magical institutions worldwide. The limit on the magical power they could safely draw simple lay too low to allow them to attain the levels required to even scrape a pass in their NEWTs. So be they squibs or Muggle-born, they passed into society untrained, in many cases unaware of their natural talent, the magic in them only becoming sufficiently focused at times of dire emergency.

Yet at spring equinox, all of the magical community found the limit of the magic they could safely use drastically reduced. It was this fact that the Sanguisuga ritual made use of; it drew magic out of the victim to such a degree that they were normally killed, failing that their magical ability severely impaired. The downside to the ritual was that unless the practitioner was immensely powerful, they too were killed due to the drain of magic the ritual created in them. And dark wizards do not like anything that could result in their death.

Hence Voldemort's use of Harry Potter - assassination by proxy. Dumbledore had to be the intended target (he was the only resident who had no other address to call home) and this had the added bonus of Potter being able to get near him with ease. Plus the fact that in all likelihood Potter would be killed.

Two birds with one obscure ritual.

Now the pair knew what was about to transpire, how, when and where they had begun to devise a means of using the one flaw in Voldemort's plan against him, namely that he would be forced to separate his spirit entirely from his body. This meant that if they could destroy his spirit - severely weakened, as it was lacking the protection of the body veiled in immortality and defensive charms - they could be done with Voldemort once and for all.

And to this end they had devised a plan, the genius of which lay in its simplicity. Severus had the ability - underused - to project any emotion he chose onto another person. He had witnessed the myriad of emotions that accompany death, and relived the moments in his nightmares, enough times to know the pattern as well as the back of his hand. He was intending to project the feelings of death onto Voldemort's soul - at which point Hermione came in.

Voldemort would feel as if he was dying, but not actually be dying, because his mind did not believe what he was experiencing. Hermione had found accounts that claimed if she could read chi then she could alter it; make a fractured pattern appear whole, and visa versa. In simple terms she should be able to make someone experiencing or speaking a lie believe that it was the gospel truth by repairing the part of the chi fractured by the untruth.

Genius the plan may have been, but there was one small problem - neither could actually do what they intended to do with their powers. They had just over three months to accomplish what it took some a lifetime of study and reflection to master.

For the moment progress was slow.

To be exact, progress during the last days of term, when work was being handed out liberally in preparation for the holidays, was nonexistent. Hermione felt compelled to try and get her assigned work done before the end of term, so that she could spend the holidays focusing on the extra work she had been given. As a consequence, she had spent virtually no time in the dungeons since the Hogsmeade weekend when Snape had discovered she was pregnant.

That had been a week ago. Hermione hoped he hadn't had too much time away from her, and decided that he was better of without the trouble she caused for him. Which was why, on the first day of the Christmas holidays, Hermione decamped to the dungeons, planning to spend plenty of time there.

Deciding against the subtle approach of actually asking before announcing her intention to move in, Hermione packed a bag with several changes of clothes, various toiletries and the text books for the subjects she wanted to start her extra work on (the ones she really liked!). Slinging the bag over her shoulder and marched down to Severus's office with determination, then decided to knock before entering, because she was at heart still a very polite young lady.

Severus opened the door and surveyed Hermione and her bag with an expression as close to being bemused as he would ever let his face get.

"Running away from home? Going somewhere?"

"Hopefully, in here."

"I see."

"Yeah. Think of it as my formal request for political asylum." She grinned broadly.

"Well for that you have to show signs of persecution. If you had time to pack that bag, well . . ." his expression said that he was now teasing her.

"Model of efficiency, me. Can I move in then?"

"So long as there's nothing pink in that bag."

"Oh stop being difficult."

With a mock bow, Severus stepped back, but neatly divested Hermione of her bag and carried it into the bedroom for her, allowing her to get herself comfortable for the day's activities.

* * *

"And that," exclaimed Hermione with an exaggerated sigh, "I think is finally that!"

Severus looked down at the scroll in front of him one last time. Having scanned the contents critically, he allowed the paper to roll up with a snap. He nodded. Then smiled.

"Yes you have now completed the syllabus for History of Magic, and stayed awake for the entire duration, a feat never before completed, to my knowledge. My congratulations.

The last was delivered with all sincerity, and a tone that suggested irony, but was nonetheless true. Hermione had spent the majority of her holidays this far completing the syllabuses of all her subjects in preparation for her early NEWTs. Most teachers settled for giving her a list of all the subjects yet to be completed, including the important bits of work she'd be expected to do. They had then reminded her she had a comprehensive textbook and shooed her out of the door. Only Professor Flitwick had told her that he'd be available all holiday, should she encounter any difficulty, and would be delighted to help.

It was not exactly the co-operative attitude she'd been promised by Dumbledore, or hoped for, given seven years of devoted and conscientious study. Hermione expected it had more than a little to do with Professor McGonagall's imperious command that it would be done, without giving any reasons why. And her disapproval of the situation had been very clear in her body language on these occasions. Severus had told her more than a few of her teachers had heard courtesy of the 'grape vine' before anyone had though to inform them.

For some reason, he added with a touch of wry humour, they had seen fit to ask him for verification.

Hermione decided that if he wasn't enjoying the attention, then he must have won the lottery, and neglected to mention it to her. Talked about, suspected and disapproved of - Severus Snape was in his element. All the extra people to snap at, frown at and generally over-awe were having a positive effect on his mood when he was alone with Hermione. And while people were talking about Severus, and digressing onto the many other things they had to say about him and his manner, they weren't talking about Hermione, a situation which pleased them both.

On the rare occasions they ventured out of the dungeons together, the invariably seemed to encounter Dumbledore strolling somewhere or other, moustaches twitching.

Hermione had definitely developed an appreciation of the solitude of living in the dungeon offered, even if she did mourn the lack of natural light. Even so, Severus insisted that she head up to the Gryffindor tower, and her rooms, at least once a day. For appearances, he said. Which meant that she walked through the common room at a time it was likely to be highly populated, headed for her room, cast an invisibility charm around herself, and headed back out. The difference in attitude to her when she walked in - respectful, if distant - was a marked contrast to the whispers she heard on her way out.

Yet more and more she was feeling a distance growing between herself and her housemates, and she did not regret it. It was not that she was rejecting them or running away, withdrawing into solitude, it was just that she had outgrown them. When she had jokingly requested political asylum from Severus, it was not Slytherin she had fled to, but the adult world.

The pathetic attempts of the other Gryffindors to avoid work and dedication to anything academic, and obsession with Quidditch or fashion depending on their sex, were something Hermione had never understood. Previously she had tolerated it, tried to fit herself around their world, but now it seemed contemptible. If it had yet to dawn on her classmates that this was the last set of exams they would ever take - that it was really their final chance to emerge into the world qualified witches or wizards, then it was no concern of hers. Once, she would have reminded them that if they didn't pass all their core subjects then they would have their wands snapped, or worse, the indignity of repeating their final year.

Incompetent wizards are not just loosed on to the world just because they completed seven years at Hogwarts - graduation had to be earned on merit not stamina. To remind them now would be a means of her to cause trouble, not out of genuine concern for the misguided, and she had better uses for her time.

So she ignored the whispers, and hurried back to the dungeon, and the man she had seriously begun to contemplate marrying.

But not tonight - tonight the routine had to be changed - all because it was Christmas Eve.

Severus, being Severus, could give mules lessons in stubbornness; and tonight, after completing her work at last and a time of conversation - it could have been minutes or hours, time had a habit of disappearing - he had dispatched her to Gryffindor with instructions to stay there all night.

It was the house-elves he explained, that were the problem. By longstanding tradition they distributed presents according to a list delivered from the reindeer-elves, to cut down on the workload for their elf brothers. And Professor McGonagall compared the names of the recipients to the rooms to which the presents were delivered, which was the room where they were asleep when the presents arrived, in case anyone decided to give their lovers a special Christmas gift. McGonagall finding Hermione recorded as sleeping in Severus Snape's bed - and she was sure to check for it - was a Christmas surprise neither of them needed.

Reluctantly, Hermione had gone to her own room, which was now seemed terribly empty without the comforting presence of someone else just outside her door, and waited. Without the sound of another person breathing, the silence was unbearable.

Waited for the morning when she would be able to run down and see if he appreciated her gift. Waited until she would be able to be back in the familiar, safe surroundings of his home. Waited for sleep to come, without her protector on hand to guard her slumber.

Just waited, as the minutes crawled by.

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