When the nightmares come, late in the night and she can't sleep, he sits at the table with a book and watches over her. Lamp lit and washing him in gold, he stares at his book with blurring eyes, his wand on the table within reach. Sometimes when she wakes in the morning, she sees him there still; slumped forward over the table, fingertips just touching his wand, because even after she falls asleep, she thinks he must stay awake, guarding against the nightmares. His eyes are always bruised around.