(no subject)

All night and all morning Nymphadora sleeps, waking occasionally, blinking in confusion until she realises that she's home and safe. Once, she wakes to Bernard wiping off the grime on her skin with a damp cloth, and she smiles up at him. His smile in return is enough to make tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, but he bends over and kisses her softly, shushing her, and smooths the still-tangled fall of her hair.

Nymphadora is still too tired and too sore to think of moving yet, so she just watches as he lifts one of her hands, gently working the dirt out from under her fingernails. He is so tender, and so careful, and not for the first time she wonders how anyone could be afraid of this man.

He is safety. He is home.

When he puts aside the cloth, she finds his hand and gently tugs on it until he lays down next to her. Ignoring her protesting aches and pains, she rolls onto her side and wraps herself around him, sighing with something like relief when his arms wrap around her in turn, his broad hands sliding up her back and into her hair.

Nymphadora buries her face against his chest, breathing in deeply, and lets herself be lulled back to sleep by the steady rhythm of Bernard's heart.

(no subject)

*In the late afternoon, Bernard helps her move out to the couch, bringing her a book and cup after cup of tea.

The change of scenery is nice, but she'd still rather be up and about.*