Except by that point, he was the one whose breathing had slowed. After all the panicking and wondering what she'd think when she woke up, he'd managed to fall asleep before the worried-over event could take place. Of course, he'd managed to worm an arm around her so any movement on her part would have woken him up.

After a few minutes, he tightened his grip a little, frowned, and grunted. One of the biggest problems he'd been having since the end of the war were the nightmares about what might have happened if 'his' side had won. Or, maybe worse, what if they'd lost but the Dark Lord had somehow survived? It would have been his family that suffered. His family had always been the most loyal and the one who had ultimately betrayed him.

He jerked a little, his dreams shifting to what might have happened to the woman in his arms. Mudbloods were the most hated. Muggles were nothing but toys, but mudbloods were an insult.

He made another noise, this one closer to a whimper.