It was an idyllic scene: the little stone cottage with its cloak of ivy. The grey-haired witch attending to tidy beds of herbs. Her eyes smiled at the elderly patriarch, curled up in his chair, majestically overseeing his veritable herd of lively offspring. Abandoning the garden, Hermione drifted to his side and gently stroked his head…
He awoke with a start. Only a dream… He sighed quietly and glanced over to where his mistress slept contentedly with the Shadow Man. Settling back on his paws, Crookshanks drifted off again. Just a dream, perhaps, but then, he couldn’t really complain either.