Ballad

She had exactly thirteen freckles on her nose.

It had taken him some time to acquire this information, watching her as he did through peripheral vision alone. He feared what might happen if he allowed his gaze to settle upon her fully...would his retinas burn from the impact? Would she melt into the air like a mirage, as though she had never been? Or (and this was the worst possibility of all) would her sweet brown eyes grow dark with suspicion, with comprehension...would she see?

He must surely be mad.

A shuffle in the doorway, the pat-pat-pat of sandals on hardwood, and she was there. In the room with him. Alone.

He pretended to read the newspaper. A flip of the page, and a harsh rip appeared across the Minister of Magic's face. He tried to breathe, to will his hands to stop shaking.

She began to whistle. The tune was vaguely familiar, but he could not name it...she began to tap her foot in time to the melody.

One little look, one glance couldn't hurt...he shifted his focus ever so slightly to the right. She leaned across the countertop, wispy little arms straining to reach the plate of biscuits resting in the most distant corner. She lifted herself onto tiptoe, and the muscles in her legs tautened with the effort...

"Merlin." He hissed the word through clenched teeth before fumbling for the almost-empty teacup in front of him. He raised the chipped porcelain to his lips and tilted the paper in an attempt to conceal his face, but it was to no avail...he could feel her cinnamon gaze on him.

"Anything interesting?" She spoke at an unusually low pitch for a girl of her age, and he still could not shake the twinge of surprise that always accompanied the arrival of her voice.

He wondered if he could pretend that he hadn't heard.

But no...even through the corner of his eye, he could tell that her stare had intensified. She was waiting.

He continued to focus his attention on the paper as he forced himself to reply evenly, "No, not especially."

She leaned against the counter and idly nibbled around the perimeter of the biscuit clutched in her tiny hand. Several tiny crumbs clung to her lower lip, and she allowed the tip of her tongue to wander outward just far enough to clear the soft pink surface...

"Quiet here today." He had to say something...needed a distraction. No use.

"Yeah." The tone of her voice gave no indication that she had noticed anything amiss. She took a larger bite of the biscuit, and her mouth was still full when she spoke again, "Oh! Mum made these for you...I was supposed to tell you..." She began to giggle softly. He felt his stomach turn on end. He couldn't take this.

"That was kind of her," he sputtered. He followed this response with a cough...she'd think his hoarseness a result of a tickle in his throat. Good. But he wasn't sure how long he could endure the situation...just the two of them...alone..."Where is everyone?"

She shrugged vaguely. "I don't know. Out. Somewhere. Dunno where. No one ever tells me anything." A hint of resentment. Against his better judgment, he allowed his gaze to drift toward her more directly. Her eyes cast downward, a tiny wrinkle furrowing her brow...he swallowed deeply. His throat was parched.

"Oy, Gin!" Ron's voice permeated the air like a bugle call. He saw her push the rest of the biscuit into her mouth before wiping her hands on the oversized shirt that seemed to engulf her delicate frame. "'Bout time," she muttered, her dainty sandaled feet pat-pat-patting toward the door.

Inhale, exhale. Relief.

But no...she stopped directly behind him, peering over his shoulder. He held his breath, hardly daring to move. She leaned closer...the scent of lavender clung to her hair...the warmth of her skin radiated outward...she's a child. A child. A child.

And then she laughed.

Her speckled hands reached over his shoulders to claim the paper. He felt his grip weaken, and he surrendered his shield to her. Still the laughter, the beautiful laughter...

The sounds of rustling...one moment...two...and she replaced the paper in his hands. It was different...it was legible...it was...

Right side up.

Shit.

"Might have better luck this way," she called over her shoulder before stepping out into the corridor in search of her brother. Her silvery laughter trailed behind her like a lingering fragrance.

He placed the paper down and buried his head in his hands. He felt a migraine coming on.