The Winter Glass

Chapter Seven: Papercuts and Thorns

Over the course of the next year, Harry developed the habit of using my--his--sword to trim the rosebush back when it threatened to take over the balcony. The winter was oddly warm, and spring rains had thorny tendrils growing up around the window.

Harry and Ron spent hours at fencing and playing chess; only when Hermione would come around with an armload of books would they keep up with their studies. Their education was spotty as it was dependent entirely upon the whim of traveling scholars. I'd learned many things during the course of my job as Dumbledore's scribe but didn't feel comfortable directing their learning myself. Not for the first time I found myself questioning whether it was right to have kept Harry in the dark about his past and future. Perhaps he should have been told the truth at the very beginning. The time would come soon when he would be completely grown and I wouldn't be able to avoid the issue. Better not to burden him until then, I told myself.

As the days grew longer, the children wandered farther and farther afield. They came home, often muddy from head to toe, and full of tales of their adventures. Did I want to hear about their climb to the top of the tallest hill? About the way Hermione punched the town bully right on the nose? How they thought that they were lost in the forest, but they found their way back safely? Of course I did, and I wished that I could go along and be so carefree and fearless. Instead, I stayed home evenings, Pip warming my feet and a book in my hand. On occasion, though, I went to an inn--different ones, so that I was never a familiar face--bought myself a few rounds, and stumbled home after Harry had gone to bed.

It was on one of those nights when I smelled of ale and smoke that I came home to discover Harry had not gone to bed at all. Years of practice helped me to sneak back into our rooms soundlessly so as not to awaken him. A candle still burned on the table and books and quills were strewn about. Ron and Hermione had been there when I left that afternoon. Now they were gone. I bent low to blow out the little flame, and as I inhaled voices met my ears.

"I never see you in the daytime anymore," Harry remarked. From the direction I deduced that he was on the balcony. I opened my mouth to speak. Before I could, an answer came.

"The light hurts my eyes, sometimes."

"That's silly, Ginny."

"It's true."

I left the candle and padded silently over to stand just out of their sight. The polite thing to do would have been to go away. I thought it best to listen in.

"Where do you go in the daytime?"

"I don't remember."

This was less silly than her other statement. I couldn't recall seeing her in the mornings for some time. This made me realize that Harry had Ron and Hermione in the day and Ginny at night.

"It's been a long time since we talked last, Ginny."

"Yes. Too long." I heard the scrape as she slid down the wall to sit under the roses. "I was scared to come. Something is wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "It seems like I should know, and like I could know if I only thought about it a little harder." Her voice became muffled, as if she had put her face in her hands. "Sometimes, I can feel it, just there, just beyond where I can think. As if I could turn around at just the right time and see. Or catch a glimpse in a reflection or the face of a passer-by. Maybe if I just could hear the tune, I could remember the words."

"Er," Harry began, "I hope you don't mean you want me to sing for you."

In spite of myself, I'd almost been cheering him on, but now I wanted to bang my head against the wall repeatedly. However, Ginny laughed. Apparently this reply was good enough for her.

"No, not unless you've been practicing your singing as much as you practice fencing," Ginny teased, which was followed by a mock-serious "Pssh!" from Harry. "I hear you have defeated a most formidable foe, oh great one."

"Why, yes," he said, catching on to the game. Clearing his throat, he began in a cultured tone that he could only have picked up during his infrequent visits to see Dumbledore. "I was traveling through my kingdom with my two closest advisors, Sir Ronald and Lady Hermione. It was a warm and fragrant day, as Sir Ronald was in the lead and he led us through a field frequented by far too many cattle."

Ginny giggled. "Go on."

"Lady Hermione remarked on the smell, which Sir Ronald took personally. He seemed to think that she was blaming him for the smell, since it had been his choice to go through the field rather than around. Sir Ronald, of course, offered to turn over leadership of our little adventure over to Lady Hermione; she, in her stubbornness, insisted that he was being too sensitive about the whole thing and refused to do anything more but bicker with him. The two raged on, unaware of the danger only steps ahead."

"A snake," Ginny said, yawning. If I called them in--to sit on the couch, perhaps, as they had long since outgrown my lap--would the mood shatter?

And did I really want to shatter it, deep down?

"Yes, a snake. A great ugly green thing and I swear to you, cross my heart and hope to die, that it insulted my honor. Its words would have made your mother cover your ears. Of course, I could not allow it to live. I drew my sword and cut out its heart." Harry's voice returned to normal, and he went on in a rueful tone. "Not before it bit me on the leg, though. Lucky it wasn't poisonous."

"Lucky." I heard a sharp thump, then a windy sound like parchment fluttering.

"Are you still carrying that thing around? What would you ever want with a blank book?"

"It's not a blank book. It's my diary."

"Ooh," Harry teased her in turn. There was the sound of a scuffle. "It looks blank to me."

"You give that back," she said tartly. More softly, almost in a whisper, she continued. "Maybe I don't have anything important enough to write yet."

Harry must have handed the book back, because the next came from Ginny. "Ouch."

"What?"

"I've cut myself. On the book. See? There was a sliver of something sharp and shiny--I can't find it now."

"You're bleeding. Careful, you'll get it on...Ginny, the blood...."

They were quiet for so long I nearly gave myself away. Just as I finally made to move, Ginny answered.

"I must have missed it."

Harry's tone was serious. "I saw it. The blood, on the paper...it just disappeared."

"Then you must be seeing things," she snapped back angrily. I was rooted on the spot. When had Ginny Weasley ever talked to Harry like that?

He sounded like he didn't agree. "Must be."

"I have to go in now," Ginny said, her voice returning to its normal gentleness. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

There was a long silent moment before I heard her climb the railing. I hadn't heard anything in the meantime, and surely they hadn't had enough time for anything but a last look....

I tiptoed over to the door and opened and closed it softly. Then, I walked to the balcony. "Harry. Are you out there? I thought I heard you talking to someone."

Harry plucked petals off one early bloom. "No." He didn't look at me.

"You're lying."

Harry stiffened. His voice was cold. "You don't believe me?"

I couldn't help it. I pushed him. "I thought I heard you talking to Ginny."

"And what if I was? Would it be any of your business?"

"You are my business. You're my charge, and I am concerned for your safety."

He threw his reply in my face. "She makes me feel safe, or at least she used to. You can't make me feel safe when you're off drinking."

Bile rose in my throat. "That's hardly fair. I spend nearly every evening at home, in case you should need--"

"Four."

"What?" I asked.

"Four nights this week you came back after midnight. I waited up. I don't ever run off at night, and I'm always home by dark."

"Of course you are. You're only a child."

"I'm old enough to know the truth!" He flung the denuded flower at the window and it bounced off the frame. "Old enough."

A strange fear crept up my spine. "What do you mean, the truth?"

Harry shook his head and refused to explain. I know that I pleaded and cajoled at the same time I was searched my brain for clues. How would he know--well, anything, really? Even as I thought, my body was shaking. Before I could straighten it out I had to run for the basin and I sicked everything up.

Quite a while later, I was resting my head against the cool porcelain and starting to be aware of the world again. I heard Harry pick up the pitcher and felt a cool cloth at my forehead and mouth.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have made you angry." His voice was hollow and distant. "I should not have told you a lie. I won't again."

"Harry, you have to understand. I made a promise. I have to keep it. But sometimes I go about it the wrong way."

* * *

James dismounted gracefully and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting stableboy. Even after a morning's ride, he was tailored and polished, though his hair, as always, stood practically on end. I'd joked with him that his coronation would end that problem. As the day drew closer, though, he laughed less.

I swung my sword over the stableboy's head, flipping a coin to him when he ducked it handily. James rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. "Shall we see if old greasy-ears had kitchen duty today? If so, I'm having someone else taste my supper first. Could die of mud poisoning."

"Leave him be," James replied tersely.

"But he's so awful. You're getting to be quite a curmudgeon, James. Where's your sense of humor?"

James stomped up the steps to the castle, knocking the heel of his boot against the stone to dislodge a clod of dirt. He swept past the guards and through the great hall, not bothering to acknowledge the calls of his admirers and servants. I debated going after him. Maybe it was just one of his moods again. In the end I followed him up the narrow, curving stairs that led to his rooms.

"James.

James." I caught the hem of his tunic. "Wait. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I don't want you to be angry. I only wanted to have a bit of fun...."

"It's not going to be fun."

"What?" I let go of James and looked around. Robes of gold and scarlet were hung on a mannequin near the window, waiting for the evening's ceremony. "Oh, you mean the wedding night? Chin up. I'm sure you'll muddle through somehow."

James puffed air out from between his lips. "I'm sure. That's not what I meant, and you know that."

I didn't, actually. I wasn't even entirely sure which of the fair maidens that he'd met in the last year was arriving to meet her doom. There had been so many, and I had been so sure that James would be a bachelor for many years to come. It hadn't seemed worth it to tell them apart except to remember if they cared whether or not their personal maids went missing at night.

"How can you think it won't be fun? You'll have the kingdom at your feet, a nubile bride, gifts from ancient lands. Not to mention the festival that will probably go on for the next week. Really, it's all looking up for you." I stepped behind the mannequin and put my hands underneath the sleeves and rested my head on top of the shoulders. "As long as you can keep your head about you."

James laughed hollowly.

"Of course," I mused aloud, "perhaps your head will be in the clouds. What's the wench's name again?"

"Lily." He fiddled with the hilt of his sword.

"Was she the saucy, plump one with the dark hair?"

"No. Red hair. Can't remember her eyes."

It was my turn to laugh. "Perhaps that's the problem. You're not in love with her. Poor boy." I shook my head.

James walked past the other side of the mannequin to stare at nothing out the window. "There are different kinds of love."

I watched his profile. "Is there someone else? Would you have chosen another?"

"The reason we have to be married now is because Father is dying. I have to be ready to take the throne before someone else tries." A cloud came between him and the sun, plunging his face into shadow. "When I marry Lily, Father will lose his will to live. I can't have both."

I hadn't had any idea that he wanted both. "Stall, then. She'll have chaperones and your good word. I'm sure that if you explained--"

"Don't you understand? Tonight I leave all safety behind. I send my father to death and mine might be the day after, the week after." He shook his head. "And not only mine, but hers as well. There are forces here that you don't understand."

"Then tell me, so I can fight them too," I pleaded desperately.

James looked as if he saw me for the first time. "Do I--do I have your loyalty?"

"I swore it the first day I saw you. I swore my life for yours. Help me to understand, so that I can keep my promise."

He shook his head again. "This could go badly. What if you were targeted? I would not want to lose my best friend." He looked me in the eye. "There are different kinds of love, and none is any less for its form. I could not bear for you to come to any harm on my account."

I clung to that. "What you want doesn't matter. I've made a vow."

"When I am king, I will order you to obey."

"I can tolerate anything but being told to heel. I suppose I could roll over and play dead, if you wanted."

James's expression grew shuttered. "All I ask is that you keep my secrets."

That evening, I stood next to James as the sun sent its last crimson rays over his father's kingdom. I handed him the ring, and I watched him slide it over Lily's pale finger. I heard the roar of the crowd when she blushed under James's kiss.

The feast lasted minutes, days. I looked up at the ceiling, watching it swirl around as I spun through the traditional dances. There were dishes I have never seen again, but I did not eat. The torches and smoke made my eyes sting and my vision blur.

When the gong was rung, I stood in the line and spoke my share, lauding James for his kindness, his bravery, his leadership. Lily cornered me afterward, repeating words of praise from James. Her face swam before my eyes.

"Take care of him."

"You'll take care of both of us, I hope," she replied. I realized that my vow was larger than James, than his life; it extended to his family and his kingdom. I would take care of both of them, because if I did not the walls of James's kingdom would fall and crush us all.

"You have my word."

Fortune-tellers, men who breathed fire, and jesters came into the hall. Lily retreated to a dais with James, and the wild revelry sent me retreating into a corner. Every noise seemed magnified a thousandfold and every smell turned rank and foul. I found a bench and leaned my head against the wall while the torches burned lower.

Lily, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, finally made her exit to a chorus of rude comments. James, however, stayed, rolling a knife back and forth over the table in the way he always did when he was nervous about something. Finally, when the celebrants were more interested in each other and the mead than any matrimonial goings-on, he headed for the stairs.

I caught his sleeve as he went by. Once he went up to his room, he would truly be a married man and things would never be the same between us. "I wanted--wanted you to know that I love you."

James put his hand over mine where it rested on his sleeve. His eyes were dark, unfathomable. "If you love me, repeat this no more." He squeezed my hand tightly, then let it fall before he disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

"What have you done wrong?" Harry asked. He waited for an explanation, but I didn't give him one.