On Sunday, after thinking about opposites all night, she had come up with an idea for an experiment of her own. In her mind, she imagined herself snubbing time; disregarding it, overlooking it, forgetting it. She thought as quickly as she could about things that hadn't happened yet. Fixated on the future, she cast the present aside, and it worked. A visible motion blur appeared between her mouth and her teacup's position on the table: not much else was moving in her kitchen as time flowed in hyper-speed, so there was only the repetitive arch of her hand and arm where they rose and fell, reached and retracted. Mr. White was talking about something else when time slowed back down, but she interrupted him.

"I just skipped forward on purpose," she announced proudly.

He cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

She hadn't bothered asking herself that question. "I don't know. Just to see if I could."

"Then good job, I guess." He rested his chin on his hands, elbows on the table. "I doubt many people would think to do that," he said. "I feel like it would be more common to try going back. I wish I knew more people so I could say for certain."

"Either way, I think we should try to work with the time hiccoughs as much as we can."

"If nothing else, it'll be something to do. I'm sick of doing nothing." He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. "It wouldn't be very entertaining, though. How about we play a game instead?"

"I guess we could, if you want," she said. "I think I've got Exploding Snap somewhere."

"Actually, I was thinking we could play Queens." He pulled a wooden box the size of a Muggle card deck from his pocket and placed it on the table. "That's what everyone plays in the Warren." Apparently, Arley's underground maze had an official name. Hermione found it fitting. "I forgot I still had it until I got here, but now I'm glad I brought it."

"Are they going to be angry when they find out you took it?"

He shrugged. "Probably, but everyone down there has at least two decks—a lot of people collect them. I'll give it back to Arley whenever I see her."

Evidently, there was no love lost between the two of them. "All right," she said. "How do you play?"

"It takes some getting used to, but basically you lead one side in a war between the suits. The queens are the leaders, and the object of the game is to have one of your queens control the whole table." He opened the box, and it folded out like a book. As soon as it lay flat, the hinges and seam disappeared. He unfolded it again and again until it covered the whole table. There was a small knob like a radio tuner in the centre of the board, but instead of turning it, he held it between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it up. Another box appeared from nothing, with a sliding door on one side. "When the queens come out, they get to choose which player to side with. Everyone always tries to play with their own decks, because the queens'll choose either whoever they like best—people are so competitive about it in the Warren that they'll try to trick people into using the wrong deck by sneaking into each other's rooms at night and switching them around. If the other person doesn't notice before the queens come out, they have to either play or forfeit, which counts as a loss in the tallies. They have tournaments and everything, but they play those with a special deck that's locked up the rest of the time."

"Doesn't that mean they'll all pick you? They've never met me."

"They will the first time, but they don't know me that well, either. It should even out once they get used to you. The Queen of Hearts chooses first, and Diamonds and Clubs traditionally follow her unless they have a history with one of the players. We'll both get at least one suit, though, since Hearts and Spades never take the same side."

From the sound of things, the game pieces had just as much control as the players. Even in the wizarding world, she'd never heard of a game like this.

"It can be a liability to have too many queens, though," he continued. "Even if they beat the other player, you can't win until one of them manages to take control of all the remaining cards. They try to get each other killed a lot, and you have to make sure at least one makes it out alive."

"Are there kings, too?"

"Yes, but they're second in command. If a queen gets offed, her king still has to join the other suit."

"So, one queen doesn't win until the others are dead?"

"Not always: they can also capture another queen and make her surrender her crown. If that happens, she has to either fight for the other queen's suit or face execution." His excitement was palpable as he explained the game, and she could tell he was just as hooked as the rest of Arley's people. "The rest of her cards have to join the other queen's army, too, but any card except a captured queen can switch sides if it doesn't want to play for a certain suit. They can even quit the game entirely, but they'll only do that if both players are doing so poorly that it's an insult to their whole tradition." He reached for the tiny door, then stopped short. "Oh, that reminds me—they take their game really seriously, and they're quite sensitive. When I let them out, you'll notice that they're funny-looking, but don't say anything about it."

She could tell from the tone of his voice that he knew this from experience. "Is that what you did?"

He pulled a face at the memory. "Arley's bollocks at explaining how things work, so I didn't even know they could hear me," he said. "They almost didn't let me play at all. Spades tried to side with Hearts just so she wouldn't have to be with me, and Arley said she'd never seen that happen in her life. I had to apologise a lot."

She pictured it in her mind, and the image of Draco Malfoy's clone apologising profusely to playing cards delighted her. "All right," she said. "I'll make sure not to offend them."

He opened the little door, and out they came: indeed, her first thought was how ugly and strange the little creatures were. All four queens pranced onto the game board with evident self-importance, walking on tiny paper feet with their paper hands perched where their hips would be if they weren't perfectly rectangular. The card parts of them looked exactly like any Muggle deck, with the suit symbols and oddly-proportioned faces drawn on. They formed a line in the centre of the game board, and the Queen of Hearts stepped forward first. She walked toward Mr. White, showing Hermione the patterned back of her card.

"Good day, Queen Hearts," he said. His voice was artificially saccharine. "I humbly request that you join my cause." He glanced up from the card to Hermione. "That's how you're supposed to start."

Hearts turned around and walked to Hermione next, narrowing her painted eyes as she scrutinized her other option: she looked Hermione up and down and wrinkled her tiny, two-dimensional nose. "Good day, Queen Hearts," she repeated. "I humbly request that you join my cause."

The first queen shook her head without moving—the action appeared as an animation on the surface of her card. "I'd rather not do this, but I make it a personal rule not to play with a stranger," she squeaked after a few more seconds' deliberation. "Mr. White, I hope you've improved since our last game." She trotted across the board and stood in front of him.

"I'll do better this time," he assured her, with the easy manner of a person who was used to interacting with playing cards. If she wanted a chance at winning, Hermione would have to do the same—clearly, it wouldn't do to ignore one's queens.

Without a word, Queen Diamonds and Queen Clubs walked over to take their positions beside Queen Hearts. Queen Spades inspected Hermione, rolled her eyes, and came forward with a measure of reluctance. "Good day, Queen Spades," she said, pushing down the awkwardness. "I know I haven't played before, but I promise I'll catch on quickly."

Queen Spades was surprisingly accommodating after Hermione acknowledged her. "You're already better than this one was," she said, indicating Mr. White with one paper hand. "Do you know what he called us, the first time he saw us?"

"No, what?"

"Flimsy. Can you even imagine the nerve?"

She tightened her jaw to keep from smiling at the tiny queen's self-righteousness. Now that she'd gotten used to them, she found them rather adorable. "I certainly cannot," she said.

"I said I was sorry," Mr. White interrupted from across the table.

"No one was talking to you," Queen Spades called back, without looking at him. She tapped the side of her nose and winked at Hermione.

Once the queens had chosen sides, the rest of the deck marched out of the box in an orderly fashion, until all four suits were lined up behind their respective queens. Two jokers emerged last, one red and one black, and took their posts at either side of the board. "This is where it gets interesting," Mr. White said. He used the centre knob to push the empty box back down, where it melded seamlessly into the rest of the board. "You can set the difficulty of the game with the scenery. I'll make it pretty easy to start." He turned the knob two notches to the left, and she saw what he meant by "scenery": a two-dimensional forest folded itself up from the board, all made of what appeared to be translucent plastic. It featured a miniature mountain range in each corner, several clusters of see-through green pine trees as tall as her forearm, and even a flat blue river down the middle—four little bridges led across, evenly spaced along the board, alternating in colour between red and black. Sunlight from the window dodged the paper-thin edges of the pieces and caught on the tiny petals of flowers half the size of her smallest fingernail, scattered throughout clearings between the trees. The cardinal directions were labeled at each edge of the map: Mr. White's side was north, and Hermione's was south. "The cards can't see through everything like we can," he said. "That's just to help the players get a better view. On higher difficulty levels, it'd be opaque to us, too."

It didn't look like a very good scene for a battle; more like a picnic, perhaps, or a walk to grandma's house. "It's beautiful," she said.

Queen Spades dipped her head graciously. "I'm glad you appreciate it."

When Hermione looked up at Mr. White, she saw that he was scowling the same way Draco used to do—probably jealous that the cards already liked her better than him. His Malfoy-ness must have been innate when it came to his competitive spirit, but she could deal with that. She didn't enjoy playing games with people who didn't care about winning, because it made her self-conscious about her own tendency to care too much.

"When does it start?" she asked.

"In a minute," said Mr. White. "They do a little ritual first."

Each of the jokers produced a two-dimensional trumpet, seemingly out of thin air, and held it at the ready. Hermione's cards arranged themselves in a triangular formation, with the king and queen standing together at the southern edge of the board. She watched with fascination as each one pulled out a miniature weapon—except the king and queen, who held sceptres. The weapons increased in power along with the cards: on the lowest end, Two held a tiny slingshot, while Jack and Ace took out a sword and crossbow, respectively.

"The jokers are like referees," Mr. White said, "for both the cards and the players. For example, you can ask for a time-out if you want to talk to your queens, but the jokers can deny your request if they think you've already had too many. Their other job is to keep the lower cards from attempting to usurp their queens. None of them ever actually try, but I guess they would if they thought they could get away with it."

"We would not, sir," one of his cards chirped. Hermione couldn't tell which one.

"Lower cards?" called another.

"I'm just explaining the game," Mr. White said. "Don't take it so personally."

Several of his cards huffed and muttered to each other in distaste, and Hermione felt less disadvantaged. Mr. White wouldn't get far treating his cards like tiny little Crabbes and Goyles. She smiled down at Queen Spades, who lifted her sceptre in response. The jokers nodded to each other from across the table and played a few short, discordant notes on their trumpets. As soon as the sound faded, Mr. White lowered his head and whispered to his three queens. Queen Diamonds turned around and addressed her troops, while Queen Hearts and Queen Clubs turned to one another and immediately began to argue. She watched Mr. White's attempts to mediate until Queen Spades cleared her throat.

"My lady, we are heavily outnumbered," she said. "What would you recommend in terms of strategy?"

She lowered her head to whisper as Mr. White had. "Well, I've fought in similar circumstances," she said. "Clubs and Hearts are already fighting with each other, so I think we should try to use that against them." The queen nodded. "We'll want to keep an evasive strategy overall. Send some of the ones with range weapons out as snipers, wherever they can take cover—look for high ground."

Queen Spades called forward Two, Five, Six, Seven, Ten, and Ace, but Hermione stopped her. "Keep Ace, Jack, and King with you," she said. "Is there a safe place for you four to take cover?"

The queen gazed off into the distance and frowned. "I've been sent to the mountains before, but only as a last resort."

Hermione glanced across the table, where Mr. White was still occupied with his queens' dispute. He restrained Queen Hearts and Queen Clubs with his fingertips while the rest of their armies wandered aimlessly nearby, but Queen Diamonds and her troops were on the move along the eastern edge. "It looks like Diamonds will be our first target," she said. "They're marching in a linear formation on the east side—can your snipers get to them without being seen?"

Queen Spades addressed the group she'd selected before and motioned for Two to step aside. "Most of them can," she said meaningfully, while Two hung his head in shame.

"Don't attack until we're blocking them from the north," Hermione said. "Their queen's with them, and I think that's where she'll run." She was about to send her four top cards off together, but it occurred to her that she'd have to be especially crafty with the odds stacked against her. "You and Jack go to the southwest mountains—he should face north while you face south, so Mr. White can see his face but not yours. King and Ace, you do the same thing on the southeast side."

"That's clever," said the queen. "There's a chance it could work. What about the rest of them?"

"Have them meet Diamonds head-on once the snipers are in place, to distract them. Place the, er—I'm sorry, I know 'lower cards' is offensive, but I'm not quite sure what to call the, er..." She trailed off and made a vague motion with her hand, but none of the cards seemed upset. A few of them laughed.

"Foot soldiers," Two said, "if not by name."

"All right," she said. "Place the foot soldiers in numerical order."

The queen confirmed her orders, and all the cards scurried off as instructed. They moved quickly and quietly, except Two, who didn't pay much attention to where he was going. He trampled a few two-dimensional roots, and Three kept elbowing where his ribs would've been and telling him to be quiet. She watched her snipers take cover behind trees and rocks as the Diamonds army approached one of the bridges. Her foot soldiers fanned out as she'd instructed, waiting in a clearing. Something was wrong, though: the Diamonds army stopped short of the bridge and began to march west along the face cards diverged from the group at the last minute and headed back north.

"Fall back," she called immediately. "It's a trap!"

Her snipers heard her in time and retreated along the eastern wall, but the rest were caught unawares when the Diamonds army crossed the next bridge and came at them from the west. Meanwhile, Hearts and Clubs forces were approaching her snipers at an alarming rate. Hermione looked across the table, where Mr. White surveyed her with cool determination. All three of his queens stood in front of him with two guards apiece and their kings: somehow, Mr. White had managed to unite them, at least for the time being.

"Pick them off and then head east," he told his cards. They did so, although her foot soldiers put up a good fight. Poor, noisy Two Spades caught one of them with a lucky shot but lost his own life in the process, and he wasn't the only one to land an attack. When the cards died, they fell on their backs and lost ink until they turned white: her cards bled black, while the Diamonds bled bright red. After a few seconds of dramatic, pained wriggling, they melted into the surface of the board and disappeared.

None of the Spades survived the first battle. Three Diamonds remained, although one was injured—he dripped splotches of red ink as they limped along toward the east wall, where her four snipers had taken cover. Seven Spades finished off the wounded card with a well-aimed arrow. Behind a nearby tree, Five weighed a knife in each hand and threw both at once, felling the remaining targets. She'd have expected such a low card to be weaker, but his dexterity was impeccable. That took care of Diamonds' foot soldiers, but there were two more armies closing in. She decided to leave her king and queen where they were for the time being, although their future looked bleak. As she'd instructed, her snipers sought high ground and waited for the Hearts and Clubs armies to cross the bridges.

"Stay along the wall," she said, as the Hearts and Clubs began to fan out, hoping to surround them. They were prepared to strike when Two Hearts caught sight of the blood trail from the injured Diamonds soldier and began to panic: he dropped his slingshot, turned, and ran.

"No! What's the matter with you?" Mr. White asked, but it was two late.

"I'm sorry," Two Hearts cried as he fled. "I'm sorry! I'm—" Seven Spades's arrow caught him from behind, and he fell on his face in a pool of red ink. Ten Spades took out a few more Hearts with his bow during the commotion, but they'd given away their position. The remaining Hearts and Clubs took cover while their throwers and archers faced off with the Spades. After a grueling stand-off, her cards were overcome. Only five foot soldiers survived, two Hearts and three Clubs, and they turned to face Mr. White for further orders. He looked back and forth between the two mountain ranges where her face cards waited, then up at Hermione. She kept her face blank and stared him down.

After a tense moment, he addressed his cards: "Hearts, scale the mountains in the southwest. Clubs, take the southeast."

It might not change anything, but she took comfort in the fact that he'd chosen wrong—his stronger force of Clubs was headed for her king, and Ace would probably pick them off easily as they climbed. On the other hand, Jack wouldn't be as effective when it came to guarding her queen. She held her breath as the Clubs reached the foot of the southeast mountains. Ace made short work of two of the three, but he left himself open for a second too long while he readjusted his stance. Ten Clubs put an arrow where his heart would have been, and he tumbled down the mountain with black ink spilling out. Ten Clubs aimed next for the king, but apparently the sceptres weren't just for show: King Spades spun around and used his to cast a shielding spell not a second too soon.

Mr. White reacted as soon as he saw the card's face: "The west," he told his remaining forces. "She's in the west!"

Four and Five Hearts were just reaching the southwest mountains, and they paused to salute Mr. White before scaling the foothills. Jack Spades held his shield aloft and fended off two of Five's knives with impressive agility while the queen hung back behind a rock. Meanwhile, in the east, Ten Clubs had run out of arrows—he cast aside his bow and engaged the king in hand-to-hand combat. Two playing cards wrestling was a delightfully bizarre sight to behold: they couldn't bend anything except their paper arms and legs, so all they could do was grab their opponent by the edges and try to push him off the mountain.

In the west, Five Hearts was down to his last knife and didn't seem keen to throw it. He and Four cautiously approached Jack Spades, giving a wide berth, both of them visibly afraid. Jack readied his sword and turned side to side, looking between them. Without warning, he covered his left with the shield and lunged right. Five tried to dodge, but the blade grazed him across the middle—he lost his balance and fell backwards off a cliff. Four tried to seize what he thought was an opening, but it was only a feint: Jack anticipated the move and blocked Four's rapier with his shield as he lunged again with his sword. Red ink spilled from Four's mouth as he looked down at the wound in shock, until Jack pulled out the blade and kicked him to the ground.

"Head east," Hermione said, "and hurry! You can still save the king!"

Jack picked up Four's discarded rapier and presented it to the queen. She transferred her sceptre to her off-hand and took the weapon in her right, and they both moved quickly across the southern wall. King Spades and Ten Clubs were still locked together at the arms, turning in slow circles and dodging each other's pathetic paper kicks. She'd expected Jack to step in, but Queen Spades had a surprise in store: from the foot of the mountain, she used her sceptre to conjure a flaming spade symbol. It lodged itself in Ten's back, and the fire spread until it consumed him completely. The king brushed himself off indignantly as his queen leaned forward to catch her breath.

"You can cast attack spells?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," she said, "but it takes a lot of energy."

"Traditionally," Jack added, "it's the queen's responsibility to protect her husband whenever possible. I'd have stepped in otherwise." He sliced his sword through the air in an intricate pattern, showing off, presumably to prevent Hermione from doubting his warrior's strength.

"I understand," Hermione said. Watching her queen survive had felt like a major victory, but it faded fast when she remembered that they were even more outnumbered than they'd been at the beginning.

"What now, Granger?" Mr. White taunted.

In all honesty, she didn't know. Her three remaining cards waited in the southeast mountains, comforting each other in hushed voices over the loss of nearly their entire kingdom, and listening to them brought on a different kind of time hiccough. In her mind, she heard their words in other voices—Ginny, McGonagall, and always Harry in that tent in the forest—trying to convince her that all was not lost. This was just a game, though. Thick dread seeped heavy down the back of her throat, and her confused brain pumped her full of unnecessary adrenaline, more energy for more panic. She reminded herself again and again that it was only a game.

She must have phased out for longer than she'd realised, because Mr. White sounded worried when he spoke again. "Granger?" he asked. "Are you in there?"

She shook herself and forced her lips to smile, like she always did when this happened. Her hands were shaking, but the worst of it was over. "Of course," she said. "Sorry. I was just thinking about what to do next."

"We could take a time-out if you want," he said, and she could tell he didn't buy her excuse. She wondered how many times he had gone back in time and watched her panic. How many times had he looked upon her face, with her jaw so tight and eyes wide open, staring hard at nothing, and pitied her?

"My lady, you needn't bother yourself over our fate," Queen Spades said. "No matter what tragedy befalls us, we can always start anew."

In that moment, she loved her tiny queen fiercely. She wanted to pick her up and keep her in her pocket, safe and ready for every time she needed to hear those words. "You're right," she said, even though her pulse still raced. "We might as well finish playing. We're about to lose anyway."

"You can't ever take that for granted in this game," said Mr. White. "But I'm in the mood for a break anyway. Why don't we have a cup of tea before we go on?"

The way he said it—so clearly for her benefit—made her feel both naked and grateful. He saw through her in a way that most people could not, probably because not many people had an instant-replay option for the subtleties of body language. "If you insist," she said. She anchored one hand on the table and pushed herself up.

"We'll be right here when you get back," Queen Spades called, with a cheerful paper wave. Hermione lifted a hand in recognition and went to the stove, regulating her breathing as she walked. It was getting easier.

"If it makes you feel better," Mr. White said to her back, "you're better at hiding things than most of the people I've met."

She turned around to face him. "And yet you still know it bothers me that you can read me."

"That's just human nature," he said. "For instance, it bothers me that you know so much about my real self, while I know almost nothing."

When he put it like that, she didn't feel so vulnerable. "I know," she said. "But there are things you're better off not knowing. There are things about myself that I wish I could erase from my mind."

"You'd rather be dumped into a field without a name?"

He didn't seem to appreciate the way she'd trivialised his plight, but she reckoned he'd know if she tried to lie. "Some days, yes."

"Maybe that's your problem," he said. "With time, I mean. You hate the past so much that you're pushing yourself forward. Subconsciously, or something." She turned toward the tea kettle again and used her wand to boil the water.

"Maybe," she said. She trusted her own mind enough to believe that if her brain was hiding things from itself, it probably had a good reason. And if she could wave her wand and give Mr. White all of Draco's memories, she had a feeling at least some part of him would long for those nameless days.

The game took up the whole table, so she took their tea into the next room and sat on the sofa. Mr. White took a seat beside her and put his feet up on the coffee table. "I like it here," he said. "It's nice to be somewhere I'm wanted." She looked at him askance, and he showed her a gloating smile. "What, I'm supposed to go back to pretending I haven't noticed these things? I haven't got any other skills or hobbies. All I do is notice."

Honesty could be refreshing in the right context, and the more she thought about it, contexts didn't get much safer than this: Mr. White was in no position to go round telling people what he'd learned about her, and also he wasn't even a person himself. "Fine," she said. "You're right. It isn't bad having you around. You're polite, and I like the game you brought."

"And you like the company. Have you been sending your friends away because I'm here, or do you usually spend most of your time alone?" His tone, free of judgment, made it hard to be offended.

"The latter," she said. "By my own choice, but I suppose it bothers me from time to time."

"I bet that's how my real self is, too," he said. "It's hard to think with too many people around all the time. That's how it was at the Warren—everyone constantly going wherever they pleased, with no concept of privacy or peace. Haigha's house would've been better, but she can't stand me."

Hermione tried to decide whether Draco would have agreed with his clone, but she didn't know him well enough. He'd always been with other people in school, but so had she. Ironically, Mr. White was more of a whole person in her mind than his real self had ever been. "He might be," she said. "I haven't talked to him in years, though."

"Why would you?" Mr. White asked dryly. "He sounds awful. The more I think about it, the less I want to go back to being him."

Here she was again, defending Draco Malfoy to himself. "He was awful, to be honest, but you're not. His life made him the way he was, same as any of us."

"But even if I got back into that body and started changing things, people might never change their minds," he said. "It sounds like a lot of people hate my real self, and I just keep thinking about it. I can't get over it."

"I don't think 'hate' is the right word, even for me. I think it's more of a distrust, and you can overcome that. You can prove them wrong."

He shook his head with a bitter sort of laugh. "This is ridiculous," he said. "I don't even know what he did."

She looked down at her tea and considered her options. She'd already told Mr. White so much already, and Arley hadn't seemed concerned about it—unless she took him to the hospital to visit Draco, she probably wasn't going to open any major time rifts by telling him stories about an old schoolmate who made a lot of mistakes. "Do you want me to tell you?" she asked.

"No," he said immediately. "Well, yes. I don't know." He paused and sipped his tea, considering. "Just tell me the worst thing he ever did."

The question threw her off-balance. She didn't know how to judge it: her first instinct was the attempts on Dumbledore, or letting the Death Eaters into the school, but some vindictive part of her wanted to make it about herself. If she told Mr. White what Draco had done to her—years of bullying and blood prejudice, chipping away at her self-esteem and trying his best to make her hate herself, sometimes briefly even succeeding—there was a chance he'd apologise. Draco never would, but his other self might, and there was a chance it would bring her some peace. At length, she gave the choice to him. "The worst thing he did in general, or the worst thing he did to me?"

Mr. White looked at her for a long time, probably much longer than it felt to her, with a gaze so searching and needy that she had to look away. "Tell me what he did to you," he said. "It's more relevant."

She let out the breath she'd been holding, so great was her relief. "It was never just one thing," she said. "It was all the time, over and over—little things he said every day. He made me feel like I didn't deserve to be a witch. He made me feel like I was ugly and unwanted and wrong."

"He did that to you?" Mr. White's pain was obvious as he processed the information, and it felt like he'd turned a key and unlocked something inside her. School bullies were something that adults were just supposed to get over, something they kept safe and covered in a tiny corner of their minds, but she'd been given the rare opportunity to set hers free. To let it go. "That's absurd. You're—I mean—I don't know a lot of people, but you're easily my favourite person that I've ever met. You've been nicer to me than all the others combined. You're wonderful."

She couldn't speak. Her throat had gone dry and numb; with shaking hands, she raised the teacup to her lips and forced herself to drink. She knew he noticed the shine of not-quite-tears in her eyes. He noticed everything.

He set his teacup on the table and moved closer toward her across the sofa. "And ugly? Really?" He smiled, as though she'd told him a joke so bad that it was almost funny just for that. "How did he say that with a straight face?" She blushed and turned away, as though it were some great compliment, but it was more about the way he said it and who he was. He touched her face with two cold fingers and nudged it back in place to meet his eyes. "He must have been hopelessly in love with you. There's no other plausible explanation."

He wasn't joking, but she laughed anyway. "I can't think of anything less likely."

"You should ask him someday, if he wakes up." Mr. White still held her chin, with his body less than an arm's length away. He was making her flustered. "He won't admit it, if he's still the sort of person you're describing, but you'll see it on his face."

"Not possible," she whispered.

Mr. White licked his lips, staring at her, and all of a sudden she knew that he was going to kiss her. Not right that second, but soon. She would've had time to remove his hand and reinforce the distance between them, but she found the idea less off-putting than she might've expected. On the contrary, it made her whole body fill up with a million microscopic bubbles of electric anticipation. It made her cheeks pink, eyes bright, and pulse quick. Without looking away from him, she set her teacup down on the table.

"You can't hide something like that," he said. "Not even you could."

He leaned forward, just as she knew that he would. His lips touched hers, cold like his hands, but the contact warmed him up quickly. She put her hand in his paper-white hair, so fine and so soft, and let her weight sink into him until their bodies melted together. She could feel his strange heartbeat, a muffled echo of his real heart far away in a lonely hospital bed, and the tightening of muscles in his arms as they encircled her, and the soft chill of his breath against her cheek.

He started to pull away, but then she went back, tugged through the spent minutes to the first brush of lips meeting. Again and again, she relived and relived it, and she did not mind. When the hiccoughs went away, they looked at each other in the waning light of her living room. The sun was setting outside the window, with the last shocks of gold laid across his face, and she did not want this to end yet. She kissed him again, pushing her body forward until his back was flat against the cushions.