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Winter
A country gentleman's winter table consisted of a mouthwatering array of dishes, rich with cream and spice. I wondered if Mr. Granger thought I needed to be impressed. I certainly didn't dress a table as finely as this for a Tuesday dinner. If I were honest I would confess that I often forgot to eat, wrapping myself in the protective void of research and designing lectures for the misbegotten youth of Hogwarts College.
Mrs. Granger was tittering at me like a plump songbird, plying me with questions about the fashions in London and the balls and assemblies offered there.
I regretted loosing my temper in hindsight, but I could not take more than two bites together without being interrupted.
"Madam, I regret that I am neither a milliner or a dressmaker and know little of such things," I snapped.
She stopped speaking with an undignified gurgle.
"Are you often in London, sir?" one of the young female cousins of Hermione asked. Elizabeth, perhaps, or was it Imogen?
"No." But I attempted to soften my address to atone for my harshness. I was not given to many words but this was not a time of war. I no longer needed to guard my every utterance or restrain my thoughts. "No," I said, softer this time. "I divide my time between my estate and the Hogwarts College of Magic; I am rarely in London."
I chanced a glance at Hermione as I sipped the dark spicy red wine that rested in an elegant glass at my left hand. She licked her lips and her eyes flickered away from me, skittering over the serving dishes of rich beef and roasted winter roots. Had I disgusted her already?
"You set a very fine table," I ventured, seeking Mrs. Grangers face.
She smiled then and twittered. I was restored to her good graces with a sigh of relief.
"And the war? You fought in the war?" The youngest cousin, a boy, asked. He was barely old enough to be allowed at the table, and he was immune to the collective gasp that went around the table.
The war and its effects were like a mark upon me. I could never be free of the taint of it, and yet everyone pretended not to notice even as I was bent double from the weight of it.
"Thomas," Mr. Granger's voice sounded in warning from the head of the table.
I turned the full strength of my stare at the boy. "Are you learning about the war in school?" I prodded.
He nodded.
"And what have you learned?" I meant it as a general question but Thomas interpreted it on a more personal level.
"You were a spy. You defeated the Dark Lord by spying on him. You are a hero!" He was so very young and earnest.
I didn't feel like a hero, not even in the exultant moments after the last confrontation when the world began to shine again with promise like a landscape shrouded in delicate pristine snow.
Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is dignified].
Edited for formatting and author's notes March 3rd, 2015.