It's cold at night, and she slips into my bed. "Just to get warm for a minute," she says solemnly. I lie there, willing myself to sleep, willing her legs away from the tangle of mine, willing her to get warm quickly and leave me alone.
I think it's snowing again. I hate snow. Yesterday she had a snowball fight with Harry and her brother, her face glowing and drifts of snowflakes interspersed with her hair; ice with flame.
I'm cold, even with her in bed with me. It couldn't hurt to just put my arm around her, could it?