I hate the last day of the year with a passion, every year, and more so with each one passing.

But this time I'm not just by myself, and neither in the orphanage. Harper is lying close to my back, and her breathing, so light, so regular, wakes me up just enough to turn around to face her.

Not many souls are blessed with a sleep as sound as hers, and certainly not me. Almost as though she's never been afraid in her entire life ….

And yet I know that's not true. In the Room of Requirement it was close more than once, but ex nihilo nihil fit. Nothing comes from nothing.

By now, however, fiendfires are more fun than a challenge for me.

"You're staring at me, aren't you?"

With her eyes still closed, she surprises me with this question.

"You wish," I tease, lying without shame, and also without looking away.

"Say what you want – every now and then you do," she mumbles, starting to smile with her eyes still closed. "I just don't know why …"

"Calms me in a way," I simply admit, almost lost in thought. "Does it make you feel uncomfortable?"

"No," she whispers, as calm as ever. "I feel protected."

How strange.
Everyone else would feel the need to protect themselves from me – she feels protected by me. There's not a trace of doubt in her voice, she's still willingly swimming against the current.

And when she finally opens her eyes, she almost hums, "All the best, Tom."

She's likely to see lethargy – perhaps also a bit of disapproval – flashing across my face, but the very next moment, Harper just leans over me with all her awakened spirits, kissing me ever so fleetingly, in all innocence and intimacy, and for a moment there, I forget how much I hate this day. And then, out of nowhere, she's holding up a black leather-bound book with golden corners.

"A calendar for next year," she says. "Or maybe a … diary?"

I'm not sure about my mimic. "For me?"

She nods, her eyes wide. "For you. See?" Turning the book, she shows me my full name, engraved on the back, in golden letters.
Indeed for me …

"I don't know if you like it." Harper bites her lip. "Or if you can use it for anything, but I just thought –"

"Thank you, darling," I interrupt her, and I mean it. "That's …" For lack of better words, I just repeat, "Thank you." Shaking my head in surrender I add, "Did Edwin have to go shopping in London –"

"Yes," she confirms, winking. "He's got it from Winstanley's, Vauxhall Road."

I lift her chin, not quite certain what to say. But maybe I'm not looking for words. Maybe I just want to stare at her again.

And before I fully realise it myself, she's already pulling me into her arms so cheerfully again that I simply never want to let go.

It was awfully strange to be touched by her at first. Because all my life I never had to, could or wanted to get used to anyone's closeness.

Whenever our hands met as we were reaching for the same book, I didn't know what it was that confused me. And the first time she ever threw her arms around my neck, euphoric and completely unperturbed, she had no idea that no one had ever done it that way before. Each time her skin burnt mine, in the best way possible, dissolving into light and warmth whenever she reached for me until it suddenly all made sense.

As strange and fatal as it seems, people have given this phenomenon a name. And despite that, concepts cannot begin to describe what is going on inside me.

Not when it devoutly wraps me in a wave of ethereal connection as it does now. I'm only too happy to let the emblematic water break and crush over me as though I could breathe for the very first and last time.

And Mrs Cole's words nevertheless keep being stuck in my mind.

As if she wanted to put the love of a lifetime into one look. As if she wanted to give me warmth for my entire life with that one embrace …

There's something so maternal about Harper, and it doesn't fail to bring a sort of tragedy.

After murdering his father, the son of the former King of Thebes – completely unaware of his true origins – was rewarded with the crown and Queen Iocaste. In cruel irony of fate, however, she also turned out to be his mother.

Possibly his self-punishing reaction of gouging his eyes out was of such extreme nature because he was somewhat aware of the unprecedented, profound nurturing, yet basically did no longer want to give it up. He sacrificed his eyesight merely for the feeble attempt to banish images from his mind.

At least in the light of this, the tragedies of my life are not on a par with Greek mythology. My mother is dead. Ever since she gave birth to me.

And maybe that's why I hold on to Harper so tightly now, despite all the demons inside me urging me to resist.

Because she's become everything …

Her warm body is underneath my back as we're both gazing up into the wooden slopes of the ceiling. As though it was the sky, all while she lets her fingertips fly over my collarbone, as so often these days, lost in thought.

If there was one moment I had to relive over and over again, for all eternity – that would be it.

"You haven't forgotten," I however just state the facts, as per usual.

"That it's your birthday? No."

"You got a present …"

"Indeed," she laughs to herself. "That's what people do on birthdays …"

"Odd," I say.

And then a thought crosses my mind.

"Does your family know? Harper, please tell me your family doesn't know …"

Her hand pauses on my body, hesitantly she says, "My family doesn't know?"

I close my eyes for a brief moment. "You're just repeating after me, aren't you?"

"I'm just repeating after you, yes …"

I try to suppress a groan in vain, but she smiles with no shame as I turn to face her.

"Harper," I sigh, "what could there be to celebrate on this day?"

"Well – you, of course", she meekly answers.

"Her life for mine," I reply, likely with eerie indifference. "Nothing more than an exchange sixteen years ago …"

"You mustn't think like that," she retorts in dismay. "You heard what Mrs Cole said – your mother died for you, Tom. Not because of you."

"It doesn't make much of a difference now, does it."

"I should've known you hate your birthday," she moans after some silence. "I'm honestly sorry …"

"For what exactly?" I cautiously ask.

She takes in a deep breath. "Do I need to tell the others to take their party hats off for breakfast?"

"Oh, damn it, Harper –"

"Sorry," she repeats, smiling as though she really wanted to make up for it. "I'll get rid of the hats, yes? But you won't want to miss out on the pie, I'm sure it's fantastic …"

When I join the breakfast table about five minutes later, as I have done each morning of this holiday so far, everyone's still wearing party hats.
Even Yorick, despite of his rightful annoyance …

Harper just shrugs apologetically, because moreover, cheerful birthday wishes are promptly sung at me – until I almost wish for a sudden death.

"You really shouldn't have," I say in anguish as Polly places a huge cream pie on the dining table, forcing me to sit down in my chair ever so gently the very next moment.

"Oh sure I should've – happy birthday, Tom!" She beams in excitement, proud like a mother. "I hope you like cream? It's a pie with a lot of cream …"

"Butter and sugar." I smirk, nodding, as I repeat Harper's words from Hogsmeade, "A perfect combination …"

"That's what Polly likes to hear," William laughs, "and you deserve the cake. If only because you always take such good care of Harper at Hogwarts."

I could go on about the Room of Requirement and all the many dangerous fire hazards I induced, but instead I say simply, "It's not too difficult a task, sir, she can curse like Merlin."

Edwin snorts in joy, but Yorick bitterly exclaims, "Oh, Miss Innocence is all washed up? Who'd have known?"

"You obviously did," she snaps.

"Why isn't the young man wearing a hat yet?" Tilda then asks, and Polly already wants to benevolently hand me one – but only over my dead body.

"May I make a wish?" I quickly ask.

"Anything," Edwin promises, probably already guessing what I'm about so come up with. "What would you like?"

"Let's please get rid of the hats …"

William grins at once, removing the accessories as quickly as possible. "Your wish is just fine with me. I warned Harper that any person in their right mind would find them tacky."

I smile, a bit like in pain. "Sir, bless you for having worn it for me anyway …"

"What I wouldn't do." He winks and raises his glass. "To the holidays that brought us together!"

"And today, of course, to Tom's birthday!" Polly adds warmly.

"To your hospitality," I say, raising my glass as well.

"Any time, my dear," Polly replies, "we'd happily welcome you here for the Easter holidays again!"

"To America," Yorick proudly says, and Tilda quickly raises her glass with him.

Harper also does so, saying, "To spiritual bonding!"

Edwin nods. "And to the magic of life as well as its sometimes unusual paths! Cheers, children!"