"Breakfast!"

Polly's happy voice is echoing through the Sullivan house on the morning after Christmas Eve.

"There are presents under the tree!" she loudly adds. "Up, up, family!"

Harper sighs, turning sleepily in my arm, only to find that I'm already awake.

"Are you the early, insolent bird?"

"Insolent?" I chuckle. "Not ever … But I'm wide awake indeed."

"I hate waking up," she whines.

"Who'd have known?" I grin maliciously. "The ever cheerful Harper Sullivan is not a morning person …"

She's stretching with a groan, then soon snuggles back into my arm to pout.

"I want to stay right here. With you, in this bed, without the world and its trials, sleeping in. Forever."

"That would equal death then."

"You know what I mean …"

She laughs softly and shakes her head until she seems thunderstruck.

"Wait a minute – presents!" She beams with excitement. "Christmas morning! That's an exception!"

"Though there's still the possibility of me getting shot."

Her Christmas euphoria instantly gives way to a pained grimace. "You're right. My father mustn't know I was here tonight."

"What?" I look up at her in disbelief. "I thought you were joking!"

She shakes her head. "No, not really …"

I instantly move to shoo her away.

"You're impossible!" I murmur. "Go on, get out of here before you're missed in your own bed!"

She's still biting her lips to keep from laughing out loud, she rushes toward the attic door – but her father's voice is already echoing unexpectedly sternly through the house.

"Harper May Sullivan!"

She stops, looking at me to give me an apologetic shrug.

"Where the hell are you, young Lady?" her father shouts, his voice already sounding bloody close.

"My wand's downstairs – hide me!" she urges. "Come on!"

"Damn it, Harper," I mutter, pulling my wand out from beside the bed and pointing it at her in best hopes. "Aspectu deceptio!"

Disillusionment charms are not easy, let alone without focus, yet it had better work – though I can't worry about it for very long anyway, since William is already knocking on the door.

"Tom?" he asks, in fact a bit too calm. "Good morning, Tom, may I enter?"

"Of course, sir, do come in!"

I hurry to hide the wand under the sheets and sit up as the door is already being pulled open.

Harper is standing right behind it. Everything about her has adjusted to the surroundings – but, and that really annoys me, I'll have to work on my precision – I can still clearly see a hand …

"I'm sure you can guess who I'm looking for," William sighs, smiling.

"She's not here, Mr Sullivan."

"Sure … Not that I'd accuse you of having any questionable –"

"Sir," I immediately say, "you know your daughter. She's too smart for that."

It's not even a lie. In fact, we've only slept in the same bed …

William draws in a deep breath, massaging his neck with one hand. "She's pretty clever, isn't she?"

"She is."

"I'm really proud of her, you know?"

I nod. "She's missed her family a lot, I'm sure you're aware."

William comes closer and stops in front of the triangular window, as if to watch the snow flakes very closely this Christmas morning.

"You know, Tom," he begins thoughtfully, "she's not a child anymore, and she's living her own life. Hogwarts is her home now, sometimes it's just ..." He shrugs. "She'll always be my little girl, you know?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

I begin to realize that this could turn into an unpleasantly serious conversation. And even if I can't see Harper's hand right now – she's probably hiding behind some boxes on the slope of the roof opposite – it's still a rather bizarre situation.

"Are you in love with her?"

This question is the equivalent of a bucket full of ice-cold water.

"Mr Sullivan …", I say, stalling for time. I know Harper is listening intently right now, and who could blame her – but my back is literally against the wall right now. I guess I owe it to my host to come clean, and to her as well. "I'll be quite honest – I can hardly wrap my head around the principle of love …" He eyes me with obvious sorrow, so I explain, "I've briefly mentioned it yesterday – I grew up in an orphanage. I was raised by a very neat, high functioning alcoholic. And that's not to criticize, she was really well-organized. But she found me highly peculiar because I was different. Magic in the blood, you know – among other things."

Never have there been more hidden stories behind an innocent among other things …

"Oh well, sure." William nods, musing. "We were afraid at first, too, that something might be odd with Harper. But then we remembered Edwin, and Yorick ... You, on the other hand, you were on your own."

Indeed.

"Sir, what I'm actually trying to say", I continue right away, "is that love is an abstract concept to me. I don't know if I can comprehend its meaning on an emotional level, but if you were to ask me if I'd lie for your daughter … I would." Obviously … "If you were to ask how far I'd be willing to go to protect her from whatever – I would tell you to the utmost extreme."

He looks at me, clearly a bit moved. "That's really good to know, Tom. And what we exactly call it doesn't really matter then."

I nod and already insolently believe we were done with this, but then he continues to think aloud, "In that case, though, it's only a matter of time …"

I know what he's getting at. Of course I do. Nevertheless, I hypocritically inquire, "What do you mean, sir?"

"It's only a matter of time until you two get … well … closer."

"Sir?"

"Surely you know what I mean."

I groan inwardly.
This is about to become unbearable.

"Can we speak frankly, Tom? While we're at it?"

I would like to say the exact opposite. "We … can, sir. Of course."

In relief he nods as he sits down at the end of the bed, staring at the opposite slope of the roof – where I also suspect Harper to be – then he props his elbows on his knees.

"My grandfather," he finally says, taking a deep breath, "was open about it with me, too, you know? My father would never have gotten the words out – I guess it was and is a taboo, yet I think it's so important."

If only I could disapparate …

"Tom, Harper and you aren't married or old enough to be parents yet."

I nod gravely, my silent yearning now directed at his shotguns after all.

"Not to mention people's outrageous talk, in case," William continues, waving it off. "I know we live in two very different realities, Tom. But how does the magical world feel about marriage?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see Harper's hand dart to where I assume her mouth to be. I have no idea if she's trying hard to stifle a laugh or a cry, but it's probably similar to my feelings. A little bit of both.

"Sir, about that … I reckon gossip stops at nothing and no one."

He nods. "I see. So either way – you two have to take responsibility for your actions. You know, the consequences, especially for Harper –"

"Mr Sullivan, there's really nothing to worry about."

"You say that so easily," he laughs in exasperation. I can basically hear him loading the gun already, but then his features relax a bit again. "Tom, I'm sorry – don't get me wrong." He lets his fingers crack like I used to do before piano lessons at the orphanage. "I think you're a very dutiful young man, of course, but if Harper had a child all by herself –"

"I wouldn't act like my own father, if that's what you mean."

I don't avoid his searching gaze, but neither does he avoid mine.

That hasn't happened in a long time. People, sometimes gifted professors, look away eventually. But not Harper's muggle father.

Why not him?

Because he cares about his daughter? Is this the power of love everyone's always talking about? He can't do magic, and yet it is as though ancient spells are surrounding him right now.

Until finally, he nods.

"Tom, I'll take your word for it."

"You can, sir," I vow.

"Thank you for clearing that up."

"Of course." Continuing to do my best to just not squint at Harper's hand, I assert, "Yet I'm afraid I don't know where your daughter is right now. You're looking for her, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, quite right." He stands back up, giving me a fatherly smile. "She's like impersonated chaos, always out and about …"

"I'm sure she'll show up for breakfast at the latest." I nod in confidence. "She rarely ever misses breakfast."

"That much is certain," William agrees. And as he's already at the door, he turns to me again. "Tom? It's good to have you here. You're always welcome, yes? And Polly will want to open the presents in a minute, so …"

"Yes, I'll hurry," I assure him.

He closes the door behind him and I breathe a sigh of relief as his footsteps finally and audibly lead downstairs.

"Revelio!" I whisper to Harper before she returns to the bed more and more visibly.

"That was a damn close call," she admits.

"That was bloody awkward," I correct her. "For me, that is. While you were grinning in your corner."

"It was hilarious, though – or maybe because – it was like a gun to your head."

"Crossed my mind, too," I retort.

Harper bites her lips and looks at me mischievously. "Well, why do you mind? You've just said you'd do anything for me …"

"I had to say something, didn't I?"

"So it was all untrue?" she asks, pursing her lips.

I groan in annoyance. "That's a redundant question, Harper, I refuse to –"

"Redundant?" She shakes her head. "I may be chaos, but you're a walking enigma. How am I supposed to know what you're serious about and what you're not?"

Stoically, I avoid her gaze. But after I stand up and recognize her in the reflection of the window beside me, I simply reply, "You're intelligent enough, you know perfectly well."

She says nothing in response, she's just looking at me indecisively. Harper has moments of complete self-confidence, but then again this insecure, vulnerable side to her that she has only been allowing me to see in the last few weeks. Since I kissed her for the first time, now that I think of it. As if she'd now open her heart to me even more and subconsciously expect the same from me.

But why open a heart that has never been filled?

And yet – as she's standing right in front of me, I just can't seem to help it.

"Harper," I sigh, patiently even to my own surprise. I cup her pretty face with my hands and really want to say something else, but her wide eyes distract me for a moment. "Do you know that every now and then I feel the urge to squeeze you way too tight?"

Perplexed, she shakes her head.

"I can't explain it," I just keep talking. "When you look at me like that, so ... helplessly worried ... I mean, I'd never hurt you, but –"

"You want to squeeze me way too tight," she repeats and grins. "Good to know."

"Probably," I say, then I pull her braid in front of her shoulders and adjust her pyjama top. "And I wouldn't be here if I didn't mean what I've just said to your father. You know that." I look at her reprovingly. "I would hardly have fallen asleep next to you yesterday either had I just lied. You're perfectly aware of what you are to me." I nod demonstratively until she does as well. "Now smile for me."

"That's usually what I have to ask you …"

"There, see how cruel that is?"

She smirks, then she's breathing a kiss on my lips that almost makes me regret that we can no longer be alone here.

As if she could tell by looking at me, she sneaks off to the door, quite elated. "Meet us in five minutes, yes?"

I just nod before dropping back onto the bed once more.

Where the hell is all this going …