Harry Potter stands in front of the magical mirror, the giant magical mirror that shows anyone who goes before it the thing he or she wants most, and Harry, he looks back and forth between the images of his mother and father. His dead mother and father. They're on either side of him, looking all sad and ghostly. "Mum?" Harry says, and the woman nods. "Dad?" Harry says, and the man nods, too. And me, I wrap myself tighter in this throw blanket that smells too much like flowers, resting my head on the armrest of a loveseat. Eric sleeps on the bed behind me, far too gone to be bothered by the little television in the wall. We're in another strange bedroom in another strange mansion, although this time it all belongs to the queen of Louisiana. I'm tired of strange places. I'm tired of vampire monarchs.
We're spending the day here, in New Orleans. Well, we've already spent most of it. The digital clock on Eric's side of the bed read 3:49 when I got up. Checking the clock now seems like too much effort – I'm in such a nice little cocoon, flowery-smelling or not – but surely it's nearing nightfall. I've had time to watch most of this movie, the very first Harry Potter movie - I saw him buy his wand, at least. Eric will be up soon. And we'll be going with the King to Shreveport. To Fangtasia, to Pam. According to Eric, at least; it's what he told me as we sat in the queen's industrial kitchen shortly after our arrival here, me finally eating something – a peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich, several pickles, two apples, and some Doritos. The best meal of my life, simple as it was.
The King proposed to the queen last night. It's vampire politics. The King wants Louisiana, and, maybe because he killed all the queen's guards on the way in here (again, according to Eric – while he and the King made their entrance, I was left to wait in the limo, just off the mansion's perimeter) or maybe because he had some other leverage, the queen agreed to marry him. And now she's going back to Jackson with him. After we stop by Fangtasia and he gets Pam free.
According to Eric.
"What's going to happen to Sookie?" I asked him, talking in between mouthfuls when we were in the kitchen. Even though we were alone, Eric made it clear that he didn't trust our privacy by giving me a pointed look as he said, in a flat tone, that that was for the King to decide. So I focused on my sandwich from then on. We didn't talk much after that. Dawn sneaked up on us. Sneaked up on me, at least.
On the television, Harry Potter reaches out to the mirror, touches his own image, the image of him with his parents, the image of him as a normal child – well, a normal magical child – with a normal life. His mother rests a hand on his shoulder. Just in the mirror, though. Just in his fantasy. He tries to rest his hand on top of hers, and nothing's there. He's still alone, really. Still an orphan.
Orphan. That's an ugly word.
"This was a book first."
I twitch, halfway-jerking around to see Eric standing behind the loveseat, face changing colors in the television light. "I'm sorry," he says. I sink into the couch again. Eric comes around the loveseat's right side and lowers into the spot beside me. "This movie, this series." He props a bare foot on the glass coffee table in front of us. "It's based on books. Children seem to love them. I'll get them for you, if you'd like."
I tug the throw further up my shoulder. "You already did. I read them last year."
"Oh."
We sit in silence for a moment. So does Harry, cross-legged in front of the mirror, staring. "Did you sleep?" Eric asks.
"Yes."
He trails his fingers down my covered arm. "Any good dreams?"
"I didn't dream, really . . . I heard violin music once. That was pleasant, I suppose."
YOU ARE READING
Annika Northman: Part Two
Fanfiction"Eric's voice echoes through my mind, like it does a lot: 'I will tell you that which you need to know. I will protect you from that which you do not. And you must trust my judgment as to which is which.' I told him I trust him, and of course I do...
