Unlike a Sister (Harmione)

Chapter 15: The Fear

The home of Harry Potter and his family was a large estate on the outer edges of London called Clymene Court. It was the second structure to stand on the property, the first having burned to the ground in the seventeenth century. Though a noble Muggle family had built both estates, only wizards had occupied Clymene Court for the past two hundred years. The grounds-which included terraced gardens, a small pond, and a formidable driveway-were drenched in Unplottable and Muggle-repelling charms, much of it Harry's own creation. The manor itself stood three stories tall and had twenty-three rooms, including a ballroom, banquet hall, library, conservatory, and several salons and spacious lounges. In addition to these, there were twelve bedrooms, Harry and Ginny's far and away the largest and grandest in the house. When all the children were home, four bedrooms were occupied with one room set aside for Mrs. Weasley should she wish to use it.

The remaining bedrooms were guest rooms.

Tonight, Harry chose the guest room closest to his personal study on the third floor. Carrying a toothbrush, razor, and towel, he let the water run in the washroom for several minutes, clearing out the pipes. Then, he went down to Lily's room to kiss her goodnight. She was far too consumed in recounting the match to notice the tension in her father's face. He kissed her pale cheek, promising to take her to Diagon Alley the next day to buy Falcon memorabilia before the national final.

Shutting the door to her room, he caught sight of Ginny. She spared him a glance before disappearing into their bedroom.

He thought of following her. He could try apologizing again, or tell her she was being ridiculous and insist on sleeping in his own bed.

But Harry returned to the guest room and, several minutes later, pried apart the bed's stiff, unused sheets and climbed inside.

"Nox," he mumbled, disliking the solitary timbre of his own voice.

Sleep would not come tonight, he was sure of it.

He could not escape the feeling that it was all going wrong. Not twenty-four hours ago, he had decided not to jeopardize his relationship with his wife, to hold himself distant from his best friend. His friend who did not reciprocate his feelings, who was taking the difficult and brave step of righting things with her husband.

In making that decision, Harry had felt a sense of security, like a lost traveler who finally recognizes the path home. Yet, here he was. He'd spent the entire day with Hermione and things with Ginny were worse than ever.

He stared at the pale strip of light underneath the door. It was far too quiet, the room far too cold.

He felt afraid.

It wasn't because he and Ginny had never slept apart before. They had. Five or six times in their marriage, Ginny had chucked him from their bedroom and, on one or two occasions, Harry himself had chosen to sleep elsewhere. Nor was it because Harry knew Ginny could hold powerful grudges or that he felt he was truly in the wrong about the opera.

No, it was something else-a fear that Harry could not, and had never been able, to put into words. Because this fear came from a time before words, before thought. It was his first memory. In some ways, it was the most powerful memory he had. A primal, instinctual terror that defined the first ten years of his life. A fear of abandonment, rejection, exclusion.

When the fear came to him-as it did now-it came like a thunderclap. A strange, cold panic laced with desperation and a bone-deep certainty of his own worthlessness. It was all encompassing. It blurred the barrier between reality and the mind so that the fear seemed to stretch on forever, without end.

It was not that Harry had a desperate need to be included, to be loved by everyone. It was not that at all. It was simply that without the relationships he currently had-his wife, his children, his friends-Harry was entirely sure he could not live, could not function, could not survive.