About Harry

Chapter 15 - Don't touch me

When he woke up in the morning, for a fraction of a second, he was sure to be in his bed in London. But he wasn't. And the awareness of it came too soon.
The day before appeared in his mind with brutality.
Lily was dead and there was nothing he or anybody could do about it and never, as in that moment, he wished it could be possible to sleep forever. Never to wake up not have to face the reality threatening to overwhelm him.
Feeling too close to the border that separated him from a pit of desperation, he started to repeat in his mind like a mantra 'Do not think, do not think, do not think' and keeping it going started to dress. Some of his clothes had appeared out of nothing on his bed. Somebody must have been to his place to get them. They were formal muggle clothing. A white shirt, black trousers and black jacket. He didn't wear the tie. He hated to feel his neck constricted in what looked like a noose.
Ginny wasn't there. Her bed was unmade. Again, he was relieved. He didn't know what he could have told her, and wasn't ready for her tears that would remind him why they were there and not in London at home.
The light coming from the window told him that it was probably almost time to go. He was glad his mantra was working. He just felt very weary but nothing more.
Molly was serving breakfast to Albus, James and Ginny, her expression sombre. When she saw Harry, she addressed him a forced smile 'Good morning, Harry. Sit down to have some breakfast.'
'No, Molly, I'm not hungry. I will wait outside until it is time to go.' he replied.
Ginny didn't even turn; she was lost in her grief, a toast in her hand she wouldn't take to her mouth.
In front of her James looked at Harry for a moment and then quickly averted his eyes. He read in them something he had never seen there before when looking at him. Fear.
Harry wasn't too surprised by it. He had just seen his dad, who never and ever laid hand on them, beating a friend almost to death, his uncle. No wonder he was a little unsettled. He was probably discovering a whole new dad he didn't know the existence of.
Albus on the other side had eyes only for Ginny. He was observing her with a pitiful expression of longing, heartbroken to witness. His food lied untouched on his plate.
There weren't any tears from them, and Harry couldn't imagine what was passing in their heads. A quivering voice in his mind interrupted his mantra to remind him of his role as a father, he should have talked to them, comfort them. But how could he do that without admitting Lily's death? It was impossible. He had to focus on not thinking. He had to detach from anything it would take away his mind from it.
Therefore, before he could start to feel pity for the scene, he made for the outside. It was another gorgeous sunny day that didn't represent the hurricane that was devastating his family. A bird was chirping unconcerned with Lily's death and the chickens were pecking the ground without a worry in the world.
He sat on a fence looking without seeing, his mind blank, waiting.
When they got to the cemetery there was a small crowd, it was a wonder how in the space of a day all these people could have been informed. Luna was there, and Dean, and Seamus with their families. It was a long time since he'd seen them. Hermione was there with the kids, all his colleagues and all the Chudley Cannons team, Minerva McGonagall, Neville and many people he didn't recognise. The cemetery keeper had been confounded evidently. It didn't happen that often to see such a crowd in a small cemetery of the countryside.
Harry felt indifferent, he just hoped nobody would try to talk to him, he didn't want to acknowledge a single person.
They gathered around the hole in the earth. The coffin, so small, was suspended on it. It was a pang that threatened to destroy all the work he was doing not to face reality.
He looked in front of him without focusing on anything. He took a big breath and started the mantra again 'do not think, do not think, do not think' but it was getting so difficult with that small coffin in front of him.
Ginny's brothers made a semicircle around them like guardian angels. Charlie was there too, he realised it then. Molly was keeping Ginny in her arms both faces covered with tears. The boys were looking at the grave with a hollow expression; Albus clenching convulsively the end of Ginny's coat and James was standing behind, on Bill's side looking for the fatherly sustain that Harry was incapable of providing.
Then Harry's wandering eyes fell on a small photo posed on the coffin.
He didn't know who choose it, but he remembered that picture. It was him who took it.
They were in a park last summer; they brought a kite with them. It had been Harry's idea and the kids were all eager to try this unusual muggle toy. He had explained to Lily how to work it. She had started to run with the kite in her hand and when it took flight, she looked at him, radiant with joy at her success and he took the picture at that moment. She was laughing, her red hair full of sun moving against the wind and she was looking at him. Right at him and he knew it.
That was too much, he couldn't pretend not to see what was in front of him any longer.
He remembered her only two days before with her face and hands whitened by flour while making biscuits with Ginny, she was laughing then too. And he suddenly realised, at that precise moment, that never more he would hear her laugh, never more he could hug her, he would never hear the voice that would sooth him when he was troubled. She would never grow up to go to Hogwarts or become a woman. All her wishes and childish dreams would never be realised. And never, anymore, he would see her Lily again.
The monstrosity of the word 'never', that erected an insurmountable barrier in front of everything that was so dear to him, took possession of his mind. He felt like drowning in it.
Somebody had started to talk, saying something about tragedy but he couldn't hear or see properly, obfuscated by his own nerve-wracking reflections, his heart was pounding like mad in his chest 'I need to get away from here' he thought. He couldn't endure to hear empty words about tragedy, he wasn't ready to have to listen to all the people that afterward would have wanted to shake hands or say how sorry they were. They couldn't even imagine what was happening in him. What would he do with condolences?
He had to get away right then. He could feel his anger mounting at the injustice of this. He was powerless. There was absolutely nothing he could do to change the situation, and this incensed him still more. It was madness coming upon him. He felt like shouting, destroying things.
I must get away!
He had always known all his life to be hot tempered, that created him problems in the past. For that reason, growing, he had worked on it, finally managing to keep his anger down, not to let it run away with him. He would always try not to get upset because he knew how his hot temper was blinding and overwhelming once awakened. He would always try to avoid arguments and he was letting go of many things he didn't like because he didn't want that to happen.
But now it seemed he lost the ability. It didn't work anymore. He couldn't stop this feeling taking over.
He tried to command himself but in vain.
While the man was still blabbing nonsense about life and death, he leaned toward Ginny and he said between his teeth 'I must leave. Now.'
She turned at him in surprise, her face streaked with tears.
Harry saw her mouth forming a 'No' but at the verge of speaking it, she looked in his eyes, stopped in her track and nodded slowly.
He wasn't sure what she saw and he would have gone anyway no matter what she said. He wasn't asking her, only informing. And even that costed him much.
He turned around and quickly passed between the crowd that opened up for him. People were following him with their gaze but nobody tried to stop him. They saw in his face that it was unwise.
In a second, he was on the street and without knowledge of what he was doing, without pausing to check if muggles were passing by, he thought about home and disapparated.
A moment later he was in front of the door and almost put it down in his haste to get inside as if in it there could be something that could placate the rage he felt. There was nothing that could help him there, but everything to make it worst. Pictures staring from the walls, Lily's toys lying around, her room. He walked to the bathroom to escape all of it and opened the sink's tub. He splashed his face with icy cold water and paused there with his hands on it listening to the mad pounding of his rage. And then he slowly raised his eyes to the mirror. He saw his face, his expression heinous. He saw his eyes, there was only hatred in them.
He couldn't keep it in any longer.
With a cold fury he grasped something on the sink and smashed the mirror. Blood started to gush from cuts on his hand but the pain didn't manage to get to him. He went to the kitchen unsure of what he would do. It was there pounding stronger and stronger, he had to let it out at all cost.
As soon as he appeared in it, he heard a voice coming from Aunt Muriel's portrait 'How was the...'
He didn't let her finish. He didn't want to hear what was probably going to be a question about the funeral. That petulant voice set him off. It unleashed all the vicious energy he was trying to repress. He threw the first thing he could lay hand on against the portrait that fell on the floor with a thud.
And then it was havoc.
He lost control completely over himself. He didn't know what he was doing, he only knew that the fury that got hold of him the day before when beating Ron was back, ferocious and savage.
He took it out on anything was passing under his hands or feet. He smashed, crushed and wrecked whatever he could grasp. It was destruction. He was hurting himself; he was slightly aware of it. Some fingers had fractured but the fierceness in him was so strong it didn't leave space for any other sensation.
However, he received that gift of numbness with irritation; he longed to feel physical pain that could distract him from the mental one. He grabbed a piece of a broken glass from the floor and ripping the shirt's sleeve slashed his skin several times, but it wasn't helping, he could barely feel it.
Like an animal in a cage, he walked up and down. His head was in his hands and a roar erupted from it, it was like going crazy. There was no escape.
Then, still keeping his head in his hands, he sat in a corner.
The anger was there, edging everything. Ready to strike again. He didn't dare to move; it was a spring ready to dart. He didn't dare to move not to trigger himself.
It was impossible to know how long had passed. It could have been minutes or hours. He just knew that after a while, the door's lock clicked, and Ginny and the boys were in the house. He couldn't see them, but knew exactly what was happening. A sudden gasp: it was Ginny as she saw him. Instinctively she tried to stop the boys from coming forward to hide the sight from them, but it was too late. They stood transfixed in front of the kitchen taking in the devastation and he, wrecked and battered, was sitting in the middle of it. He heard Ginny tell the boys to go to their room.
She then ambled slowly toward him. 'Harry' she said tentatively. But she didn't have to touch him. He could feel the anger pounding, he didn't know what would have happened if she had touched him. Something unpleasant, he was sure of it. He had to warn her, he had to fight the monster raging in him to caution her. He tried to speak but just a low and aggressive growl came out from his mouth. Ginny recoiled frightened. 'Don't touch me' he snarled.
He had to protect his family from himself. He stood up in haste and ran from the house.