About Harry

Molly

Outside it is already dark, still very cold. I wish I could convince James and Albus to go the Burrow for the night, but I don't know if I'll manage to persuade them. They scarcely left the hospital since they got here from Hogwarts.
Arthur is surely to Ginny, and I must exert at least him to go home. He spends there the whole day and it is not good for him.
I ask James if he wants to accompany me to visit Ginny, he only darkens and doesn't even answer. He didn't come a single time. It pains me very much, but I understand, and I don't press him; he is not a child anymore who can be forced, he has a mind of his own. When he will feel he can do so, I'm sure he will. I'm only scared he will never feel to.
I'm going everyday despite my heart is torn every time, but Arthur needs my sustain and I want her to know we are not going to abandon her. Even if I'm not sure whether she knows. I dearly hope so.
I find Arthur sitting down, his eyes hollow. My poor husband... He waits for a miracle. We are surrounded by all the flowers he brought. The firsts are lifeless and dry by now, I remove them under his afflicted stare.
I sit down by his side, and I pin him in my arms as tight as I possibly can. We leave ourselves slide in hushed tears. His body feels so old and fragile against mine, quivered by sobs, weakened by sorrow. How far it seems when quite young he, whistling, was sorting out materials to build a room for Ginny helped by Bill and Charlie, the beam on his face when talking to them, the love when he looked at me, when he looked at baby Ginevra in my arms. We were poor, but happy in our love.
I want to go back to that moment.
My poor baby, my poor girl.