About Harry

Molly

It took me a while to convince Arthur to get going, he was keeping throwing glances behind his shoulders on the way back, almost if expecting, surely hoping, for a sign.
But she is smiling serenely totally unaware of our sufferance, and we must get used to the notion that this is the only expression in which we will ever see her from now on.
Albeit I preach well but I must struggle to follow my own predicament.
Hope is difficult to kill when you love somebody.
At the Burrow everything is quiet. Bill is at home with Fleur, I forced him to take an evening off. Between Gringotts and shifts at the hospital he has not a moment of repose, my poor boy.
He is of a great comfort to me, and I hope he gets the same from Fleur. It has been a shock for him to see Ginny when she has been brought to the hospital. He was the first to arrive when I called and was there when it happened.
Fleur and Hermione shared with me every task tirelessly and I can still see in Hermione's eyes the horror lingering for what she discovered in that room, the horror in front of the fear of being too late.
She is the one working the hardest. Harry and Ginny have always been her two best friends.
Far from condemn her zealous effort I comprehend it, but it also means that Ron is left to his own device, and he is not coping well. It has been a big blow to him.
He is closed in his old room basically since he got here. I wanted to go to him sooner, but I've been so busy I could hardly spare the time.
He is harbouring something ugly, and I'm determined to entreat for openness on his side.
I find him sitting on his bed in semi darkness, Hermione is at the hospital, she comes home only to sleep and sometime not even then.
I sit close to him, and I put a hand on his leg affectionately.
'Can you believe that while she was being tortured, I was swinging on the hammock looking at the sea?'
He says wistfully looking somewhere else. I lower my eyes sighing. The poor boy was only waiting for the chance to talk with somebody and I'm sorry it took me so long to give him the chance of confiding.
There were so many things and people to tend to. It seems as there has always been in my life something more pressing than tend to him.
'You couldn't know. Don't torment you with this'
But it's as though he didn't hear my answer.
'I was there, a building away, next door, dozing' he says darkly 'and she was being tortured by a mad man'
'It's not your fault' I say tightening my grip on his leg to mark my words, I don't want him to be carried away with these grim reflections.
'I know it's not' he says looking finally at me with those blue ice, the same shade of Arthur's.
On my adding something he precedes me 'It was Harry's'.
I'm so taken aback I don't know what to say for a moment 'It's not...' I stammer but he tails me off.
'He left her alone'
And those eyes become so dark albeit being so light they almost scare me. There is a hardness in them that wasn't there when he was a child, a bitterness, a dissatisfaction that grows with every passing year. And it has been worrying me for already some time.
'Ron, he was working, there was a breakout going on...' I try to say but he booms enraged
'This is not an excuse! Ginny had to be first! Not his sodding job! He left her alone! If he stayed on her side nothing of the kind would have happened!'
'That Dark wizard was deranged. He wanted Harry. He would have lured him out somehow. He would have gone for the boys or for Sunrise to lure him.' I say disconsolate and I shudder in thinking about us, with Sunrise here unprotected and what could have happened.
'But you see!' Ron exclaimed getting red and sprinting up going to the window 'It's his fault! In any case it would have been his fault! Our family really got the worst deal mingling with him! We had to distance ourselves from him! We had to understand he could only bring troubles!'
'This is unfair' I reply scandalized. The poor man hardly deserves this 'Harry has always been a good husband and a good father! He always put everybody's welfare before his own and you know this very well' I continue stern letting the last sentence coming out as a slight reproach.
But his vexation is uncheckable 'Why do you always defend him? Why does everybody always defend him???? After all what he has done! After all that he has failed to do!' he shouts upset.
And I think about what Hermione recounted me when she got the hospital, how Harry, massacred and wrecked, was shielding Ginny with his own body, I think about what the healer told me, all the Crucio he got, and I don't understand. Ron was there, he has seen it too, he had heard it too. Why doesn't he feel any pity as I do but only this utter out of place hate?
'Because he has always been a good man' I reply simply.
'I'm a good man too for Christ's sake!' he yells slamming his hands on the windowsill.
My heart is heavy hearing him utter this sentence that reveals so much. There, there is a world of meanings.
'I know you are.' I said patting the bed on my side inviting him to sit down close to me 'You are indeed a good man' I continue at him sitting, limp after the outburst, listening to me with cast eyes. I take my son's head, kissing the forehead of this man who for all his life felt not to be enough, always comparing himself with everybody else around him and suffering by his inability to be up to his personal expectation. It's our fault though. Nobody of us never succeeded in making him feel important.
And seeing him here alone, wrapped in his discomfort knowing where Hermione surely is not, I get a hunch of something else too that probably bothers him.
'You are a good husband too' I say softly.
He shakes his head and flop on himself, his head hanged, hair covering his face 'I'm not. I'm not a good husband'
'Of course, you are' I say sweetly encircling him with my arm.
'Mum, if I was, she would love me'
And the distress is so palpable, I know I hit a mark. He lets me hug him limply, his voice slightly chock.
'But she loves you' I say more to be of any reassurance than for conviction.
Hearing my words, he looks up at me and there, after the distress I see again the hardening 'We both know, she doesn't. And we both know who she always loved'
I falter under that gaze understanding his meaning. I would dearly love to disabuse him, to tell him that it's not true that he was the one preferred, but I always taught my children not to tell lies and I must abide to the same rule. Because it's incontrovertible, if she would love him, she would be here.
'I hate him' he says under his voice and then he closes his eyes, ever so slowly and his face crumple while he leaves himself go to grief.
I hold my dear boy in my arms trying to soothe all that ache.
The late traumatizing events are unleashing incomprehensible feelings. Because I know he doesn't hate him at all. He only hates the fact that he has always loved him really.
And I don't know why but I find myself thinking how, we, women, are considered the weaker sex. I never comprehended it unless only physical power is meant, because, in all my life, all the women I met, had an incredible force, boldness, and endurance I scarcely found in men. They may be stronger than us in day-to-day events but when things are really going down, they cling to us for strength, for reassurance, for consolation. And it's only thanks to us if they can handle what seems unbearable.
And this truth is strong with me while I lull my youngest son in his pain, is strong with me when I take Arthur's hand, is strong with me when I see Bill keeping hold of Fleur and it was strong with me watching Harry and Ginny together.
'I hate Harry' Ron repeats sobbing, still in my arms.
I don't know what to reply reflecting on the enormous shadow Harry has always unwarily and faultlessly projected on my boy. But then, I wonder, is there any point feeling all this bitterness now?