About Harry

Hermione

I decide that if I must stop to sleep in the same bed as him, I may as well as do it now. But with such heavy heart I take that decision.

I ought to make myself violence to go up that flight of stairs thinking that I'm letting go of the only opportunity in my life to savour the joy of tenderness and sharing and that it will never happen again once home.

I'll return to Ron's coldness and lack of attention, to a loneliness of mind and spirit.

When I lay in James' bed I feel as forlorn as ever in my life. Never felt lonelier and more dejected knowing he is there so close to me but so far, unreachable.

It's the same as, when Ginny was alive, I slept over here, in the same bed, with almost the same feelings.

I knew he was there; I knew he was hugging Ginny; I knew they would kiss and perhaps make love and it was torturing. Every time I felt shattering, but I would accept when asked anyway with a masochistic joy, contenting myself of the crumbles, of everything I could get. The chats before going to bed (Ginny was always going much sooner than us), seeing him in the morning all sleepy smiling at me, he who made me a coffee and drinking it together sharing the same newspaper, so close our arms were brushing.

I have always been such a fool. A hopeless fool.

The worst pang of sufferance in my life I had it because of him like all the ephemeral and dim joys.

And now I'm lying here, and I don't know if I was suffering more then, knowing he was just a room away and I couldn't have him, or now that he is just downstair and I could have him, but I must not.

I feel so miserable I cannot hold back my tears and I can barely keep myself from whimpering.

I don't know how long I spend there trying unsuccessfully to stifle my sobbing. I only know that after a while Harry is in the room looking at me crouched on myself.

He doesn't say anything, he slips under the duvet close to me in a bed that is barely big enough for one and he holds me tightly. I really broke down then in painful sobs because I love him so much it tears me apart, because I love being in his arms and it feels perfect, it feels right and it's neither perfect nor right and I don't want to return to Ron, I want to stay here in his arms forever. I want him never to wake up from his delusion so I can indulge in mine, and we can enjoy this perfect moment where I can love him, and he is barely aware that he never really loved me.

And he shushes me and kiss my head. He doesn't ask me the reason of my distress and, eventually, lulled by the warmth of his body, consoled by the gentleness of his caresses, I must have fallen asleep in his embrace because when I wake up in the morning I'm still there, all the sufferance of the night magically gone as if never existed.

Ted, you are asking the impossible from me. I want to drink from this cup until the last drop.