About Harry

Hermione

He is not sleeping. I thought he was, but he is not. He keeps turning in bed chased by his own memories getting back one by one connected in an unbreakable chain. How much did he bring back to mind already?

At one point he sits bolt upright. I sit up close to him hugging my legs. The chilly air of the night on my naked skin makes me shiver, the only part that is not cold is the one that brushes against his warm body.

I let the silence suspended between us and then I look for his hand in the dark. On finding it I rest mine on the top of his.

'I have got two sons' he whispers 'James and Albus'

I answer in the affirmative getting closer.

'I had Lily, but I have another daughter too' I rest my head against him, and I put an arm around his shoulder.

'Sunrise. James chose the name. I call her something else though... A pet name... Siry!' he exclaims while I nod slowly, and I wonder how long it will take him to make that close connection that will bring him to Ginny.

The silence that follows leave me uneasy and I shiver even more under the chill and the dread for what is coming.

'You are not the mother of any of them, are you?' but he doesn't wait for my answer, he continues with his train of thought 'You are married to Ron, and you have got one... No, two children from him!' I nod keeping close to him.

'So then...'

I spun him toward me, and I hold him as tight as I possibly can until what I was dreading happens. All his body becomes suddenly rigid, and he gasps. I can see as though is happening in my head all is set going in his.

I see Ginny, with her red hair, her freckles, her almond golden eyes. I see her as a fifteen-year-old girl running in Harry's arms in our sixth year when the quidditch cup was won, I see them kissing. I see them together that summer night on the beach and I see them playing with Albus and James, I see them arguing and make up, I see them suffering together for Lily's death and recovering. I see her scolding him and I see him teasing her. I see her laughing, I see her angry and I see her crying.

It touches me so strikingly, I see her so vividly and yet I know that, nevertheless, what I see, and feel is just one hundredth of what he is seeing and feeling, and my chest goes up and down as I'm striving not to break down and Harry's head is rested on it, as he keeps hold of me as if I'm the only thing that can save him.

'Why?' and it's barely audible.

There is no answer to this question, and I don't try to give any; I know there is nothing I can do because what he is feeling now is what I felt for almost all my life watching him with Ginny. That desperate longing for somebody that you know it will never be yours. He had it and lost it and I never had it. He is alive but only to torture me with the notion of impossibility.

Is it not the same pain? Is it not the same feeling?

And he starts kissing my breast and his hands on my back moves lustily now, striving to banish that anguish through love making that characterised most of our intercourses, but I must stop him. We cannot allow ourselves to indulge in this contorted loop in which we are tangled any longer.

Therefore, I take his face and I move it away from me, but his mouth leaves my breast only to attack my neck attracting our bodies together.

I push him away gently keeping my hands firmly on his chest not to allow him to come any closer and I shake my head, my words chocked.

He looks at me, his face is illuminated from some light coming from the outside and I can see his desperate look, his face stricken in a tormented grimace.

And I know what he is asking me without speaking, he is begging me with those intense, vivid, green eyes to be Ginny, only for tonight, to help him to bear that loneliness and grief through love.

I understand all this from a look, I know that tonight it's the last time he will do so, because now he is not in denial anymore. He knows very well who I am, as I knows very well who he'll pretend me to be.

There is not forgetting unfortunately tonight. Everything is even too clear. A clearance that doesn't leave hope.

And I consent to play the part without denial on my part either, and I'll be good, I won't speak not to break the charm he is trying with all his might to create.

I drew away my hands giving him free rein to do whatever he wants with me, to use my body to gain some ephemeral solace.

It's sweet and it's sour. It's sweet because his hands on my body, his movements inside me, make me explode in an almost unbearable ecstasy and is sour because I won't sense this never more in my life. And I try to fight that pain constringing my chest to enjoy it.

Although, I must say, I cried the whole night.