About Harry

Hermione

When I'm on the threshold a sense of foreboding embroils me, my hands shake so I have troubles in opening the door.

It's late afternoon and the light is getting fainter. Inside, the house is in semi darkness, nobody (and with nobody I mean Harry) has been bothered to switch on the light.

My steps light, I cross the corridor, that sense of foreboding heightening with every step. I'd like to call him, but I know my voice wouldn't come out steady if at all.

I peer in the living room sure I won't find him there, but he is there.

An intense sense of relief washes over me in seeing him quite well, but only for a second, until I realise that he is in exactly the same position as I left him in the afternoon. Exactly the same position of the morning. He is sitting on the windowsill looking outside since 9 o'clock this morning!

This is a bit alarming.

I call his name softly and he turns to look at me, his expression unreadable.

I take off my jacket and sit in front of him 'Are you ok?' I ask at which he only nods bringing back his gaze outside.

'What did you do while I was out?'

He shrugs his shoulders.

'Did you do your workout?'

He shakes his head.

'Why?'

He moves his eyes back to me

'What's the point?' he mutters darkly.

'It is what you do. You do it every day. Why not today?'

'I've always done it for my job and for my wife. Now I haven't got a job and I haven't got a wife. What's the point?'

'Harry, you must do it for yourself. Come on! Do it now while I prepare dinner'

'I'm not hungry'

'You didn't eat anything for lunch and barely something for breakfast...'

'I'm not hungry'

I sigh rubbing his arm comfortingly, but he doesn't react in any way thereby I leave him be, going to eat something alone, or at least I try. Knowing him there in that dejected state of mind, I barely manage to swallow three mouthfuls. When I'm done, I grasp an orange and I sit on the windowsill in front of him starting to talk. I only chat about my day, about my parents, about Rose. But I talk, to keep him company and to distract him. I peel my orange in the meanwhile offering him the wedges. He takes them absent minded and bring them to his mouth. After some time while I'm talking about the last letter I received from Rose, not really sure if he listening to me or not, he asks if she mentioned Albus at all in her letter. I'm glad to hear this question that not only mark that he is listening to me but also that he is concerned about his son. She actually did mention him. To be truly honest he was the chief of her letter.

But the subject is spiky. She got into her head to be in love with the boy, she confided me that much over Christmas. I tried to make her see reason but in vain. She says that he is the only man (yes, she said man; I'm quoting) she can or will ever love.

The boy is cute having inherited Harry's eyes and all what best of the Weasley family, and he is very equilibrated and mature for his age. If she would have fallen for James... well, that would have given me some worries. He is surely dashing and charismatic, but he is much more impetuous and belligerent. However, opposite to him, Albus is a sweetheart. Yet they are cousin after all, they spent all their childhood together, they never really hang out with anybody else. I think she should have experiences with some other guys and not focalise so much over him. I've done that mistake; I know what it leads to.

The situation after Ginny's accident is getting rather complicated. Rose wrote me that Ron keeps sending her letters with "advice" to distance herself from him and she is distraught. She loves Ron and is not a kind of girl who usually disobey but at the same time she loves Albus with the strength of first teenage infatuation. Therefore, she is torn.

I'm going to strangle Ron as soon as I get back.

Anyway, it doesn't seem the moment to avow that much to Harry so I just answer cheerfully that albeit not being in the best of spirit, he is doing fine, trying to keep himself busy with quidditch.

'Why don't you write to him? I'm sure he would be happy'

I see him hesitant 'What should I write?'

'Ask him how he is, tell him how you are'

He doesn't answer, but I won't let the matter drop. This is too important. He needs to keep a bond with his sons. I take quill and parchment and I return on the windowsill.

'I'll write for you. Tell me what to put down'

I wait expectant but nothing comes from him, I prod him 'Come on Harry. This is important. And I warn you I'm not going to leave you alone until we manage to write a letter to both your sons. I'm gonna badger you the whole night if necessary'

He smiles shaking his head 'I'm sure you would' he pipes out and I'm so happy to see that smile there that I almost weep. I know, I'm such a cry baby. But usually I'm not, I promise, it's only this situation that makes me tearful.

'Ok, all right.' He adds purposeful and he dictate me two letters, one for each. Two normal letters from a man to a boy. And I'm sure Albus will be very pleased, and James will scorn the letter and probably won't answer it. Something must be done. This resentment from his part is wrong and harmful to both.

When we are done, I put a spell on it to forge his calligraphy at which he smirks amused 'Why didn't you do it while at Hogwarts? You would have saved me a lot of boring hours doing essay'

'You wouldn't have learned anything otherwise.'

I manage to make him eat a second orange and I keep him distracted with my petty talk until it is time to go to sleep. My efforts produced a slight change in his demeanour; a bit less of a gloom and a bit more of the Harry I use to know. Not quite him but closer, and I know I took the right decision in staying. I must not leave him alone; it doesn't do any good.

While he is in the bathroom getting ready for the night, I change the bed linen on the sofa to remove any sign of my presence and all my belonging are back in James' room where I'm going to sleep tonight.

Once it's all done, I take a book and I start to read in the kitchen to leave him the sole use of the living room as it should be.

Once out of the bathroom, I see him stopping on the threshold taken aback from the change. Then he slowly turns to look at me. His enquiring gaze rests on me for a long time and I feel his hesitation, I can almost sense his struggle. He wants to ask me to take everything back and sleep with him.

And the weak part of me he is begging for him to speak, to utter that request in front of which I won't have the strength to refuse and the sensible part of me is begging for him not to exactly for the same reason.

I don't dare looking up because his eyes have too much power over me and I don't want to lose control, so I stare at my page, all letters confused, blurred and the silence is so charged, I don't know for how long I'll stand it.

When he realises that I'm studiously avoiding his gaze, he bows his head and simply wish me good night to which I try to respond as cheerfully as I possibly can, feeling, in the meanwhile, my inside weeping in agony.

I'm very aware how difficult it will be for him tonight. It's the first night since Ginny death that he will sleep by himself, not stunned by potions, nor in company of a meaningless women, nor with me.

It's gonna be tough but nevertheless I'm here. In the same house. He is not alone, and I hope this is going to come as a comfort to him.