About Harry

Hermione

The kitchen is dark when I find myself in the fireplace, but I can see light coming from the living room. I rush there my heart still pumping furiously for the exchange with Ron. There is not turning back now. My mind is reeling with too many thoughts, plans, schemes I need to adopt as soon as possible. Shall I go to Hogwarts to make sure he won't try to take Rose away or it's better to return to Romania for Hugo? Shall I inform the Burrow? Shall I inform McGonagall? Yes, surely, I need to send her a note but with what owl? There is not one in this house.

All these frantic thoughts flash in my head in the seconds it takes me to get to the living room but once there, they melt away as if never existed.

Harry is sitting on the floor surrounded by family portraits, the drawer where they were hidden is open, empty. Fragments of glass are scattered everywhere, as all the frames have been shattered when, in his fury, he had shoved them away.

He must have cut himself because some of them have bloody fingerprints on it. He doesn't seem to mind, however. He is staring intently to one of them clenched in his hand. It's the one of him and Ginny that appeared front cover of Witch Weekly three years ago.

He is observing it eyes wide open, mouth half parted, passing his fingers lightly on it leaving a red mark on Ginny's white dress. I see tears sliding on his face. He hasn't even noticed my presence.

I call softly his name making him startle.

He tries to pronounce my name, but nothing comes out from his mouth. He gulps as tear after tear, one faster than the one before, race each other on his face. I'm stunned. I don't think I ever seen him crying before, not in the worst moments, nor when it would have been more than understandable. And this mark of sheer humanity touches me more than I can say.

I lunge forward throwing my arms around his neck, his body shaking by sobs as he let the picture fall on all the others on the rug.

'You are back' he manages to utter after a while.

'Yes, I'm back' I say kissing his wet cheek, the saltiness of his tears lingering on my lips.

'What about Ron?'

'We talked, and we agreed on me staying a bit longer'

There is no reason to distress him with the truth and is a mark of his affliction that he doesn't doubt my words. In his right mind he would never have bought it.

He only rests limply his head on my shoulder.

We stay locked in that embrace for a long time until I don't notice the cut on his fingers which I point out to him but I only get back an unconcerned stare that moves back on all the pictures surrounding us.

I should heal his cuts, but my wand is still at the cottage, in my haste I left it there. I ask Harry for his own, but he is lost in the perusal of pictures and doesn't seem to hear me so, shattered by his expression I take his injured hand to my mouth sucking the cuts one after the other to stop the bleeding, my eyes tearing up in the meanwhile.

He observes wearily, reclining his head on one side.

'I'm afraid, if you stay, I'm only gonna harm you'

I shake my head succeeding in a watery smile 'Don't worry about me. I'm fine'

He sweeps me up in his arms then, impetuously, kissing my head.

Lulling myself in that embrace I feel so well and secure I may fall asleep. Suddenly all the turmoil of the day events weighs on me and I feel overwhelmingly tired. But I don't allow myself to nod off. It's me that must comfort him not the other way around.