Most of the time, he lifts me up. He makes me feel so high I feel like I'm flying in a cloudless blue sky, without the aid of a broomstick, hands outstretched, whooping aloud with joy. Exhilarating. There is that giddy feeling that makes me want to skip or run or shout or laugh aloud or cry.

Sometimes he makes me fall. From my perch so high he suddenly lets go. I fall and feel the wind, my breath leaving me. I am left gasping in fear, uncertainty, sadness. I feel bereft, empty. Those times I want to cry, rage. I want to shout at him, make him feel how he makes me feel. Hurt him in any way I can. To make him hit the ground. To break him as I am broken. To make him bleed.

But he catches me. A few inches before I hit the ground, he catches me. I'm winded by the fall, gasping in fear, but his arms steady me. His arms ease the uncertainty, the sadness.

And I am lifted up again.

Harry.

I love you.

I watch him fly. Arms outstretched, glee clearly written in his face. Like a child who gets his favorite toy at Christmas, or gets his dearest wish fulfilled. He laughs aloud, but silently. He turns his gaze at me, and I fly with him. I fly with him, higher and higher we go. And it is when we fly together that I drown in him. I drown in his smile, his voice, his laughter. I drown in every inhaled breath and expelled sigh. I drown in his movements, his comfort. In his contentment. His happiness.

I drown in him.

Sometimes I unintentionally cause him to fall. An unspoken reassurance. A spoken hurt. An ungiven smile. And I watch him crumble, fall. I see his mouth form a tight line, lips thin, keeping back the words that I know he wants to throw at me, to hurt me back, to make me bleed.

But I catch him. I run and I catch him. I whisper, silently, 'I feel your pain'. I take in his gasps of pain, of fear, of uncertainty. I drink it all and make it my own. I struggle to make him feel that I am there.

I love you, Ron. I will fly with you as far as forever.

Let us fly together as far as forever.