It's so hot you're having trouble breathing. The air gets stuck in you throat and it doesn't get any better with you fumbling for the keys in you pocket. Finally you grasp them and let yourself into the coolness of the hall.
"Harry?" you call out. You've been working late and he should be home by now, really.
"I'm here", he answers softly from the living room. You step out of your shoes and untie your tie. With a flick of your wand you lower the temperature a couple of more degrees until you feel you can breathe freely again.
When you see him sitting on the couch you nearly drop your wand. Whether it's from shock or disappointment or worry or something else you don't know. He's wearing long sleeved. It's the middle of July and today is the hottest day of the year so far, and he's wearing long sleeved. It doesn't take a genius to get what he's been doing, and you can't help but feeling a bit disappointed. You really thought that last time was the last time. But then you always think that, though it doesn't mean you get less disappointed (or worried) when he does it again.
He knows you know and he's avoiding your eyes.
"I'm sorry", he says in a bare whisper, but since the flat is awfully quiet you hear him just as well as if he'd been screaming. You try and fail to suppress a sigh and you undo the top buttons of your shirt as you sit down beside him on the couch.
"Is it serious?" you ask. "You want me to take a look at it?" He shakes his head.
"'S not to bad this time", he mumbles. You know he's ashamed of himself for doing such things to his own body, and a tiny part of you feels sorry for him, although you don't really know why.
"Who was it this time?" you ask gently and caress his cheek. He leans into your touch and mumbles something you don't quite catch.
"Who?" It's always persons, never things, that makes him to this.
"You", he repeats. Your heart skips a beat.
"Me?" He nods.
"I fell asleep and I had a dream and you died and it was my fault and then I woke up screaming and I just had to do something before I went mad and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." He says it all in one breath and inhales deeply after he's finished.
You just hug him, because you can't think of anything else to do. It's the first time you're the object of these thoughtsdreams and you can't figure out whether to be offended or flattered. Though flattered is probably not the idealistic word.
"I don't want you to die", he whispers. You dig your hand into his hair and press him closer to you.
"I'm not leaving", you say, for what feels like the thousand time. "And I'm not dying." You let the words sink in before you add "And I don't want you to die either, Harry."
"I know. I'm sorry", he says again and buries his face in you shirt.
"I know. Just… try not to do it again, will you?"
"I'll try."
You both know he'll be doing it again and it scares you to death. You nearly laugh at the irony that you had thought when the war was over that you wouldn't need to worry so much anymore. How wrong you were. You've never been any more worried in your life than this past year. But you love him and he needs you so you won't leave. You stay, and you won't die.
Not until he does, anyway.