I almost don't recognize the broken man before me. I received Harry's owl late last night, the messy scrawl inside informing me that Ginny had left him. The words were simple, unemotional, and that scared me more than anything. I packed a small bag and apparated to a nearby village first thing in the morning, renting a car to take me the rest of the way to his heavily warded home. When I arrived, the darkness and silence of the usually open house solidified my concern. I knew he loved her dearly, and I knew this wouldn't be easy. At my knock, the door opened to a hollow face and an almost inaudible "hello."
We've been sitting on the couch in a dark living room for almost twenty minutes now. I'd been met with silence and the barest of shrugs when I asked how he was, so I opted for lighter conversation, discussing recent editorials in the Prophet instead. If all he could handle was pretending it hadn't happened, I could oblige for now. He was mutely receiving my opinion on a particularly poorly-crafted potions essay when her patronus appeared, evidently having received instructions to come find me.
"We've broken up," her voice said through the blue mist. "Keep an eye on him, okay? I don't think he's taken it well." The creature faded into the darkness, and for a moment there was silence.
"That bitch!" he yelled, startling me with the sudden outburst. His hands had clenched into fists and his shoulders shook with what was either sorrow or rage. "How dare she tell someone else to care?! She doesn't get to…," his voice broke off with a sob. The strained pitch of his voice sounds completely unlike the baritone I'd come to recognize as distinctly Harry over the years. "She doesn't get to pretend to love me through someone else." His voice was almost impossible to hear now through the emotion he was trying to restrain. "She gave that up when she... when she left me." And the dam breaks.
I gather him into my arms, one of his shaking hands held firmly in mine and trapped between our chests as I hold him to me. Hot tears soak through my shirt, the thin cotton bloating with the salt of his agony.
"Oh honey," I coo, trying to shush the sobs that prevent him from breathing. My free hand rubs circles into his back as I drop a kiss on his shoulder. "Shh, it'll be okay," I assure him, not knowing with any certainty if I'm right. "Let go, Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere." My fingers are carding through his hair now, and I'm rocking us slowly the way I might do with a frightened child. And I realize in that moment that's what he is. He is so afraid of being alone. He is terrified of spending his life without the assurance that he is loved. It breaks my heart. He is shaking with the force of his tears, seeming almost oblivious to the fact that I am present. His head is on my shoulder, and I tilt my own to rest atop his.
"You are so loved, Harry," I whisper to him as he continues to choke on his sobs. What was emptiness before is turning to exhaustion, partly from the tears and partly from what I assume was a sleepless night. I lean back on the sofa, pulling him down with me so that he's lying with his head on my shoulder. I free the hand that was holding his and move it around his back to hold him to me. He clings to me, the tears and gasping sobs slowing down finally as he begins to lose his battle with fatigue. His body shifts quickly between tense emotion and bonelessness, back and forth as the last two days take their toll. "Sleep for a while," I tell him as I hold him. "I'll still be here when you wake up." I can feel him squeeze me in response, whether as a thank you or to reassure himself that I'm real, I can't be certain. I keep one hand firm around his shoulders while the other rubs up and down his back. He is still trembling.
Slowly, I feel him relax, and his breathing evens and slows. He is finally asleep after what feels like ages of emotional torment. Even in sleep, he looks older, as if the stress and heartache have stolen more than his happiness. And yet, he is so young in my arms, so easily hurt and with so much unseen to live for. With Harry asleep, I turn my thoughts to Ginny. Why? Why now, when they seemed so happy just days ago when I saw them together? And why did her patronus come to me and not Ron? I wonder if she understands the way I love him. It's not romantic, no, but I feel a kinship with him that goes beyond pure friendship or even familial love. He's my best friend, my dearest other half. Feeling his hand trembling in my grasp nearly broke my resolve to not cry in front of him. My sadness can wait. I'll be strong for him.
I again move to run my fingers through his hair, more to comfort myself at this point than anything else. He sighs in his sleep and shifts a little, and I wonder if he is thinking of her. Did she hold him like this? I'm struck by how angry that thought makes me. How could anyone know this man and not love him enough to keep him? How could she hold him as I do and still be able to break his heart like glass? My hold on him tightens subconsciously, and I force myself to relax. I will hear her side of things eventually, I'm sure. But for now, I'll be here when he wakes.