THAT SUMMER, Chapter 4
By Reija Linn
Bill
It was hard, returning to everyday life, but not as difficult as I'd imagined. The worst were the sympathetic looks people threw me all day, the 'feeling better?'s and 'I know it's hard, but's. At least the Goblins were okay. They didn't care much one way or the other, they never asked questions, and they surely never dealt out compassion.
And at least, the work kept my mind off things at least for a while everyday.
My life soon seemed to go along it's usual lines, except for my own knowledge of the events, and of course, Harry's presence in my flat, cherished for the company in this hard time, someone who would not be simply sympathetic, but who knew and shared the pain. Yet at the same time a constant reminder.
But all in all, his presence was for the better... I don't think I would have caught myself so quickly if I had been left to my own devices. Probably would have drowned in self-pity for weeks and months. Percy and I exchanged owls as often as we could, considering the harsh borders that had now been drawn up around Britain - many letters never reached their destiny, and we had to phrase very carefully what we wrote each other, for one thing so that the guards would know it wasn't some secret message between Voldemort-supporters, and for the other so that if the letters fell into the hands of the Dark Side, no information could be conveyed.
Mum was improving further, though very slowly, and Percy was doing his best to further actions against the Dark Side, though there was little he could do without more support from other members of the ministry.
Charlie and I also exchanged owls, and those could be written by far more easily, since post between Egypt and Rumania hardly meant any risk at all.
The twins were recovering remarkably from the shock, though they were as shocked and grieved as any of us, they found it by far more easy to find comfort - after all, they always had each other. Charlie never told too much of his own feelings, as he never did in letters, but I understood his subtext, and it made us bond closer than we had in years.
As to Ginny - she was probably the most affected of us all. After all, she's the youngest, and she hadn't dealt with anything of the kind before. We'd considered taking her off the school after her class teacher had told us about her refusal to eat properly, and after one occurrence during which she was brought to the hospital wing with acute alcohol poisoning, but when we suggested this to her, she refused outright. We could have made her leave - after all, Charlie and I were her legal guardians for the time being - but we thought it to be quite counter-productive. And at least she got some support from her boyfriend Pierre - a half-orphan, who at least knew a little of how to help her through this all. Though she refused to speak to us at all through owl or any other way except for telling us to leave her alone.
Harry was coping as best he could, as was I, and we actually shocked each other the first time we found we could, even if only for a short time, still laugh at some joke or funny situation.
So, except for Ginny, we were all improving with time, though Harry and I still shared a bed at night.
Sometimes, I felt guilty about this. After all, I was thirteen years older than him, and to top this the elder brother of his dead boyfriend. I felt I should have been stronger, should have offered consolation but not require it - but deep in my heart I understood it could only be this way and no other. We could only help each other by admitting we both felt pain, and not let it drift into one direction or the other. Harry would never accept comfort from anyone, unless he were in the same boat with them, and as to me... well, as the oldest in a large family, you weren't exactly used to be the one receiving, but that didn't mean you didn't need it from time to time, especially in such painful matters as this was.
Considering what later became of our situation, many people would accuse me of taking advantage of Harry, but we both know it wasn't like that. We just needed to hold on to something, to someone, had to feel there was still someone there, someone alive. Someone we held responsibility for, and that, too, was true in both directions. I guess you're always stronger when there's someone in need of you than you are on your own.
Another thing; at that time, I saw in Harry not more or less than a sibling, something between a brother and a close friend. Our sharing a bed was as natural, and as harmless as could be, the giving and taking of consolation, the feeling of holding the other if he was having a nightmare or a flashback or was simple mourning, and the feeling of being hold if you were the one who needed it.
I guess I've never felt as close to anyone, except for my own family, as I felt for Harry, though.
And the most important thing of all was, that we could talk. I remember one night clearly, when I was shaken to awareness by Harry, and felt tears on my own cheeks, though I couldn't remember crying them.
"It's alright, Bill," he soothed me then, "you were having a nightmare."
We lay awake for a long time, breathing deeply as to act as if sleeping, though both of us knew the other was still awake, without even looking to see each other's eyes - we both had them open.
It was Harry who broke the silence. "Bill?" I only nodded in response, but knew he would feel the motion, if not see it. "Bill, who is Tina? It's just, you were calling that name in your... in your dream."
I admit I played with the thought of lying for a second - but not longer. "Tina was my sister. She died when I nine years old, in an attack on our house. During Voldemort's last reign. In a fire. She was only four years old. I don't even really remember how she looked, and there are no photographs left of her... but I remember the sound of her laughter."
We lay silent again for a long time after that, in mutual embrace.
"The worst," I suddenly said, "is not remembering. Not remembering a person, once dear to you, your own sister, in every aspect. It's as if her life had just been wiped from this planet, with no traces left except for the feeble memories of the child you once were. The worst is being able to say her name without feeling the pain, knowing you've healed, knowing this is good, yet feeling guilty about it. I'm afraid, afraid that one day, though my memory will not fade as a child's, one day I'll be able to say their names and not feel the stab of pain. I'm afraid I'll one day stop remembering this day as vividly, and see it only as a memory. I don't like feeling hurt, but I can't imagine living without a thousand needles in my chest anymore, and I don't know if I want to. Loose this hurt. Loose this anger."
"You won't. Neither of us will. It will just... change, that is all. Transform from fresh pain into mourning, from mourning into grief. And from destructing grief to accepting grief. We won't forget who they were, or what they were like. Ever."
And I knew that he was right. Who ever had given this child so much wisdom? Ah, but I had long stopped to think of Harry as a child. After sharing so much, we were equals in every aspect, despite the thirteen years between us in age. And I realized that, though we had before only met on few occasions, Harry had always been ahead of his years. How much pain did one have to experience, to grow old so fast?
I remembered meeting Harry for the first time when he was fourteen, at my parent's house. And how much he had reminded me of myself at that age. I, too, had been ahead of my years then, after Tina's death and all our family had went through at the time. My parents had even sent me to counseling because of this. The therapist had called it a 'normal reaction'.
Harry and I had talked about his time with his Muggle aunt and uncle, and I couldn't imagine what that must have felt like to a child, to grow up like that. Sure, we had tragedy in our family, but at least we had always had each other, and the love we shared. Harry had never experienced love in all the time he lived with those Muggles, and I was truly amazed at how such a compassionate and caring person could have yet been the outcome of this sort of upbringing. Shouldn't he be full of hatred, and mistrust towards the world?
Yet he lay there in my arms, allowing himself to be held, and allowing to hold someone, despite the vulnerability this sort of trust could always mean.
Over the years, I've never accepted much comfort from anyone, part of it certainly because of being the oldest of my siblings. But at least I had always known of the possibility to turn to someone, should I need it.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, on the other hand, knew what utter loneliness was.
And in a fierce fit of protectiveness, I swore in that night that he would never have to feel this loneliness in his life again.
By Reija Linn
Bill
It was hard, returning to everyday life, but not as difficult as I'd imagined. The worst were the sympathetic looks people threw me all day, the 'feeling better?'s and 'I know it's hard, but's. At least the Goblins were okay. They didn't care much one way or the other, they never asked questions, and they surely never dealt out compassion.
And at least, the work kept my mind off things at least for a while everyday.
My life soon seemed to go along it's usual lines, except for my own knowledge of the events, and of course, Harry's presence in my flat, cherished for the company in this hard time, someone who would not be simply sympathetic, but who knew and shared the pain. Yet at the same time a constant reminder.
But all in all, his presence was for the better... I don't think I would have caught myself so quickly if I had been left to my own devices. Probably would have drowned in self-pity for weeks and months. Percy and I exchanged owls as often as we could, considering the harsh borders that had now been drawn up around Britain - many letters never reached their destiny, and we had to phrase very carefully what we wrote each other, for one thing so that the guards would know it wasn't some secret message between Voldemort-supporters, and for the other so that if the letters fell into the hands of the Dark Side, no information could be conveyed.
Mum was improving further, though very slowly, and Percy was doing his best to further actions against the Dark Side, though there was little he could do without more support from other members of the ministry.
Charlie and I also exchanged owls, and those could be written by far more easily, since post between Egypt and Rumania hardly meant any risk at all.
The twins were recovering remarkably from the shock, though they were as shocked and grieved as any of us, they found it by far more easy to find comfort - after all, they always had each other. Charlie never told too much of his own feelings, as he never did in letters, but I understood his subtext, and it made us bond closer than we had in years.
As to Ginny - she was probably the most affected of us all. After all, she's the youngest, and she hadn't dealt with anything of the kind before. We'd considered taking her off the school after her class teacher had told us about her refusal to eat properly, and after one occurrence during which she was brought to the hospital wing with acute alcohol poisoning, but when we suggested this to her, she refused outright. We could have made her leave - after all, Charlie and I were her legal guardians for the time being - but we thought it to be quite counter-productive. And at least she got some support from her boyfriend Pierre - a half-orphan, who at least knew a little of how to help her through this all. Though she refused to speak to us at all through owl or any other way except for telling us to leave her alone.
Harry was coping as best he could, as was I, and we actually shocked each other the first time we found we could, even if only for a short time, still laugh at some joke or funny situation.
So, except for Ginny, we were all improving with time, though Harry and I still shared a bed at night.
Sometimes, I felt guilty about this. After all, I was thirteen years older than him, and to top this the elder brother of his dead boyfriend. I felt I should have been stronger, should have offered consolation but not require it - but deep in my heart I understood it could only be this way and no other. We could only help each other by admitting we both felt pain, and not let it drift into one direction or the other. Harry would never accept comfort from anyone, unless he were in the same boat with them, and as to me... well, as the oldest in a large family, you weren't exactly used to be the one receiving, but that didn't mean you didn't need it from time to time, especially in such painful matters as this was.
Considering what later became of our situation, many people would accuse me of taking advantage of Harry, but we both know it wasn't like that. We just needed to hold on to something, to someone, had to feel there was still someone there, someone alive. Someone we held responsibility for, and that, too, was true in both directions. I guess you're always stronger when there's someone in need of you than you are on your own.
Another thing; at that time, I saw in Harry not more or less than a sibling, something between a brother and a close friend. Our sharing a bed was as natural, and as harmless as could be, the giving and taking of consolation, the feeling of holding the other if he was having a nightmare or a flashback or was simple mourning, and the feeling of being hold if you were the one who needed it.
I guess I've never felt as close to anyone, except for my own family, as I felt for Harry, though.
And the most important thing of all was, that we could talk. I remember one night clearly, when I was shaken to awareness by Harry, and felt tears on my own cheeks, though I couldn't remember crying them.
"It's alright, Bill," he soothed me then, "you were having a nightmare."
We lay awake for a long time, breathing deeply as to act as if sleeping, though both of us knew the other was still awake, without even looking to see each other's eyes - we both had them open.
It was Harry who broke the silence. "Bill?" I only nodded in response, but knew he would feel the motion, if not see it. "Bill, who is Tina? It's just, you were calling that name in your... in your dream."
I admit I played with the thought of lying for a second - but not longer. "Tina was my sister. She died when I nine years old, in an attack on our house. During Voldemort's last reign. In a fire. She was only four years old. I don't even really remember how she looked, and there are no photographs left of her... but I remember the sound of her laughter."
We lay silent again for a long time after that, in mutual embrace.
"The worst," I suddenly said, "is not remembering. Not remembering a person, once dear to you, your own sister, in every aspect. It's as if her life had just been wiped from this planet, with no traces left except for the feeble memories of the child you once were. The worst is being able to say her name without feeling the pain, knowing you've healed, knowing this is good, yet feeling guilty about it. I'm afraid, afraid that one day, though my memory will not fade as a child's, one day I'll be able to say their names and not feel the stab of pain. I'm afraid I'll one day stop remembering this day as vividly, and see it only as a memory. I don't like feeling hurt, but I can't imagine living without a thousand needles in my chest anymore, and I don't know if I want to. Loose this hurt. Loose this anger."
"You won't. Neither of us will. It will just... change, that is all. Transform from fresh pain into mourning, from mourning into grief. And from destructing grief to accepting grief. We won't forget who they were, or what they were like. Ever."
And I knew that he was right. Who ever had given this child so much wisdom? Ah, but I had long stopped to think of Harry as a child. After sharing so much, we were equals in every aspect, despite the thirteen years between us in age. And I realized that, though we had before only met on few occasions, Harry had always been ahead of his years. How much pain did one have to experience, to grow old so fast?
I remembered meeting Harry for the first time when he was fourteen, at my parent's house. And how much he had reminded me of myself at that age. I, too, had been ahead of my years then, after Tina's death and all our family had went through at the time. My parents had even sent me to counseling because of this. The therapist had called it a 'normal reaction'.
Harry and I had talked about his time with his Muggle aunt and uncle, and I couldn't imagine what that must have felt like to a child, to grow up like that. Sure, we had tragedy in our family, but at least we had always had each other, and the love we shared. Harry had never experienced love in all the time he lived with those Muggles, and I was truly amazed at how such a compassionate and caring person could have yet been the outcome of this sort of upbringing. Shouldn't he be full of hatred, and mistrust towards the world?
Yet he lay there in my arms, allowing himself to be held, and allowing to hold someone, despite the vulnerability this sort of trust could always mean.
Over the years, I've never accepted much comfort from anyone, part of it certainly because of being the oldest of my siblings. But at least I had always known of the possibility to turn to someone, should I need it.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, on the other hand, knew what utter loneliness was.
And in a fierce fit of protectiveness, I swore in that night that he would never have to feel this loneliness in his life again.