Chapter 4 – The child of violence

When Ginny found out to be pregnant, she was scared by his possible reaction.

They hadn't tried for any of their kids, all fruits of carelessness. James because of their youth's impetuosity and passion, Albus a mistake in contraception, Lily because they were drunk.

For that reason, Ginny was in big distress when having to announce a new one. He had shown to be capable of being violent and unpredictable and despite, after what he had done to her, she had never mentioned it again, Harry was sure to have inflicted a wound and wasn't sure whether it had healed.

However, he had been delighted in finding out. He was in a frame of mind that welcomed the idea of having a little human being to occupy their now empty house and to love.

He was moreover thirty-five. Definitely more mature than when the boys were born; he had learned from his parenting mistakes, and he was sure he was going to be a much better father than what he had been for Albus and James. He had been a better father for Lily already.

It was also true that he had been inexcusably mindless about birth control. Leaving the whole responsibility to her. He knew of this flaw of his, that's why despite not being happy about the pregnancies he hadn't blamed them on her but only on himself and for the present one even less so. He realised well enough the disarray of emotions she went through, and he didn't think, not even for a moment, to reproach her, quite the opposite; he had been happy, for a change, about his carelessness.

He had never stopped reflecting on when it happened. Blinded by sorrow and in need to cast it away they made love many times once James and Albus had left for Hogwarts. It could have been any of those bittersweet encounters.

He was still in the dark when an afternoon was eating an apple in the kitchen while Ginny was preparing a tart. His gaze fell on some St. Mungo's papers about her pregnancy. He started to peruse them not having anything better to do and his attention was caught by the possible date of conception. The twenty-eighth of December. He frowned. He didn't remember anything about that day. He could picture clearly the night of the thirty-first and the following but not the twenty-eighth.

'Ginny, why at St. Mungo's they wrote as a day of conception the twenty-eighth? It cannot be right.' He asked still trying to figure it out.

He glimpsed an unvoluntary stiffening but she turned to him smiling serenely taking away the paper from his hand.

'They must have been wrong' she said closing the document in a drawer and returning to her tart.

But her reaction had tipped Harry off. He started to reflect on the possible meaning of it. The twenty-eighth, only three days after Christmas. He was probably still deranged by Lily's death. He had started to recover only when… and a horrible possibility appeared forcefully in his mind, the only possible explanation.

'They wrote it because you told them that was the date, didn't you?' he asked tentatively. He ought to enquire even if afraid of the possible answer, even if he would have preferred to be left in a comforting darkness. But once a doubt spread in a mind there is no stopping it, poisonous, it sneaks in any possible crevices rendering impossible to get back to that reassuring ignorance.

The reply didn't arrive, and it was, in itself, as good as an answer.

He stood up and approached her dazed, the doubt was transforming quickly in certainty, she kept looking studiously at the dough.

Another bad sign.

'Ginny, is it the twenty-eighth when I…?' he couldn't complete the question.

She didn't answer to this one either.

Horror flowed in Harry's mind; he felt all the blood leaving his body.

'Are you telling me that you got pregnant that time?' he asked aghast.

He felt immediately sick. This baby that had brought so much joy and happiness in the family was the product of his violence and brutality. It was a nightmarish thought. How could he look at it once born without being reminded of his fault? It was the product of the worst of himself.

Ginny kept kneading, not looking at him 'Harry, it doesn't matter…'

'It does matter!' he replied, 'It does matter to me!' he spun her around to face him 'Was it that day?'

She shrugged him off without replying.

'It is…' he whispered 'Oh god…' he was too horrified to say anything else.

The thought that saved him from dejection just four months before was turning against him.

He felt all this disgust over himself growing and in a fit, to vent it out, punched hard the kitchen door.

Ginny, who was giving him her back, jumped in fright just hearing the noise 'What the ….!' she exclaimed in a shrill, and seeing Harry in front of the door, now with a round gap in it, she left the counter hastily to go toward him 'Harry for heaven's sake! What have you done?!'

After the first moment, when the numbing rage was still in him, had passed, he took his pulsing fist in his hand and roared in pain.

Ginny took it to have a look 'You have broken something surely! I'm not sure I can fix this!' she said in agitation making appear some ice from nowhere 'Of all the stupid things…' she mumbled wrapping it in a cloth shoving it into Harry's uninjured hand 'Keep this on and go to the living room! I'll try to see if Ted can come here.' She said severely rummaging in the floopowder vase and muttering under her breath.

Harry mechanically took the cloth put it on his fist and walked to the living room. He was barely connecting to what was happening around him. He sat down. He stood up. He walked about the room to try to calm down. He then sat down again to contain the sudden impulse of destroying every piece of furniture in the living room. But then he bolted up again, unable to stay still and walked about the room some more, his hand hurting and dark thoughts spinning in his head.

This baby is going to be my reproach. My punishment.

He was dazed by this revelation and couldn't overcome the loath he felt over himself. He had tried to forget about those ghastly days following Lily's death and it had been even too easy. He wanted to forget. Ginny wanted him to forget but now he realised that it wasn't fair. He had hurt her and couldn't just ignore it as nothing ever happened. He deserved this punishment, he deserved to be unhappy.

He was barely aware of Ted appearing in the room. He had been at home when Ginny had called on him and he had hastened there by floopowder. He was wearing a blinding outfit: a white baggy t-shirt had taken the place of the wintery sweater, discoloured ripped jeans very fitting on his skinny legs, he was bare feet, his hair was of his customary pure white and his eyes, staring concerned at him, ice blue.

Ginny was behind him explaining the situation 'He punched the door and I think something broke'

Ted looked behind his shoulders at the gap in the door 'I see…' he just mumbled moving his gaze from it to Harry that was still pacing the room rigid, his brows knitted so much they were almost touching.

'Ok Ginny, if you want to mend the door and carry on with your tart, I'll mend…' he halted as Harry had just roared and punched the air in front of him 'his hand…' he concluded clearing his throat.

Ginny eyed Harry one more time undecided but seeing Ted's steadfast face, she nodded and got back in the kitchen.

Ted closed the door and sat on the windowsill not paying any attention to Harry, staring at the cloudy day outside.

Harry repaid the inattention with the same inattention but while on one side there was nothing but peace of mind, on the other there was a bundle of nerves. Gloom was hovering over his head. He still paced the room two or three times in the same rigidity and then, eventually, by degrees he grew calmer, his muscles loosened up and sat down limply staring at Ted who hadn't moved.

Sensing Harry's stare and mood change he jumped down from the windowsill 'Let me see your hand' he addressed him.

The ice was melting; the cloth was sopped and dripping on the carpet where a puddle was slowly forming. The skin of his fist was red, and scratched in places. The ice had numbed the pain but not the unpleasant pulsing. He extended it, and Ted palpated it lightly with his long and tapering fingers.

'I'm sure it's not that bad…' he said looking studiously in his eyes.

'It is bad, Ted.' None of the two was talking about the hand.

'It's not.' He replied reassuringly taking the wand from his pocket 'Episkey' he murmured taping lightly on Harry's knuckles. A small 'crack' followed by a pinch succeeded the incantation, and his hand was as good as new. He opened and closed it 'Thank you...' he said absent minded still enveloped in his own uneasiness.

'No problem' He sat back on the windowsill returning to stare outside in silence.

Harry was looking wistfully at his fist, healed but still red and scratched, his mind reeling obsessively.

'Do you think I am a bad person?' he asked in a low voice after some moments. The question had escaped him, and he wasn't even aware of having formulated it until it was out.

Ted looked at him shaking his head 'No, I don't think so'

Harry sighed 'I am, Ted… Everybody is convinced I'm such a hero but I'm an awful person really.'

'Why do you say so?'

Harry didn't answer, he felt like starting to pace the room again a couple of times but didn't move. He passed a hand behind his neck massaging it; he felt all his muscles stiff.

'Is it regarding the baby?' Ted asked.

Harry couldn't bear to sit still any longer. He stood up and walked to the fireplace notwithstanding there wasn't any fire in it being summer, he faced it to avoid looking at Ted behind him.

'Or is it Ginny?' Ted asked again.

Harry put his hands on the fireplace frame staring fixedly in it.

'Perhaps both…' he had then stated under his voice.

'With all the fucking times we had sex why did it have to be that day?' He let himself slip angrily.

'What day?' Ted asked taken aback.

Harry sat down again, taking his head in his hands. Then he slumped against the back of the sofa, restless. 'Ted, we both very well know what I've done to Ginny…' he said feeling abhorred in admitting it aloud.

Ted didn't reply anything to this, his eyes clouded with the comprehension of what was bothering Harry. He sighed and looked again outside where an old man was taking a small pug for a walk. They could see him, but he couldn't see them protected by the Fidelius charm.

'I'm not fit to be a husband; I'm not fit to be a father. I'm not even fit to be a friend! I just hurt people around me. And this baby will remind me of this until I die.'

'Harry, it isn't true… It doesn't matter how it has been conceived…'

Harry interrupted him upset 'It does! It does! You have no idea what it was like!' he paused feeling revulsion in every fibre 'It was fierce and… heinous... I had all this hate inside me! I wanted to hurt her.' He was hesitant founding hard to pick the right words 'I reversed in her all of what is monstrous in me. This child is a child conceived in violence.'

'What happened next?'

'What do you mean? After?'

He had cried in pain and remorse. He didn't say it aloud. He didn't need to. Ted knew it.

'And what did Ginny do?' Ted asked as if he had spoken.

'She…' she had consoled him, she had forgiven and soothed him in his distress. He rubbed his face, his heart constricting remembering those moments.

'Why, do you think?' he asked again without waiting for the end of the sentence that would never have arrived.

Harry reflected on it, she had realised he was in pain, she had forgiven him that brutal act because she understood he wasn't in his right mind. Because she loved him. He didn't deserve it, but she did, nevertheless.

Ted observed him while he was thinking and then enquired again 'What did you feel then?'

He had felt remorse and a deep gratitude for this woman that despite having seen the worst of him, could still find the heart of loving him. It was true, he had done something horrible, but it had been followed by many good things. He had started to deal with his grief, he had been able to help Ginny with hers. And, despite everything, this pregnancy was indeed helping them both.

'You are judging this baby and all your relationship with her only by this act. But there is so much more. There are years before it. If she loves you, it's because you have earned it.'

What did I do to earn it?

Why did she love him? Would have she loved him anyway had he never been marked by Voldemort? He could remember a ten-year-old Ginny trying to get a glimpse of him on the platform. Would have she noticed him had he been just a normal boy?

Ted had moved his gaze again outside the window.

Harry let drop his head against the sofa and closed his eyes. Ted's words had touched a chord in him.

But there were so many doubts and insecurities crowding his mind.

What am I beside The-boy-who-lived?

Disturbing dream tonight.

We were in St. Mungo's. Ginny was having the baby. When the nurse took it to me it wasn't a normal baby. It was Voldemort before his resurrection, with red eyes and as repulsive as I can remember him. The nurse wanted me to hold it, but I couldn't, I was revolted. I told her, there was a mistake, it couldn't be my baby. She answered me that it was. It wasn't Ginny but it was mine. She said that it had my eyes. There was a mirror in the room, I looked myself in it and it was me but a different me. I was smiling malevolently. My expression heinous, demoniac. My eyes red.

Fear and disgust.

I woke up. I couldn't fall asleep again. Awake the whole night.

I didn't share it with Ginny. I didn't want to scare her.