Chapter 34 - What do you want to do for your birthday?

'How was it?'

Ginny mumbled sleepily lifting her head from the pillow. She had been awakened by the beam of light coming from the corridor that Harry had turned on to prepare for the night. She had been already asleep for a few hours being quite late into the night.

'I'm knackered' he said turning off the light and throwing himself limply on the bed close to her 'and starving. I didn't get anything to eat since… I don't even remember when…'

'There are some leftovers in the kitchen…' she muttered with her eyes closed, reaching out tiringly to caress him, missing twice and finally founding his face.

'Too tired to eat'.

They had passed those hours sorting and piling books, not even one had been opened yet, the task was promising to be enormous and when their heads were starting to loll on their necks, they had call it a day but agreeing to meet early the next morning.

'How was your day?'

'Fine. Mum has been here. Rose is staying for the night. James hadn't been seen for the whole day, didn't open his mouth at dinner time.'

Harry nodded wearily, he wanted to talk a bit and cuddle her but before being able to do more than taking her hand, he was out like a light.

In the morning, sun light disturbed him from his sleep, then he heard birds singing. He frowned confused. There were no birds singing in central London. Usually, he would have been awakened up by cars rumbling in the street or trucks collecting the rubbish outside.

It took some moments to remember where he was and his task for the day. Sickness built up at the thought to rise from the bed. He felt dreadfully tired. He opened one eye and light coming from the window blinded him. He closed it immediately and palpated the bed around him to look for the duvet so to protect himself from the unforgiving brightness. It couldn't be found. It was all tangled under his feet. He grunted and slowly tried again to open his eyes.

The sight that met his gaze was endearing; outside a sunny morning was making his way, ivy was framing the window, some wilderness could be seen not far off, and a robin was pecking lazily on the windowsill. The sight helped him in reconciliating with the thought to wake up. He looked about the room, many Ron and Hermione's belonging were scattered all around. It felt bizarre being there. Only the day before they were sleeping in that bed, living in that house, on the bed side table there was even a book. He read the title "Treatise on the development of the wizarding community's healing techniques in relation of the influences of muggle's medical remedies" probably Hermione's. He opened it. Only one word out of ten was understandable. Surely Hermione's.

Ginny wasn't in bed; since the baby she had difficulties in sleeping well and, in the morning, she always woke up very early. He stretched luxuriously relishing in the freshness of the sheets; an intense day was waiting for him, but the tranquillity of the place channelled him in a good mood.

He found her in the living room, sitting on the rug, doing some stretching in the middle of a patch of light coming from the rising sun outside. He crawled to her and buried his head between her hair on the slope of her neck.

'Good morning baby…' he whispered.

''morning' she answered stretching her lean arms.

'How are you?'

'I'm fine; baby started kicking an hour ago and I couldn't sleep any longer. What about you?'

'I feel like a rag too much used… How come you always look so lovely in the morning, and I always look on the brink of an illness?' he said covering her soft skin with kisses.

She laughed softly 'Come on, do some stretching with me, you'll feel better afterward'

He joined her taking the chance to recount her about the previous day. He told her about the posters in the dormitory at which she laughed heartily but he recounted as well about the too many books to consult and the difficulties ahead.

She listened attentively and then kissed him 'I'm sure you'll manage, don't worry. And if you don't, we will find another solution'

She left him there finishing his workout and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. The physical exertion actually helped and when he joined her, he felt well awake and full of energies. They were eating in silence their porridge when she, not rising her eyes from her bowl, asked 'What do you want to do for your birthday? Shall I invite somebody over?'

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He was aware his birthday was coming near but he was trying to ignore the fact. It only meant that the day before would have been Lily's one and he was endeavouring with all his might not to think about it.

'Nope, I don't want to do anything' he answered flat gulping down the last mouthful of his meal.

He could sense Ginny's eyes on him. 'Harry…' she started in saying wavering. He interrupted her 'Ginny don't insist. I don't want to do anything, and I would be really grateful if that day and the day before you could leave me alone'

It was harsh and unfeeling; that day was going to be as painful to him as to her, but he was egoistic in his grief. Scared of his own emotions and the effect that they had on him.

'And since we are on it' he continued 'I would also appreciate if you'd tell everybody else to leave me alone likewise. I don't want surprises, presents, cards or anything' and while saying the word "present" a childish voice resounded in his ears as if she was close to him "We can be each other's present" and a disrupting pain overcame him, it was mental but also almost physical, an ache in his chest that threatened a break down. It could be checked only through anger; it was the only way he had to deal with it.

He got up and cleared his plate, Ginny followed him with her gaze without uttering a word.

He clenched the edge of the sink, trying to repress all those feelings, to push them down again where it was safe to keep them. It was difficult though, they wrestled against him.

Ginny stood up too, approached him and he had to fight not to utter any of those sentences pronounced in those days after Lily's death. He wanted to warn her not to touch him but at the same time he didn't want to scare her saying something that could remind her of what he had been capable of.

Therefore, he allowed her hand to rest on his back, but it wasn't soothing or comforting as she intended it to be, nor able to inspire any complicity between them for that sorrow that united them. It only irritated him.

'I gotta go' he said in the end.

And he left the room hastily, leaving her alone in the kitchen, alone with her sorrow, immersed in the morning light.