Chapter 39 - Men don't cry

The next day while at Hogwarts he was particularly surly and silent. Hemione knew the only reason of it was it's being the eve of Lily's birthday and didn't put too fine a point on it, deciding not to complain about his sharp answers and moodiness.
He had woken up in the morning troubled for the dream about Ron and it had been difficult to ignore that the dreaded day was coming unstoppably near.
The study had been incredibly smooth and productive only because he needed something to focus on to divert his mind from his dark thoughts. He didn't allow himself any pause or distraction until the evening not to let space for what was hanging over his head.
When Hermione bode him goodbye, he was stiff, all his muscles rigid in an effort to keep under control all was menacing to burst in him.
She hugged him but he didn't hug her back, the need of being left alone was starting to creep over him.
She asked him whether he had any intention of coming to the castle the next day and, for a moment, he had been tempted; it may have helped in keeping his mind busy but, at the same time, he was too afraid of his reaction in face of those fierce emotions he was sure to experience. Therefore, he refused mumbling unconvincing excuses.
'So, then, If I don't see you before the day after tomorrow Happy Birthday' she said with a half-smile kissing his cheek.
Happy birthday. Merry Christmas. All these positives' adjectives in front of events that were surely not going to be as such for him anymore.
His birthday had never been exactly fun for most of his life.
When he was a child the Dursleys never celebrate it, let alone mentioned it. He didn't even know when it was until his first year of primary school. The teacher had asked everybody in class the date of it to be recorded on the calendar and when his turn came, he hadn't been able to answer. He still remembered the distress of that moment when everybody sniggered at him. He had hoped to make some friends, but he had quickly understood that it was not going to be. His minuteness, together with glasses, disgraceful clothes and Dudley reign of terror rendered it impossible. And after that episode everybody started to think he was also dim witted or something. Even the teacher had smiled at him pitifully.
That afternoon he asked timidly to his aunt. She didn't answer, irritated every time by him asking questions but Harry felt it was a gap too big to ignore any longer and, in the end, after some coaxing, that costed him a few dinners and extra time closed in his closet, had obtained his answer.
He was aware nothing could be expected from them but, with a childish craving for love, he had hoped for something every year. A hope that, as foreseen, was always disappointed.
Accustomed in not receiving much, he would have been already happy with them acknowledging it.
But it had never been, and he had learned to harden against it, pretending not to care not to face how unhappy he felt.
When during his eleventh birthday Hagrid had stormed into the shack where they were hiding, bringing the truth and a good wish, it was the first time for him to hear it mentioned by somebody. First time he got a cake, first time he got a present. First time he found out somebody cared.
It had been his best birthday. And from then on it wasn't a dreaded moment anymore. When he had managed to spend it at Burrow had even been fun and when not, it was still nice to know that he had friends who remembered about it.
Although, it changed again when he moved in a place of his own before the Fidelius charm. Together with the 31st of October and the day of Voldemort defeat, his birthday became a bank holiday. That day was always, without exception, an inferno of owls dropping letters, presents accumulating in front of their doors, people coming and going wanting to make their best wishes. It had returned to be a dreaded event indeed. He had to flee from the house every time.
Only with the Fidelius charm and then Lily's birth he had really started to enjoy it again. But now was back to be dreaded and nothing could change it.
'Harry…'Hermione said, sensing his distress and rigidity.
'I'm ok' he answered hastily forcing a smile and caressing her. But it was only a way not to be consoled.
When at home, the gloom was hovering on the whole family. Albus was unusually silent and James, in a temper, was looking for every pretext to start a row. But Harry couldn't allow himself to be provoked in such a moment when he felt already on edge, therefore kept his silence and as soon it was possible looked for solitude. He would have gone in the garden to enjoy the greenery that had always the power to quieten him but unfortunately the pouring down rendered it impossible.
The bedroom was the only place left for him that could guarantee the peace he was looking for. However, when bedtime came, Ginny was there, reminding him that he wasn't the only one to suffer and underlining his inability to be of any comfort to her. He longed to sleep on the sofa far from her irksome presence, but he didn't want to pain her with an abandon. Consequently, he kept his place on his side of the bed all untangled in the effort of keeping everything scary and overwhelming down at the bottom of him.
Ginny tried to get close to comfort him and be comforted but that contact only exasperated him.
'Ginny don't take it bad. It is not as…' and he couldn't continue the sentence unwilling to refer to his behaviour after Christmas, he resumed 'Don't take it bad please. But I don't want to be touched. Leave me alone.'
He had said it. The same sentences he had used after Lily's funeral. Sentences that could only bring back the memory of something ugly. She flinched and, without adding another word, she turned from him crouching under the duvet.
And despite that was exactly what he wanted and despite it was he who had asked for it, he felt forlorn. Another bad feeling to add to the pile.
That night he didn't get a wink of sleep. He was afraid of closing his eyes. He felt too agitated, and he was sure to get horrible nightmares if looking for repose. Therefore, in the morning, when it came grey and dark, still full of rain, he was exactly in the same position as when he entered the bed.
He was exhausted but the irritation of spirit was keeping him from sleep.
Ginny was gone from the room without speaking as soon light had started to peer in, leaving him to his gloomy reflections.
He couldn't help to torture himself with the thought of what that day could have been if things on Christmas would have taken another turn. And it was maddening to think how little would have been necessary to spare his daughter's life. Him not going there certainly, but also going there half an hour sooner, or being a few steps closer, enough to push Lily out of the way, or a few steps back, a word more or a word less. Infinite possibilities in which Lily didn't need to die.
He found himself thinking at the mirror of Erised again and, for a moment, he was tempted to go and look for it at Hogwarts. But he had no clue of its hiding place. Perhaps had even been burned in the room of requirement. He was anyway sure that the only person having that answer would never have revealed it. Dumbledore was aware of how dangerous that object was for him. Harry was sure he would have seen Lily in the reflection, perhaps with the rest of his family, perhaps alone but he would have seen her there smiling and waving and he wouldn't have been able to walk away from it. He wasn't one of those happy people destined to see only their reflection when looking into it, he would have always seen her.
But those elucubrations were only worsening his state. There were too may emotions pushing to get out and no outlet if not anger.
He felt so similar when the day of the funeral he was sitting in the devasted kitchen immobile, a tangle of nerves, not daring to move not to be triggered. And he knew that it was no good. He needed to do something about it, or at least not being close to his family in that state.
He darted from the bed, a few hours had passed, and it was still raining hard, but that room was suddenly too small for him. He needed to be in the open air. He needed to run; it was too long he hadn't had the chance to do it and, rain or not, he needed to do it now.
Ginny was in the kitchen, and it was clear she had cried but Harry didn't linger. He informed her briefly of his intention and was out without waiting for a reply.
Outside the weather was merciless, soaking him completely after only a few seconds; the ground was covered with mud which made difficult to run. He was steady however for some time in his purpose hoping that the physical exertion would dissipate the bile he was nurturing. But it wasn't. It wasn't enough.
He got back when unable to run any longer but didn't enter the house; he needed more time. He needed something that would allow him to vent out what was menacing to erupt from him without hurting himself or anybody.
He sat on a stone bench in the garden, rain sliding on his drenched rigid body. He was staring blankly in front of him when a yellow dot appeared from nowhere not far. He blinked, afraid his eyes were playing him a trick but no, the yellow dot was moving toward the house and when getting closer he realised that was a yellow dot with a white umbrella with black polka dots.
And that figure, seeing him, instead of proceeding for the house, detoured to him.
'Hello Harry'
It was Luna, wearing a bright yellow raincoat, her long blonde hair braided with flowers entwined on the two sides of her head.
She was, like them, in her mid-thirties but, perhaps for her quirky outfits or her extravagant coiffure, she still looked in her teen.
'Is it not a bit wet for enjoying the outside?' she asked observing him critically 'It's true it is the perfect weather for Moon Frogs spotting but you ran the risk to catch cold without an umbrella'
The last thing Harry wanted at that moment was having a ridiculous conversation with Luna.
'I'm sorry Luna but this is not a good moment for me' he mumbled darkly hoping she would go away without him having to resort to rudeness.
'I know' she said sighing 'As a matter of fact I came for Ginny. I thought she could feel a bit under the weather, but then I've found you here under worse weather' she continued smiling.
He didn't reply but Luna didn't budge staring at him hard with her bulging eyes 'You seem a bit stiff' she remarked in the end.
Harry didn't reply to this affirmation either, but Luna didn't seem in the slightest offended or daunted by it.
'You must feel dreadful. I would in your situation'
It was a one-way conversation in which Harry didn't want to have any share.
'I also think that, if I were you, I would feel a lot of expectations on my shoulders. You know all that thing about Voldemort and stuff….' Here another person that didn't have a problem in pronouncing the name 'Probably I would feel that everybody expected me to be very strong and not to show any weakness' she paused a second in which Harry looked up struck by her words.
She continued 'But you are allowed to cry like everybody else, you know, now and then…'
And those words had an effect on him, that was a way to let his feelings out. A way he hadn't even contemplate because it wasn't an option. Men don't cry. It's an unwritten rule. But nevertheless true. It was the same for every man, but it was even more real for him.
He had learned very young that he wasn't allowed to cry. Even when he was really small if only a tear would appear in his eyes, he was scolded bitterly by his aunt, mocked by his cousin albeit he recured to it to have his way in any whim, but for him it wasn't the same. "Boys don't cry" she would always tell him and the rare times in which he couldn't stop, she would just turn her back leaving him alone. Growing he had learned to praise solitude in that house, but when one is five- or six-years old or even younger loneliness is the worst. So, he learned not to cry, and he learned so well that he didn't do it even when alone in his closet under the stairs. It didn't help, it didn't change anything. It was only a sign of weakness, something to make him confront with the miser of his situation. And growing up it became part of himself. He couldn't show any signs of weakness because he had an important mission to accomplish. There were people counting on him; he had to take the lead many a times and one need to have strength to do it. Whining is not allowed if people depend on your leadership. And once Voldemort was gone, he had Ginny and later the kids who counted on him for strength and support. He had indeed a lot of expectation to fulfil. He couldn't disappoint them like he couldn't disappoint the magical community. He must be strong. He couldn't cry.
In seven months, after he had wept in Ginny's arm that dreadful day after Christmas, he had only accumulated without letting anything out. Perhaps now it was the right moment to get rid of everything.
His shoulders hunched and shook under the weight of those sobs the memory of Lily caused in him. The ache in his chest pushing out all those tears accumulated in months of silent sorrow that had slowly transformed in an armour of anger. Tears mingled with rain that pained and soothed at the same time.
And at that moment he realised one of the reasons why he hated Ron so much. Ron could express his feelings when he could or would not. Ron was more at liberty with them while he didn't feel authorised in showing any. Harry envied him this capacity.
Luna sat beside him sharing with him her umbrella. She didn't try any ordinary consoling method; she only sat beside him patiently waiting for his tears to stop. And when it happened and Harry sighed, his muscles finally relaxing, she just said
'I think we should get inside. It's not a good day for Moon Frogs after all'.