It's already sometimes I'm in front of his door, staring at the plain wood. If you should ask me how long though, I wouldn't be able to answer. It may be seconds, probably minutes, it feels like hours but it's so freezing even time has stopped.
All the lights are off, the house desolately still, enhancing the loneliness surely residing in the inside. I tried already to knock a few times, but he didn't come at the door. He may not be at home of course but somehow, I doubt it. I slip my back against the door, sliding down on the hard concrete floor. I rest my head against the sturdy wood looking at the dark cloudy sky, there is so much light coming from the lamp in the street that, notwithstanding the clouds, it would be anyway impossible to see stars.
My breath transforms in a white vapour in front of my face.
Half-heartedly I knock once again not expecting anything better.
Great is my surprise when Harry's voice reaches my ear.
'Who is it?'
'It's me'
'Ted?'
'Would you let me in?'
Some seconds run away, and I cannot stop my heart to beat a little quicker, hoping to receive a positive answer.
'Go home, Ted' It's what I get in the end.
'I want to talk to you'
'I don't wanna talk. I want to be left alone'
This voice coming from behind the door is not angry, nor unnerved, he is not shouting and there is not severity.
It's only a broken, low voice, almost pleading so conflicting to what he just said.
'I only want to talk to you for a bit. Then I'll go away' I say my mouth almost against the door.
'Ted, please. Go away'
'I won't go away. I'll stay here the whole night if necessary.'
A pause follows and then 'Be my guest' as I hear some unsteady steps walking away and then a crush.
I rest again my head on the door thrusting my hands in my sleeves. I wore very warm clothes as I was planning perseverance, but it is nevertheless really cold tonight. I don't care though. I won't give up so easily. His tone of voice revealed much anxiety and I have the feeling he will be back.
I scoop my legs against my chest to try to keep warm thinking about Victoire. Only hours ago, we were under the duvet in Grimmauld place, in each other arms enjoying the warmth of each other skins. I was playing with a lock of her silvery hair thinking distractedly about Ginny and Harry. Imagining, against my will, what Harry was probably feeling at that moment.
'What's wrong?' Victoire asked.
'Nothing' I replied not wanting to ruin the cosiness with such an unhappy topic.
'Your eyes turned blue' She remarked.
It's basically impossible for me to hide any feeling of mine from the rest of the world. Not that I mind, I honestly never even tried to control this whim. I often wondered if I took it from my mother. I wonder if it was the same for her. I'd like to ask grandma, but she always turn sad when I mention her, so I don't. I don't want her to grieve uselessly. I asked Molly and Hermione and each of them told me something, not much, none knew her in depth, but I formed a rough idea of which kind of person she was. Our place is full of her anyway. I even found an old diary in her room of when she was a teenager. It had been a nice discovery. She must have been a good fun to hang out with. The real incognita is my dad. Grandma doesn't know much about him; I don't think she liked him. Nobody seems to know much about him besides his being a werewolf and having been a teacher at one point. I could ask Harry, but I never did. I think he blames himself for every death in the Hogwarts battle. Once, when having a walk in the park, we have been accosted by a wizard who told us his girl perished in it. He was very kind and wanted only to mark his gratitude to Harry for having freed England. I was only a child back then, but I have been nevertheless able to spot so much uneasiness in him. The same uneasiness I noticed the few times George twin's name has been mentioned at the Burrow. That's why I never asked.
It doesn't matter anyway. I cannot complain. I didn't get my parents, but I had anyway at least two fathers, several mothers, some older and many younger brothers. Despite that knowledge though, time to time, I cannot stop myself from thinking that, somehow, to have so many it's very similar to have none at all. To belong to everybody also means not to belong to anybody.
I think, Harry, wanting to preserve me from experiencing that feeling probably so familiar for him, strived on every occasion to make me feel part of his family. And probably because we share the bound of being orphans, he has always been the closest to me. He has indeed represented to me an older brother, not much of a father but surely the best of mates.
'I was thinking about Harry'
Her expression saddened considerably.
'Are you going to try to visit him?'
'Tonight'
She nodded 'Go as soon as you can' she entreated slipping a bit more under the duvet.
'If it was me and you died…' she continued pressing her forehead against my chest, but she didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to. I had it all in my mind already.