He is not sleeping. I thought he was, but he is not. He keeps turning in bed chased by his own memories getting back one by one connected in an unbreakable chain. How much did he bring back to mind already?
At one point he sits bolt upright. I sit up close to him hugging my legs. The chilly air of the night on my naked skin makes me shiver, the only part that is not cold is the one that brushes against his warm body.
I let the silence suspended between us and then I look for his hand in the dark. On finding it I rest mine on the top of his.
'I have got two sons' he whispers 'James and Albus'
I answer in the affirmative getting closer.
'I had Lily, but I have another daughter too' I rest my head against him, and I put an arm around his shoulder.
'Sunrise. James chose the name. I call her something else though… A pet name… Siry!' he exclaims while I nod slowly, and I wonder how long it will take him to make that close connection that will bring him to Ginny.
The silence that follows leave me uneasy and I shiver even more under the chill and the dread for what is coming.
'You are not the mother of any of them, are you?' but he doesn't wait for my answer, he continues with his train of thought 'You are married to Ron, and you have got one… No, two children from him!' I nod keeping close to him.
'So then…'
I spun him toward me, and I hold him as tight as I possibly can until what I was dreading happens. All his body becomes suddenly rigid, and he gasps. I can see as though is happening in my head all is set going in his.
I see Ginny, with her red hair, her freckles, her almond golden eyes. I see her as a fifteen-year-old girl running in Harry's arms in our sixth year when the quidditch cup was won, I see them kissing. I see them together that summer night on the beach and I see them playing with Albus and James, I see them arguing and make up, I see them suffering together for Lily's death and recovering. I see her scolding him and I see him teasing her. I see her laughing, I see her angry and I see her crying.
It touches me so strikingly, I see her so vividly and yet I know that, nevertheless, what I see, and feel is just one hundredth of what he is seeing and feeling, and my chest goes up and down as I'm striving not to break down and Harry's head is rested on it, as he keeps hold of me as if I'm the only thing that can save him.
'Why?' and it's barely audible.
There is no answer to this question, and I don't try to give any; I know there is nothing I can do because what he is feeling now is what I felt for almost all my life watching him with Ginny. That desperate longing for somebody that you know it will never be yours. He had it and lost it and I never had it. He is alive but only to torture me with the notion of impossibility.
Is it not the same pain? Is it not the same feeling?
And he starts kissing my breast and his hands on my back moves lustily now, striving to banish that anguish through love making that characterised most of our intercourses, but I must stop him. We cannot allow ourselves to indulge in this contorted loop in which we are tangled any longer.
Therefore, I take his face and I move it away from me, but his mouth leaves my breast only to attack my neck attracting our bodies together.
I push him away gently keeping my hands firmly on his chest not to allow him to come any closer and I shake my head, my words chocked.
He looks at me, his face is illuminated from some light coming from the outside and I can see his desperate look, his face stricken in a tormented grimace.
And I know what he is asking me without speaking, he is begging me with those intense, vivid, green eyes to be Ginny, only for tonight, to help him to bear that loneliness and grief through love.
I understand all this from a look, I know that tonight it's the last time he will do so, because now he is not in denial anymore. He knows very well who I am, as I knows very well who he'll pretend me to be.
There is not forgetting unfortunately tonight. Everything is even too clear. A clearance that doesn't leave hope.
And I consent to play the part without denial on my part either, and I'll be good, I won't speak not to break the charm he is trying with all his might to create.
I drew away my hands giving him free rein to do whatever he wants with me, to use my body to gain some ephemeral solace.
It's sweet and it's sour. It's sweet because his hands on my body, his movements inside me, make me explode in an almost unbearable ecstasy and is sour because I won't sense this never more in my life. And I try to fight that pain constringing my chest to enjoy it.
Although, I must say, I cried the whole night.

In the morning I make sure to rise before him, I'm exhausted. The night has been a full one and the moments where I could get some sleeps I couldn't doze. I don't think Harry did either judging by the frequency he looked for me. I take a moment to observe him in his sleep, last time I can indulge in the pleasure.
Under the shower, the water running on my body wash away Ginny from me, wash away my being a lover, my being sinful. It washes away Harry's presence in me and on me.
When I step outside, I'm a new creature, strong and rational. The haze is over.
When I wear my clothes it's me again, the me before all this. I'm the friend, I'm the sister, I'm the one that must repress her feelings.
I'll return to Ron, and I'll be satisfied with my life. I'll take care of my children; I'll take care of my house and I'll be fulfilled with it. I won't wish for anything different. I'll resign myself to a half-life.
I make a coffee and while I wait it gets ready, I look outside. The weather is miserable. Grey and full of rain, dismal. I go to the window watching the rain thumping on the pavement. A child in a yellow raincoat with some blue Wellingtons, passes in front of the window. His mum is taking him by the hand hurrying him while he endeavours to free himself longing to jump in the closest puddle.
I think about my children, Rose is already a woman, only last year she wrote me she got her period for the first time. She was very excited despite the cramps but perhaps even proud of them, the first pain that mark her entrance in womanhood. I cannot help myself thinking bitterly that is the first of many and obviously I'm not talking about the cramps.
I would have loved to be born a man. Life is so much easier for them. Without having to feel always vulnerable, always wavering. To have always to push your way in a world owned by them and fight arduously to conquer a position, always threatened by your role of a mother that always must come first and by the support you must give to your husband who without you cannot even tie his shoes.
I don't know, maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe this weather makes me sour. Maybe I'll drink my coffee and I'll feel better afterward. I don't know.
I go to wake Harry up. I don't go and kiss him because a friend is not supposed to do it; I only stand on the threshold without looking in, because he is not dressed. I only knock informing him that I'm getting breakfast ready.
I busy myself on the stove hearing the water running in the bathroom.
A few moments later he is sitting behind me in the kitchen.
None of us spoke, we didn't look at each other. I can feel his gaze on my back while I'm cooking.
'I'm sorry' those simple words ring clearly in the empty kitchen, so ethereal and isolated that a moment later I'm not sure if indeed they have been pronounced or it was only my imagination.
I know why he is apologising. Because he cannot love me, because he gave me a taste of what I'll never have knowing how much I would have suffered, because he won't treat me nevermore the same as the days just passed, because he cannot rescue me from my infelicity.
I close my eyes and I get deep breaths to pull myself together. It's unbelievable how many tears a body can produce. I cried so much in the last few hours that I truly thought I had no tears left and yet there they are, behind my eyes striving to come out. And I shove them back.
I gather all my strength to pronounce the following words composedly.
'Ted will be here in ten minutes, can you set up the table?'