I'm awake, undecided on what to do. Shall I go down? I think the woman is still there as I didn't hear any sound.
I'll go. I won't allow him to bully me in staying shut in this room like a frightened bunny.
I descend the stairs slowly and I peep in the living room. The curtains are drawn but enough light filters for me to see that they are on the sofa sleeping. Stark naked, covered only by a blanket.
I go to the kitchen to make myself a coffee. Not two minutes later a rustle and some steps make me look behind my shoulders. He is there on the threshold, wearing only his pants, dissolute air, sexy like a god.
Hermione, get a grip.
'Can I have some?' he asks nodding at the coffee ready in the machine.
'If you get rid of the girl, you can.' I answer boldly.
He gets out without remonstrance, and I hear him whispering from the lounge 'Hey babe, wake up. You must go'
She mumbles something in reply, and, after a moment I get a glimpse of two very long naked legs passing in front of the kitchen heading for the bathroom.
While the sound of the shower fills the room, Harry is again in the kitchen sitting down and looking at me challenging. Not in the least intimidated I sustain his gaze.
When the sound stops, the woman (which, by the way, has legs basically starting from under her chin) appears on the door wearing a towel around a flawless young body.
She towels her hair with a frown that only enhance the prettiness of her lips 'This house is very bizarre… Never seen anything like it. Have you got a hairdryer or something? I couldn't find it. I couldn't even find a plug or something, how do you…'
But she stops short having seen me.
'You must be the substitute wife.' She says bitchingly in the end 'Are you married to her or something?' she asks turning to Harry and ignoring me.
'No, she is only a friend.' The word "only" spat out with a wicked slowness only to pain me with a degradation 'Here to bug me as much as possible and to right my profligate life. Or so I think. Correct me if I'm wrong.' He says turning to me with a mocking smirk not at all friendly. I don't deign him of an answer.
She arches her perfect designed eyebrows 'Well, I hope she won't succeed' she says haughty marching back in the living room dropping her towel on the way (obviously not bothering to pick it up).
I glimpse enough to make me ponder on the injustice of this world. Why to give so much to such woman. The world is unfair.
Harry is observing this masterpiece too but strangely enough doesn't follow her as I think she expected him to do.
I'll content myself of this small satisfaction.
When she appears again, she is buttoning her jacket, Harry stands up to accompany her to the door.
She fumbles in her bag, dipping out a paper and a pen 'I had a great time.' She says scribbling something on it 'This is my number. Call me if you wish for more dissolution, don't let her spoil you' she adds shooting me a contemptuous smile and a flirtatious one on him.
'All right, babe. I'll call you. See you'
When she is outside, I hear him mumbling under his voice and then getting back to the kitchen.
First thing he does is to throw the paper in the fireplace.
'Such a charming girl' I say ironic to which he doesn't answer.
'Which nice memory did you leave her?' I ask casually while he serves himself some coffee.
'I left her the real one. She is a muggle. It doesn't matter. I just swiped away the address.'
'All of this is highly reprehensible…'
'Hermione, don't start. I'm not in the mood. My head is killing me. If you want to stay, so then stay but leave me alone.'
I go rummaging in my bag and I take out a small bottle 'Drink this, it'll make you feel better'
He looks at me brightening 'Is it…?'
'No, it's not, it's just for your headache'
He darkens subtly but drinks it anyway in one gulp. After that, without saying another word, he takes from a cupboard a bottle and goes to the living room.
I drink my coffee pensive very undecided on what to do. I need to prevent him drinking so much but I can hardly take away the bottle from him.
I follow minutes later just to check the situation. He is lying on the sofa with the bottle in one hand staring in front of him blankly.
'Harry…' I say tentatively.
'Leave me alone.'
'Don't you want to go out?'
'Leave me alone'
'I can change your look'
'Leave me alone'
But I don't budge. I stay there looking at him with a feeling of heaviness.
'Harry…'
'Hermione, I will say this one last time' and in the tone of voice, I can recognise a return of the former aggressivity 'Leave me alone. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Stay away from me'
I decide it's best not to push it for the moment, but I'll be back time to time to check the situation is not worsening.
Back into the kitchen, to fill the time, I try to write an answer to Albus. What should a father write to a son suffering for the death of a mother? What should Harry write? It's not easy and anguish take possession of me thinking about poor Albus longing for a father who is incapable of helping him, about James blaming him for Ginny's death. Many are the issues to overcome, already complicated to deal in a normal situation, almost impossible right now. He is not in any condition to cope with any of them.
I start to write but I struggle, at loss. I must stop very often to mop up my tears. At one point I realize that what should be words are only scribble without any sense and I let my hand go freely on that paper while my mind travel in another direction. I sincerely want to help this family to bond to get over what's happened, but I want to help Harry most of all. I want to see him smiling again. And this feeling is so strong in me that I wish for impossible things. I wish I could bring Ginny back for him. I wish I could be a different woman, one who he can love, one who is not married with two children. One who is not considered only a friend. In short, I wish I could be Ginny for him.
Soon appears that I cannot write this letter. My useless scribbles are all there is on that paper. I don't even deign them of a look. The task is beyond me, anything I could think of seems so shallow and hackneyed. And it's all wrong anyway. Despite the importance to have it written as soon as possible it is something Harry must do. Anything less would be wrong.
Putting back ink and quill my eye fall on a crumpled paper, carefully smoothened, popping out from their correspondence. I don't recognise the handwriting, but some words catch my attention arousing my curiosity and, despite I shouldn't, I slip it out. It seems a fan mail from a boy. At first, I'm surprised to find it there. Harry hates fan mails, almost never read them and never and never keeps them. Time to time I enjoyed myself going through some with Harry's approval. It's unbelievable what people write. Most of them were of gratitude but he got some from deranged people with bizarre suggestions or accuses, or even worse (but very entertaining I must say), letters from young witches writing the unthinkable. I wonder how Ginny approved of it. I obviously never mentioned it.
Anyway, reading this one I understood why he kept it. There is a lot in it; it's moving and very different from the other I had the chance to read. It must have struck Harry positively after so much junk and blind admiration. When I'm done, I slip it back carefully.
I make myself something to eat and, hoping Harry will eat too, I leave a plate on the table in the living room.
He is still in the same position. He doesn't even notice me.
I linger a moment anyway hoping he will but when it is clear that he won't, I get back in the kitchen kneeling in front of the fireplace.
I need to talk to Ted again. He knows Harry very well; he understands him with even more clarity than me. He is only in his twenties, but he shows a maturity that often surprises me. I prize his advice.
I close the door not wishing Harry to hear anything of what I'm about to say and I push my head in the greenish flames calling for his address.
Thankfully he is at home. I've got a hunch he is spending most of his time there since I'm here to have as many updates as possible. I haven't got good news to relate but only worrying tidings.
I explain to him about drugs, alcohol, potions. I explain to him of his anger and aggressivity and I ask for his advice.
Listening to my story he gets such a pained and worried expression it touches me. He is very fond of him, there has always been such a strong bond between the two and I guess that after Ron's fracture and my estrangement he is the only friend Harry has got left, together with George.
'Hermione, I have no idea.' He says dispirited 'I don't know what is best. Be careful how you treat him. He can be dangerous. Stand up to him and don't show any weakness or you'll worsen the situation. I guess he is stuck in an irritation of spirit. He needs to get over it. But I don't know how it can be achieved. It needs to burn out. The same happened when Lily died. And it has been Ginny the one who helped him.'
'What happened? I didn't know any of it. Neither of the two never mentioned it to me'
He looks at me studiously 'Believe me, it's for a reason.'
What in the name of God had happened?
When I go to check on him again, he is doing his workout on the floor. He seems ok, not particularly drank. But then I'm not a great judge of this kind of thing. The food is still there, untouched.
When back to the kitchen my eyes fell on the parchment with my scrawling on the table. I take it with the intention to burn it.
I get caught by the scribble though and I look at it with more attention to decipher what I suspect to have spotted.
I was right. I didn't scribble at all; those are not doodle without sense. What is written there is simply: "Harryharryharryharryharry" for the whole page.
It's official, I'm back being thirteen.
