Hours have passed and he is still sleeping. It's the middle of the night. Ted has gone, he had a night shift and couldn't stay. He told me to call him if there are changes and he left me another blood replenishing potion to make him drink when he wakes up. I didn't leave Harry's side for a second.
Not even to get a shower. I don't want him to wake up and find himself alone. All the blood on my arms it's cackled. I've got some on my face too, I can feel it. My clothes are a mess. It looks like I murdered him.
I've never seen so much blood in my whole life. All what I felt when, in Azkaban, the guard revealed what Ron had tried to do after Lily's death, reawakened in an even greater form. And yet, there wasn't anything gruesome to be seen, but here… I'm sure I will have nightmares for a very long time. The vision was ghastly, I screamed when I got inside. The water was completely red, the knife on the floor. And him so pallid I thought I was late.
I've never done the trip Rumania-England so fast. Half an hour. I showed my Minister badge at every border fireplace to speed up the whole procedure. I've never done it before. I always thought despicable people abusing of it for no real reason but this time I had no scruples. Ted got there basically at the same time, and I thank god for that. Calling St Mungo was to avoid at all costs. In the space of ten minutes the whole magical community would have found out.
I was frantic, trembling all over and I could barely keep my wand steady. Ted slipped immediately in his healer role casting so many complicated spells I didn't recognised half of them. That told me at least he wasn't dead otherwise he wouldn't have bothered but I was nevertheless maddening with worry. I should never have left him alone! Never! The signs were all there and I didn't even notice all taken by my problems. I was so stupid!
When Harry finally blinked, I was so relieved I started to sob hysterically. If he should have died, I would have never been able to forgive myself.
Ted made him drink the potion straight away and when Harry closed his eyes, asleep, we looked at each other for a long moment. I was in a flood of tears, and he was still so agitated.
After a short while he slumped on the side of the bathtub, while as I was trying to pull myself together, sadly observing the knife and, wearily, rubbed his face staining his white hair of pink due to the bloody water on his hand.
I crawled on his side and hugged my knees.
'What do we do now?' I asked.
'If you mean the practical, we need to take him out from that cold water and put him to bed. When he will wake up, he will need to drink another blood replenishing potion.'
I nodded sure something else was going to be added.
'If you mean in the long run…' and then he halted, and something happened I did not foresee.
He wept.
He started to cry silently, his shoulders quivering, covering his eyes, distraught.
It really struck me. I didn't see him often crying. Not even when he was a child. He wasn't a whining baby, and I can count on the tip of my fingers the times in which I had to dry his tears up. With Hugo was happening often enough like with any other child; he would cry because one of his friends stole him a toy or because he fell, or because I scolded him, or because of a tantrum, but it wasn't the same with Ted.
That outburst left me speechless with dejection. I circled him with an arm, and I kept him close until his crying subsided.
'I'm sorry' he said in the end mopping up his eyes, making a proper mess of his face of blood mingled with tears. I looked barely better.
'It's ok' I answered founding myself at loss for words.
'I don't know how we can help him, and I don't know how we can prevent him trying this again. He'll try again for sure' he muttered glancing at the knife beside him.
'I fear it's a bit too much to expect him to get over a trauma of that kind. His life is utterly ruined. He cannot go back to work; he cannot even get out from his place without changing his face. How can he possibly get over everything in this condition?' he said and while taken by this gloomy consideration his hair turned slowly from white to grey and in the end to a deep black.
'It reminds me very much…' he started saying but then halted speaking as if struck by a sudden idea.
I looked at him enquiringly 'What does it reminds you?'
He turned looking at me wide eyes, lost in his reasoning while, always very slowly, his hair turned back of its pure white striated by blood.
'Perhaps…' he mumbled looking wistful 'Perhaps…' he repeated his gaze fixed now on the floor.
Before I could ask for explanation, he bolted up 'Right Hermione! Let's take him out from this cold water immediately'
When Harry was safe in bed, Ted left ordering me not to leave him alone. We will take turn to watch over him until I'm gone. I told him I don't now for how long I'll be able to stay and he frowned 'I know. We will find a solution. Don't worry. I'll talk to him'
It's hours already I'm looking at him sleeping. His chest goes up and down regularly and he seems peaceful. I'm afraid of the waking up moment. The reality of being still here with all his torments will hit him like a train.
It's two o' clock already. As my eyelids start to feel extremely heavy, I see him moving slightly. A few seconds later, by the pallid light coming from the outside, I perceive him squinting.
He turns his head and, seeing me, he does something I wasn't expecting.
He smiles.
My eyes threaten to get watery, but I push it back quickly. This is not the moment to get emotional, I need to get a grip over myself.
'Hey' he says in a whisper reaching out for my face brushing it lovingly which only makes more difficult for me not to cry, but I keep everything in control courageously, I open the bottle I have got on my side, and I raise his head to help him drink it. When he is done, he drops on the pillow closing his eyes 'Lay down here close to me' he says hoarse voice.
'I can't, I'm all a mess.' I gibber trying not to chock over my words.
His gaze glides over me, he chuckles softly and move the duvet from his side to make me place. I snuggle up by him, who keeps me close, gently brushing my arm.
'How are you?' I mutter, my head on his chest, inhaling the smell of him combined with the smell of his blood dried on my skin.
'I'm ok… A bit weak, but I'll be better soon' he mumbles back.
We lay there for a while without speaking, listening to the noise of the London night. A seldom siren, cars hum, and some cats or fox having a fight.
I know he is not sleeping because his fingers found mine and now are solidly interlinked.
I reflect on how close I've been to say farewell to all of this. Ten minutes later and I would have been crying over his body. All the warmth gone from him, everything that makes him what he is, erased and nullified. This thought scares me enormously.
And the relief of being able to savour these small things as his smell and embrace, of hearing his voice, shatter in me the composure I was mastering with such difficulty, provoking a cascade of stifled sobs.
He shushes me softly caressing my head but nevertheless the words leave my mouth with rancour 'How could you do it?' I gabble angrily between tears 'How could you?!'
He doesn't answer me straight away.
'I'm sorry. It was stupid of me'
'Yes, it was stupid!' I blort out sitting up, resentful.
'After everything you told me about Ron being a "selfish bastard", for what he tried to do, you did exactly the same thing! Didn't you think about your kids? About Ted? About me?' I say jumbling up words as I speak.
He stares at me for a long time 'I guess I wasn't thinking, but I know now I've been wrong. Ginny…' but then he tails off and I wonder what he was about to say but I prefer not to enquire not to touch delicate topics that is best to left untouched right now.
He exerts himself on his elbows quite wearily. I can see how this little movement is an exertion on his weak body and I try to make him lay down, but he resists locking my eyes with his 'I promise you I won't do it again'
He leans toward me to give me a kiss, but I push him away resentfully. I really feel a grudge right now. I cannot believe he has been so egoist. He didn't spare a thought about what everybody was going to feel, what I was going to feel if he would have died. How can he expect me to forgive him?
He doesn't allow to be shoved away, and sliding a hand behind my head he thrust me close to his face and presses his lips on my forehead 'I promise you, I won't do it again' he repeats, his lips brushing lightly my skin, and he touches with his mouth both my wet cheekbones adding 'And I'm really sorry'. As his face draw back, his hand slid down on my neck, with his thumb sweeping away tenderly the lasts tears that hang on my face, then, brushing softly my slightly parted lips and enslaving me completely through his penetrant gaze, he says 'You are my guardian angel. I owe you my life once again. Thank you'
Well, what could I do if not forgive him instantly?
I wonder why I even bother…