I've got so much free time I cannot believe it. Therefore, I profit to get on with my reading. Hugo, Ron, the house, and my job takes so much of my time I scarcely get the chance. It's such a lovely sensation to immerse oneself in a book. I can almost forget the reason I'm here for. All the bad feelings are in hold while my brain is occupied in filling itself with new notions. I brought a few with me, but there are many interesting ones in here anyway. Harry is not such a voracious reader, but he owns many about jinxes, defence, and dark magic because of his job. I picked one about defensive spell and it's quite entertaining; I'm learning a few things I didn't know. Tomorrow I'll try to practice some.
It's already been a couple of hours I haven't heard any sounds though. Better to go and check again.
When I get to the living room, I gape in horror beholding the scene in front of me.
Harry is actually slashing his skin with a knife!
He is so absorbed by it that doesn't even notice me on the threshold.
He has already four level deep gushes on his thigh and three on his forearm, blood is trickling on the floor.
'Harry, what are you doing?' I finally blurt out with a shrilled voice. At that noise he jerks in surprise letting the knife drop on the rug and when he sees me there, horrified, gawping at his wounds, his reaction is so quick I have no way to escape. He jumps up and he is on me in half a second. With force he slams me against the wall and grasp my throat with an iron grip. I found myself immobilised, terrified. I gasp for air that doesn't get to my lungs; my throat constricted by his hand.
He looks at me with eyes that seem red so much rage is in them 'I told you to leave me alone' he barks.
I try to unravel his hand from my throat wildly, but he is too strong. So, then I try to kick him, but I can't as he is keeping me up and my feet barely touch the floor.
'Harry… I cannot breathe…' I try to say but only a suffocate rattle comes out. I gasp, feeling my lungs collapsing in my chest, burning with the lack of air.
Only a few seconds are enough to understand that I'm about to die.
There is not the clarity of thoughts everybody says you get; my will to live, my endeavour to free myself, this overturning fear, doesn't allow me to have it. There are only wild, confused thoughts swirling madly in my head. The only thing I can see are his green eyes piercing me with malevolence.
Is this how I am going to die? Is this the last thing I am going to see?
And while I still struggle to get free and I panic in understanding he won't let go, he suddenly releases me.
I drop on the floor coughing convulsively, forcing myself to take big breaths in between the shaking. The first intake burns my lungs making me cough even more but then they fill wildly but with increasing regularity. I fight the sickness that had built, and I blink away tears brought up by the coughing.
Fright has been great, and I start to sob nervously crouched on the floor in front of Harry's legs who hasn't moved.
When I'm finally able to, I look up afraid I'm going to see that malignant stare again, scared of what he may try to do.
But there is not what I thought I would find.
His eyes are wide open, mirroring my shock and as scared as mine. He looks at me uncapable to move and then he backs away slowly until he gets to the opposite wall, as far away from me as he possibly can, and sags on the floor covering his head with his arms, rocking back and forth. He doesn't make any sound, but I can sense the turmoil, the panic. He almost killed me, and he is terrified of it.
My head is just a knot of frantic thoughts. I seldom have been so close to death, and I'm still filled with dread. I order myself to calm down and to think straight. This is not the moment for panicking. This is the moment to use my brain. I must say something, do something or I know I'll lose him. His mind is so fragile, ready to shatter at the first wrong movement. I need to take him back on safe ground, I cannot allow myself any mistake.
What can I do? I have no idea. I need to heal his auto inflicted cuts but what then? That is only what is visible. I need to try to do something for what is not visible also.
I'm still trembling but I steady myself and I crawl toward him slowly. I don't think he will get violent again, but I still need to be careful.
'Harry…'
'Don't come close to me! Stay away! I don't want to hurt you!' His voice broken and full of anxiety as he retracts even more against the wall.
'You are not going to hurt me. I know you won't' by my part I try to keep my voice gentle and free from the shacking I feel inside.
'No Hermione! Stay away! There is something inside me I cannot control!'
He is really panicking now, shacking violently and there is the risk of him darting away if I go any closer, therefore I halt where I am, a few feet from him, on the floor, and I wait there patiently.
'No, you are not going to hurt me. It's everything fine. Relax and take some big breaths. It's all right.' I say soothingly.
I don't know how but I get a sudden brilliant brainwave. I stand up gingerly as not to alarm him and I got back quickly to the kitchen, that is, as quickly as I can, considering my knees are giving a bit away. I open the drawer with their correspondence, grasping the fan mail and I get back to the living room with it.
'Harry, I found this letter in the kitchen. I would like to read it to you. Can I?'
He doesn't answer, he doesn't look at me, I'm not sure if he even heard me. The shacking isn't abating. I start to read anyway in the hope he will listen to me.
All what happened reminds me so much of what I read only such a short time ago. The boy's words are, despite simple, so touching and so relatable, they seem to have been written on purpose to help him now.
I go through the letter slowly peering at him time to time. The meaning is sinking in, I can perceive it. The violent shake is slowly ceasing.
The last sentence, that shows a remarkable insight and a deep intelligence, draw Harry's eyes wide open to me, probably struck by how those words seems to speak about the present moment.
I fold the letter carefully and I leave it on the coffee table, knowing it's now safe to go to him.
I take this scarred man in my arms, I lull him gently, caressing his head. And, while he abandons himself in a palpable neediness, as if starving for affection, it's suddenly clear why George and Ted called for me. He desperately needs the tenderness, that physical closeness only a woman can provide.
They have been wise. George for instinct and Ted for reasoning.
Therefore, I cuddle him, I smoothen his hair, I kiss his unshaved cheeks, his forehead, I keep his strong body tightly against my weak one. I keep his weak mind from crumbling with my strong one.
I'm still worried about the cuts on his body keeping losing blood, but I sense that, right now, what it needs most is to be cuddled.
As soon as I realise I can do so, without relinquish him, I heal all the auto inflicted wounds with my wand. He leaves me doing it, watching me as if in stupor, as if surprised to find me there.
I take his hand and conduct him gently to the bathroom. I help him undress with the intention to wash him in the tub. He is not responding at all, letting himself being dragged about and handled listlessly, like a puppet between my hands that brush the soapy sponge on his skin removing all the traces of his self-loathing.
His gaze follows me in every and each of my movements with the same innocence one can see in a child's eyes. I comb his wet hair and I even shave him (I can do it decently as I used to do it for Ron too at the beginning when we were in the mood for tenderness). When I'm done, his face is sunk but he is again the Harry I used to know.
I leave him a moment to go and look for some clean clothes and when I get back, he is still where I left him, in the tub, in the same position, looking at the empty space in front of him. He looks up when I enter with an expression so needy and downcast my heart ache. I cannot help but enfold him again in my arms before to towel him and help him dress.
Once in the living room I open the sofa and prepare a bed with fresh clean linen everything under his stare that doesn't seem able to fix on anything different but me. I make him lie down then, covering him with the duvet and when I kiss his brow with a smile, like I always do with Hugo, then and only then, he speaks 'Thank you, Hermione'
'It's nothing'
'I'm sorry'
'It's all right'
'Can I have a sleeping potion?'
'No Harry, you have to learn to sleep without'
'But I can't. Please Hermione. Please. I need it' he says pleadingly. And I have to use all my will to refuse. I've never been able to deny anything he asks me. Especially when he rests on me those intense green eyes; they have so much power over me.
'I know I won't be able to. When I lie down, I start to think and… Please Hermione, you said you love me once. If it's true, you must give it to me.'
Oh, my goodness. This guy knows where to hit. I have to remind myself that they can really hurt him, that exactly because I love him, I must not surrender but how difficult it gets when he attacks me with such sentences. I just want to give up and make him happy, do whatever he asks me to. It was much easier when he was angry, it was easier to fight against him rather than against myself.
'No Harry. But I'll stay here. I will read you a book, so you don't have to think. I won't leave you alone'
I take the first book I find which is the one about defensive spell, it doesn't matter what is written in it. He just needs to hear my voice and hopefully he will nod off.
I sat on a chair, and I start reading. I feel his gaze on me and I wonder what is passing in his head; he seems quite sedate.
After a few pages he interrupts calling my name.
'Yes, Harry?'
'Would you come to read here close to me?'
My heart skips a beat, but I comply. I sit on the edge of the bed keeping on reading.
He sits up and then he draws me pinning me in his arms resting his chin on my shoulder. I feel a hot flush going through my body, but I carry on in my reading, in all honesty not understanding a single word of it. First time it ever happens in the whole course of my reading life.
He interrupts me again.
'Yes, Harry?'
'Would you sleep with me?'
Despite the situation is pathetic enough and despite I've seen him naked without any particular feeling just an hour ago, all the rainbow's colours appear on my face in rapid succession. This is very different from when he offered me sex under effect of drugs.
I untangle myself from his embrace gently 'I don't think it's a good idea.'
He takes such a desolate expression I have to make myself violence. I remind myself sternly of what this man is going through that in no way he wishes for me, but he is just forlorn, that I cannot get profit of the situation and that I'll just make the situation worse for myself.
'I only need you to sleep close to me as a friend'
'Harry…'
'Please, Hermione, I don't want to sleep by myself. I cannot.'
And I understand better now the sleeping potions and the occasional sex. For almost twenty years he always shared his bed with Ginny, and he is terrified of having to sleep alone.
'We are only two friends sleeping in the same bed. What's wrong with that?' he continues.
'I don't know…' all my better judgement tells me that I must not surrender, that is not wise.
'You have always been the best of friend to me. You always used to hug me before, you always used to be there for me. Why cannot you do it now I'm asking you to? Now that I need you more than ever'
Why must he have those green eyes so beautiful to look at, so enticing? Oh, why? Couldn't he have them… I don't know… A common brown, a boring hazel, a meaningless blue...? Why that vivid expressive green that has the power to bend me to his will whatever it is?
'Please' he repeats brushing my cheek.
Ok, he wins, I lose. I'm only human for heaven's sake.
I close the book and I slip under the duvet close to him.
He draws me against him with tenderness leaning his forehead against mine 'Thank you, Hermione. I'm glad you are here'
I'm melting like an ice cream under the August's sun. This is not a friend's embrace but not even a lover's one. It's something in between and I try to relax in it. I'm lending the warmth of my body to tranquillize him. Is it such a wrong thing?

In a few minutes his breathing is deeper; he is asleep. I disentangle myself from his embrace and I observe him for a few moments. I kiss his brow, very close to his scar. I hope he is going to have a sweet dream or none at all.