When he is gone, I stare blankly at the wall for some time reflecting on his words. He is right, I cannot pretend he is not. It has been confirmed by the today's unpleasant debacle. He will never want to make love with me because it's me, he is in a worse denial than myself.
I cannot go away however, and neither I do want to. I guess I could be strong and refuse him. But I don't want that either. For years I dreamt to have what I got. For years I fantasized about it. Yes, when I was making love with Ron too. It's despicable. I know. But then it really turned me on, and it was benefitting both in the end.
I still remember the first time I have done it consciously.
It happened during a summer holiday. We had decided to go all together despite Ron was never really enthusiastic about it. Going with them it meant an almost total muggle holiday. We had to endure long journeys by airplane, taxis, or buses. I was used to it obviously but not Ron and he didn't like it much. We had to stay far from magical people and mix only with muggles.
It was almost always in paradise sea places with crystalline water and sand so white it was dazzling. I liked it. Their company was always pleasant and prevented us from arguing too much.
Harry always greatly enjoyed those trips. To him it was finally a chance to lower his guard and be left alone, only there he could really relax.
In one of those summer holidays, we rented two fancy huts just in front of the beach.
One night I couldn't sleep, and I was sitting in the porch looking at the gentle swing of the waves, the night lovely, warm and starry. Lily and Hugo weren't born yet, Rose was about four.
I knew already then that I was in love with Harry. I have always known it, but, at the time, I was still convinced it wasn't love but a kind of crush, and I could get over it.
As I said I was enjoying the quietness and the loneliness when I suddenly heard some giggles coming from their hut. Some repressed soft laugh soon hushed, a second later Ginny sprinted lightly outside followed straight away by Harry who grasped her by an arm and pulled her toward him. He began kissing her quite avidly in a manner that would have annihilated in me every possible reasoning or will, but she pushed him away playfully and run toward the sea. He smirked and tailed her.
Ginny freeing herself form her nightie jumped into the water, Harry followed her example and pursued her. When he got hold of her, they played laughing lightly and then they made love there, in the water, under my eyes.
My heart was pumping madly in my chest and a deep longing for the same pervaded me. All that playfulness, joy and companionship was barred to me. All that desire was barred to me.
I could never have hoped for something like that with Ron. Already then, our relationship wasn't working and weren't many the times where we would find ourselves laughing together and surely never with that playfulness. We were still having sex quite regularly, but it was very different from what I witnessed that night between Harry and Ginny. It was less…. Less.
I got back in the hut, all my senses painfully on. I woke Ron up and made my intentions pretty clear. He was surprised, pleasantly so, glanced only briefly to Rose's bed to ascertain she was sleeping and did what I wanted him to do. There it had been the first time I, consciously, swapped him with Harry and the intercourse that followed had been greatly satisfying for both. So, satisfying that cuddles followed, some sweet words and the next day we actually walked hand in hand and didn't argue the whole day.
I can almost say that most of the affectionate moments with Ron have been because I swapped him with Harry. Pitiful, I know.
That's why I'm willing to be only a substitute, it's still more than what I could have hoped for. But then just because it happened last night, it doesn't mean it will happen again. If that's the case, I'll console myself thinking that at least I had it once.
Harry will probably be sleeping until tonight. I'll go to the Burrow, and I'll do some grocery shopping.
At the Burrow Molly welcomed me with a careworn face. Apparently, Sunrise had a scary tantrum today. She was crying, screaming and nothing seemed to pacify her. Molly and Arthur were very worried, and they were about to call for Ted when she suddenly quietened and went to sleep.
Exactly like his dad the poor thing. I go and look at her, it's unbelievable how alike Harry she is. Same wild hair, same mouth, same stunning green eyes.
Molly told me there have been up and down with her mood. Sometimes she is just fine playing and enjoying herself and out of nowhere she would start to sob without apparent reason. It happens randomly but mostly mornings and evenings. Unfortunately, it seems the sobbing greatly outrun the good moments lately and Molly and Arthur are growing quite concerned.
Well, she lost a mother anyway. I don't know how a child of barely three perceive it but surely the change has been great.
Apparently, it has been explained to her that mum won't be back, but nobody is sure how much she understood. She asks for her. Very often she asks for Harry.
I must convince Harry to visit her. This abandon is not right.
It's ten o'clock. The room is dark, I cannot ascertain if he is sleeping or not. Surely, he isn't moving. Where should I sleep? I'm undecided. Again, what is right and what it feels right is clashing.
To take some time to ponder over it I step into the room, led by the little light coming from the window, groping furniture to find my book with the intention to read a little bit in the kitchen.
A swish makes me turn and I see Harry's silhouette moving. He sits up and rising a knee he rests his forehead on it.
Sensing in what mood he may be in I pronounce his name to divert his attention. He startles at this unexpected sound and turns toward me. I'm barely able to discern his contour, surely not his expression but as he gets out of bed, I perceive a sense of purposefulness as he ambles steadily toward me, for some reason rising in me some mild uneasiness.
When he is so close I can almost feel the heath coming from his body (too close then), I gulp about to ask how he feels.
He doesn't allow me to.
Closing his hand on my mouth, he thrust me to the closest wall and, with the other hand, expertly relieving me of my knickers, he gets off with me there. Against the wall. Like that. Easy peasy. No questions asked.
Well, what can I say… it has been quite coarse. There was a lot of aggressivity in this lovemaking.
Yet, I greatly enjoyed, I must be honest. Together with yesterday, some of the best intercourses I ever had actually. All this vigour really inflamed me, hence, far from me to complain. I reached more climaxes in those than in the last six months… Actually, we can also be honest here, a full year.
When he had reached his, he stays there, pressed against me, panting heavily. When his breathing returns steady, he releases me, walking soon after out of the room without a word or a second glance, leaving me, there, weak and shaken by the tumultuous encounter.
I have not the time to get back my composure that he is back handling me a small towel.
While I'm making use of it, I can only detect his contour sitting on the sofa, but I perceive quite clearly that he is stooped on himself with his head bowed. Perhaps Ted is right. I'm not helping him.
After a few second, he runs his hand in his hair and speak.
'Do you fancy a bath?'
I'm a bit surprised by the question so I blab stupidly 'A bath?'
'Yes, a hot bath. I rather fancy one'
Ok, I understood correctly. He wants to take a bath with me, although formulated as if asking if I feel like some milk in my tea. I'm perplexed but I play his game pretending that is a normal proposition the one is making me like if, instead of taking a coffee after work or going to exercise together, we would take hot baths any other day. I try to impart a nonchalant tone in my answer, just like if what he is offering me it's quite a normal thing, nothing to get excited over. It come out a bit too shrilly, but he doesn't seem to notice as he is out again.
A second later I hear the water running and with a leap of joy I realise that this is indeed going to happen. I follow barely touching the ground with my feet.
He hasn't switched on a single light though and I have to stagger my way up to the bathroom.
'Shall I pop the light on?' I ask naively once there.
'No. Let's keep it off'
Which means he doesn't want to see me. I pretend not to understand and consequently not to feel hurt by this whim of him that proves Ted's point even more markedly.
Once the bathtub is full, I have the great joy of witnessing him take off his clothes in a movement that brings me to pieces with desire and excitement. He slips inside and gesture me to do the same.
There is some night light coming from outside, it's not as dark as in the living room, I can distinguish him quite clearly and the luck in being able to experience this overwhelms me.
This house is really beautiful. No wonder years ago, when the Fidelius broke, he strived so much to save it. The bathtub alone is worth every effort. It's spacious and luxurious, definitely big enough to be enjoyed comfortably by a couple, full of sweet, scented bubbles. I immerse myself in the hot water and I snuggle against his chest.
If there is a paradise, this must be it.
We just lay there enjoying the warmth of the water in a very cold night. The light outside, being the moon or simply a streetlight, reflects on the bubbles making them glitter around us. It's magic.
But then, out of the blue, to shatter it down, he asks me 'How is it going with Ron?'
Just like that. As if we never made love together. As if we are not adulterously naked in a hot bath. As if we are friends catching up.
It's already days I have been here, but we never really chatted and now he is asking me of my relationship with my husband notwithstanding that barely twenty minutes ago he was, quite roughly, getting off with me against the wall.
If this is not denial, I don't know what it is.
Anyway, I explain him how things are going, and I get carried away with my tale. I let out all what is ailing me, all the problems I face in my life with him, the desolation in being so far away from England, the feeling of being imprisoned in a situation I don't like. And he listens to me. Quite attentively. He makes some remarks, he asks a few questions, he is sympathetic.
This is another thing I really like about him. He listens. It is not obvious and neither so common. When I'm speaking to Ron, I've always the impression he is only listening with half an ear. And he doesn't seem very interested in what I relate to him anyway.
But Harry really listens, and he is concerned. That's nice.
While I'm speaking, he passes a sponge on my arms and neck, then he squeezes some water over my hair.
My chattering has died out and right now I'm only enjoying a nice sense of relaxation in letting myself being cuddled, my head rested comfortably on his chest.
'Your hair is even worse than mine' he says after some minutes of this paradisiac dream 'I've already poured a pint over it and it's still basically dry. It repels water amazingly' he says teasingly squeezing some other on it.
I giggle. I slid under the surface, and I resurface spluttering water. 'Better?' I ask.
'Kinda' he answers chuckling.
'Your is still completely dry though! It's unfair!' I say and I playfully push him under water. He lets me do it and remerge laughing, his hair sopping wet.
'Happy?' he asks shoving it back.
'Very'
He cannot even imagine how much.
I help him getting rid of all the foam on his face and he does the same on me grinning.
All this cheerfulness delights me after so many gloomy moments and I'm glad to see it in him. It does one good to see him laughing.
But then other sensation gets through. Quite suddenly the awareness of our nakedness under the bubbles wakes my senses and I lose myself in his eyes, so beautiful, so expressing, so mesmerizing, feeling that pleasant shiver, that warmth I always found myself experiencing when I stare in those green eyes for too long.
He is still smiling, and I cannot refrain the urge to try to kiss him. Although, with that smile that gets suddenly uneasy, he avoids my face. My expression is so hurt he can't help noticing it. He caresses me and kisses my brow trying to compensate, which pains me even more.
How is it possible that we are in a lover situation, but it must feel like a friendship to him?! I love to laugh and be merry, but this barrier made of friendship really irks me. I want to take it down. I want to be his lover through and through. I'll force him to tear it down if I must. I want him to be turned on in a situation of this kind like I am, not only amused.
I take his hand and I place it on my breast. His expression darkens but he doesn't take it away. He slides it on my slippery torso, but this is not enough for me.
I reach out in the water for him; I want to feel his desire growing. He doesn't stop me. He reclines his head and closes his eyes under my explicit caresses. When I achieve my goal, I slip on the top of him and… well, I definitely forced him to bring it down.
This is not what you would do with a friend. This is the most natural conclusion of the situation we are in.
Why, then, there is not serenity? The sensations felt are odd. Why then, when over I rest my head on his chest and he caress it absent minded, do I feel this guilt? Why do I feel almost like crying?
Why did I like it so much better when we were joking and laughing?
Ted is right. I'm not helping him. I'm hurting us both.
