Despite the mixed weather we spend a few days nicely enjoying the outdoor in remote wild England sceneries. We walk in Scotland, we hike in the Peak, we run on the beach in the south, we climb hills in the Lake district.
I recount him about Hogwarts time and a bit here and there about Voldemort and I see some slow improvements. Day after day his memory is getting back so steadily, he is adding particulars left back on purpose.
Ted joins us before or after his shift and George for dinner (his lunch). I'm glad to see Harry becoming less wavering and confused and a bit more self-assured. Company does him good. I'm sure this is working; I feel confident we can bring back his memory slowly without too much of a shock.
See? I am following diligently Ted's instruction. That is, I'm doing it at daytime at least.
During night-time is a different matter altogether.
Am I sleeping in the same bed as him? Yes, I do.
Am I having sex with him? Yes, unfortunately or fortunately (depending on if you are asking to the rational part or the sentimental one), I do. I don't go looking for it (mostly), but I hope every night he will do it instead of me and unfortunately (or fortunately) at some point he always does.
Don't judge me too harshly. Try to keep in mind I felt lonely and neglected for so very long and I think I have the right to experience this at least once during my lifetime. And it's now or never.
When George bade us farewell tonight, I leave Harry quite serene washing dishes (by hand, I'll never understand this) to get a quick shower very well satisfied with the day just passed.
However, when I get back, barely twenty minutes later, a totally different scene and a totally different mood presents to me.
I find him in the middle of the kitchen very much taken by a scroll he is reading. His expression upset, a dark frown marking deep lines on his forehead.
Hearing his name called, he startles as he hadn't heard me coming in the least all caught by the content of the note.
He outstretches it toward me.
'It's for you. I'm sorry I shouldn't have read it. There wasn't any name on'
I take it wondering who and what could have caused such a reaction. As soon as the scroll is in my hand, he shots out of the kitchen without a word. I notice then the window open, and Jeremy, our owl, perched on the windowsill drinking from a bowl. I start to realise with a tremble who may be from and judging by Harry's expression I can also guess that the content is surely not pleasant.

Hermione, what the fuck is going on?! It's already more than a fortnight you are there, and I haven't received a single note from you! Nothing! I'm still your husband for Christ's sake! I want you back, I don't give a damn how screwed he is. He can fuck himself; he has no right to keep you there! You are my wife, not his and you have a son, in case you forgot, who is asking for you. You are getting back.
If you don't, I'll come and get you.
Ron

Charming. Real charming. A perfect English gentleman. I'm greatly vexed! First of all, who does he think he is?! As if he can order me about! Like if I'm his property!
But most of my vexation comes from Harry having intercepted it. All our efforts, all our very carefully planned chats to bring his memory back slowly and carefully and with just one move everything is ruined by his utter lack of sensitivity! I have never been so enraged in the whole course of my life! He must consider himself very lucky to be there and not here.
I must prepare for the worst; this is a steep plunge in reality for Harry.
I take a big breath gathering my energies for whatever I may have to confront and, with the scroll still in my hand, I amble over the living room.
The worst is there waiting for me as suspected.
Harry is sitting on the edge of the bed, crouched on himself, his arms folded tightly on his stomach.
'Harry…' I start in saying but he interrupts me harshly under his voice straight away, the aggressivity back in full form.
'He is right. You must return home. This is wrong. You shouldn't be here at all.'
'No Harry, he is wrong. Very wrong. And I won't go back yet'
He stands up, suddenly angry, raising his voice balefully 'He is right! You are his wife not mine, and you shouldn't be here dealing with my insanity, you should be there taking care of him and your son'.
'They are fine, they don't need me. I'll stay here' I said resolute endeavouring in maintaining myself quite chill.
'You are going! This is my place if I don't want you here you must go' he shouts challenging me with an aggressive tone 'You will need to go eventually. It may as well be now! I'm fine too. I don't need a nurse; I don't need you here!' he bellows keeping his fists clenched, all uptight and rigid.
'Oh please!' I burst out, this affirmation piercing my chill demeanour in a flash, throwing wisdom to the wind 'How can you possibly say something like that? You are not "fine" at all. You are the exact opposite of "fine"!'
'I assure you I'm perfectly fine. I don't want anybody here. I don't want you here' he snarls eyes flashing.
'I see. So, everything is fine, and you are very well, right?' I snap back getting warm 'So then now, you look me straight into the eyes and you tell me: your age, date of birth, what's your job, names of family members, and I'll do it straight away, but first I want all the details about your life"
He stares at me darkly for a moment and then his expression changes completely in an incipit of break down. He sags on the sofa and crouch again in the same position as I found him, shoulders quivering, his head in his hands.
I let the scroll fall and I hurry to his side encircling him with my arms; he trembles so that it breaks my heart.
'Hermione, you are right, I'm not fine' he stammers his voice uneven 'I'm not fine…' he repeats.
I feel my stomach clenching in hearing these words. 'I know… But you'll be, believe me' I say kissing his hair.
He shakes his head 'My mind is crumbling, I know, I feel it. There is something not right. I don't remember things, all is confused, sometimes I feel dreadful and I don't know why, something bad happened, I'm sure, but I don't remember what it is and I think I have a son' he raves frantically, words jumbling up but then stops abruptly, lurches and gasps loudly looking up in front of him 'and maybe a daughter too' he places a hand in front of his mouth and I see his eyes widening in the effort of remembering 'Hermione, I think she is…'
I interrupt him straight away; he is starting to get too agitated and all this sudden remembering it isn't good. I don't want his mind to shatter under the weight of this discoveries 'Calm down, I'm here and I'll help you, don't worry, go to bed and try to relax. Try not to think.'
I manage to persuade him to slip under the duvet as he is starting to shake heavily and panting, a cold sweat covering his forehead.
'Calm down.' I entreat in a whisper 'Everything is fine' I say reassuring witnessing his deep distress while I lay down close to him.
'It's not fine. Hermione, I'm going insane. I feel it'
'You are not going insane. I believe you are only having a panic attack. It will pass. I'll keep your hand until it does.'
'Could I have a sleeping potion?' he asks pleadingly.
'No, Harry, it will pass soon. I'm here. I won't leave you'
I keep him close caressing his head while by degrees the tremor ceases, and I perceive him relaxing close to me.
'I'll make you a cup of tea, ok?' I say then standing up, but, in a return of anxiety, he grasps my hand tightly, eyes wide open full of anguish, trying to retain me there.
'I'll be back soon' I add reassuringly slipping away from him.
I shouldn't leave him right now; I know I shouldn't. A relapse is behind the corner, but I need to answer Ron's note as soon as it may be. I don't want to run the risk of him coming here. It would be dreadful. Harry's mind is too vulnerable to stand a confrontation. Ron would crush him mercilessly.
I go to the kitchen, and I put the kettle on.
Jeremy is still waiting on the windowsill, surely receiving instruction to wait for an answer. I stroke his feathers at which he nibbles affectionately my fingers then I take a quill and I seat down. What to write? A part of me would just like to send 'Oh, just go to hell!' but I feel a bit more diplomacy is needed.

Ron, I'm not coming back for the moment. I know you don't care about him, but I do, and he is not well. I ought to stay a bit longer. There is no point of you coming here because I wouldn't follow anyway.
I'm sorry I didn't write but our parting hasn't been of the friendliest and to be quite frank I didn't feel like hearing from you. Your insensitivity is unbelievable and deplorable.
Stay where you are and be assured that when he is better, I'll be back.
Kiss Hugo from me.

Hermione

Good enough, I believe. I tie it on Jeremy's leg and, after another nibble, flies away. Watching him disappearing into the night, I sigh, heaviness enveloping me. "I'll be back" Writing that sentence I felt sick, and I struggled to put it on paper aware of the necessity to have it written down to get used to the idea.
I find some chamomile in a cupboard, and I soak some in hot water.
Harry, in the living room, is sitting up staring blankly at the scroll on the floor. I pick it up and I throw it roughly in the fireplace hating Ron with a fierceness rarely felt.
'I brought you a chamomile tea, drink it. It will help you'
He takes the cup from my hands mechanically, his eyes still wide open, so hollow they scare me; he is lost in a world of his own where I cannot reach him.
'The name of my daughter is Lily, who is also my mum's name' he says quite suddenly, his gaze still far away clutching the cup with both hands.
Ok, so it was Lily the daughter he remembered of. I was hoping for Sunrise. Nothing good can come from Lily's memory right now.
'I think she has red hair'
'She did'
'I can't remember her face though' he admits looking up without seeing me with those scared round eyes.
'I think…' he hesitates 'Hermione, you said that she did have red hair, is she…?' he asks with a tremulous voice.
'Yes Harry' I murmur placing a comforting hand on his leg.
'She was my precious girl. I remember now...' he murmurs and then lowering his gaze on his cup 'I called her my pet' and his face crumples with that haunting memory and his shoulders shakes with a silent, tearless sob.
Ok, I cannot stand this. I take the cup away from him and I make him rest, head on pillow. I turn off the light and I lay close to him, I hold him, I caress him, I kiss him. I lull him in his distress. All the while feeling an acute ache flooding my body, and being so close to him, so almost blended with him, I'm sure this is the same he is feeling. Can torments trespass from skin to skin, from mind to mind?
'Hermione, don't go away. Don't leave me' his low anxious broken whisper come to me in the darkness of the room.
'I won't leave you. I'll stay here'
We made love not long after. I felt he needed it and I couldn't deny it to him despite all I promised myself and Ted. How could I deprive him of this little comfort in a sea of desperation? It has been different from the other times though. There was so much pain and anguish involved, it can hardly have been called pleasant. All it was racking passed from him to me. If I thought to absorb it only through a hug, I was deceiving myself. Then and only then I really knew the abyss of misery he is in. He held to me tightly as to prevent to sink in further and I truly hope it helped him to keep on surface. I know he managed to get rid of part of the torments because now they are in me. He nodded off soon after but I, now, cannot sleep.