Harry's Spiral

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“… One more second.” He remembered begging for it; yelling and screaming for one last spark of totality. But it never came, he’d spent whatever life he had left inside him rescuing Hermione. He’d held her for less than half a second, a number made even smaller by the prospect of eternity as an empty spectre. She was like a drug, and he would sell his soul for one more taste.

Things got worse as time went on, he was fully aware of that, he wasn’t insane - just bitter. Hermione was grown up now. Effortlessly combining success and beauty. But he was still Harry, still the same age as he’d been when he had first realised he was dead. He still had the chance to move on… if he concentrated he could still feel something calling him away. But, no, he would never make that choice. Not while his love remained.

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He sat on the couch and glared at the television. Fortunately Hermione had left it on in her rush to leave this morning. It was a rare luxury, almost as good as when she left a newspaper open at the Quiditch section. But today he wasn’t enjoying the flickering pictures… he had increasingly less interest in a world he couldn’t touch or feel. Only Hermione held his attention for long, and something was wrong. Lately she‘d been distracted, paying more attention to her clothes and cutting back on her furious reading. He seethed to himself silently.

Normally the days went by in a blur but today time was moving at a crawl. He watched the little clock in the corner of the TV screen roll over to five-thirty, she’d be home soon. He heard footsteps approaching the door of the small flat, and voices… two voices.

The door swung open and in came Hermione, she was flushed and breathless from conversation. A tall figure entered behind her, he also looked a little out of breath.

“Sorry about that, this place really needs a lift, want a coffee for your troubles?” Hermione asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I enjoyed the walk. Coffee? Yeah sure.” The man Harry didn’t know stood by the door looking lost.

“The living room’s just through there, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.”

Harry tensed… who was this stranger? Why did Hermione sound so positive all of a sudden? What right did this third party have invading his doldrums?

“Hey the TV’s on.” Called the mystery man as he sat on the sofa.

“She knows it’s on you cretin,” muttered Harry, “She left it on.” Of course they couldn’t hear him but he still felt like saying it.

“Really? Damn, must’ve forgotten it this morning, what a waste.” Hermione’s voice reached them over the scraping of cups and spoons.

“Don’t worry too much, my department should have the ice-cap problem sorted by next year.” The man laughed.

“Sure, and I’m a real boy.” Harry said darkly. He’d moved from his seat and was now inches away from the newcomer, who he suddenly recognised. Ron, Ronald Weasly… his one time best friend. There was a simple explanation for Harry’s surge of dislike, love gone bad. There was so much he couldn’t give to Hermione, so much he wanted to be but couldn’t. He would never compare to a living, breathing partner. She didn’t even know he was there. He was jealous, sick with jealously.

Hermione entered and sat in Harry’s vacated chair. They began to talk pleasantly, with Harry standing unseen between them. He found it excruciating. So much of what Ron said sounded made up on the spot. ‘Oh yeah, I really like them too.’ Or ‘Yeah, I feel the same about that.’ He pocked a ghostly finger through Ron’s waging tongue.

“What’s the matter Ron?” Hermione asked, making Harry‘s non-existent blood boil.

“Nah, nothing… sorry, just felt really cold for a second… You know that saying? Someone walking on your gave.”

“Uh-huh.” She replied. Harry snatched his hand away. He was getting angrier and his bodiless form had zero capacity for catharsis.

“Go away Ron!” He heard himself shouting. “Just get lost! I was happy till you showed up, trying to steal her!”

‘No you weren’t,’ said a voice from the back of his mind. ‘You were miserable then and now,’

“Shut up! I‘m not arguing with you!”

‘I am you,’

“Then help me get rid of this idiot.”

‘He used to be your friend.’

“It doesn’t matter, only she matters.”

‘Watch out Harry, you’re loosing touch again’

He shifted back to reality. It was getting late, night had come and there was a wine bottle on the floor. This wasn’t good… there wasn’t a chance in hell this could be good. He sank to his knees, it was over… she was going to fall in love with Ron and forget about him... Heartache opened up old wounds. How dare she! He’d saved her life! He loved her! He looked up and saw their lips getting closer.

“Hermione!” He threw himself at her feet, dejected and lost.

“Why did we let Harry’s death come between us?” Ron asked, reaching out a hand to push back her hair.

“I…” she suddenly faltered, looking away. He caught her head and kissed her anyway. “I’m going to bed Ron… sorry, maybe this was a bad idea.”

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Ron lay asleep on the couch, the alcohol he’d been drinking making strange patterns in his dreams. Suddenly Harry stepped out from nowhere.

“Hello Ronald.”

“Beat it kid, this is my dream and I’m not in a good mood.” A kaleidoscope of colours swirled around them.

“Don’t remember me?” Harry swept away his fringe.

“Harry?!”

“She’s kissing you Ron, and yes, she might even be screwing you… but every time she does, she’s thinking of me… remember that.”

The End.