Harry and I made love last night. No startling acrobatics, just some nice warm lovin'. And that was some pretty amazing progress, seeing as he's been so insistent that he doesn't have a sex drive. He had a sex drive last night, all right. I think he was just scared of me seeing him naked, being that he's still so close to being skin and bone. Thought he'd be unattractive to me. He just doesn't get the concept that he's beautiful to me no matter what he looks like.

The bond's helping a little with that. Lets him see the truth of what I'm telling him. Lets him know that what I'm saying is really what I feel. And it was so good to be with him again, so damn good.

I'm hoping for more of the same tonight.

Tonight Harry and I went to the Atlanta Greek Festival and stuffed ourselves silly on Greek food and pastries and sweet Greek wine. It was good.

Last night he gave me a blowjob. The first time he's touched me sexually since he left me years ago. He wouldn't let me touch him, and I miss that terribly. But it was so good just to be with him again that way. Feels almost like we're healing.

It's funny. So much is going on, yet when I sit down to write I have so little to say. Don't know why that is. I guess maybe because the things that are happening are so small, they seem insignificant. Except they're not. Harry touching me. Harry hugging me. Harry feeding Cuddlekitty in the morning for the first time. Harry smiling. Harry eating until he's stuffed full, plates worth instead of three bites at a time. Little things. Yet they add up to something huge.

Harry didn't know, when we were bound, that it was a partner-bond. He'd expected it to be like what he endured with Voldemort. He's finding out, slowly, how different it is. He's starting to trust me. He's starting to believe in me, little by little. He's starting to relax.

And the more he relaxes, the more he trusts me and our bond, the better and better it gets.

He's kicked back in his chair now, one hand resting on his full, round little tummy, one hand idly scritching the back of Cuddlekitty's head. Smiling a little. Relaxed and content. And he is so beautiful like this that I almost want to cry from the sheer joy of it.

Things won't change overnight. But they're getting better every day.

My own fault really. I thought that being bound to Harry would mean that we'd be closer. But he's pulling away from me. And I feel so alone.

Yes, he needs time to get used to it. No, he didn't really know what he was getting into when we did it. But I wonder if he'll ever just give in to it and let himself be bound, or if we'll always be separate. He's not... I don't know. He's so resentful of the independence he's lost. Never mind that his solitude only really brought him pain. I don't think he's able to see just what we'd both stand to gain if he'd just stop fighting this thing.

It's too soon. I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. He's got a lot of adapting to do. I know that.

But I feel so alone. And I wonder if it'll always be like this, if I'll always feel this lonely, and know that I shouldn't be.

He's all wrapped up inside his own head, and I can't reach him at all...

mood: depressed

We're home from the hospital now. Got home yesterday afternoon. I took them all to dinner, Granger and the Weasel and Pansy, all the people who gave me energy transfusions while Harry was pulling so heavily from me. Now it's just me and Harry, back in my place.

Things are starting to settle down. We're still sort of finding our feet, finding our way around this new bond we share. It's kind of weird, feeling what he's feeling. But I'm getting used to it.

Harry's been eating everything in sight. So delighted at being able to eat again without being sick. He wants EVERYTHING. And I love to watch him eat, I love to watch him so happy with it.

God, I'm tired.

It's been a long week, and the bond still sucks the energy right out of me, y'know, because Harry's healing and it's taking a lot of my own energy to fuel him. That part's supposed to pass.

In the meantime, just sitting at the computer long enough to type a brief entry has me tired out.

But thought I'd update to say, things are going about as well as can be expected.

Procedure went well. Don't feel much different. Am very tired though.

Harry gets treatment for stomach problems Monday. He's so impatient to be able to eat normally again.

Sleepy. Need rest.

Excuse any typoes; I don't have much time.

We found out what's wrong with Harry. Apparently when Voldemort was destroyed, the link between him and Harry was severed, thus the magical hemorrhage. They can seal it, but... only by grafting another soul onto the broken part: by binding Harry to someone else. To me, by choice. Although Harry doesn't want to be bound to anyone. He's accepted the necessity.

And there's no time to spare, so Granger went to fetch us some sleepclothes and things 'cause we'll be in the hospital for some time, and to feed the kitty, and to get my laptop, and we're just waiting for the soul surgeon to come in from Northside to do the procedure. It'll be any time now. They've got us in stupid gowns and scrubs that itch. The Weasel's here too, and Parkinson, they're going to transfuse magical energy to me after the procedure, 'cause Harry's so starved for energy there's a chance he'll literally suck me dry of life force.

Harry's nervous. He doesn't want to hurt me. But I just want to be with him. We'll either live together or we'll die together; either way, it's an outcome I can stand.

Time's up. Doctor's here. Wish us luck.

He loves me.

He said so.

No one ever taught me how to balance a checkbook. That was something done by one's staff, and supposed to be beneath my notice. And no one ever taught me how to pick out peaches at the market, or how to peel an avocado... My pureblood upbringing left me completely unprepared for life in the Real World.

What a fish out of water I was when I landed here. I had to learn how to drive a car, read a street map, decipher a telly schedule, figure out the difference between canned beets and cleaning fluids, learn what to do with the cleaning fluids, how to scoop turds out of a cat litter box, what baseball was and why it mattered, all of this and more while ruthlessly censoring my every word and action to remove every magical reference, lest I seem too odd.

Now I take my life for granted. And I mustn't. I must always remember that this life is a gift, not my birthright.

It's a magical hemorrhage, they say. Like a psychic wound, spilling out magic faster than his body can replace it. They don't know where or how it's happening yet, though. So, more tests. One that'll take eight hours, and all he asked was whether he could smoke during. Tests and tests and more tests.

And he asked me today not to cast the Vividono spell on him. Because he's worried about me, about how I'm feeling. But all I care about is him, and how he's feeling. He doesn't understand that I'd die for him. Or maybe he understands too well.

tests and tests and more tests. all day, every day, tests. aura tests and chakra tests and radiant energy tests and crystal readings and phrenology scans and palmistry workups and fucking magical tarot readings and MRIs and EKGs and bloodwork and more bloodwork and casting Vividono till I can barely hold up my wand arm.

and still no answers.

I am beginning to despair.

It's been an awful week, and it's not going to get any better next week.

I've been dragging Harry around town for tests and tests and more tests, some with waiting lists months long that Malfoy money was able to shove him to the front of the line for. I take pleasure in the fact that Father would be rolling in his grave if he knew what use I put his money to. Harry puts up with it all, he doesn't complain, but he's just sort of... there... he doesn't say or do much of anything. In the evenings I feed him whatever he can eat, tuck him into bed and hold him while he sleeps. And of course, Vividono being cast left and right, three or four times a day. It's starting to take its toll on me - I feel weak and tired most of the time now - but I have the energy to spare. He doesn't.

I'm fighting steadily against the sense of hopelessness Harry exudes through his pores. It can't be hopeless. There has to be an answer; there has to be a cure. A world without Harry in it is just too awful to contemplate.

And we've another appointment at ten and I'm not yet dressed, so I'd best cut this short here.

mood: exhausted

He was weakening before my eyes. Close to death. Just fading away, right before my eyes. And you don't die of depression, no matter how severe. Something else going on here.

So I cast Vividono. Which, any of you who know the spell must know: you don't do lightly. It transfers energy, physical and magical, from the caster to the one being cast upon. Do it enough and you die of it: give away enough of yourself and there's nothing left. But it helped. For a little while, it helped.

And he was so upset. Because he'd been so close to dying and he was welcoming it, he wanted it. So I made him a bargain. Let me help you, I said, let me try to find a way to help you and we can make this better. And if we can't... if we can't, I said, I'll let you go. And I'll be there with you so you're not alone when it happens.

The hardest promise I've ever had to make. And it may yet come to that. I don't know what kind of war wound could have done such damage. There are magical specialists, though - tests that can be done - I'll call Granger in the morning; she'll have ideas, too. There has to be something that can be done. I can't bear to lose him.

Not that I'll live much longer than he will.

He's here. He's here with me. But everything's gone wrong.

He came to me and said he was coming to say goodbye. Then he told me he was only bluffing. Did he know how much he was shredding me, doing that to me? And then he wanted me to hold him. And I couldn't, I couldn't, he'd just torn me to shreds and I wanted to hit him... or to die. I slashed my wrist open, and he healed it and laughed at me, the Boy Who Wants To Die laughed at me for hurting so much I wanted to die myself. Years of semi-sanity shot to hell by the only one in this world against whom I have no defense, and he laughed at me.

And now he's here. Like a zombie in the guest room I'd prepared for him, hoping for something so different than what's come to pass. He won't talk to me, he won't touch me. And he's here, and I wish he wasn't.

And I love him, and he's wasting away before my eyes and I don't know what to do.

So I've been doing my best to keep my mind off Harry. Monday was Camilla, a lithe little dark-haired stewardess, and Jameel, a muscled bodybuilder. Yesterday was Eric, runner's body and a huge cock. Today, hmm, maybe Betsy or Aileen. Or whoever answers their phone and wants to get together for a bit. The little black book comes in handy, y'know?

'Cause there's nothing else I can do. Can't keep going to him. Can't make him listen. Can't make him let me help. About all I can do is sit back and wait for him to die.

Maybe Melissa. She's got the softest hands and the softest voice. Soothing. I could use some of that.

mood: determined

Harry was sick this weekend. I spent Friday night and Saturday sitting with him, getting him coffee and tiny bits of food when he asked for it, stroking his hair as he slept, being bitched at for being there even though he really didn't seem to want me to leave, etc. I came home Sunday with some misgivings, and ended up playing WoW with him. Briefly, as he signed off in a huff after I made the mistake of telling him how fucked up his life was. But then, I've come to realize that if he succeeds in killing himself, it'll likely be me who finds his body, and that realization has made me tetchy about leaving him to his own devices.

But I can only provide him a place to come to and the prospect of caring. I can't make him accept them. I can extend my hand to him but I can't make him take it. I just have to keep reminding myself of that. It's so hard, though, when I see his skin translucent and fragile and smudged by dark circles under his eyes, his body skin and bone under my fingers. He's so unwell that his protestations of "I'm fine" make me want to shake him and make him see reason...

...but I can't make him do anything.

This is so hard.

mood: depressed

The room is done. Modest, with a single window that opens onto West Peachtree for air and a view but will not allow anything other than air and raindrops in or out. (A variant of the same spell I had done on my balcony, when I first got Cuddlekitty and worried about her conduct with heights; a bonus, when it comes to my suicidal Harry.) I've purchased furniture to be apparated in today: large bed, dresser, desk with a comfy chair, nightstands, lamps. Ashtray, smoke detector. Heavy curtains for the window in case he likes it dark. And another recliner for the main room, so both Harry and I can watch TV from "the good chair". I've also ordered more expensive imported coffee, as that's all he drinks, and more of the nutritional supplement drops that might help keep him from starving to death.

Everything should be here today. And then... I wait. And hope that Harry comes to me of his own accord, instead of having to be carried in too weak to protest after yet another attempt.

mood: tired

He slept till four yesterday, ate two bites of oatmeal, and then went home. At which time he promptly became sick to his stomach - and I, seeing the fires flickering in my Harry-tracer bracelet, promptly Apparated over to be with him. Afterwards, as I held him, we talked about things - about his depression, his guilt, his fears. About how unfair it is for him to only ever see himself through the darkest glass. About how he needs someone to take care of him, and to love him. "I'll think about it," he said, which means he'll give it a cursory run-through in his head before saying no. But he wants to be with me, this I know. I hold him and he melts into me as if I'm the only warmth in the world.

I went to see a healer yesterday, told her about Harry's symptoms, and came away with an odorless, tasteless supplement suitable for slipping into any meal, which will add nutrients and protein and such to even the slimmest diet. I dosed Harry's coffee with it before I left. Three bites of toast does not a meal make! And the only reason I did leave is because the wizarding contractors are coming out - have come out - to place a new room off my walk-in closet. It'll be Harry's room, if he chooses to take it. Right now he's living in a residential hotel, completely impersonal. It'll do him more good to have a home. He's resisting, but... I don't mind if he smokes in my apartment, and that may well tip the scales with my chain-smoking Harry, as he has to go out to do it in the hotel.

The thing that's amusing me most right now is that wizarding contractors, like Muggle ones, apparently feel no need to pull up their trousers enough to cover the cracks of their asses.

And I'm online, shopping for furniture for the room. A bed, a desk and chair, a dresser. Any more than that, and he might get comfortable enough in there to not come out. Assuming I can get him to agree to come and live with me in the first place. He doesn't want to, because he's afraid of losing the freedom to cut himself, to damage himself. Getting him to see that it's a burden, not a freedom, that's my next task.

location: midtown Atlanta mood: tired tags: harry

Harry came over last night. And by "came over", I mean "apparated onto my bed without warning and started bitching about the World of Warcraft servers being down". Startled the hell out of me, though I didn't let on to that. Instead, I fed him cookies (he ate about half of one) and when he fell asleep on my bed, crawled into bed beside him and held him all night.

He's still asleep, and I'm about to crawl back in and hold him some more. I get the feeling he doesn't sleep well, most of the time, and this is the best he's slept in awhile.

He keeps telling me that I shouldn't love him, for my own good. That he's not worth it. But then, as I was holding him, he whispered very softly that he missed me. And now I know that he did, that he's been missing me, that he wants to be with me even as he pushes me away. And I can't let him do that. I can't let go. He's skin and bone beneath the leather coat he's always wearing; I can feel every bone of his back when I hold him. He says he took some drug in Peru that fucked him up and screwed with his appetite, but I think he's maybe also trying to starve himself to death. I can't let him find the death he's seeking. I just can't.

location: midtown Atlanta mood: contemplative music: Dave Matthews Band - Where Are You Going tags: harry

I had a dream last night. Harry and I were lying in bed together, the way we used to during the War. Only it was Harry as he is now, scarred and tattooed and so skinny I could see his bones. And he was begging me to Avada Kedavra him, the way he did last night, with that same dreamy, wistful tone in his voice. And he begged me and begged me until I did it, thinking, maybe it'll make everything all right, maybe he'll be okay now. Only it just made him dead, and nothing was okay, and I wept in the dream, and woke up sobbing.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep well last night.

I'm so worried about him. He's so far gone, and he doesn't seem to want to come back. And I don't know how to give him a reason for wanting to live...

mood: depressed

He did show up after all, around nine. It went... better than I expected? worse than I expected? A little of both. He barely ate anything, and he left in something resembling a huff. On the other hand, he did kiss me. Of course, he promptly followed that by telling me he didn't want me, and I should stop caring about him for my own good. But then, I rather expected that.

He chided me for not being Slytherin enough, for not looking out for my own best interests. And then he promptly went and left several cigarette butts behind in the ashtray. Cigarette butts are extraordinarily useful; they're a person's property, and they bear that person's saliva. I've already cast a tracking spell, and a charm to let me know if he's in physical danger. So now I'll know where he is, and whether or not he's all right. Which makes me feel much better.

I wonder how long it'll take before I can get him to come over again. I know he wants to. But he's put up this wall between himself and anything that might bring him happiness. So it might take awhile.

I cast two tracking spells, actually: one on a globe, one on a street map of Atlanta. So I know where he is, down to the street; and a quick websearch has given me a residential hotel address. So if he doesn't come to me, after a time... I'll go to him.

I've waited long enough, and he needs me, regardless of what he may say. I'm not going to let go of him now.

location: midtown Atlanta mood: determined tags: harry