For Jayson - My Angel
My brother
I stared at him, white as a ghost, still as a statue. Why was this happening? Why my brother? Why my family?
I had almost gotten used to only seeing my brother in the hospital, almost gotten used to seeing his empty chair at the dinner table. The only thought that kept me going was that he would, someday, leave the hospital, take his place within our family again. I hoped, I prayed, I dreamed.
Albus was my brother. My friend.
Raven black hair that stuck up every which way. Emerald green eyes that shone with mischief. The brightest smile that could light up a whole room. Albus was the funny one, the smart one. He excelled at school, was gifted at Quidditch. The adults loved him, the children admired him. He was protective, outgoing, happy-go-lucky. He always found time for others. He gladly spent time at The Burrow with our grandmother, when the rest of us wanted to be anywhere else. He rocked me back to sleep after I had a nightmare. He was kind to the house elves, he helped around the house, he even had an unexplainable hold over our oldest brother, James.
But he was mischievous. He was the one who discovered all the schools secret passages and shortcuts, even before James showed him The Marauders Map, which, of course, didn't sit too well with James, who thought it was his duty to be the family's mischief maker, in the name of our grandfather. He was the one who was constantly getting into duels with Scorpius Malfoy, yet never getting caught. He had a collection of stolen Snitches under his bed, everyone he had ever caught in a Quidditch match. He even had a separate box for the ones he caught against Slytherin.
Everyone loved Albus Potter.
Then, when he was fifteen years old, something happened that not only changed his life, but changed mine too. And mum's. And dad's. And James'. And Teddy's. And the other twenty members of our immediate family.
While exploring one of the deepest and darkest dungeons at Hogwarts, Albus had found an old and dusty crown. Dad was still trying to find out where it has come from, whose it was and why, why, it had been carrying such a dark and deadly curse.
Albus had barely made it back to a part of the school more populated with people. Covered head to toe in strange bruises and marks, and bleeding from nowhere in particular, it was Scorpius that had found him.
After almost dragging him to the hospital wing, Scorpius had come for me and James. I was asleep in my dormitory when James and Scorpius had burst into the room, screaming at me to get up. By the time we had made it back to the hospital wing, mum and dad were there and we all went together to St Mungo's when Albus was transferred, leaving a truly terrified and shaken Scorpius behind.
After hours and hours of waiting, after the rest of the family, less the kids still left at Hogwarts, had showed up, we finally got news that Albus was stable but severely damaged by the curse.
He was moved to another room where we were told he would stay until his body became strong enough to fight of the curse completely.
Four months later, Albus was still at St. Mungo's. He was doing better, but not so much that he was allowed to come home yet. James and I were granted permission to go home every weekend to visit him and our parents.
I had almost gotten used to only seeing my brother in the hospital, almost gotten used to seeing his empty chair at the dinner table. The only thought that kept me going was that he would, someday, leave the hospital, take his place within our family again. I hoped, I prayed, I dreamed.
And none of it did any good.
In the last week of May, on a glorious sunny day, Albus had silent and unexplainably slipped into a coma.
I stared at him, white as a ghost, still as a statue. Why was this happening? Why my brother? Why my family?
I sat on one side of the hospital bed, my mum on the other, each of us holding a cold and unmoving hand. James and Teddy stood at the end of the bed, both with their hands shoved deep in their pockets, trying not to look at their little brother. My dad stood at the head of the bed, one hand on Albus's head.
I felt like my heart had been ripped out, like each breath I took was not actually reaching my lungs but just moving up and down my throat, along with the huge lump that was causing tears to flood my eyes.
The constant beeping of Albus's heart monitor was the only thing that comforted me.
He was still alive.
Not conscious, not moving, not laughing or joking, not smiling or talking. But alive.
Breathing, heart beating and alive.
I prayed it would stay that way. That someday, someday soon, my beautiful, funny, talented, amazing brother would open his eyes, smile at me and say, 'Hey Lils.'