He buried his forehead into the thin, crisp sheets of the hospital bed. These were the last moments of the day they had together, maybe even the last moments Aerona had at all. He sniffled and looked up from the sheets, eyes blurred from tears. He smiled, it may have been their last moments together but he'd be darned if he was going to let the melancholy sadness beat him. Unfortunately the smile was not returned, for his wife, his one, his only, was unable of doing so. The tubes going into her body, pumping all sorts of chemicals into her. The tubes going down her throat and up her nose, keeping her breathing, keeping her alive. She looked so peaceful, so content in her own world. A whiter shade of pale with berry-red lips and featherdown skin. His eyes stopped temporarily, taking her all in. They drifted over to the switch. The one he had to flick. The smile he proudly wore quickly turned into a frown. Then the silence he had been upholding started to be filled with choked sobs. His knees gave way and he fell to the cool, tiled floor. He beat it with his fists until they bled. The contrast of the bright red against a pale white- as if the floor was almost beautiful. Somebody knocked on the door; making him realize he was taking his time. He couldn't do it. Cancer. The evil magic couldn't cure. "I'm sorry." He whimpered to the ground through his sobs. The door opened to two impatient, unprofessional and completely unsympathetic Healers. "Are you done?" One of them droned in a robotic voice whilst inspecting her talons. "C-couldn't d-do it". He ran through the maze-like St Mungo's corridors until he found an exit.
His raggedy clothes consisted of a pair of ripped, loose fitting Muggle jeans riding low on his hips, worn and torn trainers reflecting the wear and tear of his life covered in dirt and a thin, stained white t-shirt with an identical, also-stained white jacket. These flimsy Muggle items did no good at protecting him from the harsh bite of the winter weather. It cut at the exposed flesh of his cheeks and hands, turning them a pale shade of pink and making them numb. The pouring rain pounded painfully against his chest. He clutched at the drops; he felt they were sharp hailstones which he deserved. He wanted to suffer, to put himself through the pain Aerona had been through. He leant against the plastic shelter of the bus stop directly outside the hospital. It was dark out and there was no one else around. He was alone. The last Muggle bus of the night, taking him to his dank flat was due but he had a sneaking suspicion that he'd already missed it. However that didn't bother him, if the bus didn't come he'd just sleep on the bench underneath the shelter. Now he was out of St. Mungo's, the rain seemed soothing, a friend. The irregular pitter patter it made upon impact with the shelter was a beautiful and calming sound. Nature battling against man, the oldest battle of time. After half an hour of waiting, the mysterious wizard decided it was useless waiting any longer so he set himself down onto the bench and huddled up for warmth to doze off - for a surprisingly undisturbed sleep.