When she stepped into the floor, she was barely surprised to see the halls devoid of people, unlike the bustling corridors of the other floors. She did not even need to wonder. Barely anyone knew the level even existed.
Sixth level of St.Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
As she passed the monotonous labeled doors, she counted the numbers on them, not paying enough attention to note they came in a strange order. Had she a voice, she would count the numbers out loud, but her throat was as dry as the drought outside.
One, three, five, seven, nine, eleven…..
And between the doors, the walls had labels too.
Two, four, six, eight, ten….
She stopped at the space between eleven and thirteen, her bright eyes gazing at the strip of white material with the number 'twelve' on it, as if waiting for a sign.
Help me.
Her thin fingers reached up and prodded the engraving, tracing the number as if writing it. At once a certain portion of wall assumed an outline, and a knob and keyhole surfaced from the dull white wall. She twisted the doorknob, walked into the darkness inside the door, and clicked it closed behind her.
The sound of dripping water seemed to overrule any other sound. Nothing else broke the otherwise perfect silence. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noted an hourglass filled with a type of thick, luminous blue liquid, dripping serenely. It rested on an ornate table, beside a bed where a group of shadows crowded over the bed's occupant. Only one of these shadows turned round to face her.
He's alive. There are no tears.
He's alive.
There was no greeting, no move made to welcome her, and all she did was stare back at the unspeaking figure. As the man made no move to stop her, she walked closer to the bed, noted the seven people round the bed, and when she was close enough for her presence to be acknowledged, they moved to give her space.
The soft swishing of robes seemed to intrude on the silence, and everyone seemed to try to hurry and settle into the numbing quiet again. As if too much sound would rouse the weak presence resting on the white-draped cushions.
She did not notice anymore, all the sounds died away from her head when her tired eyes fell on his wasted form. His still, pale fingers and the back of his hands, one of which was marred with a white, barely visible scar. Her eyes moved upwards over his lightly muscled arms and his white-robed body, up to his face where her whole being froze in place.
She wished she could cry. At the way his lips were slightly apart, His mouth hanging only a little open in a stationary sort of wonder. His eyes were open, the startling emerald in them dulled by the blue light from the liquid hourglass. They seemed lost, blinking every now and then, just enough to assure her he was alive.
Not this way. This is not your ending. (you'retheheroandthemaincharacterandtheworldrevolvesaroundyouand you d o n ' t d i e t h i s w a y )
The soft rise and fall of his chest was of little comfort. If he was to live this way, she knew she would rather have him dead. Dead, yes, but at least then he would not look this way. He would not look so sad.
A hand found its way onto her shoulder. Quickly she turned her head to meet soft brown, sympathetic eyes, and behind the grim face a more feminine one, who looked down onto the boy and then lowered her eyes in defeat.
"I think it would be best if—if we leave him to himself now." Let's leave him now, there's nothing else we can do. Were they abandoning him now?
She looked back at the silent figure on the bed, and cast her eyes back towards the man with brown eyes, and shook her head, her pale tresses falling onto her face. With one defiant shake of her head, they fell back to place and her eyes fell back onto the man.
They're leaving him to die.
"I'll stay." He only nodded softly, then looked to the woman behind him. She sniffled into a handkerchief then followed the man's lead, walking out of the room. One of the three female figures in the room walked softly towards her, gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, and left along with the other four in the room. One of them, with a scarred face and a swiveling electric blue eye, grunted softly as he passed her.
Finally, a tiny click announced the strangers' departure, and she threw the door a hesitant look over her shoulder.
At last, in the silence of the room, in his lonely, ebbing presence and the pain that came with it, she broke down and cried.
I'm here. I'm here. I'll stay with you. I'll keep you close to me and make sure everything's alright.
It's alright, it's alright. Don't cry.