The Light

Chapter 71

Chapter 71

January 1980

The doctor called for James at four o'clock in the morning.

Overnight, the Potters had fallen sick in their beds and a wizard doctor had been brought in to check on them as soon as possible. The result was not good news; he hadn't phoned James to inform him, he had phoned him to tell him that it was time to say goodbye.

They had all rushed over to the household as quickly as they could and they now stood outside the room, heads down, hearts unbelievably heavy, feeling that numbing sadness that rooted itself into their bones.

James and Sirius were sat at their parents' bedside, clutching their pulse-driven hands. They had been begging them to stay when they'd first arrived, but now they all sat in silence, eyes saying the things that voices could not. Their eyes whispered broken thank you's and yelled strained begs and eventually settled on ragged goodbyes.

Hermione stood in the corridor, feeling Remus' warm body next to her. She felt grief, even though the Potters weren't actually dead yet, but there was mostly just a numbness that she knew came from the fact that she couldn't save them. Despite all of her knowledge and skill, Hermione could not save these people from a disease. No matter how much she wished they would live, some deaths just had to happen.

"I hate this," Peter said in a quiet and squeaky voice. It was enough to wobble down the hall. "I hate everyone dying. I hate death." He was silent and then he said, louder, "What's the point in death?"

There was silence.

"Life," Remus said simply and it was one of those replies that struck you silent and made it so that you couldn't say anything more on the matter.

Sirius burst out of the room suddenly and he took off down the hallway. Remus' eyes stuck to him and he didn't hesitate in following, rushing in an attempt to catch him before he fell apart. James stood despondently, staring at the floor as though, if he willed it hard enough, the ground would open up and take him away from all this.

"She wants to talk to you," he said, and when nobody replied, he raised his eyes to her.

"Me?" Hermione asked. James nodded.

She felt her hands go clammy and stepped past James to enter the room. It looked so grand and yet, so dull, almost as if it knew its inhabitants were close to leaving it forever and it no longer felt capable of showing off its splendour.

Hermione walked as gently as she could to the bed. Charlus was asleep, life clinging to his blue lips, hair stuck to his sweaty skin. He didn't look like the bubbly man she remembered, but frail and old. She couldn't tell whether he was closer to life, or death.

"Hermione," Dorea smiled. Her voice was straining to be strong and the smile was wobbly and pained but they both pretended they didn't notice. She held her hand out. "Come here, dear."

Hermione wasted no time in taking the older woman's hand, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. She stared up at her with tearful eyes.

"Dorea," she said. "I-"

Dorea shushed her, smoothing down her curls and said, "It's okay Hermione. It's alright." The young girl nodded, swallowing back a sob at how ill James' mother looked. Dorea continued to stroke her hair with one hand, holding Hermione's with the other. "They love you. And I love you too. You're such a strong girl, Hermione. Such a brave, strong girl. You're family now. We're your family. They're your family, and family protects each other. Family lives for one another."