Written for Caesar's Palace Shipping Week with prompt moonlight, as well as the Criminal Minds Category Competition.
The moonlight cast faint shadows on the streets of Muggle London. Amycus dodged a few late-evening shoppers as he passed them. The darkness reminded him of when he would pull out his wand to get them out of his way, but he had more pressing things on his mind now. There was an important visit he had to make.
Amycus kept walking until he reached the condemned department store that concealed the entrance to St. Mungo's. Muttering something to the mannequin, he stepped inside.
Even though the reception area of the hospital was, even at this hour, one of the busiest places Amycus remembered being in, it always seemed to have a musty smell, as though it had not been used in a very long time. Trying to breathe as little as possible, he went to the reception counter, gave Alecto's name, and was directed to the fourth floor: the spell damage ward.
Having made the same evening visit since Alecto was admitted to St. Mungo's, Amycus knew exactly where she was by now, but he always waited to be sent there. It meant she was still there. She was still alive. There was still hope.
Amycus was one of the few regular visitors to this floor. In the days following the battle, the Healers here had had their hands full with people who had been cursed with this spell or that hex during the fight. But that surge of activity was gone now, and the hallway he walked down was deserted save for a sole Healer in lime green robes.
When she turned to greet Amycus, he asked her, "Anything?"
The Healer's face said it all before she could open her mouth, "No, there has not been any change, unfortunately."
"Will there be?" Amycus found himself asking. It had been a week. Surely, if Alecto were going to wake up, she would have done it by now.
"We can't be sure," said the Healer. "but it sometimes takes a few weeks, or perhaps even months. All we can do is be patient."
"Why don't you try a spell?" Amycus suggested. He disliked the idea of several weeks of this dismal routine. "Or a potion?"
"Injuries like this don't always work that way," A pause, then "I suggest you go in and see her now. Visiting hours are almost over."
As she continued down the hallway, Amycus opened the door to Alecto's room. He tried to be as quiet as possible, temporarily forgoing his habit of slamming doors. While he knew his sister was unlikely to be aroused by the sound, he was still careful not to make too much noise.
The chair next to her bed had not been moved since he had vacated it the previous evening. Amycus sat down and placed one of his hands next to hers. He thought about holding it, but he found it too hard to shake the feeling that he was disturbing something.
They sat in silence for a while. The only sounds in the room were their quiet inhales and exhales. It was too quiet for Amycus's liking. The solitude of the room reminded him that Alecto's condition was the only reason he was not currently rotting in an Azkaban cell.
Eventually, he broke the silence by whispering, "Alecto?"
Nothing. By now, Amycus had learned to expect this, but it still hurt that she was so far away, even though she lay mere inches from him.
He tried again. "Alecto…it's me…it's Amycus."
This was the opposite of what he was used to. When they were younger, Amycus had always been the one prodded awake by far too many pokes from Alecto's small fingers and her little voice begging him to get up and play with her. But now, through no fault of her own, the roles were reversed.
What was it McGonagall had said? She's only Stunned. She'll be perfectly all right. That was about as far from the truth as the situation could get. Alecto would be perfectly all right, but she lay in the hospital neither knowing nor caring about her brother's evening visits. That made perfect sense. Even when Amycus thought it, sarcasm laced his voice.
He wanted whoever had cast the spell to regret it immensely. But all the worrying and uncertainty had left him feeling too defeated to act on it.
The Healer Amycus had spoken to in the hallway poked her head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but this concludes our visiting hours."
Amycus reluctantly stood up. Despite the hesitation he always felt when leaving, he made sure to tell Alecto goodbye and that he would be back the next day. On his way out of the room, he was careful to shut the door softly.
As he left St. Mungo's, it was hard for Amycus to avoid wondering how many more times he would make this evening trip, and whether they would break free of the daily cycle of Amycus sitting in a chair and unsuccessfully attempting to make conversation that did not sound forced.
Of course, he would come to the hospital until Alecto got better (or breathed her last, but that outcome was not one Amycus liked to think about,) although he still wished he had no reason to do so.
Their birth order as well as the concept of St. Mungo's visiting hours have been borrowed from my personal headcanons.
Reviews are always appreciated.