When I think about how much he put up with and how he long he fought against everything all alone, I can't help wish I had been there for him since the beginning. Even though I know he's dead, something tells me that he's not gone forever; he's just sleeping and will wake up someday.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm dying."
I look down at my shoes as I walk to the Hospital Wing. I'm not physically ill; just emotionally exhausted. But I'm not going because I need treatment; I'm going to say good-bye to my brother—Harry. He died last night, I was there and felt him go, but I still don't believe it. After having him as my brother for thirteen years – even though he was only with me for the last few years – I feel lost without him.
As I shook with emotion, he just smiled up at me as though nothing was wrong.
I turn the corner and walk through the door of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey looks up as I enter, and nods at me sadly, before hurrying into her office in order to give me some privacy. The moment the door closes behind her, my eyes shoot up, and I start searching for him. It's not hard to guess which bed is his, as it's the only one with the curtains pulled out, hiding him from view.
"Why are you so cold?" He smiled, "I think we both know why that is."
As I cross the room, the silence of the ward and the sound of my shoes hitting the floor make the walk seem even longer and lonelier. I try to ignore all the white, black is more of a proper mourning color, isn't it? Hurrying around the curtain, I sit down in one of the chairs placed next to his bed. My hands are shaking in my lap, and I focus my eyes on them; anything to avoid the sight in front of me.
"What's going to happen?" His smile faltered for a moment. "Honestly, I don't know."
"Sorry," I whisper, finally getting the courage to look at his sheet-covered face. "I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve this; you did nothing wrong." At this point, I finally lose my cool control and tears start rolling down my face. My voice breaks, and I clear my throat quietly. When I continue it's high-pitched, but still remains in a whisper somehow. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you have to leave so soon?"
"How long do you have?" He shook his head, "Not long."
I lean forward and pull the sheet away from his from his face. Immediately I begin to shake severely. He doesn't look the same as he did last night: his pale pink skin tone is gone and now is ashen, his hair is flat, and his eye lids and lips seem to be frosted over with a blue hue. I look at him, hoping his eyes will open or chest to start rising. Instead, I see this dead body. It's stiff and cold; the opposite of what he was. I sit back down and grab hold of his right hand (since it's near to me) and I squeeze it, hoping he'll squeeze back.
"I love the sky at night, don't you?" I looked at him incredulously. "What are you doing bringing that up at a time like this?"
"Harry?" I whisper looking at him, hoping for a response. Nothing. "Harry, if I can get a hold of a time-turner, and if I treat you better, will you live?" No response.
"I don't know, I'm just thinking crazy thoughts right now. I don't know if it's because I'm hysterical from living or from dying."
I sit with him for a few hours until the nurse comes in and to inform me that I have to leave. I squeeze his hand one last time, hoping that the heat I was feeling in his hand wasn't from my own body heat. Then I turn back to see her covering him with the sheet once again, and tears fall once again. "Bye, Harry," I whisper as I turn and leave.
"I'm scared. What if we never see each other again?" He moved my hair away from my face. "We will meet again someday. Everyone dies, after all, I'm just leaving for the next life a bit earlier than you."
I stop outside the doors and wipe my tears away, attempting to control the conflicting emotions inside of me. I had hoped that seeing him would do something for me to help ease the pain, but instead, it's only made it worse. Now that I've seen him, I'm only left with more emptiness than what I started with earlier. What did I think would happen? That he would really wake up?
I shake my head, there's nothing that can be done now. In an attempt to find some comfort, I walk out and head towards the Great Hall. I know that my eyes are red, but I don't really care if anyone makes fun of me for crying. How many of them have lost their sibling? I doubt any have lost them the way I lost mine.
As I walk down the stairs of the Entrance Hall and skip automatically over the trick-step, my mind is consumed with thoughts about him. I can't stop thinking about my memories of him or at least what I had seen of him for the last two years. All the remarks, all the snide comments and all the put-downs are stuck in my head as though my memory is some kind of a device stuck on repeat.
"Harry, I'm so sorry." He had trouble keeping his eyes focused on me. "I know, Chris."
I stop as I come to the Great Hall, and just watch the socializing that goes on inside. The Slytherins are still doing imitations of me falling off my broom earlier in the year, the Hufflepuffs are eating and chatting away, the Ravenclaws are arguing over recently returned homework, and the Gryffindor table is the loudest of them all; laughing, joking, and eating barbarically. Only Ron and Hermione are quiet, heads bent, and talking in whispers. The staff table is quiet too; but they're never loud anyway. I glance over to the place where Harry used to sit—a small corner on the edge of the table, closest to the door—and I see that his spot has been taken, as though he was never here.
"Harry, wake up." I shook him. "Harry, wake up!" I shouted. That was when I realized he wasn't going to wake up.
"Harry," I whisper as a tear falls down my cheek.
Before I went to Hogwarts, I never felt that there was something missing. Maybe it's because I only had a vague understanding that I had a brother or perhaps I was so beloved that I didn't require anyone else. But then, when I went to school I met him.