June 2016
The steady beeping from the cardiac monitor echoed across the sterile hospital room, a quiet metronome ticking away the last minutes of a young life. Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, cool and damp with the scent of recent rain. Inside, a boy no older than seventeen lay alone in his bed, his body fragile, withering under the weight of a sickness he never asked for.
"Dying... huh," the boy murmured, his voice little more than a breath. The words went unheard, lost in the soft hum of machines and the ever-present quiet that comes only in places where people are waiting for the end. "It feels... somewhat relaxing."
The room went still after that. No one answered. The silence that followed was thick with melancholy, like even the walls had learned not to hope anymore.
He reached out, weakly pressing the nurse's call button beside his bed. A faint click broke the silence.
"Let's watch movies," he whispered, as if talking to an old friend. He stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle back in.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open.
"Is there anything I can help you with, sir Lucas?" the nurse asked kindly, stepping into the room with her clipboard in hand.
Lucas turned his head slightly toward her. "I'd like to watch movies," he said, forcing a small smile. "Preferably the Harry Potter series... or The Lord of the Rings trilogy."
"Of course," she replied, her smile soft and practiced. "Let me set it up for you."
She moved quickly but gently, setting up the monitor and the old DVD player that Lucas had requested countless times before. As the first movie loaded, she glanced back.
"Is there anything else?"
Lucas shook his head. "No. Thank you."
She left, and the door closed with a soft click.
Lucas looked at the screen. The familiar theme music played—the opening titles of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone filling the room like the warmth of a memory.
"Ah... my favorite series," he whispered, settling deeper into the sheets. "I still remember when I first watched it. I was nine. Everything felt... magical."
He let the memories carry him as the story played. Time became weightless, scenes blending together as if the movies knew exactly what he needed. Hogwarts. Hogsmeade. Friends. Magic. A world where people like him didn't die in hospital beds, but stood against impossible odds and survived.
Hours passed. Outside, the rose in the glass vase on the nightstand began to wither, its petals curling inward as if mourning alongside him.
Eventually, the final credits of The Deathly Hallows Part II rolled.
Lucas smiled faintly, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. "Watching it again... I'll never forget this feeling."
With shaky limbs, he pushed the covers aside and slowly stood. The IV pole beside him swayed as he grabbed it, the metal cold and steady beneath his fingers. Each movement was heavy, every breath a reminder of how much time he didn't have.
He caught his reflection in the mirror across the room.
What stared back wasn't the boy he once was. His hair was gone, taken by the chemo. His cheeks were hollow, skin pale and almost translucent. His eyes looked older than they should, tired and too aware of how little time they had left.
Still, he managed a soft smile.
For a moment, in his mind, he saw his younger self, laughing, running, dreaming of castles and broomsticks. Back then, he truly believed he'd live to see everything.
He shook the thought away and turned to the window.
The street below still shimmered from the storm. The rain had passed, leaving behind a world that looked polished and new. Water ran off rooftops in steady drips. Mist curled around the edges of the courtyard like a lingering ghost.
"So beautiful..." he murmured.
Down below, he saw them: a young couple beneath a blanket on a bench, laughing quietly. The girl leaned into the boy's side, and he kissed her hair like it was nothing, like it was normal. A little girl danced nearby, splashing through puddles while her parents watched with pride.
Lucas's chest tightened.
"Why can't it be me?" he whispered.
The words echoed in the room, unanswered.
A tear rolled down his cheek, hot and heavy. He didn't bother to wipe it away. He pressed his forehead gently to the window. It was cool almost like the saline bag in his hand. Cold. Detached. Necessary.
But nothing about this felt fair.
His hands began to tremble not from the sickness, but from the pain in his heart. Not physical... emotional. That deep, unbearable ache of being left out of the life he so desperately wanted.
The lights flickered.
A pulse of energy rippled across the room.
The glass in the windows shivered. The IV pole hummed faintly under his grip. The nearby heart monitor spiked for a brief second, crackling with static.
Magic.
Raw, instinctive, and uncontrolled. It coursed through him not summoned by a wand, but by pain, longing, and the need to be something more than a dying boy in a hospital bed.
For one brief moment, he glowed from within an aura of faint golden light surrounding him, dancing like starlight across his skin. Papers lifted into the air. The curtains fluttered wildly.
And then... it was gone.
The light faded. The wind stilled.
He turned away from the window, exhausted. Every step back toward the bed was a war. The floor stretched endlessly. His breath hitched, unsteady.
Three more steps.
Two.
His knees gave out.
The IV pole clattered to the ground. The machines screamed.
Lucas collapsed onto the floor, his body folding like worn parchment.
The ceiling blurred. Lights above him faded in and out. His chest rose once. Again. Slower. Shallow.
He blinked.
Once.
And never again.
---
> Patient Name: Lucas Hammilton
Age: 17
Time of Death: 4:00 PM
Date: June 16, 2016
Cause of Death: Cardiac arrest due to complications from late-stage cancer, triggered by magical instability