Incomplete

There are many career options in the Wizarding world. Many are cheerful and carefree. Some are some are stressful, but with no emotional strain. I could have chosen any one of them. But I didn't. I chose what must be the most emotionally challenging one. I became a Healer, in the Terminal Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital.

I doubted my choice many times during my career. Every time a patient died, I felt a piece of my heart being ripped out, and those pieces were irreplaceable. The one thing that kept me sane was James. He was my safe anchor in this world. Without him I would not be here. When I returned home after a hard day, he always knew how to comfort me. He did not question my crying. He knew it hurt to loose someone you cared for. But even he couldn't help me every time.

His name was Harry Duncan. He had SarMonia, a disease that if caught in time is curable. But Harry carried the cursed disease in his lungs for an entire year before we caught up to him. The only reason he was diagnosed was because Madam Pomfrey had noticed his trouble breathing when he had suffered an injury playing Quidditch. He had been the captain of the team, and was a notorious athlete.

When he came into the ward he was still a cheerful seventeen-year-old, only a couple of years younger than myself. It was indistinguishable that he was sick. I could even remember seeing him around Hogwarts. He acted just as James and his mates, the Marauders, as they were nicknamed, had acted. I could practically see him playing a childish prank right there in the ward. But in that he was different. He was more mature than they had been.

It was not until the medication started that he began looking like there was something wrong. I knew that the treatment was pure torture, and I also knew that that was the only reason that he showed any signs of sickness. I always wondered why he didn't just get up and leave. I knew that there wasn't much chance for him to recover.

One day, as I sat by his bed waiting for him to awake from his latest round of medication, I contemplated just that. As he awoke, he turned to me. "You know why I don't just leave, even though the medication makes me feel like jumping off a building? It's for my family. I will probably die either way. But I want them to have a little chance at remaining whole, and happy. They need me for that. I don't want them to be hurt because I was not smart enough to tell Madam Pomfrey that I was having chest pains. I just wanted it to pass, go away and for me not to miss school. I wanted to become an Auror, and for that you need good grades; a lot of success that was." His words got through my skin and straight through my skin and into my heart. I excused myself and wept in a hidden corner of the ward. He didn't deserve to go through this.

Not too long after the incident, Harry's condition picked up. For a while I thought he would actually recover. He even began showing signs of his old perkiness again. I was confident that the treatments had succeeded. But I was still inexperienced. I had only been a Healer for under half a year, and did not yet know that when things got better in this ward, it meant that the worst is yet to come.

And sure enough, a week after things got better they got worse. Much worse. It was a very hard time for me. I had bonded with Harry, more than I had ever imagined possible. He reminded me very much of my James. Seeing him lying there, helpless, made my heart clench.

Three weeks after things down tracked, I came to the ward. As I looked around, I noticed that Harry's bed was empty. My chest contracted, cutting off my breath. Tears came to my eyes, as I realized that I would never see him again. I was told that he had passed on during the night, surrounded by his family and friends. I knew he would have liked that, that it would have made him happy to be near those he loved as he was released from the pain. But I felt like I should have been there, like I had abandoned him. But more than that, I felt like all his suffering had been in vain, all his bravery had been wasted. I could not even take comfort in the fact that his suffering was over. The feeling that he had suffered in vain haunted me.

That night as I lay snuggled up to James, the feeling still haunted me. Even James' comforting touch and gentle kisses couldn't comfort me. Even the greatest Healer in the world cannot cure heartbreak. For some things cannot be healed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I opened my eyes and looked down at my slightly inflated lower stomach through tear-filled eyes. I realized that Harry will not have suffered in vain if his morals were not forgotten. At that moment I decided two things. First I decided that I would name my son Harry. I hoped he might fill the void left by Harry Duncan.

Second I decided that I would give my life for my family if necessary. I would suffer torture for them, if it came to that. Family was worth it. I knew that when my parents had died, and Harry had reinforced that feeling within me. He had suffered for months, all for his family. He loved them as much as he loved himself.

It is now a year and a half since then. As I run with Harry in my arms, I hear my husband, my James, hit the floor behind me. I know he gave his life for me. I also know that Voldemort will be here soon. I am now prepared to die for my son, and make sure that Harry Duncan is never forgotten.