Chapter 230
Albert lay on the bed in the hospital wing; his body, once pulsing with life, had turned into a pale mass with a dark purple hue. His eyes were half-open, staring at the ceiling without focus, as if searching for an escape from the pain gripping his body.
His senses were fading one by one. He began to hear the world around him as if it were very far away—as if he were underwater. Even the sobbing of Professor McGonagall, standing by his bed, became mere absolute silence to him.
He knew people were in the room; he could see them moving with difficulty because his vision remained blurred by fog, but he could no longer hear anything they said. Their lips moved, but he could not decipher the words. The isolation within his own body grew larger than ever. He felt an increasing weakness, as if life were being pulled from him slowly and mercilessly.
At that moment, the door opened and Harry and Hermione entered together. Their faces bore an unmistakable disappointment. It was clear they hadn't found the solution they were looking for. Harry stood at the entrance, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides, while Hermione hurried toward Madam Pomfrey.
"Did... did you find anyone?" Hermione asked, her voice full of plea, though she already knew the answer. Despair was evident in her eyes.
Madam Pomfrey, standing by Albert, looked at Hermione and sighed heavily, as if trying to ease the weight of the situation before speaking: "No, unfortunately. We haven't found anyone with the same blood type. Everyone we asked was not a match."
Those words were like a stab to Hermione. She put her hand to her mouth for a moment, holding back tears, then looked at Albert, who looked like a mere ghost of the boy they knew.
"This isn't fair!" she suddenly cried, her voice trembling with anger and despair. "It can't end like this! We can't lose him just because we couldn't find a matching blood type!"
Harry, who had stood silently until now, stepped toward the bed, his eyes fixed on Albert. He seemed to want to say something, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he sat on a chair beside the bed and placed his hand on Albert's cold hand.
"Albert, we're here..." he said in a low voice, knowing his friend might not be able to hear him. It was killing Harry inside—the thought of being helpless to save someone once again.
McGonagall, standing nearby, tried to keep her composure. But seeing Hermione collapse and Harry sitting silently by an Albert who seemed to be withdrawing from life was more than she could bear. She wiped her tears secretly, but she couldn't hide her ragged breathing.
Madam Pomfrey, always trying to maintain her professional calm, approached Albert and checked his condition again. Her face was grave, but her eyes held a mix of anxiety and sorrow.
"We have done everything we can to stop the bleeding and keep his body stable," Pomfrey said in a quiet but sorrowful voice. "But... the unfortunate truth is that time is running out. His body weakens more with every minute, and if we don't find matching blood soon..." She stopped talking, but everyone understood.
The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by Albert's weak and intermittent breathing. Hermione sat on one of the chairs against the wall, burying her face in her hands. Harry remained by Albert, watching every small movement in his body as if begging him to stay strong.
At that moment, it felt as though everyone in the room felt the weight of the truth: Albert might be on his way to the end, and there was nothing they could do to change it. The thought was destroying them from within, yet they were unable to escape it.
Albert felt the weight of his body as he lay on the bed, feeling as though he were floating between two worlds. The pain had become a silent background, as if his body had completely surrendered. In that moment, he found himself drowning in his thoughts, replaying the life he had lived.
Is this death again?
He wondered to himself, feeling every passing second bringing him closer to the end. I got a second chance... a chance I never dreamed of, and I finally started living the life I wanted. I have friends, people who care about me, a place where I feel I belong... but it seems fate decided to snatch it all away from me again.
He felt a lump in his throat, even though his body could barely feel a thing. Harry, Ron, Hermione... I hate to leave them. I hate to leave this world. I wish I had more time. I wish I could have lived more, fought more.
While he was sinking into these dark thoughts, the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang, causing everyone in the room to snap their attention toward the entrance.
Two familiar figures appeared: George and Fred Weasley, panting heavily as if they had run from one end of the castle to the other.
George, clutching his side from exhaustion, raised a gesturing hand and said in a broken voice: "Alright... I... I have his blood type! It's... the same as his!"
The room went silent for a heartbeat, and then those words sparked a sense of relief and hope that hadn't existed moments ago. Madam Pomfrey looked at George with wide eyes, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she quickly regained her resolve and said firmly: "Alright, alright! Come with me immediately!"
With a swift gesture, she led George toward a small room behind a white curtain in the same wing. Behind the curtain were medical and magical equipment ready for blood extraction. Pomfrey stood there, preparing everything with incredible speed, while George sat on the donation chair, his face a mix of exhaustion and determination.
Outside, the atmosphere had completely shifted. A wave of relief swept over everyone, as if a great weight had been lifted from their chests. Hermione sat back and held her head in her hands, smiling faintly, while Harry stood by Albert, his eyes watching his friend who seemed on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness, but now had a chance.
At that moment, the door opened again, and Ron entered, panting heavily. It looked like he had been searching for something the whole time, but now he was focused only on the answer he awaited.
"Did... did George and Fred come?" he asked breathlessly, wiping sweat with his sleeve.
Harry nodded in affirmation, saying nothing. His eyes shimmered with tears that refused to fall. All he felt was a mixture of relief and gratitude, blended with the fear that this nightmare might end at any moment.
Ron looked at Harry and then at Albert, who was still lying on the bed. "That means... there's a real chance now, right?"
Harry nodded again, unable to speak. The words were stuck in his throat, but he knew hope had returned to the room.
After the atmosphere in the hospital wing calmed down a bit and everyone was certain George had begun the donation to save Albert, Fred sat beside Hermione, who looked somewhat relieved after moments of extreme tension and anxiety.
However, curiosity took hold of him, and he asked her in a low voice full of wonder:
"Hermione... how did you know that Albert's blood type is B? I mean, that's not something everyone usually knows, is it?"
Hermione smiled faintly, looking at Fred as if remembering something pleasant from the past. She said quietly, placing her hand on the edge of the chair: "Actually, it's not a big secret. It happened on the night of the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament."
Fred raised his eyebrows in surprise: "The night of the Ball?"
Hermione nodded and added with a warm smile: "Yes. That night was special for us. We were together and ended up talking for a long time. I didn't know him very well in his daily life, but he was honest with me. We talked about a lot of things... about what he did when the school year ended, and even about his fears and dreams."
She paused for a moment, as if replaying the details of that night in her mind, before adding: "In the middle of the conversation, I asked him some random things. Maybe asking about his blood type was a bit strange, but he didn't hesitate to answer. He told me he knew his type because he had to have many tests in the past, and he told me his type was B. At the time, I didn't realize this information might be important one day."
Fred listened intently, his eyes shining with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "So, you knew all this about him because he was open with you? It seems he trusts you a lot."
Hermione smiled, a hint of humility appearing on her face. "I think he felt he needed someone to talk to honestly. That night, we felt like true friends. Since then, I've known things about him that perhaps many others don't."
Harry and Ron were standing nearby, listening to the conversation without intervening. But Hermione's words clearly piqued their curiosity. Ron looked at Harry in mild shock and said: "That explains everything... I was wondering how she knew his type so fast. I didn't even think anyone would know that kind of detail."
Harry, who had been quiet since the start of the conversation, turned his head toward Hermione and said with a small smile: "You've always been able to see things others don't, haven't you? I'm glad you were there to know that about him. You probably saved his life today."
Hermione felt a bit of embarrassment but replied with a shy smile: "I didn't do much. I was just lucky to get to know him more deeply that night."
To be continued...