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'Truth is the first casualty of war.'
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She looked deathly. Eyes closed, skin bleached of a healthy glow; Adeline lay motionless on familiar crisp sheets, shallowly breathing in stale air with an undertone of disinfectant and lavender. Hospital gown in place of her unkempt dress, ruined by mud and violence of the previous night, it was clear her body was giving way to the dark magic residing in her bloodstream.
"Harry?"
Harry couldn't break his stare. She looked so fragile—so vulnerable. She was daybreak on a Sunday morning; the luminescence of the moon. She was the hope in this war, but simultaneously the heart of it. He'd never met anyone like her; he'd never meet anyone like her again. To hold such corrupted power but maintain the softness of a pure soul is magic in and of itself. She snuck into his life on that day in the black lake and became his life from that point on. What will he do? What will he do when she's dead and gone in nine months? How will he cope? How in Merlin's name will he win this war with such a gaping hole in his heart?
"Harry?"
"Huh?" He blinks, "What?"
"What actually happened last night?" Ron asked from his place on the next bed over from Addie's, having pulled it closer to act as an extra seat for himself and Ginny. Hermione resided in the chair between the head of both beds. The three looked to their downhearted friend, seated at the bottom of Addie's mattress.
"She's been distant," Harry tore his gaze back to Adeline. "I think it's because of her sickness. She's been having hallucinations of Voldemort, or visions maybe, and she's just drawn to that shield. Death eaters are there all the time, by Voldemort's orders I'd say, and she keeps talking about her needing to leave Hogwarts for our own good. If she leaves the shield, she'll be captured and brought to him. Who knows what Voldemort's planned for her, but it's not good."
"Wait..." Ginny spoke, drawing his eyes to her. Hermione and Ron mirrored her expression. "What do you mean 'her sickness'?"
"...Well, I..." He sighs, defeated. "She's...terminally ill. She's dying, guys."
"What?"
"What do you mean?"
"And exactly when were you planning to tell us?" Hermione asked, perplexed, her voice louder than usual.
"I kind of just did—"
"We're your best friends, Harry. Does 'best' mean nothing to you? And Addie's our best friend too, so that makes TWO 'bests'! We deserve to know she's DYING!" Ron's voice rose; Hermione gently shushed him.
"I don't know what to say," Harry looked down, as though the lines on his hands suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.
"You don't know what to say? Suddenly the conversation is about something bad you've done and now you're not talkative?" Ron fired, words slipping out of his mouth before he could think about them. "What happened to talkative Harry, huh? What happened to the blabbermouth cooing over Cho Chang but then realising his feelings towards Addie and laying it all on me to listen to, huh-"
