“I know the end”
August, 1977
"yeah you were scared, and you were crying loud"
James' head throbbed as he lay in his bed, his pillow pressed tightly around his head in an attempt to cease some of the pain. It didn't.
This was a constant routine for James Potter. The day would start as it always did. He would come down to the kitchen every morning for breakfast, greeting his parents and his best friend like it was nothing. By the time lunch came around, the pain had seeped into his mind, a shadow that was not supposed to be there. When it was finally dinner, James couldn't eat or even swallow his food without his stomach rejecting it. The food refused to stay down, no matter how hard James tried. The evenings were spent in constant pain, pain that wrapped around his mind. The hours stretched on until his mind couldn't take it, and he fell into the sleep his whole body begged for.
Sirius was doing everything he could to help out the Potters. He laid with his best friend and offered both his support and just his company. He helped cook and clean when Euphemia and Fleamont couldn't. Sirius Black had come from an abusive background. His parents saw him as nothing but the Black heir—a symbol of their name. Walburga and Orion were horrible people, and in the winter break of Sirius' fifth year, he finally reached his breaking point. He couldn't live with parents who resorted to abuse to get him to fit their image.
So he had decided to run away, leaving both his family behind. His brother, Regulus Black, was left with his parents and took his place, stepping up to be the new heir of the noble house of Black. Of course Sirius went to the Potters. They offered him everything they could, both their support and understanding, so it was his turn to do the same for them.
Euphemia and Fleamont were clearly not doing well. Usually, James was so happy and cheerful during the summer, so seeing him as the opposite broke everything inside of him. Something was seriously wrong with his health. They knew they should take the boy to St Mungo's Wizarding Hospital, but James never liked going.
It was in the summer of his 2nd year that James was playing in the garden. From the small brush of his finger against a poisonous plant, his arm had broken out into hives, his skin burned and felt like it was on flames. Euphemia did have medical experience, but they thought it was best to take him to the hospital. The whole time, James cried and kicked, not over the fact that his skin felt like a wave of fire had washed over it, but because he absolutely hated the environment of St Mungo's.
This time was different, though. Everyone knew James needed to go. It was at the very start of August that Euphemia and Fleamont decided to take him, and he didn't complain.
James had spent almost a week at St Mungo's; for a hospital full of magic, they were excruciatingly slow. It was probably because of the fact that it was busy, being the most popular wizarding hospital, but that didn't help the stress the Potters and Sirius were feeling. James was trapped in the building, and he despised every minute of it. Test after test, the poking of needles and the feeling of doctors' gloves against his skin. He paid attention to the white walls of the hospital, the sterile environment with a strong smell of potions. He wanted to leave.
His main doctor, Doctor Macqoid, had confirmed that something was very wrong. It was at the end of James' 6th day at St Mungo's that the doctor walked in with an official diagnosis, his features displaying a mix of both sorrow and unease—he clearly didn't want to be sharing this news.
The moment the doctor opened his mouth, James felt the first wave of nerves. He was going to be sick. Earlier in the day, he was given a potion that had stopped the headaches, but still, the room spun around him. He no longer felt like his head was being split open, but he wished he did.
"After careful evaluation of your results with our best team of doctors, we have a diagnosis," he stated. James felt like he was going to die. Maybe that's what the diagnosis was? His heart pounded in his chest. He almost jumped when Sirius placed a hand of comfort on his shoulder. He did it to support his best friend, but it only reminded James that something was wrong with him. "This news is going to be hard to hear, so prepare yourselves."
James took a deep breath, watching as the doctor opened his mouth. "James, you have a Glioblastoma Multiforme. It's a fast-growing tumour in your brain." The words came out, but everything blurred. James couldn't hear anything, and his ears rang. He couldn't see anything. There was something covering his eyes—tears? It was Euphemia Potter who brought James' attention back when he heard her small sobs as she turned to her husband, who was also crying.
A brain tumour.
A fast growing brain tumour.
What did that mean?
Was he going to die?
So many questions, but James couldn't think.
"You– you can fix it right?" Sirius asked desperately, removing his hand from his best friend's shoulder.
Doctor Macqoid looked at the family, his expression of sorrow only more evident. James didn't know what to do or say, so he focused on the doctor, his dark hair and dark eyes. Doctor Macqoid held onto his clipboard tightly, his knuckles growing white. "Unfortunately, no. We can only help give James more time," he informed them, but James knew the man didn't want to say anything. Doctor Macqoid clearly wanted to turn around and never tell the family anything. The hardest part of being a doctor was sharing bad news, James knew that, and he felt bad for the doctor that there was bad news to share.
It was his bad news.
And it can't be fixed.
"How does that work?" Euphemia asked, wiping the tears away.
"The treatment is aggressive. James won't be able to go to school. He'd have to stay here for a few months under observation while we use the necessary spells to stop the growing tumour," Doctor Macqoid explained. James thought about it. No Hogwarts? That would be hell on his own—not being able to muck around the castle with his friends or stare at his crush, Regulus Black, from across the great hall, and he wouldn't be able to play quidditch—and then he thought about having to stay at the hospital—the white hallways, no entertainment. If the brain tumour didn't kill him, the boredom most definitely will. "You'd have two years."
Two years.
Only two years.
The treatment was aggressive. He wouldn't be with his friends. James would be bored out of his mind. And for him to only live for two years? So far, being treated was not appealing.
"Without any treatment or anything to help, you'd have around nine to ten months. Those months would be full of intense pain. You'd be spending the months the way you did during the summer, though it'll only get worse." That didn't sound appealing either. James couldn't survive that pain for the summer—all he could do was lie in bed—he didn't want the rest of his life like that.
He didn't like either of his options.
At that moment, James Potter just wanted to die then and there.
He just sat there, his expression blank and unreadable as he stared at the wall in front of him. He didn't know what to do.
"Are there any other options?" Euphemia asked, her voice cracking as she choked back a sob.
Doctor Maqoid looked to the Potters, who all stared at him desperately for some sort of hope that things would go back to normal, that James could just be James again. "I could give you a list of spells and potions that could possibly help with the symptoms and maybe expand his time by a few months, but there is no guarantee it will work," he explained. Euphemia and Fleamont looked at each other, their eyes bloodshot and stinging. "It could improve his quality of life immensely."
"Yes" is all James let out.
This could possibly give him time to live his life. It would calm the symptoms and allow him to be the stupid teenager he had always been. He could possibly play quidditch until it was too hard. He would still have time to laugh with his friends and, most importantly, he could do something about his crush on Regulus Black—behind Sirius' back, of course.
But what if it didn't work? James didn't want to think about that. It was the best option.
James looked to his parents, who gave him a look to say 'whatever you want', and then he looked to Sirius, who just wanted what was best for him. "How long will that give me?" he mumbled.
"Maybe a year, no guarantee," the doctor informed him. James kept thinking. A year. It wasn't a lot of time, but it was better than the other options.
The Potter boy nodded his head, ignoring the heavy feeling in his brain—that must be the tumour. "That's it, then. I'll give you a list and some pre-brewed potions." Doctor Maqoid smiled awkwardly—what else was there to say when someone was going to die?
"What about Hogwarts?" Euphemia questioned.
"He can go. I expect him to meet with the school nurse, Poppy Pomfrey, for constant checkups. If things worsen before we expect, he'll be required to come home." Both Euphemia and Fleamont nodded. James was familiar with Pomfrey. One of his best friends, Remus Lupin, was a werewolf, so he always spent a lot of time in the hospital wing. When James went to visit, Madame Pomfrey was always around, caring for those who needed it. Yes, most of the time, she was telling James and his friends off for running through the hospital wing or for being too loud, though he was glad to have someone he knew looking after him.
"Quidditch?" Sirius finally piped in. Both the boys knew that James cared greatly about quidditch, though James had forgotten about it until Sirius mentioned something.
"Again, he can play. Be watchful of your symptoms, James. The moment they are too much to handle, you have to quit the team. Your vision getting worse is the first sign," The doctor explained. James took a deep breath. He had time. He was already going to be captain—that was organised before 6th year had ended. He was going to make sure the Gryffindor team was set to win, whether he was playing or not. "Poppy will watch out for everything and will let you know what will happen, but you won't be playing the full season, you must know that."
"Thank you," James muttered, wiping the tears that had clouded his vision.
"I am truly sorry," Doctor Macqoid said before rushing out of the room as fast as he possibly could.
The four were left with nothing but silence, a harsh force descending upon them, but the quiet didn't last for very long. The tears quickly began to flow again, the silence filled with James' anguished sobs. Euphemia moved across the room as fast as she could, collapsing on her knees beside her son's bed. The boy had rolled over to face his mum, his tears still flowing like a never-ending river. He didn't know what it was he was feeling, but he wanted it to stop. He wanted to be normal. Effie wished she could shield her son from the threats of the world. She had always tried, but in her mind, she had failed. In the end, it was never enough. Effie felt like she had let her son down, even when there was nothing she could do.
Sirius stepped back to give the two space. He stood next to Fleamont, both their eyes bloodshot and their cheeks drenched with tears.
"I don't want to die," James gasped out through sobs, his voice raw as he spoke. Euphemia pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapped around him. "I don't want to die," he repeated.
"I know my love, I know," Effie spoke, her voice tender and soft as she tried to hold back her own tears. Her words felt useless, so she moved her hand to his head, pushing back his hair in a gentle, soothing motion to offer extra comfort, her hands trembling as they moved. There was something in her son's head infecting his brain. He was sick. James was going to die. Euphemia wanted to scream, but she choked back that feeling. She had to stay strong for him, she had to make sure he was ok.
"Please, mum, I can't- I can't die," James stuttered. He had so many things to do, so much of his life left to live. He was supposed to play quidditch professionally, he was supposed to get married, and live in a large house with the man of his dreams—he was supposed to grow old, but he wouldn't even make it to his adult years. "Please, mum." James Potter couldn't breathe. His lungs felt empty, the air felt thin around him as he gasped for it. "Please," he begged, his body trembling with panic and fear.
Sirius watched the scene in front of him, and his stomach twisted with nausea—he felt like he was going to throw up. James Potter, the boy who was always so happy and full of life, who always comforted those around him, was breaking down right in front of him. There was nothing Sirius could do but watch. He wished he could take the boy's suffering away and make it his own. He wished he could help, but all he did was stand there. He felt paralysed and frozen, like a statue that couldn't move. He listened to his friend beg to live, but they all knew that time was going to run out soon enough.
Fleamont had moved across the room, silently joining his wife and son on the bed, his arms tightened around them, bringing them closer. They all wished they could freeze time, that they could stay in that fragile moment forever, but the time would only continue to slip away. The three just cried and cried until their eyes were drained from every last tear. Sirius had joined them too, sitting at the end of the bed, holding James' hand like his life depended on it, like it could slip away at any moment.
The four of them just lay there, bunched up on the tiny bed, until it was just too much. Everything was suffocating. It hurt to speak, so they remained silent. James' exhaustion had taken over, and he had slipped into a calming sleep. The potion had helped the pain, but it was such big news for someone so young and so innocent.
For someone who had just found out that he would always remain young.