At the End of the Hall

Hours passed, one after the other, but the time barely registered for a group who had spent forever waiting and a few precious months in solid preparation. The ticking of a muggle-style grandfather clock on the floor below and the crescendo of agony that came from the end of the passageway marked their hours. The sun could have risen and set a thousand times over, but without the news they'd been waiting to hear, the world stood mercilessly still.

The sounds of anguish didn't even bother to hush themselves anymore as they reached through the cracks of a wooden door all the way down an impossibly long hall, grasping at the ears of the contingent that gathered at the opposite end. Where they had been comrades side by side before, this time the pursuit was a private affair, meant to be completed only by two. The others would have to wait. Just wait and listen and pray.

Waiting wasn't easy for this assembled group who valued action over patience and felt ineffectual in the circumstance they in which they now found themselves. To make matters worse, they were hot, rooted like a forest of worry-trees and agony plants in a sweltering house that any normal person would have escaped hours ago. Their parched throats begged with inaudible calls for water to wet their palates and relieve their discomfort. Not one risked departure until what was happening at the end of the hall had finished and they heard the news they had been waiting to hear. There would be time later for drinking, and celebrating too, if it all turned out all right. But worry had seized their lifeblood and held their beating hearts in its palms for now. What if they were too confident? What if it didn't turn out they way they had all planned? What if they couldn't go back?

In the tenth hour, one of the assembled raced down the hall, clawing at the door that separated the anxiety from the agony. He was brought back to the waiting spot by the rest of the group, who whispered soothing words to him in an attempt to mollify his excitement.

"This isn't your battle, dear," they would tell him. "They have to do it alone."

And the hours were marked by the tick...tick...tick... of a grandfather clock and the scream of a tortured soul.

Twelve...tick...tick...thirteen...tick...tick...fourteen...tick...tick...fifteen...tick...tick...sixteen...tick...tick...

A piercing cry, a shudder, a crash, and then...

Silence.

The waiting had finished and all there was left to do was learn the outcome. The group held its collective breath as a dark figure with messy black hair and glasses stepped out of the room and rested his head against the wooden doorframe, reveling in the stillness that had replaced the shrieks. He took a moment to collect himself before walking down the hall to face the assemblage. The boy in him wanted to revel in the victory, but the man in him knew it was his duty to tell what needed to be told.

They stared at him with baited breath, pair of eyes after pair of eyes trying to glean a clue from his demeanor. Even the eyes that were so much like his mother's own would not betray his secret.

He cleared his throat, slowly and deliberately, waiting until he had the full attention of his audience.

"It's over," he said seriously. Tears of joy sprang into his eyes as he broke into a grin.

"Lily's had a boy."