Chapter 20
Sacrificing
The average person takes 21,600 breaths per day.
Breath 900 of my 24 hours finds me in my flat. My hands and feet, on autopilot since Darren's exit from my office, have carried me to my bedroom and begun sorting my belongings into three suitcases without consent from my mind. Every part of me is numb to thought, to decision. I feel as though I'm actually sitting dazed in the corner, watching my body go through the motions of surrender.
Blouses, skirts, t-shirts and jeans are folded into neat piles and set into the luggage.
For all I know, the world around me has stopped spinning, and I am the only moving being in the midst of almost-frozen time. Time, for me, has narrowed to a number after each exhalation.
However, I am brought back into reality by a streak of pain across the back of my neck and look down to see a glittering strand of gold snagged in the yarn of the Weasley-knitted sweater I'm folding. For a moment, I stare-dumbfounded-at the thin rope of my entangled necklace and the small key dangling from it. Involuntarily, the memory of the last time I used it flits through my consciousness: the night after Harry and Darren's confrontation.
After.
After.
One word that sends my mind careening into overdrive.
Breath 920 catches in my throat.
I snap the chain with a sharp flick of my wrist, and the key slides off it into the palm of my hand.
I'm in my office in seconds, shoving the key into the tiny keyhole of my desk drawer and jerking it open. I gaze upon Dumbledore's file at the bottom.
Breath 930.
931.
932.
Every breath wasted with indecision leaves my lungs like the passing seconds of an armed explosive. I don't take the time to determine whether the file in my possession is the original or a copy Darren made that night to cover his tracks. In the end, it doesn't matter.
Before I exhale Breath 935, I'm already disapparating outside the front door, folder in hand.
*****
Too many breaths are lost as the elevator climbs to the 5th floor of St. Vincent's Hospital. The ding of it reaching its destination signals breath 948.
Every clack of my heels against the tile is like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.
My eyes graze the face of the nurse at the nurse's station. The girl is younger than me-probably just out of uni-and her eyes meet mine as I approach the desk.
"Can I help you?"
Her voice drips with disdain, most likely due to my somewhat noisy entrance into the otherwise silent ward.
"Is Harry here?"
"Dr. Potter is currently in surgery."
"Do you have any idea when he will be done?"
Her reply is accessorized with a stiffened spine and narrowed eyes.
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the intricacies of Dr. Potter's schedule with the…public."
It takes every morsel of my willpower and concentration to keep my hands from encircling her neck. I exhale loudly in lieu of committing manslaughter.
Breath 956.
"Fine. I'll just wait in his office."
The two-octave rise in her voice is directly proportional to the amount of arrogance she laces into her words. How is it that the ONE day I'm on a deadline, I have to deal with some pompous, newbie, Dr. Potter fan-girl?
"I simply cannot allow that. However, you may leave and return later. Or you can wait in the waiting room just beyond-"
"I know where the blasted waiting room is, you-"
"Hermione?"
The hand that rests on the small of my back, while comforting, also seems to serve as a warning against the continuation of my rant.
"Is there a problem here?"
For a second, I fear the question is directed at the difficult little twit in front of me, and apparently, so does she, since she begins to answer,
"Dr. Potter-"
"Camilla," Harry interrupts. The authority in his voice sends a small shiver up and down my spine, "May I introduce my best friend, Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione has visited this ward countless times before, and has always been let into my office upon request."
Camilla has the decency to blush at this slight scolding and manages to muddle together an excuse.
"Dr. Potter…I'm grievously sorry…I wasn't informed that she was a cleared visitor…"
I almost feel sorry for the poor bint. Almost.
"Perhaps then, Camilla, it would serve you well to reacquaint yourself with the list of cleared visitors posted next to your computer." His tone is condescending enough that she blanches and mutters another hasty apology.
Harry doesn't catch the look of longing in her eyes as his arm wraps around my waist and steers me toward his office door, but I do. I've almost managed to misplace the reason for my visit when I whisper, "Dr. Potter, I do believe you have an admirer."
"And I believe you've acquired an enemy, Miss Granger," he rumbles into my ear, doing nothing to abate my sudden case of the chills.
I'm slammed into reality as Harry's office door shuts behind me. I watch silently as he removes the surgical cap covering his mop of hair, throwing it into the trash can behind his desk, and plops unceremoniously into his ergonomic desk chair. Its wheels hiss softly against the carpet as he slides forward to lean his arms on the tabletop.
"What's so important that you feel the need to terrorize my poor, new unit secretary?"
His eyes glitter in the low light, and my reply catches in my throat. Where do I start?
"Hermes?" Worry creases his forehead. He stands, covering the distance from him to me in the time it takes me to inhale Breath 981. All I can do is weakly extend the hand holding the folder entrusted to me by Dumbledore. The one thing I've ever sworn to guard with my life.
When I first laid my hands on the file earlier this evening, I had envisioned myself asking Harry to take the brunt of my situation. I wanted him to find a way to fix this whole mess, to use that doctor logic of his to keep me away from making a sacrifice I had promised to make a long time ago. I had expected him to be the hero…again.
But now, standing in front of the boy-the man-who was willing to risk his life for me when he was just 17, his hand clasping the other side of the file, my selfishness falters. Shame floods my veins. How can I ask him to ruin everything he's built for himself just help me break my word?
I exhale Breath 985 and shakily reply,
"I made a promise a long time ago, that I would keep this information a secret from everyone…even you.
The worry on his face turns to confusion, and I watch his knuckles go white against the soft beige of the folder.
"And I…I want you to know that no matter what happens…you have been and always will be the most important person in my life."
"Hermione-"
"Just read it," I cut in softly, and I'm a bit surprised when my words stop his, despite their gentle delivery. I flip the folder in his hand so that the emerald ink on the front gleams in the lamplight and catches his eye. The weight of them sinks him to the top of his desk. He seems stunned. Whether it is at the inscription on the paper or the cryptic air of my speech, I'm not certain. Luckily, one of them-or the combination of both-has rocked him enough to keep him silent and stationary. I linger long enough for him to find the coordination to flip open the folder, uncovering the first page of Albus Dumbledore's elegant scrawl. His face turns to stone, and I seem to steal Breath 999 from him as I press a kiss to his temple.
He doesn't note my exit from his office, and Camilla doesn't even acknowledge my presence as I breeze past her and into the elevator. I don't realize I've been holding Breath 1000 in until I reach the apparition point just beyond the hospital's back entrance.
Reaching inside my pocket, I pull out Darren's engagement ring. The flawless diamond shines beautifully, but the shiny platinum smarts at me in the dying sunlight. Sliding it onto my left-hand ring finger feels like a death sentence, and I let the tingle of apparition skitter across my skin as I make my last trip home.
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