keeping him alive
It's three twenty-seven in the morning, Albus and James are still in their pajamas, and you're sitting next to your almost-dead husband.
It's certainly not a reality you were never prepared to face. You just thought you'd have more time. You always think you have more time. Pretending that there will always be a tomorrow makes it easier to forget that he could die, any second, without you there. Pretending that he will always come home makes it easier to go to sleep three hours after he was supposed to be home. Imagining that everything will always be okay takes the edge off of the overwhelming sense of fear in your dreams every night.
By the time the sun comes up, your life is tied to the heart monitor. The children have long since been taken by Angelina to stay with Uncle George, and you've long since stopped being aware of what time it is. You mark the time by counting his breaths. It's fitting, really, because as soon as he stops breathing, your time might as well not exist anymore.
Five hundred and thirty-seven, five hundred and thirty-eight…
Eight o'clock. You're not hungry, even though you haven't eaten since six yesterday. Audrey stops by with Percy and Molly, asks if you need anything. You say no. You're a little preoccupied staring at your husband's chest, gripping the armrest whenever he takes a little too long between breaths.
One thousand, four hundred and fifty-seven; one thousand, four hundred and fifty-eight…
Nine o'clock. Bill and Fleur visit. You notice the looks of sympathy. You accept their hugs. Your every moment seems as short as the blips coming from across the room. One of the nicer healers has brought you in a cup of water because she saw that you weren't drinking. Her name is Hannah. You vaguely recognize her—Hannah Abbott. You force a smile, but your heart isn't in it. All of these people, walking around, living, and Harry isn't. Can't. Won't.
Two thousand, one hundred and ten; two thousand, one hundred and eleven…
Ten o'clock. This reminds you of the time he almost died. Certainly, there have been plenty of those, but only one moment replays itself in your mind over and over again until you'd do anything to make it go away. When Voldemort killed him, you didn't want to live. That was it. You were over. You remember not knowing who screamed until you felt yourself go hoarse and you tried not to collapse on the ground.
There's a knock on the door, and Hermione slips in. "Hey, Gin."
"Hi."
"Do you want me to take Al and James home?" she asks. You shake your head.
"George's got them."
"Is there anything I can do?" You can see it's hurting her as much as it's hurting you, but Hermione was never one to sit down during a crisis.
"No. You might want to bring Ron in, though, I don't…I don't want him to not be here." You swallow. The words on the tip of your tongue taste bitter and wrong, like this entire situation. Harry was the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy Who Died.
Two thousand, seven hundred and three; two thousand, seven hundred and four…
You've lost track of what time it is, and you most certainly don't care. He's been your life since you were ten years old. His love got you through so many of your struggles. You gave up so much for him and he fought for you, always. He's your everything.
By the end of the day, you're still counting the number of times he's breathed and it's still not helping him get any better. Ron visits. George brings James back, and you sit him on your lap and tell him that Daddy is very sick.
"Is he going to get better?" he asks, his eyes brimming with tears.
You hug him to your chest and take a deep breath before you answer him. "Honey, I don't know."
George offers to stay with Harry so you can go eat with James, but you decline. You need to be here. You need to keep counting, because if you stop, then who will continue? Who will keep making sure that he's breathing?
Late into the night, you notice that the time between the numbers is getting increasingly slower, and all you can think about is HarryHarryHarry. You've given him all your love, and you can only hope that he knows that. You rest your cheek on his shoulder, and listen to the gentle in-and-out of his breathing. It's enough to lull you to an almost-sleep next to the man you'll always love.
You're jolted back to reality by a flood of healers and you're jostled away from his body harshly. You're still counting his breaths when you realize that there aren't any more to count.
Thirty thousand, four hundred and seventy-two…thirty thousand, four hundred and seventy-two…thirty thousand, four hundred and seventy-two…
And you cry.
A/N: Written for the lovely Lady Phoenix Fire Rose as part of the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2013. Lady, I really hope you liked this! :3 I know Hinny is one of your OTPs, so I hope I did them justice. I'm sorry this is so incredibly late, but I really wanted to write you something nice!
Please leave a review on your way out, and have a fantastic day.
Allie