Hermione didn’t move. Time stood still for a moment as her world filled with pain. Tears burned in her eyes, but she didn’t take her eyes off Draco. She did not turn away from his face, which was barely visible, because his head had sunk on his chest, and the rest was hidden by his hair.
And just as she was about to surrender to the pain, a wave came rushing up. Outside. All of a sudden the surf of the sea was clearly to be understood again. The waves washed a memory into her head that she hadn’t thought about for ages.
That one summer, long before she went to Hogwarts, her family had been on vacation in Austria. They had not flown because her father thought nothing of it, but had covered the whole distance by train. It came as it had to come and they missed a connection. But instead of being miffed about being stuck in Germany for a little longer, the family had decided to use the time to explore the town.
However, no one was interested in sights that day.
A child had fallen into the river.
It was not one of the quiet, tranquil creeks that end up on postcards. It was the Rhine. A river no lifeguard will jump after you, should you fall in, because that would only mean having to fish out two corpses instead of one.
At this point the Rhine was smaller than stream down by the sea, but deadly enough. Nevertheless, the banks were lined with helpers. With ropes round their bellies, people waded through the water, chained to a person on the shore to hold them, should they slip. The middle of the river was taken by boats throwing out nets. None of them had a motor so as not to injure the boy.
The whole town was anxious. When Hermione noticed this, all her thoughts went to the boy. There was no thought of continuing to travel. She was standing with all the others in sight of the river, hoping for news.
Bit by bit they searched section by section. At some point Hermione ran with them.
Two hours later they pulled the boy out of the water and immediately he was swarmed by paramedics. His heart did not beat. It also did not strike after fifteen minutes of resuscitation. The paramedics continued. Even when his rib cage looked strange because they broke his ribs, they kept going.
Hermione began to cry, asked her dad why they hurt the boy so much. Her father tried to calm her down, said it would be completely normal if a few ribs were broken during resuscitation. The strength it would take to get the heart going again is considerable. To press languidly on the chest would be futile. Then Hermione asked why they continued. It was obvious that the boy was dead. Her father turned his face to her and asked seriously: “And when was enough effort made to save a life? After three rounds of CPR, after three minutes, after thirty? A life cannot be returned, so every effort should be made to rescue it.”
The boy was under water for a long time, but the water had also cooled him down, slowed down his vital functions. Yes, he was under for a long time, but there was still a chance that he got out of the matter alive, even if his heart was not beating right now. And as long as this chance existed, one had to make an effort.
The ambulance drove past them to the hospital. The people watched them drive away. Hermione saw several praying. In the hotel where the Grangers rented a room for the night, Hermione sat down in the dining room by the bar, where the barman was playing the radio. Whenever an announcement came to the boy, her eyes darted to the barman, who then translated to her what was said. It took time, but the news that the boy was alive was passed through before she fell asleep at the counter.
*
A spark drove the tears from her eyes and determination settled in her face.
Who knew how long Draco was gone? Maybe it wasn’t too late yet. As long as there was a maybe, the game was not over. Hermione would bring Draco back, even if she had to break every single one of his ribs.
She walked up to the figure on the wall, knelt down in front of him and placed him down on the ground. His limbs could be moved. The rigor mortis had not yet set in. His skin was cool but not cold.
Hermione kneeled next to him. She opened his airway by tilting his head back and lifting his chin slightly. With her fingers, she ran along the lower ribs until she reached the sternum. Then she put her hands on top of each other and began an even rhythm of chest compressions. She put her body weight in it. Press thirty times, then three rescue breaths. She closed his nose so that the air actually got into the lungs. After each rescue breath she turned her head so that her cheek felt should he exhale.
Thirty. Three.
Thirty. Three.
Thirty. Three.
She didn’t know how many times she repeated it. It didn’t matter anyway.
Still, her heart almost stopped for joy when Draco gasped for air.