chapter 69

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June 2005

Severus is coming. Severus is coming.

Hermione felt as though she were turning to lead. There was constant aching pain in her chest, and a stone seemed to be lodged in her throat; she felt it each time she swallowed.

A palpable sense of horror and despair spreading around and through her. It was as if she was drowning with the rising tide; the water had reached her face, sliding slowly across her skin, lapping a little higher each minute. She was locked in place and could do nothing but sit, feeling it draw over her.

She wanted her occlumency back.

Now that she remembered having it, she felt its loss. Death and mutilation, everyone she'd seen die, right in the forefront of her mind. It hadn't always been that way. There used to be space from the emotional agony, but now there wasn't.

Soon Draco would be another person who'd died because she couldn't save him.

She didn't think any amount of occlumency would ever make the pain of it fade.

If she could just occlude a bit, she thought she'd be able to say everything she felt she needed to say, to ask him what she wanted to know. Instead, each time she tried to broach the subject, her voice would break, her shoulders would begin shaking, and she'd start crying and then hyperventilating.

Draco would stoically let her cry and then wrap his arms around her and calm her when she started overbreathing.

She'd jerk away angrily.

She wanted to scream at him. Stop accepting this. Stop being resigned. You're breaking my heart. Stop acting like it's alright. It's not alright. It's never going to be alright. Stop being resigned.

It was easy to be angry at him—at least she was still trying. He was just going along with it.

She finally broke down and raged at him until she had a panic attack. His plans were stupid and selfish. It wasn't fair that he got to die, and she was left to live with everything. If he'd just let her help him rescue Ginny, none of this might have happened. He should have let them work together. If he hadn't been so controlling and not tried to do everything by himself—everything might have been different.

He just stood there without a word while she vented it all. Until she started hyperventilating and collapsed on the floor with her arms protectively wrapped around her stomach. He shushed her and rubbed circles on her back while she cried and tried to shake him off.

"Don't do this to me, Draco. Don't do this. Don't—don't—don't—don't—"

Afterwards, he was called away, and she was left to seethe and obsess and realise he was doing it intentionally.

He could read her thoughts. He knew the ways her mind tilted. Prior to Montague's attack, he'd gone out of his way to needle her and make her hate him. He'd given her a target, something to focus on; a way to channel her stress. If she was angry at him, she was less self-destructive. Her rage dampened her guilt.

Then leaving would be easier for her.

She didn't want to be managed.

She swallowed her anger after that. She didn't want to waste the time she had by being angry.

But when she was alone, she wanted to scream and break everything within reach. The manacles physically prevented her from doing anything but cry. She was burning with rage, and devastation, and guilt without any capacity to channel it. She felt as though it was poisoning her from the inside, as though the emotions were corroding the blood in her veins.

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