SPELLBOUND | remus lupin

fifteen - fine

JUN, 1976
CORRIDOR

*warning: panic attack*

As Camilla strode down the corridor in the direction of the library, she wondered if Lupin had noticed how forced her expression had been — of course he hadn't, she'd honed her features so sharply that people found it hard to keep eye contact with her — or heard the way her voice wobbled slightly as she spoke — no, it was only her imagination, she was in control of her own body, at least. A sick feeling started twisting her stomach.

His words kept playing over and over in her head. I'm sorry. People apologised to her all the time. For walking into her, for being annoying, for laughing too loud or whispering about her behind her back. However, no one had ever apologised to her sincerely before, not that she could remember. Actually, one person had, but thinking about them was painful, pulling forward memories of the worst part of her life, and she'd destroyed that forever. The words he'd said to her felt wrong in her head, in her heart. She didn't deserve them, they weren't words she deserved to hear.

The corridor seemed to get longer and longer, dimmer. Camilla could hear the blood pounding in her ears, feel the sweat coating her palms.

No, this was not who she was. Taking a deep breath, she told herself firmly that she was fine. This was not the time for any of this utter nonsense.

Those words echoed in her mind again. Why did he apologise? Maybe she actually got what was coming to her that day in the Potions dungeon. Camilla hastened her steps, trying to reach the end of the hall before it swallowed her whole. It was never her choice to launch a battle against the self-titled Marauders, never her decision, never her desire — sure, it damaged her reputation, but she always knew that she was still feared, that she could still get back on top, that she was so far ahead of her peers that no one could ever touch her. She was going to beat most of them in the OWLs, then the NEWTs and then, maybe, become an Auror, her shameful wish. She could put her skills to work, do what she wanted to do— but that would never, never happen.

Those two words in her head, she wasn't sure when they'd started ringing in another voice, or when her chest had started to tighten, or when the dizziness began, but now it washed over her in a wave and she collapsed against the wall, sliding to the cold floor, gasping for breath.

This— this was not happening. She was fine, fine, she was being ridiculous sitting here, choking on air, blood rushing through her ears, drowning out anything else. There was nothing wrong with her, she was being silly. The corridor closed further in, crushing her, crushing her against the wall, dark and grey, no light. It was getting darker and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe couldn't breathe couldn't breathe—

△▽△

Camilla didn't know how long she sat in the hall, curled against the wall (though it can't have been long, it usually wasn't). As soon as she wasn't afraid she might be dying, she wiped her face, her hands still shaking. She peeled herself off the floor onto trembling legs, fixed her appearance with a charm, and continued towards the library.