He's drowning, sinking further and further into the darkness where no one can pull him out of harsh waters despite his wild flailing and he can feel his lungs collapsing, ribs crushing from the pressure. It's so dark, the hushed whispers of ebony soothe the chaos in his mind and the longer he descends, the more his vision fades, and he finds solace in the bleakness.
But then he's awake, violently torn from a promise of peace, and when he desperately sucks in a gulp of air, he's not sure if he's relieved.
Pressing his hands to his eyes to calm the dull throb pounding in his skull, he pushes glasses up, raking into his hair and digging in his forehead. In a rush of frustration, he snatches the spectacles off his face and throws them across the small hut, jaw clenching when he hears it skid against a tin cauldron.
"If you keep that up, you're going to wake Ron."
Harry starts, narrowed eyes darting in the murkiness as his hand clenches around his wand. He feels the faint hum of magic pulse in his palm as the pebbled wood presses into his skin but the familiarity brings him little comfort, finds himself disgusted and he quickly drops his wand, flinching as it clatters to the ground.
"Harry," Hermione tries again, but he grits his teeth together, his breathing harsh. Hermione sighs and then there's the muffled sound of rustling, masked by Ron's heavy snores, as she scrambles in search of something. A moment later, her wand glows with a pale light, illuminating her worn features and Harry could just barely make out the dried tear tracks marring her cheeks.
"I was drowning," he whispers and Hermione looks down to stare at his bare feet. "It wasn't so bad," he offers, a grim smile tugging at his lips but it feels like he's stretching the muscles of his face too taut and wide and immediately stops.
And then Hermione does something he doesn't expect her to, certainly not during a time like this. She bursts out with silent laughter, shoulders rising and falling in untimely beat, and he thinks it's commendable, he truly does, that she tries to suppress the giggles with her hand, but he can tell it's not working.
"Hermione?" he asks worriedly, carefully getting up from his spot on Hagrid's couch and then her laughter becomes airy, wheezing breaths that rattle in her chest and suddenly he realizes she is crying again and he rushes down to the floor, knees aching as he wraps his arms around her. He clenches his eyes shut and she rests her head into his shoulder, fiercely gripping his arms with scarred hands as she gasps for searing breaths. There's a stutter in Ron's snoring and Harry stills in the sudden quiet, but then he shifts and shudders with another earth-shattering puff of air and Hermione burrows deeper into Harry's chest.
"All my fault, all my fault," she whispers and Harry feels a dead weight settle in his chest. "S'all my fault he died," she slurs, words muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," she repeats, reciting the words like a mantra and her feeble voice carries on steadfast in the night.