Just to clear a couple of things up/answer a few questions -
If something is in parentheses and we're in Hermione's mind, she is not aware of these thoughts. They're more in her unconscious, more like instincts or gut feelings, if that makes sense.
As for Draco and how he feels about Hermione - he's never going to see any of her flaws or problems as her fault (not that her anxiety is her fault, anxiety is the fault of nobody, but in the wizarding world, I don't think they have the understanding of mental health that we do here and now.) This is because he decided that she was the one for him, and since he believes that he has no faults, because in his mind, if she had 'flaws' of her own 'fault', then he wouldn't have 'picked correctly', which would be a fault/mistake of his. Since he believes that he can't make a mistake, there is no way that Hermione isn't perfect. Her 'faults' and 'flaws' are not her fault in his eyes. So every setback that he has, every thing that isn't absolutely perfect about Hermione is the fault of Harry and Ron. They're his scapegoat for when anything goes even the slightest bit off of his plan isn't Hermione's fault, or his fault, or the fault of his family. So it has to be Harry and Ron's fault.
On the fourth, and final day that Hermione was obligated to talk to Malfoy, he led her into the library.
"I thought we could spend our day here, reading," Malfoy said. (Our day.)
Hermione nodded, "Alright."
This was great. She wouldn't have to talk to him. If she was being truly and completely honest, talking to him just made things a bit confusing. (Or a little bit clearer.) She still hated him, of course. (She didn't, not really.) But when they were having conversations, she saw sides of him that she never knew existed. Sides that she begrudgingly thought that she might like. And honestly, Malfoy had been nothing but nice, and almost even charming during her time she had been spending with him. That wasn't even to mention how she'd catch him staring at her and she'd feel….(her heart flutter.)
No. Nope. She was not doing this. (She was.) She was not going to waste her time thinking about Malfoy. (Was it wasting time?) She did not like Malfoy. (Did she?) She hated Malfoy. (Did she?) Malfoy was a prick. (Was he?) Malfoy was elitist. (Was he?) Malfoy was a Death Eater. (Was he that bad?) Malfoy would kill her friends and he wouldn't care. Malfoy was sided with the people who were throwing her friends into Azkaban. Nope. She was not doing this. (She was.)
She was going to hate Malfoy until the end of time, and go free and get her wand back. (Would she?) She'd find Ron and Harry, and they'd find the Horcruxes and they'd defeat Voldemort. (Would they?) And then she'd marry Ron, and Harry would marry Ginny and they'd all settle down and raise their kids together and go to family dinner at the Burrow on Sundays. (Why did thinking of marrying Ron make her stomach feel like lead?) And Malfoy would go to Azkaban. (Why did that feel even worse?) And Hermione would still hate him, until her dying breath. (And why did that feel like the worst of all? No. No, she didn't want to do any of that.)
Shoving her thoughts out of her mind, Hermione started walking towards the bookshelves, to look for anything that could help on the hunt, but froze suddenly when she realised she didn't know where anything was. Merlin, she did not want to ask Malfoy. But she had to. "Where are the history books?"
"Do you mean books about history or historically significant books?" Malfoy asked from a chair, idly flipping through a book of his own. (He looked kind of handsome, sitting there.)
"Historically significant?" Hermione asked, caught off guard. "What do you mean by historically significant?" (Kind of really handsome.)
"Come on, I'll show you," he said, leading her to a section of the library where the preservation charms made the air thick with magic. "We've got first editions, original copies, historical documents, all sorts of things. We've got some of Ravenclaw's journals, though they're not all that interesting, the first Triwizard Tournament Contract back from the 13th century, and one of the first books ever written about Quidditch. There's Nicholas Flamel's birth records - although I've got no idea how those got in here. Then we've got one of the original copies of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, and loads of letters between various important figures. There's some of the earliest paperwork for Gringotts, and a bunch of other books and documents. But there is one that I think that you would be especially interested in." (He had something for her.)
"What is it?" (For her.)
"A first edition of 'Hogwarts: A History'." (Her favourite book, for her.)
Hermione's eyes widened, "Malfoy, where is it? Can I-" (Please, she'd do whatever.)
"You can read it as long as you do one thing, Hermione." (Do it. Whatever it is, do it.)
Hermione glared. What could he be asking for now? "What, do you want my soul now or something?" (He could take it. If he wanted to.)
"Nope," Malfoy grinned, "I just want for you to call me Draco." (Call him Draco.)
Hermione buried her head in her hands. "You're kidding." (Call him Draco.)
"Well I guess this book will just sit here collecting dust then…" (Call him Draco.)
God, was he really doing this? (Call him Draco.) She did not want to call him Draco. (Call him Draco.) It was bad enough that he called her by her first name. (Call him Draco.) Making it a two-way street would be even worse. (Call him Draco.) But what was the harm in it? (There's no harm in it, call him Draco.) Still, it felt like she was making yet another deal with the devil. (Call him Draco.) She didn't want to do it. (Do it, do it, do it, do it. Call him Draco. Do it.)
"Fine," she snapped. "Draco, can I read the book?" (Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco.)
"Of course, Hermione," (Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.) Draco smiled at her. (His smile was beautiful. How hadn't she noticed it before in school?) "What's mine is yours."
What the hell did that mean? (Ours. His and mine, and mine and his, and ours.) She shook her head. Whatever it meant, it didn't matter. (It mattered so much.) Draco silently summoned a book, handing it to her with a roguish smirk. (Handsome. It was something she had noticed for years and years, but how had she never appreciated it? How had she brushed it off so easily?)
Somehow, his smirk didn't bother her half as much as it normally did. (She liked it a bit.) She almost didn't mind. Almost. And as she read through the book that day, she felt Draco's eyes on her the whole time, watching her, but it didn't bother her half as much as it normally would have. (She liked it a bit.) She almost didn't mind. Almost. And when he walked her back to her room, the conversation wasn't half as awful as it normally was. (She liked it a bit.) She almost didn't mind. Almost.
"You know, you can eat in the dining room with me, if you like," Draco offered.
"I'm good," Hermione said, although the words lacked the usual level of malice.
"Some other time then?" (Yes. Yes. Yes.)
Hermione wasn't sure what possessed her to speak, but before she could think, she found herself saying, "Maybe." But it wasn't like she was ever going to follow through on that. (But in the back of her mind, she knew that she would.)
The next morning, when Draco didn't collect her as he had for the past four days, Hermione went to the library. (Was he in the library?) She wasn't going to let Draco keep her out of it with his general existence, even if he was in there. (Would he be there?) With any luck, he wouldn't. (With any luck, he would.)
Hermione had grabbed the journals of Ravenclaw off of the shelf, and when she was about halfway through the first one, Draco came into the library and sat down on the couch across from her. (She didn't mind.) They sat in comfortable silence, each reading their own book, until she had finally finished the last of the journals when night was starting to fall, and yawned. (Talk to him.) She looked over at Draco, who was reading a book of his own. (Talk to him.) She almost wanted to discuss the journals with him. (Talk to him.) Almost. (Talk to him.)
"You were right," she heard herself say. "These are terribly dull. You would think Rowena Ravenclaw would write about more interesting things, instead of the daily dramas of the students at Hogwarts and divination."
Draco's laugh rang out through the library. (She liked how his laugh sounded.) She had never heard him laugh before. She kind of liked how it sounded.
The next day, she moved onto one of the earliest written biographies on Morganna. It was certainly a unique take on the sorceress, and had Hermione wondering if history had been written in a way that her name was unfairly raked through the mud. Hermione closed the book, and looked at Draco, who was on the same couch as the day before, reading another book. (Talk to him.) She wanted nothing more than to discuss the book with anyone, but did 'anyone' include Draco Malfoy? (He had offered to do so before.) She flipped back through the pages, completely stuck onto what she should do. (Talk to him. Discuss the book with him.)
"The offer stands until you one day decide you wouldn't mind talking about books with someone else who has a brain." (Talk.) Draco's words from days ago swam through her mind. (Talk.) She looked back over to him. Why did Draco Malfoy have to be smart? (Talk.) Why couldn't he have been as thoroughly unappealing on the inside and outside as the Dark Mark on his arm was? (Talk.) It simply wasn't fair. (Talk, talk, talk!)
Hermione snapped the book shut and stood up abruptly, walking as quickly as she could back to her room - away from the library, and away from Draco Malfoy. When she was about halfway through the halls, her eyes fell on a door that led to the gardens. Hermione paused, and turned towards the doors, the pace of her footsteps gradually picking up. She tore past the gardens, and through the maze, and out past the open fields of grass that surrounded the Manor. She ran until her lungs began to ache and her ankles throbbed and her knees were weak.
Hemione's pace slowed, and she took in deep breaths, hunched over, with her hands on her knees. Slowly, the air returned to her lungs, and Hermione looked up. The field of soft grass seemed to taper off only just a tenth of a mile away, where trees began to litter her view, sparsely at first, but the further she looked, the more trees that there were, and it seemed that maybe a half of a mile away, the area turned into something comparable to the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts.
The buzz of magic crept through the air, and Hermione tentatively crept forward, closer to the source of the power. By the time she reached the first tree, a large, sturdy oak, that reached into the sky, the magic in the air practically sang.
Hermione ran her hand against the bark of the tree, and felt the same wards that she had felt on her door on the first day. (Stay.) This - this had to be the edge of the property, where the wards were set. (Stay.) She hesitantly reached out, her fingers trembling, feeling for the line. (Stay.) For the ward. (Stay.) When she touched it, she let out a small gasp of surprise, and jerked her hand back in shock. (Stay.) Hermione looked around wildly, to see if anyone was approaching. (Stay.) Yet again, she reached out her hand for the line. (Stay.) When she felt it, she uncertainly reached out just a little bit further, and could feel her fingers pass through the wards. (Stay.)
Hermione pulled her hand back, as if she had been stung. (Stay.) She could pass through the wards of the Manor. (Stay.) She could escape. (Stay.) Her breath caught in her throat. (Stay.) Should she run? (Stay.) She wouldn't have her wand. (Stay.) She could use somebody else's, right? (Stay.) But another wand wouldn't work as well as her own. (Stay.) She could use wandless magic, right? (Stay.) But so far, she was really only proficient in a handful of wandless charms, and a few wandless transfigurations. (Stay.) Being able to wandlessly change the colour of an object wouldn't do her very well in battle. (Stay.) She could help in other ways, though, couldn't she? (Stay.) No, she would just be a liability. (Stay.) And that would be if she would be able to find Harry and Ron without a wand. (Stay.) She had no idea where they were now. (Stay.)
It was dangerous out there, and people were probably getting hurt. (Stay.) Badly. (Stay.) Wouldn't her friends want her to be safely tucked away from the danger? (Stay.) If the situations were reversed, she would've wanted them to stay safe, stay alive. (Stay.) But she could help them! (Stay. Stay safe. Stay home. Stay.) But - she felt safe here. (Stay.) Hermione choked on an inhale. (Stay.) When had that happened? (Stay.) How did she feel safe in the Manor? (Stay.) And - and a large part of her wanted to stay. (Stay.) When had that happened? (Stay.) What was wrong with her? (Stay.) What was wrong with her? (Stay.) Hermione's breathing became shallower and shallower. (Stay.) Was she going insane? (Stay.) Why did she feel safe here? (Safe.) What was wrong with her? (Safe. She was home. She was safe.) There was something wrong with her. (Safe. She was home. She was safe.) What was wrong with her? (Safe. She was home. She was safe.)
Hermione pressed her back against the oak tree, trying to hold onto something - anything. Everything was just smaller and all closing in on her and tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter and-
Hermione tore at the buckles on her shoes, frantically trying to get them undone. They were too tight. Everything was too tight. Too small. Too close. Too tight, too tight, too tight. As one shoe came off, she threw it wildly and began fumbling with the other. Even when that shoe came off, everything was far too small and tight and tight and tight and-
Hermione sank against the base of the oak tree, taking in deep, rattling breaths that didn't fill her lungs with enough air, her hands shaking uncontrollably, and she grasped her hands into the grass, digging her fingers into the soil beneath, and trying to breathe, trying to breathe, trying to-
She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe and everything was small and tight and tight and tight and she was suffocating and the sky was too close and the world was falling and closing in on her and she was going mad and-
She was too hot and too cold and shaking and trembling, and shivering and her hands just wouldn't stop trembling, and her ears were ringing and everything was just so bright, too bright, and her ears were ringing and her hands wouldn't stop trembling, and she was hot and cold and it was bright and she was too hot and it was tight and hot and cold and couldn't feel, couldn't see, couldn't breathe, too tight, too tight, too tight, too tight, too-
"Hey. Hey, hey," a calm, soothing voice slid in amongst the tidal waves of her thoughts. (Safe.) Too bright and too cold and she couldn't breathe and it was tight and tight and tight and tight and the world was falling apart and her hands wouldn't stop trembling and-
She felt someone's hands wrap around her own. "Hey, it's alright, Hermione. It's alright." Too bright and she couldn't breathe and it was tight and tight and tight and tight and-
"I need you to open your eyes and look at me, Hermione. Can you do that?" Hermione wrenched open her eyes, and it was Draco, and she tried to breathe, tried to breathe, her lungs wouldn't work, it was too tight and-
"Hermione, I'm going to count to ten, and on each number, we're going to breathe in and out together, slowly. Okay?" Too tight and couldn't breathe and shaking and the world was-
"One. Breathe in, and breathe out," Draco instructed, his eyes connecting with hers. Hermione took in a shaky breath. Couldn't breath, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe and-
"Two. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another shaky breath, but it didn't stick in her throat as much as the other ones did. But it was hot and cold and too tight and everything was blurry and-
"Three. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, that was just a bit less shaky. Trembling and bright and hot and tight and breathe and breathe and breathe and-
"Four. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, that reached the bottom of her lungs. Couldn't breathe and tight and tight and cold and hot and hot and cold and-
"Five. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, that was a little bit fuller. Tight and tight and tight and hot and tight and tight and tight and-
"Six. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, and Draco seemed to come into focus a little more, and she grasped onto his wrists, as if they were a lifeline. They were the only things that were stable, he was the only thing she knew was real right now. Hot and shaking and tight and ringing and-
"Seven. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, and her eyes were glued to him and he was the one thing that made sense and the one thing that was spinning and it was so tight and hot and cold-
"Eight. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, and the tremors in her hands slowed. Tight and tight and-
"Nine. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, and the tremors stopped, and the world started to slow its spinning and tight-
"Ten. Breathe in, and breathe out." Another, and she could finally breathe again, and the world crept back out again, and she no longer felt claustrophobic. (Safe.) "Do you want me to do that again?" Draco asked, as Hermione's breathing slowly returned to normal.
She shook her head minutely. He smiled softly at her, and looked over her as Hermione tentatively grabbed each of her fingers, one by one, and squeezed them, as if to reassure herself that they were real. That she was real. (Safe.)
"I'm going to cast a few spells on you to see how your heart rate is doing, is that okay?" Draco asked. At her shaky nod, he burst into action, whipping out his wand from the holster, and cast a variety of spells in rapid succession. A faint buzz overtook the air, in addition to the hum of the wards, but was far too exhausted to notice or even care. "Alright. I think your heart rate is returning to normal, which is good." Draco paused. "I don't think you should be walking right now, but we should be getting back to the Manor. I can carry you, if that's alright." (Safe.)
Hermione, too exhausted to think, nodded her head. Draco picked her up, carefully, as if he was afraid that she would shatter at any moment. Once she was in his arms, she buried her face into his chest, and clung onto him, onto the one thing that she knew was real. (Safe.) Draco stayed still for a few minutes, as Hermione began to ground herself back into the world. He then turned off, and started to walk back towards the Manor. He carried her in silence, for a while, until Hermione felt a breeze brush on her bare feet, and she looked up, out from where she had buried her head in his chest. (Safe.)
"I took off my shoes. Before you came. They - they felt too tight," she said quietly, looking up. "We should go back and get them. They - they're probably going to be dirty though. I - I'm sorry."
"Hey," Draco said gently, "It's okay. We don't have to go back and get them. You've got other shoes, and I can purchase you another pair if you want me to."
"Oh. Okay, thank you."
A few moments of silence passed.
"I tore up a bit off the grass, too."
"Don't worry about it," Draco assured her.
Another moment.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?"
"No," Hermione said, in a small voice. "Thank you though."
Silence.
"It's… it's just something that happens to me sometimes." She paused. "Nobody else has ever seen it happen before though."
A moment of silence passed. The Manor appeared in the distance.
"When I first started getting them, I thought that I was going mad. And… and usually I think that I'm going mad, when I'm in the middle of one."
And then another.
"It feels like I can't breathe and the world is collapsing in on me."
"Do other people know about them?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head. "No. I didn't want to worry anyone."
"What did you do then, normally, to get out of one?"
Hermione took in a breath, and let it go. "I don't. I just wait until it's over."
"How long does it usually last for?"
"Depends. Sometimes ten minutes. Sometimes an hour. Time never makes sense when I'm having one."
"And how often do they happen?"
"Sometimes a couple times a week. Sometimes once a month. It depends." The Manor started to grow on the horizon, as they neared the maze. "Thank you, though. For helping me through it. I… I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem."
"But it is -"
"You are not a problem, Hermione," he said firmly. She said nothing. "Really. I mean it. I'm sorry it happened to you. That I wasn't there earlier."
"Don't apologize. It's not your fault that there's something wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you."
(Nothing's wrong with you.)
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
(Nothing's wrong with you. She was safe. She was safe with Draco.)
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