CHAPTER 25: BREAKDOWN

By Saturday afternoon Hermione was beyond fatigued. As she stared down at her Ancient Runes essay her vision grew unfocused and the markings on the parchment began to double. Accepting she was in no state to study if she could not even determine the difference between an Ehwaz and a Mannaz, she released a defeated sigh.

Once she had cleaned and packed away her quill and inkwell, Hermione leant back in her chair and closed her sore, dry eyes. She brought her hands up, pressing the heel of her palms into her eyelids in an attempt to ease the discomfort. She had hardly managed two hours sleep the night before and it was taking its toll.

A violent shiver ripped through her body, her warming charms no longer holding due to the extent of her debilitating exhaustion. Pulling a thick, woolen blanket from the top of her closet she wrapped it tightly around herself and collapsed atop her bed, shuffling her body awkwardly down beneath her covers.

She was unsure how long she lay there, staring up at the canopy of her four-poster. The nightmares, insomnia and the grueling effects of her withdrawal had left Hermione utterly exhausted. Yet sleep evaded her still, her hypervigilance dominating her psyche.

Gradually the comforting warmth of her blankets grew sweltering, their weight suffocating. Abruptly she became aware of the fine hairs that covered her body as they caused her skin to itch. Breaths falling short and fast from her lips, she flung herself upwards, clawing her way out from the confines of her bedding.

She couldn't do this anymore. She needed rest. Needed it all to fucking stop. Even just for a moment.

Clambering off her bed, she did not so much as bother to locate her shoes, pausing only to grasp her wand as she burst out into the common room, chest heaving and mind frantic. Her door slammed shut behind her causing her to finch and her teeth to grind, as the already taut muscles of her jaw tensed further.

"Merlin's bullocks, Hermione!" Neville cried from his place on the sofa, desperately trying to contain the ink that had spilled when he had startled.

Fuck. She had not accounted for this. For the possibility of another student's presence in the common room. In her current state she almost couldn't bring herself to care. She was tempted to march straight up to Malfoy's room despite her friend's proximity. He would undoubtedly let Harry know if she chose that course of action. Then everyone would know she spent time alone with the Slytherin in his quarters. Rumours would spread through the castle like Fiendfire.

Still, she mused, the fallout all might be worth it if only she could get it all to stop. Just for a moment.

There was the distinct sound of glass shattering on stone, followed by Neville muttering under his breath. Hermione sighed and made her way towards the Gryffindor wizard. Throwing herself down in the seat opposite she lifted her wand and cast a swift series of charms to repair Neville's broken inkwell and clean away the spilled mess.

"I'm sorry Nev, I didn't mean to give you a fright," she said, trying to keep her tone even.

Neville's gaze lifted to her and his eyes widened. "Blimey. Are you alright Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she responded, her eyes darting to the side to look over Neville's shoulder and towards Malfoy's door.

Would he even be in his room? Surely he would be. Where else could he be? The Library perhaps?

Her eyes snapped back to Neville and she amended, "Why do you ask?"

"You, ah… Well. You look a little frazzled," Neville answered cautiously.

Exhaling slowly she pulled her eyes – which had strayed once more – away from Malfoy's door and tried to focus on her friend. He cared, she told herself, and any other time she would be grateful. But his timing was terrible, she simply had no time for this; to reassure him.

Absently she began to scratch at her forearms, the crawling sensation – as if insects burrowed just beneath the surface – growing overwhelming.

Neville had been speaking, she was sure of it, though she had no clue as to what had been said.

"I'm sorry Neville," she said abruptly, perhaps cutting him off, she couldn't be certain. "I have somewhere I need to be."

"Oh! Uh, well. Yes. I best be getting this back to Professor Sprout anyway," he said, as he hastily gathered the potted plant and scrolls up into his arms.

He made it halfway to the room's exit before he turned to face her. "You know you can talk to me, right? If anything is bothering you, anything at all. I'm always here for you Hermione."

She looked at him, truly looked at him – rather than through him – for the first time that afternoon. His concern was etched clearly in his features. Making a mental note to speak to the wizard when she was in her right mind she forced a small smile onto her lips and said, "Thank you, Neville."

With a brief nod, he turned and left the common room. Once the click of the portrait closing reverberated around the otherwise silent room, Hermione counted to three before she was on her feet, sprinting towards Malfoy's door. She pounded her fists against the timber, all sense of decorum lost to her in her desperation.

The door opened suddenly and Malfoy's eyes roamed down her form swiftly, accessing her appearance as his brows pinched together in concern.

"Granger? What-"

Cutting him off she pushed past his body and into his room. "Where is it?" she demanded as she heard the door click shut behind them.

She threw herself down to her knees at the foot of his bed, heaving the lid of his trunk open. As she moved his belongings around in the trunk she grew increasingly frustrated by the task, as she moved one object to the side it would collapse atop another, obstructing her view of the lower contents. With an exasperated groan she grasped a stack of parchment and tossed it over her shoulder, before reaching for another.

"What are you- Granger, stop. What are you talking about?"

The trunk now bare and still no sign of the damned potion she stood rapidly and brandished her wand before shouting, "Accio Dreamless Sleep!"

Malfoy released an irritated groan of his own as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That won't work."

Rounding on him, she felt her magic dance dangerously across the surface of her skin as she snarled, "Give it to me!"

"No," the wizard responded calmly, only incensing her further.

"Accio vial!"

An assortment of both empty and filled vials flew out at her from Malfoy's school satchel and the many hidden nooks of his furniture. Her eyes flicked swiftly from one glass container to the next, though none proved to be the violet hue for which she sought. Before the numerous vials could reach her she moved swiftly, and with an aggressive slash of her wand sent the hurtling objects to shatter against the wall.

Malfoy withdrew his own wand then and cast a Silencing Charm over his quarters in an evident attempt to avoid others being alerted to the commotion.

"Granger," he stated firmly, stepping towards her. "You need to control yourself."

His words stilled her. Her eyes snapping to his face, his own control written plainly in the well practiced mask of indifference he so often wore. She couldn't be like him.

Unfeeling.

Numb.

Oh Godric, how she wished to feel numb.

Suddenly the strength left her limbs and her body wracked with the onset of tremors. She fell to her knees as tears began to stream down her flushed cheeks.

"I… I can't, she mumbled between sobs. "I can't take it anymore."

She looked up at him from where she knelt, her gaze pleading as her lip quivered and her hands shook. "I need the potion. Malfoy, please. You have to give it to me."

The stoic nature of his features shifted, his guise of indifference slipping as he moved to crouch down before her. Meeting her eye level, he reached forward tentatively and tilted her chin upward with a single finger.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but you know I can't," he said softly. "It's not time yet. You have to wait."

That fucking bastard. He was going to hold out on her. Make her suffer.

She brought her hand up swiftly, swatting his own aggressively away from her face. Pulling herself to her feet she swiped the back of her hand across her damp cheeks and began to pace in the small room.

"I bet you just fucking love seeing me like this, don't you?" she spat, her fierce gaze snapping to his face. "Bet you love seeing poor, helpless little me pleading for your help!"

"Granger…"

Her magic crackled across the surface of her skin painfully. "Bet it brings you some sort of sick fucking satisfaction that the Mudblood fell to her knees to beg!"

"I know you don't mean that," he said through clenched teeth. "You're not in your right mind."

"Right mind?" she shrieked. "Go fuck yourself!"

As the words ripped through her throat, her magic surged forward, the tether that bound the energy to her body snapping violently. Destruction reigned down upon the confined space, Hermione's body stood paralyzed at the epicentre of the chaos. Malfoy's belongings flew from their shelves, hurtling in all directions.

An ear splitting crack shook the room as every piece of glass in their vicinity shattered. The frigid, late November winds howled through the open window, shards of razor sharp glass slicing through her skin. The harsh winds carried the debris at a frightening pace, whirling in a fierce vortex around her.

Her rage died. Panic seized her in its place. She did not know how to make it stop. Her body began to rock forwards and back as the realisation that she had no control overwhelmed her.

Her breaths grew short, her exhales sharp. Eyes wide and pleading she looked for him.

Though her vision tunneled, she saw him – his blond hair catching her eye – as he forced his way through the havoc of the room. He moved slowly, bracing himself against the cyclonic winds, one arm raised to protect his face from the onslaught of fragmentented glass that assaulted his body.

Her eyes grew wide in horror as thin streams of blood trickled from a plethora of open wounds, the dark crimson in stark contrast to his alabaster skin.

Yet he did not stop.

One foot in front of the other, with great effort he made his way to stand before her. His arms flew out, encircling her body as he pulled her close and pinned her to his chest.

The room stilled.

In an instant the swirling vortex of debris stalled – suspended in the air around them like a distorted halo of destruction – before it fell to the ground with an almighty crash.

The room fell eerily silent, save for the pairs heaving breaths and the pounding of her own pulse as it reverberated through her skull. The crisp night air stung her cheeks and she realised with a start that she was crying again. Her laboured breaths turned to wracking sobs as her body collapsed, spent.

Her body slipped out of his grasp as she sank to her knees at his feet. Vaguely she was aware of Malfoy shifting around her, then his hands were upon her. Gently he pushed against her shoulder and – trusting him implicitly – she allowed herself to fall backwards. However, she did not fall far, for his arm caught her, his other coming to scoop beneath her knees as he lifted her – bridal style – from the floor.

He carried her, with apparent ease, across the room and placed her gently down atop his mattress. Instantly she rolled to her side and curled in on herself defensively. Malfoy disappeared from her view, but a moment later she felt the mattress dip as he laid down behind her. Although he had not touched her she could feel his proximity, the heat that radiated from his body and caressed her chilled skin.

"Granger," he said softly, just behind her ear. "May I touch you?"

In that moment unable to vocalise her consent, she managed to shift her head in a movement that resembled a nod. She felt him move her hair to the side, lifting it from her back as he twisted the curled strands gently and placed the bundle of tangled locks on the pillow above her head.

"Breathe Granger. Deep breaths, in and out."

She tried, but the heavy weight of anxiety still felt leaden upon her chest, and her breaths fell, too fast and far too shallow, from her lips.

Malfoy shifted behind her again and – in a soothing tone – instructed, "As you breathe in through your nose, imagine the air traveling slowly, parallel to your spine and settling, heavy, in your belly."

She felt two of his fingertips come to rest delicately at the nape of her neck before he whispered, "Now breathe."

She inhaled deeply through her nose. As she did so she felt his hands move, trailing down the length of her spine at a sedated pace. She slowed the rate of her inhale to patch his pace, and focused, visualising the movement of air as Malfoy had advised. As her lungs neared their capacity, his hand snaked around her waist, fingers splaying out as his palm pressed against her lower abdomen with a firm, yet tender pressure.

"Hold it…"

She held her breath as he instructed, her heightened awareness focusing in on the way her lips seemed to inexplicably tingle.

"And exhale," he whispered finally. The pressure of his hand against her eased, yet he made no move to remove it from her body.

"Close your eyes."

"I can't," she whimpered. "If I close my eyes he'll be there."

"I've got you, Granger. I won't let anything happen." He pulled her close, her back pressing firmly against his front. "Just listen to my voice."

"Ok," she conceded quietly and closed her eyes, giving herself to the darkness.

"Relax your shoulders. Unclench your jaw."

Until he had uttered those words, Hermione had not even realised the immense tension she held in those aching muscles. She did as he asked, letting her jaw fall open slightly and lowered her shoulders

"Perfect," he praised. "Keep breathing, just like I taught you."

She did as he said, her attention being drawn to the large hand that still rested on her lower abdomen. The way it rose and fell with each of her drawn out breaths.

"Focus on the sound of my voice," he began, the timbre of his voice deep and soothing. "I want you to picture a candle."

At that she huffed in a derisive tone. What in Merlin's name was this supposed to achieve?

Before she could voice her objection, Malfoy pressed, "Just trust me, Granger."

"Fine," she yielded, closing her eyes once more.

"What does your candle look like?"

She could not keep the sarcasm from leaching into her tone as she replied, "It looks like a candle. You know, cylindrical. Made of wax."

Hermione could almost sense the way he would have smirked behind her as he rolled his eyes. He made no snide remarks however, simply pressed on.

"What colour is it?"

At first her mind's eye conjured the image of a plain beige candlestick, similar to those that would float on mass in the Great Hall. But no, that would not do. Taking a deep breath she focused and the candle she envisioned shifted.

"Blue," she told him. "Periwinkle blue."

She heard him swallow, felt the movement of the action ripple down his chest, the sensation distinct against her back.

"I've found I hold a fondness for the colour myself," he whispered softly after a moment. Quietly, he cleared his throat and continued, "What does the candle's flame look like? Is it still? Or does it flicker?"

"It's flickering."

"Concentrate. Slow the movement of the candle to match deep breaths you take. In and out," he instructed in his quiet, husky tone. "See how it flutters gently as you inhale. How it sways softly with each exhale.

She did as he bade, the flame in her mind's eye slowing from the violent quiver she had first envisioned, responding to each deep breath she took.

"As the flame burns brightly atop the candle's wick, feel your body's tension easing," he said, his voice now but the faintest of whispers. "The wax is softening. Melting. As the wax softens, feel your body too, soften."

She released a deep sigh, her limbs becoming heavy, pliable. As the tension left her muscles she felt her form relax, molding into the firm body of the wizard that held her.

If he was bothered by the way she pressed back into him as her aching muscles unclenched, he voiced no objection. Simply continued his guided meditation in his deep, soothing tone.

"Gradually the melted wax builds in the recess atop the burning candle. It begins to overflow, trickling over the side drop by drop. Each drop of wax that falls is an anxiety you've been harbouring. Allow them to melt away."

Her body felt warm against his. Heavy as her fatigue washed over her. She listened to the sound of his voice, her breaths now slow and even. As she focused on each drop of wax that spilled from the burning candle, the warm glow of its flame began to fade. Darkness enveloped her as long awaited sleep claimed her in its embrace.

Landing on the cold floor with a thud, Hermione whimpered weakly. Her body was beyond fatigued from the torture and blood loss. She needed to move, she needed to get away from this crazed Werewolf. She needed to survive. A surge of adrenaline radiated throughout her body, rushing to her limbs. Frantically, she started to crawl, to pull herself away from the predator at her heels. Her arms slipped on the smooth floor, slick from the blood oozing from her open wounds. Behind her, Greyback let loose a guttural, manic laugh. She felt him seize her ankle roughly, tugging her back to where she had begun.

A piercing scream assaulted her ears. It took Hermione a moment to realise the harsh sound came from her own mouth. She sat atop the bed rocking forward and back, her skin cold and clammy from sweat.

"Granger," a voice called softly from a distance.

Her eyes snapped in the direction of the sound. But, she realised abruptly, it had not been from a distance afterall. Malfoy sat beside her – close, so close – his grey eyes filled with concern. He lifted his arm and she flinched, startled by the sudden action. Briefly he paused his movement, but then continued slowly, cautiously.

She realised then what he held. The small vial filled with violet draught. Dreamless Sleep.

Gently he placed his free hand on her shoulder and eased her back down onto the mattress. As her head hit the plush pillow his hand moved, fingertips ghosting by with the lightest of touches against the skin of her neck, before he cradled her head tenderly in his palm. He waited for her jaw to drop as she allowed her mouth to fall open ever so slightly. With deft fingers he uncorked the small glass vial – a single dose – and decanted it onto her waiting tongue.

Hermione sighed, even just the taste of the familiar brew seeming to sooth the frayed edges of her anxious mind. A small, contented sound slipped from her lips as Malfoy moved to lay beside her, one arm falling across her body and pulling her into his embrace.

Gradually the haze that had enveloped her mind in the wake of her nightmare began to clear. Abruptly she came to comprehend the precarious nature of their situation. Here, in his arms. It was night now, she realised. Hours had passed since her less than ceremonious arrival. Since he had brought her back from the brink of her own undoing. Hours since he had spoken to her in those whispered, soothing tones. For all those hours, he had not left her side.

Just as Hermione decided it would be pertinent to extract herself and return to the safety and solitude of her own room, she felt the creeping tendrils of Dreamless Sleep envelop her psyche. The draught smothering all semblance of thought as it pulled her swiftly into unconsciousness.