Hermione sat for several minutes, trying to muster up the energy to climb back across the roof.
She found an armchair and curled up in it, so tired that even the stabbing pain of her arm couldn't keep her from sleeping.
When she jerked awake hours later, she felt icy. She was freezing cold, to the point that her teeth were chattering. It had been early afternoon when she'd fallen asleep, but the house had grown dark and quiet.
She shuddered with cold, grasped for her wand, and cast a warming charm on herself. It didn't provide her with any relief from the iciness she felt.
She felt — watched. As though there were something in the darkness staring at her.
At the base of her spine, and climbing slowly upward like icy tendrils, was a sense of dull pain. Like she was being infected with something that was trying to numb her as it crept through her system.
Her hand was shaking as she cast a diagnostic on herself. She must have overlooked a curse.
There was nothing.
The painful, icy sensation felt like it was spreading. Blooming through her body into her sternum and across her chest until breathing felt painful.
It was terrifying and awful but there was also a sort of draw to surrender. Pain for relief. Like sitting in the kitchen, cutting lines until it hurt more than everything else did.
Pain like liberation. Like the taste of blood.
She stood sharply.
It was the aftereffects of the Dark Magic she had used. Self-destructive tendencies. Hallucinations.
Now as she thought about it, the sensations were familiar.
Tonks had been right. She should be with someone. Someone who would help her hold on.
She stumbled down the stairs. It was the middle of the night. She made her way to the room Charlie had been in. They barely got on together, but he'd let her hold his hand. She was so cold. He could talk to her and help her keep focused—
Empty.
She checked Fred's. Empty.
She moved on.
Ron was asleep. Moaning in pain. She poured a Dreamless Sleep draught down his throat. As she watched him settle, she pulled out a potion to help reset the ligaments and tendons in her hand and swallowed it.
Harry was asleep in the chair next to Ron. Harry hadn't slept since Ron's capture. Remus had the full moon the next night; Tonks would be with him.
She wandered back out of the room and wondered what to do.
The coldness swallowing her was so painful it hurt to even breathe. She wavered and nearly let herself sink into it.
“
She forced herself out the front door and apparated to Whitecroft.
She stepped toward the door, and her fingers grazed the knob, then she froze. The lights were out.
Of course — he wouldn't be there. It was just a rendezvous point. He didn't live there. It had been hours since she'd left. He was probably asleep. Somewhere with a bed.
Or he could be busy.
She wasn't supposed to call him unless it was an emergency. She'd promised she wouldn't. She had given him her word.
She didn't get to call him because she'd had a bad day.
She'd risk his cover — compromise him — endanger the Order.
She jerked her hand back and turned away.
If she could apparate again — there was always someone awake at a Grimmauld Place. She gripped her wand and closed her eyes.
It felt like something grabbed hold of her head. Her knees buckled. Everything vanished.
When the world slowly swam back into focus, she realized she was lying on her back. She stared up at the sky. The stars glittered overhead, dimmed by the moon. Cold.
The day has been so long.
Her skin was crawling. Hurting. Like there was something inside her. In her magic. She wanted to slice it out. If she could just find the spot. She could carve it out with one of her knives — so it would stop — stop crawling inside her.
She dug her fingers into her chest and pulled at it.
“Granger — what did you do to yourself?”
She became conscious of being lifted off the ground. Hot hands closing around her body, driving away the cold. She was so cold. She burrowed into the heat.
She was delirious, because Draco was there, dressed in Muggle clothing. She had never seen him in anything but black robes.
She pressed herself against him, and he felt like a furnace, driving away the crawling, creeping cold inside her.
“I killed people today,” she said, burying her face in his shirt. Even dressed as a Muggle, he somehow smelled the same. “I never killed anyone before. But I didn't even keep count of how many people I killed today.”
His arms closed around her back.
“Tonks said — the Dark Magic I used today, I shouldn't be alone. But — there wasn't anyone to go to. Everyone else already has someone — someone they go to after—”
“But you don't.”
She nodded.
“What spell did you use?” Draco was asking. “What Dark Magic?”
“I carbonised a werewolf. It was mauling Ron. The day before the full moon, stunners would take so long.”