She felt so ill the next morning she thought she was dying. She vomited off the side of the bed and it took her hours before she could drag herself into the bathroom. She didn't know if she could become immune to the potion but she didn't think it was possible to continue surviving it to find out. Even if Malfoy sent it she doubted she'd be able to handle dosing herself again.
She was sick for two days, pressed against the window as she shivered and sweated the potion from her system. Mulling over Malfoy and the drawing room in the South Wing again and again when she wasn't too feverish to even think coherently. On the second night she dreamt of Ginny.
Ginny was huddled next to a bed and quietly sobbing. She turned sharply when Hermione entered the room. Ginny's expression as she turned and caught sight of Hermione was anguished, her chest was stuttering sharply and ragged breaths were being gasped rapidly through her open mouth. Even her red hair was wet with tears.
As Hermione approached Ginny's hair slipped back and exposed a long, cruel scar twisting down the side of her face from her forehead down to the jaw.
“Ginny,” Hermione said. “Ginny, what's wrong? What happened?”
“I don't know—“ Ginny forced the words out and then started crying harder.
Hermione knelt down next to her friend and hugged her.
“Oh god, Hermione—,” Ginny gasped. “I don't know how—“
Ginny broke off as she struggled to breathe. Choked hiccoughing sounds emerged from deep in her throat as she struggled against her spasming lungs.
“It's alright. Breathe. You need to breathe. Then tell me what's wrong and I'll help you,” Hermione promised as she ran her hands up and down Ginny's shoulders. “Just breathe. In to a count of four. Hold it. And then out through your nose for a count of six. We'll build up to that. I'll breathe with you. Alright? Come on, breathe with me. I've got you.”
Ginny just cried harder.
“It's alright,” Hermione kept saying as she started taking deep demonstrative breaths for Ginny to follow. She held Ginny tight in her arms so that the younger girl would feel Hermione's chest expanding and contracting slowly as a subconscious cue.
Ginny kept crying for several more minutes before her sobs slowed and her breathing slowly began mirroring Hermione's.
“Do you want to tell me what's wrong or would you rather I go get someone else?” Hermione asked when she was sure Ginny was not going to keep hyperventilating.
“No — you can't—,” Ginny said immediately. “Oh god! I don't—“
Ginny started sobbing into Hermione's shoulder again.
She was still crying when Hermione woke from the dream.
Hermione replayed the memory in her mind.
Ginny had rarely cried. When Percy died she had cried for days but as the war wore on her tears had dried up along with everyone else's. Ginny had barely cried when Arthur was cursed or when George nearly died.
Hermione couldn't remember Ginny ever crying so much.
Hermione kept turning the memory over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.
