With a jolt, she turned to the bedside table, searching for seven books stacked in a pile…

Nothing. A new table with just the brass-lined jewelry box still sitting proudly, winking at her. Draco's personal copies of the Gainsworth books were gone now.

Acid rose from her stomach, choking her, burning her throat. Tears pricked her eyes again. She'd destroyed it all. She couldn't be trusted with precious things. Harry had always trusted her with crucial information and keys to puzzles, but perhaps he shouldn't have. Now she wondered if she might have cracked under Bellatrix's knife if Dobby hadn't saved them. Perhaps she was weak — good for her mind, but once her heart became involved, she was useless.

Her knees trembled, and she sank to the floor and wept heaving sobs that made her lungs spasm and stung the skin on her face until nothing existed but her grief and shame. Once she'd finally exhausted herself, she lay on her side, fingers curled in the carpet. Watching through swollen eyes as a sliver of sunlight inched across the room.

At some point, a tray of food appeared on her new coffee table. She ignored it.

What would her friends think of her now? What would Harry think, after she'd betrayed his deepest secrets?

His green eyes flashed in her mind, imploring her to find the right answers, to come up with the solutions, to save them—

To save them.

Her breath caught, and she blinked back the tears. Slowly, she pushed herself up. It wasn't too late for her to fix the mess she'd made. She could still do what Harry needed from her.

She'd been meandering for months, waiting for someone to clearly delineate the next problem, to ask the question so she could concentrate on the answer. But she'd posed the right questions months ago, all on her own. It was just her now. Surely she had more freedom than any of the other slaves. Perhaps she even had more resources at her disposal than what was left of the Order. She'd just been too complacent with the Malfoys to work the problem as she ought to have been.

With a new burst of passion, Hermione stood. She took a deep breath and marched out of her bedroom, and down the hallway.

She needed to kill Nagini. She needed to work on the tattoos. She needed to get them out. All of them. They were counting on her, and she knew it.

Having now experienced only a fraction of what her friends had been going through for months, she felt the guilt weighing heavy on her as she hurried down the stairs.

She pushed open the library doors and froze, heart pounding in her chest. Thankfully, it was safe. Empty. She took a shaky breath and stepped inside. Forcing herself to set aside thoughts of the last time she'd been here, she crossed to where the Horcrux book had been a week ago. Finding it still absent amongst the other Dark texts, she wondered which Malfoy had stolen it. Would she find it in Lucius' study? Perhaps it had been destroyed if they'd known Voldemort was coming for the information in her mind.