Hermione's lips parted, black spots popping in her vision. Like she'd been plunged into dark, icy waters, forced to sink slowly to the bottom as the surface remained still.

The Horcrux inside of Harry.

Voldemort hadn't created another one by accident. It was the same one that had been inside of Harry.

Harry had learned about it somehow. And he'd thought he could kill it by sacrificing himself.

But it hadn't worked.

Her breath was caught in her chest, like a dead weight growing inside her.

Harry had died for nothing.

Voldemort was still talking, but she couldn't hear him anymore.

Something warm wrapped around her shoulders as they shook, and she jerked her arms, twisting to escape. She spun and Draco was there, trying to hold her, speaking to her.

Her lungs seized for air, but she couldn't draw breath. Her heartbeat rattled a crescendo in her chest. She tried to focus on Draco's grey eyes, but all she could see was emerald green.

The walls of the shack started to shift, closing in on her, getting tighter and tighter until they pressed on her like the sides of a coffin—

And then it was all darkness.

~*~

Her eyelids blinked open with the whisper of "Rennervate" in her ears. She jerked upright, and someone caught her by the shoulders. Her vision adjusted as her lungs sucked in air, and when she looked up, she found Draco hovering above her, his green canopy curtains stretching high overhead. She was in his bed.

"Granger," he said, and she realized he'd been calling her name.

Her throat was dry, and she licked her lips. "What happened?"

His expression was pinched. "I had to Stun you." He lifted a hand to brush her curls from her face. "You were having a panic attack."

She drew a sharp breath, pressing her eyes closed. Her shoulders trembled beneath his fingertips as the memories crested, flooding through her.

A stab of despair rippled through her chest.

Harry.

He'd found out somehow. He'd learned the truth about the Horcrux inside of him. Something in Snape's memories must have confirmed it.

Her eyelids burned as tears slipped free, curving down her face. A warm hand wiped them away.

Her best friend was dead, and she hadn't let herself think about how or why. She'd buried him amongst her shelves without having all the answers. But now his book had flown open, the sheets torn and the spine splintering as the pages scattered.

She bit back a sob as the grief sunk in her throat, coiling like black tar around her ribs.

He'd walked to the Forest with purpose. He'd laid down his wand, closed his eyes. She hadn't been with him. He'd been alone.

Harry had died doing what he thought was right, but he'd failed. The Horcrux lived on. And he'd died in its place.

A sob tore from her throat, and she shrank away from the hands clutching her. She focused on her shelves, pressing her hands into her eyes until the tears stopped falling.