July 2003
The hours of July 1st crawled past. Hermione and the other healers stood in the foyer, watching the clock. Waiting. There was little conversation.
Hermione stood by the window, drawing runes on the glass, carefully occluding every thought of Draco from her mind. Dread was twisted through her like an invasive vine. Her eyes kept darting over to clock. It was almost noon. Her hands began to tremble faintly. She gripped the window frame as she kept watching the clock.
Seamus had promised to send a patronus.
When the clock struck noon, Hermione stood, too afraid to even breathe as she watched the minutes continue to creep by.
There was nothing.
You did it wrong. You made a mistake. You miscalculated. They all trusted you, and you miscalculated something.
She kept staring at the hands until the room started blurring. Her fingertips and arms began to prick as she kept looking mutely at the clock. Her heart pounding so violently there was a sharp stabbing sensation through her chest.
A white, lumescent fox suddenly burst into the foyer. "It worked! Noon exactly! The bloody thing took off the top of the Astronomy tower and ripped the wards down."
Hermione stood frozen until the fox vanished, then she gave a ragged gasp, and her knees gave out. She sat in the middle of the floor, sobbing. Her chest felt as though it were fracturing. She pressed her hands against her sternum and tried to breathe, her lungs jerking painfully.
It worked. She curled her head and pressed her jaw against her shoulder as she kept struggling to make herself breathe. There was burning throughout her throat and lungs. The bomb had worked. She was shuddering with relief. There were voices, but she couldn't make them out.
She pressed her hands over her mouth and tried to stop crying. Calm down. Calm down. You're on duty. She buried her face in the crook of her arm and sobbed with relief until her head began throbbing.
A warm hand wrapped around her elbow and helped her up from the floor.
"Come on, dear," Poppy said, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders as she kept sobbing against the back of her hand. "Let's get you a cup of tea. Padma will call if anyone's brought in."
Poppy led Hermione down the hallway into the kitchen and seated her at the table. Hermione brushed her tears off her face and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe in to a count of four and then out to a count of six until her chest stopped spasming. Her sternum ached. She pressed her hand against the middle of her chest until she felt her heart rate slowing.
The kitchen was strangely silent. She opened her eyes and found herself surrounded by dozens of diagnostic projections. Poppy was standing beside her, her expression tense as she examined and manipulated all the various spells she'd cast over Hermione.
Hermione's stomach dropped so sharply her hands clenched, tension burning through her spine as though she'd been electrocuted. She whipped out her own wand, banishing everything Poppy had cast with a sharp, slashing movement.
"I thought you said tea, Poppy. Has the definition changed?" Her throat was tight, and acid dripped from the words.
Poppy looked up at Hermione, her expression unapologetic. "You may be a healing prodigy, but I've been a healer for decades longer than you. You-should be on several potions for your anxiety."
Hermione pushed her jaw out, then swallowed and dropped her eyes. "I can't. They interfere with my occlumency."
Poppy sniffed. "Occlumency is a bandage on a bombarda curse. You're not fixing anything by dissociating, you're hiding it. And"-her tone grew pointed-"it's growing exacerbated by your use of the Dark Arts."
