Broken
“Miss Granger, I must remind you that it’s not my fault you’ve been paired with Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said sharply, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she stared Hermione down. “Also you can’t choose who you get to work with. You may be a hero of the Wizarding World but here you are a student and you are to behave like one. You are to work with Mr. Malfoy, and I will not tolerate any further complaints. Now, get to your task.”
Hermione flushed but remained silent, nodding curtly before turning away from the stern professor. Her irritation simmered, but there was nothing she could do. She had tried to avoid Draco Malfoy in the dungeons for weeks now, but there was no escaping the inevitable pairing for the potion sessions.
As she descended into the cool, stone dungeons for their weekly potions assignment, she found Draco already preparing ingredients. He didn’t look up as she entered, his eyes focused on the pile of roots and powders in front of him. The silence between them had become routine, both of them preferring to ignore the other as much as possible, only exchanging words when necessary. But the mere presence of Draco added ire to the long list of confusing emotions that Hermione was dealing with which had led her to the headmistress’ office.
They finished their work in silence and then left in the same fashion. And they kept this going for another month.
Their uncomfortable routine was interrupted one evening when the familiar tightness settled in her chest as Hermione made her way down to the dungeons for their potions session. She had fought it all day, told herself to focus on her lessons, on her work, to think of anything but how badly her body seemed to want to betray her. But now, as the cold, damp air of the dungeons pressed in around her, the familiar pressure on her chest only grew stronger.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn’t supposed to happen here, not now. She had gotten so good at managing these attacks over the months, at keeping them hidden. She had a calming potion, always, but in her panic, she fumbled through her bag, her hands shaking. It wasn’t there.
Her mind raced, her pulse quickened. She pressed a hand to her forehead, leaning against the cold stone wall for support, trying to breathe, but her lungs felt tight, as though they had shrunk to half their size. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy, her hands clammy.
She couldn’t stop it.
Her mind raced. She needed to get out. She needed someone—Ron, Harry. Anyone. But they were so far away. She was alone.
And that was the worst part of it. The crushing isolation.
She pressed a hand against her chest, her breath coming faster. The corridor felt smaller, darker, shrinking around her her. She slumped on the ground trying to catch her breath.
And then she felt it—the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder.
“Granger?” Draco’s voice was tentative, his fingers just barely touching her, as if unsure what to do.
Hermione froze. She wanted to pull away, to tell him to leave her alone, but she couldn’t. Her head was spinning, her vision flickering. She was so embarrassed.
“It’s okay. Just breathe,” Draco murmured, his voice softer than she expected. She felt him crouch beside her. “Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slow. It’ll pass.”
She tried to listen, tried to focus on his voice, but everything felt like it was crashing around her. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the panic clawing at her chest. She was alone. Ron was hundreds of miles away. She wanted to scream, to find him, to feel his arms around her like he used to do when she had panic attacks. But he wasn’t here.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision even more. She was so weak. So out of control.
Her breath hitched and broke, and before she knew it, she was crying, silent sobs wracking her body.
Draco, to her shock, didn’t pull away. He remained steady, his hand gently caught hers. He didn’t mock her. Didn’t say anything. He just stayed, watching her, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
“It’s okay,” he whispered again, guiding her hand to her chest. “Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
Somehow, his calm was enough to break through the chaos in her mind. Slowly, the attack started to subside. Her breathing slowed, and the panic, while still there, was more manageable.
But she couldn’t stop crying. The tears seemed to have a life of their own, spilling over despite her best efforts to stifle them.
Draco didn’t say anything. He simply stayed, a silent presence beside her as she cried. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. But there he was, his presence oddly comforting in the moment.
Eventually, the sobs faded, and Hermione was left with the feeling of exhaustion hanging over her, her eyes red and swollen. She felt drained.
“I... I should go,” she muttered, embarrassed.
“No,” Draco said, shaking his head slightly. “I’m taking you to the hospital wing. You need to see Madame Pomfrey.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She was too tired, too overwhelmed. She was mortified, but she couldn’t fight him. Draco walked with her to the hospital wing, staying close and making sure she didn’t stumble, guiding her when she felt too weak to walk steadily on her own.
Madame Pomfrey greeted them with a raised eyebrow when she saw Draco, but he quickly explained Hermione’s symptoms. Hermione was too exhausted to protest, too worn out to care that it was Draco Malfoy who was helping her. She didn’t know what had happened, but she wasn’t about to argue.
When Madame Pomfrey assured Draco that she would look after Hermione, he nodded and left without another word.
…
When Hermione awoke in the hospital wing, the first thing she saw was Ginny, who was sleeping in the chair next to her bed. Hermione felt a stab of guilt.
Ginny woke with a start, her eyes immediately concerned. “Hermione! Are you alright?” she asked, hovering at Hermione’s side.
Hermione nodded, though she felt far from alright.
“You really had us all worried,” Ginny continued softly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Hermione was about to speak, but Ginny beat her to it. “It was Draco, he told me everything. He was the one who brought you here.”
Hermione’s stomach sank. Draco. The one person she didn’t want knowing, didn’t want being involved. He must have told everyone. The thought of it made her feel exposed. More than the mocking, Hermione was worried about the fussing.
Ginny paused, watching her with cautious eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Hermione. He didn’t mean to make a fuss. He was... actually kind of concerned.”
Hermione blinked, processing what Ginny was saying. “Concerned?” she repeated, confused.
Ginny shrugged.
Hermione didn’t know what to think. All she could feel was the aching emptiness in her chest, the absence of Ron. She wanted to talk to him about the git Draco was being. She wanted to see Ron getting worked up and declaring that he is going to thump Draco. She missed him so much it physically hurt.
“Have you heard from Ron?” Hermione asked suddenly, her voice tight.
Ginny hesitated, then shook her head. “He’s been moping in Romania. No letters lately. And Harry’s... busy. He’s been focused on his Auror training.”
Hermione’s heart clenched painfully.
The day passed in a haze, and Hermione found herself heading down to the dungeons later that evening, hoping to just check on the potions and call it a day. But when she walked in, she found Draco asleep at one of the desks. He woke with a start when she entered, and pointed his wand at her. His eyes looked panicked for a moment before he lowered his wand.
“Sorry,” he muttered, still groggy. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Hermione stood still, taking in the sight of him—his face pale, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced, his appearance as exhausted as she felt.
“Why are you sleeping here?” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
“I just fell asleep,” Draco replied curtly. “The potions will be fine for the night.”
Hermione stared at him, and for the first time, she noticed the tiredness in his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days. She couldn’t help the pang of pity that surged in her chest. He wasn’t okay either.
“Are you alright?” she asked, surprising herself. “You look... worn out.”
Draco just nodded, not looking at her. “You should rest. You look like you need it.”
Hermione felt a knot of confusion in her stomach.
“Thank you,” she said softly, surprising herself. “For... last night. You helped me.”
Draco just nodded, not meeting her eyes.
She left, her heart heavy with more questions than answers.