[ She knows that, of all the people in the world, Remus might be the one best suited to understand her. He had almost killed her, once, she thinks, remembering third year and his transformation, her fear and her panic, but she also knows that none of that matters. Remus, when he turns, has no control over himself. The werewolf, Moony, is something without the same rationale that she and Remus share when they're like this, human and human alike. When she turns into a lioness she is still Hermione, even if her mind is a little numbed by her traditional lioness instinct and the fact that the mind is less human.
Still, her hands grip at him, her body moving and pressing closer, desperate for his comfort, desperate for someone to tell her that it's truly okay. His hands are in her hair and she breathes out, a sharp little noise, hitching through her sobs as she tries to force herself to calm down. She can't brush the thoughts from her mind, the memories of blood and pain, the taste of flesh in her mouth and the feeling of it clamped under her jaws, and it makes her feel sick even now.
Dorian had woken up, of course, and Gilgamesh had come and cleaned the blood from her face, but the memories haunted her all the same, her eyes squeezing tighter and tighter until it hurts, burning, aching inside of her and leaving her feeling weak and bereft, as if something has been taken from her - as if someone has reached inside of her and ripped out a part of her and left it there on the ground on that day, destroying her. ]
It was my fault, all of it, all my fault. If I had been better, if I hadn't lost my magic, if I had moved, if I hadn't...
[ If I hadn't failed, she screams at herself, then none of this would have happened. ]
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Still, her hands grip at him, her body moving and pressing closer, desperate for his comfort, desperate for someone to tell her that it's truly okay. His hands are in her hair and she breathes out, a sharp little noise, hitching through her sobs as she tries to force herself to calm down. She can't brush the thoughts from her mind, the memories of blood and pain, the taste of flesh in her mouth and the feeling of it clamped under her jaws, and it makes her feel sick even now.
Dorian had woken up, of course, and Gilgamesh had come and cleaned the blood from her face, but the memories haunted her all the same, her eyes squeezing tighter and tighter until it hurts, burning, aching inside of her and leaving her feeling weak and bereft, as if something has been taken from her - as if someone has reached inside of her and ripped out a part of her and left it there on the ground on that day, destroying her. ]
It was my fault, all of it, all my fault. If I had been better, if I hadn't lost my magic, if I had moved, if I hadn't...
[ If I hadn't failed, she screams at herself, then none of this would have happened. ]