BREATHE -draco malfoy

thirty.

Ana sat on the floor next to the small, flickering flame, her knees tucked up under her chin. Ron had only been gone for a few hours, but the air in the tent, and all around her, had shifted. She hadn't realized before, how much having the four of them all together had kept her together. The sense of companionship had been all that Ana had to hold onto, and now, with one of the foursome disappeared, she felt like she would crumble. Ana had no idea where Ron had gone, or else she might have gone to look for him. Even though he had been acting strangely for weeks, always irritable and sullen, Ana was stunned at his departure, feeling like the ties that were threaded between the four of them had been broken. 

Ron's departure wasn't the only thing that had Ana feeling like she was going to come undone. Ron's words had struck such a chord with her. She had felt the hope spring up again when Hermione had figured out the Sword of Gryffindor and it's capabilities, but now it had ebbed again. The little glimmer of joy she had felt only hours earlier was gone, and now that she had let the hope inside of her, and lost it, she was left, wrecked and irreparable. Ana decided that she no longer wanted to trust any signs of progress, no longer get her hopes up so high. Their plan, their mission that would change the outcome of the war, was coming apart at the seams, along with their group as a whole.

Hermione was sat up outside of the tent, keeping watch and not talking to anyone. Harry was sulking somewhere in the back room. Ana felt more alone than ever. And, more than anything, she felt selfish. She had been so caught up in her grief, so focused on keeping herself together, that she had watched as Ron had fallen apart. But how could she have helped him when she couldn't even help herself? She could hardly sleep at night, her dreams tortured by Draco's face, over and over again. When she woke, there was no respite, as she daydreamed about him constantly, to the point where her memories felt like she was watching a movie, someone witnessing Draco from the outside, never fully reaching in. 

Ana stared at the little floating flame on the table, one of Hermione's creations, and felt herself choke. It was too much. Her mind was overtaking her, her senses being overwhelmed as she felt the now-familiar beginning of a panic attack, one brought on by the events of the day and the events of the entire bloody year. How could she keep pushing? Ron was gone, Draco thought she was dead. Harry and Hermione were practically falling apart. She couldn't fix it, any of it. Words could not express how much Ana yearned for Draco then, wished for him to materialize, show himself to her, somehow. A love as pure and as deep as the love she felt for him would surely set the entire planet back in motion, righting all wrongs. But she felt disconnected from that love, even when it was surely there, even stronger than ever before. 

When Harry entered, Ana hadn't realized she had been crying. She wiped her eye feverishly, knotting her shirt sleeve into a fist and wrapping both arms around her knees. Harry sat on the other side of the room in one of the camping chairs, sighing and looking at her as she stared out of the door to the tent, gazing at the darkness outside. She could just barely see Hermione's feet, laid out beneath a blanket in the snow, her back turned to watch the incoming night. 

Ana had been listening to the radio, hearing the list of names for the thousandth time, each time with new people who had been killed that day. It was self-destruction, listening to something as sad as that while her mind was unraveling. She saw Harry fiddle with the radio out of the corner of her eye and felt angry for a moment, upset that he had interrupted the reading of the list. But Ana softened when a melody poked through the space, a long, drawn out chord with a raspy voice and intricate lyrics. She closed her eyes, drinking in the music. Like all things did, it reminded her, once again, of Draco. She was thinking idly that he may like that song, and she would have to play it for him sometime, when she saw a shadow cross over in front of the floating candlelight. It was Harry, standing before her with an outstretched hand, beckoning her to stand. Ana lifted her head slightly, unable to hide the sadness on her face. It felt never-ending, her sorrow, and she was not in the mood to dance. Ana shook her head at Harry solemnly, but he didn't waver. Harry stood above her with his hand extended to her, soon reaching down to intertwine his fingers in hers, unclasping her hand from around her knees. Harry was trying to pull her out of her shell, and Ana wanted to sulk, but the look on his face, such a happy, serene face, reminded Ana of happier times, before the world had gone to shit. She was wary to trust any feelings of happiness, as they had been squashed so often lately, but Harry was pulling her up and off of the floor, and he wasn't asking for her permission. Ana sighed, getting up and letting a half hearted smile stretch across her face. She had to admit, this song longed to be danced to.