Her mind is a cacophony of a single refrain— don’t stop, don’t let them catch you, keep going —but her legs, after months of lying waste, aren’t used to such force and pressure at once, and Hermione stumbles over a thick, sprouting root covered in ice. Her ankle twists under her weight and she bites her tongue as she falls to her knees, the cold, snow-covered ground seeping through the fabric of her pants. The wand slips out of her hand and rolls away.