If this kept up, Hermione knew that her very sanity could be lost like the Longbottoms, tortured with pain and endorphins flooding her system and breaking her synapses. The sharp, bitter cold felt like white-hot heat searing every crevice carved by the imaginary knives, causing pain so precise and sharp it felt more like crushing blows. The pain was a paradox in every way and all Hermione could do was kneel as red tinted her vision and the tell tale taste of copper trailed over my lips. She tried to inhale as blood went into her nostrils, threatening to drown her in her own blood, as the endorphins flooded and were yet again drowned out by the rising panic. Hermione had no idea where she was bleeding from and hoped to simply pass out from the blood loss.