Hermione focused on her breathing, tried to physically push out the pulsing in her head so that she could fucking focus and shove the damnable panic down to something manageable. It wouldn't do to panic. Panicking would get her no answers, would bring about no clarity. She'd started reciting everything she could remember from Hogwarts, A History, something that was a tried and true method for getting her brain back in order. Problem was... she couldn't get past the chapter index. She could recite that goddamn book, word for word, from cover to cover, footnotes included. The Thing her brain had been trying to hide from her, the feeling of mild worry that rested over everything before the rather panic-inducing apparent paralysis, suddenly became very, very clear to her. Her mind was going. The lack of magic wasn't just feeding on her body, her muscles. Why would it? That made no fucking sense at all, did it? Her brain, her mind was just as much a part of her as her arms and legs and bones and blood. "Son of a bitch," she whispered as her heart rate, her breathing shot into the stratosphere. She was well and truly hysterical now and no amount of deep breathing was going to calm her.