Time speeds up. Hermione sickening. Miserable. Flinching away from touch. Hugging Harry anyway. Visits to St. Mungo’s. Research. Knowing what she was. A tearful apology from Fleur. Confirmation. Registering as a sentient magical creature, no longer a witch. Knowing she’d die if she didn’t find that magical mate, the one whose touch would save her. An endless, creeping discomfort. Feeling like death on her skin every time someone touched her.