Since it wasn’t a physical pain, Hermione couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it started, but it swept through her in pulses. The Cruciatus was nothing to this; in fact, it seemed similar to the torture she’d experienced when Aberforth performed the ritual on her. Whereas then it was localized to her arm, now it spread throughout her entire being, and there was nothing Hermione could do. She couldn’t even cry, couldn’t scream. There was no room for thought, no way to act, and so she had no choice but to endure.