Hannah woke up, surrounded by dogs. All four were on the bed with her, keeping a vigil, boxing her in as if to keep her safe, though little did they know, Hannah needed to be protected from herself. Rubbing at her eyes, she managed to sit up. She had taken a full dose of calming draught the night before; after Justin's comments and Miles' journal and the glass jar attacks, her head felt like it would break apart in agony. Unable to breathe or move or function, her panic attacks left her completely frozen. Hannah couldn't stop them, not at all, and she felt so ashamed that Neville had seen her at her lowest.
If only Hannah were a Muggle: she'd have a therapist, some Paxil, and maybe Zoloft, too, and her anxiety and depression would be brought under control. But no, she was pretty much a pureblood who had no clue what the word anti-depressants even meant.
Shuffling downstairs with the dogs in tow, still feeling dopey and sluggish from the draught, Hannah let the dogs out and fed them; once that was done, she followed the noise of the telly to where Neville was and stood at the door, feeling a bit shy. "Good morning," she said quietly, giving him a tentative smile. "Are things okay?"