Why was his heart so loud? Was this what dying felt like?

Trembling hands raked down the side of his head, fingertips digging into his temples and folding over his ears. Was The Great Hall always so noisy? The chatter seemed almost deafening, as if the sea of people would soon begin to close in on him, trample him. Swallow him whole.

He couldn't breathe. The collar of his shirt was too tight. He had managed to pull his tie free from his throat. It dangled loosely from one shoulder, but it didn't seem to provide him any relief. Every fiber in Archer's body screamed at him to retreat, but he was frozen. He couldn't will himself to take a single step. It was a miracle his knees hadn't already buckled beneath him.

"I...I..." he stammered, but the small boy couldn't seem to be able to form any real words, even if it would just be an echo of his previous apologies.

The Ravenclaw managed to move one of his hands, silently inspecting the dampness that suddenly formed on his cheeks. When had he started to cry? With a sharp inhale, he struggled to find his breath, silent tears turning into shoulder shuddering sobs.

He couldn't stop. Why, Merlin, couldn't he stop?