A roller coaster. That was what she thought of. Jumping from the second story window, she gripped her best friend's hand as tight as she could, closed her eyes, and screamed.

It's just a ride, she thought, gripping his hand harder, screaming louder, spinning in midair. That was a loop-de-loop, she thought, you're strapped into a seat, you aren't actually falling…

Thud.

They landed on hard ground. There wasn't much snow here, what had fallen remained stuck on tree branches high above. She realized she was still screaming. Harry was too. His hand was still clasped tightly around hers and she realized she was being thrown. And his screams were not screams, but incoherent words, threats, terror. And he was seizing and much stronger than her and he had a death grip on her hand and she hit the ground hard again.

She was up all night with him. She wiped the sweat from his face as he seized and screamed and threatened her. Sometimes he would grab her arm, hard, and throw her away. Others he would begin to cry and come back to himself at her touch. Or the sound of her voice. Or when his eyes would open and he would see her without seeing her. Sometimes there would be traces of Voldemort in the green orbs, something cold that she could not place. Others she saw just Harry, and they would plead silently with her to make it stop.

She wished she could.

The late December air made it hard to do anything but huddle for warmth by the fire. He noticed Hermione seemed to be avoiding talking to him, and he knew she was afraid he would lash out at her for breaking his wand.

He was too, and tried his best not to speak to her.

He knew it wasn't her fault. He knew it was better to be alive with no wand than be dead without one. He also knew how easy it would be to blame her, to get angry, especially with the tiny, metallic heartbeat of the horcrucx whispering in his ear.

But she didn't deserve that, so he stayed silent.

It was rare for him to speak first. He was sacred of himself, afraid of what he might say to her. Out of necessity, every few hours she would timidly ask him a question, "What time do you think we should eat?" or "Is it alright if I keep watch? I'm going to be reading anyway…".

He hated that she was afraid of him. It made him feel more like Voldemort. It threw him back into the visions. He saw in her eyes the same fear he brought to his victims. It brought his nightmares into real life

But this was Hermione. She was the closest thing he had to a sister. She had always looked out for him; had always done her best to protect him. Wasn't it his duty to give her the same?

Then why did she look at him with such terror in her eyes?

He spoke first that night.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, almost directly into the campfire they had pitched at the mouth of the tent.

"Are you warm enough?"

Hermione looked at him long and hard. She was shivering violently. Her eyes were dull and dead, as though she was pleading for someone to take her place, even if for a little while. Like she needed a nice hot bath and a good long sleep and a warm meal and maybe a laugh or two.

She needed Ron.

She sighed, her voice almost inaudible,

"No".

Harry scooted over a few feet to close the gap between them. Pulling the blanket he had around his shoulders over hers too. He pulled her in close to him, and he felt her head droop down onto his shoulder. He felt her relax.

"Hermione, I'm sorry" he whispered as gently as he could. He felt her nod on his shoulder.

He took her hand, absently tracing along her skin. Just as he had done in the hospital wing when she lay petrified, centuries ago. Just as she had done when he was scared shitless during the Triwizard Tournament. Like a secret handshake of sorts. First his thumb over the top of her hand, and then along her wrist.

Then he saw the bruise.

At first he thought she had got it at Godric's Hollow. Thought it had been the snake. But as he pulled her sleeve back to take a better look, he noticed it was hand-like.

Someone had grabbed her wrist. Hard.

"Hermione, who did this to you? Did something happen when you went to the village this morning?" he knew she could sense the worry in his voice.

When she told him he had done it, he couldn't believe it.

Pulling his arm out from around her shoulders, he pulled her sleeve up the rest of the way. She was entirely purple and blue.

She told him it wasn't his fault, that she knew he would never hurt her on purpose.

He didn't believe her.

He thought about Ron that night; how he would kill him if he knew. No matter how much pain and suffering Ron had caused them, Harry knew he would never lay a finger on either of them.

He had never noticed how much smaller Hermione was now compared to them. Although he knew –somewhere in the back of his mind- that Ron was taller than him and Hermione, he had always seen them to be the same size, like they had been when they were eleven.

He probably chalked it up to the fact that Hermione had always been just as powerful, if not more so than the both of them. She might not have been as good as defense as Harry was, but she could more than hold her own in a duel. And in other areas of magic, no doubt she could best both of them blindfolded.

But she was tiny. At least compared to him. Definitely compared to Ron. Maybe Ron noticed she was a girl earlier than he did. Maybe his protectiveness, his unwillingness to allow Hermione to come on missions made a lot of sense.

If Harry's grip could bruise her like that, would spells affect her more? Would she be injured more easily?

He thought about Dolohov's curse back in fifth year, how it knocked her right out. How she was in the hospital for weeks.

No. He thought, She's not weak. She's stronger than she looks.

And, apparently, so am I.

He treated her differently after that. As though she might break.

He stopped playfully kicking her shins to get her attention. Stopped returning her bone crushing hugs in favour of lighter, more gentle ones.

It was driving her crazy.

"Harry," she told him, after he had very gently prodded her awake for her look-out shift, "You know you threw me really hard, right?"

"Yeah Hermione I know I'm sorry I promise I won't do it again I-"

"Harry, that isn't what I'm getting at. What I'm saying is that you don't have to be so careful with me. You've been treating me like I'm made of glass and I frankly don't bruise nearly as easily as you think I do. You threw me really hard"

He looked like he was going to be sick to his stomach. Nodding, he climbed into his bunk without another word.

"I don't like that you're afraid of me. It makes me feel more like him."

"Harry I'm not-"

"Hermione you are. Do you think I don't notice when you walk on eggshells around me? It's like you know I could explode any minute and I'm not denying it's true, it's just that maybe I'm being more careful around you because I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Harry you aren't a monster."

"I know."

"The monster is just in your head."

"I know."

It's silent and it's still freezing inside the tent. Hermione pulls Ron's duvet tighter around her. It smells like him.

"You're like my sister Hermione. We're supposed to protect each other."

"We do."

"You do, I don't."

"Harry don't be ridiculous. I'd be dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for you."

"I'm just always so angry but it's his anger and I'm taking it out on you and I'm-"

"Harry, you didn't hurt me, he did. He used you to hurt me. You were being possessed."

"I'm going to kill him."

"I know you will."