A/N: Thank you for all your support!

FYI, there's a bit of borrowed dialogue from Half Blood Prince in this chapter. I obviously don't own it!

Harry wasn't at all surprised to find Hermione with her head buried in a book. After all the turmoil of recent events, it was a very reassuring sight. She hadn't noticed his approach and he took the opportunity to observe her for a moment. They'd been apart for just three weeks but Harry had written to her nearly every other day, anxious to know that she was alright. Her responses always assured him that she was but he didn't know whether she was being honest. After all, he always told her that he was fine in each of his letters even though he really wasn't: how could he be after losing Sirius and finding out about the prophecy?

Harry pushed those thoughts out of his mind and focused on his best friend, sat a few feet away from him, resting against one of the apple trees in the Weasleys' orchard with her book propped up against her thighs. It wasn't often that Harry would look at Hermione with such close scrutiny because, well, she was always there – a reliable, constant presence by his side. The thought of that possibly not being the case for much longer twisted his stomach unpleasantly and he wished he hadn't eaten quite so much of the scrambled eggs that Fleur Delacour (of all people) had delivered to his bedroom less than thirty minutes ago. But Harry would hardly blame Hermione if she chose to distance herself from him. After all, it was Harry's fault that she had been cursed – even if she told him it wasn't – and he would probably never forgive himself for leading his friends into such danger. It was truly a miracle that all of the students had managed to survive.

Survive… Neither can live while the other survives…

Harry grimaced. Ah, yes, and he had yet to even share with his two best friends the contents of the prophecy between himself and Voldemort. When Dumbledore had dropped Harry off at the Burrow late the previous evening, he had recommended that Harry tell Hermione and Ron about the prophecy. The idea made him more than a little apprehensive because he had no idea how his friends would react and now, seeing the tell-tale dark circles under Hermione's eyes, Harry pondered over whether to tell her at all – she had enough going on in her life with that damned curse and she didn't need Harry burdening her with his revelation.

Hermione seemed to become aware of his presence because she suddenly glanced up in his direction. The intent expression she'd been favouring whilst scrutinising the book melted away into something much warmer and gentler. "Harry!" she greeted, smiling, as she closed her book and got to her feet. "It's so good to see you."

"Hi, Hermione," he replied, stepping forward to walk into her embrace. He stiffened almost immediately in her arms as something occurred to him and he pulled back in alarm. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Hermione shook her head and slipped her arm through his. "No, it's fine, but thank you for checking."

"Oh, good," he sighed in relief as he allowed her to pull him down to sit against the tree with her.

She squeezed his arm affectionately. "It's so good to have you here. I hate to think of you shut up in that house with the Dursleys. Did they treat you alright?"

"We had very little to do with each other, to be honest," Harry admitted. "It's better all round that way." Hermione gave him a sympathetic look that, after a few seconds, evolved into one of a close scrutiny that he suspected looked very similar to the one he had employed himself a couple of minutes earlier. He understood why she was doing it but at least he'd been discrete about it! "Have I got something on my face, Hermione?"

"What? No," she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. "I just haven't seen you in so long."

"It's only been three weeks," he pointed out, amused at her attempts to cover her obvious observations.

"Well, it feels like much longer," she argued, her demeanour becoming more sombre and he didn't doubt that her words were true. She forced a smile onto her face. "So, what happened? We weren't expecting you to arrive until this morning but Mrs Weasley said Dumbledore dropped you off in the middle of the night!"

Harry could tell that she was very intrigued but the enthusiasm in her eyes waned slightly as he explained about Dumbledore using him to persuade Slughorn to come out of retirement.

"Oh, I see," she murmured. "Well, do you think Slughorn will be a good Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "He can't be any worse than Umbridge, can he?"

Hermione made a scathing noise low in her throat and Harry grinned – he knew that being a bad teacher was not far off criminality in her view. "Umbridge was forced on us by the Ministry, so if Dumbledore has actually sought out Slughorn then I trust his judgement," she declared. "Merlin knows we need someone decent now more than ever."

"He's going to give me private lessons this year," Harry told her.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Slughorn is?"

"No, Dumbledore," he clarified. "He told me so in the Weasleys' broom shed." If he thought that Hermione had looked surprised before, the intensity in her expression increased hugely at the news that their headmaster was going to be tutoring him.

"Wow, Harry, that's, that's" she stammered. "What's he going to be teaching you?"

"Er, I dunno exactly," he admitted. "He didn't say. He didn't really say why, either." Harry's heart beat very quickly in his chest as he considered his next words. Dumbledore had encouraged him to tell his friends and Harry knew that he would struggle if he tried to keep the knowledge of the prophecy to himself. And, if he was going to tell Ron, he had to tell Hermione, too. She would be devastated if he kept something as important as this from her at all, let alone if he only shared it with Ron. "But," he continued, feeling disproportionately hot, "I guess it has something to do with the prophecy; the one from the Ministry."

Hermione's eyes searched his face anxiously. "But it smashed - nobody knows what it said, not that the Prophet haven't tried to convince everyone they have inside information with their 'Chosen One' malarkey," she finished with a scoff.

"Well, actually," Harry murmured, looking intently at an ant as it explored the cover of Hermione's book, "the Prophet have got it right." Hermione's grip on his arm became very tight and he forced himself to look at her frightened face. "Dumbledore was the one the prophecy was originally made to and he had a copy of it back in his office. I heard the whole thing. Basically, it means that I'm the one that's got to finish Voldemort off. It said that neither of us can live while the other survives…"

Harry suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight hug, Hermione's hair tickling his face. "Oh, Harry," she said in a trembling voice. "After what Lucius Malfoy said at the Ministry, about the prophecy being about you and Voldemort, I thought it might be something like this, but I didn't want to say anything…" She pulled back and Harry was uncomfortable to see her eyes looking a little watery but, thankfully, she didn't start crying. "Oh, Harry," she said again. "How…how are you feeling?"

Harry grimaced. "I'm alright, I suppose," he said modestly.

"Aren't you scared?" she asked disbelievingly.

"When I first heard it, I was," he admitted, "but I'm OK now. I guess I've always known it was going to come down to us two."

Hermione tried her best to look hopeful. "Well, I wonder what Professor Dumbledore is going to teach you. It's probably going to be some really advanced defence magic. He already knows how good you are after you taught us all in the DA. He obviously thinks you're ready for the next level things – tricky counter-curses, anti-jinxes and the like." Her expression brightened a little. "You will tell me what he teaches you, won't you?"

"I – " Harry had hardly been listening, caught up as he was in the indescribable feeling of warmth that spread across his chest when Hermione hadn't tried to distance herself at the news of the prophecy; that she was there, offering him comfort even though she had already suffered because of him and her continued association with him would only put her in greater danger. He wished he could tell her how much her support meant to him. "Of course I'll pass on any spells he teaches me, Hermione."

She beamed at him and he laughed, his chest feeling lighter than it had done for a very long time, and he squeezed her arms lightly. Her expression changed at once and she snatched her arms out of his gentle grasp. Seeing Harry's look of alarm, she tried to return her features back to their previous casualness. "Hermione?" he questioned cautiously but she didn't respond. "I didn't make you burn, did I? My skin wasn't touching yours."

Hermione sighed and Harry noticed a note of tension in her posture. "No, I didn't burn, Harry. It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing," Harry responded, frowning. Making the most of his seeker-reflexes, Harry reached for her closest hand and quickly pushed the long sleeve of her t-shirt up to her elbow, ignoring her startled squawk. His eyes narrowed at once on the small purple bruises that showed up starkly on her lightly tanned skin and a feeling of cold unease swept through him. He raised his gaze to hers. "Where did you get these?" he asked quietly as she shrugged off his hold and pulled her sleeve back down.

Hermione bit her lip, looking like she was considering what to say in response. Eventually, she sighed and muttered, "Dolohov."

Harry felt sick to his stomach and he clenched his fists in response to the fury that swept through him. "Why didn't you tell me he's been hurting you?"

Hermione let out a loud sigh. "He's only been physical once, Harry, and I doubt he realised what he was doing."

"You're defending him?!" Harry said in disbelief.

"No, of course not!" she retorted. "I just don't want you to worry about something that's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal!" Harry repeated incredulously. "Wait – you have told somebody else about this, haven't you?" Her lack of response told him her answer. "Hermione!" he scolded.

"What would be the point, Harry?" she questioned, throwing up her hands in frustration. "I'm not going to go running off to the Order just because Dolohov overreacted when I said 'Voldemort'."

Harry shook his head, guilt sweeping through him again. "I seem to remember you urging me to report Umbridge for her blood quills."

"That's different," she replied. "Umbridge was in a position of responsibility and should have been looking out for the welfare of her pupils. We always knew that Dolohov was going to be…" she struggled to find the word and finally settled on, "Dolohov."

Harry couldn't keep a look of dismay off his face. "What else has he done? Don't deny it, Hermione," he added quickly, seeing her avoid his eye. "You might have pretended that everything was alright in your letters but you forget that I saw him; I was there when he refused to help a dying girl unless he could get something for himself in return. Don't try to hide from me how bad it is, Hermione, please." He always trusted that he could tell Hermione anything and she would stand by him – as she had done just a few minutes ago. The possibility that she didn't feel that she could reciprocate made a coldness sweep down his spine. His heart thudded in his chest for every second that she remained silent.

Finally, after a long pause, she said, "It's nothing I can't handle, Harry, I promise; he calls me names and tries his best to be intimidating, that's all."

Harry was unconvinced by her response but instead asked, "Why doesn't Kingsley stop him?"

"Kingsley doesn't accompany me, Tonks does," she replied. "But Dolohov has refused to touch me if she doesn't leave the room first."

"What?" Harry yelped, jumping to his feet. "She abandons you to a Death Eater?! Well, this makes much more sense now," he ranted, motioning to her covered up arm. "What is Tonks thinking?"

"It's a power play, Harry," she replied calmly, also getting to her feet. "Dolohov is just seeing how far he can push us."

"You shouldn't be left alone with him – it's dangerous!"

"Not really – "

"Hermione!" Harry interrupted angrily. "He's hurt you!"

"It's nothing I can't handle, Harry," she insisted, putting her hands on her hips. "If we can't find a counter to this curse, I'll have to visit Dolohov for the rest of my life. If I don't stand my ground now, the disparaging insults and bullying won't stop; he'll never respect me."

"Respect you!" Harry scoffed. "Hermione, he wants to kill you!" he argued passionately.

"Well, he won't while he's got something to gain from me being alive," she pointed out, not denying it. "Apart from the relief his touch gives me from the curse, my visits are a far cry from enjoyable but they are my battle, no one else's. That's why none of the adults know and I don't plan on telling them."

Harry stared at her. He'd tried not to think too much about what Hermione went through whenever she had to visit Dolohov because his guilt made him feel sick. He knew it was selfish, of course, but with his best friend standing stiffly in front of him, her eyes glistening but her chin lifted defiantly, he put himself in her shoes and envisioned what it must be like for her on her visits to the dreaded Azkaban prison: to put herself before the very man who had tried to kill her, a Death Eater who hated her just because her parents were muggles, how she was forced to let him touch her as he insulted and intimidated her so that she wouldn't fall prey to a dark curse…

Harry pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he murmured, "I'm so sorry this has happened to you."

She embraced him back. "It's OK, Harry," she replied softly and Harry wasn't sure whether he was comforting her, or it was the other way around.

"No, it's not OK," he denied.

He felt her chest rise and fall as she let out a large sigh. "Maybe," she agreed reluctantly. "But I'm not going to let it stop me."

Harry laughed and broke their hug. "Merlin forbid! I don't know anything that could stop you, Hermione."

She grinned and wiped at her eyes that were still a little watery. She opened her mouth to respond but then something in the sky caught her attention. Harry turned and saw three owls soaring towards the Burrow. "I wonder who they're for," she murmured and, with a jolt, Harry realised he knew the answer.

"They're our O.W.L results," he told her, prompting an ear-splitting screech from Hermione.

"What?!"

"Dumbledore told me we'd be getting them today," he explained as Hermione held her hands to her face in terrified anticipation.

"Merlin, why didn't you say so earlier?" she cried, grabbing his hand and her book and pulling him towards the Burrow. "Oh no, I've failed everything, I just know it!"

Harry was unable to stop himself from grinning at the instant return of the Hermione he knew so well.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione hadn't failed everything. In fact, she managed to earn ten 'Outstanding' O.W.L's and a single 'Exceeds Expectations', while Harry and Ron had achieved seven O.W.L's each and were very happy with their results.

After weeks of isolation, grief and introspection at Privet Drive, it felt brilliant to spend the day celebrating with his friends. They spent most of their time back in the orchard, practising their quidditch moves, and even managed to persuade Hermione to get on a broom so they could play a little game of two-on-two. Mrs Weasley brought out some homemade lemonade in the afternoon and they lay in the shade, giggling as Ginny did some very accurate impressions of Fleur.

The next few days passed in a very similar fashion and, if it weren't for the regular troubling reports in the Prophet or the chilling feeling he'd get whenever the subject of Sirius was brought up, Harry was almost able to put his worries aside. He confided in Ron about the prophecy back on his first day and he was relieved when Ron, too, stood firmly by his side just as Hermione had done.

Harry couldn't help but keep a conscious note of where Hermione was at most times. He wasn't sure whether she was aware of him keeping tabs but it didn't take Ron long to notice.

"She's fine, mate," Ron reassured him a couple of days after Harry's arrival. They were mid quidditch practice when Harry had noticed that Hermione suddenly wasn't studying Russian underneath her usual tree anymore. He'd looked around anxiously, not paying attention to the quaffle, which is why it smacked him in the face when Ron lobbed it in his direction.

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered, his voice slightly distorted by the tissues he'd stuffed up his nose to stem the small amount of blood that had been the product of his encounter with the ball.

"If the next time goes like the ones before, her skin will start to burn in about a week's time and then Tonks'll take her to Azkaban," Ron explained lowly. Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was sat, sipping at the drink she'd retrieved from the Burrow, which explained the absence that had sparked Harry's concern. He knew that Ron and the others had been through Hermione's burning cycle a couple of times and therefore understood it better than him, but Harry just couldn't shake the image of a convulsing and unresponsive Hermione from his mind – nor the sight of her flaming purple eyes – and his thoughts then strayed to what would have happened to her if Harry hadn't noticed that she was missing on the Marauders' Map. Would she have stepped off the edge of the Astronomy Tower? Would the curse have burned her up? He couldn't bear the idea of something happening to Hermione as a result of the curse and so he continued to check up on her, much to Ron's bemusement.

He was still troubled by her insistence that she not inform any of the Order members about the unpleasantness of her encounters with Dolohov, but he could understand it; he'd certainly fought his own share of battles. But, of course, he'd had Hermione and Ron there by his side most of the time and, even when they weren't physically there, he was emboldened by their support, regardless. He just hoped Hermione felt the same way.

"Yes, Harry, I know that I can rely on you," Hermione told him, her face a mixture of exasperation, amusement and appreciation. "I haven't forgotten since you told me yesterday."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little sheepish. He wasn't used to being the 'concerned' friend in their relationship and he was struggling to find the right tone to reassure her without being overbearing. Apparently, he was still a little wide of the mark.

"Right," he murmured. "Sorry. Let's get started."

Hermione nodded in agreement and Harry hooked the headphones over his ears before giving her a thumbs up.

"Mozhno mne stakan vody?" Hermione said a little uncertainly and Harry pressed the play button on the cassette player to hear the phrase repeated with the correct pronunciation in his ears before pausing it again.

"I think that was right," he muttered, rewinding the tape a fraction. "Say it again."

"Mozhno mne stakan vody?" she repeated with a bit more confidence and Harry listened carefully to both voices.

"Well, I think you're saying it right but I'm hardly an expert, am I?" he told her.

Hermione shrugged. "I just need a second opinion to make sure it sounds alright. When Ron tried to help me, he was so shocked at hearing the voices in his head that he nearly snapped the cassette player in half."

Harry laughed. "Purebloods," he sighed dramatically with a little shake of his head and Hermione smiled. "So, what did you just say?"

"I asked for a glass of water," she replied and Harry felt his eyebrows rise in polite confusion. "I know, I know," she said, holding a hand up to forestall his response, "that phrase isn't likely to be of much use in helping me understand Dolohov's notes but I've got to start somewhere and it does help with pronunciation and sentence structure."

Harry glanced over at some of her notes and recalled what she'd said about the difficulties of the Russian alphabet – how some of the letters made a completely different sound to their English counterparts – and his admiration for her determination and intelligence grew to even higher heights. "Well, asking for water might not be important but every true Brit knows that all of life's problems can be solved with a cup of tea. Do you know that one?"

"Mozhno mne chashku chaya," Hermione declared after a brief moment's thought.

Harry laughed and then shrugged. "I'll take your word for it."

As the days ticked by, Harry became even more conscious of Hermione's movements, anticipating her announcement that it was time for her to visit Dolohov. He often had to prevent himself from asking her how she feeling and he could now empathise with her over the times she had annoyed him from frequent questions about his welfare over the years.

Perhaps it was because Harry was a lot more attuned to Hermione's behaviour than anyone else that he was the first to waken when he heard the hurried footsteps on the stairs in the early hours of his fifth morning at the Burrow.

It could have been nothing. There were plenty of people currently staying at the Burrow and there might be a number of reasons for someone moving on the stairs at this time of night, but Harry's gut instinct told him that something was wrong.

He grabbed his glasses and his wand and hurried out of bed. It was very dark in the stairway, but faint slithers of moonlight allowed him to see where he was going as he automatically moved to the bedroom below his. He hesitated only a moment at the potential embarrassment he might experience if this turned out to be a false alarm, and then pushed the girls' bedroom door open. The moonlight was much stronger here as it lay across Hermione and Ginny's beds, showing quite blatantly that one of them, just as Harry had feared, was empty.

His gasp of despair woke Ginny but Harry was already backing out of the room again. "Hermione's gone! Wake everyone," he instructed urgently over his shoulder as he descended the final flight of stairs to the ground floor. He'd felt a strong breeze buffeting up through the stairway and he saw that the kitchen door had been thrown wide open. Heart in his mouth, Harry dashed outside just in time to see something whizz past him at high speed. It took him a moment to comprehend that he'd just seen Hermione fly past him on a broom.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled after her but it was no good. He sprinted towards the broom shed, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to keep her in sight for as long as possible. He swore when he saw that his Firebolt had gone. His was easily the fastest broom and it would be difficult to catch up with her if she chose to fly at top speed. Harry could hear shouts behind him but he grabbed the next best broom, Ron's, and took off in the direction Hermione had gone. As he flew over the Burrow, he shouted out a hurried explanation to the gathered Weasleys. Mr Weasley called for him to stop but he couldn't wait for them otherwise they might lose all chance of catching Hermione.

The odds weren't good but Harry was pinning his hopes on the fact that Hermione was a rather poor flyer, especially compared to him. Harry lay as flat on his broom as he could, urging the Cleansweep to go faster as he cast his eyes around for any sign of Hermione.

A cloud passed over the moon and Harry cursed again. He sat up slightly and slowed the broom, squinting around and the feeling of sick dread that he'd been able to sweep away in the rush of the chase was creeping through his body.

Harry pulled the broom upwards to go into a climb, hoping that he'd be able to see further if the moon reappeared. He had to wait for an agonising minute but the clouds parted and the ground was tinged with a silvery light. Harry twisted and turned desperately, searching for the smallest movement. "Please," he muttered under his breath, "please, please."

There.

The streetlights of a small town were momentarily disrupted by a tiny black dot and Harry shot off after it.

Within a couple of minutes, Harry was able to distinguish the figure and he concentrated exclusively on reeling it in – apart from occasionally shooting red sparks behind him in the hopes that one of the Weasleys would spot them.

Yard by agonising yard, Harry closed the distance thanks to his superior flying skills and eventually a blessed relief swept through him when he recognised the brown curls being buffeted by the wind. Harry knew they were going much faster than Hermione had ever flown before and he was worried that she'd fall off her broom or lose control if he called out to her, so he just maintained his speed to narrow the gap.

As he got closer, he could see that she, like him, was still wearing her night clothes and she was barefooted, too. Harry would be worried that she was half-frozen in her little cotton shorts and t-shirt but he suspected that the curse was burning her unbearably. What else would explain her sudden getaway? This theory was confirmed when he was finally able to pull alongside her and see the purple flames in her eyes. Hermione didn't seem to be aware that he was there; her fiery gaze was fixed straight ahead, the rest of her expression utterly vacant. It was just as he'd feared. And, what was worse was the possibility that she might start having seizures just like the last time she'd entered this unresponsive state and, from this height, she would surely fall to her death.

A number of suggestions flashed through Harry's mind at how to bring her safely to the ground. He had to disregard his idea of performing a sticking charm to keep her attached to the broom because he knew that the Firebolt had a considerable number of anti-jinx spells to prevent magical interference during quidditch matches.

He chose to focus on simply slowing her down for the moment and, recalling a similar move by Draco Malfoy in Hogwarts' Quidditch Cup final a few years ago, Harry reached over to grab the rear end of Hermione's broom whilst simultaneously slowing down the Cleansweep with just the pressure from his knees. In his free hand, he held his wand aloft, ready to cast any sort of spell that would stop Hermione from falling should it be necessary. He could feel the Firebolt straining under his fingers and the lack of change in Hermione's posture told him she was oblivious to the altered speed.

Harry put his wand-holding hand to the handle of his broom for just a moment to encourage it to start a gentle descent, which the Firebolt was forced to match as Harry clung on to the sleek bristles of his beloved broom. He let loose a few red sparks above their heads after realising that he hadn't updated anyone of their movements for a couple of minutes but the resulting movement fractionally dislodged his grip from the Firebolt. Instinctively, Harry leapt up after it, leaving the Cleansweep hovering below him as he and Hermione shot off into the sky. Trying not to panic, Harry put his wand between his teeth and clung onto the broom for dear life. With the combined effect of Harry's extra weight and Hermione's relenting pace, the broom's movements caused Harry's body to sway alarmingly. He was running out of time but there was only one way he could think of to bring the broom down. Careful to avoid touching Hermione, he jerkily moved his hands along the length of the broom until he was dangling from the top of the handle. He could already feel that his body weight was forcing the handle downwards and he heaved at it, trying to force it into a steeper dive. His arms ached with the strain and his fingers grew slippery on the polished wood but he forced himself to hold on.

Something whipped across his legs, and Harry had to resist the urge to let out a surprised and pained yell because otherwise his wand would fall from his mouth. The same sensation happened again and then repeated continuously, travelling up his body, and Harry realised they were descending through some trees. There was a strangled yelp from Hermione, and Harry dropped to the floor like a stone, still clinging onto the Firebolt. Realising that Hermione had been unseated, he wrenched the broom around so that he could sit on it precariously, removed the wand from his mouth and lit it. He'd come just a couple of feet from a nasty impact with the woodland floor but he was more concerned about what had happened to Hermione.

The wandlight threw up grotesque shadows of the trees surrounding him and he manoeuvred the broom with some difficulty between them as he searched for his best friend.

"Hermione!" he yelled.

The sound of branches snapping made him turn to his left, wand held aloft, and he saw her limping through the undergrowth. "Incarcerous!" he cried, conjuring ropes that tightly bound Hermione's arms and legs together so she couldn't get away. As he flew over to her, Harry saw that Hermione was struggling and thrashing for the first time that evening, probably because her journey was being impeded. Harry landed breathlessly next to her and shot the brightest sparks as high as he could.

"It's OK," Harry said to her, "we're going to help you, Hermione." He wanted to put his hand on her arm to try and calm her but he knew it would only hurt her and he had absolutely no desire to hear her terrible screams.

As the minutes ticked past and Harry's frequent sparks remained unanswered, he began to get worried that they'd flown out of help's reach. He glanced down at Hermione, something he'd mostly avoided because the sight upset him so much, and shivered at the purple flames that danced in front of her eyes. He could also see that the ropes were digging into her skin because of her ceaseless struggles, leaving the flesh red and raw. His frequent reassuring words weren't acknowledged by her but he hadn't expected them to be.

At a loss as to what else to do, Harry was about to perform the Patronus Charm in the hopes that he could figure out how to send a message through it when he heard a voice calling his name.

"I'm here!" Harry called eagerly, creating more sparks. "We're here, hurry!"

Bill swatted branches out of his way as he landed next to them, looking very relieved. "Thank Merlin," he muttered. A patronus burst from his wand as soon as he dismounted from his broom. "Are you alright, Harry?" he asked, looking down at Hermione with a very grave expression on his face.

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly. "Bill, we need to get her to Azkaban straight away. Do you know where it is? Can you apparate with her?"

Bill shook his head. "I need to get you back to the Burrow first, Harry; it's not safe out here."

Harry staggered away from him in shock. "What? The curse is completely taking over her body, Bill. She needs to get to Dolohov before it's too late!"

The grim look on Bill's face didn't change. "I promise that help is on its way, Harry. Hermione's not going anywhere and the sooner you let me take you back, the quicker I can come back to assist her."

"We can't leave her here!" Harry said, appalled that Bill would even consider such a thing.

"Well, I can't leave you either," Bill countered, beginning to look frustrated.

"Of course you can!" Harry insisted. "You said yourself that help's on its way and I've got my wand and my Firebolt. I can look after myself. Please, Bill. We don't know enough about this curse – she could be minutes from death!"

Bill glanced down at the thrashing Hermione. "Alright," he murmured. He shot a few more Patronus messages out of his wand and then pointed it at a fallen branch, transfiguring it into a large blanket. He draped this over Hermione's oblivious, struggling form and hefted her into his arms.

There was the familiar pop of disapparation but, seeing that Bill and Hermione were still there, Harry realised that someone else had found them. Mr Weasley rushed towards the light of Harry's wand.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered, echoing his son's earlier words, and he held Harry's shoulder in a tight grip at once. "You're alright to take her?" he asked of Bill.

"Yeah, it's fine, Dad," Bill replied, doing his best to contain Hermione's writhing. "I'll send you another message soon. You'll inform the others for me?"

"Of course," Mr Weasley replied.

"Look after her," Harry requested, staring helplessly at his best friend.

"I will, Harry, I promise." Bill gave them both a quick nod and then disappeared with a faint pop.

A/N OK, I know you guys will be disappointed with the lack of Antonin but we'll start off with him at the start of the next chapter, I promise. I enjoyed writing about Harry and Hermione's friendship in this chapter. As much as I love Harry, I do feel like Hermione's a much better friend to Harry than he is to her so it was nice to write him being the openly supportive one for a change.

Anyway, don't forget to review!

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