And now he was here, tragically aware and in his own head, perfectly conscious and not in any physical pain. He wished he were, that he felt even half the agony that he'd heard in Hermione's voice, seen in her face. He wished that he'd not seen the deadened look in her eyes as she'd clung desperately to Weasley as Dobby (bless that fucking elf and the ground he walked on) whisked them away from the Manor. Wished that he'd gone with them. She had looked so frail when they'd disappeared. He was afraid that Bella had damaged her, broken her beyond anything he knew or was capable of fixing. He was downright terrified that Hermione would no longer be able to stand the sight of him, or the Manor she had once claimed to love.