"Hermione!" Ron’s face as he raced toward her and the Death Eater stalking closer was fury and hate, lit a rainbow of beautiful colours by the curses splitting the air. "Ron," she murmured and fell flat on her back in the mud, world spinning around her as her head cracked on a flat rock buried in the grass. Her protego sputtered and died. Through dazed ears Hermione could hear Ron screaming hexes and jinxes and curses, and twisted her neck so that she could see him, even flat on her back. Her head felt like it was a block of lead, heavy and dull, and her view of the world was a strange sideways one.