Back in the relative safety of the hallway, Hermione curled up into a ball on the ragged, moth-eaten carpet and wept helpless tears. Harry was so wounded ... so, so wounded. How could she have allowed this to happen to him? How could she stand for it now? She had never felt so distressed. Not in all the years under Ron’s boot, not in any time she could ever remember. She just had to help him. She would find a way, she swore it.