Hermione buckled at the sound of child-Harry's fractured, starved voice, at his pitiful, nervous little knock for help. She couldn't think for her crying, which hit her like a bludgeon, couldn't reply through her abject grief. It was as if she were feeling all of child-Harry's pain, as if she'd experienced all this herself. If Enola hadn't prompted her to move, she might have been paralysed there.