Broken

A soft beeping sound was the first thing she noticed. It sounded strange, a short beep, a second of silence, and then another beep. The sound wasn’t loud, but it felt as if it were drilling into her brain, pushing everything else away. It was also dark, but she had the feeling that her eyes were closed, so that might explain it. Not that she wasn’t used to waking up in the dark, but this just felt…different.

Her body felt heavy and her muscles unresponsive, but there was no pain, which was strange. There should be pain, there always was. The rhythm of the beeping changed, she noticed. The beeps came closer together, faster. It was strange, but she was certain her heart was following that rhythm for some reason, beating with every beep she heard.

Wake up, she told herself. It was obvious she had fallen asleep, but it seemed as if that slumber lingered, and she needed to be alert. Always alert, always waiting for them to come. She took a careful, shallow breath, mentally readying herself for a pain that did not come. Her chest didn’t ache at the intake of air, there was no sharp sting from that spot on her side she was pretty sure was a broken rib and had become used to. She took another breath, a little deeper this time, but still felt no pain.

The beeping was faster now, almost frantic, and her heart beats kept the same tempo. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound was making her head hurt, and it was strangely comforting to feel some pain again. Then another sound reached her ears, a soft sound she was almost certain was a voice. But it was little more than a murmur; it was probably her imagination.

She tried to open her eyes, but the light was blinding, so she closed them again. Beep, beep, beep. It as getting faster and faster, and she couldn’t will her heart to slow down, to disregard the sound and beat at a normal rhythm. And the murmur was there, too, a little louder now. Yes, it was a voice, a deep, soft voice, and whatever they were saying, it sounded a lot like her name. She hadn’t heard anyone utter her name in so long. But she couldn’t understand why it sounded so soft, almost worried, caring. No one ever spoke to her like that.

Another breath gave her the strength of mind she needed to open her eyes, but the second they adjusted to the light she knew something was wrong. This wasn’t her cell. She always woke up in her cell, and this wasn’t it. There was a figure moving closer, looming over her, and the second she recognised it she understood. She felt tears well in her eyes, but she wasn’t sure whether they were tears of sorrow or of happiness.

A small smile twitched her lips, and she managed to whisper, “So they finally killed me.”

It made sense, of course. She should have understood it sooner. There was no pain here, and light was everywhere, and she was surrounded by white, instead of the grey rocks and copper bars she had become accustomed to. She shouldn’t have needed to see the face of a dead man to understand her body had finally given up.

“Hermione, you’re awake,” the man said, leaning closer, and she was strangely comforted by the familiar face of Sirius Black. At least there would be someone here she knew.

She tried to blink back the tears as she nodded, but couldn’t stop a few from rolling down her cheeks. She tried to lift her arms to her face to wipe them away, but she couldn’t. She tugged at whatever was holding her down, trapping her, but they wouldn’t give. The beeping sound got louder and louder, and her treacherous heart followed suit, but the sound of its beats wasn’t enough to drown the beeping.

“No, no,” she cried, as she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. She was supposed to be dead, free of them at last, but she was restrained, tied to the bed she was lying on. She knew this wasn’t a dream so she had to be hallucinating. “No, please, no,” she whimpered, as she fought the restraints in what she knew was a lost battle. They didn’t feel like the chains she was used to, but they were as constricting, trapping her in her living hell.

Warm hands on her face stopped the frantic movement, their touch as soft and as comforting as that voice had been. She focused on the grey eyes in front of her, on the locks of black hair that surrounded Sirius’ face, and for a second she wondered why he was there, why she was hallucinating with him. But then she heard his voice again, asking her to calm down, telling her she was all right, and as the beeping sounds slowed down so did her heart.

“They had to restrain you so you wouldn’t rip the bandages off,” he explained, then moved one of his hands away from her face, and the next second whatever had been holding her arms down was gone.

She looked down at herself, watching the thick bandages covering her arms. There was something over her, some cables, attached to something on her chest. With a sudden sense of panic she ripped the cables off and scrambled off the bed, away from the man her mind had created.

The beep, beep, beep was gone, replaced by a shrill, ear-piercing sound, but she barely noticed it as she backed away from the bed and its restraints, crawling towards a corner and covering her ears with her hands. She would keep her back to the wall, just like she had learnt to do. It was the only way to be sure she would see them coming. It was the only way she could defend herself. She stayed there, crouched on the floor, as her gaze darted from Sirius to the door behind him.

She screamed when the door banged open and people started running inside. She looked around desperately, trying to find something she could use as a weapon. There was a pair of slippers by the bed, and she reached forward enough to take one before pushing herself deeper into that corner. She held the slipper in her hand, knowing it wouldn’t help her, but still needing to defend herself. They would win, they always did, and she knew what would happen, she knew what they would do. It was worse when she fought back, the curses were stronger, the torture lasted longer, they stayed with her all night, but still she wouldn’t sit back, she wouldn’t just give in.

They were strangers. As she looked at the people that had barged into the room, she realised she didn’t know any of their faces. What was going on? Where was she? Was this all part of her hallucination or had they perhaps traded her for someone else, tired of their toy after who knew how many years.

They loomed over her, but they looked worried, not angry. And they didn’t go for her, not yet. They stayed a few feet away from her, looking uncertain, for some reason.

Then someone called her name again. Not Whore, or Mudblood, or Slave. Someone said, “Hermione,” just like Sirius had. Then the strangers parted, and she saw a face she knew. A face she would have expected her brain to use, if she was imagining all this. It was Harry, her Harry.

“Hermione,” he said again, and took a tentative step closer. She tightened her hold on the slipper even as tears started to roll down her face unchecked. This was all a dream, just her imagination. She couldn’t let her guard down, she couldn’t be distracted. Her real captors would be there soon. They never left her alone for long. She had to be ready for them.

But still her arm lowered as Harry took a step closer. Still her heart slowed down at the mere sound of his voice.

“Hermione, it’s okay,” he whispered, as he kneeled before her. “It’s okay,” he repeated, reaching forward and taking the slipper from her hand.

Don’t let go, the voice of reason yelled in her brain. Don’t give up, don’t let it go. But her fingers loosened around the slipper as her shoulders shook. She cried, cried like she hadn’t allowed herself to in years. She closed her eyes and cried, feeling strong arms around her, strong arms she was sure would vanish any second now. But it didn’t matter. Whatever comfort she could get, she would take it, even if the memory of it would make every other second she lived through all the more painful. She rested her head on Harry’s shoulder and cried her heart out, cried for all that she had lost, cried for the love she had once found with him, and for the men that had taken it all away. But above all, she cried for part of herself, the part that made her who she was, that had died so long ago, even if her body refused to acknowledge that death.

She heard Harry’s voice in her ear, telling her she was safe now, telling her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She heard him as he said she could go home, as he told her she had escaped, that he knew she would find a way, that no one would ever take her away from him again. She heard the pain in his voice, felt his own body shake as he, too, cried, and she allowed herself to hope perhaps this was real, that perhaps she really was safe from them. But still she cried.