Broken

She had to vomit. She couldn’t remember the last time she had put anything in her stomach, but as the world around her became solid again, all she knew was nausea.

She turned away from Sirius and fell to her knees, feeling her stomach retch and knowing there was no way she would make it to the toilet. She felt him move closer, felt him pull her hair away from her face, as he whispered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have Apparated us here, it was a bad idea. We should’ve-”

But by then she wasn’t listening anymore. It seemed as if, with the Apparition, all the pain had returned. The room around her spun for different reasons than before, and as all the bones in her body seemed to melt, she fell to the side. She distantly heard him call her name, then felt strong arms move beneath her, pull her up against a warm body, and she was floating, floating around the room, up the stairs, down a hallway. The soft murmurs of her name, small reassurances that she would be all right, accompanied her from the floor at the entrance hall to a bed.

He lay her down on the bed and walked away, leaving her alone in that dark room with all the pain back. The second she realised she was alone the fear returned, stronger than before, and the tears started falling again. Had that wonderful hallucination finally ended? Was she back in her dark cell, alone and waiting for them, hopeless, broken? She wanted to get up and run, run far away, but the pain didn’t let her sit up, much less walk. She closed her eyes and rolled to the side, falling off the bed. She wasn’t strong enough to run, but she wasn’t helpless. She would crawl if she had to, anything to get away from that dark room.

Then his voice was there again, beside her, but she was too far gone. It didn’t matter who he was, it didn’t matter that his tone was soft, worried. She had to get out of there, she had to fight, had to escape. She tried to get away from him, tried to crawl to the door, but with a muttered curse he reached for her arm, pulling her to him. She screamed and kicked, and tried to fight him, but a second later her body was frozen, every muscle petrified, unmovable.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying, again and again, as he took her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. “You’re bleeding, and you won’t stop fighting, you’re hurting yourself,” he muttered, whispering a spell that cast some light over them. “I’m going to lift the charm now,” he told her, “and you’re going to stay still, all right?”

He lifted the charm, but it was as if her body didn’t know it. Every inch of her was still paralysed by fear, and even as his calming voice reached her ears, it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he whispered again. “I brought you some potions for the pain. They will help you until we can get you to a healer.”

She watched him with wide eyes as he lifted a small vial and moved it closer to her face, but she pursed her lips tightly and shook her head. She remembered the potions they always gave her, the potions they forced down her throat. She remembered the ones that brought pain, the ones that made her feel as if her body was on fire, or being ripped open, the ones that made her scream herself raw as they laughed and cheered. Just like she remembered the ones they gave her when they thought they had hurt her too badly, the ones that kept her alive when all she wanted to do was give up, when all she wanted was for it to be over. So she fought him, like she had fought all those times, because potions were never good.

“Hermione, please,” he said, “you need to take this. It’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“No, please,” she begged, as she shied away from the vial. “Please don’t make me take them. I’ll be good, I promise, but don’t…”

With a sad expression on his face, he moved his hand away from her, leaving the vial on the nightstand. She looked at him, confused and surprised. They never gave up, no matter how much she fought, how much she begged, but now he had moved the vial away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, giving her time to calm down. “I won’t make you take the potion if you don’t want to, but I know you’re in pain, and that potion can take it away.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, feeling her body and her mind calm at his words, even if she couldn’t completely trust that he was telling her the truth. She could barely remember a time when someone hadn’t wanted to hurt her for their own amusement, or just to pass the time. She couldn’t remember a time when she could trust someone.

But before he could say anything else they heard a woman’s voice calling his name.

He looked at her for a second, as if unable to decide whether he should stay with her or walk away to answer the call. He seemed to decide he would stay, or perhaps he hesitated for too long; either way, the voice grew closer, and then a witch was there.

“Sirius?” she called again, as she poked her head into the room. “Harry just called me and asked me to come here but he didn’t…” The woman’s voice died away when her eyes fell on Hermione. The lights in the room were dimmed, and it was dark outside, but even though she couldn’t see the woman she thought her voice sounded slightly familiar.

The woman took a step into the room, and then another, her head tilted to the side, her movements hesitant. Then she gasped in recognition.

“Hermione?” she finally said, and rushed closer.

Her mind told her the red hair she could now see belonged to Ginny Weasley, even if her face had changed, but that didn’t stop the new surge of panic as the witch moved so fast, standing by the bed in a split second, her hand reaching forward.

Hermione scrambled backwards, somehow managing to sit up and push herself against the wall, trying to get as far away from the woman as she could. It was Sirius that stopped the witch, him that stepped between them and pushed her back.

She held her knees to her chest as she watched Sirius talk in hushed tones with the witch. She could feel Ginny’s eyes on her, and she couldn’t help but squirm as she looked around, trying to find something to defend herself with if it came to that. She couldn’t trust her, couldn’t trust anyone. She only had herself, and she had to be strong. Fight. Survive.

She didn’t have the watch in her hand any more, so she didn’t know for how long they had been talking. Time was hard to measure without the rhythmic tic, tic, tic, of the clock. When the voices died away, Ginny stayed where she was, and Sirius moved closer to her bed.

His movements were slow, as if he didn’t want to frighten her. His voice was soft, calm. “Are you all right?”

She looked from him to Ginny, and then nodded.

“Harry asked Ginny to come here,” he explained. “She’s a healer, and can help you.” He gave her a few seconds before speaking again. “You’re hurt, Hermione, and you’re bleeding.” She looked down at herself for the first time. The hospital gown was soaked red over her stomach and chest. “Will you let Ginny take a look at those wounds?” When she didn’t respond he added, “Please.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly let go of her knees. Sirius smiled slightly at her as he beckoned Ginny closer. Hermione noticed the witch’s movements were slow this time, and for a moment she wondered what Sirius might have said to her. But then Ginny was by the bed, and it took all of her will not to crawl away again, to find somewhere she could be alone, away from everyone; safe.

“I’m going to need you to lie down,” Ginny said, and she looked at Sirius again, not sure what she should do. He gave her a reassuring smile and a nod, and she did as Ginny asked. Slowly, more conscious of the pain than she had been moments before, she slid away from the wall and lay down again. “I’ll need to see those wounds,” Ginny said next. “I will have to remove the gown.”

She looked down at the bloodied piece of cloth she was wearing, and wondered how badly she could have been cut for it to be soaked in so much red.

“I’ll wait outside,” Sirius said, taking a step towards the door.

Her eyes fell on Ginny, on her hand reaching into her robes, probably searching for her wand, and without stopping to think she croaked, “No.”

They both froze for a heartbeat, unsure of whom she was talking to. But she kept her eyes on Sirius, and after a moment, he turned to her again. “You want me to stay here?” he asked, and she gave a small nod. She didn’t want to be alone with Ginny there, while she looked at her wounds and saw what had been done to her body, but above all she just didn’t want him to leave. He made her feel a little safer, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

With a nod, Sirius pulled a small chair closer to the bed and sat by her side. Hermione turned to Ginny again, just as she pulled her wand from a pocket and aimed it at her. She gasped, instinct kicking in as she tried to sit up again, but Sirius took her hand and whispered, “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Ginny muttered, nervously. “I have to vanish the gown; taking it off in any other way could hurt you more. The blood might have made the material stick to the wounds.”

Sirius gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she closed her eyes and nodded. She felt the cold air against her skin as the magic left her lying there naked, and then she heard Ginny’s, “Dear Merlin!”

She bit on her lower lip as she let go of Sirius and reached for something to cover herself with, not because she was nude, she had grown more than used to that, but because she knew what they were seeing on her body. The cuts, the burns, the marks the belts and whips had left, the bruises…that was what made her feel naked, exposed; the fact that they could see what had been done to her, see how she had been used, abused.

Sirius took her hand again before she could find any cover, and she felt him lean closer to whisper to her that it was okay. She felt hot tears running down her cheeks again, but refused to open her eyes. She could do this, she could stay still while her wounds were healed. She tightened her hold on Sirius’ hand when she felt fingers on her stomach, but did not move.

“Do you know what they did to her at the hospital?”

“No,” Sirius said. “I didn’t talk to the Muggle doctors. Didn’t Harry tell you?”

“He just told me to come here. Hermione, do you remember anything from the hospital?” Ginny asked. She couldn’t reply, she was too focused on not moving, on not squirming away. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she would start screaming at her to get away.

“She wasn’t awake,” Sirius said.

A few more minutes passed, or perhaps seconds, those that seemed to last forever, and the fingers moved to her side.

“She had some kind of surgery,” Ginny muttered, as she pressed her fingers slightly on a spot under her ribs. She bit her lip and didn’t scream, no matter how much it hurt. “I’ll have to get rid of the stitches before I can heal the wounds properly, but it’s going to hurt. I have some potions that would-”

Her hold on Sirius’ hand was so tight she was sure it hurt him, but still he didn’t take the hand away. Instead, he quickly said, “No potions, she doesn’t want potions.”

“It will be painful.”

“No potions, Ginny.”

She kept her eyes closed, her breaths slow and her hand tight around Sirius’ while Ginny healed her wounds. She wasn’t sure how long it took, she only focused on the pain as she tried to stay still. The pain helped clear her head, and it wasn’t as bad as most of the things they had done to her, so she didn’t scream, or even gasp. She just waited for it to be over.

“The internal wounds are closed,” Ginny said, finally taking her hands off her. “I healed the scars from the surgery, but the older ones can’t be healed so easily. The-”

“Is it done?” she interrupted. She couldn’t take another minute of lying there.

“Well, yes, but-”

She didn’t hear the rest. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the bed and used her free hand to pull the sheet over her body.

“I have some salves for the older scars and bruises. I can bring them over-”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted again. She didn’t want potions or salves, didn’t want charms or spells or any other kind of magic on her. She had lived with scars and bruises for years, she didn’t need her help with them.

She watched Ginny hesitate by the bed, then reach inside a small bag she hadn’t noticed before.

“This will help with the pain,” she said, offering Sirius a vial filled with purple liquid. Ginny’s arm stretched over her, and her eyes were drawn to the witch’s hand. Her heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped taking air in, and her brain forgot everything but what she was seeing: The ring on Ginny’s finger.

She and Sirius must have continued talking, but she wasn’t hearing them any more. All she could do was stare at the ring Ginny was wearing, one of the few Potter family heirlooms left, the ring Harry had shown her once, the ring Harry had told her he would give her on their wedding day. She tried to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes, but there was no stopping them, just as there was no stopping her heart from breaking.

She vaguely noticed the voices had died away, and realised she must have been staring at the ring for too long when Ginny hastily pulled her hand away and buried it into her pocket. She said something then, perhaps to Sirius, perhaps to her. She didn’t know or care. Her eyes remained on Ginny’s hand, even though now it was covered by the dark material of her robes. Even as the witch stopped talking and walked out of the room, her eyes followed that ring, her world reduced to one small object.

“How long?”

“What?” Sirius asked, but she was sure he knew what she meant.

She pulled the sheets tighter against her chest as she tried to speak through the knot on her throat. “How long ago?”

His answer filled her with dread. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me,” she breathed, tightening her hold on his hand. “Please.”

“Maybe you should talk to-”

“Please,” she repeated, hating how broken her voice sounded.

“It was…” he took a deep breath, and she could see in his face that he didn’t want to tell her. But she had to know, she needed to know what had happened, why Harry had moved on, why he had married another woman instead of waiting for her. Almost four and a half years, she had been gone for a long time, but she would have waited forever for him. She would have waited forever.

“Tell me,” she insisted, one more time.

“About three years ago,” he finally said. “He married her about three years ago.”