Broken

Three years. Sirius' words kept ringing in her ears, her mind refusing to accept them. How could this have happened?

Sirius waited in silence, giving her the time she needed, and a part of her wondered at that. Why did he seem to understand what was happening so well? Why did he always know what to say, or do? It had only been a few hours, but he somehow managed to make her feel safe when he was there, made her feel she didn't have to worry about her behaviour, or her words. It seemed he would understand.

"Would you like to take a shower?" Sirius asked at some point. "Or would you rather get some rest?"

She looked down at herself again, noting the sheet seemed to have stuck to her torso at some places, as if not all the blood had been cleaned. She knew someone had cleaned her body at the hospital, had noticed it the second she had looked down at her skin, but she hadn't had a shower in years, not since she had been taken. They had used cleaning charms on her some times, others they had sank her into water, keeping her down there until she wasn't breathing anymore, only to then pull her out and revive her and start over again. Most of the time, however, they had thrown her back into her cell without bothering. There had been a small stream of water running through the side of the cell, and that was all she had been able to use for years to clean them off her body. Yes, she wanted a shower.

With most of the wounds healed, she felt strong enough to stand, and was thankful when Sirius didn't try to help her. Instead, he stepped away from the bed and walked slightly in front of her, guiding her to the bathroom.

"I can run the bath for you, it will only take a few moments," he said, but she quickly shook her head. She didn't want to be surrounded by water, didn't want to sink into it until the air ran out of her lungs and they filled with liquid, not again. "A shower, then?" he asked, and she nodded.

The water was hot, but it didn't burn. It felt so good on her body. She took a cloth and carefully washed the blood away from her skin, watching the scars that covered her body, the bruises around her wrists and ankles. She tried to remind herself that it was over, that she was safe now, but it was hard to accept it. She had only known pain for so long that all this seemed strange, ethereal. She still kept expecting to wake up in the cell again, with them coming for her.

She stayed in the shower for so long that her skin started to wrinkle, washing her hair, rinsing it, and then washing it again. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she scrubbed her skin red, or how many times she washed her hair, she still felt dirty.

Eventually, she decided she couldn't stay in there any more, so she turned the water off and carefully stepped out of the tub. Sirius had left a towel there for her, and some clothes.

"Everything all right?" he called from the other side of the closed door.

"Yes," she said, her voice low enough that she wondered if he could hear it from outside the bathroom.

She dried herself off, and then took a closer look at what Sirius had left there. Some sweat pants and a shirt that probably belonged to him. No underwear, but then again, it wasn't a surprise. Besides, it was something she was more than accustomed to. The clothes themselves were an incredible gesture that she was thankful for.

The pants were too big for her, as was the shirt, but it felt good to be dressed, so she didn't care. She was hesitant as she stepped closer to the mirror, as she wondered what she would look like. She hadn’t seen her reflection since she had been taken.

There was a burn scar on the side of her face from the day after she had been taken. They had said it was their mark, their brand, to show she belonged to them. There was another scar that ran along the base of her jaw, from the night they had slit her throat and said they wanted to know how long it would take a Mudblood to bleed out. She tried to see past those marks, tried to see herself in the mirror. Hermione. She knew Hermione was somewhere in there. Her face was thin, her cheeks hollow, there were circles under her eyes so dark that they looked like bruises. Her lips were chipped and dry. But she was there.

Her hair was long, much too long, and so tangled she didn't think she would ever be able to fix it. Not that she cared. They had loved her hair, loved holding on to it as they hurt her, loved grabbing it and dragging her out of her cell by it, loved using it to pull her back every time they thrust into-

She couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand looking at the mirror and seeing what had become of her, what they had done. Everything she saw was a constant reminder of what she had been through. She reached forward and crushed her fist into the mirror, watching the reflection shatter.

There was a small cabinet behind the mirror, full of vials and bottles and who knew what other things she paid no attention to as she frantically searched for something that would help her. She didn't care what she knocked down as she went through the shelves, searching, searching, until finally she found what she wanted.

One of her hands reached for a chunk of hair, the other took the scissors and cut. She could distantly hear Sirius banging on the door, but all she could focus on was the scissors, on the hair that fell to the floor as she cut it. They wouldn't touch it any more; they wouldn't use it to-

Sirius was there, kneeling beside her, although she couldn't remember falling to her knees. She kept trying to cut the hair, but he wouldn't let her. He pushed her hands away, yanking the scissors from her fingers and throwing them somewhere else. She could see his lips move as he forced her to look at him, but no sound reached her ears.

She needed to cut her hair. That was all that mattered. She had to cut her hair, so they couldn't touch it any more. So she wouldn't have to feel them pulling, yanking. She had to-

There were arms around her again, pulling her closer to Sirius, and she hadn't even realised that she was crying again. She wasn't weak, she was strong. She didn't want to cry any more.

But for some reason her arms moved around him, and she held on to him now as she had to Harry in the hospital. Harry. Her Harry.

Her body shook with every sob as she remembered him, as she remembered what they had had, as she remembered making plans for a life together, for a future, for a family. But now all of that was gone. He had moved on. He had married Ginny. She would have waited for him forever, and he had married another woman a year after she had been taken. Hadn't he loved her? Hadn't he wanted the same things she had back when she was alive, and with him?

For so many nights his memory had been the only thing that kept her alive, that kept a shadow of sanity in her broken body. For years she had believed he was out there looking for her, that he would find her, that he would rescue her. That they would have the life they had dreamed about.

And now that last part of her was gone. But then again, why would he still want her? She was broken now, used, ruined. She was a shell of the girl he had known, of the girl he had loved once, perhaps. She should be happy that he had moved on, happy that he had a life, something she could no longer give him. She should be happy for him, but all she felt was dead inside.

Sirius was still holding her, muttering things into her ear she couldn't understand, and she wanted to pull away from him, wanted to crawl into a dark corner and stay there until death finally took her. What else was there left for her? But she didn't push him away, she didn't have the strength. His arms around her made her feel safe, protected, and she couldn't give that up. Even if everything else was gone.