REBEL

8. ABYSSAL BLACK - SMOKE BLACK

TW: Please skip the paragraphs in italics at the beginning of the chapter if you don't want to read descriptions of sexual assault/violence/rape.

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8. ABYSSAL BLACK - SMOKE BLACK

I just manage to report to Harry and stagger out of the briefing room before I start hyperventilating. With weak knees, I leave the atrium in the direction of the trauma room. I have to feel my way along the rough concrete walls because my legs are threatening to give way. I need a Calming Draught. Right. Now.

Tags of memories flood my brain and make me stumble.

Scabior's hands slowly move up my stomach, rolling up my T-shirt. His fingertips touch my bare skin and leave me with goose bumps. Disgust. Disgust. Disgust. He hasn't even tied me up, but I'm so weak that I can't defend myself. They've hardly given me any food for weeks.

I gasp for air and sink to my knees. My hands find support on the cool floor, but I still feel like I'm falling. Further and further, further and further.

His other hand grabs my chin and forces me to turn my head. He looks down at me lecherously. Two teeth are missing from his mouth. I have to gag and he hasn't even started yet.

"Today I have you all to myself," he whispers and leans forward. He buries his face in my hair and takes a deep breath. "We're going to have so much fun together."

I can't breathe. It feels like I'm underwater and someone is pushing my head back down every time I try to come up for air. I'm just below the surface, but I don't have a chance.

His thumb grazes my lower lip, then his hand drops to my throat, holding me in place. The other slides down my now exposed torso and between my legs. I whimper as he pushes two fingers inside me.

"Yes, you like that, don't you? You dirty little—"

My vision blurs and my whole body starts to shake so violently that I can hear my teeth chattering. Strange that one sense fades while another sharpens. Even stranger that I'm able to think about it at all, because I still can't breathe. My lungs spasm and refuse to work.

"Hermione?"

I hear the person who called my name start to sprint. A few seconds later, someone crouches down in front of me. With the last of my strength, I lift my head and look directly into Neville's worried face. It, too, is strangely blurred, fuzzy even.

"Breathe with me," he demands firmly.

He inhales deeply, then exhales slowly. I try to imitate him, but it doesn't work. Something trickles down my cheek. Am I crying?

"You have to breathe, Hermione. In and out. In and out."

Not a chance. My lips move silently as I try to tell him I'm not going to make it. Neville curses under his breath and crosses his arms behind his back.

"One hand on my chest," he orders. "Now, Hermione."

I back away reflexively. But no, stop. This is Neville, my friend. He'll know what's good for me. He'll help me. I reach out hesitantly and place my hand on his chest, just like he asked.

"Very good," he says with relief. His voice is now more gentle, no longer so insistent. "Can you feel my heartbeat, Hermione? Yes? Perfect. Now let's breathe. Just concentrate on my breathing. I'm here and we'll get through this together."

I can feel his chest slowly rise and fall under my hand. It's a comforting feeling. Even, grounding, safe. My eyes flutter shut and my shoulders relax. The water parts and I finally surface.