Instead the three guards casually beat several of the more alert prisoners, and one of the guards picks one to rape. Hermione shuts her eyes, but she hears every sound. Her world becomes the slap of flesh on flesh, the dull uh-uh-uhs that judder out of the barely conscious victim with each thrust, the rough, greedy grunts of the guard, until after several mercifully short minutes, the guard makes a low groan. Finished. She feels sick, because that could have been her, and because while it may not have been her, it had still been someone. Hermione doesn't open her eyes until the guards" footsteps are long gone. Orange light flickers behind her eyelids, and the acrid smell of smoke fills the air and the need to know what is happening forces Hermione to open her eyes, afraid of what she will see.