She was young, younger than Hermione perhaps by a few years. She had long brown hair—unkempt and dirty. She was asleep, not dead, as Hermione had feared. She was short and slim, unhealthily so, barely covered by clothing that wasn't hers—or perhaps it had been once and she had lost enough weight to make it hang off her. Bruises circled her wrists like manacles. Hermione frowned and went pale when she noticed the matching bruises on her breasts. She had no doubt she would find similar bruising along her lower body, which was mercifully covered by trousers that looked like they had been dragged through mud, as if this stranger had been captured out in the wilderness.