She stepped under the water and imagined her shower at home in Hampstead. Her mother's shampoo on the corner of the tub. Her father's razor in the soap dish.

She pulled her hair over her shoulder, keeping her back towards the door. Stinging pricks against her back as the water hit the wounds. Opening her eyes to the tiles, she found a little bottle of wash on a ledge.

Her mother used to sing in the shower. And it smelled like raspberries.

The body wash in her palms, and she pushed it around her skin.

They had a dog when she was younger. And they always washed the dog in the tub, making a mess. The dog had run away or gotten lost when she was nine.

Smart dog.

"You cleaning everything?"

She was back in the Ministry showers, with Antonin Dolohov watching her under the water. The first man to see her naked.

She knew what he meant. How was she supposed to... with him here. Her shoulders were tight, up to her ears.

"Clean that pretty cunt, Granger, or I'll do it myself."

She closed her eyes again. And reached down between her legs to scrub quickly.

She wished the water was hotter. Burning.

She turned the tap, and stepped out, trying to keep her back to him still. She took the towel from the hook, and wrapped herself tight. She heard Dolohov walking toward her, and she concentrated on the floor.

Something was thrust in her face. A hospital gown. She frowned at it and took it from him.

"Don't have all day."

She pulled the gown on over the towel, and let it drop to the floor. Dolohov scourgified her clothing, charmed it to fold and jump into his hands, her knickers landing on top. He plucked them up, swung them around his finger, and smirked at her.

He led her down the hall, still dripping. She thought she maybe should try running again. A wandless shove, maybe disarm him.

Barefoot and wet. Silenced. Running through the Ministry in a hospital gown.

Hermione kept her eyes on the ground.

He brought her into the room she'd ran past before, the one the mediwitch had peeked out from.

An exam table and two mediwitches. He shoved her inside. Her heart beat fiercely, but she tried to remember that none of the others were worse for wear after their medical exams.

One of the women in white turned to greet them, and she paled as her eyes landed on Hermione.

"Come in," she squeaked.

Hermione shuffled toward the exam table, dripping still. The witch cast a drying charm on her, and Hermione nodded in thanks. The other witch blinked several times when she turned and saw Hermione. She was older with greying hair, a plump figure. She quickly returned to what she was doing.

"The full work-up. Detailed." Dolohov crossed his arms, standing in front of the door.

Hermione slid up onto the exam table, holding her gown closed.