"Any chance you're pregnant?" the younger witch asked.

Hermione swallowed and shook her head "no."

The mediwitch cast a diagnostic over her. Hermione read the results backwards, finding no fresh scaring or bruising, internal or external. There was something glowing red, like a blinking stoplight. The girl frowned, and moved to open the back of her gown. A soft exhale against Hermione’s neck as she saw the nicks across her skin. An incantation, and then they were healed.

The young witch picked up her left arm carefully and examined Bellatrix Lestrange's handiwork. She looked up at Hermione, making quick eye contact before looking away. She paused over a few of the scars she'd obtained in the past year on the run.

Remembering her question from earlier, Hermione checked her arm. Yaxley’s signature was placed just above her Mudblood scar. They had made sure the scar was still visible.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Hermione shook her head.

The witch blinked at her. "A lot of your nutrition levels are low. She should—” The girl looked quickly to Dolohov, then snapped her jaw shut. "My recommendation is that she eat more. Proteins especially."

Dolohov rolled his eyes. “Yes, you say that every time.” He stepped off the wall, and came closer to the table. "And the other spell?"

The older mediwitch frowned, and the younger one's eye twitched. She turned back to Hermione and said, "Lie back, please."

Hermione took a deep, silent breath, and scooted until she laid back. Staring at a ceiling again.

She tilted her head up to watch as the younger one muttered a spell that Hermione didn't recognize. A warm feeling, at the top of her head and at her toes, then scanning downward and upward. It was like a scan. The warm waves met in the middle of her, and low in her belly she felt a quick pressure.

And then her stomach glowed. Like a ball of light had pushed out of her bellybutton. She watched it, glowing so white, it looked blue.

A chuckle from the corner of the room, and Hermione turned to see Dolohov grinning at her.

"You better make this worth my money, Mudblood."

She scowled at him, and turned to see the plump mediwitch frown and then turn away to scribble something on a chart. The younger one scratched her face, hiding the way she wiped away a tear.

Hermione's throat closed. She wasn't sure what the spell meant, but she could take a guess.

An extra 5,000. Isn't that what Pansy said?

"Suppressants for this one, too."

The ball of light faded and vanished. The young witch sighed.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Dolohov sneered at her.

"No, sir."

“Give her two doses.”

The plump one turned over her shoulder, but said nothing.

“Two? Sir, that’s unnecessary—”

“Two,” he hissed.

Hermione sat up, watching the plump witch pour one vial into another, filling to the brim. She handed the younger one the potion. Hermione shook her head no.