A pair of hands reached for her back, and she jumped, gasping. The hands pulled away as Hermione jerked. It was just the Mediwitch behind her, trying to help her tie the laces of the gown.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered.

She padded out to the table, thinking of cold black marble in the Ministry.

Dolohov's eyes were on her as she slid up to the table.

"Looks like you learned how to play nice after all, Mudblood."

"I'll ask you not to speak to my Lot," said Draco coldly. "You may address me if you have a direct order for her."

Hermione lay back, her mind numb. Instead of a high arched ceiling with chandeliers, she could only see a low lamp, black ceilings.

She breathed deep, pulling air into her empty lungs. A lake with still waters.

"What kind of issues?" Narcissa asked. "What's wrong with the other Lots?"

The Mediwitches hovered over her, silently casting several scans. She watched the familiar Virginity Detection scan wash over her, finding nothing.

"They weren't properly sterilized," Dolohov said.

And Hermione felt the room shake, quivering before her eyes.

A thick silence as the Mediwitches tested her.

The girls were becoming pregnant. She wasn't the only one whose fertility had been spared.

"This is unnecessary then," Narcissa said, voice slightly rising. "I can tell you that she hasn't bled since she's been here."

Hermione's eyes shut, and she felt her throat close.

She'd stopped menstruating when she was on the run with Harry and Ron. Her body had been too stressed, too underfed. Even now, with the comforts of Malfoy Manor and one working fallopian tube, she hadn't begun to bleed again.

Her chest shook.

She was going to have it ripped from her again. This possibility. This small chance of a future.

"Let's see then."

Hermione felt the Mediwitch's wand tap against her left hipbone. A dim red light appeared from her wand. She switched to Hermione's other side, and with a tap, a bright green illuminated the witch's face.

A pause, like skipping a step on the stairs. She felt every eye in the room on her waist. She didn't dare look to the Malfoys.

And then a sharp, "Ha!" cracked from Dolohov's throat. He chuckled, and the room shook with it. "Three months with a fertile slut and she's not knocked up? You check to see if your boys swim, Malfoy? With me, Mudblood, you'd have triplets by now—"

"That's enough, Antonin," Narcissa hissed. "Please remember your manners while you're in my house."

"Your house. The 'lord of the manor is gone, ain't he?" A stunned silence before Dolohov turned back to the Mediwitch. "Go on then."

Hermione braced herself for the wrenching pain she'd felt the last time her tubes had been severed. She looked past the arm of the Mediwitch toward the ceiling and took a shuddering breath, focusing on anything but the image of children with her curls and grey eyes—

"Don't—" A cleared throat. "She's my property. Don't I get a say here?"