Eventually most of the intermittent spasming stopped. Hermione's fingers still tended to twitch spastically at unexpected sounds.
She wasn't used to noise anymore.
She remembered life being full of noise in the past; in classes, at meals, in the hospital ward after battles. Now any unexpected sound caught her off-guard. The banging of a door or clatter of boots, the sound waves from them — they felt like physical sensations on her flesh.
She'd twitch.
The nervous mind healer came frequently with Healer Stroud to examine Hermione's brain and psychological condition. There were concerns about her overall stability. They'd cast simulation spells on her brain to see how she'd react to crowds, tight spaces, physical contact, gore. If she was going to mentally snap, they wanted her to do it in the hospital wing.
Apparently, despite the twitching, Hermione was regarded as stable enough. When the most severe torture tremors stopped after four days of therapy, they decided she was ready for training.
On the fifth day, she was released from the hospital wing. The guards took her straight to the Great Hall.
There were rows and rows of chairs arranged facing the front of the hall. The chairs were filled with women dressed in drab grey dresses.
Umbridge was standing on the platform in the front, speaking with saccharine cheer. She was dressed in a subdued shade of pink with a large pendant hanging from her neck. One of her hands was heavily bandaged.
“You have been chosen to help build the future that our Dark Lord has envisioned. You have been granted the privilege of bringing it forth,” she said, and simpered. “You are the few found worthy of it.”
Umbridge sounded mechanical, staring down at the girls with eyes glittering with hatred. The false smile plastered firmly across her face. Her eyes kept flickering up toward a corner of the room.
Hermione turned slightly to look and saw two Death Eaters standing there unmasked; Corban Yaxley and Thorfinn Rowle. They were watching Umbridge with expressions of bored amusement.
“The Dark Lord has commanded that you be trained in order to fulfill your duties without fail. This is a great honour he has bestowed upon you; you do not want to disappoint him. You are important to the Dark Lord. Because of that, you must be protected from others as well as from yourselves.”
Umbridge's smile suddenly sharpened, showing a malicious edge. She gestured toward the back, and Yaxley and Rowle came forward. Umbridge turned to the prison guards lined up along a wall.
“Stun them all. Be thorough about it.”
A few of the seated women cringed or tried to shy away, but most of them barely moved as guards started hexing them. The bodies slumped down in the chairs or fell forward onto the ground.
Hermione was standing toward the back. She watched the girls fall. She recognized a handful of them; Hannah Abbott, Parvati Patil, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Cho Chang, and Romilda Vane. Hermione thought some of the others might have been in the older and younger years in Hogwarts. There were a few slightly older women too, although no one who appeared over thirty. There were nearly a hundred of them.
Umbridge saw Hermione standing toward the back.
“Stun her too,” Umbridge said, glaring venomously at Hermione.
They hesitated.
Healer Stroud appeared from the periphery of Hermione's vision.
“Do it,” she said with a sharp nod of approval.
Hermione was knocked out before she could brace herself.
Hermione sat up groggily. She'd been moved, and found herself lying beside the rest of the girls.
They were laid out in rows. Some were still unconscious, and the guards went down the line waking them. Others were sitting, staring at the manacles around their wrists. Hermione looked down at her own. The magical bracelets looked different; a bit wider, and now without any clasp. A perfect circle of copper wrapped around each wrist.
“Property of the High Reeve” was engraved into the shining surface of both of the manacles.
Of greater concern to Hermione was the cold object beneath the metal that she could feel pressing slightly against her inner wrists. The manacles were so closely-fitted she couldn't peer under to discern what it was. It was clear — the reason they had been stunned was in order to remove and replace the manacles. Presumably with something worse than what they already had been.
The clock on the wall indicated that hours had passed since the stunning had started. Whatever the process had been, it had taken time.
A large table had appeared in the Great Hall, covered with weapons.
It couldn't have been a more obvious trap.
Everyone stood cautiously and just stared.
“Come forward,” Umbridge said in a coaxing voice, beckoning from beside the table. “Come on. Come see.”
No one moved.
Umbridge looked disappointed. She had clearly hoped someone would be foolish enough to rush toward the table and try arming themselves.