“Very good. That is a relief. There have been — problems, with some of the others.”
Hermione felt horror creep over her like the caress of a ghost.
“Are — are they alright?” she croaked.
“Oh, yes. We got everything taken care of. Some men simply need to be reminded that the Dark Lord's gifts can be taken back if not cared for properly,” Healer Stroud said. There was no trace of sympathy or guilt in her expression as she continued waving her wand over Hermione.
Hermione wanted to reach over and snap the woman's neck. Her hands shook as she struggled to contain it.
Healer Stroud was indifferent to Hermione's poorly-concealed rage. She cast a diagnostic charm targeted at Hermione's lower abdomen.
“No tearing. That's a relief. It would have been problematic. I should have come sooner to check, but I was quite busy. Overseeing all the placements was more tedious than I imagined.”
Healer Stroud appeared to expect Hermione to be sympathetic. Hermione stared pointedly at the clock and didn't answer.
“Your physical condition has declined somewhat. Are you going outside to exercise daily?” Healer Stroud asked with an irritated expression.
Hermione stiffened; her chest tightened as she tried to breathe and answer the question indifferently.
“I — wasn't. But the High Reeve has begun ensuring it.”
“Are you walking? Long walks are important for the constitution.”
“I — can't.”
Healer Stroud stared at Hermione. “You can't?”
Hermione bit her lip and hesitated. “I have panic attacks — Just leaving this room is hard. The High Reeve takes me to the veranda for an hour, but I–I can't — I can't… I don't — It's so — so—“
Hermione started gasping as she tried to describe it. Even with the aid of veritaserum, she struggled to put the fear into words. She struggled to handle the wave of anger and despair she felt for having such an irrational obstacle that she couldn't overcome on her own.
She pressed her lips together, but they twisted sharply. She could feel the pressure in her cheeks and eyes as she struggled not to cry over it.
“Interesting,” Healer Stroud said, scribbling several notes. “Presumably due to your imprisonment. It hadn't occurred to me that going outdoors would be an issue. Hmm. Calming Draught would be insufficient, but I can't put you on a permanent anxiety relief; they interfere with pregnancy. Perhaps something temporary, to help acclimatise you. I'll have to research it.”
Hermione said nothing.
“Materials will be provided daily for your cycle,” Stroud added as she continued writing notes. A thought seemed to occur to her, and she looked up quizzically at Hermione. “What — what was it that happened when you were in prison?”
“I just bled,” Hermione said. “The cell was kept clean, but there was nothing provided.”
Stroud shook her head faintly in disapproval. As though she had some moral superiority over Umbridge in her treatment of Hermione.
“Anything else you think I should know?” Healer Stroud asked Hermione.
“I think that you are evil and inhuman,” Hermione answered immediately.
She hadn't even had time to realise the words coming out of her mouth; the veritaserum had just dragged them forth.
Healer Stroud's expression flickered for a moment.
“Well, I suppose I left myself open for that. Anything about your health that you think I should know?”
Hermione thought for a moment. “No.”
“Alright then.” Healer Stroud glanced over her notes one last time. “Oh. I nearly forgot. Remove your stockings.”
Hermione obediently pulled them off. Healer Stroud glanced over Hermione's legs for a moment and then waved her wand. A sharp, burning sensation came over them for several seconds.
Hermione hissed faintly. Startled. When the burn faded she looked down and saw that her legs were bright red and irritated looking.
“A permanent hair removal charm. Several of the men have complained. One of them tried to provide a bath potion, but the spiteful little witch dunked her head under and emerged entirely bald.”
Healer Stroud handed Hermione a small jar of murtlap essence.
“The irritation should fade in a day or two. I'll speak to the High Reeve about your condition.”
Healer Stroud put Hermione's file back into a briefcase, and Hermione slipped off the table and stood awkwardly, holding her stockings in one hand and the jar of murtlap essence in the other. With a flick of her wand, Healer Stroud vanished the table and left the room without another word.
Malfoy arrived half an hour later, looking more angry than usual.
Hermione pulled on her cloak and followed him. When they reached the veranda, he glanced over at her with a grimace.
“You are required to walk at least half a mile.”
Hermione blinked up at him.
“I would send you with a house-elf, but Stroud is concerned that your self-inflicted brain injury may cause you to have a seizure if you become overwrought.” He looked enraged enough to break something. “I am now required to walk you.”
He stared across the estate for a moment before adding, “You are worse than a dog.”