"Oh poor "ickle Mudblood, has nasty Snape drowned you". Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, the sing-song voice was unmistakably Bellatrix LeStrange. She allowed the Death Eater's hands to help her to a seated position, as she was keenly aware that struggling would only increase her own discomfort. Soft fingers tickled past her breasts, allowing a fresh jingle of music from the attached bells, Bellatrix idle comment that she felt full, seemed like an extreme understatement. Hermione had become so habituated to regular milking that the subtle reminder of her predicament brought a renewed focus on her straining breasts, despite the humiliation of being milked it would at least relieve the increasing discomfort she was feeling. She also prayed that Snape’s trapped potions would be released from her cramping body, at the moment she felt like an overstuffed piñata.