It was now an inexact science to measure time, knowing that some sort of time turning ability was enchanted on the training room. It felt like an eternity for her, at least the house elves seemed to work in shifts. They always seemed refreshed at the start of the training sessions, whereas Hermione could not shake her absolute exhaustion. As Kreacher liked to let her watch her own debasement, she had observed recently how her now long hair flew wildly as she writhed in the usual combination of pleasure and pain. She tried to compute how long her hair took to grow, but it was difficult to focus on non-sexual thoughts. Her breasts strained to contain an ever increasing volume of milk, each session seemed to wring out more liquid, until hormone treatment potions were no longer needed, she could really pinpoint when this had actually happened. Her pussy lips and clit were now stretched to cartoonish levels allowing multiple vibrator clips to be added to the stretched obscenities. In the small remaining rational part of Hermione’s mind she knew she was being primed for an imminent return to her Death Eater masters, as always she mutely stood and waited for the next onslaught of punishment to happen.