DH era – Hermione has been captured by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor where she is the sole prisoner. Ron and Harry are still on the loose.
Hermione was bored. She sat on the heap of straw and looked around the dungeon. It wasn't bad, as dungeons go, there were torches burning in the brackets so it wasn't pitch dark and as far as she could tell, there was no damp.
She worried about Ron and Harry, once they woke up and realised she had gone missing, what would they do? She hoped they wouldn't be stupid enough to try and get into the manor to break her out, but she wouldn't put it past them.
In a way, she felt relieved. After months of creeping around, exhausted from horcrux hunting and keeping all three of them safe, the thought that she had only a few days left to live was actually not all bad. She was, of course, disappointed – dying locked up in someone's cellar without having finished school or read all the books she'd ever hoped to read wasn't how she pictured her life ending.
"Well" she thought, rubbing the scar on her arm, a vestige of Bellatrix's last torture session "If I'm going to die, I may as well enjoy the time I have remaining."
In the distance, she heared Pettigrew unlock the door to the dungeons and shuffle down the stairs. He approached her, with his twitchy little walk, and slid the battered tin dish which contained her lunch towards her. She took one look at it and called him back.
"Uh. Excuse me? What is this supposed to be?"
"It's supposed to be your lunch."
"In that case, you can take it back where you came from. I'm not about to eat a crust of stale bread, mouldy cheese and rancid ham. Now, off with you. Scoot!"
A shocked Wormtail picked up the dish and retreated in disbelief.
Hermione rejected her dinner and the following day's breakfast, which consisted of cold and lumpy porridge and a cup of lukewarm, gritty coffee. As Pettigrew was leaving the cellar she called after him "Next time, would you mind bringing a second blanket? The one I have is more hole than blanket and it tends to get chilly in underground prison cells. And oil the hinges of that bloody door!"
By the third day, she was beginning to question the wisdom of turning up her nose at food (although she had accepted the glasses of water they brought).
She had noticed subtle differences in the dungeon's furnishings. There was now a table and chair, admittedly rather worn but still serviceable. The door opened and to her great surprise, Mr Malfoy, Senior, entered the dungeon carrying a tray with a large silver dome on it, a blue blanket over his arm. He carefully placed the tray on the table and placed the blanket on the straw pile, Hermione could tell he was seething – he was just as poor at hiding his moods as Draco.
Hermione sat at the table and stared at the tray. It held not only the silver dome but also a fine damask napkin, monogrammed silver cutlery and a small porcelain vase with a few freesias in it. She raised the dome and her mouth began to water at the sight of the food, wild rice and chicken in a creamy mushroom sauce. Once she had finished every last morsel she place her knife and fork on the plate and murmured "that was delicious", to her astonishment the plate disappeared to be replaced by a small glass dish of peach melba with fresh whipped cream ("not that instant spray stuff the muggles have" she observed to herself).
When Pettigrew was sent to fetch the tray back, Hermione asked "Would you kindly show me where I can clean my teeth and brush my hair?". Flustered, he led her to a bathroom on the ground floor of the mansion and, with a flick of his wand, conjured up a toothbrush, paste and a large hairbrush. He was still staring at her when she turned around and snapped "Do you mind?"
Once she had finished, the nervous wizard took her back to the dungeon. The heap of scratchy straw had gone, replaced by a single bed with sheets and the blue blanket. Someone had also sent down a comfortable leather armchair and a side table. A house elf suddenly entered the room carrying a mug of hot chocolate and a pair of warm pajamas, "Shall Tinkle turn down?" he asked. She nodded as the elf pulled back the bedsheet for her and turned to face the other way as she changed into her nightwear. Hermione climbed into the bed and the elf carefully tucked her in before disapparating with a snap.
She woke to the delicious aroma of a cooked breakfast wafting from under the silver dome on her dining table. Her clothes had been washed, dried and pressed and were neatly folded on a nightstand which had appeared while she had slept. Hermione was pleased with herself, her dungeon cell was comfortable now but there was still the problem of sheer boredom.
When Pettigrew came to retrieve her breakfast tray she requested that a selection of books be brough to her to while away the time. He was about to answer her when they heard a crash and a man's high pitch scream from above. Pettigrew's face took on a look of absolute terror and he scurried out of the room without a word.
Hermione judged it had been about an hour since his hurried exit when she had another and unexpected visitor – processing slowly down the stairs with Pettigrew a few paces behind him was Voldemort.
