Diclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This applies to all following chapters.

A/N: This story was inspired by a story of the "Three Investigators" - or "Die drei ? ? ?" as they're called in Germany. It is obviously AU.

I hope you'll enjoy it. Tell me know what you think!

Evil Games

Hermione regained consciousness in layers. First, she became aware of the biting coldness around her; she was shivering all over and her fingers were numb. Then, she felt a dull headache that ebbed and flowed with every breath. Finally, very slowly, she realised that she was lying on something hard and cold. A stone floor maybe.

Her lashes fluttered, and, eventually, she managed to open her eyes. All-engulfing blackness welcomed her. What time was it? Why was it still dark?

Automatically, her fingers felt for the alarm clock on the nightstand but found instead cold, tiled floor. Only then did she realise that she wasn't at home.

Panic flooded her, and she sat up with a gasp.

Where was she? What was she doing here? And why was it so dark?

Instinctively, she searched for her wand, but it was neither in her pockets nor somewhere within reach, as far as she could tell. Frowning, she tried to remember what she was doing here, but came to realise that she didn't know.

She couldn't remember.

The last thing she knew for certain was this – or was it yesterday? – morning at the ministry. Harry had asked her to assist on a case of a gruesome murder, and the undercover informant would only speak with her. She tried to trace her last steps – a conversation with Harry, and then the meeting with the informant. A pale face swam into her memory, and she groaned. Malfoy. He had been the informant.

Hermione remembered her annoyance, but that was all. She knew they had talked, but the words already blurred together. Soon everything faded, and she hit a wall.

There was nothing. Nothing – until she had woken up here. But where was here?

She climbed hastily to her feet, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the darkness. Anyone could be with her in here and she wouldn't even know. Her searching fingers found a wall, and she traced it around the room.

Here was apparently a three to five metre room with a locked iron door. She stopped at the door and felt around. There. Her fingers found the small square she was looking for.

Glaring light flared up, and Hermione had to close her eyes against the brightness. When her eyes grew accustomed to the fluorescent light, she could discern an empty, white, tiled room. It looked a bit like an old hospital ward or an abandoned storage room, she thought.

The panic she had managed to suppress until that moment bubbled up inside of her.

She was in a room with no windows and a locked door, without her wand and no recollection of how she'd gotten there. Her eyes darted through the room, searching for any clues as to why she was here, but she found nothing but old, iron water pipes that ran along the ceiling.

Had she been Obliviated? Abducted? Was she alone or were her friends locked away in another room? Had it to do with the case? Had they perhaps found indications of the murderer's identity? Was it him – or her – who had taken her prisoner?

Hermione forced herself to inhale a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts. Should she dare to knock on the door? What if her kidnapper was right behind it?

Finally, she decided that it was worth a try. If the kidnapper was there, they would come to her sooner or later, and if they weren't, there was maybe the chance somebody else would hear her.

"Hello?" Hermione screamed loudly, pounding the door with a desperation she hadn't known she felt. "Is somebody there?"

Only her own voice echoed from the tiled walls; nobody answered.

"Argh!" With a final scream, she slumped against the door in defeat. She was already exhausted, and the noise had worsened her headaches. Full of despair, Hermione sank back to the floor and stared at her knees.

Barely a moment later, however, a muffled banging interrupted the eerie silence. Immediately, she leapt to her feet once more and stared at the door. Nobody entered. After a few seconds, she realised that it wasn't footsteps but somebody else pounding against a door. Another prisoner?

Filled with renewed strength, Hermione ran to the door and screamed, "Hello?!"

The reply was only a muffled noise. The doors were too thick to let the sound through. Her gaze wandered to the pipes. Iron would carry the sound much better than air. But what were the chances of the other person understanding Morse code?

She looked at the pipes and tried to estimate their height. Then she took a deep breath, walked back to the wall, took a run-up, and jumped. She managed to catch the pipes with both hands and braced her feet against the wall. Then she knocked:

Short, short, short. Long, long, long. Short, short, short.

This would be the test to determine if the sound was carried at all. Hermione let herself fall back down to the floor and waited. The silence stretched for so long that she was just about to jump up to the pipes to try again, when, finally, she very clearly heard somebody knock against the pipes.

Short, short, short. Long, long, long. Short, short, short.

SOS again. Perhaps that was too easy. It didn't mean the person understood Morse if they could signal SOS. Hermione would need to try something else. Before she could even attempt as much, the signal continued:

Short, long, long. Short, short, short, short. Long, long, long. Pause. Short, long, short. Pause. Short, short, long. Pause. Short, short, long, long, short, short.

Who r u? she translated.

So the person did know Morse code! Without thinking, she signalled, H. Granger. U?

The answer came abruptly, D. Malfoy.

Malfoy knew Morse code? Hermione allowed herself a moment of surprise, but quickly focused back on their situation. At once, logic gained the upper hand. Apparently, she and Malfoy had been captured, probably out on a mission. That meant Harry and Ron would be searching for them!

Malfoy's message continued slowly, Door locked. White room. No wand.

Damn. So he wouldn't be able to help her get out.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione jumped up again, ignoring the pain in her protesting muscles. Same, she signalled. U remember? she added after a short pause.

The answer came swiftly, No. Nothing. U?

No, Hermione replied sadly.

Talking in Morse code was slow and tiring work. Hermione wouldn't be able to jump up to the pipes on the ceiling much longer. Perhaps she could rip one of the pipes from the wall and use it as a stick? With an effort, she tugged and pulled at the pipes, but they didn't budge.

"Relashio!" she finally cried desperately.

Hermione didn't know if it was the spell or her effort, but the pipes finally gave in and she crashed to the floor.

"Ugh," she groaned, pushing herself upright. A gush of cold, brackish water was dripping out of the pipe and hitting the floor with a splash. Her wrist, with which she had tried to cushion the impact, ached painfully. She tried to move it and groaned again. It didn't seem broken, but it hurt almost as much as if it had.

Suddenly, a knocking noise caught her attention.

R u ok? Hermione heard.

She was just about to signal back when she realised something. Why would Draco Malfoy ask her how she felt? Although she couldn't remember much from their earlier conversation, she was quite sure it had been civil but by no means friendly. He wouldn't care about her.

Her thoughts raced. Actually, Malfoy also wouldn't know Morse code because – where could he have learned it? She had just accepted his answer without questioning it.

Maybe that other person wasn't Malfoy at all.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chastised herself. Had she forgotten everything Mad-Eye had taught her?

Clenching her teeth, Hermione stood up and knocked, Yes. I hit u in 4th year?

It took Malfoy a while to answer. 3rd year. Last time I saw u?

She narrowed her eyes. He was trying to confirm her identity as well, it seemed. And he had answered correctly. Did that mean she could trust him?

Finally, she signalled back, Ministry, school, before that Tonks and Remus funeral.

Hermione still had a lump in her throat when she thought about that. Was it really already four years ago? It didn't feel like it. She had been surprised to see Narcissa and her son in attendance. They hadn't talked with anybody, simply stared at the grave, and later seemed to all but disappear. Hermione clearly remembered Malfoy's ashen face because she had wondered why he seemed to care so much. He hadn't known Tonks, after all.

In their final year of school, they hadn't talked. Not really. They hadn't insulted each other, but they also hadn't been friendly.

Rubbing her aching wrist, Hermione sat back down on the floor and stared at the door. Maybe she could use the pipe as lever to open it? But it seemed too heavy to be moved by a single pipe.

After Hermione had run through every possible escape plan, she had to acknowledge that, without her wand, she wouldn't get anywhere. She'd considered wandless magic, but she doubted that she was strong enough. Even so, she had to try.

Sighing, she climbed to her feet and put her hands over the lock at the door. Trying to ignore the pain in her wrist and head and the biting coldness of the room, she said with an intoned demand, "Alohomora!"

Nothing happened.

Clenching her jaw, she tried again. "Alohomora. Alohomora. Alohomora!"

Hermione felt a tickle of magic flow and the lock creaked, but didn't turn. It was hopeless. Despair gripped her with its cold fingers and made her jerkily grab the iron pipe. There had to be a way out. What was the point of keeping her in here anyway? Why wasn't she in a cell together with Malfoy, if it even was Malfoy.

Hermione grasped the pipe tighter and tried to find an angle to squeeze it under the door, but it didn't work. Letting out a cry of desperation, she threw it against the door and flopped onto the floor.

She had to think about this. There had to be a logic solution, there always was one!

Mentally, she compiled a list of questions that needed answering: was it really Malfoy in the other room, and if yes, could she trust him? Why would someone lock them in a room? Why weren't they in a room together? Why didn't she remember anything? Had she been Obliviated? Had it to do with the case? Where there other people in here as well? Where was she? What kind of building was it? What were her possible escape routes? How long had she been here? Was she in danger?

Hermione paused at the last question. The answer was probably yes, or for what other reason would someone lock her in an icy, isolated room without food?

Frowning, she began answering the questions.

Already the first one presented her with a wealth of problems. From his Morsed answer, it seemed to be really Malfoy – although a big question mark remained hanging over that revelation (How did he know how to signal in Morse? Why did he seem to care?). The matter of trusting him was even harder to answer. For all she knew, he could be the one that had put her in the room in the first place. It could be a twisted joke from the sick mind of his. Malfoy could have lured her into some kind of trap to – what? – watch her freeze to death? And why Obliviate her?

Growling to herself, Hermione discarded the thought. She wasn't getting anywhere with it, so she thrust it aside to move on and leave the question of trusting Malfoy for later.

The next question was just as hard to answer. Hermione could only guess. Maybe the person who had done this wanted to prevent her from doing something or from knowing something. Maybe they wanted to make sure she didn't remember anything that could endanger them. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe she had been abducted and her friends had to pay a ransom. Maybe she was some kind of a prisoner. Maybe she was to be murdered soon –

At that thought, Hermione stopped and took a deep breath. Nobody was going to murder her. If they wanted her dead, she would be already.

So she focused on the third question. Maybe they feared she and Malfoy would jog each other's memory. Maybe they wanted to prevent communication between them. Maybe they didn't want them to formulate an escape plan. Maybe they had different plans for each of them.

Hermione shivered, and not only from the cold. What were their plans for them? She just didn't know. She didn't know an answer for any of the questions.

She didn't know if she'd been Obliviated, or if it had to do with the case, or if there were other persons. It was pointless to waver over it.

Instead, Hermione concentrated on question number seven. The room looked like a hospital room, but there were no windows. That, alongside the cold, could mean that she was underground, maybe in an old factory or warehouse. It didn't smell like anything in particular – perhaps only slightly of disinfectant. So something could have been stored here that needed cooling, but nothing that smelled…

Great. She could still be in London, for all she knew, or on the other side of the world. Later, she would have to give the room a more thorough scrutiny for clues.

Hermione skipped question eight and pondered number nine. She wasn't wearing the same robes she had been wearing in the ministry. That meant she had been home to change in the meantime. Actually, she wasn't wearing 'normal' clothes, either. Neither ministry robes, nor dresses, nor sweat pants, nor jeans. Her simple dark trousers were normally reserved for a special occasions, but her comfy sneakers told her she hadn't been at a party – where she obviously would have worn heels. And yet, her black blazer and dark blouse were too dressed up for a lazy evening alone.

Wait – had she been going out with Malfoy? Or someone else? Had Ron wanted to try again?

Hermione forced herself to dismiss that thought and mentally jotted down: more than six hours must have passed since she last remembered and, judging by the indignant, hungry grumble in her belly, probably more. So something between six and twenty-four hours.

Awesome. Her skills in deduction were simply amazing.

Maybe she could find another clue somewhere. Her watch had been taken from her, alongside with her wand and handbag. All her pockets were empty, but there was something about her shoes … Hermione felt like she almost remembered, but she couldn't. Why would she be wearing such 'sensible' shoes rather than something more elegant? There was something off about them, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

Suddenly, Hermione was struck by a realisation. If that person who had locked her and the Slytherin into these rooms wanted to check if they still remembered anything, they needed to be watching them to confirm that. But Hermione had seen no sign of any cameras. That meant the person watching must be magically doing so. They could have placed surveillance spells on the room and she'd be none the wiser. It would make sense for them to be watching. If she'd abducted someone, she'd like to know what her victims were doing to be able to control them.

So what would happen if Hermione provoked that person? Would they show themselves? What if nobody was watching, after all?

Hermione let out another frustrated moan. How would they confirm that she and Malfoy didn't remember anything if they didn't ask or talk? Her reasoning just didn't make sense.

She needed to know more! At once!

With a frustrated huff, Hermione seated herself upon the floor. She crossed her legs, pressed her back firmly against the wall, and closed her eyes. She was in a desperate situation. No, she was in trouble. She didn't have all the facts – had very few, for that matter – and what she did have was still under scrutiny.

But that wasn't impossible to work with. It wasn't a disaster. Because she was Hermione-freaking-Granger, and she was smart, and she would work through this trial just as she did with every other case she happened across.

This wasn't an exceptional case. It probably wasn't even all that special. Hermione would thrust aside her fears, would disregard Malfoy for the moment as "a fact I can do nothing with", and would think of a plan. She was a thinker. It was what she did. It was what she was good at.

Closing her eyes to the room, the ruined pipe, the empty walls, Hermione sank into herself just as she always did. Just as she had to. For a moment she forgot even the ache of her wrist, disregarded as inconsequential and irrelevant.

A plan... I just need a plan...

This wasn't exceptional. It wasn't truly even all that scary. For Hermione, she would accept it at face value exactly as it was. All in a day's work. As usual. As if she hadn't had challenges thrust in her face at every turn from the moment she'd first stepped into the Wizarding world.

I need a plan...

Hermione shut the world out and knuckled down to do her job. She was going to get out of here with or without Malfoy's help, and nobody would be able stop her.

*Written for the Houses Competition, Round 9*

House: Ravenclaw

Category: Short

Prompt: They/he/she were/was in a room with no windows and a locked door [Sentence starter]

W/C: 2, 959