Hermione's body felt like it was on fire. Above her she could hear the hum of conversation – vibrations of excited conversation and hurried footsteps. She reached a hand to her forehead and felt it was sticky with blood.
She was wandless, but there was a circle of light in the centre tunnelling down from the ceiling. It looked like a dungeon – the walls seemed impenetrable, made of stone and there was no furniture aside from a bucket in the corner. Her clothes remained intact and while she had been hit in the head, it seemed like she was untouched otherwise. She squinted to remember where she was last conscious and found her memory blank – so she had been obliviated.
She strained to hear what they were saying, and her stomach dropped as she was able to make out "Mudblood".
Her head whipped around at the sound of footsteps nearby – there seemed to be three, no, four voices and they were arguing.
"You can't do this! This is insane!" One exclaimed.
Hermione gathered herself into a corner, breathing slowly in and out to steel herself for whatever was coming next. She may not have a wand, but she was nothing if not a fighter.
Draco Malfoy's body was kicked into the room.
"You will be summoned at dawn." A man spoke with forced authority. "It is an honour to serve the Dark Lord."
"Fuck the Dark Lord!" Draco screamed, his face turning an ugly shade of red as the wall re-bricked itself, leaving no trace of escape. "Shit!" he pulled on his hair, pacing around the perimeter.
"Malfoy? What the hell is going on?" Hermione managed to croak out.
He looked as if he hadn't heard her and continued to pace, running his hand across the wall, noting the placement of the window, patting down his pocket to check – if by some chance – they had accidentally given him his wand.
"Malfoy?" She demanded again from a distance.
He started to laugh, running his fingers through his hair again and swivelled to face her, rolling his sleeves up as if propriety didn't matter anymore. He looked tired.
"In short Granger, we're fucked."
Hermione closed her eyes, stilling the rising panic.
"We -", he pointed to them both as if to emphasise the absurdity of the pairing, "- are going to be sacrificed in a blood ritual.''
"Blood ritual." Hermione's stomach sank.
"Yes Granger, keep up." He barked impatiently. "The Dark Lord knows something is happening – that he is getting weaker, or something, I don't know the details – all I know is that he's got it in his head that he can strengthen his power with ancient magic."
"Where we both die."
"Exactly."
He watched Hermione's eyebrows rise and fall with possibilities. "Oh god." She whispered, standing up abruptly.
"Well, don't hold back Granger."
Hermione laughed mirthlessly. "If he's found out what I suspect he has, then he's going to perform blood alchemy."
Draco's expression remained unchanged. Hermione sighed, launching into an explanation as if they were back in class.
"There's an ancient spell which allows you to channel the magic of a pureblood heir and transfer it to yourself. There's only one recorded case of it working and it's spurious at best." She became animated despite the danger.
"Then he wants to channel my magic."
"Yes." Hermione grimaced. "But you must be worth channelling, which is where I come in. You'll have to take my magic and then kill me."
His face turned a shade paler, and Hermione began to feel an angry throb from her skull.
"Tell me the next stage Granger."
Hermione met his eyes briefly. "He'll do the same to you. But – he'll um, well, he'll drain you of your blood in the process."
Draco nodded curtly and resumed pacing around the perimeter of the room.
"So, what's our plan?"
"Excuse me?"
"Plan Granger, what is the plan to get out of this?" He hissed.
"What makes you think I have one?"
"You always do."
"I've got a couple of ideas", she shifted her weight from one foot to another, "but truthfully Malfoy, I have no idea if I can trust you."
"You've been speaking to me so far." He admonished.
"Yes, and you've been uncharacteristically forthcoming."
"I have an incredibly strong survival instinct and I am not, I repeat, not, going to be drained of my blood in some sadistic power trip."
"And I suppose you want my help in this."
"Precisely."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest surveying him from across the room.
"Fine. It's certainly easier if we work together. But if you think for a minute that you can turn me over after this, I won't hesitate to retaliate."
"The feeling's mutual."
"And if we have to fight our way out?", Hermione challenged.
Draco's mouth formed a thin line. "Then we fight."
She looked at him askance, her mouth twitching as if on the cusp of something else before she shook herself slightly.
"Ok. Either we find a way out of this cell, or we need to disrupt the ritual. The spell relies on this distinction in blood, so, regardless of whether that's even magically founded", she scrunched her nose, "it's certainly something He Who Must Not Be Named believes."
"Which means we need to compromise our blood statuses in some way."
"Yes." Hermione smiled, satisfied with the speed at which Malfoy caught on.
"And how do we do that without magic?"
"I'm not sure." She sighed, deflated.
"Brilliant."
"Well, by all means suggest an alternative." Hermione gesticulated.
"We're in my house, if you haven't guessed that much already, and this room usually responds to any Malfoy."
"But you've been locked out?"
"Yes. Although, one thing I don't understand is how I can be sacrificed as a pureblood heir without my family name and all that comes with it."
"So…there may be some way we can convince the room to let us out."
Draco wafted his hand, "if your theory is right of course."
"Malfoy-", Hermione's tone shifted, and he looked up with scepticism, "- why were you chosen for this? Surely he could've selected any of his followers."
"The Dark Lord is testing my father's loyalty-", He snorted, scuffing his shoe on the floor, "-and it's an awfully convenient way of divesting the Malfoy fortune."
"You don't seem that loyal." She pushed.
"Voldermort's insane and narcissistic. He has no world view and I know a losing side when I see one."
"You're an opportunist."
"I am many things Granger, but I don't fit into any neat category of yours."
"But your parents?"
Draco pinched the space between his eyes, "Look, my mother doesn't know what's going on. She ran away to France when things started to look ugly, and my father is currently under the Imperius Curse."
"The Order would-"
"Take me in? You've got to be kidding. Besides, I'd rather be on my own than around those two idiots of yours. Where the fuck are they anyway?"
Hermione's eyes almost fell out of her head, "You're right. They must know I've been taken and will come looking for us. Oh god, Malfoy, this is a trap."
Draco rolled his eyes as if to say 'obviously'.
"Focus on the room. Maybe we can convince it."
She moved towards him and he backed away a little instinctively. "Make a cut and wipe your blood on the walls."
Draco took the sharp rock from Hermione's muddied hands. "Real primitive Granger."
"Seems like your family's style." She shrugged, which he couldn't argue with.
He took a breath and slashed a shallow cut in his palm, picking his left hand knowing full well that he would want to use the other to wield a wand comfortably. Draco inched forwards, frowning at the walls of the cell. He selected the spot where the door had formed and tentatively placed his hand against the damp brick.
Underneath his palm he felt a surge of magic arrive and retreat. He turned his palm over, bemused that the spot where an angry slash of blood lay was now clean, apart from a faint scar.
Draco hadn't heard Hermione move closer but felt her warm breath on his arm as she stared. His hairs pricked on edge.
"Curious." She whispered, altogether too close.
"Selective, more like." He examined the front and back of his hand again.
They waited in silence, listening for any changes to the room and when nothing happened, they resumed their posts on either side of the cell.
Draco noted the slight change in light from upstairs and the quiet above. By his estimation, he would say it was around midnight, which is usually when the manor goes quiet. He imagined that the torches had been extinguished, leaving only moonlight.
They would have six hours if they're lucky, five if the Dark Lord was feeling particularly punctual.
He observed Hermione, who looked as if she was reading imaginary pages in front of her. Her head was bleeding, which he hadn't paid attention to earlier and now felt a pang of guilt at. It dawned on him then that beyond her role as the brains of the pantomime holy trinity, he knew nothing about her. He'd monitored her mannerisms in class, noting areas to ridicule, but beyond that he wasn't sure what occupied her thoughts.
"Your head."
She snapped up, squinting at the pain. "What about it?"
"You're bleeding, and I figure it might distract you from getting us out of here."
He tore one of his sleeves, handing her a sash of white fabric.
She rolled her eyes and tied it around her skull. "Happy?"
"Not in the least."
"Thank you." She mumbled quietly.
He pretended not to hear her and looked back at the grate above them.
"We could try forcing our way out, but I'm sure we'll find Bellatrix asleep up there with a bottle of vintage from the 1500s."
Hermione giggled mutely, which was not what he expected, and she seemed to think the same.
Silence elapsed between them again.
"Ask me a question."
"Pardon?"
"I want to talk about something else for a bit."
"And what makes you think I'm here to serve your whims?"
"Had any ideas lately?"
Draco's chin jutted forward in defiance.
"So, let's talk about something else." She shuffled impatiently.
"What were you, Potter and Weasel up to before being caught?"
Hermione pursed her lips.
"What? You're dying to ask me similar things and it's the first thing that came to mind. I already know your favourite colour is red."
"Orange, actually."
Draco chose not to point out the very slim difference between the two as he saw Hermione toy with telling him the truth.
"We were searching for things to weaken him, as you suggested earlier."
"What kinds of things?" Draco inched forward, genuinely interested.
"If we don't get out of here before dawn, I'll tell you then." Hermione coughed. "Ok, my turn."
He felt his stomach lurch in anticipation.
"What was it like- I mean, being here, on the other side?"
Draco laughed, "You're lucky I don't have a wand Granger."
Hermione recoiled.
"I didn't mean it like that." He clarified, though he was unsure why he felt he needed to. "I suppose it's a little like being drunk. The power is intoxicating, glamorous even, if only for a while. Then you wake up and see the mess for what it is."
"Did you ever…"
"Ah, now you're cheating. My turn." Draco inhaled. "Are your parents safe?"
She jerked her head, "Yes…"
"Good."
Draco picked at the spot by his foot.
"Say we get out of here and the war is over-"
"-A lot of hypotheticals there."
"Just pretend Malfoy." She crossed her arms. "What are you going to do?"
"I never thought I would get out of here alive."
Hermione frowned.
"I'm just being realistic. But… if, by some small, highly unlikely chance we do get out of here etcetera, then I'm buying a vineyard in Tuscany, with a house on the hills where I will live out the rest of my days."
"That sounds lovely."
"Don't think you're getting the address Granger."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Draco sighed, "I'm done with questions for now." He laid back on the ground, his hands underneath his head, eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Hermione curled into herself, colder and freshly reminded of their impending doom.