All Hermione could feel was the eerie stillness that surrounded her, broken only by the distant sound of dripping water.
The walls seemed to press in on her, their rough surface mocking her inability to escape. Shadows danced tauntingly in the flickering torchlight, twisting into grotesque shapes that sent shivers down her spine. She had always been the one with the answers, the one who knew how to solve any problem with a flick of her wand and a clever incantation. But now, with no wand and no way to do magic, she felt lost and vulnerable.
As she sat huddled in the corner of the cell, Hermione's mind raced with thoughts of her friends back home and the people she'd left behind at the enchanted castle. If only she could see Harry, Ron, and Ginny again. If only she hadn't gone on that walk this morning. If only she hadn't switched places with Belle in the first place. What had she been thinking?
Memories flooded Hermione's mind, each one a dagger twisting in her heart. The time Harry and Ron had saved her from the troll. Solving the secret to the Chamber of Secrets and then getting petrified. Flying Buckbeak to save Sirius Black. Victor Krum asking her to the Yule Ball. Fighting Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic. Sending birds flying at Ron's head. Watching Harry defeat Voldemort. Warm memories of life at the Burrow. How far away it all seemed.
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to summon that strength, wit, and courage she was known for. She had faced countless challenges before. But she'd almost always had her friends with her. She remembered Ron yelling at her when they were only 11 and she'd panicked, "Are you mad? Are you a witch or not?" Her friends balanced her out. Now she had no friends and no wand. She felt truly alone.
She had no one but herself. And being herself was something she hadn't felt like being for a long time. She didn't know when it started exactly. But not long after the war, she'd started hating herself and her life. She didn't feel worthy anymore. She didn't feel like she belonged with her friends, who were happy in the new world. She hadn't felt happy in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she felt at peace with herself.
Sinking deeper and deeper into her gloomy thoughts, time stretched into what felt like an eternity. Hermione's sense of isolation deepened. Desperate for some semblance of connection, Hermione whispered her friends' names into the darkness, the sound barely more than a breathy echo that dissipated into the cold air. The memories of their laughter, their camaraderie, now twisted into painful reminders of what she had lost. How she longed for Ron's humor, Harry's determination, and Ginny's infectious spirit. They had been her anchors in the tumultuous seas of hardship, guiding her through.
But now, in this suffocating solitude, Hermione found herself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The weight of what she had done threatened to bury her.
Then suddenly. She found she was not alone. A voice from across the hall rang out.
"Hey," the voice said. "Newcomer. Who are you?"
Hermione started, scrambling to her feet. She'd suspected there might be other people in here, but she'd completely forgotten about it in the darkness. She remembered that she'd actually wanted to come here to see if the Beast's mother was here. Hope welled in her chest when she realized she wasn't alone.
"My name is Hermione," she said. "I got turned in here by someone called Gaston."
"Join the club," the voice muttered. "He's captured a lot of us."
"Who are you?" Hermione asked.
"My name is Colette," the voice said.
"Colette?" Hermione asked, not daring to breathe. "Do you happen to have a daughter named Belle? Or be friends with someone named Estelle?"
"Yes, to both. Oh, my sweet Belle," Collette breathed. "I haven't heard her name spoken aloud in an eternity. How do you know her?"
"It's actually a long story," Hermione began, not knowing how to explain the situation. "But I'm actually in your daughter's body right now."
"You're in Belle's body?" said Colette. "Wait, what?"
Hermione gave Colette an overview of what happened.
"You agreed to come here because you thought Estelle might be here?" Colette summarized the last part of the conversation. "Well, she is. She's not doing well. But she's on the other end of the hall."
"How can we escape?" Hermione asked, concerned to hear about Estelle's state.
"It's no good," Colette said. "Once he gives you some of his potion and you eat the food, you can't do magic. It suppresses our magic. Those blasted Scourers from North America came here and taught these imbeciles all kinds of tricks."
Hermione remembered reading about the Scourers. Wizards who initially started off as a pseudo-militia in the so-called New World that didn't have a reigning magical government. They started off with good intentions, tracking down criminals and helping keep the peace.
Before too long, however, they got corrupt and started turning on their own kind. They began to hunt their fellow witches and wizards, even going so far as to aid the Muggles who led the witch-hunts. Previously, Muggles had a hard time detecting true magical folk. With the help of the Scourers, the witch hunts became much more effective.
Thankfully, once the Magical Congress of the United States of America formed, they put the Scourers down. It took a long time, however, and many escaped.
It appeared that some of the escaped Scourers made their way to Europe. It seemed that she'd fallen into the hands of, perhaps not an actual Scourer, but a Scourer's follower.
According to history, over time, the Scourers merged in with the non-magical population and taught their descendants to hate magic-kind. They became a problem in the early 1900s during the time of Grindelwald's uprising. That last part was irrelevant to their current situation though.
"I don't recall consuming anything that he gave me," Hermione said, wracking her brains to recall if she'd consumed anything since she'd came into this wretched place. The dryness in her throat reminded her how thirsty she was.
"He didn't force a potion down your throat?" Colette asked. "You'd remember if he did."
"No, he didn't," Hermione said. "Perhaps he was too enticed by the enchanted castle."
"Enchanted castle?" Colette asked. "Ah, that. They won't find it," she said confidently.
"How do you know?" Hermione asked.
"I just do," Colette said simply. "Anyway, you haven't taken a potion. You can get us out of here."
"But I don't have a wand," Hermione said. "I can't use magic."
"Pish posh," Colette said. "You only need to visualize what you want and channel your magic. A wand helps, but you can channel it by other means."
Channeling magic. Hermione recalled that wizards in Uganda didn't rely on wands to harness magic. They drew on power from within themselves and the natural world around them. They cast spells using their hands. Why hadn't she thought of that before?
"I've never done that before. I've only ever used a wand," Hermione said. "But I'll try."
"Wands make us so lazy," Colette muttered. "My father always said that…" Her voice trailed off, leaving Hermione to her contemplation.
Hermione closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to center herself. She focused on the tingling sensation that always seemed to dance beneath her skin whenever she held her wand and performed magic. Slowly, she instinctively extended her hands in front of her, palms facing up as if cupping an invisible ball of energy. She took a deep breath, feeling the pulsating magic within her yearning to be released.
Focusing on the image of a shimmering light illuminating the room, Hermione slowly started moving her hands apart. Yet, nothing happened at first. She could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her. Why wasn't it working? She tried harder, picturing the light growing brighter and warmer in her mind.
Suddenly, a faint glow appeared between her hands. It was like a tiny flicker of a candle in a vast dark room. Hermione's heart leaped with excitement as she continued to concentrate. The glow intensified, swirling and dancing like ethereal flames.
But just as Hermione thought she had finally tapped into the magic within her, the glow flickered out, leaving her hands empty once more. She opened her eyes in the fresh darkness, suddenly blind again after that bright light.
"You did something," Colette exclaimed. "Good. Keep practicing. See if you can unlock the door."
Hermione placed her hands on the door's cell lock, imagining that it would open. After a few tries, nothing happened.
"Focus on that feeling of magic," Colette said. "You have the power inside of you."
Hermione summoned that feeling again. That tingling sensation of magic that pulsed within her. She felt it and tapped into it. She placed her hands on the lock once more and it clicked open.
Just as the cellar door at the other end of the hall opened.