Not Quite Dark Magic

Historical Apparition

Chapter Text
"How do you plan on doing it?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know yet."

"I was always told Hermione Granger thought at least six steps ahead," Maeve said with a sniff. "But here you are, without even a single idea."

"I'll know the opportunity when it presents itself."

Maeve shot her a doubtful glare. Hermione had been down in the dungeons for two days now with no contact from any Death Eaters except the low ranking ones that brought the food down. They didn't even bother opening the cell door, just shrank the food down to fit between the bars and enlarged it once it hit the wet floor. The gash above her eyes continued to bleed, no matter how much pressure was applied to it. It wasn't an alarming amount, but just enough to continuously drip into her line of sight. It was more annoying than anything.

"I've escaped from here enough times. Trust me, it might take some time but I will get us all out of here."

She'd met the other prisoners, but they shied away from her more than Maeve. Maeve was brash and blunt, much opposite from any of the other Hufflepuffs Hermione had met. She didn't think of Hannah. Couldn't think of her right now.

"It's really rude of you to get my hopes up like that."

"Then don't believe me." She'd heard enough of it all before, and she understood. Words meant nothing in this world. She'd just have to show her.

"You ought to get some rest," Maeve said, standing and brushing her hands on her torn pants. "Carrying all that responsibility on your shoulders must be truly exhausting."

---

Hermione was awoken by the light rattling of the cell bars. She had fallen asleep on her side, arm supporting her head so it wasn't resting on the hard cement floor. Her back was towards the entrance and she rolled over with a groan, vision going red for a moment as all the blood that had collected in the corner of her eye spilled down the opposite side. She rubbed it out slowly, groaning against the ache in her back.

"Granger." The voice was louder and now that she was awake she could recognize it. The ache in her chest was significantly less. She had spent the past few days wrapped up in her own thoughts and trying to gain the trust of the other prisoners that she hadn't noticed how much it had increased. It felt like a weight had been lifted off; like the worst cold in the world had finally subsided.

She squinted through the darkness until she could make out his figure.

"Malfoy," she greeted, acting as if she wasn't happy to see him. Partly because anyone could be awake and listening, but also because she was still mad at him for what he'd done before her mission. She might be a war torn heroine, but she was still Hermione Granger. She could hold a grudge when need be.

"Check the other mudbloods, I hardly need their tainted ears listening in on what I'm about to do." How Draco could manage to make his voice sound both uncaring and hateful, she would never understand.

Hermione stood and tiptoed to the back of the cell, where the other slept in close quarters. Possibly for warmth, but Hermione knew it was more. Human contact at times this dire was sometimes the only light you could get.

"They're all asleep but you should cast a silencing charm all the same."

He did so wandlessly. "I really don't need you to tell me what to do. I'm aware of the intricacies of having a conversation with a war prisoner."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

She was leering through the bars, hands grasping onto them lightly. Malfoy was standing just as close, but his arms were loose at his side.