Day 1 - The Bad Beginning
Hermione was done. With. Draco.
"Malfoy, don't touch anything!" she snapped. "If you get us killed, I will haunt you." They were there on Ministry business, cataloging Dark artifacts of the highly dangerous variety.
The room was filled with artifacts that ranged from curious to flat-out dangerous. Shelves brimming with glowing objects, bubbling flasks, and peculiar clocks. It screamed 'Do Not Touch'—which naturally meant that Draco was about to touch everything.
"Could you be any more of a bloody buzzkill, Granger?" Draco drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. He swaggered towards a shimmering orb, throwing her a sidelong glance as if daring her to stop him.
"Merlin's saggy—MALFOY!" Too late. A flash, a twist, and poof!
They found themselves in a completely different place. It looked like an upscale magical apartment—elegant furniture, a crackling fireplace, an expansive bookshelf that lined an entire wall. Before either of them could react, a glowing note drifted down and floated in front of them:
---
Welcome to Temporal Chamber #7
Time Dilation Ratio: 1 minute outside = 1 year inside
Please Enjoy Your Stay
P.S. No, Really, You Have No Choice
---
The note pulsed faintly, the edges shimmering, as if the parchment itself was mocking them.
Hermione blinked, rereading the note twice to be absolutely certain she wasn't hallucinating.
"Malfoy, I am going to murder you."
Draco let out a shaky laugh. "Get in line, Granger."
Trapped. With Malfoy. She pinched her nose. "Why is it always you?"
Draco puffed out his chest indignantly. "It was an accident! Besides, who leaves something like that lying around? Honestly, it’s like they want people to touch it. Typical Ministry idiocy."
Hermione’s glare could have melted glass. "You touched a random artifact in the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy! What did you expect? That it’d serve us tea and biscuits? It’s their thing—being dangerous and unpredictable."
Draco rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama. "Oh, sure, blame me. I was trying to help, you know. It could've been a clue."
Hermione stared at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and barely restrained fury. "A clue? What are you, a character from The Quibbler? What part of 'mysterious glowing orb' screamed 'clue' to you?"
Draco opened his mouth to retort, then sighed and flopped onto the nearest sofa. "Alright, alright. Point taken." He looked around, his nose wrinkling. "This place is disgustingly cozy. Like the study of some old bat who writes poetry about kneazles."
Hermione ignored him, her focus on the note. She approached it, hoping for any hint that could help them escape. As she drew closer, the writing vanished, leaving behind a blank, floating piece of parchment.
"Brilliant," she muttered, her icy glare returning to Draco. "Five years. We’re stuck here for five years."
Draco sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Five years? What do you mean?"
Hermione crossed her arms, her tone dripping with exasperation. "The time dilation ratio, Malfoy. One minute outside is one year in here. If we don’t find a way out, we’ll be trapped for five years before anyone even knows we’re missing."
Draco’s face went ashen. "Five bloody years? With you? I must have really pissed off the universe."
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, the threat clear. "Believe me, Malfoy, the feeling is mutual."
A beat of silence. The weight of the situation sank in, the absurdity almost laughable. Five years. It was enough to make anyone lose hope. But Hermione Granger didn’t do despair. She took a deep breath, shoving the panic down.
"Alright," she said sharply. "First things first. We need to figure out where we are and how to get out. We can't just sit here for five years doing nothing."
Draco nodded, though he still looked like he might pass out. "Agreed," he managed, then, with a smirk: "But hey, at least I’ve got you here to boss me around."
Hermione shot him a glare so withering that it could have cut steel. "Really, Malfoy? That's what you've got?"
He shrugged, his smirk growing. "Could be worse. At least it's not Weasley."
Hermione snorted despite herself. "Only you, Malfoy, would consider Ron the worst possible company in a crisis."
Draco gave her a flamboyant bow from his seated position. "I do aim for the top, Granger."
Hermione shook her head, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips. "Alright, come on. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner I can stop planning your untimely demise."
Draco stood, stretching leisurely. "You say that like it’s not your favorite pastime."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. I have other hobbies." She glanced around, determination hardening her gaze. "Like escaping magical death traps."
Draco clapped his hands in mock enthusiasm. "Excellent. ‘Hermione’s assistant’—should I get a uniform? Perhaps something in silver and green? Got to keep on brand."
Hermione shot him a look of pure disbelief. "You are insufferable."
He grinned, entirely unfazed. "And yet, here we are. Five years, Granger."
Hermione turned away, hiding a small smile. Five years. It was absurd, impossible—but if nothing else, it wasn’t going to be boring.
"Alright, let’s get to work," she instructed. She paused, the weight of their predicament truly sinking in. Five years with Draco Malfoy. It was like volunteering for a dementor's kiss—agonizing and potentially soul-crushing. But she swallowed her pride. They had no choice. Surviving this meant cooperating with her least favorite Slytherin.
"Lead the way, Granger," Draco said, still smirking. "You’re the genius here."
"And you’re the one who got us into this mess," she muttered, moving towards the bookshelf.
Draco followed, the smirk glued to his face. "Yes, but I’m also the one keeping you entertained."
Hermione shot him another glare, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "We’ll see, Malfoy."
Draco sighed dramatically. "Five years of Granger, and not a single bloody butterbeer. The sacrifices I make for wizardkind."
Hermione shook her head, chuckling despite herself. "I suppose we’ll have to make do."
Draco winked. "And that, Granger, is exactly why this is going to be... interesting.