Day Two
Draco rubbed at his temples, head tipped back to rest against the wall. Hermione paced incessantly and Draco swore that it was making his pounding headache worse, just watching her ricochet the same twelve paces back and forth. She seemed to have no intention of slowing her pace or sitting down any time soon.
“So, let me make sure I have this straight.” She extended a hand in his direction but didn’t look at him, just continued pacing.
“There are twenty-eight relatively identical caves located all over Europe; safe houses for the original pureblood arseholes,” Draco scoffed at the comment but didn’t interrupt. She was a waste of a breath.
“And we are trapped in one of them, and there is no way for us to figure out which one we are in, where it is, or how to get out of it.” It sounded crazy even to Hermione, and she was the one who said it.
“10 points to Gryffindor,” Draco drawled, “But you’re not entirely right. We might be able to figure out which of the caves we are in, and that would tell us at least where we are geographically, if not more. I haven’t the faintest idea of how we are supposed to find out which cave this might be, but there are small differences between them." Hermione felt like she was listening to a lecture, and she considered that this was probably a lecture he had received at some point from some pompous pureblood tutor.
"For instance, I can guarantee we aren’t in the Parkinson cave. I fucked Pansy in hers during fifth year and the shape was different. Longer.” Hermione nearly choked.
“So you’re telling me that you’ve been in one of these before? What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you say something right away?”
“I’ve hit my head Granger, have you as well? My first thought when waking up in the dark in an unfamiliar room is not to ponder the property rights. I was more concerned with the blood in my hair and the projectile vomiting. Regardless, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” He spat, looking absolutely perturbed. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I say we start with the books.” Hermione suggested.
“Of course you would,” drawled Draco, “Even ambiguous imprisonment can’t keep Hermione Granger from cracking open a good book.”
“Shut it, Malfoy. What are you planning on doing?” She spoke over the top of the stack of tomes she was relocating to the center of the room, so she could make the most of the skylight.
“Not that I need to report back to you or anything,” Draco grumbled, “I was going to see if there are any other tactile magical triggers.” Hermione ignored the nervous sensation that overcame her again at the mention of their magic discrepancy. She was not a fan of the implications, even without which, she was without magic. She was weak. She did not like to be unable to defend herself.
Hermione began trying, with great difficulty, to read the first of the leather tomes while Draco started trying to uncover… anything? It rubbed Hermione the wrong way that of course it would be Draco Malfoy in this cave with her and of course he would have some massive, glaring, upper-fucking-hand. She huffed again as she re-read her page, which seemed to be part of some archaic fable about dead things and faeries.
A few hours later, or at least Hermione thought it had been a few hours, Draco sauntered back to the center of the cave and extended both arms in a gesture of presentation. He had an impressive wingspan, accentuated by the long, slim fitting black jumper he wore.
“The oldest, richest, Pureblood families wouldn’t simply leave one without provisions.” He flicked an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder in a show of indifference. Hermione did not require the reminder that he was an utter arse, but he seemed keen on giving her regular refreshments on the subject.
She took stock of what he had uncovered. Sitting under the skylight in the center of the cave, Hermione faced one of the long, blank walls, which was no longer blank. She turned back over her shoulder, to find that the wall behind her was still only a face of solid earth. The space in front of her, however, contained not only the water basin and shelves of sturdy china: additionally there was a small kitchen table, two chairs, a lidded bucket she felt warily confident was charmed to function like a toilet, and a fair sized metal washtub. To her left, there were two wrought iron twin sized beds with crisp white linens. Behind them, she could hardly stop herself from running up to touch it,
“A Vanishing Cabinet?” She asked, in equal measures with confusion and awe.
“That it is, Granger. Are you keeping score of your house points or shall I?” She threw an icy scowl over her shoulder at him. Turning back to the cabinet, she knelt down to get a better look. It was nothing like the set she knew Malfoy had repaired their sixth year. For one, there was only one. It was also about the size of a bread box, built into the stone so that it was only the door that protruded. It was how she had recognized it so quickly. The construction was identical to the pair of cabinets, ashy black wood coming to a sharp point that opened to reveal what was currently an empty spot in the wall.
Between the two of them, they had an above-average knowledge regarding Vanishing Cabinets. Hermione was well aware of Draco’s involvement in the events that transpired during sixth year, just as he was aware that his present company was a hideously annoying knower-of-all-things. It was for this reason that neither of them suggested crawling into the damn things and getting the hell out of there. Best case scenario, the cabinet had a twin and they would emerge safely from it, albeit possibly into Voldemort’s custody. Worst case scenario, they were terribly disfigured or just never turned up again. Poof.
Next order of business. Hermione wrapped her hands around the metal frame of one of the twin sized beds, dragging it in a notably inelegant manner to the other side of the cave. The bed was heavier than she had anticipated, awkward to maneuver, and screeched a horrible sound at being dragged across the stone.
“What in Merlin's name are you doing.” Draco was already feeling exhausted by Granger’s tendency to be an absolute busy body, and now simply did not feel like the time to be rearranging the furniture. She turned only after she had set the bed back onto all four of its legs with a decided thunk.
“I’m not sleeping next to you on a cot like we’re at bloody sleep-away camp. I figured you wouldn’t have any objection to this, either.” She sounded so swotty when she said it, not that this was a new way of sounding for Granger, it made Draco want to knock her down a few pegs, on principle. He in fact did not have any objection to her moving the bed, he was rather pleased that he would not have to take the unrefined stance required to do such a thing himself.
“I wanted that bed.” Draco said pointedly, crossing his arms and nodding at the bed she stood next to, identical in every way to the one he stood behind. Hermione used the headboard as a crutch as she paused to catch her breath.
“Your inbreeding is showing, Malfoy. You’re acting so thick I can no longer blame it on your twisted upbringing. Do you have an extra toe anywhere? I’d be happy to amputate it for you.” She deadpanned without even a flicker of something to suggest that she wanted to look away. She had learned to dish it out since he had last seen her at Hogwarts, Draco thought. Five years was a long time.
“I wouldn’t dream of letting you do anything to stroke your hero complex, it already takes up most of the space down here. Having eleven toes is in every way preferable, thank you.” Hermione laughed, a bit humorlessly, but she shook her head at him while he smirked back at her, albeit cooly.
“Which bed do you want, you prat.” Hermione was no less appalled by his behavior, but she figured that getting legitimately angry over something so trivial was a waste of her energy. At least, this trivial thing was a waste. Hermione knew when to pick her battles. Draco huffed.
“I suppose this one will do just fine. There’s better light on this side anyway.” Hermione laughed again. If she ignored how much of an arse he was, Draco was actually quite funny. Unfortunately, he was much more of an arse than he was funny. She smoothed out the blankets and made sure it sat straight against the wall before going back to the pile of books and picking up the one on top. She plopped down cross-legged on her cot, leaning back against the cold stone wall. She shivered.
Hermione looked over at her clothes longingly, which sat unchanged in a heap in the corner, still reeking of vomit. If she were correct, they would be clean and folded neatly by morning. She really hoped she was correct. Lucky for her, she usually was.
There was old, deep magic in this cave, Hermione was sure of it. Not just because of everything Draco had told her, not just that, she could feel it. She wasn’t sure if the mechanisms would be triggered by the solar cycles or their own sleep and wake cycles, but something would undoubtedly initiate the cave to “reset” itself. If the cave was equipped to keep the inhabitants alive, it would be far more efficient to reset things than to replace them, which would eventually lead to some sort of excess.
If she thought enough about how the cave worked, she wouldn’t have enough space left to think about the fact that she was the one trapped there. Hermione decided to focus on how fascinated she was by such an interesting piece of magic, because the alternative was just too much. She was trapped underground without cause o explanation, and with only Draco Malfoy for company. No, she could absolutely not even consider thinking about any of that.
Hermione pulled the blanket from the end of the bed up over her before opening one of the books at random. When she turned the first page, a light flipped on from above her. Hermione looked up, lips quirked in a smile when she realized that a jar of light protruded on a stone bracket above her head. She might not have her magic, but the cave didn’t need her magic. It had its own. Whoever had sent her there was her enemy. But maybe the place itself wasn’t.
She was not sure what she had expected, but was definitely surprised after reading a dozen pages worth of a deeply personal diary entry, entirely different from the fable she had started earlier. The author, a Parkinson from several hundred years ago, was absolutely barking mad. That was the only thing that Hermione felt sure of. As she kept reading, the entries faded in and out of coherency, something in between fact and fiction that Hermione felt determined to decipher. It’s not like she had anything better to do. She was just about to start the next entry when something flew at her and bounced against her forehead.
When she looked up, Hermione saw Draco’s smug face in the dim light. She must have been reading the diary for some time, the setting sun just sinking past the brim of the skylight. She had barely made a dent in the diary, but the incoherent musings of someone who had genetic responsibility in the rise of the great Pansy Parkinson were not very easy to follow. Hermione would have had an easier time deciphering a tome of ancient runes, and she actually would have enjoyed doing it. She looked down to see what he had thrown at her, finding a page torn from one of the other volumes.
“DRACO MALFOY!” Hermione screeched. “Don’t destroy the gods damned books!” She shook her head and huffed as she smoothed out the wrinkled page, stuffing it neatly into the Parkinson diary like a bookmark, hoping that it would smooth out the damaged page. Hermione crossed her arms and slumped back against the wall before staring daggers at Draco.
“What.” She clipped, feeling very suddenly aware that she was trapped underground with Draco Malfoy. Fuck.
“It’s getting late. Turn out the damn light.”
“No.”
“Is that what you’ve been up to all these years? Refining your natural tendency to be the most insufferable bitch in the room? Touché, Granger. You’ve done an outstanding job.” Draco chuckled. Hermione’s jaw hinged open in surprise and she tried to cover the reaction by rolling it back in and scoffing.
“And you have managed to become even more of a sniveling prat than you were at eleven. That is one hell of an accomplishment, Malfoy.” Hermione chuckled and shook her head. A small part of her, after the shock of realizing it was him, had hope that he had changed. Even just a little.
“I’m not known to disappoint, Granger. Turn out the damn light.”
“I’ll turn off the damn light when I damn well feel like it.” Hermione huffed.
Draco Malfoy believed himself the most important person to walk into any room he had ever entered, and people usually treated him like he was. Unfortunately for him, this was not a room. This was a cave.