When We Were Beasts

Before: Part Three

Hermione Granger found herself staring at Draco Malfoy.

"M-Malfoy?" She sputtered.

He gave her a mock bow. "I'd say it's good to see you again, Granger, but my mother told me never to lie." Hermione rolled her eyes, her sneer matching his.

He gave her a once over, eyes widening ever so slightly at the blood on her clothes and skin, though he stayed silent.

Unlike Seamus and Hannah, Malfoy did not look like he was starving to death or killing people. He looked...relaxed. Like she had interrupted his vacation.

It then occurred to her that maybe every room (or space of nature, in her current case) would hold a different student she'd have to fight to the death. Her blood turned to ice. The thought of killing more friends made her want to curl into a ball and scream.

"Are you going to kill me?" Hermione blurted out.
He blinked.
"Am I- oh. You've ran into someone else in the Backrooms, haven't you? I'm not the first person you're finding."

Now it was her turn to blink. "The what?"

Malfoy scoffed, but held the door open wider for her, walking into the room without sparing her a glance to see if she'd followed.

Of course, she did.

"The Backrooms." Malfoy said again, this time slower, louder. His tone made her teeth grind.

The door behind her clicked shut. Hermione looked around. It was exactly what she expected: a cozy, one room cabin, red brick for flooring and raw-cut logs along the walls and ceiling. A fire crackled in the wood stove, and there was two worn down chairs placed romantically close to each other. Draped over one chair was a green tie and Slytherin robe.
There was a heavy scent of pine in the air.
Everything about the place felt warm, voluminous. It called to Hermione to relax and nest down. She shivered.

Malfoy dropped himself into the chair that was without his school clothes, the most elegant flop Hermione had ever seen. Unfortunately, every move he made, he did with at least some level of elegance. It was in his blood to be aristocratic, and that meant poise. Precision.

The Malfoy's reminded her of swans. Everything they did was done with a slow, quiet, almost dainty grace that still commanded attention. You didn't hear about them because they were screaming at you- you heard about them because everyone else couldn't stop talking about them. There was not a moment that they did anything insignificant. Narcissa did not walk, she glided. Lucius did not look at a person, he graced them with his gaze. And Draco- Draco inherited it all. He was the epitome of cold charm and pale masculinity.

Hermione remained standing, but drifted toward the fire. She had grown cold without the sun beating down on her in the meadow or the adrenaline of fighting Hannah pumping up though her veins.
Everything felt cold. Her fingers, her clothes. Her soul. She was close to curling in on herself.
She tried not to think about what had just happened. About where she was.

Bury it. Bury it.

Malfoy's words brought her back to the present. "It was the Dark Lord's idea during our sixth year. When I figured out the Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts would transport people seamlessly from one place to the next, it...inspired him. To create a series of rooms that led to nowhere. Everywhere." Malfoy wiggled his fingers, his eyes far away. "He wanted to be able to play with his victims after the war. Punish those who defied him slowly. The Dark Lord wanted to make sure they wouldn't be able to run away." There was something dark in his eyes as he said it, like clouds had passed over him. He shook himself, and looked at Hermione with a sharp glare.

"I'm a lucky chap, to end up in a nice cabin with a warm fire and beautiful meadow. Most people aren't waking up in places like this, are they?"

Hermione saw the never ending hallway, smelled the thick, overwhelming stench of blood. She thought of Seamus and Hannah, waking up in a child's room with no food, no water, no wands, with only that diabolical phrase written on the wall.