When We Were Beasts

Lovely

This was Hermione's routine over the next twelve sleeps:
Wake up.
Check her wards, and add another if her anxiety was high that day.
Shower, brush her teeth and her hair, and change. (The room seemed to keep her clothes in pristine condition, though Hermione used a scourgify to be safe)
Make herself a cuppa, along with a traditional English breakfast. Most mornings, it stayed down.
Read until her eyes ached.
Stretch, do some simple exercises to keep herself in shape in case she was forced to leave.
Practice wandless magic to the point of exhaustion.
Shower again.
Make herself a simple lunch, and then read again.
Fall asleep either slumped by the fire place, or in bed surrounded by pages, leather, and ink.

She rarely ate dinner, mostly because her nightmares forced her to throw it up.

Despite her routine, despite the treasure she had found in this room, when she was asleep she rarely found rest.

Hermione was almost glad for it.
The nightmares reminded her that she wasn't safe, no matter how helpful and soothing this room was.

****

Hermione read over every book on illusions and enchantments, but none lined up with the BackRooms. None.
It seemed, according to the knowledge of the Wizarding World, that something like this shouldn't exist.
Hermione kept reading. There had to be an answer somewhere.

****

Hermione asked for a cauldron on day thirteen.

A cauldron, along with empty glass vials and basic magical plants, arrived on day fourteen.

****

On day sixteen, Hermione had made blood replenishing potion, Essence of Dittany, Sleepless Draught, and Draught of Peace.

Tomorrow, she would ask for more.
The room seemed almost eager to please her, gifting her with her favorite childhood meals and teas, her favorite clothes and soaps. She even woke up on day seven to find a cassette player and headphones beside her pillow, already loaded with her and her mother's favorite muggle songs.
She realized she could hide here forever, until this wretched game was over and Voldemort finally killed her.

****

Malfoy arrived on day seventeen.

****

It was what Hermione considered evening, according to her routine.

Her skin was flush from a fresh shower, her damp hair woven into a braided crown.
Hermione noticed a new bar of soap materialize on the lip of the tub as she finished tugging on her trainers.

Odd, Hermione thought.
Her soaps hadn't thinned out since she'd been here, and their scents stayed the same. Jasmine and ginger for her hair. Spearmint for her body.

Hermione picked up the fresh bar and sniffed.

Apples. Frost, almost like mint but slightly sharper. And a whiff of something too expensive to name-

Hermione threw the bar into the fireplace and slammed the bathroom door closed, her heart racing.

No. No.

Hermione raised her wand and wove more spells, raised up more wards.

No. No. No...

"Do not bring him here," Hermione begged to the room. To whoever controlled her fate in this place. "Don't make me leave this place, please."

On shaking limbs, Hermione lowered herself onto the loveseat and began her second reading session, letting herself get distracted in the pages.

No, no.