The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts

127. We Didn't Start The Fire

"What's happening?" Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

Ron had asked the same question so many times in the last few minutes that she was beginning to consider hexing him herself.

The fact that she was chained up in a dungeon with a psychopath gargoyle somewhere beyond the door and still found Ron more irritating said quite a lot.

The five of them were gathered around the large oak doors leading into the next chamber.

Waiting. Listening.

Trying to understand what was happening on the other side.

And failing miserably.

Ron was pacing now. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like an anxious lion trapped in a cage. His foot tapped constantly against the stone floor. His arms were folded. Then unfolded. Then folded again.

Every few seconds he craned his neck towards the door as though somehow that would allow him to see through several inches of solid oak.

Hermione, meanwhile, had her ear pressed firmly against the wood.

"What can you hear?" Harry asked quietly.

She held up a finger. Silence.

The others waited. The door felt cold beneath her cheek.

She strained harder.

Trying to pick out individual voices. Trying to separate words from echoes. Trying to make sense of the muffled sounds drifting through from the chamber beyond.

A voice. Low. Raspy. Unmistakable.

Euan.

Hermione felt her stomach tighten immediately. She doubted she would ever forget that voice. Not as long as she lived. Not after being chained up and tortured by him. Not after listening to him ramble for hours about soulmates, revenge and death.

Even muffled through a thick wooden door she recognised it instantly.

The second voice took a little longer.

Draco.

That surprised her.

More specifically—

It confused her.

Because Draco sounded calm. Steady. Focused.

Not panicked. Not distressed. Not in pain.

Which made absolutely no sense.

Hermione frowned.

A few minutes ago she had heard Sloane scream.

Not a startled scream. Not a frightened scream. A scream of genuine agony.

The kind that made your blood run cold. The kind that haunted you.

Then she'd heard Draco shouting. He'd sounded completely hysterical.

Terrified. Desperate.

Then...

Nothing.

And now they were talking. Almost normally. As though none of that had happened.

It didn't make sense.

"What—" Ron started again. Harry immediately smacked him on the back of the head. "Ow!"

"Shut up."

"I'm just asking!"

"You've asked eight times."

"It might've changed!"

"It hasn't."

"It could've!"