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Five Days	By : RavieSnake Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7592 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters/concepts from it. I make no money from the writing/publishing of this story.

Chapter List
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Day One: Afternoon
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Hermione cracked an eye open at the sound of pained hissing to see Draco examining his injured arm again with a grimace.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, opening her eyes all the way. He shot her a scathing glare.
“No,” he spat sarcastically, “it feels wonderful.”
Hermione pursed her lips. “How bad is it?”
Draco didn’t answer and simply turned his face away from hers.
“How deep is it?” she tried again. Draco sighed and tilted his forearm to look at the gash.
“Deep,” was all he said before relaxing the arm and looking despondently upward.
“Is it still bleeding?” Hermione asked, trying to stretch her neck to look at the other side of his arm.
“No,” he answered curtly. “It barely bled at all actually. I don’t know that a whole lot of blood is getting to it at this high of an angle.”
“And it still hurts?”
Draco snapped an annoyed face to her. “Yes, Granger. My arm fucking hurts. It’s gouged all to hell and it’s full of dirt and it’d help if you stopped asking about it!”
Hermione furrowed her brow at the limb. “There’s dirt in it?”
Draco snorted irritably and shook his head as he tried to ignore her again.
“If there’s dirt in it it’s going to get infected,” she said.
“Brightest witch of our age,” Draco muttered mockingly, “knows that dirt in a wound causes infection. How utterly brilliant you are.”
Hermione glared at him. “I’m only trying to help.”
“And how precisely is that helping?” Draco barked back. “Do you have a way of cleaning it for me?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly, “I don’t.”
“Then there’s no reason to harp on the fact is there?”
Hermione turned her face away from him and frowned at the wall.
“Don’t know why you care, anyway,” she heard Draco grumble quietly. She glanced back at him to see him glowering at nothing.
“Why do you hate me?” she asked. Draco’s eyes shuttered closed.
“Currently…?” he said with a tone that clearly conveyed that he was losing patience, “because you won’t shut your trap. Can’t you just let a man die in peace?”
“I doubt there’ll be anything peaceful about the way we die in here,” Hermione sighed. Draco opened his eyes and arched an eyebrow at her.
“No resilient and foolish Gryffindor notion of hope for our rescue?”
Hermione shook her head sadly and gazed longingly back up toward the light. “Nothing short of a miracle will save us from this.”
Draco watched her for a minute before asking, “So…how…how long do you figure we have, then?”
“We might be okay for a bit since we can at least move our legs around. If we couldn’t we’d faint within the hour from our blood pooling in our feet and then die from hypoxia,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“Cheerful,” Draco hummed sardonically.
“Yeah…make sure you move your legs vigorously every ten minutes or so…or if you begin to feel faint.”
“And assuming we don’t get too exhausted to keep doing that…how long will we have?” Draco asked.
“Well,” she replied, “given that we don’t have any acute trauma… I’d say we have a week at most. But we’ll be delirious from dehydration well before then.”
Draco frowned. “How wonderful.”
Hermione lolled her head toward him and gave him a look. “Oh, yes. First there’ll be headaches and then muscle cramps. Then our vision will go blurry and confusion will set in…That’s if we don’t suffer hypothermia or slowly suffocate from not being able to take in full breaths with the way we’re smashed in here together. And if all that’s not enough…it’s likely you’ll succumb to sepsis from that,” she added with a nod to his arm.
Draco stared at her. “A know-it-all swot to the end,” he said.
“You asked,” she shrugged.
“I asked how long we had,” he said rolling his eyes, “not for the unpleasant particulars on how we’re actually going to die.”
Hermione simply shrugged again and shut her eyes as she rested her head back. Draco scowled at her.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.
“Hmm?” she hummed in inquiry, eyes still closed.
Draco shook his head at her slightly. “You can spout off how we’re going to meet a horrific end and then just shrug it off like it’s nothing? You’re just fine with the fact that we’ll both be dead in less than a week?”
“This isn’t exactly my first time,” she answered idly.
“What?” Draco asked impatiently.
“Death,” Hermione said, finally looking at him, “I’ve faced it so many times already…I suppose I’m conditioned at this point to just accept it.”
“So you don’t care that we’re going to die?”
“Of course I care,” she frowned at him. “I’d really prefer not to die just yet…but I’m not going to get all bothered over the fact that it’s an inevitability.”
Draco merely shook his head again. “Unbelievable,” he said as he turned his attention back to his arm and flexed his fist several times with a cringe. Hermione watched him do so and furrowed her brow at his expression and then at his Dark Mark.
“So…why?”
“Why what?” he asked, eyes still on his hand.
“Why do you hate me?”
Draco groaned. “You’re not going to stop are you?”
“Probably not,” Hermione smiled. He made a longsuffering huff and then gave her an obvious once over of what he could see.
“Okay, then…The reasons I hate you,” he started conversationally. “Well, for starters, your attitude.”
“My attitude?”
Draco nodded. “Yeah…you’re bossy and pushy and generally unpleasant. You grate on the nerves, Granger. I’m sure I’m not the first to say so either.”
Hermione simply ticked an eyebrow up at him and he narrowed his eyes back.
“Reason two,” he said, glaring up at her hair, “that fucking rat’s nest.”
“What is so bad about my hair?” she asked lightly, apparently undisturbed by his commentary.
Draco scoffed a laugh. “You’re joking, right? Do you even own a brush? You know…you needn’t worry about me dying from any infection or my legs filling with blood because I fully expect to suffocate on those ratty locks in my sleep…assuming of course we’re able to fall asleep in this godforsaken pit.”
Hermione exhaled a tired breath but otherwise still didn’t react other than to ask, “Anything else?”
Draco shrugged, looking back at the wall. “Your name is kind of annoying.”
“My name is annoying?”
“It’s difficult to pronounce and sounds like some sort of intestinal disorder,” he said.
Hermione laughed and he looked sideways at her. “I’m glad you find this topic amusing,” he said wryly.
She grinned at him. “I’ve never gotten that one before,” she said. “Over the years I’ve heard various complaints about my name but ‘intestinal disorder’ is definitely a first.”
Draco merely rolled his eyes and went back to staring at his wound.
There was another stretch of silence until Hermione said quietly, “I’m surprised.”
“By?” Draco asked without looking at her.
“The fact that my blood status was not on the list of things you hate me for.”
Draco’s brows knitted together as he glared at his arm. “No…it’s not.”
Hermione tilted her head at him. “So you called me a Mudblood earlier just for grins?”
“I was upset,” he said defensively. “If I recall I also called you a bitch and an insufferable bint…people tend to say nasty things when they’re upset.”
“So you aren’t a blood purist anymore?”
Draco took several deep breaths before he answered a short, “No.”
“So…you really don’t think of me as a filthy Mu-”
“What the fuck do you want from me!?” Draco snapped angrily, whipping his face back to her. “What do you want me to fucking say? No. No, I don’t think of you as a goddamn Muggle. I don’t look at you and automatically think ‘Mudblood’. No. No, I fucking don’t. Alright? Are we done then? Will you kindly shut the fuck up now?”
Hermione blinked at him and, at an apparent loss for what to say, simply answered with a light nod.
“Good,” Draco said, settling his head into the groove of the stone wall and closing his eyes.
Hermione stared at him for a few minutes and then followed his lead to rest her eyes. They remained in undisturbed silence for a full hour, the occasional shifting of their legs their only movement, until Hermione finally raised her head and looked down to where they were pressed together.
She tentatively tried to shift her torso to her left and then stopped when Draco made a low, annoyed rumble in his throat. She glared back at him briefly before leaning her head as far over as she could to try and peer further down at their legs as she tried to brace herself with a foot on a ledge. She carefully tried to pull her right arm and then sighed loudly in defeat when it didn’t budge.
“What is it?” Draco suddenly growled.
“Nothing,” Hermione answered, her head still craned to the side.
Draco huffed and opened his eyes to cast her a withering look. “There’s obviously something. Be out with it.”
Hermione relaxed her head back and gave him an apologetic grimace. “I can’t hold my hand back any longer.”
Draco furrowed his brow. “What?”
“My hand,” she repeated, “it’s starting to cramp from holding onto my shorts. I was trying to see if I could move it.”
“Why not just let go of your shorts?” he suggested and Hermione sighed again.
“Because…if I do then it’ll touch you,” she said, letting the hand down to demonstrate how it would rest back against his crotch. Draco flinched at the touch and Hermione moved her hand away again. “See?” she said quietly.
Draco closed his eyes again and gave a resigned sigh as he shook his head against the stone. “Just…just put it there,” he said. Hermione carefully relaxed her wrist and hand to rest against him once more.
“Sorry,” she said.
He shrugged. “Your hand is the least of my worries at the moment.”
“Meaning?” Hermione creased her brow slightly.
“Besides the fact that we’re stuck in the ground?” he said lamentably. “I need a piss.”
Hermione relaxed her face. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Do…do you want me to help you to go?”
Draco looked at her with wide eyes. “Please tell me I didn’t just hear you suggest what I think you did.”
“What?” she frowned at him, “We can’t exactly just use a toilet down here, now can we?”
“You will keep your hand on the outside of my trousers,” he cautioned her.
Hermione shrugged. “Fine…if you want to wet yourself and be even more uncomfortable…”
“I’ll just hold it,” Draco grumbled, looking away from her. She rolled her eyes and then scrunched up her face in concentration as she moved her hand away from him again to pull at the leg of her shorts.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked as he watched her apparently struggle to grasp at herself.
“You,” Hermione grunted slightly as she strained to maneuver her hand, “may not mind being wet and smelly, but I do.”
The blood drained from Draco’s face. “What are you doing?” he repeated in alarm.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she snapped back at him as she tugged the leg of her shorts and the edge of her knickers to one side.
“You are so not taking a piss right now,” he said indignantly.
“You’ll want to move your feet,” was all she said in response, bowing her head. Draco hastily held his feet as far to the sides as he could manage as she indeed proceeded to relieve herself.
“Much better,” she sighed, relaxing her hand a moment later and shimmying slightly to readjust her shorts.
“I cannot believe you just did that,” Draco said with a disgusted pout. Hermione leveled her gaze at him.
“The coming days are going to be hellish, Malfoy,” she said, sadness tinging her otherwise serious voice, “and I don’t intend to cause myself any amount of additional suffering just because you don’t want to acknowledge the fact that we will have to urinate...while we still have extra water to expel that is.”
Draco blinked at her and then scowled. “You better not take a shit in here.”
Hermione gave a tired laugh. “We probably won’t have to worry about that.” He rose an inquiring brow and she elaborated. “The human body tends to shut down the digestive tract in times of extreme stress as an evolutionary survival tactic. We’ll likely both be constipated until we die.”
Draco seemed to relax a tad at that news. “Thank Merlin for small favors,” he muttered. They hung there in silence again until he cocked his head at her. “How is it that you know all of this stuff, anyway?”
“I’ve read a lot of books,” she shrugged, letting her eyes travel sadly around at the barren, rocky walls.
“Of course you have,” Draco said, a small teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me something else I’m not likely to know.”
Hermione looked back at him and quirked an eyebrow at his sudden change in mood. “What?”
“Tell me something interesting.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously and Draco rolled his eyes.
“I’m bloody bored, that’s why. So, unless you have a better idea of how to pass our time, make with the trivia.”
Hermione frowned at him for a moment but then squinted her eyes and looked up in thought. “Alright,” she said, turning a smug look to him, “Did you know that ferrets can only see in shades of red and blue?”
Draco narrowed his eyes at her.
“And that albino ferrets are cross-eyed?” she added.
“You are such a bitch,” he said. Hermione simply grinned.
“Female ferrets will die if they don’t have enough sex,” she went on. Draco looked surprised at that in spite of himself.
“Really?” he asked curiously. Hermione nodded and he leaned his head back and looked at her thoughtfully. “What else do you know about ferrets?”
“Ferrets will dance both when threatened and when happy,” she said, “and they’re in the same family as weasels and otters.”
Draco’s brow furrowed slightly at that last tid bit. “Otters, really?”
Hermione nodded again, then rested her head back carefully. “Two very different animals…that are in many ways the same.”
Draco eyed her for a moment and then said, “Tell me about otters.”
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Five Days