Can't run from time

The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind him, Hermione exhaled sharply. She had exactly one chance.

Voldemort had left on business—whatever that meant for the Dark Lord—but she knew better than to believe she had the luxury of time. His paranoia was unmatched. He wouldn't be gone for long.

The room was dimly lit by enchanted candles floating near the ceiling, their flames barely flickering, casting long, ghostly shadows across the walls. The silken sheets were twisted around her legs. She muttered wandless spells, attempting to free herself. After a small struggle she sat up and swung her legs over the bed.

Her first step onto the cold wooden floor sent a shiver racing up her spine. Her wand was gone—of course, he wouldn't be foolish enough to leave it with her. But she still had her mind. And right now, her mind was screaming at her to move.

She padded barefoot across the floor, moving toward the door. Locked.

Of course.

Pressing her ear against the heavy wood, she listened. Silence. Her fingers trailed down the handle. No way to pick it—no magic to force it open. But there had to be another way out. The windows. Turning on her heel, she moved to the tall, narrow windows on the far side of the room. She remembered it was shattered from her jump 50 years ago.. well 4 days ago..

But as she approached her heart sank.

Steel bars.

You bastard she cursed under her breath. Voldemort had quite literally caged her.

She stepped back, swallowing down her panic. No. She couldn't lose it now. There had to be some way—

Her eyes flickered toward the fireplace. The Floo network. Bolting across the room, she sank to her knees in front of the hearth, fingers scraping against the cold stone as she searched desperately for Floo powder. There was always some left behind—ash, residue, something..

Nothing. She slammed her fist against the ground, biting back a curse. This house had been clearly abandoned since she left. And the only ways out were blocked. He'd thought of everything.

Hermione sat back on her heels, breath shallow, thoughts racing. She couldn't just wait for him to return. She had to think. The very idea of what he intended to do with her made her feel sick to the stomach. Right hermione come on think. I need to-

A creak.

Her head snapped up. The sound had come from outside the door.Footsteps. Her pulse skyrocketed. Not Voldemort—he wouldn't be back so soon. Someone else. A Death Eater? A servant? An opportunity? She shot up, darting back to the bed and slipping beneath the covers just as the lock clicked. The door swung open. A shadowed figure stepped inside. Hermione stilled, keeping her breathing even, feigning sleep.

The figure hesitated.

Then— A soft clink as something was placed on the bedside table. A drink? Food? A weapon of some kind..?

A moment passed.

Then the door shut again.

The lock clicked back into place.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She waited, listening. Silence. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head toward the table. A small silver tray sat there, a goblet filled with dark liquid perched atop it, along with a small piece of bread.Her stomach twisted. Voldemort never would have wanted her to be fed.He wanted her dependent. Weak.

Which meant whoever had come in wasn't under strict orders. They had clearly broken the rules.
Swallowing hard, Hermione forced herself to sit up, mind racing.

Whoever that was—she needed them. Needed to get them alone. Needed a way out. Because time was running out. And when Voldemort returned, she knew— There would be no more chances.