Hermione tries to follow the conversation, really, she does. But all of this bickering and the overwhelming sense of despair makes her groan softly, and she ends up resting her forehead against the bars as she tries to rein in both her temper and growing sense of panic.

It isn't until Saoirse speaks from the cell besides her that Hermione can take a deep breath, looking over at the elf and trying to pretend that the rest of the cells are occupied by creatures of logic. It works, for the most part.

"We're not stuck here," she affirms. "There's precious little that can be done that can't be undone. Not even death is always permanent." At that, she looks around at those that had apparently lived out five years in this horrid place. "Though I suppose the lot of us showing up here more or less proves that."

Straightening up a bit, she takes another breath; it helps her feel as though she has a bit more of a handle on things, even if that's not actually true. "We can worry about what to do when we get back to our proper time once we're actually there. Our most immediate concern is getting our bearings straight and finding a way to safety. All of us."

Looking to Saoirse again, she adds in a lower, almost coaxing voice, "You said you knew this place. That's a start. Having someone about with at least a vague understanding of the layout can only help."