When the flames died, Hermione found herself in a very cold, shadowy circular room. The phoenix had not reappeared with her. Wherever she had been deposited, she was quite alone. She stood slowly, gingerly. Her knees were slightly weak and her thighs trembled against the cold air. There was low lying mist, at no more than ankle level. There were no windows, no roof that Hermione could discern. It might have been a prison.