Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Somehow, that thought terrified her more.

"Well, well," Voldemort cooed quietly. "What do we have here?"

"My Lord," the Demon mask greeted. "I have brought you a gift."

"I can see that," Voldemort answered. "Did you acquire this gift on your latest mission?"

"Yes. I-"

"You let them get away!" a sharp voice bellowed, and the punishing grip left Hermione's neck. She lifted her head to see a Gold Mask marching towards them, blind fury evident in every stride he took. "You fucking idiot! You let them get away with the girls!"

"Careful Gold," the Demon mask sneered, voice calm but biting as he stood, irritated at being interrupted mid-sentence. "I suggest you choose your next words very carefully. We wouldn't want our Lord to think you've forgotten how to address your superiors, would we?"

"Superiors?! You're joking, aren't you?" The Gold stopped in front of the Demon, pointing his finger at that horrible, toothy mask. "The Order got away with the slaves because of you! You don't deserve the horns on your head you useless-"

The Gold's words were cut off in a grunt, followed by a sickening gargle. He took a shaky step back, and his hands flew to his stomach to delicately touch the silver dagger that was embedded to the hilt in his lower chest. Hermione guessed it was lodged between two ribs; the squelching sound she heard was probably his lungs filling with his blood. The Demon had just punctured the lung of another general, and Voldemort was smiling.

The Gold fell to his knees in front of Hermione, choking and grasping his chest. She instantly dragged herself backwards, jumping slightly when her shoulders connected with the Demon's calves.

Voldemort's menacing chuckle resonated through the cathedral walls, the chilling sound echoing, magnifying as the other cloaked figures joined in. A symphony of death if she'd ever heard it. An opera of inhumanity.

Hermione's heart hammered violently in her chest, but she forced herself to remain calm. If they killed their own so easily, so without remorse, what in Merlin's name were they going to do to her?

"You never were one for second warnings, were you?" Voldemort said, a small smile at the edges of his lips.

"No. I suppose I'm not," the Demon answered simply, his voice still altered by the charm.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she stared up at his mask, as if she might be able to see through the metal if she concentrated hard enough. Why did he sound so familiar?

"And that is why you are so valuable to me, and why you have earned your place by my side, over other, more pitiful generals." Voldemort tsk'd as his eyes flittered to the choking Gold on the floor. "Such a disappointment. Never mind, Rodolphus?"

"Yes, my Lord," one of the Gold Masks answered from across the cathedral. He stood from his pew and bowed his head to his master like a dog.

"Would you be so kind as to take your brother and heal his wounds, before he bleeds to death on my new rug?"

Both Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were Gold Masks, that was interesting. Arthur Weasley was correct, it was a shame Hermione wouldn't be able to tell him.

"Yes, of course, my Lord," Lestrange said as he made his way towards them. He gripped his bother harshly by the elbow, ignoring his yelp of pain as he dragged him to his feet and led him into a private room at the back of the Cathedral.

"And Rodolphus?" Voldemort called just before they closed the door.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Do remind him to respect his superiors. Next time, I will let him bleed to death if he speaks out of turn to a Demon. He needs to remember his place."

"Of course. I will ensure that the message has sunk in before I heal him." Rodolphus bowed his head a final time, then disappeared behind the door.

There was a sense of finality in the movement, and Hermione wondered if Voldemort even expected him to survive. Probably didn't. Probably already had fifty Black Masks eager to jump in their superiors' grave. They probably would have stabbed him too, given the chance. She didn't imagine there was much order amongst the lower ranks. They were probably always at each other's throats, willing to do anything to get promoted. Like dogs in a fighting pit, mauling each other for the chance of a shinier, more prestigious collar.

"Is it true what he said?" Voldemort asked, his eyes drifting over to his chief general again. "Did the girls getaway?"

"They did, my Lord," the Demon said, wiping the Gold's blood from his black robes. "But I acquired something much more valuable instead."

Hermione couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips when the Demon half-turned and gestured towards her. Or that her heart stopped for a moment when Voldemort's hollow, ghost-like eyes landed on her. His stare was intrusive, stifling, like he was cutting her open, filling through her layers of skin as if they held her secrets.

"Who is this?" Voldemort asked.

"Hermione Granger." The Demon snarled the words, as though saying her name left a foul taste in his mouth. "Potter's favourite mudblood."

Voldemort tilted his head to the side at the mention of Harry's name. He narrowed his eyes, and his grip on the elder wand tightened as he looked her over again, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Our intelligence officers tell me that despite her being a mudblood, she is very high ranking in The Order," the Demon went on. "It's probably the reason why they're losing so badly. Having one of their kind as their highest ranking general just shows their inferiority to you, my Lord. You should never trust a mudblood to do a wizard's job."

The cloaked figures sneered under their masks at the Demon's comments, all chuckling cruelly as they whispered amongst themselves.

Hermione raised her chin and squared her shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on Voldemort. She refused to be intimidated. Refused to allow them to think her weaker because of her blood. She was just as deadly as they were. If the Demon hadn't already taken her wand, she'd prove it. They could go to hell if they thought she wouldn't slit all their throats without a second's hesitation.

"When I saw her on the field," the Demon said, "all of our soldiers were neutralized, and two Order members had already commandeered the carriage and were making their escape." The Demon looked down at Hermione in a way that caused a shiver to run down her spine, like someone walking on her grave. "I knew I only had enough time to intercept one; prevent a few meaningless slaves from being freed, or capture one of the most vital members of The Order."