Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

"I can only imagine the secrets she must know," Voldemort said, nodding his head in approval. "And she will make an exceptional bargaining chip. The perfect damsel in distress to lure Potter out of hiding. You made the right choice, as usual. Consider your duties completed for the day. Remove your mask, you deserve a drink."

A slave was brought forward; a small girl dressed in threadbare robes and a metal collar and chain clasped around her neck. Not that it was needed. The girl was undoubtedly a muggle, or a muggleborn dosed high with Anti-Magic potions. She wasn't a threat; the collar and chain were purely symbolic. A tool to demonstrate her place amongst the purebloods. To show her secondary status. How truly fucking sickening.

As the shivering girl stepped forward, the silver platter she held shook in her hands. She offered a flute of bubbling champagne to Voldemort, then to the Demon. Her captor snatched a glass with one hand, the other reached for the back of his head. Hermione watched his gloved fingers elegantly slip off the hood of his robes to reveal startling white-blonde hair.

Her breath caught in her throat when he removed the metal from his face, and she locked onto those familiar, cruel grey eyes. The eyes of her childhood bully. The vile, unfeeling traitor who'd watched her writhe and scream on his parlour floor years ago while his own aunt tortured her. His eyes didn't burn the way they used to though. Didn't flicker with resentment. Didn't glisten the way they had when he'd turned away from her that day, when she'd lay screaming, begging for his help. They were cold now.

Draco Lucius Malfoy. He was still alive. Still as loyal to Voldemort as ever. Still a Death Eater.

No, he was so much more than that now. He was a Demon Mask. She realized she couldn't think of a more suitable title for him. He really was a soulless demon; a monster. He'd killed his cousin hours ago. He'd ripped her into two pieces, and now he was sipping champagne with the evilest wizard of all time with a smug smile on his face.

Although she suspected they'd crossed paths in various war zones over the years, Hermione hadn't seen his face since the battle of Hogwarts, and he'd changed considerably since then. His shoulders were broader now and his arms were wrapped in thick muscle, but he was still slender. Build still fit for a seeker. His skin looked like marble, cold, perfect, not a blemish in sight. His features were even sharper, rivalling the most beautiful renaissance paintings she'd ever seen. His high cheekbones were more prominent, jawline more angled. He looked elegant, graceful, and absolutely fucking lethal.

"You!" Hermione hissed, unable to keep silent as rage twisted through her in a way it never had before.

Malfoy's eyes snapped to hers. An amused smirk decorated his sharp features as he looked at her.

"You fucking monster! How could you?!"

Malfoy cocked his head to the side, amused. "Care to elaborate, mudblood?"

"You killed Tonks!"

"And?"

"And?" Hermione blinked furiously. The room full of murderers ready to decapitate her on a second's notice forgotten through her indescribable anger. "She was your cousin! She was a mother!"

"She was a filthy blood traitor," he snapped, smiling as he sipped his champagne. "She's no family of mine."

"Don't you feel the slightest bit of remorse?! Where's your humanity?"

Malfoy scoffed. His eyes darkened as he took a step towards her. The movement was slow, fluid, predatory. "My only regret is that it was quick. I wish I could have made it last, made her suffer and realize what a fucking colossal mistake she'd made in choosing the wrong side before the light left her eyes."

"You're a monster."

Malfoy grabbed her chin, his smile turning positively menacing as he tiled her head back to look at him. "I believe the term you're looking for is Demon." He pushed her back with one sharp shove.

Hermione fell onto her back, dark chuckles echoing around the cathedral when she got caught in her chains and couldn't get up. Malfoy drained the last of his champagne, then took his place beside Voldemort.

"Well, as much as I do love to be entertained by a fiery little Mudblood, there really is no time like the present, is there?" Voldemort said as both his and Malfoy's eyes turned back to her. "Let's see what Order secrets she has, shall we?"

With the sharp snap of his fingers, two Black Masks were at Hermione's flank. They pulled her to kneel once more; one gripped her shoulders while the other curled his fingers under her chin and the top of her head, preventing her from turning away.

Voldemort rose from his chair rather elegantly. He placed his empty flute back on the tray, his robes swaying around him as he stalked toward Hermione.

Hermione tried to twist away, but the grip on her face was too tight. She couldn't move. Couldn't do anything. She prided herself on being brave. The thought of begging made her feel sick, but if the Order's secrets were on the line - if their very survival depended on it - she had to try. Had to know that she'd given it all her all; tried everything and left no stone unturned.

Her eyes locked onto Malfoy's, and she made one last attempt to plead with him. "Please! Malfoy, please don't let him do this!"

He couldn't have changed that much, could he? They'd gone to school together; they'd grown up together. Surely there was still some humanity left in him? Some small shred of human decency that inclined him to see that this was wrong, that he shouldn't let Voldemort look through her memories? Shouldn't there?

"Please!"

But she found nothing there. He just stared blankly back at her; no light in his eyes or flicker of regard for her screams. His eyes were like stone. Dead.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Hermione spat as she tried to pull away from the elder wand. The fingers on her face dug more forcefully into her skin, bruising as they held her in place.

"Shhhhhhhhh, this will only take a moment." Voldemort pressed the wooden tool between her temples, and then barged into her mind.

His magic hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt! It was excruciating, feeling the spell sweep across her brain like tentacles from a squid. She could feel it poking and prodding, squeezing across her skull. She fought the urge to vomit. Choked back her screams of agony and willed herself to be silent. Each intrusion felt like being flayed open with an axe. A throbbing, piercing pain emitted from deep within her temples with each push of Voldemort's magic.

But Hermione had trained for this.

She knew there might be a time she would be captured. Knew with every fibre in her body that if she were, the Death Eaters would want to search her memories. She had far too much valuable information; knew countless secrets, battle strategies, secret bases, and carefully thought-out tactics. Her mind was simply too valuable a tool for Voldemort not to invade and use against The Order. So naturally, she'd planned for this exact possibility.