Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Hermione took a deep breath and pictured the intruder in her mind. Pictured his magic as a physical being; a tangible force that she could grasp, and then flew her walls up so high they knocked him back. She envisioned pushing him from her memories, visualized him sailing through the air so punishingly fast, like he was free-falling, and out of her head.

Voldemort gasped as he was thrown out of her mind. He fell back, his nails curled around the armrest of his chair to steady himself. He pressed a hand to his chest, glaring at Hermione as he drew deep breaths through his nostrils. He looked infuriated, but intrigued.

Hermione was breathless. Pushing him out of her mind so violently had exhausted her but she was ready, should he try again. He wasn't getting in. She wasn't going to let him. Not a chance.

"My Lord," a Gold said. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Malfoy just stared at her. Eyes tight, jaw tighter. Emotionless.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed thoughtfully, still watching Hermione. "Remarkable," he whispered, the astonishment clear in his voice. "She tore me from her mind."

"That's ... that's not possible," the Gold said. His mask snapped in Hermione's direction and then back to Voldemort.

"Do you think me a liar, Yaxley?"

"N-no... no, of course not, my Lord."

"I don't think I've ever seen a Mudblood possess such talents." Voldemort straightened, and dusted off his robes. "I admit, I didn't think their kind was capable of such magic."

Hermione continued to glare at him. Her chest heaved from exhaustion, the dizzying pain in her temples was almost enough to make her collapse but she ignored it. She raised her chin high, and turned her lips upwards into a small smirk.

"You were right to capture this one," Voldemort said. "I can only imagine the secrets she must have. No one is trained that thoroughly at Occlumency if they don't have anything to hide."

"Shall I bring in the appraisers my Lord?" one of the Black Masks said, twirling a stay curl of hers between his fingers. Hermione jerked away from him. "I think this one will be worth a pretty penny. I know Barty Crouch Junior is in the market for a new slave. He adores his mudbloods."

The room erupted into dark cackles and whispers. Hermione suppressed a shudder.

Voldemort would undoubtedly want to search her memories routinely. He'd keep searching and searching, and he'd bide his time until she slipped, but he wouldn't care less where she was kept in the meantime.

Hermione knew what was likely to happen to her now. She'd saved enough girls on her missions throughout the years to know what happened when young witches were captured. She'd untied enough of them from beds, saw their bruised wrists and ankles- sometimes cut to the bone where they'd tried to free themselves. She'd seen enough blood-soaked sheets to know what was likely to be awaiting her.

Maybe she would be sold to Rodolphus. Or Yaxley? Maybe they would kill her quickly. She'd always had a theory that most Death Eaters had pain fetishes, that they liked to torture the poor girls while they raped them. Cut them, stab them, tear pieces of flesh from the bone while they had their way with the screaming witch beneath them. They were considered the lucky ones. They only ever lasted a night or two.

Yaxley removed his mask, and passed the other cloaked figures to kneel in front of Hermione. "If it would please you, my Lord. I would very much like to have this one. I would pay whatever my Lord sees fit." He cupped her chin, a gesture meant to be tentative and, gentle, maybe? It made her stomach lurch and her skin to pebble in the most sickening way.

The room fell into choked silence when Hermione spat in Yaxley's face. The Death Eater jumped back in shock; eyes blown wide as he furiously wiped the saliva from his face.

A pureblood, - one of Voldemort's most loyal followers - with a mudblood's spit across his face. She could only imagine the humiliation Yaxley must've felt. It almost made Hermione giddy.

"How dare you!" Yaxley leaned forward, and smacked her across the face with the back of his hand.

She swore she felt her cheekbone crack under the pressure. It hurt like hell; she tasted blood in her mouth, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Hermione could only imagine how deranged she must have looked; blood colouring her gums, head swaying from the dizzying pressure of the slap as she grinned at the Death Eater in front of her. Her possible captor, the man likely to be her future rapist.

A brave, hot-headed Gryffindor to the very end. She wondered if McGonagall would have been proud?

"No, this one isn't to be sold," Voldemort said. He studied Hermione for a moment, then turned to Malfoy. "You said this is Potter's favourite Mudblood, did you not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy said from beside him. A loyal dog on a leash if she ever saw one.

"And you are certain she is a vital member of The Order?"

"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy repeated. His expressionless face tightened a fraction. "I believe she would be most valuable to us. I've seen her on the field, and despite her inferior blood status, she's absolutely lethal. I'm sure Potter would do everything in his power to get her back."

"I thought so. Well, in that case, Draco, you will take her."

Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face. Her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"As you wish." Malfoy bowed his head, not a hint of humanity in his voice.

Oh God, no, Hermione thought. Not him. Anyone but him.

Fenrir's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "But my Lord, Malfoy has always detested our use of slaves! She would be wasted on him-"

"She will not be his plaything, McNair," Voldemort snapped, irritated. "Not if he doesn't wish her to be. Malfoy is the best Legilimens we have, and I have something special in mind for this one. If anyone can break her, it's him."

Panic washed over Hermione like ice water. This could not be happening.

If she was given to Malfoy, he would find out everything; the Order's base, the safe houses, the bunkers, Medusa! He would know everything! She wouldn't be able to keep him out, she knew that. Despite her countless hours of research on mind barriers and memory locks, despite the immeasurable hours she'd spent practicing, Malfoy's skill at Legilimency was legendary. There wasn't a slave alive he hadn't forced a confession from. Not a secret untold or a fruitless interrogation when he'd gotten his hands on an Order member. Voldemort was right, he was going to break her.

"Draco, give me your hand."

Malfoy obediently stepped forward. He pulled the leather glove from his hand and offered his palm to Voldemort, not flinching when his master sharply ran the tip of the elder wand over his palm and sliced a deep, jagged cut into his skin.

With a flick of Voldemort's wand, Malfoy's blood seeped from the wound and floated into the air. When it was gathered in a neat crimson ball, Voldemort cast another charm on it. The incantation slipped past his lips so quietly Hermione couldn't hear it. Malfoy's blood glowed and bubbled for a moment, then stilled.