Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Voldemort took a step toward Hermione. "Cut the mudblood's neck."

Hermione gasped as she felt the cool edge of a blade press against her overheated skin. She squeezed her eyes shut-

"Not her throat, you idiot," Voldemort hissed. "Have you not heard a single word I've said? She has valuable information on the enemy, I do not want her dead. Yet."

The blade against her throat pulled away. Hermione opened her eyes and released a ragged breath. Voldemort looked incandescent, murder glowing in his eyes.

"I... I don't understand, my Lord," the Black Mask, the one with the blade, fumbled.

"Cut her neck at the back, near the top of her spine," Voldemort ordered. "I've cast a charm on Draco's blood. If he is to be her captor, we want to make sure she cannot escape."

Hermione squirmed as the Black Mask pushed her to the floor and crushed her face to the blood-soaked rug. The other pinned her shoulders down, trapping her.

"You see my friends," Voldemort said as he stood over her. "This blood ritual will tie the mudblood's life to Draco's. It will link them."

Her hair was brushed up from the base of her neck, exposing her skin.

"It will tie their lives together."

A cool blade pressed against her, at the junction where the base of her skull met the top of her spine.

"Whilst our Demon will be unaffected by this ritual."

A deep slice was lashed across Hermione's skin. She hissed and ground her teeth together to keep from screaming.

"The mudblood's life will be linked to his. If he dies, she dies."

Her own blood seeped from the wound and trickled down her neck. It pooled around her, coating her chin and face as she fought to get up. To move. To do anything to stop this from happening.

But, as before, the grip on her shoulders and head was too tight, too secure. She was helpless. And she fucking hated it.

"The only way Malfoy would let her escape the Manor would be if she killed him," Voldemort said. "This ritual prevents her from doing so. It also prevents her precious order members from killing him, should they attempt to rescue her."

A scream tore its way up Hermione's throat when the boiling, magically charmed blood, Malfoy's blood, seeped into her system. She thrashed and screeched on the floor as she felt it spread through her body, searing like acid. It travelled down her spine, using her muscles and tendons to carry it to the very tips of her toes. The cursed blood metastasized itself to every possible fibre of her being like cancer. She felt it everywhere, felt him everywhere.

"You are now bound together. Tied forever by blood," Voldemort whispered, his voice dripping in venom. "Till death, do you part."

12th December

Hermione didn't expect Malfoy to be gentle when he Apparated them, but she didn't think he'd be that rough.

She almost vomited when they reappeared in front of his Manor. His magic was so violent it left her feeling unsteady and an excruciating pain throbbing between her brows. She suspected he'd done it on purpose; a cruel tactic to keep her vulnerable. She was much easier to transport if she was disoriented.

She could hardly stand up, much less fight.

She felt ridiculously weak; her veins were liquid fire from whatever dark magic Voldemort had metastasized her with when he'd linked her life to Malfoy's. Her blood burned. Each thump of her heart brought a fresh wave of impossible heat. It felt like acid was pumping through her body. Boiling. Sharp. In a way, she welcomed the discomfort.

A small part of her felt like she deserved it. Why should she walk away somewhat unscathed, when five of her teammates were dead, disintegrated to ashes on a burning field? She'd failed them. She deserved some form of retribution.

Freezing December rain pelted down on top of them; Hermione felt it cleaning the dried blood in her hair. It was quite calming, to feel the crimson drop from her chin. Seeing the crimson puddle on the floor brought a strange sense of clarity with it. Like washing away the vile reminder of her failure.

She tried to breathe in the scent of the rain, breathe it in and forget where she was and think rationally -

But Voldemort's words rang in her head. Unforgettable. Fear mongering.

"If he dies, she dies."

"Till death do you part."

Hermione suppressed a shudder. She bent over slightly, one hand curling around her knee for support while she massaged her temples with the other. She was dizzy, she felt as though the ground was swaying beneath her feet. She thought she was going to throw up any moment -

"For Salazars sake," a voice sneered from beside her. "Stop being so fucking dramatic."

"Oh, will you just fuck off!?" she snapped without looking up, fearing the movement might damage her already fragile equilibrium. "I'm in far too much pain right now, the last thing I need is your judgment. Now, do me a favour and fuck off!"

If she weren't so nauseously helpless, she would have hexed him to oblivion by now. It was sickening, really, how powerless she felt. Since the war began, Hermione had been a force to be reckoned with. She was strong, courageous, lethal, a fucking lioness.

She hardly recognized herself now.

The tables always did turn quickly in war.

Malfoy gave an irritated sigh. "Come on Mudblood, we don't have all day."

Hermione ground her teeth together. "Didn't I already tell you to fuck off? You've taken my wand, assaulted me with I don't know how many hexes, and then dragged me to your master. Heaven knows what kind of dark and evil blood curse he's infected me with. I'm in pain, I've lost a lot of blood, and my skull feels like it's trapped between a vice. So if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you would give me a minute to catch my breath before you haul me into whatever torture chamber you have in there!"

"My, my," Malfoy scoffed, "someone still has a temper. I thought you Gryffindor's were supposed to be nice?"

"Give me back my wand, and I'll show you how nice I can be!"

"Oh, I would love to see you try," he said. She could hear the sadistic smirk on his face.

The rain started to pick up. Hermione thought some of the droplets that pelted against her back might've been hail, but she didn't look up to check.

Whatever it was, Malfoy wasn't a fan. He gripped her arm harshly, yanked her up straight, and dragged her up the stone path towards the manor.

The short walk saturated them both. Hermione's wet curls clung to her face; her clothes were heavy and dripping water by the time they reached the doors. Malfoy opened them with a flick of his wand and forced her inside.

His sharp movements jolted her, intensifying the pain in her skull. "What about.... eugghhh." She ground her teeth together as he towed her beside him; the pain much easier to manage if she focused on something else. "What about the dragon?"

"What about her?!"

Her?

Black shadow was a her? That tiny facet of information thwarted her more than it should have. She didn't know much about dragons, only ever busied herself with learning the basics; possible weaknesses, strengths and breeding habits, things that might come in handy on the field should she ever find herself trapped between a stone wall and reptilian jaws. She figured dragons weren't really an area she needed to know about. There weren't many left, and Charlie Weasley was an expert. If the Order ever needed information on one, he always had the answers.