Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

But the fact that the gigantic beast that'd turned countless Order members to ash, and whose roar gave survivors like Seamus night terrors, was female, surprised Hermione. She wasn't sure why. Her brain was too fuzzy to analyse it further.

"Why didn't we ride her here?" she found herself asking, needing to distract herself from the pain.

"Does it matter?"

"No. I suppose not, I was - eughhhh - just curious."

Malfoy's cold, grey eyes snapped to hers irritably. "I've had a very long fucking day, and I didn't fancy the two-hour ride on her back in the pissing down rain. She knows the way home."

Hermione opened her mouth, another question burning to slip past her lips, but the look he gave her snapped her mouth shut.

He started walking faster through the Manor; Hermione tripped over her own feet as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. As he dragged her along, she tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, already plotting her escape.

The manor felt different than the last time she'd been here. It was still dark, the décor still largely teaming with Dark artefacts and gothic paintings; the image of aristocratic wealth. But there was a warmth here now. A strange blanket of comfort that she didn't notice last time. It was just little things. She noticed silver trimmings on the edges of the curtain sashes, and countless silver bowls with small trinkets inside. She saw a vase with beautiful white roses on a window ledge, an elegant candelabra with citrus-smelling candles burning atop of them, and perfect, hand plumped cushions placed across a dark green chaise lounge on the second story landing.

They were all very simple things really, but added together, they softened the atmosphere. They made it a home. Almost.

Malfoy veered sharply to the right and towed her down a narrow hallway. There were rows and rows of portraits lining the walls; countless pairs of unforgiving grey eyes glaring down at her as she went by. Their stares were just as cold and disgusted by her as their relative who'd brought her here.

"Aren't you worried about her? Your dragon?" she clarified when his eyes narrowed in her direction.

Malfoy scoffed, just one short puff of air through his lips. He stopped outside a set of large, dark oak double doors with brass handles. "No, I'm not. You've seen her on the battlefield, Granger. Do you really think one of your soldiers could stop her? That one of your pathetic little metal machines could do anything to her?"

Hermione found the strength to glare at him.

"I've seen her disintegrate those little metal boxes of yours with one breath," he said, the grip on her arm tightening, bruising. A threat. "I've heard the screams of men when she melts the walls and trapped them inside. Your soldiers are nothing to her."

Their scowls lingered on one another. Their glares were like daggers.

Merlin, she fucking hated him. With the exception of Voldemort, she didn't think she'd ever hated anyone the way she did Malfoy. He was so cruel, just for the sake of cruelty. Like a child holding a magnifying glass over a herd of ants, scorching them to death just to hear their tiny screams. Fucking sadist.

Being Voldemort's deadliest soldier wasn't just a job for him, he enjoyed it. Revelled in it.

She felt her hands ball into fists. They shook at her sides as rage twisted through her. "Do you even care?"

Malfoy sighed, his face growing indifferent. Bored. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Do you even care about how many people you've killed? Doesn't it bother you - even in the slightest - how many hearts you've stopped from beating?"

He snorted, cocking a brow as the corners of his mouth lifted into a wolfish smirk. "It doesn't bother me at all. It's part of the job. I consider it a perk of my role, watching your precious Order members sniffle and beg for their lives. Sometimes, it's the highlight of my fucking day."

Hermione couldn't help herself. Before she realised she was doing it, she raised her hand, and slapped him across the face. As hard as she fucking could.

It jerked Malfoy's head to the side; her palm burned from the force of it. She could feel the rage vibrating off him. Could feel dark magic crackling around him, making the air grow cold. It reminded Hermione of the chill she felt deep in her bones whenever she was near a dementor.

Malfoy didn't turn back to her immediately. He stared at the wall, jaw tightening and throat bobbing. Considering. She noticed his hand flex around his wand. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath that made his nostrils flare. When he finally opened them and tilted his head back to her, his expression was venomous. Feral. "You get that one, Granger," he hissed, stepping closer and curling his fingers around her arm tightly. Hermione swore her heart stopped. "But if you do that again, you will regret it, I will make you regret it. Are we clear?"

Hermione said nothing, just studied him as the atmosphere strained between them. She refused to show any of the terror she felt on her face. Instead, she twisted her expression with disgust, making it clear how thoroughly repulsed she was by him. She couldn't show weakness, fear. She wouldn't.

"If you weren't so important to The Dark Lord," he said, nails digging into her arm, "I'd kill you right now."

"If I still had my wand," she hissed back, leaning in and raising her chin, "you'd be dead already."

Malfoy huffed a laugh, and threw Hermione into the unfamiliar room. She stumbled, but caught herself on a wooden desk before she could fall. She spun to face him; her survival instincts thumping through the fog in her brain. Never turn your back on your enemy. Never leave yourself exposed.

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a possible escape route, a weapon, anything she could use.

Well, this certainly wasn't what she expected when she considered what sort of cage Malfoy would keep her in.

It was a bedroom. A very large, very regal-looking bedroom. All the furniture was made of the same dark oak as the double doors, and the walls were painted a warm shade of cream. There was an enormous four-poster bed in the centre of the room that was lined with expensive-looking, crisp white sheets and perfectly plump emerald green pillows. Next to the window was a desk with a vanity mirror sitting proudly atop. There were several dressers scattered around the room, a wardrobe, and a dark green armchair. There were lit candles everywhere, and the same silver vases with white flowers she'd seen when she entered the manor. All incredibly simple and elegant in design. All nothing like she expected Malfoy to own.