Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Hermione retreated; panic washed over her as he matched her step for step.

"Why do you think I cast so many hexes on you?" Draco teased. "I needed you dizzy. Weak. Vulnerable."

She gasped when her back connected with the wardrobe doors.

Malfoy closed the distance between them with a final step, trapping her there. "This is an anti-magic potion. Nothing more. Nothing less. It will cancel whatever magic is running through your veins and can conjure without the use of a wand. Now, you can either drink it yourself, or I can force it down your throat. Which is it going to be?"

Hermione glared up at him, nostrils flaring as she balled her hands into fists at her sides with what little movement she had. "Fuck. You."

Malfoy sighed towards the ceiling. He shook his head, and when he met her gaze again, his eyes were pure fucking stone. "Have it your way then."

He grabbed her chin quicker than Hermione thought possible. He stepped forward, roughly pressing his body against the length of hers, and sealed her to the wardrobe.

Her hands immediately flew to her defence when he tilted her head back. She hit his shoulders, punched his arms, tried to shift her weight to kick him. Nothing worked. Maybe it was his brute strength, or maybe she was still just so weak from blood loss and hexes. Whatever it was, it made her attacks completely ineffective. He didn't flinch, didn't even pause a fraction when she screamed and thrashed against him.

Hermione realized in those moments that she was completely vulnerable, so indescribably helpless. She didn't think she'd ever been so scared in her life, and Merlin, how she fucking hated it.

Malfoy forced her mouth open with bruising strength. His other hand pressed the glass firmly to her lips and forced the liquid down her throat. There wasn't much, barely a mouthful. When he'd drained the glass, he threw it against the wall where it shattered before into tiny pieces, and then sealed his large hand over her mouth and nose. The movement forced her mouth to close, preventing her from spitting the concoction out, but it also stopped her from breathing.

Her arms flailed around her as she tried to escape. She curled her fingers around his wrist and dug her nails into the skin, trying to pry them away from her. Nothing worked, he was immovable. Her eyes widened with panic as he watched her. His grey ones were incompletely unfazed by her struggles, by her undeniable terror. They were cold. Dead as stone.

Hermione's lungs burned with the need for oxygen. The dizzying ache returned to her skull as the room started to swim out of focus.

She needed to breathe! She just needed to breathe!

The more she fought against him, the more her lungs screamed in protest.

She didn't have a choice. It was swallow the damn wine or suffocate.

Hermione had always loved red wine. She loved the fruity texture and the musky scent that accompanied it. It reminded her of Harry and Ron, of sneaking bottles of it into the common room during their final year at Hogwarts. How they would huddle around the fireplace wrapped in a blanket, and share stories while they drank on a Friday night; a perfect start to their weekends.

Red wine reminded her of warmth. Comfort. Family. It had always been her favourite, the sweetest treat she could ever imagine.

Not this wine though. This wine tasted like ash. It burned on the way down, made her stomach lurch in sickening anticipation as it slid down her throat.

Once Malfoy was satisfied that she'd swallowed it, he released her.

Hermione sagged onto the floor, choking, desperate to pull air into her starved lungs. She clawed frantically at her throat, fighting the dizzying nausea that buzzed around her as the room slowly swam into focus.

She'd been so close to death, to suffocating at his hands, and Malfoy didn't care.

"Romy," he drawled as he stood over her, watching, emotionless as ever.

"Yes, Master?"

"The potion takes twenty minutes to take effect. I have a few things I need to take care of. Watch our newest little pet, and make sure she doesn't vomit while I'm gone."

"Of course, Master."

Malfoy looked her over a final time before he left.

Hermione was going to kill him; she would make sure of it. Even if it killed her, she was going to end Draco Malfoy.

The elf banished the shattered glass before Hermione had a chance to snatch a piece. She pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the crippling ache in her chest, and frantically searched the room.

"What would Miss like for dinner?" Romy chirped happily.

Hermione didn't respond. She pulled open the drawers of the dresser and shuffled through the clothes there, looking for a weapon. She found nothing, so she sprinted to the wardrobe and swung the doors open, hoping she could fashion a coat hanger sharp enough to slit Malfoy's throat. No luck there either; they were all charmed to be immovable from the rail. Malfoy had thought ahead.

"Does Miss like lamb? Romy likes lamb," the elf said, nodding his head and looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "And roast potatoes. Romy loves roast potatoes. Another house-elf who lives here, Quinzel, says roast potatoes are nasty and gross. But Romy doesn't think so. Does Miss like roast potatoes?"

Hermione ran to the wooden door beside the bed. She was right, it was a bathroom. It was completely tiled with shiny, marble slates, decorated with silver furnishings and had a huge, copper bath under a window ledge. Any other day, Hermione would have admired it. Today, she was too busy planning Malfoy's murder.

She screamed in frustration, her hands flying to her head. Her panic rose when she realized there was nothing there she could use to attack him either.

"There's no need to get so upset," the elf murmured, fidgeting with the edges of his dark green pillowcase. "If Miss doesn't like roast potatoes, Romy will happily make something else. Romy makes very nice cheese sandwiches. Would Miss like those, instead?"