Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Hermione walked over to the burning candle on the bedside table. Maybe she could burn him? Maybe she would burn the curtains, burn the whole place down and use that as a distraction? Maybe she could escape? Surely Malfoy cared about his precious Manor enough that he wouldn't see it burn?

Apparently, he'd already considered this possibility, and prepared for it. The candles were charmed, sealed to their position on the bedside table. She ran her hand over the open flame, thinking maybe she could as least burn herself. Suicide wasn't an option she'd ever considered before, but her life wasn't worth risking the entire Order.

But as it turned out, that option had been torn from her as well. Although she could feel the heat of the flame, it didn't burn, didn't scorch the skin no matter how close or how long she held her hand over it. Malfoy had charmed those, too.

Hermione kicked the bedside table with all her rage. "Fuck!"

"Okay, no cheese sandwiches," the elf said. "What about lasagne?! Romy makes very nice Lasagne! If Miss would-"

"Romy," Hermione spat, almost vibrating with anger as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I appreciate your offer to prepare me dinner, but if you don't be quiet, I'm going to smother you with those pillows. Okay?"

"Okay," the elf whispered after a few moments of silence. "Romy is sorry. Romy doesn't mean to make Miss angry."

"It's fine," she breathed, her heart fluttering slightly when the tiny elf's voice croaked. She didn't mean to upset him. He seemed very sweet, she just didn't have time to ponder his feelings right now. She needed to focus, needed to think of an escape plan-

The sound of the bedroom doors bursting back open shot through Hermione. As Malfoy stepped into the room, she spun to face him, backing away until her spine touched the cream wall. She knew better than to put her back to him.

Malfoy smiled when he noticed. "I'm curious Granger, how many people have you killed? Twenty? Fifty?"

"Not nearly enough Death Eaters!" she spat, inching closer to the bathroom. Maybe if she sprinted, she could lock herself inside? Maybe that would buy her a minute or two?

"Don't even think about it, Mudblood."

Malfoy lunged forward, his hands braced on the wall either side of her head. She jumped when he smacked the wall beside her face, blocking her escape route.

"Humour me," he said. One of his hands curled under her chin, tilting her head back to meet his cold gaze. "How many times have you thought about killing me?"

"In the last twenty minutes?" Hermione challenged, her lip starting to curl in disgust from having him touch her. "Or ever?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Ever."

"Hundreds. Probably thousands."

He used one hand to withdraw his wand from the holster on his bicep. The other remained locked under her chin. "When was the first time you thought about killing me?"

"The night you killed Dumbledore," she said. "That was the night I realised that you were a traitor."

His eyes tightened. He brought his wand up. "How did you plan on doing it?"

"I thought about knocking you unconscious, dragging you to the Astronomy Tower, and pushing you off."

"Interesting," he purred, pressing his wand between her brows. "Very poetic of you."

"I thought the punishment should fit the crime."

"Indeed. And how would you do it now? What possible punishment do you think is worthy of the sins I've committed?"

Hermione stared at him. She narrowed her eyes, clenched her jaw. "There's not a punishment to atone for the things you've done. You're fucking monstrous, even the devil couldn't punish you."

She swore she saw Malfoy's lip twitch upwards. "I couldn't agree with you more."

As quickly as he entered her mind, Hermione threw up her defences. She fought past the excruciating force of his dark magic, and focused.

She envisioned a building. A fortress of her own making, with high, impenetrable brick walls and a thick iron door. It was fifty, maybe sixty stories high. It looked like a hotel with rows upon rows of small windows, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

She could do this. This was what she'd trained herself to do; store all her memories in a safe place within her mind, build the walls so sturdy, so unbreakable, that even the most skilled Legilimens couldn't tear them down. Her memories were safe. Unreachable.

Draco whistled as he materialized beside her. He tilted his chin towards the sky, taking in the large structure in front of them. "You have been busy, Mudblood."

Hermione said nothing, just narrowed her eyes and studied him. He seemed completely unfazed by her attempts to keep him out of her memories. He looked at the building she'd created to keep him from her secrets with a sort of bored astonishment. As though he was shocked that someone like her was capable of creating something like this, even though it wouldn't keep him out forever. Nothing would.

He hadn't been kept out of many people's minds. She imagined bleeding secrets from others was as easy to him now; as natural as breathing. He was going to have to work a lot harder to get hers. She would make him writhe, fight, tirelessly search her head to find them. She hoped it would possess him. She hoped, with a sick sort of elation, that the failure would drive him mad, unhinge him and keep him up at night. She needed him distracted, preoccupied with something else so she could escape.

Or she needed to find a way to break their bond and kill him herself.

"How many years have you been training in memory blocking?" he asked, still appraising the building in front of him.

Hermione remained silent.

Malfoy's gaze swept to hers. Even in her mind, his eyes were just as cold. Just as unfeeling. He regarded her impatiently. "No? Don't feel like talking?"

Still, Hermione didn't speak.

"Fine, if that's how you want to be. Let's have a look in that big brain of yours, shall we?" His robes brushed against the back of her hand as he made his way toward the entrance. It left a chill on her skin and caused a shiver to run up her spine.

Malfoy lifted his foot and brought it down against the iron door in a punishing kick.

The door remained unmoved.

He brought his foot up again and smashed the heel of his boot against the iron. The noise ricocheted around them; it vibrated through the air like the harsh beat of a drum, but the door was still sealed shut. As immovable as the candles in her new prison cell.

Hermione smiled.