Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Malfoy cocked a brow. His lips twitched up at the edges. "Do you want a list?"

"Whose blood is that?!" she snapped, unable to tear her eyes away from the red that crusted between each finger; that hung beneath each nail.

Malfoy took a confident step toward her. "It's hard to say, I don't remember all their names. I am the Dark Lord's prized dog, as you so eloquently put it, I am his demon. I have a lot of important tasks."

"Don't joke about this! Whose blood is that?"

Malfoy simply shrugged in response, and the sight of his sinister smile made her already hollow chest ache.

"God, you're a fucking monster," Hermione said. "Why are you doing all this? If you do get into my memories and see where The Order's base is, Voldemort will kill everyone inside."

Malfoy said nothing, just drew his wand and took a step toward her.

Hermione started to back away. "Your cousin's child is with The Order. Teddy is a relative of yours, your own flesh and blood, and they will kill him if you uncover my memories." For every step she took, Malfoy followed. When he backed her against the bathroom door, she tried again, "He's a child! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!"

Malfoy gripped her throat with his free hand and pinned her against the wall. He tilted her head back, making sure that she looked into his eyes when he responded, "Not a fucking thing."

Hermione drew a deep breath, refusing to show the terror that crept up her spine. Defiant, as she always was. "Are you really that far gone? Isn't there any good left in you, at all?"

"Oh, Granger," Malfoy placed the tip of his wand at her temple. He leaned in close, his nose brushing hers. "What makes you think there was anything good in me to begin with?"

Malfoy kicked the wooden door hard enough to make it shake. The wood crunched on impact, splintering under his rage, but didn't open. Didn't budge an inch.

"That's not going to work," Hermione sang. She watched the performance from across the hallway, leaning against another door with a smirk on her face.

"Oh do shut the fuck up!" Malfoy snarled without looking back at her. "It's bad enough I have to enter your mind to begin with, I don't need your God-awful voice ringing in my ears while I'm here!"

Hermione snorted and folded her arms across her chest, settling in to watch the show.

They'd been in her mind for almost twenty minutes and Malfoy had failed to make any progress. He'd been attempting to batter down this door since their arrival, and his failure was the most amusing thing Hermione had seen in weeks.

He was relentless with his method's tonight, and was getting angrier by the moment. Hermione had lost count of the number of hexes he'd cast against the poor door. He'd tried everything, every dark curse, fire hex and exploding jinx Hermione knew - even a few she didn't recognise - but nothing worked. Eventually, he'd become so enraged that he'd resorted to kicking the door down.

Hermione couldn't stop the joy that bubbled in her chest watching his anger get the better of him. She'd been thorough with sealing her memories away, even more so with protecting them. She'd made sure he wasn't going to get in.

The great Draco Malfoy, Demon Mask, Voldemort's right-hand man, thwarted by a filthy little Mudblood. There was irony in there somewhere, she was sure of it.

He deserved to suffer. She wanted him to be so consumed with his own failure that it drove him mad. It all paled in comparison to what he'd done. It wouldn't be enough to atone for the lives he'd taken or cleanse the blood that soaked his hands - but it was awfully fun to watch him fall apart.

"It's only a matter of time Granger," Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth. He stepped back, and aimed a particularly strong fire hex at the door.

Smoke and heat engulfed the room but when it cleared, the door remained unopened.

Hermione giggled, knowing it would grate his nerves. "You've tried that a hundred times and it hasn't worked," she teased, couldn't help herself. "You may want to rethink your technique."

Malfoy whipped around to face her, his rage clear in the twist of his brow and curl of his lip. He looked deadly. Lethal and unhinged.

Hermione was getting to him. Her smirk grew.

Malfoy marched toward her like a bull charges after a matador. Hermione half expected to see steam blowing out from his nose.

"I would wipe that smug smile off your face if I were you Granger," he roared, stopping his strides when their chests were pressed together. He leered down at her, towering over Hermione's small frame. It would have been intimidating if they weren't in her mind.

He couldn't hurt her here, not really. Any pain he inflicted wasn't real, only the after-effects were. This was her mind. While they were here, she had more control. Certainly more than she did when they were on the outside, at least.

Malfoy' slip curled in disgust. "What are you smiling at? I will get into your memories, it's only a matter of time. So what, exactly, do you find so fucking amusing?"

"What? Can't you hear my thoughts?" she asked. Her spine straightened against the doorframe. She refused to cower below him. "Doesn't this awful little connection allow you to do that?"

Malfoy made a disgusted face. "Fuck, no! It's bad enough you're living in my house, having your deranged little thoughts bouncing around my head as well would be a fate worse than death."

Well, at least that answered one of her questions.

Malfoy spun on his heels and stalked back toward the battered door. "Let's get this over with. I don't have all day."

"Keeping you from something, am I?" Hermione asked. "Is there a bit of Christmas shopping you need to do?"

Malfoy snorted and withdrew his wand. "Funny, you can keep track of the days, but you can't change your clothes." His spiteful eyes raked over her entire body before he started another round of fire hexes at the door.

Hermione threw him an obscene gesture. She wasn't sure he saw it. She hoped he did though.

She hadn't changed her clothes since he'd captured her. Strangely, the wardrobes and chests of drawers in her cage were filled with clothes. Beautiful ones. Rails of garments in the softest silks and every style and colour she could think of. There must've been a hundred dresses and skirts hanging in the wardrobe, each as lavish and expensive looking as the one next to it.

She'd run her hands across the wool cardigans in the drawers a few times. They did feel nice, soft and warm, inviting her to pull them from their drawers and rid herself of her tight, restricting jeans. But the thought of wearing clothes that Malfoy had purchased and possibly picked out for her made her feel sick.

So, ten days on, she remained in her battle uniform. She hadn't showered since she'd been here. She couldn't bear to strip. The thought of shedding her clothes and being naked in Malfoy's house unnerved her, made her feel defenceless, so she hadn't.

Instead, she asked

the elves to cast cleaning and drying charms on her skin and clothes each morning and night. It wasn't nearly as relaxing as running a hot bath and submerging herself in the bubbles the way she really wanted to, but it meant that she was clean, and that she didn't have to wear anything hanging in the wardrobes.

Because wearing clothes that Malfoy had picked out and touched was akin to having him touch her himself.

And that was a fate worse than death.

being naked and showering in Malfoy's house.