Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Painting was different. It was a release. A way to rid her mind of the buzzing voices, the constant chatter and the need to solve problems and just... let it all out. Smear the canvas with whatever she wanted and forget the stifling need to know everything and save everyone.

Merlin, she didn't realise how much she missed it until she said it out loud. She would've traded anything to have a canvas and brush in her hand...

Or a cigarette.

As Hermione stared at the crisp, untouched snow, pretending it was a canvas and imagining the shapes she would paint in it, she noticed a shadow form. It was small to begin with, like a tiny inkblot on an otherwise pristine piece of paper. She thought she'd imagined it at first, but the longer she stared, the larger it became. She watched it expand, darkening and swallowing up the snow. It took her far longer than it should have to realise it was a shadow.

A black shadow.

Hermione flung the windows open. She grabbed either side of the frame for support and leaned out as far as she could. She'd managed to convince the elves days ago to unseal the windows, having finally assured them that she wasn't going to throw herself to her death the first chance she got. They'd done as she'd asked but added charms around the open space, just to make sure. She could open them as far as their design allowed, but magic prevented her from leaning out the windows too far. Still, it was better than nothing. At least she got to feel a breeze on her face now and again.

Hermione craned her neck towards the sky, and squinted into the darkened clouds until she saw what she was looking for.

At first glance, she thought Black Shadow was falling. It took until the dragon was much closer for Hermione to realise that the beast hadn't been shot out of the sky. Her wings were tucked in tightly at her sides; she was nosediving towards the gardens. Fast. Much, much too fast. She was hurtling towards the earth like a meteor. At two hundred feet above the manor, she showed no signs of slowing down. Not at one hundred and fifty feet. Or even one hundred.

Maybe Hermione was wrong, maybe the dragon was falling after all. She held her breath when the dragon reached around fifty feet, leaning back and bracing for the earth-shaking impact of that huge, scaled body colliding with the floor-

But Black Shadow opened her wings at the last second, beating them powerfully against the air and halting her descent just before she hit the ground. Each flap was like a loud clap of thunder that hurled up the fallen snow below her, causing small flurries to swirl and dance as she lowered herself to the ground.

When the dragon's back legs touched the gardens, a splash of crimson tainted the crisp white snow below her, and the earth shook under her weight like a small earth had suddenly struck. She reared her head toward the clouds and released an ear-piercing roar that made the hairs on Hermione's arms stand on end. It wasn't like the other roars Hermione had heard from the dragon. It wasn't the threatening hiss she'd thrown Hermione way when Draco had dragged her onto her back at the cliffs of Dover, or the deep rumbling battle cry she'd made as she roared into battle. This was pained and hoarse. More of a shriek than a roar.

Black Shadow shook her huge head as if she was dizzy, spraying more of her blood onto the snow.

Malfoy dismounted her quickly. He tore his mask off by the horns and threw it away with jagged movements. He whipped around, his arm cut into the air as he spat an order to the house-elves. Hermione didn't hear what he'd said, another wail of pain from the dragon drowned his voice out, but she caught the look on his face. His brow was twisted with fury, his teeth exposed in a snarl. He was seething. Angrier and more murderous than she'd ever seen him.

The elves appeared straight away, their tiny arms filled with bottles of every coloured potion and herb imaginable. Hermione watched Draco sharply draw his wand. A pale blue light emitted from the tip as he cast - what Hermione assumed - was a healing charm below the dragons left shoulder.

She roared again and threw her head into the air. The sound was more splintering this time around, like a thousand screams all at once. Hermione's hands flew to her ears to shield her from it.

Malfoy cast charm after charm on the dragon as the elves fussed over her injury. His movements were frenzied, desperate.

Hermione and Malfoy had screamed at each other countless times since her capture. They'd seethed in each other's faces and pushed and shoved one another, but there was always a sense of eerie calm in Malfoy. He was always controlled, always had absolute authority over his emotions. He only showed the things he needed to, things that were useful to him; anger, spite, malice. Any other time, his expression was the ideal poker face, giving nothing away. He couldn't have looked further from that now. He looked bloodthirsty. Unhinged.

Malfoy sharply spun to face the house, and Hermione's heart stopped when those cold blue-grey eyes immediately found hers - only they weren't so cold anymore. They were burning. He barked another command over his shoulder, his expression stuck in that murderous scowl, then started to march toward the house, his eyes on Hermione with each step.

He was coming for her.

Hermione couldn't help the way she started to panic. Couldn't help the way her chest tightened, or how the air in her cage suddenly became hot and stifling. There was something in Malfoy's eyes, something feral, like a tiger trapped behind bars too long. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was, but it fucking terrified her.

Without giving herself chance to second guess what her instincts were screaming at her, Hermione did the one thing she hadn't done in twelve days. She left her cell.

She pushed the door open quickly, swinging it open so suddenly that it smashed into the wall and left a dent in the plaster. Her stomach lurched with fear when she stepped over the threshold and into the unknown, she forced herself to beat it down, and took off running.

Hermione sprinted down the left corridor. The portraits whispered as she ran past them, glaring and tsk'ing, all with the same cold, unfeeling blue eyes. She ignored them all, focusing instead on keeping her breathing as even and quiet as possible.

She came to a stop near a grand, spiral staircase which forked; one path led to the gardens, the other into an unexplored area of the manor. She had no idea where she was going. She had no weapon to defend herself, no plan.

She couldn't leave the estate, the elves had admitted that much to her, but maybe there was somewhere she could hide from Malfoy? A secret passageway or a small cupboard somewhere? The house was ostentatiously large, there had to be hiding places somewhere! Malfoy would find her eventually, but that didn't mean she couldn't stall him for a while. She'd told him time and time again that she intended to make his searches through her mind as strenuous and difficult as humanly possible, and she intended to keep her word.