Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

He went straight for the charred and splintered door that he'd been working on for days, and he didn't pause in front of it, didn't hesitate for a second. She watched as he swiftly lifted his left leg, his robes swaying violently behind him, and brought his foot down in a punishing kick.

A loud cracking sound shot through the air.

Hermione thought she was going to be sick.

The door that Malfoy had spent days trying to force open with no success, was now open.

No, it wasn't merely just open. It was completely gone, violently ripped from its hinges under the force of his kick.

Neither of them moved for a few moments, neither breathed. They both just stared at the crater that once held the lock to Hermione's first precious memory.

She counted twenty frantic beats of her heart before Malfoy looked at her from over his shoulder. He threw her the most sadistic smirk she'd ever seen, and then disappeared through the new doorway.

Hermione was on her feet before he'd crossed the threshold.

She recognised the room the moment she stepped inside. Beige walls with cream carpets, sturdy wooden furniture and worn leather sofas all pointed towards a small television box. She didn't need to see the pictures sitting on the shelves to know exactly where she was. It was the place she'd dreamed of going back to since the war had begun. Fantasized about how euphoric it might feel to step into this exact room, at this exact moment.

Because it was her childhood home, and it wasn't there anymore. Nothing remained of this safe haven in the outside world. It was nothing but a pile of ash and bones now; just a nother thing the war had taken from her.

Malfoy stood in the cosy sitting room, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. She realised as she came to stand beside him, that he didn't look angry anymore. His triumph appeared to have doused the fires of his rage. He looked smug. His lips lifted in the corners as he watched the memory before him with rapt attention.

Hermione stared as a child version of herself skidded into the room, singing, followed by a group of other children all wearing bright pink party hats and sashes. It was her party; her 6th birthday party, if she was correct.

It was a silly memory; one she wasn't sure why she locked away so tightly. It seemed insignificant in comparison to the other secrets she carried. Trivial when compared to the Order's bases, Harry's location, or even her secret rendezvous with Medusa, b ut it was her earliest real memory so she felt protective of it. It was.... precious to her. Personal. Certainly not something to share with the Death Eater who stood beside her, the one with blood still dripping from his hands.

"God, I thought your hair couldn't get any bushier than it was back at Hogwarts," Malfoy spat, watching a younger Hermione lead her friends to the sofas to play games. "It seems I was mistaken."

Hermione didn't answer him. She had no answer. She was far too angry, far too panicked by the turn of events this afternoon had taken.

Despite everything she'd done to keep her memories safe, he'd gotten in. His rage had fuelled his Legilimency skills in a way she never thought possible. He'd barged into her psyche with unimaginable power, and forced his way through that first door by sheer indignation.

What was she supposed to do now? She could practice her blocking techniques all day long, but if his rage fuelled him to this capacity, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of her doors crunched under the heel of his boot. What if she tried to-

Her mind froze from its downward spiral. Her breath caught in her throat when her mother stepped into the living room. Her mother. Her angelic, pure soul of a mother was holding a birthday cake with six flaming candles atop. Hermione hadn't seen her since …

"What's the matter little lion?" Malfoy asked, the cold edge returning to his voice. "No insult you want to spew? No spiteful comeback? No positively Gryffindor speech about how good will triumph over evil?"

Hermione swore her heart ached when her father appeared from the kitchen holding an ancient-looking video camera the size of a brick. Her mother placed the cake on the coffee table and instructed all the children to gather in a circle, and then the gleeful chorus of 'Happy Birthday' filled the room.

When her mother planted a kiss on her younger selves forehead, Hermione balled her hands into fists. Her eyes burned with tears. Her chest felt cold and … empty.

"Well, I must say, I am disappointed," Malfoy continued. "I expected more from you. Where's that feisty little bitch gone-"

"Enough, Malfoy," Hermione spat. "Just... enough." She could feel him watching her carefully, those cold, icy eyes of his taking everything in.

Hermione didn't look at him, she couldn't take her eyes off her mother. She'd forgotten how beautiful her mother was, and the gentle elegance that she just naturally seemed to exude. She'd been the purest of souls; would've done anything for anyone, no matter what it cost her. She was selfless like that. Pure.

For a long time, Hermione had thought the cruellest moment of her life was erasing her parents' memories of her, but that paled in comparison to never getting to see them again before they were murdered. No, the cruellest moment was learning her memory erasing charm had faded three years after its conception, and hearing that her parents had returned to their family home to frantically search for their daughter, only to be tortured and executed by the very Death Eaters that hunted them.

'It's not your fault, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Shacklebolt had said, as if those two little sentences were enough to comfort her. They hadn't. Not in the slightest.

She'd found no peace in his words. No peace in anything.

Until she'd tracked down those same Death Eaters and murdered them herself. T hen, and only then, she'd felt... solace. Sort of.

"You know this is useless," Hermione whispered, feeling tears prick her eyes as she watched her parents. "This doesn't tell you anything about the Order."

Malfoy didn't respond, but she knew he was still watching her. Probably dissecting every twitch of her brow and flutter of her lashes as she tried to keep her tears at bay, checking her for a weakness he could exploit like the unfeeling psychopath he was.

She wouldn't let him see her weak. Wouldn't let him see she was breaking. Not now. Not ever.

"All that effort," Hermione seethed, forcing as much malice into her tone as possible, "and this is all you got. A six-year-old girls birthday party. You must be so disappointed."

"On the contrary Granger," he said, voice low as a whisper but just as venomous as hers, "this tells me everything I need to know."

Now, that did catch her attention. She turned her head, finally tearing her face from her mother to glare at the intruder next to her.

Merlin, she fucking hated him.

"Your mind isn't as impenetrable as you like to think it is." He took a step towards her, intending to see her cower away from him no doubt, but Hermione didn't move. She rooted herself in the spot, and raised her chin defiantly. "You're breaking," he said, "and it's such a fucking pleasure that I'm the one to break you."

He let the words linger between them before he turned on his heels and marched out the room. Hermione watched him take a sharp left when he was over the threshold, undoubtably on his way to rip another door off its hinges and barge into another one of her memories.

She cast one last glance at her mother, committing the gentle lines of her face to memory, and then sprinted after him.

Because the only thing worse than having Malfoy run around in her mind, was having him do it alone.