Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

His dragon had paid the price for his ignorance.

Draco swore that his heart had stopped beating when a shell left the tank the very second it had materialised. A piece of metal the size of a broomstick had exploded from the barrel when they'd been a mere thirty feet away, far too close to evade the thing, and coming at them far too fast for him to cast a shield. They were aiming for Draco; their leaders had instructed them a long time ago that if the infamous Demon Masks were ever on the battlefield, they were the primary targets.

His dragon had swerved just in time to shield him from it, but it meant she bore the worst of the attack.

The ear-piercing screech of pain she'd emitted had been so gut-wrenching, so agonized, that Draco was sure she was going to die. He'd been convinced that she would fall from the sky, that they would both plummet towards the earth at such speed his body would've explode upon impact.

As it happens, however, dragons are very resilient, and very ill-tempered when in pain. She'd torn the metal box and her assailants apart with her claws before the poor bastards had even had a chance to reload their weapons. Draco had been smiling under his mask the entire time, unable to stop the cruel sense of satisfaction he'd felt as their screams had rung through the air. Payback really was a bitch.

"I'm sorry you have to be cooped up in here," he whispered as he ran his fingers across the wound for a final inspection. "You'll come home soon, I promise."

She didn't respond. She was far too busy tearing slices of flesh from bone to notice him or her healing injuries.

Draco hated that he couldn't stay with her longer, or that his visit had to be cut too short in favour of the other duties that needed his attention today. This afternoon's to-do list was far too long and morbid than this festive time of year should have allowed.

Assignment one; Feed the dragon.

Assignment two; interrogate captured Order soldiers for information on Potter's whereabouts.

Assignment three; return home and search Granger's -

Even thinking her name brought his blood to boiling point. Despite her captivity, Draco blamed her for what had happened to his dragon. The muggles tanks had gotten quicker, their bullets were more dangerous and had become more difficult to manipulate lately, and he would bet every galleon in his vault that Granger had something to do with it. He could just see her now; bent over a desk, her hair a wild, untameable mess, deep in concentration, pieces of parchment scattered messily around her as she tried to figure out ways to thwart the evil, mindless beast that turned their beloved soldiers into ash.

The Order had become relentless in their attacks since Granger had been captured. A raid at one of the Dark Lord's bases had been attempted every day since her disappearance. Not that it did them any good, it always ended in failure. Always resulted in the bodies of their soldiers piled high, decapitated, often burnt far beyond recognition.

They were sloppy without her. Disorganised. Their stunt with the magically concealed tank was a stroke of dumb luck, everything else they'd tried in the last few weeks had been an astronomical failure. Having their chief strategist and most lethal soldier snatched from their grasp had clearly diminished their confidence. Just as Draco had predicted, the Order was crumbling without her. Potter was probably throwing a fit back at their base, demanding that every available officer be deployed and searching tirelessly for her.

Draco knew he'd been right to capture her that day. He'd been sure that she'd prove to be a powerful pawn to make the Order fall. She was much more useful to the Dark Lord's regime alive than she was dead. Even if it was tempting to imagine all the ways he wanted to kill her. Sometimes, it was the highlight of his fucking day to fantasize about how lovely it would be to wrap his fingers around her throat and squeeze; squeeze and squeeze until the light left her eyes. Other days he thought it might be more satisfying to torture her a little first. Make it last. Gouge her pretty brown eyes out, and make her writhe and beg for death before he granted her that mercy.

The list of possibilities went on and on. He added to them daily, sometimes twice a day, depending on how tenaciously she'd fought him with the Anti-Magic potion that morning.

The Order would do anything to ensure her safe return, literally anything, probably chuck in whatever was left of the Weasley clan as well just to have Granger back. If Potter was the face of the resistance, then Granger was the backbone, and they were falling apart without her.

How utterly fucking perfect.

"Come on sweetheart," Theo hushed, his voice soft as a whisper.

The terrified girl stiffened in the chair she was bound to. The coarse ropes that were wrapped around her body dug into her skin as she cringed away from him.

Theo crouched down in front of her, folded this arms, and rested them on top of her trembling thighs. "Just tell us where Potter is, and this will all be over. I promise."

The girl whimpered and shook her head, her body trembling uncontrollably. "I ... I can't... I don't know w-where he is... I promise... I've ... I've never seen him."

Theo rolled his tongue on the inside of his cheek. His eyes narrowed in irritation. "That's not the answer we were looking for."

The bar that hosted this afternoon's interrogation was in one of the deserted areas of the city. It might've been a nice place once upon a time, but the war had twisted and bent it into something malevolent. Looters had pillaged and destroyed it long ago, the windows were all broken, shattered glass covered the floor, and all the furniture was burnt and broken and overturned.

Where they'd once been laughter and joy, there was now screams. The stone walls - decorated with violent red slashes from Nott's efforts - were excellent at magnifying their hostages cries. Their wails of pain ricochet off the stones, reverberating and building until a chorus of screams rang continuously through the air like music. A constant, never-ending loop of suffering.