Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

The territories between the opposing sides were clearly divided. The areas under Voldemort's boot were largely unchanged; the streets were full of people, bars and restaurants remained open, and shops were still packed and running normally. By all accounts, life went on as normal. No, better than normal, they thrived - and all they had to do was swear loyalty to Voldemort. Swear their loyalty to the madman and vow to fight at his side, and he would protect them and give them riches and land and jewels. Unfortunately for the Order, many had taken that option at the beginning of the war.

The area's not under Voldemort's 'protection' were a stark comparison to the former. Those areas were desolate, war-torn. There wasn't a building without damage, not a window unbroken or a bridge left untorn for miles and miles around. Most took refuge underground, burying themselves deep into the rubble, forming caves like animals while they waited out the rest of the war.

Only the Order's bases were safe, concealed by magic and enchantments, and buried just as deep underground. The streets were vacant and quiet, mutilated corpses and skeletons decorated the pavement and every street corner. The smell was repugnant, the air never seemed to be free of the stench of death and rot. Those areas were similar to that of Chernobyl. Apocalyptic. But those areas were where Hermione's base was. They were her home, and she'd give anything to be back there now. Trade everything she owned to be back in that war-torn, destroyed area of London that surrounded The Order's central base. She'd welcome that smell of burning flesh in the basement, because it would mean she was home and free of this fucking nightmare.

"Congratulations on the nuptials," Hermione answered bitterly. "Sorry, I didn't think to send a gift for the happy couple."

Astoria chuckled, the smile still clear on her face as she studied Hermione. "I'm sorry I didn't get the opportunity to introduce myself yet," she said, completely undeterred by Hermione's rudeness. "I've been visiting friends in Paris for the last few weeks. When Draco said you would be joining us, I was so upset that I wouldn't be there to greet you-"

"Wait." Hermione's hand shot up and silenced Astoria mid-sentence. "You live here too?"

Astoria nodded. "We all do: myself, my husband Blaise, and Theodore Nott."

Well, that certainly didn't make Hermione feel any better. Living under the same roof as the notoriously bloodthirsty Demon Mask was bad enough, but two other known Death Eaters as well? Both likely just as ruthless and cold-hearted as the first? Hermione forced herself not to shiver.

"Blaise has been in Germany on an assignment for the Dark Lord since Christmas, and, well the house is so large, it's no wonder you haven't run into Theo yet," Astoria said quickly. "Sorry, I'm babbling. Do you mind if I come in?"

Hermione's brows knitted together. "This is your house."

"But this is your room," Astoria answered immediately, as if that was obvious. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your privacy."

"Your fearless leader doesn't share the same opinion," Hermione spat, feeling anger start to heat her blood. "He walks through my memories freely. He kicks down doors in my head and leaves me with blood pouring out of my ears."

Astoria smile faltered a little. Her kind eyes darkened. "I am sorry about that. I'm sure Draco doesn't mean to hurt you-"

Hermione couldn't help but snort. Her hands gripped the wooden doorframe tighter. "Oh, I think he does. I think he gets some sick thrill out of torturing a mudblood."

Astoria's reaction ... confused Hermione. She seemed to tense at the word. She clenched her jaw, and fidgeted with the white piece of cloth between her fingers.

"You didn't open your gift," Astoria said, changing the subject. Her gentle eyes flickered to Hermione's left, and she followed the blonde's line of sight to the massacred gift box on her bedside table.

Suddenly, things started to click into place; the homely, welcoming touches around the house, the vases with beautiful flowers, the sweet-smelling candles. They were all things Hermione couldn't associate Malfoy decorating his home with, because he hadn't. Astoria had. Now that Hermione had met her, she could see Mrs Zabini's feminine touch in a lot of the furnishings here; in the curtain sashes, the silver trinkets and perfectly plumped pillows.

And in elegantly wrapped gift boxes.

"You sent that?"

Astoria nodded. Her smile grew kinder by the second, if that were even possible. Hermione could feel some of her hostility weakening the longer Astoria smiled at her. Could feel the icy walls of her bitterness melting, thawing slowly under Mrs Zabini's warmth. It was starting to make her feel on edge.

Hermione wasn't used to this type of casual conversation anymore. The only ones who'd shown her any type of kindness since she'd been here were the elves.

"Yes. I thought that you shouldn't be without a gift on Christmas," Astoria said. "I know you're being forced to stay here against your own will, but I wanted you to have a little something. Something to make you feel at home."

What an odd creature the blonde before her was. She was the wife of a Death Eater, a known killer and likely to be a highly standing general in Voldemort's army, and here she was, genuinely concerned about the welfare of her husband's mortal enemy.

Hermione could feel the gentle warmth of her kindness. There was nothing fake or disingenuous about it. She was genuinely pleased that Hermione was here, and even anxious enough about her well-being that she thought to get her a small gift for Christmas.

As Astoria spoke, another thought popped into Hermione's head. "The clothes? Was that you, too?"

Astoria nodded again. "I'm sorry if they weren't to your taste. As I said, I didn't know you would be joining us, so I didn't have time to get anything else." She was very expressive with her hands while she spoke, and the large diamond on her wedding ring caught the light with every wave and dip of her hand. "I ordered what I thought you might like, but if they don't fit, I would be happy to charm them to alter the sizing. I remembered that you and Daph were the same size when we were at school, so I thought ..." Her eyes drifted to the floor and her voice trailed off. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, hard, so hard Hermione was surprised she didn't break the skin. She looked terribly uncomfortable all of a sudden. Sad. Like she was dying to say more but dare not.

"I was sorry to hear about your sister," Hermione said honestly, fighting the urge to reach out and comfort the witch in front of her. Compassion or not, she was still the enemy. She didn't deserve to be embraced or comforted.

But maybe a small mercy was okay?

"We heard that Voldemort killed her for disobeying a direct order. I was very sorry to hear about her passing."