Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

That was the understatement of the century. Voldemort didn't just kill Daphne, he bludgeoned her.

His need to make an example of her in front of the other Death Eaters had led him to incite the most grotesque, vile punishment he could think of. Her apparent 'soft spot' for Muggles had inspired him to punish her 'in the most muggle way possible'; the Blood Eagle. Even the name made Hermione's stomach lurch.

It was an ancient Viking torture method that involved restraining the victim while the skin was torn from their back, slowly, painfully. From the Orders intelligence, Voldemort had insisted that all his Death Eaters were present for the spectacle.

Hermione couldn't imagine what Astoria must have thought. Or bear to even think about how sickening it must have felt to watch her sister's ribs be torn from her spine one by one. She could only hope that Daphne had already died from shock before her lungs were pulled through the gap to create her 'wings'.

Astoria didn't deserve to witness her only sister go through that kind of torture. No one did. She'd known this woman for barely five minutes, and she could already see that Astoria was soft and gentle, fragile. Completely breakable and not equipped for the ways of war. She'd probably never even set foot on a battlefield.

Astoria looked up. Her eyes were swimming as she sniffed. "Thank you."

"We heard she refused to attack a muggle hospital?"

"A children's hospital," Astoria clarified. "Her ... loyalty to the Dark Lord only stretched so far." She paused to cough suddenly into her handkerchief, and Hermione used the distraction to look at her left forearm. The skin was clean, untainted by the malevolent image of a skull and snake. Astoria hadn't taken the Dark Mark. That was.... unexpected.

Hermione was sure that Daphne had taken the mark only a few months after the battle of Hogwarts. She'd guessed that her father had insisted his oldest daughter join the ranks as quickly as possible, that it was the greatest honour to do so. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed that he would have been the type of father to encourage both his daughters to bear that honour.

"I'm sorry," Astoria's voice was muffled into the fabric. "I've been a little under the weather lately, the snow doesn't help-"

"Did you need something?" Hermione snapped. "I expect Malfoy will be here soon for our third session of the day."

"Yes, yes, of course, I do apologise for keeping you." Astoria smiled sweetly. "I'm sure you're very busy concocting escape plans and ways to kill Draco, so I'll just get right to it."

Hermione pursed her lips. Was.... was Astoria trying to crack a joke?

"I was wondering, seeing as I'm back now and will be spending much more time around the house, if you would like to join me later for a glass of wine?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, not trusting herself to respond. When Astoria noticed her unease, she started babbling, words tumbled out of her mouth almost too quick for Hermione to understand. She swore the blonde didn't pause to take a breath.

"I know you don't want to be here, but I just think it would be a shame if we don't get to know each other. I understand that this is the last place you want to be, really, I do, but I want to make your confinement here as enjoyable for you as possible. The elves tell me you've been wandering the grounds every day? Well, there's a spot towards the left side of the estate that has a very nice veranda, it's actually attached to mine and Blaise's bedroom, and it's a lovely spot for a drink. I could ask the elves to set up a firepit? And of course, I would cast warming charms and you're welcome to any coat or robe in my wardrobe. We could get a bottle of wine and-"

"Astoria, darling," a low, husky voice called from the edge of the hallway, causing both women to twist towards the source.

Blaise Zabini. Hermione hadn't seen his face since the battle of Hogwarts, although she expected that their paths must have crossed on the battlefield over the years.

Zabini was known to be incredibly dangerous. The Order had guessed years ago that he must have been one of the Gold Masks.

He strode towards the women confidently, wand in a holster on his arm and his gold skull mask hanging loosely between his fingers, displaying it proudly to Hermione, warning her. He set the mask down on a shelf as he made his approach. He gave Hermione a glare, his lips curling up in disgust while his eyes raked her over from head to toe, making sure she knew the level of revulsion he felt for her.

The loathing in his expression vanished, however, when he looked at his wife. The abhorrence in his eyes, and the deadly way he held his shoulders softened, and even that disgusted curl of his lip faded into a wolfish smile. With a softness Hermione wouldn't have thought possible from a Death Eater, from a deadly Gold Mask, Blaise wrapped his arms around his wife's slender waist and picked her up.

Astoria squealed as he twirled her around in a circle. Her legs curled upwards at the knee as she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, longingly. The sort of kiss that spoke of nothing but pure devotion and adoration. The sort of passionate kiss that wives gave their husbands before they went off to war.

Hermione tried to look away, it felt wildly intrusive to watch the couple in their tender reunion - even if one of the parties was a mass murderer- but she couldn't. She was oddly transfixed by the display. Found herself watching with a sort of blatant awe that someone so soaked in deadly violence, someone who killed so easily and without remorse could hold their wife in such a tender way. That someone whose hands were soaked in so much blood could love someone the way Blaise so clearly loved Astoria. He adored her, there was no denying that.

"Astoria, my darling, the light of my life," Zabini whispered against her mouth. Astoria broke the kiss to look at him, but he didn't put her down. "Whatever are you doing roaming around the walls unescorted? I thought I gave clear instructions that you were to be naked in our bed when I returned from Germany?"