Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Hermione's face grew hot.

Astoria gave a teasing gasp, then giggled and playfully smacked Zabini on the arm. "You pig!"

"I've been away from you for far too long," Zabini smirked. "Now, answer the question; is there a good reason you aren't blissfully naked upon my return?"

Had they seriously forgotten Hermione was there?

Astoria grinned back at him. "Well is there a good reason you've returned without a present for me? I thought I told you not to return until you found me the most lavish and wildly expensive necklace you could carry-"

"Oh, for fuck sake, would you two just get a fucking room?" a cold voice sneered. Hermione whipped her head around, and found none other than Theodore Nott standing at the other side of the hallway, his own gold mask in his hand.

Fear twisted through Hermione's body. She was stood in a hallway with two lethal, extremely dangerous Gold Masks, known assassins and torturers, without a wand.

"Theodore!" Astoria squealed. She swatted her husbands shoulder and wiggled in his arms until he reluctantly set her down. The height difference between then was ridiculous. Astoria's heels easily gave her an extra six inches, but Zabini still towered over her.

Astoria skipped towards the new Death Eater and threw her arms around his neck in the same manner she had her husband, and, just like her husband had, Nott picked her up and swung her around in the air. Hermione got the impression this was the usual greeting the Death Eaters met her with.

"Mrs Zabini," Nott said as he set her down and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "Why, don't you look as beautiful as ever. I take it this dress is new?"

Zabini narrowed his eyes at them.

"It is. It's from my trip to Paris," Astoria beamed, giving a practised twirl as she spoke. "Do you like it?"

"It's marvellous sweetheart, looks absolutely breath-taking on you," Nott cooed. Hermione's pulse quickened when his brown eyes landed on her. "Dare I say, it might even look good on the mudblood."

"Theodore!" Astoria clipped Nott around the back of the head like a mother would to a naughty child. "You know I hate that word!"

"Ouch, was there any need for that Tori?" Nott hissed, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. "That fucking hurt!"

"Granger is a guest here and I won't have you speaking to her that way!"

"I live here too, and I'll speak to her any way I want!"

"No, you will not! You will treat her with respect and if you think-"

"Right," Zabini's voice cut through the bickering pair. He strode towards his wife, grabbed her by the waist, and carefully flipped her over his shoulder.

Astoria continued to scold Nott as Zabini carried her away, again, sounding like a mother telling off a misbehaving child.

Nott silently threw several obscene gestures at her while Zabini's back was turned.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Granger!" Astoria called before she and Blaise disappeared around the corner. "You and I will have that drink! I'll make sure of it!"

As Astoria's voice faded away, Nott and Hermione were left to glare at one another.

Like Zabini, Hermione had heard stories of Nott's growing brutality since the start of the war. His methods of torture and skills of extraction were practically legendary, and nightmare-inducing. He'd killed hundreds, thousands, possibly as many as Malfoy had. The working theory within the Order was that Nott killed simply because he liked it, which was why he was so talented at it.

"Nott," Hermione greeted bitterly.

"Granger," he answered, his tone cold and biting, despite the smirk that peeled its way onto his features. He took a few steps toward her, stopping when he was close enough for Hermione to smell the mixture of blood, whisky and tobacco that clung to him. "What a pleasure it is to finally see you again. I've been meaning to come and say hello, but you know, duty calls. Order members to kill and torture and whatnot."

"Yes, I can imagine that your position can be very time-consuming. Does Malfoy let you have any days off?" Hermione asked, loving how quickly Nott's smile faded. "I can imagine it's quite difficult to take orders from your best friend."

What remained of Nott's smirk twisted into a scowl.

"Is it easy for you?" she continued. "Watching your best friend outrank you? Become a Demon Mask and be your superior in every way? I imagine your father wasn't so proud."

Nott huffed aggressively. His brown eyes sparked with anger. "You're lucky the Dark Lord has forbidden anyone besides Malfoy to touch you."

Hermione winced.

Nott licked his lip and studied her. His eyes roamed up and down her body, sizing her up. "If I were you, Golden Girl, I'd be a little more careful of what I say to scary Gold Masks," he whispered, leaning in to tower over Hermione. She didn't cower away, didn't so much as move an inch.

He observed her for another moment, then turned on his heels and started to walk away. "Have fun during your Legillimency session today," he called over his shoulder. "Malfoy was in a foul mood today during our meeting, so I'm sure it'll be extra fun."

Hermione watched Nott leave. She didn't realise that she'd been holding her breath until his brown curls had disappeared around the corner. When he was gone, she closed her door, ran to the bedside table, and tore the green paper from the charred gift box.

Her heart fluttered when she flipped the lid open. It was tubes of paint and three paintbrushes, each with different size bristles and long pale oak handles. She ran her fingers across the polished wood, feeling tears prick her eyes as she revelled in their smoothness.

This was why Romy had been asking Hermione what cheered her up when she was sad. Astoria had sent the elves to investigate. She'd been trying to offer Hermione an olive branch; a small act of kindness to make her incarceration a little more bearable. She had been doing that from the beginning, first with the clothes, and now with this incredibly thoughtful gift.

Not giving the stubborn part of her brain chance to catch up, Hermione swung her wardrobe doors open and grabbed a white shirt dress she'd admired in there days ago and a silk scarf. She stripped quickly - ignoring the way her instincts were screaming at her that this was a trap - and changed into the dress. It felt odd at first, to rid herself of the uniform she'd worn everyday for nearly a month, almost like shedding a second skin. She felt cold, exposed, but she ignored it.

She used the silk scarf to tie her hair into a high ponytail, then she grabbed the box and removed the tubes of paint. Using a dinner tray as a palette, she squirted a large amount of green and blue paint onto the silver, delighted to find the tubes had been charmed to never empty. She liked Astoria even more.