Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Malfoy watched her for a few more seconds. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times, then banished the mess of blood, whirled around and left, slamming the door a little harder than necessary on his way out.

And he did indeed run his thumb across her lip the next day after she'd finished coughing up blood, and Hermione made true on her promise to try and snap it off. It was just a shame that she was too weak to make good on her threat.

28th January

Hermione's arm ached as she strained to reach the top corner of the wall. She stood on the wooden desk, on the very tips of her toes so she could dab dark blue paint in the corner to finish this section of her mural.

In just under a month, she'd almost covered half of the first wall, and she had no intention of stopping anytime soon. The mural started - much to Malfoy's chagrin and constant artistic critique - as a lake with hall trees scattered around it, but as the portrait expanded, so did the vast landscape she'd created. She'd extended the lake all the way down to the skirting boards, and covered the once cream walls with fishes and deep-sea creatures she'd read about as a child. She'd made her underwater creations as colourful as possible, painting the fishes and merfolk in vibrant shades of orange and yellow to add some much-needed variety.

Of course Malfoy hated it, so naturally, Hermione adored it.

If she carried on at this pace, she guessed she would be able to cover every wall in her cage by September. Then what was she going to do? Start over? Or perhaps she could somehow start on the ceiling? Maybe she could paint constellations and shooting stars there?

She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and stood back to admire her work. The top section of her mural had stretched into a vast skyline, covered with mountaintops, clouds and treelines. The colours weren't as eye-catching as the fishes were, but Hermione was quite fond of the blends of colour.

She felt they complimented each other well. She'd been smiling the whole time she'd painted them, imagining how blissfully wonderful it might feel to snatch a broom from Malfoy's cupboard and fly so high she could run her fingers through the fresh nimbus clouds.

She'd thoroughly enjoyed working on this section, thought it was some of her best work, so why did she feel like something was missing from the vast stretch of sky? She couldn't add more clouds, the mural wasn't lacking in fluffy strokes of white and grey. No, it was lacking something else, she just couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was...

With a shake of her head, she dismounted the desk and pulled the silk scarf from her hair, running her fingers through her tangle of curls while she contemplated what was escaping her masterpiece. She ran one of the taps in her bathroom, and once the sink was filled with cold water, she splashed her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She was covered in flecks of blue and white paint, it was scattered across her cheeks and neck, and there was a large smudge across her nose. She splashed more icy water on her face, but it did nothing to rid her skin of the unnatural colour. That was the thing about magically charmed paint; although the colours were gorgeously vibrant and beautiful to work with, they were a nightmare to get off your skin.

It took forty-five minutes of soaking and vigorous scrubbing in the bath to remove it all, and by the time she was finished, Hermione was sore and exhausted. Absolutely bone numbingly exhausted.

She was losing far too much blood after her Legilimency sessions with Malfoy, and even after taking both a Blood Replenishing Potion and a Pepper Up potion, she was still weak for the rest of the day.

She found that most simple activities were starting to take their toll on her body, even towel drying her hair after her evening bath left her breathless.

She was starting to grow tired of her fragility. It was one of the reasons she forced herself to paint each evening no matter how tired she was. Malfoy had taken everything from her; her freedom, her wand. She wasn't going to let him take her artwork too.

She wondered if perhaps she should consider asking the elves to increase the dosage of the potions? Or maybe there was a reason Malfoy had her restricted to one of each every day? Maybe it was another tactic to keep her weak and vulnerable? There was only one way to find out.

Hermione changed into a pair of leggings and a black T-shirt. She threw a knee-length cardigan around her body and sluggishly left her room. The walk to the kitchens took her far longer than it should have, but the manor was eerily quiet at this time of night, so at least she got time to mull over possible escape plans while she walked.

"Good evening, Miss," Quinzel chirped as Hermione swung the doors to the kitchen open. "Is there something Quinzel can help Miss with?"

"Yes, please," she answered quietly, pulling the cream cardigan tighter around herself and hugging its warmth. "Another Pepperup potion would be lovely, thank you."

The elf nodded and levitated a crystal glass from the cupboard. "Of course, it is no trouble at all Miss."

Well, that theory was extinguished as quickly as it'd burned to life.

As the elf hummed and busied herself with preparing the drink, Hermione used the distraction to study her. Quinzel was a relatively small house-elf and very quiet. She was polite and certainly friendly, but she never spoke unless she needed to. In the whole time Hermione had been here, she'd only had a handful of exchanges with Quinzel, and they all contained fewer than fifty words between them.

Romy, on the other hand, seemed to never be able to stop himself from talking. He reminded Hermione a lot of Harry. He seemed to hate silences of any kind, and often rambled on about anything and everything as a means to fill any uncomfortable silences. And she'd noticed, if uninterrupted in his ramblings, he often said more than he was supposed to.

As if she'd conjured him with her mind, a cracking sound echoed around the grand kitchen, and Romy appeared behind her with a cloth sack over his shoulder.