Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

2nd February

Malfoy extended his arm toward the open doorway. "Ladies first," he said smugly.

Hermione's brows shot into her hairline. "Since when are you a fucking gentleman?"

He had the audacity to snort. "I was a gentleman long before I became a Death Eater, Granger." When she didn't move, his smirk twisted into a vicious scowl. "You know I could just drag you through it, don't you?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, her nostrils flaring with practiced revulsion.

She'd been planning this for days, carefully filing through her memories and reorganising the doors in her hotel to make sure he saw this memory next.

If this was going to work, he needed to believe she didn't want him to see this memory - just like all the others. She needed him to be cocky enough to let his guard down, and not realise what room he'd entered until after she trapped him there.

She'd laid the trap perfectly, she just had to hope - get on her knees and fucking pray - that he took the bait.

Hermione gave one last irritated huff to sell her performance, then barged her way past him and through the doorway, jabbing her elbow into his ribs as she went.

"Good girl," he chuckled from behind.

Despite the shiver that ran up Hermione's spine when she entered the room, she kept her expression blank, masking the terror she felt threading itself through her bones.

He needed to see this. If any of her memories could hurt Malfoy, this was the one. This one could crack him open and make him bleed the way she wanted. She just needed to keep him here long enough for it to hurt.

Hermione kept walking until they were in the middle of the dimly lit room - at least twenty-five feet from the door that had brought her here. Malfoy followed closely behind, almost side by side.

As the room materialised around them, Hermione tapped her foot nervously against the dark wooden floor.

The drawing-room had an ostentatious looking chandelier hanging overhead that probably cost more than her parent's house, high ceilings with smooth stone pillars, a large fireplace made of the same satiny mineral, and the few pieces of furniture that were scattered in the room were just as dark and miserable as the flooring.

Hermione knew the room well, but the sight of it made her stomach lurch so much she thought she was going to be sick. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

Nine ghostlike figures appeared in front of her; two snatchers, Ron, Harry, a younger version of Hermione, three figures with icy blonde hair - and one with thick, wild curls and murder in her eyes.

Malfoy paled when he realised where they were. He froze when he saw his mother, and Hermione saw that same little emotion flash behind his eyes; a single spark of lightning against the otherwise grey sky.

It only lasted a second before he slammed his Occlumency walls back up, but that was enough. He'd felt something, and Hermione knew that she was right. This memory would hurt him - she just needed to keep him here.

"Well?" Bellatrix asked. Her claws fisted in Harry's hair as she dragged his face upwards. "Is it him?"

The younger version of Malfoy swallowed nervously. He shuffled his weight between his feet, his reluctance clear in the way his eyes flickered from the floor, to Harry, and back again. "I... I can't be sure."

"Draco," Lucius' voice was a hiss. He stood behind his son, wrapped a hand around the back of Draco's neck, and squeezed. The tumbler in his other hand shook, his rings clinking against the glass with his trembling fingers.

There was something oddly satisfying about seeing the once proud and wildly respected Lucius Malfoy reduced to this; a quivering, half-crazed shell of the man he used to be.

"Look closely son," he whispered in that same persistent, nagging voice. " If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven. All ... will be as it was. Do you understand?"

Hovering over Draco like that, he reminded Hermione an awful lot of a demon. She supposed in some ways, Lucius was just that. The devil on his only sons shoulder, filling his head with poisonous whispers about riches and power to seduce him toward the darkness.

"Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?" one of the snatchers asked.

Lucius winced. "You dare talk to me like that in my own house?!"

Narcissa glided forward and wrapped her fingers around Lucius's arms. "Lucius, darling," she whispered gently. She pried him away from her son , eyeing Draco with concern as she guided Lucius towards the fireplace. "That's enough."

If Lucius was the devil on Draco's shoulder, then Narcissa was the angel. Hermione had always thought Narcissa was compassionate - and in a way, merciful. Everything she ever did was to protect her family. Hermione could understand that. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep her own safe.

Hermione always felt some small spark of sympathy for Narcissa Malfoy. In the end, she'd spared Harry's life and lied to Voldemort in the forbidden forest. If it wasn't for Narcissa, Harry would have been dead a long time ago, and Voldemort would have won this war.

The Order owed Narcissa an unpayable debt, which was why Hermione couldn't bear to think about how painful Voldemort must have made her death, or how long he must have tortured her for her unforgivable betrayal.

And why she knew this memory would kill Malfoy to relive.

Malfoy's breath hitched when his mother grabbed his doubles arm and guided him away in the same manner she had her husband. When she took his younger versions face between her hands, Malfoy reached his limit. "I'm not watching this."

He sharply turned and marched back towards the door, his Death Eater robes swaying around him as he made his escape -

But Hermione had no intention of letting him get away.

If this memory made him uncomfortable, then she'd make him watch every second of it. Make him relive every painful tick of the clock and endure every scream, just like she had.

She drew a deep breath, pinched her eyes closed, and as Malfoy's footsteps got quieter, Hermione focused. She didn't have magic, but this was still her mind.

She pictured the door; its height, the size of the frame and the hallway on the other side. And then she imagined it disappearing, and evaporating into nothing.

There was a soft swooshing sound behind her, then Malfoy skidded to a stop. "No! What the fuck did you do?"

Relief flooded through Hermione, warming her chest and thawing some of the dread in her veins. He'd fallen for it. Blindly charged headfirst into the slaughter that she'd prepared.

"Bring the door back Granger!" Malfoy seethed, his tone low and venomous. "Now!"

"No."

"Bring. The. Door. Back! Now!"

"No!"

Malfoy whirled and stormed towards her. His grey-blue eyes were burning murderously just like they had when his dragon was injured. His fingers shook when he grabbed the collar of her T-shirt.

Something in Malfoy had changed. Something glowed behind his eyes. Not rage, something stronger, more primal. It wasn't until he dragged her face to his, their noses almost touching, that Hermione recognised what it was.

Fear. Blind, blood-curdling fear.

The thought of reliving this particular night made her want to be sick , but if it hurt Malfoy - even if it inflicted the tiniest bit of pain - then it was worth it.

"BRING IT BACK!"

Hermione smacked his hands away, forcing him to release her while the memory erupted into chaos behind them. "No! What happened here was your fault! You could have stopped this, so you're going to stand here watch it!"

"Cissa, put the boys in the cellar!" Bellatrix's high pitched voice rang through the air. Real or not, it still raised the hairs on the back of Hermione's arms. "I want to have a little conversation with this one. Girl to girl."

At the mention of her name, Malfoy's head snapped up to his mother, like he couldn't stop himself. His eyes were glued on her as she backed Harry and Ron towards the dungeons. He tugged at the collar of his robes, loosened them with trembling fingers.

"This is meant to be in my vault in Gringotts," Bellatrix hissed. "How did you get it?"

Hermione heard her younger self scream. She heard a bang, and a crunch that told her Bellatrix had knocked her to the floor, but she didn't turn to see. Instead, she watched Malfoy.

"What did you and your friends take from my vault?!"

"I didn't take anything!" Hermione squealed. Malfoy winced beside her. "Please, please, I didn't take anything!"

"I don't believe you!"