Harry Potter: The Price of Silence.

Draco's jaw went slack. "So you're saying she stole it?"

Blaise shook his head. "No, not exactly. Borrowed would be more accurate. Legilimency is essentially magic of the mind, and the blood curse the Dark Lord used to link you gave you greater access into her mind, did it not?"

Draco slowly nodded his head.

"Well, I think that your connection - coupled with a possible tolerance she's built up of the Anti-Magic potions over time - may have allowed her to channel your spell and use it to get into your head."

Draco couldn't speak. Everything Blaise said made perfect, logical sense. It would explain why he bled afterwards and she didn't, how she'd gained access to two of his most painful and secretive memories with no effort at all, why it took him so long to find her, and why she was able to hide from him, even in his own head. He'd been looking for her magical signature, for an intruder, a foreign tingle of magic that shouldn't be there. He'd never thought to look for his own.

"You essentially gave her the keys to your memories," Blaise continued when Draco didn't answer. "Whether she's aware that she can do it again is another matter entirely."

Again. That one little word snapped through Draco like the crack of a whip. "Not a chance. She's not getting into my head again. I'll up her dosage of the potions. She can drown in them for all I care."

9th February

Draco was quiet when he escorted Astoria through the grounds that afternoon. He listened, tight-lipped and eyes on the floor, while her gentle voice prattled on about expensive diamond necklaces she desired and exotic wines she'd discovered in Paris.

He was listening, but he couldn't really hear her. His mind was miles away, too occupied with possible magic chann - stealing - witches to absorb her words. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his walks with her, sometimes they were the highlight of his day. Astoria wasn't merely his oldest and closest friend; she was his sister.

Ever since they were children- forced to play together by their mothers- Draco had always found her company soothing. She always cheered him up, always seemed to know exactly what to say to banish those nightmarish thoughts that sometimes scratched away at him. Whether she distracted him with magazines about A-lined skirts, or forced him to craft jewellery boxes for her like when they were children, Astoria always seemed to find a way to distract him, and make him smile. It shouldn't have been surprising really. She was a charming, sweet little thing, drawn to all things shiny and beautiful. She reminded Malfoy of a magpie. If magpies had drinking problems...

Astoria had always occupied a special place in Draco's cold, black heart. Which is why, after twenty-five years of friendship, he should have known that the artificial blonde beside him did not like to be ignored. Ever. Under any circumstances.

She broke his thoughts by jarring him gently in the ribs. "Boring you, am I?"

His eyes snapped from the floor to meet her inquisitive stare.

"Something on your mind?"

Draco shrugged as he guided her past the rose bushes that were yet to bloom this year. "No."

Astoria fell quiet. She didn't say a word as Draco led her past the winding Wisteria plants, or even as they rounded the lake on the East Side of the grounds. By the time they reached their bench - the one under the cherry blossom tree - Draco started to grow irritable, and the screams started to whisper to life again.

He transfigured a blanket from a black handkerchief in his pocket, laid it down gently on the bench, then gestured for Astoria to take a seat.

"Are you alright?" she asked as he sat beside her. "You haven't been yourself for the last few days."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Because if you're not, then you should tell me-"

"I'm fine Astoria," he hissed through gritted teeth. He withdrew a packet of cigarettes from his robes and lit one with the tip of his wand. His other hand stretched against the back of the bench, drawing invisible patterns on the polished oak with his index finger.

Astoria had the common sense to allow him a few merciful drags before she continued with her inquisition. "Is it because of what Hermione saw in your mind?" she asked, her face full of concern. "The memory of your mother?"

Draco's hand tightened against the back of the bench. "No."

"I know it must have brought a lot of things to the surface. It must have been painful-"

"No, it wasn't," he hissed again, venomous enough to make Astoria wince slightly. "Salazar, you're as bad as your husband. I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, I don't want to talk about it. Not with Theo, not with Blaise, and certainly not with you."

Astoria stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight line while dozens of emotions flashed behind her brown eyes; concern for his unkempt appearance, irritation for his rudeness, anger for snapping at her, and compassion when she noticed the anxious way he twisted the silver ring on his pinkie finger. Eventually, she sighed, leaned against the bench, and withdrew her silver flask from a pocket in her dress.

Draco took another drag of his cigarette.

Astoria leaned away and made a face when he exhaled. "I wish you boys wouldn't poison yourself with that awful stuff."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "Really? How are your forms of poison any better than mine?" he asked, tapping the edge of her flask.

"Touché Draco," Astoria chuckled quietly, then took a healthy swig. "Touché indeed."

He was glad when Astoria started up a conversation about bleaching spells shortly after that, her animated chatter about caring for her altered blonde hair distracted him from the dark turn his thoughts had been edging towards. As always, Astoria had hit the nail right on the head. She wasn't nearly as dim as she liked people to believe she was.

Draco hadn't been able to get Granger out of his head since her intrusion into his mind. He'd tried to, Merlin he'd fucking tried. As soon as he'd left her room, he'd Apparated to Voldemort's base and spent the next several hours channelling his rage into torturing the hostages there. It didn't work. The pain didn't lessen when he'd sliced the finger of one of the male hostages off, the ache in his chest - the one that had been tightening, threatening to suffocate him since he'd seen his mother's limp body in his arms - didn't ease when he'd crushed the hand of another.

The more curses he'd cast, the more he realised his efforts were futile, and the more palpable his rage became. His anger had gotten the better of him eventually, as it usually did. He'd cast a hex a little too harshly while thinking about the pitiful look he'd seen in Granger's eyes, and ended up slicing Katherine Thomas's head off her shoulders in one clean swipe.