*Author's note: Hello Readers! Thank you for showing an interest in my story by reading this first little note thingamajig. Please leave a review, if you'd be so kind :) This is my first FanFiction, so please be gentle! Anyway, read on! I hope you enjoy my story :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything from it, only my plot and any new characters I may introduce (I seriously doubt that I'll be introducing new characters though). The Harry Potterverse belongs to J.K. Rowling and her alone.

I also don't own the poem I'm taking quotes from (The Voice by Thomas Hardy). It is definitely his poem, not mine. I would've noticed if I was living in the 1910's.

"Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,

Saying that now you are not as you were."

~The Voice, Thomas Hardy

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Chapter 1: Stories

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Honey met the storm.

"So Granger," the storm said casually, as if being trapped and imprisoned in a very small space with his enemy was of no concern. "Let's hear your side of things. What's your sob story?"

"Huh." The storm calmed, became thoughtful and still as he shrugged carelessly- how could he, considering their situation?!- sighing. "Any more stories, Granger? I'm bored." He snickered, the storm turning wicked once more.

"Sod off, Malfoy." Hermione said venomously, wishing she could move away from him. The space they shared was no bigger than the average garden shed; there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was lucky that it was at least lit, and that she was on one side in the corner, her knees hugged to her chest. She was lucky there was a little bathroom behind the door that had a toilet and shower, even if it was a little dirty. Only the best for their prisoners, she thought. She was lucky that Malfoy was lounging in the corner diagonally opposite to hers, and that his mind seemed to be elsewhere after her less than positive dismissal. She watched him for a bit, the swirl of emotions in his eyes; he must've forgotten about Hermione, too preoccupied with his thoughts.

Until he looked around and saw her staring. He smirked. "See something you like, M-Granger?" He winked suggestively and waggled his pale eyebrows in a 'come hither' kind of fashion.

Hermione gagged. "I can see at least one thing I'd like... to strangle." She said evenly, arching an eyebrow at his slip-up. He'd refrained from calling her a Mudblood ever since-

"Ooh, kinky. I like that in a girl."

Hermione, exasperated, let out a frustrated puff of air and returned to staring at her knees, reviewing how she and Malfoy had ended up in this position.

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There were mere minutes left.

"Harry, Ron, come here!"

"Hermi-! Oww, what-?"

"What did you do to Harr-?"

Ron was silenced as Hermione's lips were brought down over his. "Please be careful." She said, a sad look on her face.

"Hermione?"

"The Snatchers are coming, you two Apparate and get out of here. I'll... I'll distract them."

"No, 'Mione, you ca-!"

"There's no time to argue! Leave! Now!"

"Come out with your hands up." Said a greasy voice. Hermione could hear the long, yellow-toothed smile behind the words; Fenrir Greyback.

"I love you, 'Mione."

For some reason, Hermione couldn't reply, so she choked out "just go!" and waved her hands.

They got the message. A loud crack later, and Hermione was alone. She carefully changed her hair to a straight golden blonde colour, and her eyes a bright green. Like Harry's eyes, she thought ruefully. She stuffed her wand into her beaded bag, and the bag into her sock. Just in case. Then she stepped outside, her hands held up high in surrender.

"Is this the Granger girl? The Mudblood from school you used to always complain about?!" Lucius Malfoy sounded desperate, like he was clawing at a rubber duck to keep him afloat in a tossing and heaving sea. When Draco didn't reply, Lucius became frustrated, slapping his face so hard that the sound echoed around the Drawing Room. Draco flinched, but dared not touch the burning red handprint on his cheek.

"I...I can't be sure..." He said unsteadily, his eyes darting to Hermione's and then quickly away. "I-"

"Come now, Draco, surely you can see?"

"I-she... looks different." He was afraid, desperately afraid of his father and of punishment. He would've known that face anywhere, straight blonde hair or not. How could he forget? She was-

"But is it her?!" Lucius lost his patience, and drew his wand. "Crucio!" He cried, directing his wand not at Hermione, but at Draco.

He curled into a ball and convulsed on the floor, making no sound, even as Lucius intensified the torture. All the muscles in his body seized up, it felt like white-hot knives were being forced under his fingernails, like blunt scissors were being stabbed into his eyes, like he was encased in a layer of fire. His organs were being ripped apart, acid was being poured onto his maimed flesh. And still he made not a sound.

Lucius released him from the curse, and Draco lay on the floor for a few seconds more, before quickly staggering to his feet, breathing heavily and masking the agonized expression on his face; it now only showed a blank mask of indifference. But his eyes were burning, livid, steely gray, hardening into an icy glare.

"So?" Said Lucius, impatiently tapping his foot. "Yes or no? You're not trying to save her, are you?"

"N-no, Father." Draco said, his stammer the only sign that he was severely shaken by the torturing. He looked at Granger again. "It's... it's not the Mudblood."

He wasn't sure why he'd protected Granger. I was a fool, he thought to himself later, pacing the length of his room at the Manor, his cloak swishing in his wake. I should've told them! If they found out I lied... well, she did look different. A thought suddenly struck him. Why did I lie in the first place? Usually I would've given her in, I wouldn't have cared...

"So what changed this time?" He said absently, sitting at his desk and staring out of the window, watching the rain create clear streaks on the glass. Through the pouring rain, lightning crackled and sent out glaring flashes of light across the destroyed Manor gardens. He winced slightly as he stretched his legs out; all his muscles were still cramping from the Cruciatus curse before, and his legs were protesting. Protesting... Maybe he was rebelling against his father, against his stupid beliefs. Maybe he should. Draco felt a swell of indignation and hatred that was almost immediately quelled with fear and anguish. That would mean he was rebelling against the Dark Lord, and he'd be killed on sight if any Death Eaters saw him. That would mean he'd be a Wanted man. That would mean he'd be on Saint Potter's side. With the Granger, the Mudblood. And the filthy and poor blood-traitor Weaselbee.

"Ugh." He said in distaste, slumping forwards and resting his head against his desk, eyes facing the door.

Then he heard a scream which chilled his blood.

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*Author's Note (again): How did you guys find that? Tell me in a review! Thanks guys :)

~ Chongy