August 2018 Note: This story is currently under re-construction. This was my first significant fanfiction and I was very 'green' so to speak. Chapter by chapter I will review and update. I will update the notes when this 'renovation' is complete!

Original Notes: This started as a one shot but continued because I loved writing it so much and because of all of your lovely reviews and support. I am having a great time with this so thank you.

Disclaimer: M for mature themes and lemons in later chapters. Please do not read this if you are underage or offended by explicit language or lemons. Please do not ignore this warning and then ruin for others. Please note that these are not my characters and I make no profit from this.

A word about my style: I am not obsessive about making my stories perfect. This is fanfiction. It is a hobby and something I do as a creative outlet outside of my full time job and life. As such, don't expect perfection. If you wan't perfection, PAY for a book that has been proofed and worked on by a paid editor. There are OC and AU elements in most of my stories. Rather than nitpicking and trying to prove you're the ultimate Potter fan, just go with it!

Stolen Memories

In the corner of the dark bar Hermione teetered on her rickety bar stool. It had been five years to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts, and much had changed.

She had finished her studies and gone on to work for the Ministry of Magic, dividing her time between Muggle Affairs and the Welfare of Magical Creatures departments. She loved her work, although it was relentless and time consuming.

As "The Brightest Witch of Her Age," a term that the Daily Prophet still liked to use in their regular gossip articles about her life, she was always destined for great things.

Naturally, the 'Golden Trio' that defeated Lord Voldemort were undoubtedly the most famous living faces in the wizarding world, and the media attention never died down. The public remained interested as ever as to where they worked and what went on in their personal lives.

Her personal life as it went, was exactly the thing that brought her to this dubious bar, known for shady goings on and as a haunt for darker wizards. She knew that she would not be photographed here or harassed with questions about the battle, her life and…Ron.

Her failed relationship had recently become routine tabloid fodder.

After the battle their love continued to grow and their life together seemed charmed… until it wasn't anymore.

Over time it became abundantly clear that they were very different people who wanted different things from life. She was ambitious, hated media attention and was still obsessed with books and learning.

He was laid back with little ambition (though he had done well for himself at the Ministry) and he loved media attention. He also wanted children, lots of them, just like his parents. The idea of this made Hermione scream internally. It wasn't what she wanted for her life at all.

In short, it was never going to work between them.

She recalled sitting on the floor of their apartment across from him. Tears rolling down her face as they stared into each others eyes, knowing that this was the end.

They had sworn to be friends, but how could they? How could they ever really be as they were before it all?

She summoned the witch behind the bar and requested she leave the bottle of fire whiskey there. She smiled knowing that the Prophet would have a field day with the 'Gryffindor Princess/Golden Girl getting wasted in a shady bar alone' story line, but they would never find her here, the bar was laced with privacy magic.

With that she put the bottle to her lips and began to pour.

Draco Malfoy sat with his old friend Blaise Zabini in the corner of a god awful bar for dark wizards and general riff raff. He winced as he sat down, knowing his expensive robes were probably being soiled by his disgusting environment. How was it that everything could be so very... sticky?

Blaise regarded him with amusement. "Always such a snob Malfoy," he laughed.

Malfoy shot him an icy glare. He hated that Blaise was so fond of such places. They were filled entirely with the wrong kinds of people. They were dirty, and frankly he resented that someone may see him there. Not that anyone he would willingly associate with would possibly in such a place. Other than Blaise, of course.

"Don't be a spoil sport Malfoy. There are games afoot!" the dark wizard smiled, a glint in his eye.

"Oh God, not this again Zabini," groaned Malfoy, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

The boys had played this game a number of times. They would find an interesting which or wizard in a vulnerable inebriated state and use a little known spell to extract their unedited memories without their knowledge. They could even isolate the kinds of memories they wanted.

Draco smiled to himself as he recalled some pretty lusty memories they extracted from the unassuming Pansy Parkinson several years ago.

Blaise caught his smile and nodded, knowing his friend was silently consenting to the game.

They would find someone, extract the memory, go home and laugh and drink as they watched through the pensive in Draco's luxurious home. They often put bets on the content of what they were about to see. Being from wealthy families and having achieved success themselves as adults, it was a high stakes game.

"Why this place?" asked Draco thoughtfully.

"Let's just say, a little birdy told me that there was a particularly interesting witch here, halfway through a bottle of fire whiskey and still drinking. I dare say this will be our best one yet – our crowning achievement," Blaise whispered thoughtfully.

"Oh marvellous, does that mean we get to retire?" poked Draco.

"I dare say it does Malfoy. It won't get better than this," he replied, pointing toward the corner.

There she was.

Hermione Granger, completely plastered, alone and teetering precariously on her bar stool. She was clearly lost in her own thoughts, her face moving through a range of emotions as she did so.

"You're a bad, bad man Zabini," laughed Draco as he lifted his wand inconspicuously to begin the spell.

Hermione had a splitting headache and couldn't escape the sense that someone was rummaging around her head. Probably the fire whiskey she thought dismissively.

She was about to fall asleep on the bar when a warm and familiar hand landed firmly on her shoulder.

Harry, she breathed as she looked up.

"Oh Hermione," he said gently, "look at the state of you. Let's get you home."

She was aware of eyes on them around the bar. Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived' carrying a barely conscious Hermione Granger out of a dark wizarding bar at two in the morning was not an everyday occurrence.

It was a low point she knew was going to regret it in the morning.

Draco watched as Harry Potter gently lifted Hermione and threw her over his shoulder. He wondered absentmindedly, what it would be like to have such a friendship. Their bond practically radiated from them.

He turned his attention back to her form. The blonde wizard hard never really noticed how petite and fragile she was. Her wit, intelligence and ferocity always made her look several feet taller than she actually stood. But stripped of that, she was small.

Like this she seemed like a paper doll, and so very helpless. He liked and disliked it in equal measure.

"Trust Potter to ruin the fun," said Draco in Zabini's general direction.

"Who said he did?" grinned Blaise, holding up a small vial that Draco recognized immediately.

"You sly prick," breathed Draco, suddenly more interested in the petite girl's memory than he had been before he saw her skirt hitch a little in Potter's arms.

Later in Draco's apartment they decided to start small.

Zabini bet Draco 100 galleons that Potter and Hermione had at least kissed. Draco bet that they had not. He knew she was hopelessly devoted to Weasley for some mysterious reason.

Why on Earth a woman that smart would be interested in a weasel like him, when she could have gone for the boy who lived or you know, literally anyone other than Weasley, was beyond him.

He was confident in his bet.

They had a lively debate for several minutes about why she would and why she would not have got it on with Potter.

In Zabini's view, Potter was (though he hated to say it) the most powerful wizard of all time. He also had plenty put away in Gringotts as well. Women were attracted to money and power. So, by his logic, how could she not have been attracted to him?

Draco disagreed, he felt that money and power were important to people like himself and Zabini, but not so much to people like Granger, a muggle born Gryffindor. He just couldn't picture Hermione caring about the contents of a wizard's vault.

After their little debate Zabini dropped the silver liquid into the swirling pool of the pensive and immediately they were transported into the memory of Hermione. Her memory of Harry Potter.

The memories felt warm and fuzzy. They were of the pair laughing and talking and embracing. There was one rather romantic memory of the pair dancing in some remote location. It was intimate, but it was clearly platonic.

Blaise reluctantly handed over the money to a triumphant Draco.

"Let's make this more interesting then," challenged Blaise. "I say, let's look at cruelty," he finished.

A sick part inside of Draco awoke at the suggestion. Could there be a part of the golden girl that wasn't so golden? He certainly hoped that was the case.

He may have not been Death Eater material but he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoy's always loved the dark side.

Zabini bet 1000 galleons that she had no dark side. She was relentlessly good and they would not find a single memory of cruelty, other than that one time she punched Draco in the face.

He laughed as he recalled hearing that Granger had punched his friend straight in the nose, on school grounds no less.

"Suppose I deserved it," recalled Draco. Zabini nodded his agreement.

He thought about his friend's bet for a moment and decided that for 1000 galleons he would risk that she was not quite so wholesome. After all, they had found her in a bar notorious for crime and dark magic, drinking fire whiskey alone and from the bottle. Surely that hinted that something else was going on there?

He wasn't sure why Blaise was so adamant about her virtue, it's not like her knew the girl, but Draco figured winning another 1000 galleons was worth the risk.

"Let the games begin," said Blaise theatrically as he poured the silver liquid into the beautiful marble pensive.

Immediately, they were transported to Malfoy Manor several years in the past. Draco's stomach turned when he realised what this memory was.

Hermione lay on the floor, Mudblood carved into her arm and bleeding slowly after having been tortured by his aunt. His younger self stood silently in the corner.

Blaise observed the scene with wide eyes. 'Mate, I knew this happened…but seeing it is something else.. this is going to be an interesting one," he said, his eyes planted firmly on the bleeding girl.

Draco noted that her gaze drifted to his younger self, something he never noticed at the time. He had been too busy trying to mentally remove himself from what was happening. Her lack of disappointment and her lack of hope that he would help were written all over her face. He felt a familiar pang of shame because of course she was right. He didn't help her.

All of a sudden they were in the grounds of Malfoy Manor. "Ah, the escape," remarked Blaise.

On the ground were two Death Eaters. One was his father.

Draco's interest was piqued. He never knew what went on in the grounds after they got away. He never even knew his father went out there.

Hermione stood over him menacingly, still bleeding from her wounds. It appeared she was using some kind of restraining spell on him and allowing the blood from her arm to drop onto his face.

"Have some Mudblood, you bastard," she screamed as the blood dropped onto the disgusted face of Lucius Malfoy.

The boys stood in silent horror as they watched the rest of the scene unfold.

The older Malfoy began to goad her. Confident that she would not harm him. That she didn't have the guts or the skill. Her face contorted with rage. Though, the rage was not the most disturbing thing. The disturbing part came when she became completely calm and still.

With a cold smile she pointed her wand at his father and yelled, "Crucio."

Draco turned to Blaise and saw his jaw drop. Hermione Granger was using an unforgivable. On Malfoy's father. It was unbelievable.

It seemed to go on forever. The glee with which she tortured his father was truly disturbing. She delighted in it much the same way that Bellatrix had delighted in torturing her only a few hours prior. She was enjoying herself. She told him so.

"Maybe I'll go find Draco, I would love to spend some time with him like this" she sneered.

His eyes widened as he watched.

"Don't you dare you filthy Mudblood b…" She cut him off with the flick of her wand and more torture.

"Shall I do this to him?" she continued, "or should I find your wife and torture you both until you end up in St. Mungo's with Neville Longbottom's parents? That seems like a nice punishment for him. Mummy and Daddy insane at the hands of the Mudblood," her voice like ice.

Blaise looked at Draco in disbelief. "We should go," he said. Draco stayed where he was. He needed to see what happened next.

It went on for what felt like forever. She only stopped when she heard the voices of Potter and Weasley in the distance.

"I guess we will need to finish this another time Mr. Malfoy," she said flatly and she used one last flick of her wand to bind him to a tree.

"I do hope someone finds you out here before you rot. It would be ever so sad to never meet again, no?" she said cruelly as she sauntered off, seemingly unfazed with what she had done.

The memory ended and Draco found himself staring back and forth between Blaise and the pensive in disbelief.

"We could sell that to the Prophet…" began Blaise, "Imagine how much they would pay for it, we could destroy her…" he continued before Draco cut him off.

Draco immediately pulled out the vial and smashed it to pieces on the floor.

"We tell no one," he growled.

For the second time in as many minutes Zabini's jaw dropped.

"You can't be serious," he asked incredulously.

"We will not speak of this to anyone. Especially the Prophet, or god forbid, Witch Weekly. Keep your galleons and get out of my apartment. We are done with this game," he said bluntly, his tone commanding.

Of course, Zabini had a backup vial.. as did Draco. They were Slytherins to the core, but he wanted to make a clear and symbolic statement with the smashing of the vial. They were done with this.

They were done with her memories of Malfoy Manor.

He thought of the petite little girl, like a paper doll. He thought about her arm and her blood. He thought about the years and years he called her names. He thought about what it must have felt like to have an entire army against you, wanting you and everyone like you to be dead.

Then he thought about his father and her threat. She had threatened him and he never knew. Had she ever been a danger to him? Or was it all talk?

He did not think she was bluffing, anyone who can use an unforgivable with such conviction was to be taken seriously. That's the thing about unforgivable curses...you have to mean them.

And what of Zabini's suggestion to go to the Prophet? To expose her and to destroy her image. Surely after what she said about him and his parents.. what she did to his father.. he should want that.. right?

He looked at the remnants of the vial that contained her secrets on the floor. Unsure if he had refused for himself and the Malfoy name, or for the petite little witch herself.

His breathing became heavy as he carefully removed a second vial from his pocket.

He thought about smashing this one too, but curiosity was getting the better of him.

What other secrets did Hermione Granger have?

Thanks for reading - please stick with it as I think it does get better over time. The feedback I have had and the amount of reviews I have received have been overwhelming. Truly, Thank you.