A.N. 08-29-2013 After not working for this story for a ridiculous amount of time (cough-a year-cough), things were bound to change right? Now that I have planned up to the end of the story, I decided to go back and add something interesting ^^. There isn't anything to the plot that is necessarily changed, just a different element added. Yay!

A special thanks to Mistwood (formerly Pontus-x) for all of her help when I first started writing this fic. She is amazing and was a great help. Be sure to check out her stories! Her current fic is fantastic ;).

Chapter One

The screams coming from the cell down the hall were like music to his ears. It had been nearly a week since the sound had graced Draco's dungeons and he was glad to finally have a respite from his recent bout of boredom. A couple of Muggles had been caught hiking too close to the Death Eaters' hideout and he didn't mind their little stumble into danger one bit. He was tired of dealing with the slew of blood traitors and deserters he had to dispose of lately. They were entirely too boring with their sniveling. No matter how much he detested their blood status; Draco always enjoyed the challenge of dealing with Muggles. They were too ignorant to be anything but brave.

Draco entered the cell and stuck to the shadows so that he could observe without being seen. He sneered down at the couple lying in a disgraceful heap against the back wall. The woman was sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to the hand of her husband, but his eyes were drawn to the glint off of the rings on their fingers and the man's attempt to soothe his hysterical wife. The pathetic display revolted him and intrigued him at the same time. Such a show of affection should have made him take pity on them and kill them quickly, but unfortunately for them, Draco only saw how it would work to his advantage.

Stepping out of the shadows, Draco dismissed the cloaked and masked Death Eater torturing them with a firm jerk of his head. Despite his lack of disguise, the couple seemed to recognize that he was no improvement to their current situation. As he stepped forward, the man dragged himself up and drew his wife to him as he glared up at Draco; the kind of glare that promised violence. Draco chuckled darkly and wondered at the man's audacity. Surely the man knew there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Draco smirked nastily at the husband and drew his wand. Since it was painfully obvious that the couple desired to stay together, he decided to be gracious. With a non-verbal spell and a small flick of his wand the couple was standing bound together, chest to chest and face to face. The young woman whimpered and hid her face in her husband's neck. Let them have their comfort. They will only make this last longer. Draco shrugged internally. Not that I am complaining.

Both husband and wife were shaking with terror, despite the furious glare coming from the man, and their open display of weakness disappointed him. With a small shake of his head Draco turned his wand on the man and got to work.

"Crucio."

Draco sat back in his chair with a sigh when he reached his private study. For a while he just sat there with his hands resting on his lap as he contemplated the blood staining his hands. He did not know how long he had worked on them, but they had been stubborn and refused to break. The woman had surprised him with her strength. Even witnessing the death of her husband had not been enough to break her. But they all break in the end.

Stooping to open the bottom drawer of his desk, Draco sighed again as he retrieved his black marble pensieve. Somehow, this latest session had not been enough. This had been happening more and more lately. The prisoners, Muggle or blood traitor, were never strong enough and no matter how he tried to draw it out, Draco was leaving his sessions feeling slightly...unsatisfied. Draco shook his head as he began sifting the memory of the torture session in to a conjured vial.

He was getting tired of the constant killing. He remembered when he had been so eager to kill, to prove his strength. But now, after six years, the killing no longer appealed to him. It was merely a chore that he had to perform as a leader. He secretly hoped that when he won this war, the resistance would give up so that he could live in peace. After all, this was a war of ideals and he had no real use for genocide. Everyone had their place in the world and it was time to restore the balance.

Draco moved over to a large shelf behind his desk, placed the vial on the shelf, and began searching through the items for another memory. He was feeling oddly sentimental, so he decided that a trip to the beginning would calm his nerves. The plain looking vial had been shoved in the back, dusty corner, and yet it was the most important. It held his very identity.

Draco poured the memory into the pensieve and all but threw himself in out of barely restrained eagerness. When he oriented himself, he was in the middle of the scene of one of his greatest failures. Dumbledore had been one of the greatest wizards of all time, but he had weathered too much. Draco believed that at the time of his death at the end of Snape's wand, Dumbledore had faded to a mere shadow of his former strength. Even with that weakness, Draco had not been able to defeat him. He knew it was strange that he glorified that failure, but it was in that moment that he decided to become the man he was now.

The true significance of that night was hidden inside the heart of a sixteen-year-old boy. A boy known only as the son of one of Voldemort's most trusted. A mere carbon copy of his father. Before that night on the astronomy tower, Draco was nothing but a child and hardly deserving of his surname. However, when Dumbledore's lifeless body fell, he had stepped out of his father's shadow. That was the night, as far as he was concerned, that Draco Malfoy was born. Although at first, he had been singled out for his weakness, Draco turned it into strength. It was a moment he vowed never to repeat, motivation to become even greater than his father who was burdened by his failures and let them hold him back.

Draco's chest swelled with pride. True to the promise he mad to himself, now he had even surpassed Voldemort. It was proof of pureblood superiority. He had always questioned why Voldemort was allowed to lead that first movement when he was only a tainted half-blood. Never again would anyone think, or dare to bring up the weaknesses and failures of his past. He had surpassed his father, had outlived Voldemort, and he had shown the wizarding world the true power and might of a true Dark Lord.

Sometimes Draco wished he still had the passion for the cause that he had at sixteen. After he had proven himself, there seemed nothing else for Draco to do. He was empty and he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. There were too few mountains to clime and not enough achievements left to claim.

When the memory ended, Draco found his agitation had greatly improved, but there was nagging ache budding behind his eyes. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back. Viewing this memory never failed to give him a migraine. He supposed it was because it was filled with so many emotions. It came from a time when he was still capable of feeling such things and maybe re-visiting them just overwhelmed him.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his study door being jerked open. He slowly sat up straight in his chair and turned his glare on the masked Death Eater that had barged into his private study. When Draco made no further move to acknowledge him, the Death Eater cleared his throat and began to shift from foot to foot, making his impatience known. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes and hex the man into oblivion. His headache was growing in intensity and he simply didn't have the energy.

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, Draco finally addressed him.

"Is there any particular reason you would like to be killed for coming in here without my permission? Has no one taught you that it is polite to knock?" The man stiffened a bit at the cold tone in Draco's voice, but it did not deter him for long.

"My Lord, there is a situation."

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"What kind of situation?"

"The men on patrol found someone snooping around the edge of the compound. She was captured, but her presence might…cause problems."

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Draco was tired of the man's obtuse report. His head was splitting and speaking spent splinters of pain through his skull.

"M-my Lord. They have captured Hermione Granger."

Hermione knew she had been careless. As soon as she heard the rumors about the Death Eaters hideout, she had wanted to scope it out for herself. Normally, she wouldn't have entertained the thought, but the fact that they were so close to her students disturbed her greatly. The new regime under Malfoy had become a more terrifying entity than it had been under Voldemort. She had to do something. If she could just get close enough to confirm their location, it would be easy to bring Harry and the Aurors down on the Death Eaters' heads.

She and Neville, Professor of Herbology, had taken their seventh year students on a trip to Germany to forage for some rather rare herbs and plants that could be used for healing. As the Professor of the Healing Arts at Hogwarts, she saw it as her duty to protect her students. So a few hours after midnight, after setting numerous protection and concealment wards and charms over the campsite, she found herself setting off into the night. Just to be safe, as she left she left cast another spell that would wake Neville should she not return in a few hours. When the spell woke him, a letter would appear explaining everything and gave specific instructions to inform Harry and Ron about Malfoy's location. If she didn't come back in a few hours, there could be no other explanation for her disappearance.

Seeing that it was merely a scouting mission, Hermione hadn't seen it necessary to protect herself with anything other than concealment and silencing charms. Part of her expected the rumors to be just what they were: whispered fears that held no actual truth. However, the disappearance of a Muggle couple in the area the day before yesterday had increased her concern. According to the Muggle police, they had wandered off of the trail and vanished into the forest. Such a thing was not uncommon, but it would have been unwise to ignore it.

Not very far away from their campsite, she found the crime scene markers where the last footprints had been found. Their tracks were mostly straight and clearly marked, with signs about every ten or so meters, with beautiful trees rising up on either side. The tall, stately birch trees seemed to glow in the moonlight. Beyond them, the forest became dense with undergrowth that faded into gigantic fir trees. Here and there, the branches of a juniper tree would hang over the path. The effect was quite surreal.

Anyone with eyes would have been enthralled by the trail, and there was nothing that looked suspicious or interesting to either side. When she had met with the Muggle detectives earlier that day, they had shown her the point where their tracks had left the trail. She had passed that point by about 50 meters, and she could not see what had pulled them away. With a dejected sigh, Hermione sat down on the trail, facing the forest at the Muggles' entry point.

Hermione stared as the moonlight shifted the shadows from the trees and listened to the wind rustling the leaves. There was something magical about the forest; too many people took that for granted. She sat back and listened to the forest as she tried to formulate a plan.

Out of the forest, a new sound drew her out of her thoughts. It was the sound of a songbird. The song it sang was sad and sweet and tugged at her heart. Hermione scanned the forest in front of her, curious as to what was making the music, for it seemed that such a song had to come from a magical creature. A flash of red brought her attention to a bird that landed on a branch right across from her. The bird stared at her and fluttered its wings, never ceasing its song.

Whether it was the music or the bird itself that did it, Hermione would never be able to say, but she felt drawn into the forest. Unknowingly, she followed the bird in a trance. She could not say in which direction she travelled, nor could she say that she really took notice of the change of the forest from the silver birch trees to the firs that now surrounded her.

The trance did not break until Hermione found herself in a clearing. There was something in the air, a faint rippling. It was almost magical. The bird came and flew around her head, then towards the center of the clearing. Still in a daze, she moved toward a white stone in the middle. It was smooth on top and glittered in the moonlight. Her attention turned to the bird, which now stared at her from the rock. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered an old Muggle story that her mother used to tell her before bed when she was very little. It was a horrible story. In it, the wicked stepmother killed her stepson for his inheritance and buried his bones under a Juniper tree after serving his flesh to his father in a stew. The boy was reborn into a red bird and for revenge dropped a millstone on his stepmother, regaining his human life.

Repulsed by the bird on the stone, Hermione backed away and into the safety of the trees. She knew it was silly, but the resemblances to the story shook her a little. Realizing that she had strayed far from the trail, she thought with a mental sneer that perhaps the Muggles had been drawn off-course in much the same way. If so, it was a very sick plot to lure people away. It was just devious enough to be a Death Eater plot, but with their blood-status prejudices, she doubted they would lower themselves to using the details of a Muggle story as a trap.

Hermione smiled to herself. It was rather silly that let her imagination run ahead of her. Looking closely at the stone, she noticed that there were small markings carved into the edge, but she couldn't make them out from where she stood. As she walked closer, the bird made a happy trill and bounced in place. The markings looked like runes and as she reached out to touch them a small feeling of dread bloomed in her gut. Ignoring it she touched one of the runes. The horrible tugging sensation signaled her mistake. The stone must have been port key and she tried to swallow down the panic when she was tossed down into the snow.

There was no sound. There were no animals scurrying around in the underbrush. She felt utterly alone, completely vulnerable. When she heard several crack of apparition Hermione scrambled to a standing position, wand at the ready, but she was too late. The hex hit her full on the chest and she didn't had time to block it. She barely had time to register the pain. The world faded slowly around her.

A.N. So how was it? I promise, promise, promise there is a reason for Draco's behavior. I know he is terrible, but you will just have to trust me.

xoxox

Summer Orchid