Well hello, i hope everyone is having a great summer. This story has been ADOPTED from Kate Goode. she has taken down her version i believe and gave me the hard copy to continue it. i have changed things around so even if you read her first chapters please read these first chapters otherwise you probably wont understand some things.

For everyone who also reads why me! i have not abandoned that story. i was not in a mood to write a love story today, so i thought that i would have a crack at this one.

please be warned that this is a M rated story, so there will be some hanky panky occurring between our favorite Draco Malfoy - in all his bad ass glory - and hermione.

if anyone feels up to beta-ing this story then email me.

sorry for the super long AN :)

Disclaimer- i do not own any of the Harry Potter world.

credit to KateGoode for the idea.

oh, please review to let me know what you think.


"Start with your name please," The interrogator smiles at me. His name is sewn into the awful DE authorised shirt and trousers that he is wearing. Captain Lestrange.

Hatred for myself and at him wells inside of my soul as I realised that I have sold myself. "Granger." I smirk, I can see it in his eyes, and he thinks he's cracked me. He thinks I've surrendered my name because I'm weak. And I am, I sold myself for a few bits of paper and a decent meal. I wanted to tell my story. And I wanted to do it my way and they are going to have to read everything I have to tell them if they want to find the answers that they have asked me for.

If I have to betray Harry and Ron, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, Fleur and Bill and Ginny and so many others, than I am going to do it my way.

He asks me again to clarify my first name. I know he is already aware of my name, of who I am. Not that I do not already think that he is insanely stupid; but you would have to be exceptionally deficient if you did not recognise Hermione Granger's signature mane of hair when it has been splattered on 'MOST WANTED POSTERS' for the last few months.

And he should know that the best friend of the boy who lived is not going to disappear without some sort of repercussions. Personally, I'm hoping that all of his limbs are severed from his body when they find out who tortured me for days on end.

But, I decide to refrain from telling him that because I already have a collection of cigarette burns on my neck and I would like to avoid getting any more. "Hermione." I continue with my first name and then flick my gaze to the cigarette happy bitch standing behind him.

Belatrix Lestrange.

Wife.

I want to comment, spit out an insult to the woman that murdered my best friend's godfather, but I don't. Right now it's not really my place to comment on something that is so in the past. It hurts to think that someone's death can every truly disappear from your mind, but there comes a point when you have to let go... when it gets so difficult to hold on and remember... when all you want to do is give up.

I have met the woman before. Crazy, sadistic and completely nuts.

She's wearing the same ugly black shirt with her name and rank printed on it, but her trousers have been swapped for an even uglier black skirt that doesn't do anything for her hips.

I tell her so.

Which is a mistake.

I know that now, after an excruciating ten minutes of having the Death Eater symbol - a snake writhing out of a scull - branded into my skin with some sort of hot poker. You would assume that Wizarding Torture methods would differ slightly from antediluvian muggle techniques; but – and this is said with an immense, firsthand knowledge – that muggle blood may not be good enough for Purebloods but they have no problem stealing pain inflicting processes.

I can still smell the rankness of burning skin, my burning skin. All for telling her that she needs to maybe stop burning people with cigarettes and start smoking them because 1) maybe they will stop her eating so she could lose a little weight, and 2) hopefully it would cover the stench escaping from her mouth.

I don't think she liked me telling her... and she definitely did not get the hint.

"Now, Agent Granger." he smiles, "I have given you a list of things I would like to know." I smile, as if he is going to get anything out of me.

"Starting with the Order's latest plan of attack," I look down at the paper he has given me. The thick regal looking sheets that are used on prisoners here in the DE base would be like heaven for the Order who have to get by scribbling on receipts and old text books due to the cutbacks on resources that were deemed 'unnecessary.'

There's a pen too, a beautiful looking fountain pen that seems to just guide itself over the paper as I pick it up and scribble the heading.

There's not much to tell. I was sent off with fake papers. I was supposed to deliver a message to a man begging for help from a DE controlled area. Though, the message never arrived. But the papers and I happened to fall into the clutches of the DE. The DE stands for something horrific.

Something frightening. Awful. People outside of our little nation of England wouldn't understand the horrors that we have faced. At least they wouldn't have.

Now that I'm writing I guess that I should carry on. It gives me something to do and I need something to focus my over active imagination on. I'm already imagining the way they may have captured the rest of the order while I've been stuck here. I'm far from safe, but at least I know what's going to happen to me.

I've accepted my fate.

Harry and Ron don't ever know if they'll make it home at night. But I'm getting ahead of myself. If I'm going to answer your questions, I'll have to start at the beginning.

There are going to be things you don't like, things that I will revel in telling you because I know that you are closer to failure than you think you a-

I get slapped over the ear my Belatrix Lestrange's manly hand here. It still fucking hurts. I don't think she likes believing in the possibility of failure; she's too close to her precious Dark Lord to believe that there is any way they could fail. Only the best of the best will be kept if they do manage to fight the resistance. If they do manage to prosper even though there are so many against them.

You say you want my story. Alright.

You can have it.

Have it all and I won't hold the fact that you would rip it from my cold dead hands against you...because that is what you are promising isn't it, Captain Lestrange?

I know how it works. I know what is going to happen to me.

I'm not naive enough to assume/ believe that people will find me. That people will save me. You say that if I humour you, if I give you what you want, you'll not kill me.

But I know better.

I know I will die as soon as the last words of my confession slip through my cold lips - could you do us a favour and cast a heating charm, I mean would it kill you? - because it's what you do to the people you believe the world should be rid of.

Because that is what I am aren't I?

Mudblood.

But your words don't hurt me anymore Captain...or maybe I'm talking directly to you master. Voldermort. Evil BASTARD he is.

Do you want to know why your words don't rip into me like they once did?

All because of your nephew through marriage. You know Draco Malfoy don't you, Captain? You wife's, sister's son. Evil bastard he is too.

You all are, pretty much.

I thought he was decent.

I thought that he was a good guy for a little while. I thought that he had put blood prejudice behind us, but I was wrong. I fell as easily as a domino, but I think you already know that don't you, Captain?

Captain. I HATE that word almost as much as I HATE Draco Malfoy.

My story starts when I first became a witch. The first time I placed a 'muddy' shoe into Hogwarts. Get what I did there, Captain? Do you appreciate my humour? Do you like the way I play with my words? The way I take your ideals and flush them down the toilet with one carefully placed, snarky remark.

I can see your knuckles whitening as you grasp the table, watching what I'm writing over my shoulder. That's no fun is it, Captain? It ruins the surprise.

I always wanted to be an author, I like the idea of a surprising plot; of twisting and turning my words until no one can see what is happening next, and there is nothing that will surprise you more than what I am going to tell you.

Maybe it will even change your ideas about your so called 'ideals'.

Then again, maybe not.

I think you are too far gone to change. Plus, I don't think I'd want a dick like you on our side. Apparently the Lady-Captain doesn't much like my use of insults. Fuck you. I'm giving you what you want, aren't I?

"Lestrange, sort her out." The Lady-Captain spits also reading over my shoulder. Somehow, mostly by the way the Captain shrinks back at her tone; I don't believe they married through love. "Little Shit." Belatrix's wand sparks at her side and she slams my head into the table.

Maybe I should refrain fr–

04 July 2012

16:42

I'm allowed to write again. Belatrix got so pissed at what I wrote about her sham of a marriage that she had to be escorted/ dragged from the room so they could stop her from killing me.

That doesn't stop them from feeling the need to point their wands at my face and forcefully wash my mouth out with some sort of magic-wand soap. Yes, we should all try to kill our prisoners by suffocating them with mouth-wash. Somehow, I don't think it is going to catch on.

I'm told now that I have to start writing something meaningful. I remind the Captain that if this is to be a good story than I need to have a big build up. To which he replies, "Just get to the fucking point." With a few more swear words and other things that I shouldn't mention. I would also like to point out – in writing because I would rather avoid another mouth scrub down – that I have given you all a few good pieces of advice.

1) The Lady-Captain needs to buy some better fitting clothes

2) Your interrogation tactics need work

3) You should save the good paper for something more important

4) Voldermort is a BASTARD and should be thrown off the top of a building (This gets me a good black eye)

5) The youngest Malfoy should never be trusted (then again, maybe none of the Malfoy's should be trusted)

6) And the Captain really needs a good shave – not mentioned before, but I feel the need to share advice and this is at the top of my current 'add to the advice list' list

See, six pieces of great advice that you would have not gotten if I wasn't a 'good for nothing know it all'.

Right, I guess I should start my story now, you are raising you wand, pointing it at me. Okay, okay. I get it.

Important information only.

Voldermort is a BASTARD. What? You said important information...

September 1st 1991

The first time I stepped foot on the Hogwarts express was the best day of my life. There was something ever so magical and exciting in the air that had me gagging with eagerness before the school year even started. Obviously, I did not know what was waiting for me.

Prejudice.

Hatred.

Anger.

Resentment.

An eleven year old should not have to face things like that. She shouldn't have to have her innocence ripped from her as she looks upon the face of a boy whose hair shone like the moon high in the sky and whose eyes looked like the best storm clouds.

But, I had to deal with hatred and anger and prejudice and resentment from all the little Pureblooded babies who thought that they were better than the rest of us; just because their parents were cousins and their blood was one millionth from insanity.

As unhappy as I am to disclose this fact – but a good story is nothing without the facts – I have to admit that I was smitten with Draco Malfoy and his beautiful blond hair.

My feelings regarding him created an oxymoron of emotions inside of me for the best part of seven years. There was a very, very large part of me that hated him with everything that I could give, and then I would see his folorn expression or the raging defiance that was so god damn attractive and I would fall all over again.

Everyone loves a bad boy. That is what my mother said the moment I confided in her the possibility that I may have more than platonic feelings for the boy who hated me on principle. I told her that forth year, right after Yule Ball when I saw him watching me from across the hall from his place on Pansy Parkinson's arm as she tried to fix her hideous Slytherin green dress to show more cleavage in an attempt to drag her date's attention back to her.

It didn't work.

My mother tried to console me... there is always something about a mother's words that help, even if they have no point whatsoever.

If it was just about a bad boy and the attractiveness of the unknown, why could I not have fallen for Theodore Nott or Blaise Zabini – both Slytherins, both sexy as sin and both as bad as Draco Malfoy. But for some reason I couldn't turn my unwanted affection from Draco Malfoy and so I passed my Hogwart's years in a tumble of self hatred and anger at the fact that I – Hermione Granger, know-it-all and the biggest swot the magical world had ever seen – had fallen for the enemy; even though it was utterly illogical.

After forth year, I pushed myself into my studies and into collecting all the information I could find that would help us to survive when we had to run for it.

I tried, in complete and utter vain, to forget Draco Malfoy. But you cannot turn off your subconscious, no matter how hard you try. I learnt to hide my thoughts and feelings; occlumency was a must as war started its rapid approach, what if someone saw what I felt inside? What if they sent Draco to break me?

I could not have dealt with that.

The nightmares came thick and fast as the war neared, which left my mind vulnerable and open and full of thoughts of someone I didn't want to think about.

Ironically, the only person who could ever stave off the night terrors was Draco himself. Even though now, the only nightmares I have are of his face and the way that I crumbled into dust like a brick tower atop a mountain plagued by erosion as it falls to the sea.

Even though I know it's wrong, I still wish I could curl up into his side – if only to pretend that everything is ok.

After Fleur's wedding to Bill; Harry, Ron and I fled to Grimauld place. For a while we were alone. For a while we managed to survive when we didn't know what happened to anyone.

But then the members of the order started turning up. They started arriving alone first. Tonk's, Moody, Remus. And soon all the principle members of the order had arrived. Then the missions began – the missions to take down the Death Eaters – and people started returning with the need of support.

Two people carrying someone severely injured through the doorway became a common sight. And I could tell it was tearing Harry apart. It was killing him from the inside out as he watched more and more of his friends and adopted family wasting away.

We had to leave. We had to get out of the suffocating atmosphere of Grimauld place. And we ended up in the middle of a forest – or maybe it was a national park. We moved about so much that I can never remember where we went first.

And for the first time after Hogwarts, I met Draco Malfoy.


So, i havent really decided exactly how it is going to end. i have two options, i guess you will all have to keep ready to find out :)

please review to let me know what you think.