A/N: Hello all! This is my first-ever fic, so CC/reviews/ideas/feedback of any kind is very welcome. Anyways, here it is. I found it quite short, but let's see how it does before I continue updating.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything related to Harry Potter or Harry Potter himself. I do, however, own several pages of Algebra work that's due Monday. Uni is going to kill me.

Chapter One

23 December, 1997 | 4:53 AM | Location: Scotland

Hermione almost sighed, but caught herself. No, not here. Not now. She couldn't risk it. She pushed her limp curls out of her eyes with a hand cocooned by her jumper sleeve. She hugged herself around her slim torso (even more so as of late) with her right arm, relishing in the feel of the momentary warmth that spread throughout her core. But she wasn't one to dwell on what she didn't have. Keep going, Granger. Carefully. Clenching her wand in her left fist, she trudged on, white dragon breath escaping from her lungs and into the frozen air. The sound of a twig snapping behind her was stark against the stillness of the Scotland forest. She came to a halt. Wand ready, she spun around on the axis of her heel.

"Who's there?"

She couldn't believe whose gaze she had caught.

16 December, 1997 | 1:37 AM | Location: unknown

Draco's body writhed in pain. Was there no end to this? How long had it been? Hours? Days? He couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was blinding pain. It wouldn't stop. He felt every millisecond of his limbs being ripped from his body, chunks of his brain being pulled through his nose, the invisible dagger in his gut dicing his intestines. All at the same time. But as quickly as the bastard's thin, greyed lips had uttered "crucio," he had made it stop at that speed as well.

Godric, his entire being hurt. His soul hurt. Well, if he had one, that is. The Dark Lord didn't. Merlin knows how he'd managed to split something nonexistent. Let alone into seven bloody pieces.

He had to get out of there. He had to find the order.

23 December, 1997 | 4:54 AM | Location: Scotland

Her deep chestnut eyes met his steel ones. There was an intake of breath, but from whom? Perhaps they had both breathed in the winter air sharply. Is this really happening? Her startled glare roamed over him, absorbing his appearance. Not in a sexual way, like she denied that she had done in fifth year. He looked...he looked bloody awful.

Well, so much for the good looks he's always depended on. Godric, is he okay?

Despite the pity she felt, she couldn't help but outwardly smirk at the sight in front of her. Slytherin's prince was now the pauper.

Malfoy caught the upward tilt the left side of her mouth took on. Yes, he looked like hell. He was aware. But right now, Merlin, right now, he could absolutely care less at the anger that welled up in his chest. He was so sore. So thirsty. And freezing. Damn Scotland. Damn Voldemort. But Mudblood Granger...he needed her (no matter how much he denied it).

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gravelly rasp. Oh yes, the screaming. From all the torture. How could he have possibly forgotten?

He cleared his throat, which felt like his vocal chords going through a meat grinder, but he finally was able to speak, kind of.

"Granger...water?"

25 December, 1997 | 5:09 PM | Location: Scotland

His eyes slowly fluttered open, his surroundings blurred and spinning. The sound of people talking filled his ears but it was muffled. How did he get here? Where was "here?"

"Just wake the git up, 'Mione. He's been sleeping fo-"

How long? He was drifting again. Sinking. No. His hands weakly grasped the sheets. The smell of clean linen in his nose, making him woozy. Comforted. And with that, blackness enveloped him.

A/N: So? Any thoughts? Reviews are always appreciated and so is constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!