Well, Hi!

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the planet, nor have I gone to live in my own little world. Two trips to the US and a wedding have been keeping me busy, along with overtime at work. Before I introduce this fic, I just want to say that I haven't forgotten about 'Searching', it's just that the fic is about to take a brand new turn and I want to get it right. I have not in any way forgotten about it, it's just taking a long time to get the next bit right in my head before I even try and get it down on my 'puter. Apologies, but hopefully this fic will entertain you instead.

I've been writing this for, I think, nearly a year, on and off which is why it's taken me this long to get it posted. I'm stepping into the 'many Original Character' territory, which is exciting but a little scary. If you're not a fan of OCs then, well, where's your imagination? Don't worry though, there will be plenty of Ron and Hermione in this fic, it being centred around them and all! (As ever!)

Think that's it. 6 chapters are written after this but they need to be beta'd so they won't be following too quickly. Any and all constructive feedback is welcome. Hope you enjoy! :D

Step ;)

Chapter 1 – With my Life

...

To have complete trust in someone is one of the most precious things you can possess. It is the easiest thing to say, but is overused and thrown around haphazardly, much like 'I love you', and 'I'm sorry'. How many people can actually say to someone 'I trust you implicitly' and even take it so far as to say 'I trust you with my life'?

But with trust comes responsibility. If someone has complete trust in you, it is up to you to make sure that their trust is not misplaced, because when someone trusts you, they will not question a request, a thought or an action. They will follow you anywhere if you ask them to. Why? Because they trust you.

When it comes to family though, another factor is thrown in: love. Not only has a basic trust always been present between family members, an unconditional love adds a complication. A family member would never hurt you. We trust them with our lives.

It's not only family members who have this added complication of love. Friends who have fought through all kinds of challenges, who have come through them fiercer friends than before have that same kind of bond, as do couples who have grown to know each other and accepted the way they feel about each other. Love grows from trust; if trust is undermined or taken advantage of, then love is easily destroyed.

How would we feel if the trust someone had in us were being used for another's gain? How would we feel when we found out we had betrayed someone's trust? And, more importantly, how would they feel when they found out the same? Hopefully things like that would never happen.

Trust is a powerful thing. A very powerful thing.

…oooOOOooo…

The room was dark and cold. A draught flowed around his ankles and up his trouser legs. His natural instincts tried to move his legs away from the cold, but the ropes binding them to the chair legs prevented him from doing so.

He shivered and winced as his movements caused his raw wrists to move against his bonds, the friction adding to the previous burns he had unknowingly given himself. His head hung forward and his eyes were closed. He didn't think there was much point in keeping them open, as there was no light to see by. The cloud cover beat the moonlight and the solitary candle that stood in the corner of the room had burned out hours ago.

He had spent those hours, and the ones that had been lit by the single candle, trying to figure out what they wanted with him. He didn't even know who they were. He had never seen the markings, which were tattooed into the palm of his binder's hand, but they weren't necessarily a group identity.

He had had his eyes shut for five minutes when the sound of the door banging open made him jump in his seat. Again his raw wrists rubbed against his bonds, but he didn't notice as his blood stream was flooded with adrenaline and his heart was pounding in his ears.

He looked up and saw two people flank either side of the door, guarding it in case he tried to escape.

'I'd be ready for me lads, I'm just about to break out of my bonds and then I intend to run out the door.'

He sniggered at his own comment. He was pleased to see his sense of humour hadn't deserted him, although he knew it was the fighter in him that refused to let them see how much he was hurting, and how much he actually feared what was happening to him.

The larger of the two men walked towards him and raised his hand. He closed his eyes as the back of the man's hand met the right side of his jaw. His head snapped sideways from the force of the blow and he left his head in the position it had ended up in.

'Was that absolutely necessary?' he asked, once he had determined his jaw had not been broken.

The man walked back to the door without saying a word.

A minute later, the door opened again and the flame light in the corridor silhouetted another figure.

The figure was shorter than the two thugs guarding the door and was cloaked with the hood pulled up. The door closed behind the person and they pulled their hood down.

He looked up at the person and realised it was a witch. Her hair was straight and black and was cut to the length of her jaw. There was a scarlet streak in it, which was in the hair above her ear, and where it settled on her jaw, a tattoo snaked its way down her neck and disappeared under her robes. He recognised the markings as the same as the ones he had seen earlier on the palm of his binder. So it was a group identity, it was just a shame he had no idea which group it was.

She was dressed in black. Tight trousers covered her legs, and a black bodice showed off her figure, drawing in at her waist and pushing her breasts up so they were on display and obvious, even to those who were trying to ignore them.

Heavy boots covered her feet and he could see that metal covered the toes. He frowned when he noticed they were smeared with something. His gut instinct told him it wasn't mud that had splattered them.

He brought his heavy head up higher so he could look at her eyes. She hadn't moved since she had stopped directly in front of him, as if wanting him to take notice of her appearance before she spoke.

He took the sight of her in. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old, yet it was obvious she held authority over the other people here.

'Leave us,' she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The two behind her turned and left the room, closing and locking the door behind them. She waved her wand and conjured candles around the edge of the room.

'Well, Mister Clark, how has your stay been thus far? I trust my men have given you a most warm welcome.'

The smile on her face looked innocent enough and matched the sweet tone she had used to address her prisoner.

'Oh, yes, very comfortable thank you,' Clark replied. 'If it weren't for the ropes which seem to be charmed to get tighter the more I struggle, it would be perfect. Oh, and if you could just ask the one who tried in earnest to shatter my jaw, if he wishes to do it again, could he please try it on the other side, so to even out the pain, it would be much appreciated, thank you.'

He returned her sweet smile even though the skin on the right side of his face protested.

'I think that can be arranged, Mister Clark.'

She slowly circled him; her steps were slow as if she were positioning each one in a specific place. As she passed him, he caught the scent she was wearing. It was sweet, and, in any other situation, would have caught his attention, but she already had that. He let his head follow her round as she walked clockwise around his chair, but as she walked out of his sight he didn't turn his head to watch her walk back in front of him.

It caught him by surprise, therefore, when she straddled him and placed both her hands on his shoulders. He kept his head where it was, refusing to join her in her game.

'It's very rude to ignore me, Mister Clark. Did your filthy muggle parents teach you no manners at all? Tut tut!'

She trailed a finger down the left side of his face. 'Look at me,' she demanded in a calm, but firm voice.

He turned his head towards her, but looked resolutely at his thigh. She sat down on his lap, still he did not move his gaze.

'No, no, no,' she said in a calm whisper. 'I said look at me!'

She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so he had no choice but to look her directly in the eye.

'That's better,' she replied silkily. 'Such dark eyes. I sense they hide a sadness, which very few know about. Luckily, I don't have to be one of those honoured few, I have ways and means to find out everything about you, Mister Clark.'

'You know, you could always ask, I might surprise you and tell you everything.'

She smiled and ran both her hands through his short hair. Had the situation been entirely different, he may have found the motion sensual; as it was it made him shudder with revulsion.

'Unfortunately my wanderings into your mind will have to wait Mister Clark, I have other things of more importance to get through.'

She trailed her hand back through his hair and down his cheek. Her hand moved to her neck and softly traced a line down her chest and in between her breasts, dipping down into her corset and pulling out a small phial of liquid.

'Let me guess,' Clark said with a smirk. 'Safest place on earth, because no man would ever want to venture down there?'

Anger flashed through her eyes but she remained motionless.

'Just so I know, Mister Clark, which side of your face do I tell my friend at the door to hit you on, so to even out your pain?'

'Well, he's had a go at my right, so my left, if he would be so kind.'

She pushed herself off him and stood before him. He sighed and then felt the back of her hand hit the right side of his face in much the same way her minion's hand had done earlier. However, this time it hurt twice as much.

He moved his jaw around, again determining whether it had been broken. It seemed he had been lucky for a second time.

'When I said the left side,' he said calmly, 'I meant my left not yours.'

'I know exactly what you meant, Mister Clark, but no one insults me and gets to choose his punishment.'

'Ah, I understand.'

'Good. Now, on to business. I am going to use you, Mister Clark to give me something I want. Well not directly, but you will play a significant part in helping me achieve my goal. I will give you this, Mister Clark,' she held up the small phial, 'and then you will be under my total control.'

'If you think I'm going to willingly take anything you give me, you need your head seeing to.'

She threw her head back and laughed loudly.

'You see, here is the ingenious part, Mister Clark. You don't have to drink it, because I place it in your blood directly.'

Clark was glad the shiver that ran through him wasn't visible to his captor. He didn't want her to see that her words were affecting him in any way.

She drew her wand and transfigured the chair he was sitting on into a wooden bench. His bound hands, which had been tied to the back of the chair, were now under the bench and pulling him down so he had to lie on it.

She looked down on him and smiled in that innocent way she had obviously mastered. She stepped forward and straddled the bench, hovering over his lap and smirking at him.

'You know…' he stammered through the pain in his wrists. The bonds around them had tightened so much that his hands were tingling through lack of circulation. 'If we're going to be this intimate, you could at least…tell me your name.'

'Oh, how rude of me! I haven't introduced myself, have I? Well, we can't have you not knowing the name of your Mistress now, can we?'

'No, we c…can't'

'All in good time, Mister Clark, all in good time.'

She sat herself down on his lap and leant forwards over him placing one hand on either side of his head.

She took her weight on her left hand and with her right slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

'S…seriously,' he said with a shudder, 'I'd really like to know your name.'

She looked him directly in the eye and smiled, not answering his question. She leant back and took a wand out of her pocket.

'This may hurt, Mister Clark, I suggest you bite on this.'

Clark recognised the wand as his own. He opened his mouth to say something, but the wand was pressed against his mouth and held there until he stopped protesting.

'Believe me, you will want something to bite on,' she said almost kindly. Almost.

She took a deep breath, as if concentrating on what she was about to do.

He closed his eyes in anticipation, but opened them as soon as a searing pain down the centre of his chest made his jaw tighten and his teeth dig into his wand.

After a few seconds, he managed to lift his head off the bench, his breathing heavy. He saw a thin red line starting six inches from his collar bone and stopping a couple of inches below the bottom of his sternum.

She had sliced his skin open.

His breathing became faster as he realised what she had done.

'Don't panic, Mister Clark, I know exactly what I'm doing. There's no need to look so scared. Today is not the day you die. When I'm finished, you'll be as good as new.

Clark wasn't convinced. He wanted to be able to stare at her through whatever she was about to do to him, but he had started to feel dizzy and was forced to lie his head back down on the bench.

'That's right, Mister Clark, you just relax. It'll all be over soon. Just for your information, there are other ways of administrating the potion, but I find this way a lot more satisfying; you will understand what I mean in a few days time.'

Another white-hot pain went through his chest, but he refused to look at what she had done to him. He knew she had just cut through his sternum, which meant she was only aiming for one organ.

He gagged at the thought of what she was about to do.

Seconds went by. Clark had no option but to lie underneath his captor and try to ignore the pain. Occasionally he looked up at the woman. She seemed to be calming herself down, like she was concentrating on something and wanted to make sure whatever she was about to do was done correctly. Two minutes later, she moved and held the phial over his chest.

His eyes widened and he spat out the wand in his mouth.

'What…do…do you w…want with…m…me?' Clark managed to stammer through the pain that seemed to be consuming every part of him.

'I've already told you, Mister Clark, you are going to get me something I need – indirectly, granted – but your part is not insignificant in the slightest. You are the first link in my chain, you should feel very privileged at the thought.'

'I'm…l…lying h…here with my ch…chest open and m…my heart exposed…and I'm s…supposed to feel p…privileged?'

'Yes,' she replied simply. 'You are.'

And with that, she poured the potion onto his heart.

He was expecting an intolerable pain, but it actually felt warm as the liquid seeped into the muscle.

His breathing slowed a little and she smiled.

A minute later, she had healed his bone and closed the wound on his chest, although there was still an angry red line where she had made her mark.

He was confused as he stared at the line on his chest. He felt nothing abnormal.

He was about to open his mouth when the bench underneath him transfigured back into a chair, pushing him back into a sitting position.

She smirked at him and turned to walk back towards the door.

'What does it do?' Clark blurted out.

She turned and faced him, a slightly confused smile on her face.

'I don't feel any different,' he continued. 'What does it do? You said something about…about…being under your control. How?'

'It lies dormant until I activate it with a spell, Mister Clark, as you correctly remembered, from that moment on you are under my command. It works in the same way the Imperius curse does, but it has a major advantage over the unforgivable curse. There is no chance of fighting this potion, once you are under my command, you stay under my command, until the day I lift the spell.'

He couldn't speak, but his mind was working frantically. Suddenly his primary school, muggle biology flooded his brain.

'But, my blood will be cleaned, the potion will be filtered out of my body in a few hours.'

She smiled a proud smile. 'It would if it didn't take the form of the various types of cells in your blood stream, ingeniously disguising itself so it can never be filtered out of your blood, Mister Clark.'

His heart sank, he was beaten.

'So when do I become your unwilling slave then?' he snarled.

'Oh, in the next few days I should think. We are not quite ready for you yet, but we will be soon.'

She turned and walked to the door. She opened it and stepped through it, smiling as she took one last look over her shoulder.

'You still haven't told me your name,' Clark called to her.

'So I haven't,' she replied, still smirking. 'My name is Siona.'

She turned and took a step out of the room.

'Siona what?' Clark asked.

'She turned and looked at him, no trace of a smile on her face.

'Siona Lestrange.'

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All cookies are imaginary, and are not, in fact, real in any way, but you knew that, right? :P