Chapter One

The boy was scarred. What a waste. Skin like that should not be permitted to blemish. Three silver scars over his left eye in perfect straight lines. The one on the outside ending level with his nose and the other two being longer. The scar furthest to the right being the longest and reaching level with his lips. His grey eyes seemed to be set like stone, when only four months before they had been alive with fear and rebellion. Even his expression was statuesque in its emotion. Where was this pale, blond boy's arrogance? His charisma? His natural charm?

Now he was competent. But at what price? Yes he could batter down and defeat most in a duel. Yes he could now kill when before even the attempt left him guilt wracked. Yes he was now strong in body, mind and magic. Yes he would be able to protect her. But would this now hardened warrior of only seventeen be able to relate to a girl of his own age as he once had? Would he be able to make her smile? Would he be able to even give in to any impulse of rash charm he felt?

He stood, hands behind his back and his feet a shoulders width apart. A warriors' stance. Unfeeling with his grey eyes lazily on the man before him. "It has been some time since I've seen you Draco. I trust your training has progressed well."

"As well as can be expected when those teaching me are either inept or insane." Even his voice was cold and lacked its once proud drawl.

"Who scared your face?"

"My aunt. Each mark is for a mistake I repeated." Had Lord Voldemort had less self control, he would have immediately set out to hunt the psychotic wench down and inflict the same harsh punishment upon her. There was time for that later, he told himself. Besides, knowing Bellatrix she would probably enjoy it.

"I have a task for you. A real task. One of great importance and the reason I had you trained." Draco tilted his head to show attentiveness. He was being remarkably disrespectful. If he had been any other follower he would have been punished. But what can be done to punish someone who fears no pain, emotional or physical and who cares little if they live or die? Besides, he didn't want to risk destroying any more of the boy. Enough damage had already been done courtesy of his Death Eater's training methods. He should have taken him to hand himself. At least then he could have preserved more of the lad's spirit.

"My daughter is in the dungeons of this house," he began. "When she was born I hid her in the muggle world to shield her from this war, fully expecting to be able to reclaim her in a few years. She doesn't know her heritage, but once she came of age the power she inherited from me, Parsletongue among other things, awoke. I refuse to have her caged up here, but having my followers know her true identity would be a ticking time bomb for her exposure and knowing who she really is would tear her apart. So I want you to take her from here, return her to Hogwarts and ensure she remains safe at all costs. It would involve fighting against those who trained you, with undue harshness against my command." At that, his eyes flared with anger, though it reached no other part of his posture or expression. Let him feel anger, it would help him keep his daughter safe.

"Go now, she is in the first cell and is a familiar face to you." He handed to boy a piece of parchment baring his mark and a message not to question him in any of his actions. "Go now and free her. Tell her that I ordered you to watch over her but never tell her of her heritage." The boy inclined his head slightly, the greatest show of respect he offered anyone now, and left to obey his command.

Death Eaters jeered at him as he passed like they always did, but it bothered him not. Let them stare, let them sneer. He knew their Lord would fall. As surely as he bore three marks of failure their Lord would fall. Four times he was stopped by his inferior superiors. Each time they withered and cowered when they saw the note. Pitiful creatures. All of them. None of them would survive a true duel with him. None except their Lord and he would fall through arrogance and carelessness. Then a hand was on his shoulder.

He stopped, knowing already than if he turned apologetic black eyes would be on him. Lingering over the marks of his past inadequacies with regret. "Severus. Take care of my mother. I won't be here to do so."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am leaving on the order of our Lord and I won't return. As I said. Take care of my mother." With those words he brushed the hand from his shoulder and walked on. To the dungeons. As always, there was no guard. Bad practice, but then, not many prisoners lived long enough to require guarding.

She was on the floor, long hair tangled, exposed legs cut and awkwardly sprawled, hinting that she had been knocked down. He knew this twitching girl was dressed in what was left of a Hogwarts school uniform. Though he had never seen her look so week. Always she had stood proud, tall and defiant against anything she deemed unjust. Now she was prone, her clothes dirty and tattered as she lay on the floor. He held no illusions as to what she had been through, despite any warnings their Lord had given her captors not to harm her. She had been tortured, most likely raped as well. Hermione Granger, daughter to Lord Voldemort. Only four months ago he would have been surprised, possibly horrified. But now finding something that fazed him was a difficult task. Much of what he had once been had been beaten and brutalised out of him.

With a bored sigh, he rolled up his left sleeve and waved his forearm over the lock. A click within the mechanism told him it had reacted to his Dark Mark. Draco pushed the barred door open, careful not to hit her with it. Her body would most likely be in quite the state after a week here. He crouched down beside her, wishing he knew some healing spells so that their up coming journey would be easier. Before all this he had been thinking about being a healer. He doubted he had that in him now.

She tensed when he laid a gentle hand on her back. So she was awake. "Granger, this is your lucky day." She tensed further, her legs curling up slightly as though they could protect her. It seemed someone else had said that to her under different circumstances. "I've been ordered get you out of here and protect you. Can you walk?"

"It hurts to move." Her voice was horse, as though she hadn't spoken for days and had done nothing but scream for longer.

"That can't be pleasant. But it isn't what I asked. Can you walk?"

"I don't know. It hurts to move." Wonderful, he wasn't the only one on the edge of insanity.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, trying in vain to soften his voice. Her legs curled up more tightly, pressing as close together as possible and breaking open half healed cuts. But not all of the blood on her thighs was from cuts.

"Everywhere," was her meek reply.

"Well, let's get you standing up and see how much of your weight I'll need to support since apperating is too risky with you in this state."

She cringed when he took a firm hold on her waist, but didn't try to get away from him. It didn't take him long to lift her onto her feet, her arm around his neck and her body all but limp as he supported the majority of her weight. "This would be much easier if I knew some healing spells," he muttered as they made their slow way out of her cell. She was limping heavily and there was a slow trickle of blood running down her inner left thigh. Suddenly he felt sick. How could anyone let even just a fraction of what had most likely happened to her happen to their daughter? His Lord could easily have removed her from the dungeons long before now, but instead he left her there to keep up appearances. Now it would not be loyalty to his Lord that would keep the secret of her lineage. It would be disgust of the man as well. His Lord had been right, knowing her heritage would tear her apart.

A quiet whimper escaped her when they reached the stairs, but to her credit she didn't complain or ask to be carried though he would have done so if she did ask. No, the whimper was due to the pain of lifting her leg higher than it could comfortably go in the state it was in. But one whimper was all she gave, despite the twenty or so steps. It impressed him. Perhaps he would offer to carry her once they were out of the strong hold.

She was trembling with her eyes fixed to the stone floor as they made their way through the corridors and into the entrance hall. "Well, well, well," came the voice of his aunt. The insane woman who had given him his marks. "Little Dragon is helping the Mudblood escape."

"That I am," he replied drably. "On the orders of the man you're stalking. Our Lord wants her away from here and kept safe. It's the reason he had you torment-I mean train me." At one point there would have been arrogance in his voice when he taunted someone, now there was simply nonchalance.

"Why would our Lord do that? Admit it," she went on, drawing her wand. "You're a filthy little blood traitor turn coat." Fortunately for him, though obviously not for his aunt, their Lord had given no restrictions on punishment for those who stood in the way of his orders. And unfortunately for her, she had trained him well.

In less than a second his wand was in hand. A swift arc and a jet of blue light shot at the witch, send her flying backwards and into the wall with a howl like a wild animal. Giving her a mark of her own beneath her eye. But he didn't stay to admire his handy work. Instead he simply led Hermione through the door and into the surrounding woods where he could easily find something to turn into a portkey.

The young woman gave a sharp gasp as he helped her to the floor and leaned her against a tree. Her breathing was short and fast, as though the full extent of her pain had only just made itself clear. A glance to her face let him know that she was crying, even though her head was bowed. Frowning, he turned away. For some reason seeing her beaten down and crying was unnerving to him. Far more unnerving than anything he had witnessed or endured during his training.

It didn't take him long to find a stick big enough for both of them to hold onto and soon he returned to her side to gently place her hand around it. She didn't fight against him as he knelt down beside her and manipulated her hand. She did however move to lean against him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Make sure you hold on," he said flatly, holding the stick with one hand and casting the port key spell with his other.

A/N I hope that you enjoyed this. Please review.

Chapter 2 will be coming around this time next week as I'm using this to keep me on track with the novel I'm writing.