A.N: This chapter is an actual chapter, but it's more like an introduction. But most likely the rest will be. If it is not, it will say so at the beginning. Have fun (: x

Warning: Swearing.

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns the rights to these wonderful, wonderful characters.

The first thing Draco saw was the ceiling, which meant that he must have been lying down, which didn't make sense. Why was he he lying down? It felt as if he were lying on the ground. The last thing he remembered was asking Blaise Zabini when his wedding was, and he didn't know the answer, which didn't make sense either...

The world before him spun and shook as he tried to sit up. His vision reverted to normalcy but he couldn't make sense of the state of the room. It was a mess. Some tables were on its side; some chairs had had its legs blasted off. Then he remembered all the bangs and flashes that followed his and Blaise's brief conversation.

It was then when Draco registered the faint scratching sounds coming from somewhere in front in him.

Draco started violently as he realised that in the only chair that was not disturbed in some way had someone sitting in it. That someone was sitting with their back to him, bent over a table, scribbling furiously on what looked to be parchment. There was already a small stack of completed parchment on the table.

A voice said warmly, "Draco," The voice was familiar. The stranger had dropped their quill on the table. They had quickly glanced over their shoulder, too quick for Draco to fully establish whom the stranger was. He could tell the stranger was smiling, and judging by the voice, he was a male. "You're just in time, I'm just about to finish my gift for the lovely Mudblood Granger."

Even under the haze of confusion and sluggishness, Draco's instincts spiked. This was no friend of his. He had made it clear on many occasions that no friends of his were to use the word 'Mudblood' if they wished to remain his friend.

"If you do anything to hurt her-" Even as he was speaking, he did not know how he was going to end the sentence. Why should he care?

"Why would I want to do that?" asked the stranger lightly. Draco could not see the stranger's face, but he could tell that he was smiling again. Shivers ran up Draco's spine.

"If you – if you touch her, I'll – I'll-" Once again, the ending was unclear, but by now Draco had accepted the fact that yes, he did care. And no, he did not know why.

"Do you really think you're up to attempting anything, Draco? Judging by the angle you hit all the furniture, I'm guessing that you broke quite a few bones." There was a small underlying tone of amusement in the stranger's voice, which struck Draco as strange. He pushed that worry away as a sudden pain pierced him, temporarily blacking out all body functions, including speech.

When the pain ebbed away, Draco mustered enough strength to ask as levelly as possible, "What is it you're working on?" It was imperative the stranger remained calm. Somehow, Draco got the feeling the stranger wouldn't enjoy being riled up.

"Just a letter of sorts. Nothing malicious or harmful, I promise. Well, at least not physically harmful. And maybe I lied when I said nothing malicious," the strange replied casually. "Do you want to add something?" He raised his arm above his shoulder, back still to Draco, and waved his quill around tauntingly. Draco bit back a growl.

"What did you do to me?" he tried to ask, but his voice congealed in his throat. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Nothing, just Stunned you," the stranger said. "And some other stuff, maybe," The man shifted around a bit, "Probably definitely some other stuff, actually."

Draco narrowed his eyes. It took a while for his eyes to focus, for the stranger had finally turned around, and he almost looked like –

"Blaise?" Draco gasped.

"No," said the Blaise impersonator, smiling slightly. The impersonator laid down their quill almost delicately, stood, walked over to where Draco was sitting and bent down to his level. "No, I'm not. Don't you just love Polyjuice Potion?"

"No, I can't say that I do," answered Draco.

Once the impersonator was back in their chair and safely turned around, Draco looked around wildly, searching for a way out. His heart was hammering loudly against his chest, as if wanting to burst out. He suddenly caught his reflection in a small mirror on one of the few cupboards that hadn't been caught in the whirlwind of spells.

His appearance shocked him. His baby-fine white-blonde hair was tinged with dirt, and what looked to be blood. There were small pieces of glass in there too. His pale, pointed face was now flushed with pain and his usually cool grey eyes were now panicked and afraid. He then caught sight of something reflected in the mirror on the ground, and all at once he saw his last hope glimmer before his eyes, and he was determined to snatch it before it disappeared.

He lunged towards his wand lying a metre from his body, ignoring the searing pain around his ribs. Something that resembled hope swam into his mind when his fingers closed around wand.

Draco chanced a glance at the impersonator. It was strange that so long had passed without any interference from them, and for a moment Draco was suspicious. Then the moment passed and the only thing Draco could think of was his wand.

He shook a little as he conjured the Patronus that would act as a messenger to the Ministry. The pain near his ribs was paramount, and he felt his thoughts jumbling a little as time went by. It felt like several of his ribs were broken.

Draco barely slipped his wand into his pocket when the impersonator leapt from the chair and raised their wand. Grinning broadly, the impersonator waved their wand and the small stack of parchment they had been working on so intently went gliding out of the room and out of sight.

BAM!

The sound of several Aurors arriving via Floo Powder cracked like a whip. The impersonator was flabbergasted.

"Potter," screamed Draco, catching sight of the Wizard who came soaring out of the fireplace next.

But then everything blacked out as he felt his navel jerk backwards harshly, and the pain blinded him. The impersonator grabbed him by the arm and taken him with Side-Along-Apparition.

"Nice try Draco," breathed the impersonator when they arrived at their destination. There was a sudden grunt of pain and the impersonator let go of Draco abruptly. Draco, who was suffering from his own agony, bent over to catch his breath.

"Potion's wearing off," whispered the impersonator, clutching their face. Draco, who recovered slightly, looked around at their surroundings. The temperature was icy cold, and he could see mountains in the distance. They were all capped with snow. Their immediate position was completely surrounded in trees. It reminded Draco vaguely of the Forbidden Forest, but the trees were distinctly younger and more spaced out, not to mention there was much more light here. The only building in sight was a fairly large cabin.

Draco noticed that the moans of pain from the person next to him had stopped. And as he looked at his abductor, he realised immediately where they were, why he was here, why he could not escape alone, and who his abductor was.

And God help him if he were to get out of this alive.

Hermione was already awake when the silver lynx soared into her bedroom. She had awoken suddenly just seconds before, with a strange sense of anticipation.

A deep voice echoed around her room. "Kindly apparate to the Ministry immediately. Kingsley."

Hermione sighed deeply and stood up. "Bloody hell," she mumbled, swinging her legs off her bed. She was dressed in her pyjama boxers and a baggy t-shirt. Her wand was on her bedside table. Stretching, she glanced at her clock. It was ten to seven in the morning. She whirled around her room, careful not to wake Luna in the room nearby. When she was fully dressed and presentable, Hermione grabbed her wand, and turned on the spot with a bang.

The first thing Hermione saw of the Ministry at seven in the morning was panic.

"Hurry," she heard someone shout. She saw two Aurors disappearing from the fireplaces.

"Harry," she cried, catching sight of the raven haired Wizard, who was sprinting to the fireplaces.

"Hermione," Harry said, stopping still. His eyes widened, and then he started to move towards the fireplaces again.

"Look, Kingsley will explain everything," he said, moving faster. "And just remember, it won't be as bad as it was the last time – and Ron and I will be there – we'll see you there –," and then he was swallowed up by the green flames.

Hermione was silent, stunned. The smallest seed of knowledge was already starting to grow in her mind. Then she turned and stalked to Kingsley's office, her face white. She didn't make any eye contact, or talk to anyone until she faced the door with the golden sign:

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister for Magic

Steeling herself, she knocked on the door. The door swung open immediately.

"Come in," said the same voice that had echoed around her room just a few minutes before. The difference was that the voice in her room was powerful and commanding, whereas the one in the Ministry was tired and concerned.

Hermione entered. Kingsley was sitting behind his mahogany desk, his head in his hands. He looked up at Hermione's appearance. He looked extremely weary. Kingsley was dressed in simple robes, and he looked like he had been up all night.

"Miss Granger," he said, looking at her. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"What is it, Minister?" asked Hermione.

"I have to ask something of you, Miss Granger," said Kingsley quietly. "If you refuse to do it, I completely understand. And how many times have I told you to call me Kingsley-"

"Kingsley, what is it?" Hermione interrupted, dropping all formality. "Who is it? Who's hurt?" As she spoke, fear shot through her like fire. She was reminded again, of the little seed of knowledge that had sprouted in her head earlier.

"No one's hurt," he paused, "At least, not to our knowledge." He looked as if he were deeply conflicted.

Hermione could hear Kingsley's clock ticking. "Where's Harry?" she said, desperation coating her words. She would not allow herself to think the worst. "Where's Ron?"

"Don't worry," Kingsley said reassuringly. "Harry and Ron are already there."

This information, at first, provided Hermione with relief. They are okay.

But Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she didn't acknowledge the rest of Kingsley's sentence.

"Where is 'there'?" she asked, her curiosity rising. Her question was met with a tense silence. Kingsley dropped his eyes.

"Kingsley, get to the point!" she snapped. This was very unlike her, but fear and anxiety were starting to get the better of her.

"Malfoy Manor," said Kingsley abruptly, raising his eyes to meet Hermione's now frozen ones. "Sit," he added, nodding to the chair in front of his desk.

Hermione could not move. Her body seemed unable to move. It was like a large hand had a chokehold over her windpipe. Hermione was very aware though, through the haze that gripped her, that Kingsley was watching her reaction very carefully, but she couldn't help the overwhelming memories that rushed over her.

Bellatrix hovering over her, her face twisted.

Dra- Malfoy hovering at the edge of her vision, looking sickened.

An excruciating pain coursing through her, never ending, never stopping, please, let me die, let me be free from this, please-

"Hermione. I fully understand if you don't want to do this."

Hermione was jolted back into reality, and it took her a full second to remember that the face in front of her was Kingsley's, not Bellatrix's.

"Hermione," repeated Kingsley. "That's why I had you Apparate here first, instead of the Manor, to pre-warn you, given your history with the place."

"Of course," she whispered numbly. Hermione gave herself a mental shake. "Of course." She cleared her throat. "What do you want me to do?"

There was already a swarm of reporters standing outside the gates, armed with Quick Quotes quills and several sheets of parchments.

"LOOK! THERE! IT'S GRANGER!" Someone shouted. The whole crowd started running and suddenly there were faces everywhere, questions being fired from all directions, cameras flashing and a whole lot of noise.

"Who do you think took Mr. Malfoy?"

"Do you think he's alive?"

"Why did it take you so long to get here?"

"Why weren't you with the first group of Aurors?"

"Mr. Malfoy has been previously linked to you. How do you feel about his abduction?"

"How do you feel about the rumours of Mr Malfoy stepping out with a mystery brunette late last night?"

"Who is on the Ministry's list of suspects so far?"

"Miss Granger, if you step over here for an exclusive interview..."

"Miss Granger, is it true you actually lost twins?"

Hermione was doing her best to ignore all the questions that were being thrown at her, but the latest one, the one about the baby, pushed her to the limit. Even though it was completely false, it still stung somewhere deep inside.

She was previously trying to push her way through the horde of reporters, walking hastily down the lane towards the wrought-iron gates, but now she turned around, fuming, trying to find that stupid arse who asked about her baby –

"Hermione! Hermione, over here!" someone yelled. Hermione turned again, trying to find the source of the voice, when she spotted Ron, just beyond the gates, waving frantically.

"Ron!" she said in relief. He unlocked the gates, ushering Hermione in, and pointed his wand threateningly at the reporters, who had advanced after her, hoping to get inside.

"All of you, word of advice," he snarled. "Here's the best way to get your exclusive interview..."

The reporters desperately leaned forward, the eager look on their faces reminded Hermione of children on Christmas morning. She had the bizarre urge to laugh. So she did.

"Fuck. Off." finished Ron viciously. The eagerness slipped off the people's faces like goo. Ron and Hermione turned away from the press and started walking.

"They're going to write some horrible story about you now," Hermione said, still laughing as they headed into the Manor.

"Like I care," Ron shrugged, smiling. He looked at Hermione. "They're bloody vultures, aren't they?"

Hermione shrugged. "You get used to it."

"I bet you do."

As they entered the living room, Hermione couldn't help but note the obvious changes that had been made since the last time she had been there. The dark, heavy colours that made the Manor look so daunting were gone. The walls were now a dark hunter green with silver lining – Slytherin colours, thought Hermione humourlessly. The chandelier had been repaired as well and, Hermione noted, improved.

It wasn't nearly as painful as she expected to be walking back into the place of her nightmares.

There was about a dozen Aurors in the room – Harry amongst them. Someone said, "Weasley!" and Ron scurried off with a small wave and a reassuring smile, leaving Hermione alone. Most of the Aurors were ripping apart the room, searching, having little or no respect for the Manor.

On the mantelpiece of the fireplace, there was a collection of photos. Most of them contained Draco Malfoy. Hermione had an urge to examine them, to see them up close; look closely at what Draco Malfoy's life was like before she met him. Of course, he had described parts of his childhood at her will, but she didn't feel it was enough.

She barely took a step, swimming in her memories, when she remembered reality. She was here to investigate Draco Malfoy's abduction, not his family photographs.

"Hermione!" she heard Harry say from somewhere behind her.

She turned, grateful for an excuse to stop looking at Malfoy's childhood. Harry walked up to her, looking grim.

"Explain," Hermione demanded, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Didn't Kingsley already do that?"

"I want to hear it from you, Harry Potter."

Harry held up his hands in mock defeat, and spoke. "We got a message from Malfoy just a few minutes before you arrived at the Ministry this morning. Kingsley assembled the first Aurors he saw and sent us off to the Manor. That's why we were rushing when you were in the Atrium; we were headed to Malfoy Manor. We hoped to get there before he was taken, but we were too late. We saw him being Apparated away, but the person we saw with him was under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, as Malfoy's message told us. He, or she, was under the appearance of Blaise Zabini, and Malfoy got suspicious when Zabini didn't know when his own wedding was."

"I wouldn't put it past Blaise to not know the date of his own wedding," said Hermione, frowning.

"Well, Malfoy thought it was odd," said Harry. "And when 'Blaise' tried to Stun him, he definitely knew something was up."

"Okay, so the impostor tried to Stun Draco, and then?"

"There was a scuffle, as you can see," said Harry, gesturing to the room. Hermione could see what he meant; she hadn't noticed how disrupted the whole room was, she was too preoccupied.

Tables were knocked over; some of the windows were broken. With a pang, Hermione saw the vase she had bought with Narcissa a few years ago, was broken into millions of pieces on the carpet. What looked to be a large painting or portrait had been blasted off the wall and lay face down on the floor. Chairs were overturns and there was a small puddle of blood by an armchair that made Hermione's stomach turn over.

"Don't worry-"

"I wasn't," muttered Hermione automatically, because she wasn't, she really wasn't –

Weren't you?

"Don't worry, the blood is just dragon blood," said Harry smoothly, as if there had been no interruption.

Suddenly, Ron stepped into Hermione's line of vision, looking anxious.

"I'm fine," Hermione said loudly, just as Ron had opened his mouth to, no doubt, comment on Hermione.

"Fine," she repeated as Harry began to say something. Ron still looked unconvinced. Harry was frowning. "Look, what do you want me to do here?" she asked wearily. "If there's nothing, I'll leave."

"We just need an extra set of hands to help with the forensics and the evidence." Ron said hastily.

"Especially with searching the rest of the Manor, see, it's quite big," said Harry, half-smiling.

"Alright then," said Hermione, "Let's search the Manor."

"Well, that room's clear," said Ron tiredly. "I'm starting to think that we'll never be finished."

"Of course we will," said Hermione. "How many rooms have we got left, Harry?"

"Er... Nine? Give or take a few."

Ron groaned. "Please, can we have a break? I'm hungry." Solidifying his excuse, Ron's stomach yowled like a lion in pain.

"You can," said Harry. "Hermione and I will finish the next room, and then we'll join you."

With a wave, and a small shake of his head, Ron departed, leaving Harry and Hermione at the door of yet another room. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, for this door bore a slightly tarnished nameplate: Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, great," she heard Harry mutter. Hermione knew he was watching her, again. She was suddenly grateful Ron had left.

This doesn't mean anything, she thought, this doesn't mean a thing, it's been two years since you've been in here last, it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't-

Forcing against the surge of memories that had started to rise again, she laid her hand on the doorknob, and twisted it. Locked.

"Hermione-"

"Alohomora." The door swung open with the tiniest click.

"Hermione-"

"No!" Hermione snapped. "I'm fine."

Harry was still. He looked hesitant. It irritated her hugely.

"Let's just go in," said Hermione shortly, striding into the dark room. With a flick of her wand, the curtains opened, letting some light stream in.

The room was, typically, of Slytherin décor. As Hermione looked around, she saw that the room had hardly changed in the last two years. The Slytherin Quidditch team picture was still there, the bed looked the same, and the picture of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle was still attached to the wall.

Without more protest, Harry started to examine the right side of the room. Following his lead, Hermione proceeded to examine the bed area.

It took Hermione a while to fully determine what was under Draco's bed, as it was so large. She eventually popped her head back up and said, "There is some seriously questionable stuff down here Harry. For someone who only used to come back to the Manor every once in a while, you would think they would have cleaned it in the time he was gone!"

Harry smiled, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Anything dangerous?"

"No, I don't think so," said Hermione, looking under the bed again. "Just some old Potions ingredients, I think, and an old textbook. Oh, and some old clothes, shirts, pants, socks, those sort of things."

"Socks could be dangerous," said a voice from the door. Hermione withdrew her head and saw Ron standing by the door, holding a plate full of sandwiches.

"Courtesy of Narcissa Malfoy," Ron said, walking towards Harry. "She just arrived a few minutes ago with a friend. She said she doesn't care what we do to the rooms."

"Excellent," said Harry, grinning. "Let's trash the place!"

"Though I'm not sure her food is perfectly safe to eat," Ron muttered, frowning.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, chucking a random sock in Harry's direction. "Ron, Narcissa is perfectly sane... now."

Harry, unfortunately, successfully dodged the sock that went flying at his head. "I was joking Hermione!"

"Yeah, well," said Hermione defensively. Her eyes fell to Draco's bedside table, and she frowned.

"What's up?" Ron asked, striding towards her.

In answer, Hermione picked up the stack of parchment that rested on the table. She just made out the word on the front page, and then she dropped them suddenly and shot her arm back, as if the parchment had burnt her. She looked at her hand, and saw no sign of burns or any kind of harm. So the pain was in her mind.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ron lurch forward, as if to grab the stack of parchment. Hermione held out an arm, blocking him. "Don't," she yelled, panic rising like a tidal wave that threatened to bowl her over. "It's for me!"

By now, Harry had joined the two of them and was peering curiously over Hermione's shoulder. "First, what is it?"

"Notes," choked Hermione. The answer rose to her lips as if they had always been there. "Notes for me."

She couldn't tear her eyes away from her name sprawled across the parchment. It was binding. Constricting.

Hermione couldn't explain to the others why seeing her name written on parchment had such an impact on her. It was just a feeling, a simple instinctive feeling that those notes had been waiting there for her. That Hermione was supposed to come to Draco's room, and find them.

"Hermione," said Ron tentatively, breaking her thoughts. "Before you get all, you know, worked up over this, don't you want to know what's written inside first?"

Hermione struck out an arm to grab them, but this time Harry stopped her.

"Wait," he told her. "They could have some sort of curse placed upon them. And according to you, these were placed for you."

"If there were curses on it, I would already be affected by now," Hermione pointed out quietly, remembering her unmarked hand. "I picked it all up before." With that, she held out an arm and picked up the pieces of parchment. Without a word, the three of them sat down together on Draco's bed. Hand shaking, Hermione grasped the first sheet of parchment bearing her name and, with Harry and Ron, started to read.

Did you like it? I'm in a love/hate relationship with this chapter. It felt a little choppy, it probably was, considering I haven't written a fanfic in a good couple of years. But hang tight, drabbles are coming your way!

Reviews make me write faster :3

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