Warnings: AU, fem/independent/badassHarry.

Pairings: not decided

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but JKR does. And she rocks :D

Note: (and warning as well) English is only my second language. I have to apologize in advance for my mistakes. This is also my very first fanfic, so bear with me, please :)) That means that Reviews are loved and appreciated, and if someone could check my lines and tell me whether they're grammatically wrong or not – and stuff like that – would be most kind of you.

Story Warning: it starts slow.

LOST AND FOUND

Chapter Three

Exposure

She was struggling, but nothing seemed to work – Alan was just too strong for her. And being drugged didn't help the situation either, even though her mind started to reboot. Her movements were just too slow, sluggish, as if the drug affected her muscles and nervous system.

And no matter how hard she was trying, no matter how much she wanted to escape, maybe even cause him harm, she was as defenseless as a newborn child. And it scared her – but not to death. Being raped was still something way better, than being tortured. Not that she had any experience, but she had already learned to see the "positive" side of everything. And there are always worse things out there to encounter.

But her position infuriated her – after all she was always one step ahead of anybody else. Or so she thought, and she always prided herself on her preparedness. She always took her bearings in accurately and never let anybody slip away from her attentive green orbs. And yet here she was, lying under her lustful boss, who now was officially deemed an asshole.

'Just stop it… Alan! Please…!'

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to wake herself from this nightmare, but she could still feel him on herself, forcing his tongue into her mouth, when the idea came to her. As her last resort, she bit down with all the power she had in her unresponsive muscles, and attacked his intruding tongue. Alan squeezed out a whine – which sounded utterly like a rat's, a rat that he truly was –, but then he moaned wantonly. And she almost threw up.

She felt no pleasure in this act, no matter how good looking he was – she just couldn't stand him doing things such as this one. And though his hands were burning her skin, it was maybe the most unpleasant thing she had ever felt before – nothing could compare to this one; the feeling of utter humiliation, failure and disappointment was drowning her.

But really, what else did she expect? In a world, such as this one, she could see no honor, no valor. And no bravery at all. People were often left behind, abandoned – and so was she. Cold and hopeless. Alone, afraid and unable to even cry out.

However, God or her Angels, or maybe Satan and his minions sent her the savior she was hoping for desperately. And even though every girl dreams of a Knight, someone who saves them, she never did. She didn't want to be weakened by a belief such as that one and she had come to know years previously, that she had only herself to rely on. And she was fine like that.

Until now…

The door was suddenly opened with such brutality; she never even knew was possible. That was the moment when she opened her eyes once again, not that it did her any good: she couldn't see her Hero, but the man enveloped in darkness took Alan by his ankles and yanked him off of her.

Her mind needed some seconds to recognize the welcomed change, but the amount of her fear didn't abate, much to her discomfort. In fact, her negative emotions started to escalate what with the new and anonymous person's arrival. It didn't bode well. Not to her, she knew that – so she decided to make a run for it, or try to escape. But for that she had to move her limbs and muscles first, which wasn't a piece of cake for her in that very moment.

But going into her "flight mode" – and the adrenaline finally kicking in –, she managed to set her priorities right and with her enormous will, which was her uniqueness, she coerced her body to finally move and to swing into action. She succeeded in opening the door at her head and started to crawl her way out of the vehicle she came to hate so much.

She literally fell to the dirty cobblestoned pathway alley, bruising her palms in the process – not that her mind could actually take in the stimulus: she had grater problems to worry about. Nor did she mind dirtying her clothes in that moment. She did her best to stand up, but she had to use both the wall and the side of the car for support. This way she could squeeze herself in between these objects, slowly escaping through the gap.

The girl couldn't afford to look back, since she was racing against two men: one of them was a pervert, and the other? She couldn't even see his face, not alone trust him! And also, time wasn't her friend, but a fiend she had to fight against – she was doing exactly that: trying to get out of the dark alley before one of the men realized her disappearance from the car.

Not that she had an easy job with getting out: her head was still fuzzy, her eyesight still blurry and the walls appeared to have the ability to dance. If she weren't using the wall for support, then she would think that there were at least three or four walls – instead of two. But her sense of touch still could root her mind to the world of reality.

Pushing her body away from a container, she finally stepped onto the illuminated pathway of a side street, causing her to breathe more easily. Since there were some people walking down the street, some of them young couples, some old people with walking stick, and some middle aged with dogs. The presence of these people meant accessible help, if she needed it. And she pretty much needed it – not that she would ever admit it.

Luck seemed to shine on her once more, because someone grabbed hold of her elbow, surprising her. The warmth of the hand was welcomed, so was the firm, yet gentle hold. Her fear was wiped away in that instant, and she looked up to see a concerned face of a by-passer's.

But that wasn't what she found…

"And where do you think you are going?"

The girl's eyes found those peculiar black ones, unfathomable, yet furious – and she felt intimidated in that moment, staring into the bottomless wells, searching and reaching her core; her very soul. Those eyes swallowed hers, and she couldn't look away, not even if she wanted to – and she absolutely forgot what she truly wanted. She was just standing there, struggling to breathe properly, her mind completely blank – perfectly in contrast with his face.

But when the man started to drag her back into the shadows of the dark alley, her mind caught up with the events and she opened her mouth to scream for help – but the man stopped her from doing so by placing his free palm against her mouth. Only a strained sound came out of her mouth while she was being hauled back into the veil of darkness by the weird stranger… But who was he? A simple stalker? A kidnapper? A murderer? Well… she didn't want to know…

So she recommenced her fight, her seemingly endless battle against this man, who was a mystery, yet an unwanted puzzle. Someone who managed to infuriate her just by being there, setting her soul on fire, intensifying her defiance. The very same thing happened when she got captured in those eyes – they were daring, powerful, but not mocking. Yet. Because if he did start mocking her, then she would unavoidably kick him in the groin. Hard.

The man forced her against the smelly and moldy wall of the abandoned and eerily silent wall. Her mind dimly registered the pain she felt at the contact, but she had other things to worry about. The man still had his palm against her mouth, and she knew that he could easily maneuver that hand to her neck – therefore she could have been moments away from being strangled. Funny thought, that one…

She felt the urge to laugh at her own situation…

'What now?'

Her inner voice sounded sarcastic, yet somehow resigned, but it stopped echoing in her head when the man leaned closer, the movement gaining her whole attention – she even stopped her struggling for a split second. Her scared but still unfocused eyes found his. After a few seconds, however, the man looked away, if only for just a moment. He rummaged out something small, bottlelike and shiny. Then he recaptured her eyes and moved his palm away her mouth, so that he could lift that vial of something to her lips.

"You need to drink this, Potter," said the man, and she froze.

She didn't know whether to be surprised by his concerned tone, or to be shocked to the core by the name he used. At first she thought that she had just heard wrong, that her mind was now playing tricks on her, or maybe she was still hallucinating – and she abruptly had the thought that she was still dreaming, that she hadn't escaped from Alan at all. That she had escaped into a hidden recess of her mind; away from the pain, the cruel reality.

But she could feel the man's hand on her chin, which held her head, slightly upturning it. His skin was not soft, nor dry, and the long fingers held such warmth she could have never associated with this man. And she hated it – he was someone she couldn't read, she couldn't see his motives, nor could she understand, or unfold his reasons. She was blind, blind in the darkness the man exuded.

She was frowning at his huge palm, trying to get out something, to say something… anything. His hold forbade her from doing so, stopped her from screaming her throat dry and running away, but in that very moment she wanted to ask questions and not scream his head of. He must have noticed it too, for he had slackened his hold on her and moved the vial away from her lips just a bit, allowing her to say her part.

"Let… let me go…" she managed to get this much out of her trembling lips and the man looked stricken at the barely audible plea.

The man didn't falter – he raised the small glass container back to her lips. She could feel the cold material touching her almost numb lips. She screwed her eyes closed and her mouth also, trying to keep the man out of her body and mind – because whenever she saw him she just couldn't stop thinking about him, or more importantly: his reasons.

"Do I truly need to spell it into your stomach, Potter?!" he demanded, but got no answer in return; not even a heated glare she was so famous for.

He, however, didn't take her defiance and disobedience quite well, for he pinched her small nose between his long fingers, making her to gasp for air. Therefore she had to open her mouth to avoid choking. The man used this opportunity to pour the substance of the vial into her mouth. She wanted to spit it out instantly, but the man covered her mouth with his palm – using the same hand.

She still didn't want to swallow something that wasn't her own concoction – and for God's sake, she had just been drugged; of course she wasn't willing to drink some unnamed and unknown liquid.

So she fought back, not relenting. Not even a bit. She could feel her need for air slowly increasing; her lungs started to burn, torturing her, compelling her to breathe. Her mind was also screaming at her, but she just wouldn't listen. She couldn't let herself dip back into the drugged haze and she felt the urge to stand up against this man.

LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND LOST AND FOUND

The cloaked figure was sitting in the darkness, seemingly all alone – and yet he was not; dark shadows lingered there, kneeling on the floor and groveling at his feet for they were no more than dogs. They followed him wherever he went, they granted him his wishes whatever they were and they took punishment either in eery silence or with pleasuring screams.

He was thinking hard but – for once – not about punishments and tormenting insufferable mugles. No, his red eyes were shiny red orbs in the death of the night but not because of his evil schemes – there was a mystery waiting to be revealed. There was something going on in the city of London and he just couldn't grab that piece of knowledge. No matter how hard he tried.

He suddenly stood up, the dark robe reflecting no light yet whispering deadly in the tense silence. He looked down at his followers with eyes cold as ice and as burning as any fire in Dante's hell – he was ready to issue his command to his most faithful.

"I have decided... my friendsss..." his high-pitched voice cut the silence just like a silver blade cuts butter and everyone in the room knew that friends they were not. But master and servant – and never more. "Luciusss!"

One of the kneeling men's shoulders tensed for one moment, and one moment only: he was ready to serve but not a fool to await punishment eagerly. Not that he would fail of course, not without a fight. But he was still a Slytherin.

"Yes, my Lord?"

The only one standing in the dark room – which was illuminated by the Moon itself – took the first two steps down towards his followers, but he was still hovering over them. His lipless mouth thinned but when he uttered his words he was collected once again:

"I want you to take a group of my faithful Death Eaters into the heart of London and investigate what has our most esteemed Headmaster so interested. I want you to leave at your earliest convenience and report your findings back to me before dawn!"

There was a silver-blond glint in the moonlight when the eldest Malfoy stood up and bowed before his Master. He then left the tense room, his mind already bringing up names and faces for this mission.

This is the end of Chapter Three

Thank you for reading!