(Small A/N: This is a revised version.)

1990

Calvin Thomas McGregor was afraid. He'd told his friends that he wanted nothing to do with this, but they laughed at him and shouted at him and cajoled him and he had finally given in. And so they went up to his room. There were muffled giggles and hurried whispers about techniques, but in the end, the match was struck and the cigarette, stolen from Kieran's brother, was lit. Each boy took a turn and they all coughed from the smoke until Paddy put it out.

Then their normal, boyish, lightheartedness came back and they went outside to the great tree that sprawled over the front yard. The overgrown grass that spread from underneath the tree was badly in need of a trim. It ran right up to that dreaded sign. The sign that read: Belwicket Orphanage For Abandoned Children.

All of the children that lived there loathed that sign, Cal included. He particularly hated it because, to him, it meant that he had been abandoned. Which was not true. His mother was dead, for sure, and his father disappeared many years ago, but he was not abandoned. He had Clara.

Clara McGregor was a tall, willowy girl of seventeen, who had had more than enough grief in her short years. She had suffered through having a magician of sorts for a father (Clara thought his magical disappearing act was less than impressive) and a mother who, as far as Clara was concerned, had given up on life and her children by dying. And to top it off, both of them had been Muggles. The only thing the elder McGregors had passed on to their children was a genetic inclination towards magic. Both of them had siblings that were magical, and so it was no surprise that their children were a witch and wizard. Unfortunately, after Clara and Cal's father left, their mother abandoned every hope, including the desire that her children be schooled in magic. So although they were both accepted into Hogwarts when their time came, neither of them went. Cal's letter came two months before his mother died and they were forced to live out on the streets.

But it wasn't that Clara was incapable of handling herself and Cal. Oh, no. Quite the opposite. They would have gotten on fine by themselves had Cal not been picked up for truancy and then discovered to be homeless. And Clara would have managed very well if the two had not been immediately sent to this prison of a Muggle orphanage.

And they would have been there until Calvin's eighteenth birthday if Clara had not been sneaking out, looking for information. Looking, she called it. Spying, hiding, creeping about, and lying straight out to the person she cared most about in the world was what it really was.

Clara had been looking for their father.

What she found was their uncle. Their uncle, who was a wizard.


1997

I wanted so badly

Somebody other than me

Staring back at me

But you were gone…

Victoria, strong as she thought she was, had to leave the room after an hour. Her sister's crumpled form on the bed was too much for her to handle. The unresponsiveness hurt her, the constant sobbing strained her, but it was Hermione's intermittent periods of rage that drove her sister from the room.

The rage had positively frightened Victoria's long-time boyfriend, Brett Palmer. The two had fled together, leaving Hermione alone with the third person who had come in with them. His sandy-brown hair glinted in the sunlight that streamed in through the window. She turned her anger towards him and his blue eyes met her amber ones defiantly.

"Why? Why did he do it?" she demanded of him shrilly, rising from her cocoon of sheets. Tears rolled down her face. He could see that she was beautiful, even when she cried. The tears glistened on her cheek and her amber eyes were bright with pain. Her arms hung limp at her sides and she stood on shaky legs.

"How could he?" she screamed. Cal searched her eyes with his, probing into her fury.

"How could he even think that he could save me from that place?" She began to speak rapidly, her words coming out so fast, they blurred together slightly. "What was he thinking even going there? He was never a great wizard, yet he was the best, most loyal, deepest, and truest… Harry never knew and then, always knew… and HER. How could she… take away… murderess…"

Cal could only hear a few words as her rage fizzled out and she muttered to herself.

Then she screamed out, sending her fury out through her voice. She beat her fists against him and cried. He could hear, through the sobs, "He should never have taken me away from Ron… I shall never forgive him…"

And, though she fought him, he enveloped her in his arms and held her tightly against him. Ten minutes passed until she no longer hit him and merely cried her eyes dry.

When she had cried her last tear, a wave of exhaustion hit her like never before. She knew that she had done nothing but sleep and cry for God only knew how long, but she was just so tired…

But…

"Who are you?" she asked sleepily as he gently picked her up and laid her on her bed.

"My name is Cal McGregor," he whispered as he tucked her into bed. "Sleep, Anastasia. Sleep and be at peace."

So when are you coming home Sweet angel?

You leaving me alone?

All alone?


He flew. He was exhausted, but he flew. He flew because he had nowhere to go. Hogwarts was closed, Hermione in shambles, and the Burrow… no. He couldn't face the Weasleys now. Especially Ginny.

How could he? He as much as killed their son and brother.

"Do what you like, but you're wrong," he had said. "You're wrong and all you're doing is wasting time."

Ron had frowned at him then and said, "Any lead should be followed, Harry… any clue. Mione's worth it."

Harry had rolled his eyes and turned away from his best friend, saying, "There's no way, Ron. Give it up."

His last words to his best friend were: "There is no way Sirena Brown kidnapped Hermione."

Suddenly, Harry James Potter was filled with purpose.

He would seek out Sirena Brown. And he would destroy her.


He flew. But he had a purpose. And it was not to destroy Sirena Brown.

All Draco Lucius Malfoy wanted to know was Why?

Why did she kidnap his Hermione?

Why did she kill Ron Weasley?

Why?

He sighed dramatically and pushed a bit of hair out of his face. He was flying so quickly that his gorgeous blond locks were becoming ruffled. It was a true sign of devotion when he intentionally allowed his hair to become less than perfect for a woman. It was truly selfless of him.

He knew he shouldn't say that, though. The really selfless person was the one whose corpse was strewn upon Sirena Brown's couch two days past. Today was the 8th day of January, the year of 1997. It had been a mere two days since that redheaded idiot had saved Draco's love. And try as he might to sneer at the Weasleys, their son had kept alive the most precious thing in the world to Draco. He would never be able to repay them for Ron's ultimate sacrifice.

But he would try to find out what on earth was going on, as much as he hated to admit that he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, was confused. There was Hermione, kidnapped at an early age, then found by the Ministry thanks to a mysterious scrap of paper that had linked her name to the Spencers, and to a prophecy. A prophecy that he could not, for the life of him, figure out.

Draco hated being confused. Malfoys, he told himself, are never confused. They may appear to be confused, but inside, they had everything already worked out. This confusion thing, he thought, was SO not him.

Almost without noticing, he flew over the protective spells that closed off Brown Manor. He could tell that these spells were done by an amateur, probably Marcus Brown himself. Draco had always known that Marcus Brown was nothing if not incompetent.

He landed silently.

His Firebolt went against a tree, underneath four masking spells. He was taking no chances.

Draco smiled as he pulled his Invisibility Cloak from his Bottomless Backpack. He threw it about himself and proceeded to cross the garden unimpeded. He knew Marcus Brown was a fool.

"Wingarmeo Leviosa," he hissed, and swish-and-flicking his wand in a well-practiced movement. He rose, silently and rather quickly to be level with the second floor windows. The window directly above the front door was open and he soundlessly glided through it.

The room turned out to be the sitting room of what could have passed as a hotel penthouse. The door to the bedroom was shut and the doorway to the adjacent office showed it to be empty.

He cautiously approached the bedroom door, listening intently. He felt rather than guessed that this was, in fact, Sirena Brown's room.

He tried the doorknob. Locked. Hello, he said to himself, Did you really think that it would be as easy as all that?

After several whispered attempts to unlock it magically, he considered the doorknob for a moment and then removed a set of lock picks from his Bottomless Backpack.

It was so beneath a Malfoy to resort to this Muggle form of undoing a lock, but then, Marcus Brown wasn't the brightest light bulb around, so what could he expect?

He was totally unsurprised when, after a few seconds work with a lock pick, it popped open.

There she was, short red curls splayed behind her as she lay on the bed. She was unconscious, and it looked as though she had been thrown upon the bed carelessly. One leg hung off the bed, limply, and her arms were trapped beneath her slight frame.

Draco moved silently around the bed and made sure that her eyes were firmly shut before casting the spell he had come to love dearly over the past year. The spell kept anyone- anyone- from entering the room or hearing anything coming from it. Very well used spell that was.

And then Draco Malfoy summed up all the courage he had in his lithe, sexy body and woke Sirena Brown up.


Hermione awoke to the voice of someone singing. A man whose accent rolled pleasantly across her. His voice was soft, caressing.

Down in some lonely valley, in some lonesome place

Where the wild birds do whistle and their notes do increase

Farewell, Pretty Saro, I'll bid you adieu

He noticed that she was awake and stopped singing. His tan cheeks turned pink.

"Did I wake you?" he said softly.

Hermione didn't recognize where she was, or even who this man was, but she sat up and smiled.

"Not at all." Her hand moved to her hair, which, she was sure, was sticking out at all the wrong angles.

He smiled back at her, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth.

Hermione blushed a bit and then asked, "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name…"

His smiled turned sad and then he said, "Anastasia, do you not remember where you are and how you came to be here?"

Her brow furrowed. He saw her look around the room carefully. Then her gaze fell back onto his face, onto his sandy hair and clear blue eyes.

Tears pricked in her eyes. "Ron?" she whispered. "Is he really… gone? Wasn't that just… just a dream?"

He rose from his seat and sat on the bed next to her. She seized his hand and said, "Tell me."

And so he did. She remained oddly calm, withdrawing her hand almost mechanically; her only movement was to fiddle with the edge of the bedspread.

A lengthy silence stretched between them.

Then she whispered, "It is my fault, then? That he died, I mean…"

Cal looked at her, taking in her bedraggled appearance and remembering what it felt like to have someone you loved dearly die for you. The pain, he remembered, tore at you in a million different ways, the guilt washed over you as if you were drowning, and you felt as if nothing would ever be right again.

Hermione felt exactly those things, and knew that it was her fault.

"No." Cal's voice was sure, steady. He sounded confident. "It's not."

She hadn't thought there were any more tears in her, but as she felt them run down her face, she knew that was not so.

"It's not your fault that you were kidnapped, Anastasia. It is possibly not even the kidnapper's fault. The person that killed your friend, that is who is at fault. It is even possible, love, that that person may have had… special circumstances. We may never know exactly why."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded. "The person that kidnapped me was the same that killed Ron! And what on earth do you mean by 'special circumstances'?"

Cal smiled kindly. "I can tell you a story, Anastasia, that may make you feel better about what has happened to you.

"There once was a small boy, of perhaps twelve years old, who lived in an orphanage. His friends had persuaded him to smoke a cigarette, all by himself, just once. They had all smoked a few fags (see A/N) together before, but this was a dare. And dares, in this crowd, were to be taken seriously."

He smiled at Hermione slightly and she smiled back, knowingly.

"And so he did..."


1990

"Help!" he screamed out the window. Thick, black smoke billowed out of the window behind him. "Help!!!"

Clara, his sister, was also screaming, but she was on the ground, being held back by the firefighters whose partners were inside the orphanage trying to get to Cal. Clara fought against them, struggling desperately.

Cal, in the window, wondered how it had come to this. He'd dropped that dare-fag and it had ignited the wooden floor. All the boys: Kieran, Paddy, Shea, Dom, and Luke had all fled, but Cal had tripped over books on his way out of the room and hit his head on the heater. Unconscious for barely two minutes, he'd awoken to find the entire room, walls, floor, and ceiling, alight in flame. And it was spreading. As he stumbled out into the hallway, he noticed that not only was his room on fire, but the entire floor was. He'd tried to go down the stairs, but the fire was already there.

Cal had dashed into the clearest room he could find, opened the window, and began to scream for help.

Clara, having helped evacuate all the children, noticed her brother was gone about ten seconds before he began to screech out the window.

And now there was only a fireman standing between her and her baby brother, her beloved Cal, for whom she'd finally found a safe home.

She had been looking for their father, but she had found their uncle. Her mother, she had known, had one living brother, and she had found him. He was supposed to be coming the next day, to pick the two of them up. Clara hoped that the fire was not going to keep him from finding them.

She screamed again and pulled so hard against the firefighter that he fell and she raced towards the burning orphanage. Smoke or no, she went up the back stairs, wondering all the time where those firefighters had got to. She didn't even give her magic a passing thought as she physically assaulted the stairs in her desperate climb. She found out where the firefighters were, as she had to step over one of them to cross the threshold of the stairs. A large beam had fallen on him, and he was obviously dead. Clara's heart froze as she realized that Cal might have been crushed as well. Skipping over blazing wood, and edging away from flame-riddled walls, she came to the room she knew her brother was in. She flung the door open and there was Cal, half-dead from smoke inhalation.

She seized him in her arms and knew, without a doubt, that only one of them was going to make it out of that building alive. She hollered down to the firemen and they stretched out a great white sheet that looked a bit like a trampoline.

It took every ounce of strength she had, but she hoisted Cal onto the windowsill and shook him.

"Calvin! Wake up! I can't throw you, love. You'll have to jump."

He shook himself awake and the room and his sister spun before him. "Wha--?"

"Cal! You have to jump!" Clara was yelling at him; he couldn't really… he couldn't… jump? What? He was sleepy… Jump?

Clara shook him harder and he blinked up at her hazily. She knew then that he couldn't jump out of the window himself.

She edged him closer to the window and hoisted herself up next to him. She bit her lip.

"Cal?" she asked intently, cupping his face in her hands.

His eyes wandered hazily, but she brought her face up very close to his and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Cal, listen. I'm going to push you down. Listen to me! I'm going to push you down and the firemen will catch you, ok? Cal! I love you, little brother."

She kissed him, hesitantly. Then, calling on strength she did not know she possessed, she threw her baby brother out of the window. He shimmered briefly and she knew that her magic had given her aid one last time.

At that exact moment, the fire reached the gas lines of the kitchen and exploded into an inferno, eating every living thing in the house within milliseconds.

The force of the explosion blew the mid-air Cal away from the firemen's net and he landed half-in, half-out of it.

Blackness consumed him and he knew he was dead.


That lithe, sexy body was immediately thrown against Sirena Brown's bedroom wall.

"How dare you enter my chambers, insolent upstart!" she roared. "Where is Brown and how is it that I have been left as such? I have regained control! I demand release!"

Draco, stunned (and stunned was not something Malfoys often were), lay pinned to the wall and silent.

"I want to be released!" she shrieked. "Where is that idiot Brown?" She glared at Draco and sniffed the air.

"I smell magical confines and I want out!" She threw white lightning from the palm of her hand at the doorway, but it bounced off.

Score one for Professor Flitwick, thought Draco smugly, even minions of evil can't break his charms.

Sirena's eyes flashed as she watched her power fight against the boundaries to no avail.

Then she turned on Draco. "Why," she hissed. "Am I trapped in this room? This is not Marcus Brown's magic. It is you, the son of Lucius Malfoy, who keeps me here." She grabbed Draco by the throat.

An easy feat for someone who has their opponent magically held against the wall, thought Draco, pouting. I could kick her ass. I could!

Then he realized that he hadn't answered her.

"Yes," he said, unnecessarily and flamboyantly, "I am Draco Lucius Malfoy, the 107th heir to the Malfoy fortune, 77th Duke of Childes in the Muggle world, and 17th in line for the throne of England. No idea how Mother managed that, but I digress. And yes, I am the son of Lucius Culebro Malfoy, 106th Malfoy, and Death-Eater-Extraordinaire, if I'm not mistaken."

He smiled winningly at her. No female could resist The Draco Malfoy Look of Abundant Charm.

Sirena Brown did not seem impressed, but she did let go of his throat. "I know who you are, Malfoy. You are the son of a traitor, and it seems as if you have inherited your father's stupidity. Release me. Now."

Draco raised an eyebrow. This was going to be slightly harder than he'd thought.

"Um," he said daintily, "How about: 'Hello, Draco, darling, lovely to see you. Can I get you down off that wretched wall, which happens to be painted a rather atrocious shade of pink, and have a bit of a chat?' Because, to be perfectly honest, Sirena-darling, only I can undo the spell that keeps us both in this room." He turned his smile up to The Draco Malfoy Look of Irresistibility.

Sirena glared at him and then, blue eyes flashing, she waved her hand at him and he slid down the wall. He immediately jumped up and smoothed his hair and robes.

"Now," he said coyly. "That is so much better, my love. Let's talk." As he grinned at her, he felt for his wand in his sleeve. His first wand had been broken by Sirena Brown herself a few days earlier, but he'd managed to find a decent replacement, which he'd stored up his sleeve. It slid down into his hand. Malfoys were always prepared.

"Release me," she hissed. "Release me or die, traitorous vermin. You are not even worthy to be in my presence." Her eyes, haughty as ever, bored into him.

Draco's face changed completely. As did his tactics. "Not worthy? If I am so unworthy, darling, how is it that my pathetic spells keep the almighty Sirena Brown from leaving? Not to even mention, my dear," his teeth grated as he spoke, "That you are but a fifth year. Be logical, Sirena. And then, perhaps, you may realize that no one disrespects a Malfoy." His eyes glittered narrowly.

And then, Sirena Brown did the most amazing thing.

She laughed.


"He awoke to find that he most certainly wasn't dead," Cal said to Hermione softly. They were still sitting on her bed, she reclined against the pillows she'd propped behind her and he, sprawled casually across the foot of the bed. It felt so comfortable to her, just the two of them, sitting there, talking.

"He barely remembered anything in the three months that followed," Cal continued. "He recovered from the fall, of course, but his progress was slow. He'd broken most major limbs and was emotionally unreachable. His uncle came to claim him about a week after the fire. Following his release from the hospital, he went to live with his uncle. But he would not speak to anyone. Not his uncle, who was very kind to him, or even any of his old friends from the orphanage. No one could break the shell that he had created for himself. The death of his sister at the boy's hands was more than he could bear and he closed himself off to the world in his grief."

Cal smiled at Hermione, quietly saying, "And he remained that way for several years. His uncle tried and tried with him, but to no avail. The uncle eventually married a British woman, by the name of Palmer, and the boy and his uncle moved to England to her manor. He was about fifteen at the time."

Hermione frowned slightly, trying to remember. "Palmer?"

Cal nodded. "Yes, you may have heard of Simone Palmer-Kearson, the boy's new aunt. She is a Tinsley by birth; she's rather wealthy and very influential. Her first marriage was to Brice Palmer, who was a Death-Eater and killed in the same year as the Dark Lord. She had a son from that marriage, by the name of Brett. Brett is a year or two older than I am. We became very close friends when my uncle and I moved to the Palmer-Kearson residence after Clara died."

Then he sighed and said, "Oh dear."

Hermione looked at him, amazement in her eyes. "It was you? The whole time, that little boy was you?"

Cal smiled grimly and said, "Yes. I killed my sister."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "What I meant by this story, Anastasia, is that you should try to open up about how you feel and allow yourself to begin to heal from the death of your friend. It hurt me deeply to realize later that I had lost so many years of my life. I realized that Clara never would have wanted me to waste away from guilt. You have to get past your self-blame and honor your friend Ron through celebrating life."

He looked earnestly into her eyes. She met his steady blue gaze with a shaky amber one.

She looked down. "I don't feel much like celebrating," she admitted.

He smiled, then, and hugged her. "No," he said. "But you do need to get up. Get dressed. Go on with life. You have a new set of parents to break in, from what I hear." He grinned impishly at her.

She laughed with him and then sighed gustily. "Yes," she agreed slowly. "I suppose that I must."

She looked at him intently, then, grabbing his hand. "Thank you, Cal McGregor. Thank you for helping me, for being a true friend."

He smiled at her, and brushed a lock of her honey colored hair from her face. "I hope that we will be good friends, Anastasia. Very good friends."

He squeezed her hand then, and stood. "I'll let you get dressed. I think your parents are quite anxious to meet you, as are your sisters."


Draco was really quite put out. He thought he had been truly menacing, really. To be truthful, he was absolutely furious about what she had done to Hermione, but more than that, he had wanted to find out why Sirena had done those things. And so he had used his usual strategies: be charming, then, when you have the upper hand, bring in the ruthless and intimidating.

It was rather insulting that she had laughed at him.

"'No one disrespects a Malfoy'?" she laughed. "How perfectly quaint, son of Malfoy. You really believe that, don't you? Well, let me explain it to you, boy: Lord Voldemort may disrespect whomever he chooses. You are nothing compared to my greatness, boy, and disrespect to your family is hardly an issue here. The issue is of whether or not you will live to sire the 108th Malfoy. That is up to you, boy. Release me now, or die."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Right," he said sarcastically. "I am so afraid of you. You with your pitiful fifth-year magic. And like you even know You-Know-Who; your little threat about his 'greatness' is kind of empty, little girl—"

Sirena laughed again. "'Little girl'? Boy, do not shame yourself with such talk. Surely you recognize Lord Voldemort when you see him?" Sirena spread her arms out.

This time, both of Draco's eyebrows went up.

Sirena threw out a hand and, palm facing Draco, lowered it carefully. Draco felt his knees bend on their own accord and buckle.

He now knelt before Sirena Brown, who glared at him imperiously. "No?" she asked. Then she smiled, a truly evil smile. "Perhaps not. I suppose that while I inhabit this body, I ought not to expect to be recognized. Honestly, child of Malfoy, did you really think that Sirena Brown could have done any of the things that I have accomplished in the last few days? Did you really think that Sirena Brown would have done any of these things?"


A/N: The word 'fag' in British is slang for cigarette (kind of like 'booze' in American for beer); just wanted to clarify, so as not to offend anyone.


Hello all. This is the ninth chapter of LD; I'm aiming for 20 chapters, thereabout. Believe it or not, there's still a lot of stuff yet to be explained (such as how Draco and Sirena end up getting married gasp!, how Hermione gets pregnant, all about the prophecy, the death of another beloved character, and a bunch more about Mione's kidnapping.)

I hope that that cliffhanger wasn't too bad. I tried not to make it too bad, taking pity on those faithful readers who have waited for this chapter for a long time.