A/N: As promised to my dear reviewers, here is chapter three, complete with realistic Malfoy-napping action.

If you haven't already, or even if you have, please give a review. I'd love to hear from you and I respond to each one of them personally.

Happy Malfoy-napping!

-Elvee

Snatch

Chapter Three

"Let's be naughty and save Santa the trip."

-Gary Allan

Months of planning and preparation came down to this one day. Hermione sat across the Great Hall from Draco Malfoy and surreptitiously watched him over Harry's shoulder. It had been difficult to decide how to separate the blonde menace from his ever present body guards, but if Harry and Ron could do it in second year to sneak into the Slytherin common room, she certainly could in her sixth.

Professor Dumbledore assured her he would deliver the letter she'd written to Harry and Ron after she was gone so they wouldn't worry. She hugged them a little too long today, laughed a little too loudly at their jokes and took the time to try and memorize their faces when they weren't looking. She tried to be a better friend than she'd ever been, if only for a few more hours. It would hurt to leave them behind, but they all had a part to play in the war.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was his usual rotten, ferret-y self. He'd terrorized first years walking into the Great Hall at breakfast, shoved Padma Patil into a wall before lunch and sucked Pansy's pug face after Ancient Runes before dinner. According to Hannah Abbot, every Thursday night after Slytherin Quidditch practice, Malfoy and Parkinson could be found out at the field under the stands. Hermione didn't need three guesses to know what they were doing. Ew.

She finished up dinner and trailed along with Harry and Ron to the Griffindor common room. They sat huddled in a few comfortably worn chairs by the fire. The boys played wizarding chess, or rather, Ron played wizarding chess and Harry happily volunteered himself for the slaughter as Hermione pretended to read.

In reality, she was going over each and every detail of her plan. At quarter to eight, she told the boys she had to rush off to the library to pick up a reserved book. She dashed out of the common room, her beaded bag slung over her shoulder, forcing herself not to look back.

Hermione made an exception to the 'no running in the halls' rule, just this once. It was crucial to her plan that she not be late. When working alone, the element of surprise was not negotiable. She ran out the front doors and into the rose garden. She dove behind a large bush and waited in the shadows, trying to slow her breathing.

A few minutes later, she heard approaching footsteps. Pansy Parkinson was flouncing down the path, heading to the Quidditch pitch. Hermione slowly pulled her wand and checked her surroundings. They were completely alone.

With a well placed stupefy, Pansy crumpled to the ground. Hermione grabbed her ankles and with no small effort, dragged her behind the bush. She folded her legs up and arranged her arms so no one could see her before she came to. With trembling fingers, Hermione took an empty vial marked Parkinson from her robe pocket and popped the cork.

With a very satisfying yank on Pansy's head, she grabbed a handful of the unconscious girl's hair. She stuffed all but one strand into the vial, stoppered it and tucked it away. She fished out another vial, this one filled with a muddy substance. Carefully, she dropped the final strand of Pansy's hair in the goopy mixture. It turned a burned orange color.

Hermione didn't have the best luck with polyjuice potion. In second year it had taken weeks to be rid of the tail, fur and cat ears she'd grown. Sure, this time she'd tried to eliminate outside contaminates, but it was still human nature to be once bitten, twice shy. She eyed the orange glop distastefully, held her nose and drank it down. Ugh! Pansy tasted like earwax! Hermione coughed and spluttered, and tried not to gag.

Giving Pansy one last stupefy to the chest to buy her more time, she dashed out from behind the bushes and ran to the pitch. She ducked under the stands near the changing rooms and leaned up against one of the wooden supports, tucking her hands behind her to hide the fact she was armed.

The Slytherin players left the changing rooms in ones and twos. Hermione was almost afraid she'd missed Malfoy when he came out with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. He walked right by her in the deep shadows under the seats. She could smell Crabbe and Goyle as they walked past, making her eyes water.

Hermione cleared her throat and said in her most seductive voice, "Hey Drakey! Good practice."

Malfoy spun around, spotting her. "Pans! I thought you had detention with McGonagall." Crabbe and Goyle turned around and stood waiting for him.

She sauntered out of the shadows, keeping her hands behind her, flaunting Pansy's big chest. "It got postponed."

Draco gave a predatory smile and took a step closer. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look, rolling their eyes.

Hermione took a step backward into the shadows with a sexy smile. "Get lost you two!" She snarled at Crabbe and Goyle. Turning her attention back to Malfoy, she purred, "Drakey and I want to be alone." She took another few steps back under the stands.

Draco handed his broom to Crabbe and waved them off. He smirked and followed her under the stands.

Hermione felt her back hit one of the large wooden supports deep in the shadows and waited as Malfoy's shadowy form approached. She had to wait long enough for Crabbe and Goyle to be out of ear shot.

Malfoy, on the other hand had closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Hunger was written all over his face. He wound a hand around the back of her neck and tugged at her hair before attacking her mouth with his. His tongue roughly parted her lips, and before she knew it, his tongue was down her throat. He smelled of clean sweat and faint traces of expensive cologne.

To date, the only other person Hermione had ever kissed was Victor Krum, and his kisses had been nothing like this. Malfoy was an octopus, his hands were everywhere, roaming freely over her body.

This is not my body, she reminded herself. This is Pansy's body. But if that was the truth, then why was she feeling a melting sensation in the pit of her stomach? She struggled to catch her breath as he trailed kisses down her jaw and hit a sensitive spot underneath her ear. She giggled reflexively from the ticklish sensation and felt him smile against her skin as he attacked her neck.

Using her free hand, she pressed Draco's head further into the crook of her neck and shoulder, pushing him out of the way as she tried to see past him. Encouraged, Draco groaned and sucked harder. She managed to catch a glimpse of Crabbe and Goyle disappearing over the hill in the waning light. Draco was still laving her neck with his tongue, teasing it with his lips. It was sending the oddest tingling sensations spiraling out from her belly button.

Merlin, who knew the ferret could kiss like this? She blinked. What was she doing? She was on a mission. "Draco?" Her words came out with a groan and a husky whisper.

"Mmmm." He didn't break contact with the sensitive skin on her neck, working his way back up to her lips.

She tightened her grip on her wand and tried again, "Draco?" Slowly she brought her wand into position, pointing it at his back.

"Yeah?" He panted, between planting kisses on her jaw.

"Stupefy!" Draco crumpled to the ground, boneless from the stunning spell. Hermione spat several times in disgust. "The things I do for this bloody war!" She hissed angrily, roughly wiping her mouth with Pansy's sleeve.

She searched Malfoy's pockets, emptying them and finding his wand. Without a second thought, she snapped his wand and put it in her own pocket. She laid him out on the ground, straightening his arms and legs, and for good measure she cast an incarcerus spell. It wrapped his hands and feet in tight black cords.

When she was sure he was secure, she fished in her pocket for the 'Weasley is Our King' badge. Pressing it to Malfoy's chest with her left hand, she tapped it with her wand, saying, "Portus."

The familiar sensation of a coat hanger yanking her along from behind her bellybutton made her slightly nauseated. They landed with a thud on a bare wooden floor. Hermione quickly scrambled off Malfoy and looked around. Although she had been the one to make the arrangements for this place, she'd never seen it in person.

It was a tiny one room cabin, rather rustic in construction. A narrow iron bed sat underneath a window along the left wall. A small wooden table and two chairs stood in the center, situated in front of a large iron heating and cooking stove. On one side of the stove was a small kitchenette, on the other was a large pile of firewood. In the far corner was a toilet, surrounded by an ugly floral curtain. On the right wall was a large double bed, made up with thick blankets and plump pillows. With all the furniture, there was barely enough room to turn around. Immediately behind them was a door to the outside.

She lifted the short curtain from the glass on the door. Outside snow was piled high around a short walk that led to a dock. The water was choppy and gray, sloshing around as the spring snow continued to fall. The little cabin was situated on an island off the coast of Iceland. It was a tiny summer home, and the only structure on the island itself. Across the choppy bay water, she could just make out the pinprick lights of a muggle fishing village.

The cabin itself was dark and freezing. She lit the lantern Dobby had left on the table and busied herself getting the cabin warm and habitable. She loaded the stove with wood and lit a fire. She pumped water at the sink to fill the kettle and set it on top of the wood stove.

She dug through her bag until she found a book on extension charms. Double checking the complicated swishing movements, she charmed the cabin to triple in size. It was rather a difficult piece of magic, and illegal in Britain without a permit from the Ministry. When everything shifted apart, and the room expanded she gave a self- satisfied nod.

This cabin would do very nicely. In a few hours, when the stove had warmed it up, it would be quite homey. She was just getting ready to unpack when she heard a groan from the floor. Malfoy was coming around.

Casting a quick petrificus totalis jinx, she crossed the floor and looked down into his face. She smirked, "Scared yet, Malfoy?" She let the question hang between them, knowing he couldn't answer. Methodically, she began to tap her wand at each piece of his clothing. With a murmured inflagrante jinx, each piece disappeared. Stepping back, she surveyed her work. He was trussed up on the wooden floor, stiff as a board, in nothing but his boxers. "You should be."

She spotted the Dark Mark burned into his arm and frowned. Malfoy may be a prat, but he was far too young to wear that permanent mark that would condemn him for the rest of his life. Even if he wanted it, Hermione was sure Malfoy had no idea what he was truly asking for. Voldemort had no right to do that to him.

She levitated Malfoy onto the narrow iron bed, fixing his hands to the headboard and his feet to the foot board with conjured iron hooks. She fished in her beaded bag and found an afghan her grandmother had crocheted. It was lacy, as most intricate crochet was, and had large holes in the pretty pattern. She threw it over him.

The kettle whistled, and she crossed to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea. The cupboards were crammed full, and each one was protected by a stasis spell, just as she had asked for. Digging deeper, she found the cupboards were far deeper than the outside wall of the cabin would have allowed. Dobby had really outdone himself. She'd have to do something nice for him.

She took her tea to the table and flopped tiredly into a chair. It had been a long day, but a satisfying one. She took Malfoy's broken wand out of her pocket and set it on the table, smiling at it. Stage one of her plan was complete and aside from having her tonsils attacked by Malfoy, it had gone off without a hitch. Before her cup of tea was finished, she felt the strange bubbling effect of the polyjuice potion as it began to wear off.

When her transformation back to herself was complete, lazily she began to transfigure pieces of firewood into bookshelves and a large dresser. Just as she was finishing, she heard a groan from the iron bed. Her petrification jinx had worn off.

"Pansy?" Malfoy called weakly. She smirked, lifted her fresh cup of tea and blew the steam off, waiting. Malfoy tugged at his arms and legs. He thrashed around, then seeing her, he snarled, "Granger! What the hell is going on? What did Pansy do with my clothes? Where the hell..."

"Comfy?" She asked, her voice calm and calculated.

"Where is Pansy? You filthy Mudblood! If you've done anything to her, I swear I'll..."

"I haven't done anything to her, Drakey." She smirked, emphasizing the last word with malice.

His gray eyes clouded with confusion. "But she..."

"She didn't do anything, Drakey. And if you ever kiss me again, I'll hex your bollocks so hard your children will feel it." She forced a sweet smile and took a long gulp of tea. "I'm still trying to get the taste of ferret out of my mouth."

Then it dawned on him, exactly who he was kissing under the Quidditch bleachers. His eyes glittered as he ground out, "I'll kill you for this, Mudblood."

Hermione waved her wand at him and cast a non-verbal silencio charm, effectively shutting him up. "I think you'll find you're a little out gunned, ferret." She held up his broken wand and his eyes widened in response. "If I were you, I'd try to be a bit more courteous or life could get quite a bit more difficult."

She stood slowly and deliberately crossed to stand over him. With a smirk, she tugged the blanket off his form, leaving him uncovered in the cold cabin. He tried to protest, but she ignored him, simply folding up the blanket and placing it at the foot of her own bed.

"You'll have the opportunity to earn privileges. For example, the blanket I just took was a privilege. Clothes, food or even a bath could also be a privilege." He was shivering now. "While you're here nothing is free, Malfoy. Nothing."

She smirked, added more wood to the fire and began to unpack.

Long after the silencing spell had worn off, Malfoy remained quiet. He shivered, tugging at his bonds occasionally and glaring at her, but at least he wasn't yelling. By two in the morning, she'd unpacked everything she thought might be safe to have laying around in case Malfoy got loose. Everything else she left in her beaded bag. She went behind the curtain in the corner and changed into warm flannel pajamas.

Before retiring, she dug a vial of sleeping potion out of her bag and crossed to Malfoy's bed. She held up the vial. "Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

He glared at her face, then at the vial. He didn't respond.

She shrugged, "The hard way it is, then." She stunned him and cast a healer's swallowing charm, forcing him to take the potion. "Nighty-night, ferret."

Once she was absolutely sure the potion had taken effect, she took several long cords out of her beaded bag. Canceling the incarcerous spell, she tied him up securely with the cords, spreading his arms and legs to each of the four corners of the bed. Aside from the Dark Mark, his skin was perfectly pale, and a bit chilly.

She almost caved in and settled the afghan back over him, but stopped herself. He'd have to earn his rewards, or she'd have a hell of a time controlling him. Even without his wand, he outweighed her by sixty or seventy pounds. He would be stronger and faster. Following her plan was the best way to keep him from overpowering her. His Mudblood comment had earned him a cold night. He'd made his bed, now he could lie in it.

It was after two in the morning when she banked the fire, stuffing it with logs to burn through the night, and rolled the thick layers of blankets back on her bed. Tomorrow was going to be another busy day and to be honest, no matter how much he deserved it, she wasn't looking forward to what she'd have to do.

When Hermione woke in the morning, the table was already set for her solitary breakfast, but Dobby was nowhere to be found, as they had agreed. Eggs, toast, jam, porridge, bacon and hot coffee steamed invitingly. She changed quickly and checked on Malfoy. He was still sleeping off the potion, and his bonds were still tied tight.

She dug in her bag, pulling out a wrinkled off-white stone and set it next to her plate. She downed a cup of coffee quickly, pleased to find the cup refilled itself from the pot warming on the stove. She lingered over her breakfast, waiting to eat until her prisoner was awake. Today, the psychological warfare would begin.

When he shifted on the bed, she dug hungrily into her breakfast. Her silverware scraped against the plate, and her cup made soft thuds as she placed it on the table. She purposefully blew the steam from her cinnamon porridge in his direction.

"Sleep well?" She asked with a smirk, chewing on a piece of crispy bacon.

"I froze my ass off, as you very well know, Granger." Malfoy growled.

"Shouldn't have called me Mudblood, ferret." She held a piece of toast in front of her mouth and caught his eyes following it hungrily. She smirked. "Hungry?"

"You know I am." He grumbled.

She took a large bite of toast and jam, chewed it and swallowed before saying, "Just checking." She finished every morsel on her plate with relish then banished the dishes to the sink.

Picking up the little wrinkled stone, she brought it over to his bed, holding it up. "Do you know what this is?"

He rolled his eyes. "Aren't you going to get me breakfast?"

She huffed and shook the little stone. "Do you know what this is?" She repeated with exasperation.

"Listen, Granger, I'm hungry. We can play twenty questions after breakfast. Now get me some food." He commanded.

"This is a bezoar," she said in her swottiest tone. "It happens to be the only one I could get my hands on before I left."

He pouted when she ignored his command and barreled on ahead. "I know it's a bezoar. Big deal, Granger. Get me some food!" His cheeks were turning pink from his temper and his eyes flashed.

"For six years," she continued, "You have done nothing but harass Harry, Ron and I. You've been a complete git. You've jinxed us, called us names, and even tried to poison Harry with that little snake stunt in the dueling club." She paused for effect here. "You're not the only one that can cast a serpensortia jinx, Malfoy."

His eyes grew wide at her implication, and his mouth gaped, "Granger! You wouldn't dare! That's a dark spell!"

"Wouldn't I?" She gave an evil smirk, even though inside her guts were churning, Stick with the plan, she told herself. "I need information. You have information. Unfortunately for you, I also have to go out and run errands today. It's hard to escape if you're busy dying of poison, isn't it?" She made a show of putting the bezoar in her pocket.

"Granger! Don't! You can't!" His eyes were alight with panic, he thrashed against his bonds to no effect.

"I need to know everything you do about the Death Eaters in the Inner Circle. What are their names?" She crossed back to the kitchen table, conjured parchment, quill and ink and looked up expectantly.

"I can't! Granger, he'll kill me!" The bed frame was rattling as he struggled.

"He can't kill you if he can't find you. Right now the only person in the world who knows where you are is me. Answer the question, Malfoy." Her guts were still churning. She didn't want to poison him, not if she didn't have to. The quote 'monsters we are lest monsters we become' was spinning around her head. She didn't want to be a monster. "Don't make me do this," fell out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Granger, he'll kill my mother!" he yelled, his chest heaving with panic.

Pain at the reminder of her own mother's death flooded her. She stood from the table and crossed to stand over him. Before she could think about it, she smoothed a long strand of hair out of his eyes. "What about my mother?" She snatched her hand back as a tiny flicker of pity crossed his face. When she finally spoke again, her voice was tight with control, "Last chance, Malfoy. I want names."

"Nott. Theo's dad. He's one. My Aunt Bellatrix..."

Hermione rushed back to the table to make notes.