Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Hi. This is the sequel to Teenage Kidnappers-as stated in the summary. This will most probably be a long ride. I have no estimations for the length. I'm actually planning what will happen this time, which is probably what I should have been doing while writing all of my fanfictions, but...well. What can I say? I'm trash. Well, I hope this goes smoothly.

One

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She rolled into his life like a thunderstorm—shocking, intense, electrifying; leaving a gaping hole in his heart where her eyes bore through.

It was wonderful.

Even at the young tender age of three, Draco knew—he knew, like it was fate, destiny itself, that she was what he had been looking for. His lips curled at a side, twisting into a sly smirk.

His partner.

.~.

She was infuriating; a mad, wicked, know-it-all, nag of a hag!

Draco couldn't fathom how he thought she was the one he longed for when they first met; she, brought into the orphanage for the first time, expected by all around to be distressed, shaking from trauma at the scene she had to witness, but had the fiercest eyes he had ever seen, showing no signs of agony, only a will to fight, live.

"Granger," he spat, with as much venom as a four, approaching five, year old could to one months older than himself.

"—spell it right or not? Why can't you listen to me and repeat what I say: r-h-i-n-o—"

"I know how to spell! I don't need your help!"

She recoiled, narrowing her eyes at the snarling, snapping blond. "Fine!" she retorted, swirling around, tossing her head back with a pout as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine!" he repeated, fuelling a childish argument, for they were only children. He may have felt older than his age at times, strange as it sounded for one so young, expected to be oblivious, and all around cheerful, chatty, and annoying, but peeling apart all the layers, he was still only four years of age.

"I'll let you struggle all by yourself."

"Alright. Go."

Stamping her feet, she left, taking her bushy haired self away from him. Draco crinkled his nose, eyes widening as he realised her destination and sprung up from the carpeted floor, racing towards her, in an attempt to beat her to her intended place. Alas, he was too late, she had caught the attention of the teacher and Draco resorted to glowering at her—big, ugly mane and all—as she smugly tattled to the teacher about his refusal to work as a team.

He decided he hated her.

.~.

"Why am I always with you?"

"Because I'm smart, and you're not."

"So you say."

"Am too."

"Not."

"Am."

"Not."

"You're dumb, stupid, idiotic—"

"They all mean the same thing! And I am not—"

"Come on, who decided to skate down the hall in nothing but his socks?"

"I just had a shower. Obviously, like every other human being, I take showers naked."

"A disgusting sight at that."

"Take that back."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Ye—"

"Break it up, you two! Or I'll make you brush the tiles in the kitchen, with your toothbrushes! And no replacements!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

.~.

Reluctantly standing side by side at the wide doors of the orphanage, Draco and Hermione waved farewell and best wishes to Carl—a young baby toddler—"You can't have both at the same time, Draco," of which he replied with a, "Says who?"—of one and three-quarters—because they had to be exact—who was leaving the orphanage to live with his new family. When the car wheeled out of sight, Draco looked around to see all the workers and children—apart from Hermione and himself—flowing back into the building.

It had been three years since Hermione's arrival at the orphanage, and Draco have never seen such an emotion on her face; longing with a touch of regret.

Ignoring all his brain signals telling him to get the heck out, ignore this crazy girl, you know she'll harp at you if you stay and ask meaningless questions, maybe she'll make you recite the times table again, Draco cringed, and asked, "Granger. You, okay?"

She seemed to snap back into reality and turned to stare at him incredulously. "You can't even ask someone if they're fine properly?"

Draco bristled.

He abruptly spun on his heels to leave, wondering why in heavens did he think to ask of her wellbeing, when a hand latched onto his wrist. He slowly looked down, and then back up again at the doors of the orphanage, and then around.

"Wait, Draco, I'm sorry."

Just half an hour ago, he would have relished in the moment she apologised. She! He would have been cackling like an evil witch—like the ones in all those fairy tales—and spinning around dancing with butterflies because she apologised. To him! Pigs must have flown! But at this very moment, he did none of those. Only gulping and following her pull on his wrist, standing back by her side to gaze at the grey gravel before them.

"Well, what is it."

He just knew that Hermione was rolling her eyes, hearing her muttered sentences about his "can't believe this boy, rude, immature, pompous—" Draco rolled his own.

"Get on with it."

The muttering continued for a few seconds as she vented her annoyance at thin air, for Draco was not going to give her the satisfaction of rising up to the insults. Not just yet, anyway.

"Do you," Hermione started, "do you…ever think of your parents?"

"No," he replied curtly.

"Why not?"

"Never knew them. Don't know, don't care. Why? Do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I try. But I can't. I don't remember."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well, you came when we were tiny. Not surprising you don't remember."

"I was four, you were nearly three, we're not that tiny, Draco," Hermione corrected and Draco rolled his eyes once more—that girl never let up. "But it's not that. I would have at least remembered their faces, voices…"

"Then?"

"I don't know. I just don't."

Draco turned to look at her, as she stared blankly before her. He could see clearly the freckles that dotted her face and he suddenly felt heat rising up his body, he turned away, blushing. "That's stupid." As she gasped and started to retort, he continued, "It is. So what if you don't remember. They're gone. You know that."

"A car accident," Hermione breathed. "They said they were dentists."

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ugh, looking at people's teeth all day."

"It's a respectful occupation!"

"Yeah, right," Draco sarcastically drawled.

"It is!"

.~.

Like slime in his throat, it clogged his air flow and he can't breathe. Draco stared at his shaking hands, turning them over and back again, examining for any changes—something different because, because—

"What are you doing?"

—just like that, the spell is broken and Draco regained his thoughts, his body, his breath. Putting on a smirk, he glanced up at the speaker and replied, "Granger."

Nothing—that was nothing; it was impossible—just a daydream. He was just daydreaming, that's all.

It was nothing.

.~.

The mishap was catastrophic; the Matron was left running around the orphanage arguing with lawyers and whatnot. Draco and Hermione huddled behind the closed office door, ears pressed against the wood, and eyeing each other up and down angrily whilst doing so.

"—charges apply. My deepest apologies, Miss—"

"—will NOT!" the shrilled shriek of their Matron rang out, the two children couldn't help but cringe at the noise. "—nothing to do with this, this this—"

They stared at each other, daring the other to be the first to back away.

Draco eventually relented, mentally cataloguing this loss and prepared for revenge. He stepped away from the office and quietly ran around the corner into his room. Hermione barged in not long later, wild bushy hair bouncing on her shoulders as she shamelessly planted herself on his bed. Draco steeled his jaw.

"What do you want," he demanded, voice gruff.

"Poor Kelly," she whimpered, turning her face away from his line of sight. Tears, most probably, Draco deduced. "Oh—" she said as a second thought, one hand lifting up to her eyes and wiping them dry. Draco felt strangely smug with his deduction. "—I suppose we can't call her that anymore…"

"So?"

His flippant remark was faced with an indignant Hermione. "Do you not care? A girl just found out that she wasn't who she thought she was the entire time! Have you no heart, Draco? How would you feel if it were you?"

Draco shrugged, bending down to rummage through his toy box and pulled out a toy jet plane. "Who cares," he drawled in reply. "A name's just a name."

"I care!"

Draco, feeling rather annoyed at that point, sent her a glare. It certainly wasn't him who barged into her room and spouted useless crap! "Yeah, you're you," he sneered.

The she-devil narrowed her eyes, and made an irritated huff as she bounced on his bed. His glare turned icy. Who did she think she was, making his mattress go all soft and lumpy? "What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"Everything." She bounced once more, twice more. "Can you stop that!" he snapped.

"What?"

"That!" he gestured to her. "You're ruining my mattress!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but finally stilled her movements. She did not get off of his bed though, to his utmost displeasure. "Fine, oh great prick."

"That's a bad word."

"I'm older than you."

"By a few months!"

"So what."

"So everything!"

"You only care about things when it happens to you."

"No," Draco denied. "I do not."

"Name one time."

"I cared when Binny ran off and died."

Hermione was obviously miffed, judging by her expression. "You did not. You only pretended to cry for that poor little bunny. I know you immediately came back here to play with your stupid toys while the rest of us attended the funeral."

"It's just a stinking rabbit! Who the hell cares about it!" Draco yelled, throwing his hands up in the air, toy jet plane left forgotten on the floor. "Must you always stick your nose into everything?" A pause. "Oh wait, you do," he snarled, "you're Hermione Nosy Granger!"

The atmosphere became sombre startlingly fast. One second he was screaming in the girl's face, the next, he was staring at her glum expression. Draco took a step back, wondering when he had gotten that close. His body still trembling with anger, Draco kicked at the carpet as he surveyed the ground for his toy.

"What if, what if I'm not?" the quiet whisper seemed to echo in the small room. Draco looked over his shoulder at the speaker. Hermione had her head hung down, her hands by her sides, twisted in his sheets. "What if we're not? Like Kelly…have you wondered?"

"No."

Hermione snapped her head up to look at him. Draco saw her eyes rimmed with tears and cringed. "Draco…remember when Carl left?"

"Yes…?" Draco answered uncertainly.

"And how I said I didn't remember anything about my parents?" Draco nodded. He remembered his exact reply as well. "What if I don't remember because I'm not Hermione Granger? Draco, and you're not…Draco Malfoy?"

"That's stupid." He turned away. "It is." He can't help but quirk a smile at the exact same way his reply was going. "How does those two even relate anyway? You can be Binny the stinky rabbit and if memories were there, they'd still be there. So what if we're like Kelly. Who the hell cares if we're not who we think we are? Names are just names." Draco glanced back to smile cheekily at the distraught girl. "It's not as if Granger or Malfoy's some kind of mafia gang name."

Hermione laughed. Draco felt an odd sense of satisfaction. "Did you research? Or did you pull that out of your ass?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Bad word."

"Shut up. Like you care; you used 'hell'."

.~.

Draco gaped at the charred and soaking wet edge of the paper. Eyes wide, he stuttered, "W-what did you do?"

Across the room, Hermione held her hands behind her back; the appendages shaking profusely. "I-I-I didn't. It wasn't me!"

"It can't be me!" Draco shouted in reply.

"This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream," Hermione chanted, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

"It's not a dream, open your eyes idiot!" Draco yelled. "Why the hell would I be in your damn dream?"

"But—but this can't be real," the girl stammered. "It just can't. Draco—what happened?"

"I don't know. I don't know," Draco replied, his thoughts immediately flying back to that one other time. Composing himself, he said, "This didn't happen. Nothing happened."

Hermione stared at him, confusion speckled in her brown eyes. He returned her stare unflinchingly. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, nothing happened."

.~.

Draco didn't know what he had expected when he was summoned by the Matron, but he most certainly did not expect to be standing face to face with the annoying know-it-all and be told that—of all the people in the damn orphanage—they were going to be siblings.

"What?" Draco had uttered dumbly.

"Someone wants to adopt you. Both of you," the Matron answered with an irate tone, clearly wanting to get them sorted out and done with. "Come," she beckoned with nary but a wave of a hand.

The two stumbled behind her, shooting occasional glances at each other. After spending his entire life in the orphanage, Draco cannot fathom why out of a sudden, he was suddenly sought out to be adopted, with Granger, he bitterly added in his mind. They haven't even met the person!

They came to a stop outside the meeting room. Draco had witnessed multiple children enter and leave this room; some with eager and excited faces, others depressed and disappointed. Now, he was finally going to be one of them. He didn't know how he was meant to be feeling. A quick look at Hermione showed the same.

Right, he breathed. Granger. He wasn't alone.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts and Draco looked up into the stern face of the Matron. She nudged him forward and he pushed open the door, preparing himself for what was ahead.

A single man stood at the corner of the room, back facing them, large rough hands clasped behind his back. He was staring out of the small window, ignoring their entrance. Draco looked over his shoulder and only saw a closed door, the Matron hadn't entered with them. He returned his gaze to the front and saw that the man had turned to access them. Draco did the same, running his eyes up and down the man.

There wasn't anything spectacular about the man; average height, average features, glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. He perhaps looked as though he had an interest in books, but that was it. He was simply an ordinary looking man you find walking on the street.

Then again, what did he expect? Draco mused. Perhaps he had been thinking too much into such a situation; read too many books, and watched too many movies, that his imagination ran wild and thought himself some sort of main character in a fictional world.

They stood awkwardly at the entrance of the room. Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. The man sat down and gestured for them to do so. They took their places on the opposite side of the table. The man steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the surface of the table.

With a smile, he broke the tense silence, leaning forwards and whispering, "What do you know about magic?"