AN - Thank you for the love from the last chapter, I really appreciate it. This one was really fun to write because it was from two different points of view. I'm hoping to continue with that style throughout this story. Let me know what you think. Again, every character and etc belong to J K Rowling. Thanks for reading. If I don't have a chance to upload before then, Happy New Year! :)

- Chapter Two - May 9th 1999 -

- Clandestine Friends and Concealed Emotions -

After having convinced Neville, Hermione sat at the wooden table scribbling furiously. Initially stubborn, Neville was putty in Hannah's hands and Hermione had used that to her advantage. Hannah and Neville were out at the moment and Hermione took this time to flesh out the details of her plan.

In short, Hermione planned to go back in time to when Voldemort was a mere child and adopt him. She would raise him with strong values and plenty of love to see how that would affect his decisions later in life. Remembering her time in the Department of Mysteries and the sight of experimental time turners that traveled by decade instead of hour, Hermione was determined to get her hands on one. She had been reading every book about time travel she could find in her little beaded bag.

Hermione knew the risks, her Gryffindorish character was absolutely tingling with the idea of another adventure. Her heart ached with the knowledge that this would be her first big adventure without her boys. Ever one to help a cause, saving wizarding humanity, or at least trying to, was just the trick to get her out of her funk. She wondered briefly as to why this thought hadn't occurred to her earlier.

Miraculously, Neville had been able to bridge hushed contact between the bunker group and Luna Lovegood. The newly fixed dishes and furniture bore the brunt of Hermione's wrath from when she heard of where and what Luna had been up to. Some cracks in the dishware couldn't even be fixed by magic.

Her blood boiled anew at the thought of Luna chained up in the Department of Mysteries. Augustus Rookwood had taken a liking to the blonde dreamy eyed girl. His old position was reestablished and he was using the Department of Mysteries to hide her there because she was assumed dead. She was a war prize. The Dark Lord wouldn't care either way. Luna, in her current state was a laughable threat. The pockmarked jerk was going to get a face full of Hermione fist if she had the chance -the pleasure- to do so.

In a stroke of extreme luck, Neville and Luna were reunited a few days ago. Neville had been levitating some tools along a quiet corridor when he bumped into Luna. She had been let free to walk a little while. As long as she stuck to the hidden corridors and was chained to an invisible tether that alerted Rookwood if she crossed a threshold, Luna could stretch her tired legs. Neville and Luna had been communicating with muted patronuses ever since.

Hermione was impressed with the interesting twist of magic on the patronus charm. It would be the same messenger that a patronus was, but would be unable to be spotted by anyone other than a friend or ally. It was even undetectable by wand tracing spells. The soft voice of the patronus also attributed to its secrecy.

Luna was a brilliant witch. Hermione often found herself exasperated with the waste of talent Luna used looking for imaginary creatures and day dreaming. She had been more than thrilled to hear Luna had forged such useful magic. The dirty blonde witch had an attitude towards life that Hermione often found annoying, yet incredibly endearing.

Hermione had let tears flow when Neville gave her and Hannah the news of Luna's imprisonment a few nights ago. His voice was almost robotic. They had all thought that she had been killed in the crossfire of the Great War. Hermione didn't know if Luna's situation was any better but at least she was alive. Something about Luna was more resilient than Hermione had ever dreamed her friend would be when they met at Hogwarts.

She had openly sobbed when a miniscule hare padded into the kitchen with a muffled voice distinctly Luna's. It spoke to them about how she missed them dearly and wished them all safety and warmth. When the little hare nestled into Hermione's palm and whispered something about avoiding Wrackspurts, Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Luna, although battered by war, had kept her whimsical spirit.

Days afterwards, Hermione begged Neville to grab ingredients for polyjuice potion. It was a necessity for her to go anywhere as Harry's invisibility cloak was lost. Neville had grudgingly agreed. Hannah began slipping little bits and bobs in her pockets when shopping to save their sickles. Under any normal circumstance, Hannah would never even think of stealing, but this was war.

- June 9th 1999 -

Draco Malfoy stood stock still holding in his vomit. His face remained impassive and his icy grey eyes were glazed over. The only sign of his discomfort was the slight twitching of his left hand.

Feet planted firmly on an ancient Malfoy family rug, Draco continued to stare at his mother writhing on the floor. He was well past seeing red and had shut down completely. All outward emotion would just show weakness to the foul Dark Lord. Draco was thankful for all of the hours he spent working on his Occlumency with Sev during his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts. Without this life saving skill, the Dark Lord would have known that Draco inwardly defected as soon as his parents were harmed.

Narcissa Malfoy was drenched in sweat. Her normal pristine pureblood form was far gone. He knew what she was thinking; she couldn't be weak now, not in front of her darling Draco. He was all she had and she was the only light in his dismal existence. After twenty minutes of silence, she had uttered her first gut wrenching scream as her blood bubbled and stewed underneath her skin.

The Dark Lord was not a merciful master. When he got word of Narcissa giving scraps of food to the poor on her walks, he became very angry. She had merely handed out what she had left over as she was disgusted by the treatment of her fellow wizards and witches. Horrible and frightening as he was, Narcissa would never give up on her charitable values for the praise of the Dark Lord.

Draco had a brief memory of a charity ball when he was young flit through his brain. He remembered whining relentlessly about his itchy dress robes all afternoon in preparation for the ball. Ever the pureblood mother, Narcissa fussed about Draco almost as much she did her own appearance. Although sometimes uncomfortable in his robes, Draco always had fond memories about getting ready with his mum.

"Now Draco, do stand still. You look just darling in green." Narcissa cooed to her only son, her prize, as she brushed off invisible bits of lint from his emerald dress robes.

"Mother! It is scratching me!" Seven year old Draco stamped his foot to enunciate.

Narcissa moved to face her son and smiled gently. The smile she reserved for him and him alone always softened her eagle sharp features. It made her most beautiful in her son's eyes. As much of a brat he was, Draco loved his mother more than life itself.

"I know it's uncomfortable. I have just the trick…" With a conspiratorial wink and a quick wave of her wand, the scratchy material Draco felt disappeared and was replaced by the softest material he had ever felt. It was as if cashmere and silk joined together to make the most comfortable robes in existence.

The pair was grinning at each other and giggling at the remarkable use of simple magic when a stoic figure entered the room.

Lucius Malfoy, with his head held high, gazed down at his wife and son. "If you two are finished mucking about, we have guests arriving soon. It is impertinent that we greet them... on time."

As his words were crisply spoken, a deadly silence fell upon the room and clung to their skin. Draco looked up at his father with wide grey eyes and was met with eyes of the exact shade, but there was no boyish mirth in them that Draco's held.

His father stiffly held his arm out for his wife and when she took it, the first genuine smile graced Lucius' lips for only a second. "You look beautiful darling. I truly am a lucky man."

Narcissa smiled back and repeated the sentiment. She looked back at her son and grinning again putting a finger to her lips.

Seven year old Draco politely followed his parents out to the foyer and greeted a variety of snobby pureblood guests. He couldn't help but smile up at his mother every once in a while in the comfort of his silken emerald robes.

Narcissa had lost almost everything when Lucius was publically murdered. Her late husband had a weak stomach. He had preferred plotting and brown nosing to torturing others. Lucius was snobbish and held tight to his pureblood supremacist beliefs, but he could never endure seeing the horrors that the Dark Lord created. The only thing he left behind for her that was of any value was their son, Draco.

Draco's loyalties had shifted away from the Dark Lord and he knew that she was proud. It took a great deal of bravery to stand up against the tide of tradition and familial security, even if it was kept a secret. It broke his heart to know that she was dying. Through the pain, his mother instead focused on the ray of hope staring down at her amidst the sea of unmasked faces.

Draco took a sharp intake of breath when bright blue met ice grey. There was an almost imperceptible nod of her chin before her eyes closed. Her body went still. Draco's heart clenched and he struggled to keep his breaths consistent and calm. Inside, he was drowning.

A great cheer from Bellatrix made Draco break his impassive mask and scowl. "Take that Cissy! You were never as loyal to the Dark Lord as I!" His aunt danced around the disheveled but fresh corpse as Draco took his leave. Walking as quickly as he could without causing too much attention to himself, Draco headed up to his quarters.

Once he reached his room and warded the doors, Draco took a ragged breath. He furiously swiped away the burning tears that filled his eyes. Just barely nineteen, Draco Malfoy was parentless. He had to get revenge, but he was powerless. He would have to formulate a plan.

The only thing keeping him from spiraling was the paperwork he had to file for Monday's work. Working in magical law enforcement was not an ideal job for him, but it was something menial to keep his mind off of Death Eater duties and the pain of being who he was.

A few weeks ago, his mother had told him that he was becoming more and more like his late godfather, Severus Snape. He remembered snapping his head up at her words and meeting her blue eyes with his. Draco remembered her mentioning that the more he grew, the more his looks mirrored his father's, the more his actions mirrored his godfathers; and that she was proud of him.

He shakily headed over to his writing desk near the window. Draco stared out on the expansive Malfoy grounds that now belonged to the Dark Lord. The gardens were still being kept due to Longbottom. Allowing himself a small smile at the thought, Draco knew that mother would like it that way. She always loved walking in the gardens. Her hands would drift atop the blossoms as she strode along in brilliant gowns only she could pull off.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knocking sound on his door. Rolling his eyes, Draco wiped his face to make sure no tears would betray him and he straightened his shirt. "Coming." He growled.

He whipped open the door to see a shaking Peter Pettigrew. "Malfoy, the Dark Lord wishes to speak… to you." His voice was a squeak. Pettigrew bowed; he was one of the few who still did. The Malfoy name had long ago lost its edge and prestige. Pettigrew was just a slimy turncoat and Draco would never trust him.

"This better be good," he whispered underneath his breath and pushed the hunched man aside. Draco quickly re-warded his room and swept down the stairs to the main floor.

When Draco entered the Dark Lord's room he bowed low and said "My Lord." His insides burned from having to speak so respectfully to the man who tore Draco's family away from him. The Dark Lord was seated upon a throne of sorts and his red eyes flashed at Draco.

He looked disgustingly decrepit. It was almost as if the Dark Lord was flaking away like a pastry. Far from being the jolly Pillsbury Dough Boy, his words came out in a rasping hiss.

"Draco as you know, both of your parents are dead." Draco resisted the urge to snap back that he was aware of the obvious. The Dark Lord continued, "They were of no use to me, but you, you are intelligent and charming. You will do well to quit your job and perform a task for me. This is impertinent; you have one week." What he said was as close to a compliment as one could receive from the Dark Lord.

Draco inwardly balked at the idea of having to quit his job. This turn of events couldn't be promising and the ambiguous nature of the unexplained task put Draco on edge.

"I understand my lord, I will do so at my soonest convenience. Thank you." Draco tried not remain calm. His left hand started twitching at the fingers and he hid it behind his back when he bowed.

He headed upstairs with his mind reeling. What in Salazar's name would the Dark Lord want him to do? Draco had honestly thought that he was about to be kicked out of his own manner. Now that he had to stay, the prospect almost seemed worse. Draco wouldn't do anything to aid the monster downstairs; he had to find a way to escape.

Draco fell asleep with his head on his desk and stubborn tears in his eyes.