A/N- Wow. It has been far too long. I just sort of lost inspiration for this story for a while and I'm sorry! But I'm back, and I know exactly how the next chapter is going to go. I'll have it up in a week or two.

Ok, several things to address about this chapter:

1. (More about the whole story really) I'm not trying to bash Lucius. I've read a lot of fics where the writer constantly bashes one character (or a group of characters) and makes them to be evil when, in the actual plot, they are misguided (or sometimes for no reason at all. I don't care if characters are ooc but when an author completely distorts that character from the original way they are portrayed by the reader it annoys me). Now, I think that Lucius in the novels/movies was not misguided per se, but he was taught to believe in the whole 'purebloods are superior' crap and he craved power. Voldemort gave him power. In the end, he was trying to save his family without being killed. Now, I still think that the Lucius in my story was like that at one point, but eventually, when the dark 'won' the war, he got more powerful. It went to his head, and drove him insane. Also Draco running away played a factor in that. Just to clear that up. (sorry for the rant)

2. Not much Hermione in this chapter, or Orion, but they will be in the next chapter,

That's actually it. Thanks for the reviews, faves and follows! You all are awesome.

Chapter Twenty Three

With that thought in mind, Hermione Granger pressed a little bit closer, tip-toed a little bit higher, and pressed her lips to his.

There was a moment of silence when she pulled away, leaving Draco to stare down at her. She was biting her lip shyly, her long eyelashes sweeping her cheeks bashfully. She didn't look like Hermione Granger in that moment; not strong, fearless and witty. She was afraid of rejection, of making a fool of herself.

Which she hadn't done. Not in the slightest.

"You're blushing," He whispered, tucking a strand of her impossible-to-manage hair behind her ear. Hermione glanced up.

"Anything other obvious comments you'd like to add?" She asked, crossing her arms. Draco smirked and stepped back.

"Not especially, no. Just the fact that you should've taken me to dinner first,"

Hermione rolled her eyes, turning her back to him, "Shut up you prat. Help me with these records,"

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on top of hers, "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, sidestepping him again, "We do,"

Noticing the plural, Draco smiled and pushed aside his thoughts of romance. That could wait until later.

X

The following morning came bright and early. Draco awoke thinking of Hermione (Merlin, I'm a fool, He thought, somewhat bitterly), he ate breakfast thinking of Hermione (Stop it right now, Draco Malfoy, she is just the mother of your child and an amazing woman… nothing special…), and he drove to work thinking of Hermione (Dear lord, if I run one of these cars off the road while I'm distracted I'll never forgive myself… will Hermione forgive me?). Arriving at work, however, was another matter altogether.

"Morning Clara," The blonde called when he opened the doors. He glanced over at the front desk to find the secretary sobbing, her eye makeup running down her cheeks. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose obnoxiously loud.

"H-Hello Evan," Clara stuttered in reply, blowing her nose again. Draco took a step back, raising an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked somewhat critically. She was acting like a hormonal teenager.

"I-It's M-Mr. Linney… He's… He's D-d-dead!" Clara wailed, throwing her head into her hands. The blonde blinked, stepping back.

He couldn't be dead, could he? That's impossible. Mr. Linney will walk through that door any minute, laughing at the wonderful prank he's pulled. Clara will win one of those… Whatever-awards for her performance and we can all get over this. In a few years this'll be the story they'll be telling at the Christmas parties; 'The day we tricked Evan!'

"What did you say?" Draco asked, his face clear of all emotion. Clara withered under his gaze, her hands clenching and unclenching nervously.

"Mr. Linney… I… M-my cousin is the sh-sheriff, and I-I… he told me that… that t-they g-got a call from his w-wife… a-and…" Clara cut off, wailing louder into her tissue. Draco nodded curtly, walking down the hall to his office. He slipped his wand out of his pocket and whispered a silencing spell before opening the door to go in.

"Expulso!" Draco screamed, once he was sure the door was closed and locked. The wall his wand was pointed at exploded with a blast. Pieces of plaster flew across the room and dust settled over everything.

Rage was boiling up inside Draco until he let it out on his desk. Papers scattered across the floor, the desk nothing more than splinters now.

It was his father. He knew it. It was a message, a sign. That he was coming. That it wouldn't be long now. That Draco would have to run or fight. One or the other.

The blonde screamed again, louder this time, the urge to be physical drowning out all sense. He ripped open his filing cabinet drawers, throwing the files to the ground forcefully. The now empty shell of metal soon joined the papers and books on the floor, but it still wasn't enough.

It would never be enough. How many people would it take to get hurt, to get used, to get killed, to make it stop? First Hermione, Weaslette and Longbottom, tortured by Death Eaters. Blaise, who was walking the dangerous high-wire of being a double-agent. One wrong move, one reason he gave to make them doubt him, and Blaise was a dead man. Even Theo, who was a sneaky bastard, was risking himself to give them information about Lucius' plans.

And Orion.

Gods, he was just a child. A boy who'd been through more in four short years than most people had been through in a life time. He was still so innocent, so unknowledgeable about the world, yet he knew more about the horrors humans could inflict than Draco himself did. People weren't born monsters, they were taught to be that way.

Lucius had been taught, first by his parents, then by Voldemort. The once cold man Draco had known growing up had transformed into a mad man.

Suddenly exhausted, Draco fell to his knees, head in his hands. He took a deep breath through his nose, releasing it with a sigh. He then stood, surveying the damage in the room.

Nothing a quick Reparo couldn't fix.

The once Malfoy heir fiddled with the wand in his hand. It was good to be using it again; he'd missed the familiar power of his magic, shifting under his skin to greet his wand. It felt right.

That's when he decided.

He would fight. No matter the cost, he would defend his family and (Merlin help him) his friends. He would win, or die trying.

(But he wasn't turning into a Gryffindor- what a notion- no, he was formulating a plan. Granted, it was a bollocks plan that required getting others involved, but a war is won by an army, not a single soldier.)

Draco Malfoy wasn't going to give up, no matter the cost.

Perhaps he was more alike to his father than he'd thought.

X

Jasmine sighed, picking up the dirty dishes on the table. She was tired. Tired of her children always bickering and pushing each other's buttons. Tired of her mother always requesting her presence at the house she grew up in. Tired of her husband always going on business trips. Tired of her brother fighting with his ex-wife Lucy. But most of all, she was tired of the lies. Of the half-hidden truths. She knew there was something going on, something with Evan, Julia and maybe Blaise. Everything felt… off. Like she should know something, but it was being hidden from her, from everybody.

That was a very unnerving feeling.

No matter, she thought bitterly, washing a plate with a towel under the steady stream of water from the sink, Every person, every family, has their secrets. For example, ours was that my brother was a wizard.

Jasmine turned the sink off, hands on her hips. She should've been on her way to work, she really should've. Instead she took a day off to assist her mother in cleaning. Another day being the underappreciated child, another day trying to appease her mother. But she was never special enough. Not compared to Benjamin, who went to a magical school and had magical friends and knew magical things.

That's all she ever wanted; to be like her younger brother. She was supposed to have gotten a letter too, on her eleventh birthday, to have an owl and go on adventures and have a wand.

Sometimes, Jasmine liked to think that it would've been better had they never known magic existed in the first place.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of the door bell ringing.

Opening the door, she expected it to be a sales person or perhaps a new boarder. Instead, she was face-to-face with a blonde man. His hair was long and tied back, a small smirk curving up the corner of his mouth. His clothes were out of place, long, flowing, and black. Behind him, a woman with wild hair and a torn dress stood. The look in her eyes was nothing less than hatred. Off to the side was a young, brunette man. He, unlike the other two, had on somewhat normal clothes; a button-down shirt and jeans.

The man's smirk had transformed into a smile, revealing perfectly white teeth.

"Hello," His voice was low, his accent British, "I'm here looking for a man by the name of Evan. Evan McDermitt," He glanced at the boy behind him, "Right, Theo?"

"Wha- Yeah," 'Theo' was also British, and he sounded nervous. Jasmine could imagine why; spending time with this creepy guy and crazy lady had to be unnerving.

"Well, Evan is at work. You can come back later, I suppose—"

"Could we come in then?" The man asked, his polite façade still in place, "We'll wait for him,"

Jasmine was beginning to feel uncomfortable, "Um, he won't be home for several hours—"

"He's my son," The man added. Jasmine looked closer at his features, realizing that he did look quite a bit like Evan. The hair and eyes were the same, and they had similar features.

In all the times that she'd spent time with Evan, he'd never once mentioned his family. Whenever the topic came up, he would made a comment completely unrelated. After a while, Jasmine understood that it was a forbidden conversation and she hadn't brought it up since.

If this man was his father, she could see why.

"Please, this is a boarding house, there are other people—"

His smile dropped, "I'm sorry, I don't think you heard me," He whispered, his voice dropping several an octave. He reached into his pocket and retrieved one of… one of those wands, "I'd like to come into your house to wait for my son and his friends to get home from work," The wand was pressed against her stomach now. Jasmine wondered if this was some sort of surreal dream.

The man's smile was back.

"Please?"