July 1992

"But she's a mudblood, father! It isn't fair!" Draco stomped his foot.

Lucius rolled his eyes but didn't bother correcting his son's foul language. "Have you considered that maybe the girl spends more time studying, than getting into trouble? Or that maybe opening 'Magical Theory' or 'The Standard book of spells' might be better than reading 'Quidditch Through the Ages' for the hundredth time?"

"She's getting into enough trouble with those two halfwits" the blonde boy mumbled angrily.

"I'm sorry?" Lucius asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Draco huffed. "She shouldn't even be allowed into the school. You think so too."

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose "Where did you get that idea?"

"Mr. Goyle told me. You were all followers of the Dark Lord. And I saw you have their mark on your arm. The Death Beaters" Draco looked challenging at his father; his arms crossed over his chest.

"- Eaters, Draco. Eaters. The Death Beaters are a Canadian Quidditch team" Lucius rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"So, you don't deny it then?"

Lucius sighed heavily. "Son. These are very complicated matters. You wouldn't understand- "

"I understand plenty." Draco jutted out his pointy chin. "You were working to protect the wizarding world." He was swelling with pride at the idea that his father was some sort of brave knight on a crusade to liberate the wizarding world from some obscure threat.

"Well, I- " Lucius struggled to explain. He couldn't very well tell the boy the truth. That he had been undermining the Dark Lord's work from the inside, that he considered the Muggle-borns part of the wizarding world too. His son was much too involved with the Crabbe- and Goyle households, and he knew Draco to be a blabbermouth. He couldn't tell him that he, under pretence of being a school governor, had been snooping in the Book of Admittance and that his mother had been visiting Muggle-borns like the Granger girl and the Finch-Fletchley boy under disguise since they were small and that he in fact knew that the girl was extremely studious and most likely deserved her place at the top more than Draco. He realised he had a part to play as the bigot, lest he alienated his business partners, but doing so in front of his own son plagued him to no end. Unfortunately, it was either that or raising said son home- and penniless. The contract his own father had signed with the other followers of the Dark Lord was tied to the Manor, all its contents and the entire Malfoy fortune. Should he be kicked out of the contract by a unanimous vote, everything would be lost.

"That was a very long time ago, Draco. I forbid you to talk about it" He looked down at his son imperiously.

Draco smiled at him, apparently interpreting things a bit differently than intended.

Lucius cursed internally. Narcissa had been right. Those two idiot friends of his were a bad influence, but he couldn't forbid him to see them without offending their fathers. He had to try to distract his son in another way.

"Draco, I expect you to do better with your studies from now on."

The boy sighed and looked down "Yes father"

"I also realise you want to try out for your house quidditch team, so if you study hard during the day, I will allow you to practice at the pitch in the gardens in the afternoon." Lucius smirked when he saw his son's expression brightening. "And should you manage to get onto the Slytherin House team, using your old broom, I will even buy you the new Nimbus 2001. In fact, I will buy one for the entire team."

"Really?" Draco breathed, wide eyed and practically vibrating with excitement.

"So, you better get to the library boy! I will send a list with books." Lucius pointed at the stairs leading to the expansive library and chuckled when his son ran, taking the stairs three steps at the time.

His smile faded though, when he remembered his own task for the next days. The Ministry had passed a new law that incidentally also allowed Arthur Weasley to come to "visit" unannounced – something he frequently took advantage of. So far, he had found nothing, but it was only a matter of time before the cretin would be lucky enough to stumble across some of the more dubious items his father had left behind. Strangely though, an item had gone missing since the ginger menace's last raid, but nothing was ever mentioned, and no report was written. It puzzled him still. Considering the hatred, the two held for each other and the way that Arthur had torn through the library like a niffler through Gringotts, one would think that he couldn't wait to shout to the world that Lucius Malfoy was storing some of the darkest artefacts known to man. He had briefly considered that maybe he was keeping it for blackmail, but he quickly dismissed it. The Weasleys were the very definition of Gryffindors, in Lucius' own opinion at least. Reckless, hot headed, stubborn and much too sanctimonious for something like blackmail.

He sneered, thinking about the oaf who, despite being slow in the head, managed to make his life difficult.

But if he hadn't nicked that book, then who had? That thought filled his mind as he trawled through the manor, taking inventory of all the shit that had accumulated through the centuries. They had entire rooms that would be bare of furniture when he was done. In fact, he might have to demolish the entire East wing.

…

September 1992

He had made it! He had done it! He had made it onto the team on his old Silver Arrow and now his father had sent seven brand new Nimbus 2001 for the entire team. Draco had never been so proud in his life as when he was walking on his way down to his first training for the Slytherin Quidditch Team. His thoughts were interrupted though, when he heard the annoyingly Scottish accent of the Gryffindor captain. "You've got a new seeker? Where?"

Draco pushed past his much larger teammates with a confident smirk, careful to turn the broom just so, so the "Nimbus 2001" was clearly on display. He was only half-listening to his captain who was bragging about the new brooms, but when he saw Potters pet and the Granger girl he couldn't help but pitch in with the boasting, even if he knew he shouldn't. He could practically hear his father's voice; 'Malfoys don't boast, Draco. They simply don't need to.' But it was hard not to, when he was so good at it!

"Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep fives, I expect a museum would bid for them." He taunted with glee, taking in the reactions from all the Gryffindors.

"At least no one from the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent" Granger snarked back. She was good. He hated to admit it, even if it was only to himself, but she was good. He couldn't let her win this round though, but he didn't have any good comebacks that wouldn't make him sound like a petulant child, so he drew his trump card.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood" He sneered.

The effect was instantaneous. The entire Gryffindor team was in uproar and so was the Weasel. Oddly enough, the only one who didn't react was Granger. At first he thought that maybe she didn't understand what it meant, but then he saw the fire in her eyes and the tiniest smirk and he knew that he had lost again. Then the moment was over, when Weasel tried to curse him, with a spell that sounded made up, which even backfired on himself. Granger hurried to Weasel's aid and he couldn't help but resent her a little for it.

…

December 1992

Dumbledore was off his rocker. How the irresponsible old madman managed to justify keeping the school running with the Chamber open, he might never know. His own son didn't seem to be faring much better sanity-wise. He kept writing letter after letter, speculating about the identity of the heir and praising them in more and more ridiculous ways. He was still young and naïve and didn't quite grasp the severity. He had never lost a loved one and had never seen a dead person. Lucius had seen enough death to last several lifetimes and wanted to protect his son as much as possible, but the little idiot seemed to think it was a game of sorts.

He felt trapped. By this point, living on the streets seemed almost preferable to keep up appearances, but he justified his own actions by telling himself that soon there would only be five years left of the contract. Five short years and the Knights of Walpurgis could kiss his pasty arse. As it were, he and his wife were trying to compensate for their lies by helping every Muggleborn they could find.

Narcissa had been busy ever since he became a school governor because it gave him access to the book of admittance. Before, they had managed to find a child here and there – he had been receiving information from a "friend" at the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, but it was far from all magical children that displayed such powerful accidental magic, that the Squad was needed. Even when deployed, the Squad were only to reverse the magic to protect the Statute of Secrecy, but never to be seen by others and thus never offering explanations to the families or helping to ensure that it would not happen again. Now, they had access to the names of all the muggleborns and Narcissa visited all the families regularly from the children were toddlers. She had even insisted on giving the families enchanted coins that they could use to contact her – they would have to draw on the children's magic, and when the children held their coin in their hands and thought of her, the engravings on her coin would change to reveal which child needed her help with either controlling accidental magic or answering questions about the wizarding world. She would then hurry to change her appearance – the colour of her hair turning wavy and chestnut brown, her nose turning slightly upwards, her chin softening. Then she would put on muggle clothes (They had an entire wardrobe hidden in the attic – why they would need so much, he would never understand, but apparently fashion is fashion and one must always look their best).

Lucius felt he never got to see his wife anymore and sometimes questioned if it was worth it to continue with the project, but then she would come home with the brightest smile and tell him about "her children" and the trouble they got into with their accidental magic, the questions they asked about things that they had always taken for granted themselves. She cared a great deal for them, and he could never take that away. They had been unable to have any more children of their own, so his wife relished being able to share her heart with other little ones, despite them not being blood. The hardest thing was when they left for Hogwarts because they wouldn't need her anymore – they had friends and teachers who would support them and answer any questions they might have. She had a feeling the teachers fell woefully short though, given the barrage of questions she would receive every time a family had had a visit from the school's vice principal.

Lucius was convinced that certain things were purposefully omitted – like how the parents could contact the school and how the school were obligated to inform them, should their children be sick or injured. Particularly the last one was worrisome. Especially when he learned that the families of the two students who had been petrified by Christmas, hadn't been informed of the status of their children. Had it been Draco, he would have been furious not to be informed. He had to do something – the way Dumbledore played around with lives was despicable. They needed to send in specialists – he knew that any magizoologist would kill for the chance to study whatever beast resided in the Chamber of Secrets and having a curse breaker look at it wouldn't be too big of a problem. He would pay for both out of his own pocket if needed, but as long as Dumbledore was in power, his hands were tied – ergo, he had to do something about the old fool.

...

May 1993

Draco felt a bit rotten. Not much, but enough to make him do stupid things. Like visiting the mudblood in the hospital wing. He was being stealthy about it and had a perfect cover if someone caught him. He would say that he wanted to draw on their faces. He had even brought a quill and some ink in his satchel. If it was a professor or madam Pomfrey, he would of course pretend to visit the poor muggleborns who were victims of such a heinous crime. He wouldn't say he felt sorry for them, but he did feel slightly bad. He had told Crabbe and Goyle that he hoped Granger would die, which he honestly did at the time. But now that that possibility had come so close, it didn't feel as good as he thought it would.

He was also insanely curious about how a petrified person looked. He snuck quietly through the hospital wing, peeking through the curtains that were shielding each of the victims from view. He couldn't believe that they had the cat in its own separate bed. It even had flowers and everything. The irritating first year, Creepy or whatever his name was had a pile of chocolate frogs on the table which he snatched one of. It wasn't like he was going to eat any of them in the near future. Finally, he found Granger. She was lying on her side with her back turned towards him. They probably couldn't put her any other way because one of her legs were bending. He slowly walked around the bed, studying her. She was completely stiff as a board, but her clothes weren't affected. Her skirt was draped over her legs but had ridden up slightly. He almost automatically pulled the hem of the skirt lower to protect her modesty. He could feel himself blushing. Eventually he reached her front, where he sat down on the chair to study her closer. It was odd how her skin was still almost the same colour as before; it only had a greyish tint to it. He had actually expected that petrified people turned into rock, completely but it seemed like it was closer to a form of paralysis, which only made him more curious. He knew that he probably shouldn't, but he ran a hand down the side of her face, telling himself that he only did it to sate his curiosity. As he accidentally caressed her cheek with his thumb, he was surprised to find that the skin wasn't only completely smooth, but also warm to the touch even though it was completely hard like marble. He moved his hand down to hers and frowned when he saw a small piece of paper in it. He pulled it out, tearing it slightly since she was gripping it tightly. His stomach dropped when he saw what it was. A basilisk. He looked around at the other victims in the hospital wing. A basilisk had been loose in the castle for six months. It was a miracle that no one had died. He hurried up to put the piece of paper back in her hand. No one would believe it if it came from him, but from the golden girl? They would take it like gospel. He noticed that his pulse had skyrocketed and as he snuck back out of the hospital wing, he told himself that it was only because he had learned about the monster in the castle and not because he had touched the mudblood.

What Draco failed to understand was that petrified people are fully conscious. When Hermione had seen none other than Draco Malfoy, she had been scared out of her mind. She knew what he had said. He wanted her dead and she wondered if he was coming to finish the job the basilisk hadn't managed to do. She was deeply alarmed when he touched her skirt, but it turned into confusion when she felt him pull the skirt down rather than up. Her confusion only grey, when he sat down and just stared at her. She supposed it was some sort of morbid curiosity, but the way his face looked, all soft and without that nasty sneer he always sported, would have taken her breath away, had she actually been breathing. And then he touched her face. No, he didn't just touch. He didn't poke her – it was a downright caress, which tingled at her skin. When he took the paper in her hand, her stomach dropped. It wasn't meant for him, but when she saw his horrified expression as he read what it said, she thought that maybe, just maybe there was hope for Draco Malfoy yet.

…

June 1993

It had backfired horribly. Had he threatened the other governors? Yes. Yes, he had. Had there been another attack? Yes. But that had absolutely nothing to do with Dumbledores absence. It was as if people believed that Albus Dumbledore was surrounded with some sort of protective aura and that his mere presence ensured the safety of all. It was hopelessly naïve the way they followed him like sheep, never imagining that their shepherd would happily be sending their children to the slaughterhouse for lamb chops.

He had lost his post at the board of governors and it was detrimental for their project with the muggleborns. They would have to rely on the reports from his contact in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad again unless he could convince Severus to go snooping. On the other hand, he might get to see his wife more.

And then there was the case of the book – the one that had gone missing from his library. He would very much like to know, how it had made its way into Ginny Weasleys hands. He hated the thing ever since his father came home with it. He had placed it in the library in a glass casing and would stare reverently at it as if he was worshipping it. Personally, Lucius just felt nauseous every time he looked at the vile thing.

As much as he despised Arthur Weasley, he couldn't imagine him stealing it and giving it to his own daughter. It was emanating dark magic, and no one in their right mind would ever give it to a child and especially not their own.

He had two suspicions – either Draco had been an idiot and had stolen it and given it to the girl as some sort of prank because he didn't know what it was.

Another option – which was far more likely, given what his friend had told him many years ago, was that they had a mole. The strange elf that might have been loyal to another. He had wondered about it several times over the years and they had researched the bonds between elves and their families time and again and had realised that the bond between the first owner and an elf could never be properly severed. But who had owned the elf first? Even with all the threats and punishments they could think of, pushing their own bond with the elf to the extreme, the elf never told them. They had been careful not to reveal any of their most important secrets to it, but the elf had full access to most of the manor in order to keep up with its duties to keep it clean. It could easily have come across the book in the library while dusting.

He was happy that he had finally gotten rid of most of the dark items in the manor, now that the elf was free to go blabbing about their affairs.