Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't own the history of the Great Depression. Though owning Harry Potter might not be bad...

A/N: A million thanks to my betas, Cherry-Starburst, Forest Star and erisedvision139!

Warning: Angst, violence, slash, adult content, blood, gore, death, raping, adult-on-child, so on, and so forth. Please note that this warning covers the entire story. So you might never know when one of those things might suddenly pop up in the story.

"Mother, Father! I'm home!" a fourteen-year-old Harry Potter shouted from the front porch. It was a Monday in October. The wind blew at his face as he pushed the door open, startling his mother, Lily.

"No need to be so loud, Harry," she said in her soft voice as she walked gracefully across the kitchen and tried to give Harry a kiss on the forehead with her lipstick-covered lips. Harry, like any boy his age, dodged it.

"Mother. I'm fourteen," he whined as he glanced up.

"And still my little baby," Lily cooed, and sneezed. "Phew, I guess I have too much make-up on today."

"Mother," Harry whined even louder as he settled his books on the dining table.

Lily shook her head. "No, no. Dinner is ready in an hour. Get your books into your room."

The exhausted boy sighed as he stomped into his room, throwing his books all over his bed.

Harry Potter was the son of Lily and James Potter. The son of the most-liked and the wealthiest family in his town, a little out-of-the-way place in the state of Virginia. He had messy black hair from his Irish father, a young man who had immigrated to America in his teens, and a pair of lovely green eyes from his American Mother, a young flapper who wore too much make-up. Top of his class and the most handsome boy in his school; who could ask for more?

"Harry! Time for dinner! Go wash your hands, and scrub them!" Lily shouted. "I don't want to see any dirt under your fingernails when you get down here, young man."

Harry sighed again for the second time that day. His mother always told him to scrub his hands. Meaning that he had to use soap and actually rub his hands very hard together and get the dirt off under his fingernails. He wished that his family wasn't quite as wealthy as it was.

Ron's mother never told Ron to scrub his hands.

"How was school today, my boy?" James asked his son from across the dining table, as he shoved a spoonful of peas into his mouth.

"Slow down, dearest. You'll choke," Lily advised.

Harry shrugged. "Same old. I won the spelling contest," he said, trying not to brag. "But it was really easy. I learned all the words last year. And Mom, about the Halloween pu-"

"That's good Harry. And as for the pumpkin pie, your mother will deal with that tomorrow," James said, not really interested and turned to face his smiling wife. "How was your day, Lil'?"

Lily giggled like a young girl. "I bought a new skirt for 3 dollars."

James raised an eyebrows."But didn't you just buy a skirt last week?"

"I did indeed."

"Well, are you even planning to wear them?" James asked. His wife was always buying things and then leaving them lying there in her closet for the moths to eat. A plain waste of money.

"Of course I am," his wife scoffed and her smile turned upside down.

James' eyebrow rose higher in disbelief. "Well, I guess it's OK. Anyway, I was thinking of building a new house."

His son and wife put down their forks at the sudden and unexpected news, made even more unexpected because James said it like it happened every day.

"Where will we get the money to do that? Why do we need it?" Lily asked. "We have a perfectly fine house- the best in town."

It was true. Only the Potter's house boasted an actual two-spaced car garage. The house had the most bedrooms of all the town's houses; five bedrooms and two bathrooms. There was a walk-in-closet, and the kitchen and dining room were separated- something that not many people could afford.

"Well," James said. "I just saw what our stocks are worth, you know, the ones we invested in Standard Oil? If we sold that stock, we'd have the money to build an even grander house, buy a new car for Harry for his sixteenth birthday, and all with some extra money left over!"

Harry's eyes lit up. A car? "Really?" he asked.

James nodded. "And a new radio, as a matter of fact."

His wife, however, was frowning. "I don't think that's such a good idea. I heard that Molly's family just lost their investment with that steel company from New Jersey."

"Don't fret. King Steel is just a small, remote little company. It's Standard Oil we're talking about here. Besides, I've already been in contact with three people. I will sell our stocks to the one who offers the most. And a year or so from now, we can start a new home and rent this one out for extra income," James said, grinning at his plan. "It will be great."

"OK, I guess," Lily said. She was, however, still frowning.

The night they went to bed was October 28th, 1929. A Monday.

"That's impossible!" James shouted at the the man in front of him. "What do you mean my stocks are worthless, Pettigrew?"

"I mean that it's worthless," Peter Pettigrew answered. He was a rich man who owned three businesses in Virginia, with a reputation like a sewer rat's. Not only that, he looked like one too. "You've got to understand James. Everybody is selling their stocks and the price just plunged down the drain. The most I would offer for that piece of paper right now is 500 dollars."

"What?" This could not just have happened. Stocks that were worth so much only the night before couldn't be worth only 500 dollars.

"50,000," James said, grinding his teeth.

"No deal," the fat, rat-like man said flatly.

"It was 50,000 dollars yesterday," James protested.

"Sorry, Mr. Potter, no can do," Peter answered. "500 or nothing. I'm not buying a nearly worthless piece of paper for 50 grand. I've come across far better deals in my businesses."

"You can't do that. You said that you would buy it last night by the phone." James defended.

"I did. But I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. Your stocks are currently worth nothing at all. So may I suggest you leave. The door is to your right," Peter replied with a sneer.

James glared at the man before storming out of the door.

"Are you joking Rita? We put our life savings in there," Lily said, stunned, to the the blond curly-haired woman, who was currently packing her belongings into a box, anxious to leave as soon as possible. "You can't just close like this."

"I'm sorry but Virginia state bank has gone bankrupt. Excuse me, but I've got more stuff to pack," Rita Skeeter said, shoving a yellow folder into her big purse. She clearly didn't like Lily's presence in the empty bank.

"Could I at least withdraw my family's savings?" Lily asked desperately. "We have 9,800 dollars in our account. It's ours, I mean-"

"Mrs Potter. You're the 7th person I've had to turn away today. And I'm very sorry that the money is all gone. There is none left to give out," Rita Skeeter said as she put on her coat.

"Half of our savings?" Lily asked as she became paler and paler. They couldn't just lose their money like that. It had taken forever for them to save up. Why, Harry's entire college fund was in there! "Anything?" Her voice had trailed to a whisper. "Anything at all? Mrs. Skeeter? Please?"

Rita shook her head. "Nothing. Not a single cent."

"But- but, where did all the money go? It can't have just disappeared like that. 9,800 dollars can't have gone missing overnight," Lily demanded. "Our bank account was fine the last week I checked. Why didn't anybody warn us of this? Mrs Skeeter, why?"

"Listen to me Mrs Potter, you are certainly not the only one that's wondering about that," Rita said. "I have six children of my own and a set of old parents. I don't know even know where my savings have disappeared to. I do what the boss tells me to and he told me to close the bank. There's no more money, Mrs Potter."

"But what happened to it?" Lily cried, obviously close to tears.

"That's what we all are wondering, Mrs Potter."

Harry flashed a smile back at Ginny Weasley, his best friend's little sister.

Well, not so little. But definitely not old enough to be dated by any boys. Still, she was the prettiest girl in the school, with red, bobbed flapper hair like Harry's mother had and a pair of stunning brown eyes. She was a developing young girl of 13, and in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, not old enough to be dating. But when she would be, Harry had decided that he would ask her out!

She had no objections, as she waved to him. Harry was a fine boy.

"See you tomorrow," She whispered shyly and skipped down the street, joining a couple of girlfriends, whispering and giggling.

Harry grinned at her and bid a polite goodbye back, even if she couldn't hear him. "See you, Ginny," he said.

He ran home, trampling all the autumn leaves beneath his feet and jumping over the wandering street cats and dogs. He couldn't wait to get home.

"Mother! Mother! Did you bake that pumpkin pie for the Halloween party yet?" He shouted as he pushed open the front door open.

He saw Lily crying into a handkerchief. She took a quick look at her son, and turned her head away. In her other hand was a cigarette that had yet to be lit.

Harry stopped and stared. His mother, never ever in his life had he seen his cheerful, always-laughing mother cry before. The thick coat of black eye-liner she had carefully applied around her eyes that morning, dripped down her chin, mixed with her tears, making it look as if she was crying ink.

"Mother?" Harry whispered. He knew that she saw him.

His father was sitting, or rather slumping, in the Italian sofa they had bought last year. James looked grave and his mouth was trembling as he took a puff of his pipe.

James never smoked pipes unless something was worrying him.

"Father?"

Harry closed the door. "Is everything alright?"

They didn't look like they had been fighting.

"Harry," James began, then shut his mouth as if he didn't want to say what he was about to say. Then, taking a deep breath, he choked out the words. "We lost all our money."

"What?" Harry whispered in disbelief.

"Coffee," Draco Malfoy, the blond, grey-eyed heir of the Malfoy Inc., cousin of John Rockefeller's uncle three times removed, son of the sixth richest man ever in the United States, the sexiest, most-wanted guy, though he preferred the English term 'bloke', by the ladies of his generation, snapped at the new butler. "No sugar but with extra milk. Make it French black."

"Fr-French black?" The poor old man stuttered. "I don't believe that I'm familiar with that term-"

"Come on, old man. You've never heard of French black?" Draco sneered at him. True, he was just teasing. There probably was no such thing as "French black" coffee. Even if there was, how would he know? He'd never been to France.

The son of the sixth richest man in the whole country had never been to France, and half of his family was from there. How embarrassing was that?

"With all due respect sir, no I've never heard of this 'French black'," the butler answered him as politely as possible.

"Then just get me regular coffee," Draco snapped, returning his eyes to the book he was reading.

"It's dinner time. Coffee is only for breakfa-"

"Who said so?" Draco lost his patience, throwing the book down. "I'm the boss here! And if I want coffee for dinner, I'll get coffee for dinner. You've already ruined it by not knowing my favorite coffee!"

"So-sor-sorry sir. But I've only been here for a day and-"

"Get out of here," Draco snapped.

The butler walked quickly out of the room.

"Mother!" Draco shouted. "Mother are you there? Mother!" Draco hissed, after not hearing his mother answering for a minute. "Narcissa Black Malfoy!" He called his mother by her full name, knowing perfectly well what kind of reaction he would get. "Narcissa!"

"Don't call me that!" An angry blond woman with short-cut hair and deep red lipstick burst into the room wearing a loose pink dress. "I was trying on the new skirt I've just bought and you have to interrupt my moment! This better be good!"

"We need a new butler. This one is useless and stupid," Draco said.

"Watch your language young man," Narcissa snapped at her son. "The butler we've got is just fine." She walked out of the doorway. "And don't interrupt me again."

He was having his dinner up in his bedroom with the new woman he'd bought from the night club around the corner.

She was blond, pretty and reminded him too much of his mother when they were around his father. Not only that, but she was three years older than he was. So what! He was an eighteen year-old guy. What's wrong with bedding an older woman? Everybody was doing that.

Like his father, bedding young girls who were barely fourteen.

I don't understand what are all you people protesting about? Draco thought to himself, thinking of the sneer a maid had given him earlier that afternoon. Both of my parents have their own side affairs. That's how rich people are.

"Open your mouth." The woman, whose name he did not know, held a forkful of chicken near his face, smiling dazzlingly up at him.

He smirked at her, then opened his mouth a little and-

"Draco!" A voice thundered outside his room. He let out a groan as his father stormed in.

"Yes father?" Draco sighed.

He felt his father eyeing the woman on his bed before looking angrily at Draco. "I heard from your mother that you have had another conflict with our new butler."

"Father. That old man's head was as wide and empty as an asshole that's been fucked thirty times in a row. How could you expect me not to lose my nerves with him?" Draco pointed out as the woman giggled and smiled at his father. Draco glared at her. Dirty whore.

Lucius glared at his son. "Stop using such filthy languages."

The son responded to this by a roll of his eyes. "I'll say what I want. This is a free country."

"Well, you'd better put up with him or we're going to be without a butler for another month," Lucius said. "And I just want to inform you that we're going down south tomorrow down in the South to purchase that new bunch of stock from those loons Pettigrew introduced us to."

"Again?" Draco hated the train ride to the south. The ride from New York to Florida was very long and the train was just unbearable from the last time that Draco remembered it. "Can't I just stay here?"

"No, you can't, not if you want to be experienced enough to take over from me someday," Lucius said coldly. "That is still a long time from now, but it's always best to prepare early."

Draco scowled at his father.

"Oh, and my lady," Lucius' mood changed as he bowed to the slut on Draco's bed. "My most sincere apology to you for ruining your night here. My name is Lucius Malfoy, owner of Malfoy Inc."

The woman giggled, "Daisy."

Draco frowned. "Hey, I had her first!"

"Sorry son, Narcissa is preparing to go out at the moment and I would feel quite lonely alone." Then he turned back to Daisy. "Shall we?"

She giggled as her bob-cut hair bounced up and down. The door slammed.

"Damn you," Draco cursed.