Chapter 1: Machinations at Malfoy Manor

It all started with a book.

No.

It was more than a mere book.

Had Lucius Malfoy known what was contained between those pages, he would have thrown it into a vat of basilisk's blood (which he actually did have on hand in the sub-basement as it worked wonders as a pesticide).

And, to be fair, it had actually started with that damnable headmaster of Hogwarts going on and on about Voldemort returning.

Lucius knew this was ludicrous. His Mark had been both faded and inert for years. In his opinion, Albus Dumbledore probably thought that the bunion on his big toe was Voldemort come to doom them all. But then the Prophet had made a huge stink about it, even going so far as to do an exposé on what most of Voldemort's Death Eaters were doing these days.

Mostly dead. Or insane. Or a bit of both. And then there's me...and Severus, of course, but I know there's something he's not telling me about the reason he stays on at that horrid school year after year when he obviously hates teaching even more than he hated being a student...

Lucius hadn't seen what Voldemort had done to Bellatrix, but everyone was familiar with what she had become afterwards. Lucius remembered it so clearly it might have only been a week ago. She'd gone from being a calm, collected Daughter of the Noble House of Black to a deranged, Voldemort-obsessed nutcase. The Dark Lord had merely looked disappointed.

"The spell didn't work the way I had hoped," he'd said flippantly, "But I suppose what remains will still be useful."

And with that, he'd waved Lucius over and commanded him to take what was left of his sister-in-law back to his wife to be "managed."

It had been hell. Even with Severus coming to help during the summer. Azkaban had almost been a blessing, though Lucius knew that Narcissa still cried on her sister's birthday, remembering the sister she'd lost to madness. And through it all, the Dark Lord hadn't done much more than shrug when Bella had gotten up to some insanity or other. in fact, he'd often used her as a shining example of proper Death Eater behavior- torture and death first, talking later. Innocents were explained away as "collateral damage." Lucius had been disturbed, but knew that if he spoke up, he and his family would find themselves as the next bout of "collateral damage." Something had changed about the Dark Lord, Lucius could feel it. He'd gone on an "excursion" and come back a different man...what Lucius had thought of as somehow less of a man than there had been before. That had been the turning point. Things had gone downhill from there.

The mere thought that the madman might actually return made Lucius sick to his stomach.

And then the Aurors had to go and make a show of themselves when the public went into a frenzy of fear that was really all the Daily Prophet's fault. Lucius made a mental note to schedule a tea with Marvin Skeeter, Rita Skeeter's father and one of the owners of the Prophet. It wouldn't do for anyone to see those compromising pictures of their most popular staff writer in a compromising position with the owner and operator of the Quibbler, one Xenophilius Lovegood. It may have happened only once, but once was enough.

His cheeks reddened with chagrin when he thought of those bumbling oafs stomping around in his home. They'd even knocked over one of his bookcases and now there were dusty tomes of many shapes and sizes strewn all over his study.

The only reason he was putting them away and hadn't ordered Dobby to do it or use his wand was because many of the books were magical in and of themselves. Some were Dark, but had been obtained legally and were allowed by the Ministry as "history books for collectors." Also, Dobby had a penchant to begin reading aloud from books whenever one was in his hands. As his personal valet from infancy, Dobby thought that all books were bedtime stories for Master Lucius.

He chuckled darkly to himself imagining the nightmares that the meddlesome elf would cause instead.

The little creature was humming tunelessly to himself as he dusted the room behind his master. There were plenty of things that would need to be cleaned and straightened now that Malfoy Manor had finally been left in peace by those clumsy fools who apparently had nothing better to do than ruin his day. He glared at the fat book on Bone Curses that he was hefting back onto the shelf, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

The whole thing stunk of Arthur Weasley. They'd never liked each other in school and they didn't like each other now. Arthur had been immensely chagrined when Lucius had danced with a much thinner, pre-broodmare Molly Prewitt at his parent's Solstice Ball and stole a kiss from her out of spite more than anything. After all, he'd been formally engaged to Narcissa since she was two years old.

Weasley had always been jealous. After all, there was so much to be jealous of, as far as Lucius was concerned. While he wasn't exactly the most handsome man in the world, Lucius Malfoy made up for it in poise, polite practiced mannerisms and the hauntingly smooth baritone of his voice. He wore expensive, immaculately tailored robes. His hair was always perfectly slicked back without a blond strand out of place and it amused him to no end how much his young son worked to emulate his father's sense of style and appearance in this area especially. But Lucius Malfoy was most proud of his curious gray eyes, which were always partially narrowed as though daring anyone to say something stupid and live to tell the tale.

In short, he was the perfect wizard gentleman.

Who was now on his hands and knees like a commoner, covered in dust and cobwebs because of Arthur bloody Weasley.

Lucius cursed as he bumped his left kneecap on the base of the bookcase and braced himself with his right hand as he rubbed the painful spot where he was sure would soon be a bruise.

It was then that his fingers brushed against the soft leather jacket of a small book and he nearly moaned with pleasure as his arm began to throb with a nearly sexual sensation.

His eyes widened and he forgot all about his battered knee, pulling reluctantly away from the source of his pleasure. Twisting around, he finally sat with his legs crossed, he bent down and poked the book with his left forefinger.

Nothing.

He tried poking it with his right and the pleasure shot up his arm like a drug and he could feel his eyes going glassy with hazy enjoyment.

You should start writing in this diary.

The thought popped into his head and even though Lucius had never put much stock in writing down a list of one's daily movements, it suddenly seemed like a downright genius thing to do. Somewhere in the back of his head, Lucius felt a tingle of doubt, but a fresh wave of pleasure coursed through his arm like electricity and his resolve weakened once more.

"Dobby!" he shouted, "Bring me my Self-Inking quill!"

"Yes Master!" Dobby squeaked, "Dobby is so happy to serve his master! Dobby will get the pen now!"

Lucius grabbed the quill abruptly from the House Elf and brought the nib to the paper.

He wrote the date, frowning when the ink disappeared.

"You didn't fill this with Trick Ink from Draco's joke box, did you?!" He snarled at Dobby, who quaked under his glaring face.

"N-no sir!" Dobby replied, wringing his ears, "Dobby made sure, he did, for Master's happiness is Dobby's, sir! Dobby will punish himself if it pleases! Ohhhh! Bad Dobby! Bad! Bad!"

The distraught House Elf began to slam his fingers in the desk drawer repeatedly while shouting self-deprecating things at himself. Lucius scowled and tried to ignore the cacophony. It wasn't his problem, after all. If Dobby wanted to punish himself, so be it.

He pressed the tip of the quill and tried again.

Lucius Malfoy, he wrote.

Hello Lucius. Are you related to Abraxas?

His eyes widened as the words appeared on the page. What the devil was this thing?

Who are you? he wrote, his fingers quivering slightly.

My name is Tom. I feel stronger when you touch my pages. Why do you feel...familiar? Come to me. replied the words on the page.

Lucius felt himself shudder as the pleasure in his hand intensified and he felt himself falling into the book with a whimper that he would have never admitted to anyone that any respectable Malfoy was capable of making.

The pages of the book flew shut with a pop and the room was silent once more.

"Master?" Dobby called from behind the desk, the tips of his bat-like ears poking out over the top of the desk inquisitively.

But when he came around the side of the desk, rubbing his sore fingers, his master had disappeared. Dobby had been told not to touch the books, nor to speak to any of those around him of any important information that pertained to the Malfoy family, so he decided that it was best to go back to his previous duties. Whistling tunelessly, Dobby continued to dust the drapes and windowpanes in the office and hoped that once his master returned the room would be to his liking.

He did not notice the muffled noises coming from the small, red-leather bound book on the floor.