Introduction

This story takes place the year before the events described in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Most of the characters and locations are borrowed from Ms. Rowling's wonderful books and after having had some fun with our favorite Death Eater I have tried to respectfully return them all to the state I found them in.

However, I take full responsibility for the creation of the Sartorius clan, the horrid George Lepidus and several assorted witches and muggles. I also need to apologize for making Lucius' father seem like a rather awful parent and insinuating that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy may have anything but a perfectly loving and harmonious marriage. So I tend my sincerest apologies to the Malfoy family for casting any passing shadow on their name.

The basic description of the process of creating a homunculus was provided by the famous physician and alchemist Paracelsus, a wizard who was born in Switzerland in 1493. Some of the other magical principles and procedures described are part of the modern practice of High Magic and Wicca. I have to mention my father for his tireless tuition in Latin, which helped enormously with the spells and mottos of the family crests of the Malfoys and the Sartorius.

Of course if Jason Isaacs had not lent Lucius Malfoy his considerable talent as an actor, Ms. Rowling's character would not have turned out to be the man he is today and would rarely deserve the attention he is getting from his numerous admirers. So the biggest thank you has to be reserved for him.

The story would have to be rated NC17 with some muggle and house elf torture, strong language and drug (AKA potion) abuse thrown in.

Please enjoy, review and may the Dark Lord be with you!


Plans for the Summer

Consilia res magis dant hominibus quam homines rebus. - Men's plans should be regulated by the circumstances, not circumstances by the plans. (Titus Livius: Annales XXII, 39)

Lucius Malfoy picked a velvet-black rose from the trellis outside the dining room and took a deep breath of its intoxicating heavy scent. Gravel crunched under his boots as he turned on the path outside Malfoy Manor and surveyed the immaculately groomed gardens. Under a warm golden June sun clipped boxwood hedges cast bluish shadows on the trimmed grass, bees hummed among the flowers and small white clouds floated lazily in a forget-me-not sky. He allowed himself a satisfied smile. Free at last – for almost three long months at any rate. As every year Narcissa, his wife, had packed up young Draco, the nanny, the private tutor and half the household that very morning and had left for the entire summer to spend time at the ancient Black summer residence in Norfolk with her family.

Lucius took another sniff and his smile broadened into a grin. It had been high time, too. The entire spring Narcissa had tortured him with social engagements, there was the stuffy and boring Ostara celebration at the Ministry of Magic where he had listened to a seriously inebriated Fudge lament his woes and the grave responsibilities of his position for what had seemed like hours. For a short unnerving moment he had seriously contemplated slipping the old fool a quiet avara kedavra and be done with it.

Right after that followed the annual Beltane feast at the Wimmerlings, which was a dreadful affair with a lot of dancing around a May pole and at least one traditional handfasting performed. Lucius shook his head. Beltane had been a real howler of a feast in heathen times: people had had a night's leave to get out of control and fuck the hell out of anyone they damn well liked, and even in Christian times witches had flown to the Blocksberg to have congress with wizards and demons. Well, at least this year he had been able to do justice to the spirit of the occasion by enjoying a rather spontaneous tryst with Emma Wimmerling, daughter of the house and a strapping young witch who was just finishing her final year at Hogwarts. At the memory Lucius ran a reminiscent thumb across his lips.

Then of course there was the traditional May ball at his house, where Narcissa went into a state of uninterrupted hysterics for about a month until everything was arranged to her linking. This year she had even briefly fallen out with her current lover, Draco's private tutor, during the preparations. Lucius actually managed to feel some pity for the hapless young wizard who had got himself ensnared in that tangled web of fake decorum, neuroses and artificial catastrophes that was his darling wife. And the poor fool had to try and deal with his son, too, a petulant sniveling brat, who lied and shamelessly bullied his mother, tried to manipulate even his father, and enjoyed torturing house elves and smaller animals. Lucius had few illusions regarding his offspring, but hoped that he would start to grow out of some of his more annoying behavior when he joined Hogwarts next year, even though he had to admit some grudging admiration for Draco's inventiveness with regard to the house elves. Ten-year-olds could be cruel little blighters.

In any case, after the social purgatory of spring he had been ready to drink down a goblet of essence of wolfsbane until this morning. Now he had his freedom. He could take over the manor kitchen for alchemistical experiments and potion making with no one complaining about the funky scents that would permeate the house for days, could have breakfast in his study stark naked and read the Daily Prophet till noon if the mood took him, even could invite some of his Death Eater associates over for secret activities, including a spot of muggle torture, without Narcissa whining about noises from the cellars and bloodstains on the carpets of the main hall. Hell, he could talk to Lark, one of his business agents in London, who knew his taste and have him send over a couple of mudblood whores, invite some of the lads round and have himself a decent old-fashioned orgy.

Lucius Malfoy crushed and dropped the petals of the rose he had picked and strode back into the house with a purpose, several plans taking shape in his mind. Life was definitely going to be good this summer!


Eleanor Sartorius took the tube home after the last day of term teaching art history at University College, London. She sighed as rush hour commuters squeezed around her in a ball of overheated, sticky humanity. Well, it was the last time she needed to put up with this, at least for the next few weeks. She was looking forward to the lazy luxury of the summer holidays where her only duties consisted of some research projects she had set for herself.

Then she paused at the thought. So, that was all she could be looking forward to? She might as well be seventy-four instead of thirty-two. 'You're just on the rebound after Marcus,' she told herself, but knew already that she was only trying to fool herself. After all, she had been the one to break things off after he got more involved than she was ready to tolerate. Something else was missing, something she had forbidden herself to think about. She sighed. Living between two worlds only resulted in feeling a stranger in both.

Finally the train had reached her station. She clutched her satchel of books and wriggled her way out of the compartment. As she stood on the platform and decided that no one was watching her, she slipped her hand into the bag, felt around until her fingers curled around a long slender stick of wood, and quietly murmured: "Frigifacio!" Immediately a cool breeze enveloped her, gently lapped at her light summer dress and caused goose-bumps to rise on her forearms. She glanced around quickly and strode up to the lifts that led to street level.

After a brief stop at the street corner grocery she finally made her way up to her house, a small, narrow, two-storey Victorian terraced building with a long strip of garden with old trees in the front and in the back that effectively hid the place from the street. She had inherited it from her parents. She opened the squeaky cast-iron garden gate and walked down the slate paved path that led up to the front door. She would put away her books, have a shower, feed Isis, her cat, and then enjoy a good glass of red wine in the garden and watch the sunset, a perfect end to the day. Balancing her satchel and her bag of groceries she fished for her key, but had no luck. Finally she gave up and her hand traveled back into her bag. "Alohomora!" she said in a whisper and the front door swung open.

Isis welcomed her in the front hall and stalked around her legs, intent obviously on tripping her up. She battled through to the kitchen and placed her books and shopping on the table. Then she picked up her pet and rubbed her under the chin. "Now, aren't we affectionate today, hm? What's up?" She turned back into the hallway when she thought she heard a noise from the living-room. Surprised she sat the cat down and cautiously approached the door at the end of the hall that stood half ajar. The room seemed to be filled with a golden mist from the westering sun and for a moment her eyes fought to adjust to the strange light when she noticed two people, a man and a woman, sitting opposite each other on the sofa and one of the easy chairs, talking in soft voices.

The man seemed very, very old with long snow-white hair and a beard that reached well down to his belt. He wore a slightly pointy hat made of purple brocade and a matching long gown. The woman obviously loved plaid, because her frock, cloak and hat were all cut from the same sturdy green and brown weave. Both turned to face her as she entered the living room and stood up to greet her. "Miss Sartorius," said the man in a gentle, quiet voice. "Please do not be alarmed: we mean you no harm. Allow me to introduce us. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, this is Professor Minerva McGonagal."

Eleanor remembered to close her mouth at the unlikely sight. After all, an encounter like this should not surprise her. It had just been a while since she had had any dealings with wizards and witchfolk. Sudden apparitions at will just were not part of the usual routine of the muggles she knew and worked with. She walked up to her visitors and shook hands, feeling a sudden surge of excitement. Then she invited them to sit down again and pulled up another chair. "Well, what can I do for you?" she asked.

Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard for a few seconds. "We are here to extend you a job offer," he finally said. "We are looking for a replacement for Professor Mercer, our instructor for muggle studies. We feel that you would be the most qualified witch for the job." She now stared at them in disbelief. "But I have elected to live back in the muggle world," she answered. "My parents made that choice before me, even though they sent me to Durmstrang for my training. I was not planning on switching over."

Now Professor McGonagal spoke up in her sharp and precise, but not unfriendly manner. "We understand, but we are really in a fix. Philip's, I mean Professor Mercer's brother was attacked by a dragon in Wales, and Philip needs to be on sabbatical this year to take care of some pressing family matters. As a witch who lives among muggles you know better than anyone how vital it is to give the next generation of young wizards and witches the knowledge that they need to deal with non-magical humans." Eleanor looked out of the window to collect her thoughts. The strange thrill she had felt at meeting wizarding folk had not subsided. She thought back to her rather depressing musings on the tube and suddenly realized that her reluctance had more to do with the fact that she seemed settled into her routine and less with actual misgivings at switching back over to the exciting and colorful life she had briefly encountered at school.

She just had to decide whether to undo her parents' decision and face the wizarding world again, the world where her family originated and had lived for centuries, her famous and heroic grandfather, Falco Sartorius, her revered great-aunt Augusta, murdered by muggles, her uncle Conrad and his wife and children, killed in the 70s by Voldemort's murderous fury. Her father and mother had tried to flee all of this, moving from Cologne in Germany to London, where they had immersed themselves in the millions of muggles of the vast metropolis and tried to hide from their past. She would be confronting a lot of family history and again bear the burden of being "a Sartorius", descendant of one of the oldest noble wizard families of Germany. Then again, one could not hide forever, and she had missed some of the life she had actually enjoyed at Durmstrang. A furtive door-opening or cooling spell whispered in secret just did not feel the same. In the end her decision came to her quite quickly.

She collected her thoughts and looked at the two Hogwarts teachers. "Very well, I accept," she said. Dumbledore and McGonagal exchanged a quick glance. "However, I will need to make some arrangements. Have someone look after the house, pack up. Also, can I bring my familiar?" "Of course," said McGonagal. "Your cat, I presume?" She nodded. Her visitors got up. "We are very glad that you are going to help us," said the old wizard. He pulled a small wooden puzzle box out of the folds of his robe. "Here is a portkey. Just use it when you are ready. We'll send a few house elves through to assist with your trunks. Your quarters at Hogwarts will be ready. Welcome to the school, Eleanor." He shook hands with her, as did McGonagal, and then the two disappeared.

She sat down heavily on the sofa. The evening sun drenched the living room in coppery light. "Oh, Mum, Dad, you'd be pretty unhappy now," she murmured. But inside she felt an excitement she had been missing for quite some time. This would be a good way to reacquaint herself with the wizarding world and to find out where she really belonged.