TWO FOR ONE THIS WEEK! I'm spoiling you because I'm rather fond of all of you. I had to get this next bit down before I get swamped with work next week.

I haven't had a chance yet to reply to the reviews on the last chapter, but I just wanted to say thank you for your wonderfully kind words. I cannot express how happy it makes me to see how you react to the characters. Forever grateful to all of you.

...I am not consistent, I think we can all agree on that. So here's a short one - I like to keep you on your toes.

I don't think there are any TRIGGERS here, but please let know if there are, and I shall amend, muchos love.

Without further ado, enjoy allllll of the plot devises!

*exits stage right with evil laugh echoing in the wings*

Also, I'm not sure what's wrong with , the last chapter keeps getting taken down and isn't showing up. This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad un ThusAtlas.

"Hell is empty. All the devils are here."

- William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Chapter 12 - Intermission: Gibel

Sometime in the afternoon of the 11th of September, 1999 - Azkaban Prison, North Sea

Penance – a novel concept.

The cold sun shone from behind a darkened cloud, filtering grey light in through a barred window.

Justice – laughable.

The sound of rising chatter filtered under the heavy iron door.

"I wonder what's on the menu today," Lucius Malfoy muttered to himself as he picked the black scum from his nails. He hummed a shanty tune that he'd heard one of the guards singing a few days prior that had stuck in his head ever since, festering like a seeping wound, burrowing into his –

"The king and his," he mumbled as he tilted his head to better hear the commotion in the hall, "men, stole the queen from her bed." A door banged, "and bound her in her bones." Barks of shout from the cells around his sounded. "The seas be ours and by the powers, where we," the metal clasp of the food hole scraped open, "will, we'll roam."

Lucius stretched out his legs, clicking his stiff joints before putting his filthy feet to the floor. "Thieves and beggars," he continued to sing under his breath as he ambled over to the door before squatting down, "never shall we di – Good Afternoon Thompson," he called amiably through the gap.

"Afternoon Mr Malfoy," sounded a gruff cockney accent from the other side.

"Say, how's the weather today?" Lucius replied with false cheer.

"I hear it's blowin' a mad one down in Landan sir," Thompson replied darkly, "me ol' ma said it's not lookin' too good on the horizon neither sir. Storm's gonna get worse, she said."

Lucius grunted, "well that's a bother." What could possibly happen in the Ministry that could cause that much of a ruckus nowadays?

"Here ya are sir, grub's up." A tray topped with a silver dome slid in through the gap, "I'll be back in an hour to pick it up."

The heavy panel crunched back into place as Lucius picked up the tray and crossed the cell to his bed. Once seated, he lifted the dome and let out a sound of surprised delight.

"Wonderful, foie gras parfait, is this…" he picked up the silver knife, dipped it into the rich red jellied substance and dabbed it delicately to the end of his tongue. "Oh yes, grape chutney and toasted broccoli." He admired the artist presentation of food on his plate, "yes, quite lovely, but did you pair it well?" He picked up the water bottle with his filthy hands and twisted the top, waving the open neck under his nose. A deep smile curled his lips as he tipped the bottle back and hummed with pleasure as the ice-cold white wine caressed his tongue, "Sauternes, you do spoil me so."

He set into his meal, eyeing the folded newspaper that lay obnoxiously by the side of his plate. He hadn't received one the day before – something about a commotion in the prison had the whole system off. It happened from time to time, so it hadn't been a cause for concern. But he ignored the paper nonetheless, in favour of savouring every component and flavour of his dish; a content smile lingering on his lips from every sip of his wine. As he chewed his food, he absently hummed the shanty tune, bobbing his head with every off-beat.

Finally, when he had scrapped the plate clean and leant against the wall, and picked up the newspaper that was folded neatly next to his plate. He flicked it open, taking a sip of his wine.

He choked.

He gasped, trying to inhale as he coughed to clear the wine that had gone down the wrong way.

Old Rules Still Favour the Elite: Ministry Sets Monster Free.

Lucius snatched the newspaper, eyes wide as they roamed over the article, devouring the words and information. Horror crept over him, upsetting his full stomach, as he realised what had happened. While on the one hand, he was overjoyed that his son was free. On the other -

"Those FUCKERS!" He roared between clenched teeth. How dare they! My son! "After everything, EVERYTHING, they go after my SON?!"

His re-read the article and the subsequent follow-up in the social column on Draco's inheritance.

My poor boy, he thought as read the gossip predictions on what he would be like a Veela. Glorious is how he'll be.

But then Lucius' blood boiled. He knew he was not a good man. He knew he done a lot of things in his time that would not be considered… palatable. But his loyalty had always been to his family. Any agenda that would further the family, that is how it had always been. The Dark Lord was just one of the numerous factions that the Malfoy's were embroiled in - some dating back centuries. Movements, ideas, all served with the understanding that the Malfoy name would come out on-top. Some of these movements were obvious – like the Dark Lord's. But others...others had been lying in the shadows for years, waiting for the right moment, the right set circumstances, the right stars to align to enact their very precise plan.

Lucius didn't know what any of these plans were, he'd never really been bothered with the other causes other than the Dark Lord's. He paid lip service to them, donated where he could, pushed money into the right pockets, played the right political move to push through a certain agenda when they had asked him to.

Just as all the Malfoy patriarchs had done before him.

Of course, he couldn't say for sure. The convenience of Draco's release under an obscure law and the severity of his inheritance that was on full display in the paper could just be luck.

Except.

He had received a visit hadn't he, some years ago.

"Oh yes, I did…"

A man from one of Nicholas' causes wasn't he.

"Oh yes, he was…"

And hadn't he asked for an amendment to be made to the very same Bylaw that had served as his son's defence?

"Oh yes, he did." Spittle flew from Lucius' clenched teeth as he growled.

The right set of circumstances, the right ingredients, he had said. "And of course, we'll always be loyal to the Malfoys, after all, you are our greatest hope at getting one of the ingredients."

No, Lucius didn't know for sure, but he was pretty certain he had connected the dots on this.

They were coming for his son.

Knock, knock.

The food panel scrapped open.

"Any good?" Thompson's cheerful voice piped through. Lucius picked up the tray and squatted down, placing the tray just in from the hole.

"Delightful Thompson, my compliments to the chef as per usual. Magnificent job," he reached forward and snatched the guard's hand as it made to grab. "I need you to do something for me, Thompson."

"Mr Malfoy?" Thompson replied with a hint of worry.

"I need you to get Kingsley Shacklebolt. I don't care how you do it, but I want him here."

"Uh Mr Malfoy, I'm not gonna bring the Minister here just so you can uh – y'know, off him."

"Don't be ridiculous boy!" Lucius hissed, tightening his grip on Thompson's hand. "It's for a meeting. He thinks all the ghouls and monsters are Death Eaters, he has no idea of the rot that actually lies in his cabinet. Get him and I'll tell him everything he wants to know about the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, everything." He released the hand with harsh push, "you have no room for failure here Thompson, and time is precious."

"Yes sir!" Thompson barked with only a hint of desperation, pulling the tray through and snapping the panel shut.

No, he wasn't a good man, he mused as he stood, walking over to his window that looked out at the angry sea. He curled his foul fingers around the bars as he watched the frothy waves roll into one another, absently humming the shanty tune once again. But I have learned my lesson, his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip.

"The king and his men, stole the Queen from her bed," I will burn them all if they hurt my son. "The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam."

Do you have any theories yet? As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Till next time...

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