When Lucius Malfoy had been released from Azkaban, it was not because of his charming smile, his polite manners, or his pleasant stories about his world travels. Rather, it was because of the excess of his talking.

He couldn't help it, really couldn't. Lucius Malfoy was a people person. There was nothing more that he valued in the world than basking in the attention of like minded friends who could sympathise with his woes.

It took all but ten minutes with Lucius for the other Azkaban inmates to stab forks into their ears just to avoid hearing his incessant babbling, or witness his frequent hair brushing, and knuckle rubbing, as though he were holding a cane. Everyone had enough of Lucius Malfoy and that included the Dementors, who at alarming rates, had taken to giving themselves The Kiss just to not have to spend another moment listening to him whine about the torture conditions.

"Oh, it is too cold here, love," Lucius said to the Dementor. "Too drafty in here and my trigeminal nerve is acting up again. Would you be so kind as to add a bit of heat to your act?" He batted his light eyelashes at the eyeless, soul-sucking creature towering over him.

It was enough to make just about anyone go stark raving mad.

So, one night, all of Azkaban's staff, inmates, and Dementors gathered in the mess hall room and decided (unanimously) that Lucius Malfoy had to go. Anywhere. Just go.

Lucius was given his carefully steamed robes, his favorite silver-snake headed walking cane and his custom made hair-tool kit and led to the grand exit (which was also the only exit in the entire prison). Before he left, Lucius turned, pouted, and said with a hurt tone, "Can't I stay for a bit longer? The cold temperatures here are great for contracting my pores."

The entire prison rattled the bars and yelled, "Bloody Merlin, get out!"

So, Lucius Malfoy's fate was decided. He gathered his trinkets with a sigh and walked off to the nearest Portkey, which was a twenty minute walk down a rocky hill. When he arrived there, he whined to the Portkey keeper about his arthritis acting up and how the rocks were rough on his heels. Surely, he'd knocked all of his kidneys out by now.

The Portkey keeper listened and listened and finally, let Lucius travel to Wiltshire for free, and in the Express Portkey Lane (so his colleagues at the joining Portkeys would be spared the misfortune of having to transfer him).

"Go on," the portkeeper said, prodding him on.

At home, Lucius entered to find that the Manor was quite empty. He waited in the entry way for five minutes, then threw his custom-made hair tool kit onto the carpet and rose up the stairs.

He was even more upset to find that his wife was in bed with two other men. This was an outrage! Cissy had as much of a right to be in the Manor after their separation, but he thought she'd have the decency not to bring her passees here.

He stood there in the bedroom before the barely-dressed threesome and whinged on and on about how no one brought him his house robe and his favorite slippers, or offered him a small, but an expensive glass of Firewhiskey to ease his nerves after traveling. And to think that there were at least three grown adults in the house who could have done so. That was no way to greet a wizard. That was not the way the Malfoys treated their kind.

His heels were sore, his pores had opened, and his hair was beginning to frizz from the travels. He sat on the carpet and sobbed.

One of the scantily clad men in bed with his wife suggested that perhaps he would find that kind of service in a hotel.

Oh, Lucius was roused from his woes. What a splendid idea! He came up to the man, kissed him on both cheeks, and went to the fireplace. He opened a crystal bowl, threw a sprinkle of Floo powder into the pit, and walked through the flames.

He was transported all the way to London and landed in front of the Grand Ritz Hotel. After seeing the bordel his ex-wife had turned the Manor into, he was done with sleeping in wizarding establishments for a while.

There, at the Ritz, he requested the most expensive room with a large bath to ease his feet, and silk pillowcases so that his hair would not lose its lustre as he slept.

The madame at the front desk informed him that the most expensive room had already been occupied by the visiting Duke and Duchess of Sussex, who had not been welcome to stay at the Royal Palace, following their spat with the queen.

Lucius groaned, rubbed his newly forming crow's feet at his brows, and explained to the madame who "Lucius Malfoy, Member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblooded Wizarding families" was. The madame would have none of it, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He called the lift and he rose up to the highest floor of the hotel with the intention of letting this Duke and Duchess know who should really have the suite chambers.

The Duke and Duchess were out to lunch and he was greeted at their door by their baby son, the ickle Awchie Hawwison Moo-nt-batton Winsow who told his as clearly as he could, "Gow away."

Children, Lucius decided, were not the same these days. Back in the day, when his own ickle son had been living at home, he would spend days talking to him about his woes.

Well, Lucius decided that he would have to wait for the Duke and Duchess in the lobby, like everybody else.

Lucius sat with his legs straight (to improve circulation) on one of the Victorian sofas and waited for the royal couple to arrive from their luncheon. In the meantime, he'd strike up conversation with every guest in the lobby, even the ones that were dead-tired of sightseeing and politely trying to avoid him and check into their rooms.

Finally, the madame at the counter called the security to escort Lucius off the premises.

"For disturbing our clients," she explained to Lucius.

Lucius scoffed. How could pleasant small talk ever be disturbing? He thought it was quite the opposite.

Apparently, even Muggle hotels showed no more hospitality than his own ex-wife in his own home. Such bad service. Lucius considered why bad things often happened to good people. As much as it would go against his magnanimity towards the Muggles, justice needed to be served and his opinion - heard. He would go through the gruelling and highly unpleasant task of writing a poor review of the hotel and sending it to their management (likely through rats or pigeons or whatever form of communication those 'beings' used).

The sounds of busses and cars in the street were toying with Lucius' fragile nerves. His robes no longer looked or smelled fresh from the smog and the exhaust fumes. His skin was beginning to redden under the sun too.

Exhausted, he rambled about how terrible London was to an old lady and her Pekingese dog. It would be swell if the Wizengamot granted him his wand to summon a nice chapeau for his face and perhaps mist a light cooling charm over himself.

He commented on the lady's skin and suggested she try a lovely moisturizing charm to smooth out her sagging cheeks. For this, he got a quick smack across the tush and a loud "Go to Hell!" from her red-lipsticked mouth.

He touched his cheek, paused, and then a smile curved his lips. What an excellent idea! Why hadn't he thought of that before?

Lucius had long toyed with the idea of visiting the Dark Underlord's palace. All wiccans ended up there sooner or later, but the Sacred Twenty Eight were his most welcome guests. The magic folk, of course, had no place in Heaven; their very use of sorcery to bend properties of his creations, not mention toying with death, contradicted God's own standing as the one Creator. His visit to Hell was inevitable, and it was going to begin now.

Lucius knew the ritual; it was as old as the Malfoy bloodline itself and had been passed on from father to son.

Lucius stole a piece of chalk from a nearby boy and drew a quick pentagram on the sidewalk. He danced and he pranced and he threw the old lady's Pekingese dog into the red flames as a token of sacrifice, then jumping through to the depths of Hell.

Ah, this was more like it! A nice warmth trickled over his skin and the dim ambience made his silver hair stand out nicely.

He walked to Hell's Gates and nodded his head oh-so politely at the gatekeeper. He wanted the finest welcome to the Underworld, and he needed a tour guide.

Then, lifted his head to find himself face to face with Abraxas Malfoy.

"Father, you're here as well?" Lucius had a serious face as he watched his father, the Original Mister 'I-was-not-born-for-manual-labour' Malfoy push open the iron gates.

His father could not speak a tort in his defense for his mouth was sewn shut by a thin red string. Very well: Abraxas had nothing good to say to anyone when he was alive. Not like his son, the very model of spoken pleasantries.

He took Lucius to the lowest level of Hell and showed him the hottest cauldron, filled with unforgiven sinners, roasting in the boiling water.

This was service! This was the kind of welcome he needed - a hot bath for his aching feet, his sore heels, and his clogged pores. He folded his robes nicely and laid them aside on a pile of the most clean, polished bones. He dipped his toes into the cauldron and then his bottom and his chest. How splendid indeed, he thought to himself. But one thing was missing, a hair tie! He did not want to dry his hair forever following the bath. He took a small intestine from a nearby stack of coals and wrapped his hair into a nice little bun.

"Thank you, love," he said as one of the sinners dove into the 'sauna', resurfacing like a bobbing candy apple. His body was quickly cleared away by his father who dragged it out of sight. Finally, space to breathe!

The water feeling mighty-fine against his sore muscles, Lucius felt comfortable enough to talk about his woes and troubles. These sinners were not going anywhere anytime soon. He relaxed and he told them all about his woes. How he was kicked out from Azkaban and how he was kicked out of the Ritz and his own manor.

One of the sinners turned his ragged head and said, "So you're in here on your own accord."

Lucius thought about it and yes, he admitted that he was enjoying his stay. He decided that he liked Hell considerably and he would stay there forever.

"What do they serve here?" he asked another sinner.

"Nothing. We don't eat in eternal damnation." His long face sagged into a dripping frown.

Splendid, thought Lucius, as he was beginning to get a little chunky around the middle and needed to lose a stone.

But there was only one small problem. Lucius concluded that the hottest cauldron in the lowest level of Hell could be, quite frankly, a tad hotter. He called over one of the nearby demons and asked him to speak to the manager.

"Most certainly," said the demon and he called the Dark Overlord Satan himself.

Lucius was not sure what to expect of Satan, but he was certainly pleased with his appearance. So like Lucius himself, as though they had selected their outfits from the same tailor.

Satan was dressed all in white from his head to his feet. Not a single scratch, not a single smear was on those pressed silk trousers. His blond mane was curled and framed his soft jawline and his lips - glossy and pert. He looked every part the fallen angel, but when he spoke, sounded every part the banished angel.

"Who dares disturb me?" he roared.

"Only a dissatisfied customer," Lucius said. "Now listen here, if you are going to advertise the sauna, you might as well make it feel like one. Just a few more degrees will really give it a nice Scandinavian experience, don't you agree? Also, a massage package would be nice too."

"A massage?" Satan cackled and he thrust his pitchfork across Lucius' back.

Lucius bulged out his eyes and yelped. He turned and said, "Nice, and now for the lower back? You know I've got a knot in there from carrying stones up and down the steps of Azkaban, would you mind?"

And he bent over to show him just where those knots were. Satan clenched his teeth, he tore at his long goat-tail, and said, "Enough! Who let this man in here?"

"It was my own father, fancy that?"

"Fire him!" Satan said. "As for you, damned sinner-"

"Actually, Mr. Malfoy, with a lateral 'y' at the end, not like foie gras," Lucius said.

Satan yelled so loudly that it shook the core of the earth and had a volcano erupt on the surface of Mount Fuji.

"You will be sentenced to ETERNAL damnation."

Lucius smiled and Satan realized that he had already been sentenced to it. Unfortunately, this was causing him quite a bit of grief. He rubbed his temples and said, "On the other hand, I think I may have been too hasty. I sentence you to no damnation-"

Well that couldn't have been the right choice of words either. Satan would be seen as a laughing stock by the entirety of the world for undamning the damned. Wasn't that the Savior's job?

"You would like to stay in Hell?"

"Just say the word!" said Lucius.

"You will be granted entry for all of eternity when you-" Satan's voice trailed off. His brows worked themselves into unfathomable shapes. "When you learn to care about nobody."

Lucius grumbled. Even here, things were not fair for him. Was there no justice in this universe? He was a PEOPLE person. How in the world was he going to change that?

Certainly he could try to care less than he did. It would be difficult for him, but what other choice did he have? The living world did not treat him any better than the Underlings of Hell. It seemed he'd sooner get to Heaven than sacrifice his large heart for the sake of the best spa experience of his afterlife.

Caught at the crossroads, Lucius did what he did best: filed a complaint.

"But who should you complain to? My own Creator in the Heavens?" Satan laughed so hard his white suit nearly burst at the seams.

"Well," Lucius reasoned. "Why the Hell not?"