"He who does not bait his hook catches nothing." (Proverb)
Lucius Malfoy believed in swift retribution. If he found that rewards were merited for services received, payment tended to be quick and generous. If punishment was called for, it was just as speedily administered and he always ensured that it was sufficiently painful and horrific to serve as an example to others. The philosophy had served him well over the years and had kept his contacts and agents in line. The Malfoys tended to meticulously follow traditions that ensured success. Therefore it was supremely annoying to find that for the time being his hands were tied.
It was late on a cool and rainy Friday afternoon. He had just thrown himself into an easy chair in front of the fireplace of his study after having spent a most aggravating and boring day at the Ministry. During the morning he had attended one of the infrequent, but lengthy meetings of the Committee for the Disposal of Magical Creatures. He had made a point of making constructive contributions and praising the feeble-minded suggestions of his colleagues. He had been jovial and charming and polite until his jaws hurt from biting back the scathing witticisms that crowded his tongue. By Azrael, what a bunch of stupid, self-important morons! It was in moments like these that he fervently wished for the return of the Dark Lord. How he would like to be able to crucio some of them with impunity until their fat hides split!
At least he had an opportunity over lunch to briefly visit one of his contacts. The assistant to the Keeper of Potions at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had had the sense and amazing initiative to get rid of the Ministry's remaining stock of veritaserum as soon as news from the Death Eater arrest had reached the office.
Her quick thinking had delayed the interrogations long enough for him to get word to one of the Unspeakables to obliviate the three prisoners. Still, the meeting had caused him its own share of annoyance. The silly witch couldn't get past the fact that the path to her recruitment had once led through his bed. She still seemed to harbor some kind of stupid and sentimental romantic attachment to him, despite the fact that she was now married and had subjected her body to the ravages of three children. Even if he had bathed in vorax and she was the last witch on earth, he would not touch her with a twenty-five inch thornwood wand. Hell, he'd rather bed his wife!
In the spirit of retribution he had promised the woman a decent reward for her troubles. Contacting the Unspeakable had been out of the question, as Fudge had cornered him right then and there and taken him to lunch. The stupid git had even had the gall to make some slimy comments about the heartbreaking sigh with which the Ministry employee had taken her leave and batted her eyelashes at him. Of course he had invited Fudge to the best place in London, and of course he had paid the bill. It had been a damn waste of decent food and good money!
During the afternoon he had worked on some Hogwarts business concerning a convoluted trust fund for the school that had been set up by a deceased Slytheryn alumnus, still trying to get in touch with the Unspeakable, but had been foiled again by none other than Arthur Weasley.
That man alone was enough to get his blood boiling: red unruly hair, brown dachshund eyes with about as much intelligence as one of those little bow-legged rats muggles tended to drag around on leashes and matching puppy-enthusiasm for anything involving muggles. And the man was a pureblood wizard, him and his obnoxious wife whose hideous dress sense was only equaled by her uncanny ability to pop out a child per year, occasionally even two at a time. If they continued at that rate the next generation of pureblood wizards would all have to be married to Weasleys. He briefly pictured his son Draco with a freckled, puppy-eyed wife and heir and shuddered.
In any case Weasley had actually been enough of an imbecile to suggest that he, Lucius Malfoy, might be interested in signing a petition to submit a new legal addendum to protect muggles from accidental magical interference. And while he had wished he could grab the little man by his scruffy moth-eaten collar and tell him that he and his Death Eater friends liked to torture muggles for their own personal amusement and that Weasley could insert his accidental magical interference into a choice part of his anatomy, he had remained calm and relatively polite.
Actually he was quite pleased with his formidable powers of self-restraint. He had listened to the stupid, underpaid idiot for a whole fifteen minutes without hexing or otherwise cursing him. Eventually he had merely suggested that someone of Weasley's pay and position should have his head examined for daring to interrupt the important work of a Ministry consultant by sauntering into their office and subjecting them to the drivel he had just listened to.
He thought that had been a fair and equitable response, but the stupid muggle-loving cockroach had become really angry at that point and had started to make insulting and completely unfound allegations about the origins of the Malfoy bloodline.
Lucius Malfoy still was not quite sure how it had happened, but two minutes later they were standing facing each other across his desk, wands at the ready, and for some reason a fire alarm was blaring. He had blinked the red haze out of his eyes and realized that somehow they had managed to start a small conflagration in one of the filing cabinets. Of course the fire squad had moved in next, evacuated everyone from the floor and proceeded to put out a tiny paper fire that he could have fixed in a minute flat. The whole department had milled around by the fountain in the entrance hall for half an hour without any discernable progress and he had finally lost patience and had apparated back at home. Waste of a day.
The blond wizard clapped his hands and ordered one of his house elves to remove his boots and bring his slippers. He threw off his outer robes and loosened the velvet band that tied his hair back, then had the elf fetch him a glass of scotch. He settled back in front of the fire, took a sip of his drink and stared into the flames morosely. Soon it would be time for dinner.
Draco would go on about some food item he couldn't possibly eat, because it was so revolting. He would finally lose his patience and clip the little whiny brat around the head. Narcissa would promptly burst into tears, then look miffed at something or other for the rest of the meal. The nanny would try to appear outraged yet not insubordinate enough get herself fired. The tutor would stare at his plate and pretend he was sinking into the floor. Lucius smirked evilly at the thought, he took some sadistic pride in finding new ways to make the young wizard squirm. Perhaps everyone else's misery would finally cheer him up. Fortunately no one had any idea how close he himself had come to fucking up the family fortunes once and for all this time.
So far his luck had held. All three prisoners had been turned into complete and utter vegetables, at least as far as any Death Eater activities were concerned. Old Hamilton had done a superb job. And it seemed that Eleanor had also upheld her side of the bargain, had respected the truce and had told no one about his involvement either. Still, he was skilled enough to know that he was being watched. There were at least four transfigured aurors skulking around on the property. Any apparitions or floo activities would most certainly also be monitored. He was certain that Albus Dumbledore's contacts at the Ministry were responsible for that inconvenience. The headmaster was a shrewd old fool and had never trusted him.
Of course that meant he had to be on his best behavior. Go to the Ministry in the morning and do his job like a fine upstanding citizen. No owls with incriminating messages, no excursions to Gringotts to pay off his contacts, no invitations for a certain Hogwarts teacher.
He sighed. She was a damn stubborn witch. If only she hadn't flown off the handle like that and had sent him back the portkey. It was Friday, once again. Only two weeks ago he had sat by another fire in the library looking forward to a very different evening. But tonight would be more in keeping with the long and dreary Friday night last week when they had met Lepidus and turned that dingy little rat hole of a bookstore in London inside out.
Lucius swallowed down the rest of his scotch and ordered a refill from his house elf. He decided that he now had quite an array of fond memories of his latest conquest and that perhaps he would lift his spirits by indulging in some reminiscences. While he was glad that Eleanor had begun to see things his way last Sunday morning, he had also been surprised at how much he had revealed of himself while they had talked.
No one but the Death Eaters present knew of the Lenting raid, and he had certainly never spoken to anyone about the oaths and family traditions that bound him to the service of the Dark Lord. Even the Death Eaters did not discuss that amongst themselves. Well, he had been rather disturbingly glad at having her back, at having her forgive him and trust him again. The way she had shown him in the end had been rather pleasant as well.
Then again, her behavior was still strange to him. No one had ever known this much about him and had yet decided to help him for no obvious reasons. He wasn't sure if an agreement of truce meant the other person was on one's side, but it sure felt like that to him. He wasn't used to it. Death Eaters were each on their own side, or terrorized enough to cooperate. Everyone else was on the side of the Ministry and of mudbloods.
He took another sip of his drink. Whoever had done something for him had always done it for their own ends. That was the way it had been since he could remember. So what was her reason?
Money could be ruled out. She was rich enough. Then again, while association with the Malfoys generally brought prestige, a Sartorius wouldn't need that. On the contrary: if she ever wanted to marry a pureblood wizard to continue her family, rumors of a torrid affair with him would rather harm her prospects. Power seemed to be a possibility, but why on earth did she chose to teach muggle studies and content herself with being another overworked teenager-tormented rag under Dumbledore's feet like that idiot Severus when she wanted power?
He finished his second scotch and decided to go with what he knew about her for certain. She was the best lay he'd had in years. Lucius realized soon that this train of thought was definitely more promising than other speculations about her motivation.
Gauging his physical reactions to the latest turn his musings had taken, the blond wizard decided to desist from tormenting himself and his family for once and sent an elf to excuse him from the dinner table for the night. He next had the creature draw him a bath, made his way from the study to his bedroom, disrobed and soon stretched contentedly in the hot scented water of his sunken marble tub.
He felt rather uncharacteristically mellow after the experience as he lounged back in his study, now wrapped in a long silk dressing gown and nursing a third glass of scotch. He lazily kicked a small piece of wood back into the grate with his slipper and inhaled the sensuous scent of some frankincense he had one of the elves burn to remind him of her, when suddenly an idea struck him. He considered for a while and then called for Dobby.
Promptly the house elf appeared still holding a small wooden stirring spoon that now dripped a splotch of custard on the floor. Lucius shook his head and Dobby, realizing what he had done cringed and blanched. The blond wizard pointed lazily to the waxed wood before his feet. "Lick that up, Dobby," he commanded. "Yes, master," gasped the elf and prostrated himself.
"How does master wish for Dobby to punish himself?" Lucius considered, but decided that he was still floating on too much of a post-orgasmic whisky cloud to be effectively vicious. "Not now Dobby," he decided and suggested quite helpfully. "But you may want to lick the spoon as well, in order to keep it from happening again." The wooden spoon promptly disappeared in the elf's mouth. When it was somewhat clean, Dobby tucked it into his filthy pillowcase, and Lucius Malfoy reminded himself never to speculate on what happened to other kitchen utensils that were used in preparing his meals.
"Master commands?" squeaked the elf. "Oh yes," drawled the wizard. "I have a mission for you. Outside the mansion are four aurors in disguise. They are watching and intercepting any owls that fly in and out of the premises. I need to send a parcel, and you will need to get it past the guards. Do you think you can do that without being detected?"
The house elf nodded eagerly, his green eyes huge. "Oh yes, master, Dobby can sneak and slip by and become invisible. No one will see Dobby." "Good," decided the wizard. "Get me the small velvet box with the silver snake clasp that sits on my nightstand, and take four sickles out of my purse on the side table, then come back."
When Dobby had reappeared Lucius was sitting by his desk writing a brief note to Eleanor Sartorius letting her know that while he wanted her to have the portkey bracelet, she should only use it in an extreme situation as he was being under Ministry observation and any comings and goings would be noted. He would write again when the coast was clear. He scratched his temple with his quill for a moment in deliberation, then added that he missed her. Next he doused the lights and walked over to the window, half hidden behind the curtains.
The room was now dark aside from the fireplace and it was easy to make out the shapes of hedges and trees in the garden. He instructed the elf to climb up on the sill and carefully peer out. "See that small boxwood hedge, just by the side of the entrance to the rose garden, that's one of them. Upsets the whole garden architecture, the stupid idiot and thinks I won't notice. You need to get off the grounds, walk to Gillington and have the post office there dispatch an owl to Professor Eleanor Sartorius at Hogwarts when they open tomorrow. No sender.
If they catch you, you will swallow the letter and say that you stole the box and the money to buy whatever you lot like to eat in Gillington. If you botch it, I'll skin you alive myself and stuff and nail your head to the mantelpiece in the tradition my wife's wonderful family." The house elf squeaked in horror and slipped off the window ledge.
Lucius gave a dark chuckle as he saw his servant scurry out of his presence and returned to the fireplace, refilling his glass on the way back and picking up Eleanor's translation of Falco Sartorius' treatise on the dark arts in modern times. He liked the old codger's weird sense of humor in turning scores of muggle inventions against their creators. It made for amusing reading.
The weekend came and went in relative peace. Lucius Malfoy even diverted himself with a long walk on Sunday when the rain finally stopped. He sauntered past the transfigured aurors, giving the small boxwood hedge a vicious swipe with his cane and walked off into the direction of Gillington, from where Dobby had returned early on Saturday morning with reports of a successfully accomplished mission. On the way he indulged himself and scared the living daylights out of a pair of muggle teenagers that he found making out behind a low stonewall next to the main road.
In Gillington he paid a brief visit to the wizarding pub and drank a good pint of local stout, then wound his way back to find the muggle girl still in a dead faint behind the stone wall. Her paramour had obviously taken off. Well, that should teach her for picking her boys. He took a long searching look at his prey, but found her rather unappealing. Her pale and freckled features reminded him too much of a Weasley. He simply flicked his wand in an obliviation spell, and as an afterthought added a warming spell. It would not do to have muggle girls die of hypothermia three fields out from his property when the place was swarming with aurors.
The following week developed much like the one before. The aurors did not ease up on their unceasing vigilance, there was no word from Hogwarts, and none of the other Death Eaters, including Lepidus, so much as twitched. The only interesting development had been an article in the Daily Prophet on Monday about an auror operation at the Four Elements bookstore. The report had been rather vague, but Malfoy had needed very little persuasion to get the full story back at the Ministry. It seemed Lepidus had been successful. Somewhere there was now a young homunculus growing on a steady diet of blood developing into a new vessel for the Dark Lord.
To his surprise Lucius Malfoy found himself strangely conflicted about this latest event. Of course, they had fought and schemed for years now to restore the Dark Lord to his former glory, but Lucius was also aware that many of the liberties the Death Eaters had enjoyed during the interregnum would be severely curtailed once Voldemort took back command. He was not sure if he relished the prospect as much as he thought he would.
Instead of memories of the glory days of terror among mudbloods and Ministry officials he now recalled moments of his own abject fear, prostrate in front of the tall figure of his master, unsure if an unforgivable would hit him next in retribution for some minor transgression. Occasionally between waking and sleeping he found himself wishing that all of this would simply go away, and things remain as they were. The treason implied in those thoughts usually put him in a cold sweat and made him toss and turn for hours.
Worst of all, Lepidus would be the one responsible for the revival of the Dark Lord. Voldemort would reward him for that. And Lepidus hated him with a vengeance and would put forth all his leverage to have him eliminated, preferably in a most painful and undignified manner. He should have kept his place with regards to Eleanor. But while he tried to brand himself as a fool for his weakness where she was concerned, he failed to feel sorry for what he'd done. It took forty days to grow a homunculus. The aurors would eventually tire of watching him, and then there would still be time to influence the situation in his favor. He had maneuvered himself out of tighter spots before.
By the weekend, however, Lucius was getting frantic. Even the order to his house-elves to clip the boxwood hedges in the garden did do little to improve the mood. At least the damn hedge that had sprung up so suddenly out of place was gone by Saturday evening. It seemed the transfigured auror had finally taken enough abuse.
Lucius paced his study during the night and throughout most of Sunday. The homunculus was now already a week old, and the blond wizard was seriously contemplating a breakout. He had to get away and track down his rival, the risks of being caught by aurors be damned. Perhaps he should pretend he had wanted to help law enforcement by apprehending the dark wizard himself. After all, it was known that his father had associated with him. It was entirely believable that now his reformed son wanted to do the right thing and bring the man to justice. He might come out of it a hero with an order of Merlin for civil bravery…
He started working on that plan when finally and surprisingly, on Tuesday morning he found himself free. The spells he had invariably used every time he got up to check for intruders came up without results. The aurors had left him alone and Lucius Malfoy erupted into a flurry of activities. The post office in Gillington dispatched a small army of owls, among them an invitation for Eleanor for Friday. And finally at noon Lucius took a Gringotts portkey out of his purse and prepared to apparate at the bank. It was time to pay back his debts.
The goblin in charge of leading him to his vault was deferential and polite as was appropriate for one of the bank's best customers, and Lucius had soon withdrawn the money he needed for both the Unspeakable and the witch at the Ministry. He thanked the guard and made his way out of the bank.
Diagon Alley seemed quiet on this late October day with a light mist curling up the old gnarled brick fronts of the magical buildings. Malfoy's boots and cane echoed along the street as he hurried towards the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He needed ingredients for a black magical location spell for Lepidus. After a furtive glace to either side, he pulled his billowing black cloak closely around him and descended the steep crooked stone steps that led to the lower levels of stores.
Even the dank and dark narrow alley appeared unusually deserted. The fog here was even thicker and held an unpleasant and clammy smell of decay. Lucius halted for a moment to find his bearings. Just then a drunk-looking young witch in more than revealing red robes approached him out of the shadows, moving into him suggestively and having the nerve to grasp the lapel of his coat with her emaciated fingers while she propositioned him in a slurred husky voice. He hissed at her and lifted his cane to push her off. Even with gloved hands he would not touch such filth.
As his attention was fixed he suddenly felt a strong surge of energy behind him that made every hair on the back of his neck stand up. The threat of imminent attack! Magical instincts taking over he whipped around automatically sliding his wand from his cane and slashing the prostitute across the cheek with the silver-tipped end of the long ebony stick as he moved. She went down behind him with a howling shriek while he found himself face to face with George Lepidus.
The man had a mad light of absolutely malicious glee in his black eyes. Before Lucius could position his wand for defense, a shouted "Expelliarmus!" had disarmed him and hurled him backwards with such force that he skipped off the pavement and his body slammed into the stone wall of a store behind him.
He felt his head crack against the unyielding masonry as his limbs tangled in his robes and his wand went flying from his grip. Through a haze of pain he saw his attacker approach, wand at the ready. Lucius Malfoy struggled to keep conscious, to get up, to retrieve his wand, to defend himself, but heard a cruel and clipped voice intone a stupefaction spell and knew no more.