It was early afternoon and the tall, blond-haired man was trudging through one of the deepest, darkest forests of Albania. The last village he had visited was three miles behind him. He wasn't a person used to any form of physical activity and his feet and legs were hurting.

The man caught a glimpse of his reflection in a stream nearby and shuddered. He looked nothing how he had done just last year. He was Lucius Malfoy—wealthy, handsome, well-dressed, perfectly groomed and always in control.

Look at him now. He was thin, exhausted, and dirty—his robes, though expensive, were travel stained from many hours on the road. His long, blonde hair was lank and greasy. He had no broom, so had resigned to walking through the forest to find what he was searching for. He felt this was the place—he could feel it.

As he walked, he reflected on the past year—the worst year of his life. He, Lucius Malfoy had been arrested. He had been forced to sit in a court room while worthless House Elves, mudbloods and that muggle-loving moron Arthur Weasley gave evidence against him. Then, Madame Bones had the nerve to sentence him to Azkaban.

He had been lucky that he maintained contact with his old Death Eater friends. They had sprung him free before he ended up in that godforsaken prison Azkaban. Oafish Crabbe and Goyle, though dim, had their uses and wise Abaddon Nott—the ringleader behind the attack on the aurors. They had freed him and Lucius had been on the run since.

First he had hit at his old home. Malfoy Manor had many secret hiding places that would take years to discover. The muggle-lover Arthur Weasley did not leave him or his family alone. Aurors watched the manor at all hours. Narcissa was followed when she went shopping or to visit friends. Four time the manor had been raided again by Arthur Weasley—sometimes in the dead of night. Lucius had left for his wife's sake—the stress was getting to her.

He had then gone to stay with Crabbe and later Goyle, but their homes had been raided too. Arthur Weasley was like a hunting hound, never letting up his search for his prey. He had then resorted to hiding in various places. At Diagon Alley, disguised as a begger (an act that shamed him—lowering himself to donning dirty rags) he had ambushed a wizard and stolen his wand, using obliviate to remove all memories of the event.

Now with a wand, Lucius had decided it was time to rejoin his master. There were always rumors that Voldemort had fled to Albania after his defeat to Dumbledore and Lucius suspected he had gone there again following Dudley Dursley's actions in stopping him and Quirrell stealing the Philosopher's Stone.

"Dursley …" Malfoy said through gritted teeth. He would kill him. He hated that fat boy for what he had done. Hated him for bullying Draco. Hated him for being a mudblood. Lucius promised he would kill Dudley Dursley.

Albania was the logical place for Voldemort to hide. The nation was governed by a wizard long suspected to be favorable towards the Dark Arts. It had no treaty with the British Ministry of Magic, so Aurors couldn't legally search the country. Though, Lucius knew that unofficially a number of Aurors had been dispatched in secret to search for Voldemort.

During his travels, Lucius had heard rumors of a dark place in the Black Forest where no animals went. Local muggles spoke of a shadow which menaced them. They spoke of finding animal carcasses of rats and snakes and other small mammals in the wood. Local witches and wizards too spoke of a sense of being watched when they ventured there. That was Lucius Malfoy's destination.

After an hour, he emerged in a small clearing. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew this was the place. In the trees he could see a shadow moving of its own accord—drifting around him.

"So, one of my faithful servants has come at last," a cold voice said.

I came from all directions at once.

Lucius Malfoy sank to one knee. "I have come, my lord."

"And yet … it has taken you many years. Why did you not come sooner, Lucius?"

"I tried, my lord. If I had heard any sign … any rumor …"

"Liar!" the voice hissed.

Malfoy's palms started to sweat.

"You and all my other Death Eaters turned your backs on me. That will not be forgotten. Yet, still … you have returned at last. Tell me, Lucius, do you wish to still serve your old master?"

"I do," Lucius whispered, faintly.

"Then stand, it is time that Lord Voldemort returned."