Author's Note: Sorry for letting this story go for awhile, but I've been somewhat busy with the QLFC and writing my vampire story (muahahaha). Anyway, I never intended for this story to be super long, so without further ado, I present the final chapter! Please do let me know what you think!

Chapter 4: Bedknobs, Broomsticks and Books

Lucius lay back against the couch in his study grasping the diary in his hands, his face contorting as he writhed in the throes of bliss. The Dark Lord was showing him just what he stood to gain. And that was apparently a pleasure that made even the throb of orgasm pale in comparison.

You are mine, mine, mine.

"Lucius?"

He nearly leapt from the couch, stuffing the diary between the back of the couch and his robes with a guilty expression.

"What exactly are you doing in here?" Narcissa's voice was puzzled and she crossed her arms as she stared down her nose at him.

He couldn't exactly blame her for her suspiciousness. She'd found his moving nudie witch book a few months before and burned them to ashes in front of him in retaliation. It had been upsetting, as it had cost a fair number of Galleons to procure. He had been eminently glad that he hadn't purchased the version with sound.

"I...I am merely using my imagination," he replied with a faint sneer, "Or are you going to threaten to set that on fire as well?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed.

"Well, then," she said, somewhat primly, "I suppose that your imagination can keep you company at dinner too!"

As she stormed out of the room, Lucius wanted to tell her to stop, to wait for him, that he was sorry, but then he felt the warm heat of the book behind his back pressing against him as though it were alive and he realized that as long as the Dark Lord was connected to his mind, it was probably best not to open up too many opportunities for the powerful wizard to take advantage.

So he pushed his wife and son away from himself and holed up in his study, only leaving it when he had business at the Ministry, which was his only blessed relief from the prying eyes of the Dark Lord, due to its myriad of detection and protection spells, which would put the diary at risk of discovery. While he was home, though, he took all of his meals in his study, delivered by Dobby. The poor house elf had been reprimanded harshly and made to swear not to tell Draco or Narcissa about what was happening when he had caught his master shouting at the diary one day when they'd been arguing about Potter. After swearing not to tell the mistress and little master, Dobby had ironed his ears while Lucius growled for him to stop harming himself and get back to cleaning the second floor.

Abraxas Malfoy had started the whole tradition of making the house elves punish themselves, and somehow, the behavior had stuck, regardless of what Lucius had done to try and break them of it. It bothered him, mostly because of the noise and the fact that a damaged house elf was a less useful house elf, but he wasn't completely heartless. Truth be told, he hated the sounds they made when they were in pain. It was simply too barbaric for these enlightened times and Lucius prided himself in being the picture of sophistication. Having to watch torture of any sort, even if it was self inflicted, churned his stomach.

The Voldemort inside the diary was very interested in Harry Potter after Lucius had explained everything. It was actually a bit like having an older, more homicidal Draco around, asking all manner of questions like an eager, psychopathic puppy.

He sorely wished that he could put a muzzle on him, but if he said anything even hinting at critical, the young Dark Lord had no qualms punishing him with excruciating pain so intense that he often had to Scourgify his robes afterwards.

And to make it all worse, Dobby had seen that too.

Being caught in such an undignified state made Lucius so cross that he banished the terrified House Elf from the Manor for a day. Since Dobby couldn't be seen by muggles or tell anyone his secrets and absolutely hated being idle, Lucius knew that this was a terrible enough punishment to ensure the meddlesome creature would think twice before interrupting him again.

Later, when Dobby had appeared again, he had a faint sweet smell on his body, almost like cake frosting. He'd also begun punishing himself more than usual, though to Lucius Malfoy's eminent relief, the bug-eyed house elf deigned to disappear not long after he started one of his tirades against himself.

Sometimes Lucius wished that he could lock Dobby in his basement, but he knew that not only would it be pointless, but he did have a limit to his sense of cruelty, especially if it didn't benefit him in any way.

One of the best parts of being Slytherin was his way of gathering information without appearing to do so. And so it was in this manner that Lucius Malfoy learned of the flying car fiasco and the fact that Arthur Weasley was incredibly willing to tell anyone and everyone exactly when his family was planning on going to Diagon Alley.

Lucius knew it was time.

The next morning, he made a big show of grabbing a number of cursed objects that had not been seized by the Aurors to use as pretence for going to Diagon Alley and practically dragged an excitedly chattering Draco to the floo.

Narcissa was still cross with him, so she didn't show up to see them off, but Draco was delighted to find a small packet of Bernie Botts in his traveling cloak a mere five minutes later. This put Lucius in a rather foul mood indeed, especially when he reached into his traveling cloak and found it empty. It was the first time in years that Narcissa had neglected to leave a little packet of sweets for him, and he knew then that he was in real trouble.

Damn and double damn.

He was going to have to make it up to her in spades when he finally rid himself of that blasted book!

The Dark Lord slipped into his mind as though summoned by his thoughts, giving Lucius a terrible headache at the double vision he was forced to endure as the dark wizard commandeered his sight.

Come on, then. Let's find Potter! I'll possess him and then all will be forgiven.

Lucius liked the sound of being forgiven very, very much. He liked the sound of Voldemort being out of his head even better.

"Father? Are you feeling well?"

Draco looked up at him with large, concerned gray eyes. He knew better than to hug his father in public, but his hands were firmly grabbing at the tips of his traveling cloak as he suppressed the urge to do so.

"I am quite all right," Lucius said shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm the nausea and vertigo that had risen in his belly. "But I think that I shall go mad if you keep going on about Potter this and Potter that! Good lord, boy, do you have a bloody crush on him or something?"

Draco shrank back, cringing with humiliation.

He had no idea that his father's ire was not limited to his own complaints about the so-called Boy-Who-Lived. Lucius silently vowed that he would be certain to make it up to his son later, even if he had to buy him an entire damn quidditch team. It was hard to think clearly with that infernal diary tucked up against his chest and Voldemort's whispers in his head.

It also hadn't helped that, in the fitful sleep he'd been able to manage, his dreams had always been of either the most intense pain he'd ever felt of the most exquisite pleasure he'd ever known with no middle ground.

He couldn't think clearly like this. He needed to find-

POTTER!

The screeching voice in his head was so loud that Lucius felt as though he had been physically struck and he had to grasp at a nearby lamp post to keep himself from collapsing onto the busy street.

A couple of wart-faced hags gave him snooty looks as he bowed his head and swallowed furiously to keep from vomiting.

He could hear Draco saying something in a frantic tone of voice, but his ears were full of a rushing roaring sound as his blood seemed shoot to his head all at once.

It took him a couple of minutes of breathing deeply before he managed to stand upright again, but Lucius was proud of himself for having kept his gag reflex from activating. Draco had gone silent at last and merely clung to his father's robes with one hand as he shot worried looks around at the rather unsavory characters that had appeared from the shadows like wolves circling a wounded lamb. They seemed rather disappointed when Lucius pulled out his wand and scowled at them menacingly.

I sensed his energy! But then it abruptly cut out. Lucius! Do something!

Voldemort sounded almost petulant, which would have been humorous if it hadn't almost gotten them mugged. Or worse.

"Come, Draco," Lucius said with a sneer at the last rough-faced wizard, who melted away with a look of deepest loathing at being denied his prey, "We are expected at the shop."

Draco began chattering nervously, as he always did when he was uncomfortable, and they finally entered the dingy shop that lay partway down Knockturn Alley. Lucius wondered if he might be able to trick the Dark Lord into allowing him to show off the diary to the shopkeeper, but in the end, he'd been thwarted by a swift stab of pain that shot between his temples and made him cry out in agony.

Voldemort was growing stronger. Lucius gripped his left hand into a fist with frustration as his right grasped his wand and moved back and forth as though conducting from his side.

But it was not he who was doing it.

Oh Lucius, Lucius. Your wand is so much shorter than mine. Even your father's was longer. I guess that wand length really does not run in the family. Heh heh heh.

Voldemort was whispering nastily in his ear, something that both annoyed Lucius and filled him with a sick sense of dread deep in his belly. For now that his body was not cooperating with him, he found himself redoubling his resolve to find a suitable replacement host soon.

Don't worry, Lucius. I won't eat your soul. After all you're far more useful to me alive. At least for now.

Voldemort laughed, his voice a distant echo of the high, clear voice he would one day use to command his army.

Lucius swallowed thickly and tried to focus on what his son was saying about the Quidditch World Cup, which was apparently only two years away. But he couldn't bring himself to talk about which teams were due to get into the finals as he was far too focused on the horrifying rhythm his wand was making against his thigh as Voldemort hummed a slow rendition of a Wizarding lullaby in time to it.

Flourish and Blotts was packed with idiots tripping over one another to get their books signed by Gilderoy Lockhart, and, had Lucius been able to control his feet, he would have gone right past without a second glance. After all, his superior Ministry contacts had secured him the second set of Lockhart's entire book series ever printed with a personal message from the author along with his signature. Lucius had done a couple of favors for the former Ravenclaw to make publishing his books a bit easier than it would otherwise be. The fact checking wizards had merely seen Lucius standing there and signed immediately. After all, if someone like Lucius Malfoy was willing to put his reputation on the line for an author who was already fairly well known for his adventures abroad, it was unlikely that there were any discrepancies.

And besides, who cared about discrepancies when they made such lucrative products?

Lucius had gotten himself a 5% royalty fee in perpetuity for helping Lockhart set up his book tour across Europe.

No one was better at quid pro quo than Lucius Malfoy.

No one.

When he tried to stride past the book shop, the Dark Lord had grasped his right hand against the outside bookshelf display before Lucius could steer his feet away from it.

He is in here! We must do it here! Now!

Lucius wanted to accuse his master of being utterly mad. There were hundreds of witnesses inside, and it wasn't as though the famous Harry Potter was discreet in any way whatsoever.

You just have to be certain that my diary gets dropped into his cauldron. Surely you can manage that, stubby wand or no!

Lucius was getting rather tired of having his wizardhood questioned so regularly, even though he knew it wasn't a good idea to say anything at all.

"Go on then, Draco, go find your Potter," Lucius said, his voice goading his son with unsaid implications.

Draco gave his father a funny look as though realizing for the first time that something more than his father's usual irritation was affecting him. There was a tiny tickling sensation against his mind that made Lucius want to sneeze. And then, like that, Draco had broken his gaze and disappeared into the crowd.

Hmm, interesting.

Voldemort was obviously intrigued with Draco again, which made Lucius turn around and mutter under his breath about having to find Potter so he could do as he had been asked.

When Lucius saw the sea of red haired children, he knew he must be close, for wherever that Ron Weasley boy was, so too was Potter. But instead of finding the black-haired boy with the lighting-bolt shaped scar, he'd found Molly and her youngest child (at least, he thought it was her youngest child as he eyed her lumpy belly appraisingly, trying to ascertain as to whether she was growing yet another brat that she and her gormless husband could barely feed). His bad temper betrayed him and he ended up saying a number of nasty things that his tongue would normally have kept in check. And it hadn't helped that Arthur had come along and jumped into the fray like a wild weasel protecting his mate. All of it was far too much for Lucius. His instinct was to run, lick his wounds and then come up with a more subtle plan with less risk.

His errant arm had other ideas.

She likes him, she does. The girl has it bad for Potter, oh yes she does. Let's see if she fits my needs.

His wand twisted at his side in a motion that Lucius could feel but could not control and a small mark appeared next to Ginny's back momentarily before it faded. It seemed that no one else had seen.

She will be easy to bend to my superior will and what's more, she's got a heart full of power! I shall savor draining the blood traitor dry!

Lucius shuddered as the sharp laughter filled his head once more and, at Voldemort's direction, dropped the book into her cauldron.

Immediately, his body relaxed and felt lighter than it had in weeks as the other, darker presence slid from his body almost as though it had never been there at all.

His Mark throbbed a bit painfully, a bit pleasurably, then went still again. He could almost feel the snake and skull fading into his skin and he breathed deeply with relief as he turned abruptly and grabbed his son, heading towards the exit with haste.

He turned only once before slipping out of the door of the bookshop. A cold high voice filled his head and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Soon, the voice said, before it cut out altogether, soon I shall return, and when I do, there will be nowhere that you can run to escape my reach. Remember that, Lucius, remember that you are mine forever.

In the pit of his stomach, Lucius knew that Voldemort was speaking the truth. He swore to himself that when the time came, he would do anything to secure the safety of his family.

For there was no stopping a man who could not die.

It was only a matter of time.