[It only took me 'til Chapter 25 to discover the 'insert horizontal line' button. :-/ Please review if you like what you're reading. Please correct me if I've made a mistake. Love you, xxoo, HITW]

Chapter 25

Lucius Malfoy leaned against the shower wall. While in Azkaban, he had literally forgotten what pleasure was, and the heat of the water was a revelation. His mind was still rather numb, not ready to accept the fact that although one nightmare had ended, his problems weren't quite over. Instead, he gazed at the beautiful tile work, in onyx and malachite, that Narcissa had designed for their master bath. I have a family, he reminded himself, as if the memory would fade again if not repeated like a mantra.

As soon as they'd arrived at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa had kindly provided everyone with chocolate. Lucius had consumed his bar in a zombie-like state, staring at his wife and son as if they were strangers. Yet, by the time he'd finished, all of the love he'd lost in Azkaban came flooding back and he held them close, openly weeping with joy and relief. There was indeed a fate worse than death, and it was Azkaban. He'd like to destroy the place. Maybe the Dark Lord would allow it, after his victory. If he allows me anything, thought Lucius with a shudder, anticipating further punishment for his failure at the Ministry. He knew he was helpless to prevent it. Fleeing was impossible now. He had to endure whatever Voldemort had in mind for him…and it must be for him, not Narcissa or Draco…he had a sudden vision of them being tortured and let out an involuntary sob. "Darling, are you all right? You've been in there for more than an hour," called his wife through the bathroom door.

"Yes," he replied, voice hoarse from a month of screaming.

He turned off the tap, but then proceeded to cast several Scourgify charms on himself, until his skin was red. He stepped out into the bedroom and Narcissa looked a bit shocked, perhaps by how he'd scrubbed himself raw, or by the skinniness of his limbs, or the multitude of wounds he'd inflicted on himself while imprisoned. "D-do you want to rest, dear?"

Lucius shook his head, went to the huge wardrobe, and automatically chose his best, most formal robes. Narcissa didn't question this. She just helped him dress, then very gently said, "You need to know…Draco was ordered to eliminate Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it. Snape did it for him, under the Unbreakable Vow, and was killed by the Dark Lord for ownership of the Elder Wand."

"Did you say…the Elder Wand?"

Narcissa nodded nervously, and then continued, "Severus protected our son, to the death. But…Lucius, while you were away, Draco was given the Dark Mark. Do you think that means he trusts us? Or...?"

"He's mocking us," he said without affect. "Tell me they didn't…initiate him."

She shook her head, and he sighed in relief. He was shaking. "Thank God. All right…all right. We're going to get through this. With Dumbledore gone, nobody stands a chance against the Dark Lord. We're going to get through this…you, me, and Draco. Where is he?"

"Downstairs. There's a meeting in the dining room."

Through the halls of the Manor echoed the crazed laughter of Death Eaters. Reluctant as they were, the Malfoys had no choice but to descend into their midst. Lucius caught sight of his son being slowly circled by Rabastan Lestrange, who had the aspect of a hungry predator. "Ah, nice of you to join us. And dressed for the occasion, Lord Malfoy," said the Dark Lord, and everyone grew silent and still.

"My Lord," said Lucius, bowing.

"That is such a lovely walking stick."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"May I have a closer look?"

Without hesitation, Lucius strode down the long room, and after bowing even deeper, handed Voldemort his black cane with the silver snake's head for a handle. The Dark Lord took it and really did proceed to examine it closely, admiringly. "A beautiful piece of work."

He locked eyes with Lucius for a moment, sighed, then neatly snapped the walking stick in half, including the wand concealed inside. "Unfortunately, you have proven yourself far too incompetent to be allowed the further use of magic in my service."

The room was silent. Lucius took a deep breath and asked, "How am I to serve you, my Lord?"

"Oh, just as a Squib or a house elf might."

There was a roar of laughter at that, from all around the gigantic black table. Lucius glanced at his son and saw him struggling not to cry. Don't, Draco, don't, please, he thought. Don't you see that none of this matters. None of this matters anymore-

With a jolt, he realized that he believed that, down to the core of his being. Looking around at those who mocked him, he saw them for what they were: cold-blooded opportunists who had never been his friends. There was no love lost between Death Eaters. How could there be, if they continued to follow someone so heartless? Severus was the only one who cared…he cared enough to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco…and now he was dead.

Lucius felt his world shift, and he saw what truly mattered. It had nothing to do with status, blood or otherwise, though it had everything to do with family: he would gladly give up all his magic, all his wealth, and all his dignity in order to protect those he loved. "As you wish, my Lord," he said loudly, kneeling fully down before Voldemort's feet and resting his forehead on the floor, not daring to meet those terrible red eyes.

The laughter increased, and Lucius didn't care. He recognized that this was supposed to be his punishment: to be ridiculed by his supposed peers within his ancestral home, to be stripped of the one thing that made him superior to Muggles, and to be shown that he was so unimportant that he wasn't even worth torturing in the manner a loyal Death Eater would expect to be after making an error. The Slytherin part of him screamed that he should feel humiliated, but the man who cowered on the floor knew better than that, and there was no going back.

"How are you, Doctor Turnipseed?"

"I'm well, but really, M, call me Ashley. How are you?"

M blushed and looked away, up at the cloudy sky, out at the dark lake, then quietly said, "Good, for the most part, I guess. Confused, a lot. And scared, and guilty…but also, I think I've been…having fun."

M said this with such a serious expression that it almost made Ashley laugh. "With the Doctor?" she asked.

"With Jack, too. And the wizards and witches. But mostly the Doctor. We've been on two adventures, just us, each a month long. The first one was really overwhelming…but the second one was much better. I could tell he was slowing down on purpose so I could keep up. But he didn't seem to resent it…I mean, he said he's just used to doing things his way but that doesn't mean it's the way it ought to be. He said, um, let me get this right…he said for most of his life he's been in 'auto-pilot run-around-like-a-madman-mode', and he said he's very happy that I showed him how to shut that off when he wants to, and when I need him to. Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Has he lied to you about anything else?"

"He said fish fingers and custard is the best. I guess it's not a lie if he believes it. Dunno how anyone could, though."

Ashley did laugh that time. "Has he lied about anything that hurt your feelings or scared you?"

M thought for a while, then smiled. "No."

"Then take him at his word."

He blushed again and started to chew nervously on his thumbnail. "Ashley…there's something I need to ask you. I know I'm supposed to be hundreds of years old, and I do remember all my regenerations, all my experiences…but somehow I feel like everything is happening for the first time. I didn't notice it for a while, with everything else going on…but since the drums stopped I don't feel quite as…clever as I used to, and I'm not sure what I'm feeling a lot of the time, or why. Is it possible your spell set me back to eight years old emotionally and intellectually, but not in terms of memory?"

"It's very possible, but I don't know much about Time Lords. Do you typically mature quickly?"

M laughed. "I don't know if we ever mature, but not quickly, no. We're still considered kids at one hundred."

"If I asked you, are you eight years old, does that sound right to you?"

He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "Don't tell the Doctor."

"Okay, but why don't you? It might help him understand."

"He'll treat me differently, I just know it. Besides, he's not that far ahead. I'd guess he's at, like, sixteen or seventeen at the most. I'll catch up soon enough."

And what will you do when you surpass him? M wondered, then quickly countered, figure that out when it happens. He frowned slightly, leaned back against a tree, and plucked at a blade of grass. Ashley thought that he certainly didn't look like a child, but then again, he definitely wasn't showing his extreme age, either. She would've placed him in his early twenties. "This is a quite personal question, and you don't have to answer, but do you feel comfortable in your body? Again, I don't know much about Time Lords, but if you feel like you're eight but you've got this older body, I can imagine how that might be strange."

"I'm getting used to it. On second thought, I should tell Jack. It'll probably stop him flirting with me," he said, absentmindedly.

Ashley's eyebrows lifted. "Like I said, I know next to nothing about the Time Lord life cycle, including sexual maturity. But I do know you shouldn't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that you aren't ready for. If this Jack bloke is making you feel weird, you must tell him to stop."

She couldn't believe she was attempting to give 'the talk' to an alien who was at least a thousand years her senior. He laughed quietly, and said, "Oh, Jack flirts with everything."

"Do you mean everyone?"

He sighed and shook his head. Ashley was feeling more and more out of her depths. Then he smiled warmly at her, face open and decidedly boyish. "Ashley, it feels good being young again…or really, being young for the first time, properly. I can't thank you enough. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I'm curious about something. You said you felt the drums in your chest, that the pain had moved there…"

"Yes. It's not as terrible now."

"That's very good. I'm glad to hear it. Well, if you recall, after you said that, the Doctor said, 'That's just your hearts.' Plural."

"Oh, yeah, two hearts."

"Would you mind if I had a listen?"

M smiled and reclined on the grass. Ashley took a stethoscope out of her bag, slid it gently under his shirt, and her eyes widened in amazement.

Hermione continued copying down spells and shoving useful books into her extended purse, trying to ignore the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. This wasn't going to be like one of their usual adventures. They were bringing adults, Time Lords, no less, and Doctor Turnipseed had agreed to come along, too. That should've relaxed her, but somehow it only made things feel more frightening.

Was it that, deep down, she thought Harry's plan was a bad idea? She turned this question over for a while, and concluded that looking for a compassionate solution was always a good idea.

Was it the secrecy that bothered her, the fact that Harry insisted on not telling Dumbledore the real plan? She tried to see this as a foolish, but she knew Harry was right. Dumbledore wouldn't understand. That wasn't it.

Was it the risk of failure? Even if they found Tom Riddle to be an irredeemable psychopath, Harry could still defeat him. That wasn't it, either.

Of course, an infinite amount of things could go wrong. Time could be rewritten in unpredictable ways, the Doctor had said. Yet, what harm could be done by being kind to a child in an orphanage? How could their actions possibly make things worse? Well…she did recall (it was impossible for Hermione not to) that Harry said the Doctor said it was possible that an even stronger Dark Lord could emerge in Voldemort's absence, one who wasn't bound by a self-fulfilling prophecy to defeat himself. And yes, that could potentially be worse than the current situation, but how often does a wizard like that come along, realistically? No, that wasn't what was scaring her.

The more she thought about it, or rather, the more she tried not to think about it, the more certain she became that she was terrified by the possibility of succeeding. If they could fix Tom Riddle then they would, even if it was harder than they'd ever imagined…even if it took much longer than they'd planned. She knew that Harry would not give up easily, and she knew she would stick by him just like she'd told him she would, until the end. The idea of dedicating part of her life to that cause was sobering, but it didn't upset her nearly as much as the deeper implication of success: if they fixed Tom Riddle, what reason would they have not to continue fixing others?

Hermione knew she was encroaching on God Complex territory with questions like that, which were probably better left to beings like the Time Lords, but it was too late: she'd thought it, couldn't forget it, and would require an explanation in order to attain any semblance of peace. Though she acknowledged this, she also knew it was not yet time to make such a demand, she simply had to wait and see, and so she continued transcribing spells and feeding relevant books into her purse and trying not to panic.