Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Harry Potter and the Puppet of Time

Chapter 11

Sitting in a comfortable armchair in the Ravenclaw common room, Draco looked out over the Hogwarts grounds. The weather had once again turned rainy with the occasional sleet mixed in, but hopefully that would change soon. Most of the hallways weren't exactly comfortable under these conditions.

A book about Defense against the Dark Arts was lying in his lap even if he currently wasn't reading. Since Lockhart's 'mishap' in the Chamber of Secrets Professors Flitwick and Snape had taken over the class, albeit with reduced hours. They had given them a lot of homework to do, no wonder considering Lockhart's ineptness at teaching. Fortunately Draco had kept up with independent study (in truth he had reached the level of fourth year in that subject), but there was still a lot to do. Details were important and both professors set their own priorities. It wouldn't do to do badly in the end of year exams.

For now he had nothing really important to do. The diary was safely destroyed, the basilisk dead, Ginny free and Harry had solved Dumbledore's 'How to become a martyr' plot for the school year without suffering too much damage. Dumbledore and Hagrid had returned to the school. Kevin and the other victims of the basilisk were still petrified, but there was nothing Draco could do about that until the mandrakes matured. It would make catching up with their peers very difficult, especially for those petrified early in the school year.

"So Draco, Morag, did you already decide on electives for the next year? I just can't decide." Stephen asked suddenly from the chair beside him.

"Not yet. The people from the upper years I asked gave contradictory advice. Draco?"

"I'm not really sure." Draco answered absentmindedly. "There's still time; we only have to decide after the Easter holidays."

Draco didn't expect to be around for third year when his grandfather's plans came to fruition, but of course he couldn't share that knowledge. It was better to act as if he would return after the summer holidays. Besides, there was always the possibility of something going wrong. That meant he had to pick at least two electives he could live with. Unfortunately the choices weren't really appealing.

Divination was out of the question. If it had been competently taught it would have been very useful and interesting in light of Draco's own talents at scrying, but Trelawny was an incompetent fraud. Even most of the relevant books buried kernels of useful knowledge under a mountain of misleading or outright wrong nonsense. Furthermore, he didn't want to give any indication that he was talented in that field.

Muggle studies was a joke and severely out of date. If the information from his other self still held true Charity Burbage would take over next year. The woman was very dedicated and would update the subject at least somewhat, but she was an ardent supporter of Dumbledore's official muggle friendly views. He could really do without the naïve propaganda that bore only a passing resemblance to reality, especially considering that Burbage was a pureblood who didn't truly understand the muggle word herself. Besides, Draco's father would take exception. That would undermine Draco's efforts to keep at least an outwardly cordial and respectful relationship to him.

Arithmancy was somewhat promising. The subject was important for curse-breaking and spell-crafting. Unfortunately the class as taught at Hogwarts contained a lot of rather useless baggage like trying to predict the future with numbers. Thanks to his other self Draco knew there were some fundamental flaws inherent to current arithmantic theory. Perhaps a third of what was taught would be actually useful. Professor Vector was very strict and assigned a lot of homework. It would be a heavy burden on Draco's available time. Surprisingly the woman was completely apolitical; her head was filled with numbers and she didn't care about anything else.

Care of Magical Creatures was theoretically very interesting. Additionally an OWL and NEWT there would be very useful for a number of the Malfoy family businesses due to some legal requirements. Since there was a lot of time-intensive practical work required it would be impossible to acquire the knowledge on his own and inconvenient to get the degree later. Unfortunately the choice of teachers was somewhat lacking. Professor Kettleburn (who was a prime example of how not to go about the subject considering the number of natural limbs he had left) would retire at the end of this school year. In all likelihood Hagrid would take over. Not only had the half-giant no sense of the danger his pets posed to normal wizards, he was a rather inept teacher who ignored most of the normal curriculum. That wasn't really surprising considering that he had never completed the third year of his Hogwarts education. Hagrid would probably be great as an assistant to a professional thanks to his practical knowledge of creatures, but on his own he was unsuited for teaching. In fact, he didn't fulfill the formal requirements of that particular teaching position (most importantly, being a qualified emergency healer. Lack of timely, magical first aid could be fatal in this class), but of course Dumbledore had enough clout to ignore that. In the other future Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank had at times covered for him. The old witch was very competent in her chosen field, but once again she was another blind supporter of Dumbledore.

Lastly, Study of Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling was of questionable competence (being a Dumbledore loyalist went without saying) and once again a large part of the class was not worth his time. Most of the ancient runic scripts were only of historical interest. The parts relevant for useful applications like enchanting and warding were only covered in the later years.

All in all, none of the subjects were what Draco wanted. Unfortunately he had to choose. In all likelihood he would follow the footsteps of the other Draco and sign himself in for Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. Perhaps it would be wise to add Arithmancy as well. It would probably be moot anyway. In case he had to attend he could always drop one class if one of the three electives proved to be too bothersome.

Abraxas had hardly taken a few steps in the back alley he had used to hide his apparition when he realized something was seriously wrong. A slight change in the atmosphere indicated that an anti-apparition along with an anti-portkey charm had been cast. That could only mean one thing: an ambush.

Thoughts raced in the old man's head when he began to remove his wand from the holster under his arm. 'I should have chosen a different alley. I made myself predictable by using the same one for the last few years.'

In the next moment Abraxas saw a red light from the corner of his eyes. Throwing himself forward with reckless abandon, he managed to avoid the spell, but lost the grip on his walking stick. Three impacts around him indicated that there had been more attacks he didn't see coming. There were some figures in front of him, but they were distant enough to not be an immediate worry.

Upon contact with the ground the old man did a somersault in spite of his creaking, aching bones. More spells impacted around him. One carved a painful gash across his side. Turning his roll into a jump he finally managed to ready his wand and get a look at his attackers. There were at least six people with wands aiming at him.

'No time for finesse or incantations. Shielding is useless against that many opponents. I have to go for power, speed and minimal casting time.'

Searching and finding the magical connection that bound him as the head of the Malfoy family, Abraxas drew as much magic as he could to reinforce his spells. Abraxas first silent spell caved a woman's chest in, causing her to fall backwards with a gurgling scream. Jumping sideways to evade the counter fire he launched a wide-area cutting spell. The crescent of invisible force bisected two more attackers before carving a deep gouge into the wall behind them, but one managed to throw himself to the ground and two were out of range. He didn't have time for a third spell as his enemies sent another pair of spells at him.

The old man realized he couldn't avoid both spells. One looked like a stunner; the other had a sickly yellowish-green color. A hit with a stunner would mark the end of the fight for him; he would have to take his chances with the other spell. He almost managed to avoid even the second spell despite his protesting joints. Unfortunately he just wasn't quite fast enough. The spell clipped his hip with a sizzling sound. Abraxas had to bite back a cry of pain. It felt like the area had been severely scalded.

'Amateur. In this situation you use spells that put a target down when they hit… or even when the miss is close enough.'

In response Abraxas banished the man who had cast the stunner with all the power he could muster. It wasn't an efficient use of his stamina, but he had no time for wand movements. The man hit the wall behind him with enough bone-crushing force to leave a deep impression in the bricks. He had been reduced to perhaps half his original thickness, bone fragments jutting out and blood splashed over the area surrounding the impact zone.

A poorly aimed spell from the standing enemy went wide, allowing Abraxas the time for a properly cast blasting curse. He almost missed, but it was still enough to practically disintegrate the man's left leg and a good chunk of his torso along with a significant section of the pavement.

In the meantime the man who had evaded his cutting curse had brought his wand to bear and finished a longer incantation. When Abraxas realized what was about to happen he barely managed to get a shield up in time. In the next moment his field of vision was filled by flames. His hastily cast shield held, but it was a close thing.

Abraxas groaned when the fiery assault intensified. Whoever his enemy was, he had more raw power than the Malfoy patriarch. Defending against this sort of attack for any length of time was a losing proposition, especially with this poorly constructed emergency shield. He couldn't get out of the way or use another spell either; the attack had a large enough area of effect to burn him if his shield failed for even a moment. Using his free left hand he fumbled with his coat. It took him long seconds to extract the ornate throwing knife originally intended as a present/bribe for his contact.

'The flames swirl that way… that means my opponent is… there.'

He wasn't quite ambidextrous, but he had handled enough throwing knives in his misspent (or well spent, judging from the profit) youth to manage a throw with sufficient accuracy. The knife effortlessly penetrated his shield and his opponent's flames. A moment later a howl of pain assaulted his ears and the flames disappeared. His attacker was clutching his stomach, blood pouring from between his hands. From the looks of it the fool had ripped the knife out. Another cutting curse relieved him of his head.

Abraxas was in the process of turning around to deal with the figures he had spotted before when something hit him sideways in the chest. Ribs broke as he was hurled away like a rag doll. A painful collision with a wall ended his flight.

Blinking tears of pain away, Abraxas saw that several new attackers had arrived from the exit of the alley and were now cautiously approaching him. Or rather the direction where there had been an exit: a stone wall was now blocking that route. Only two of the new attackers had wands, though. Somehow he had managed to retain the grip on his wand and the attackers didn't have a good view of his right arm. He would need to make use of the time they gave him. He tried to get a better look while he used his wand to provisionally fix his ribs and cast a powerful pain numbing spell along with others that would allow him to temporarily ignore the limits of his old and frail body. If he survived this battle he would need to be hospitalized or die outright, but it was the only way that at least would give him a chance.

The old man felt his ribs slowly sliding back into place. He was decidedly too old for life-and-death fights, but he might still have a chance. Due to him now being largely incapable of feeling pain he would be able to keep fighting even when he sustained injuries that would put him down normally. He would worry about the aftereffects later. Then he spotted the man behind the attackers and his hopes plummeted. The form of Fenrir Greyback was immediately recognizable to him. Judging from the animalistic appearance all his enemies were werewolves.

'I did nothing to antagonize them. This is a paid assassination.'

Then the two wizards raised their wands and there was no more time. Abraxas mumbled an incantation for a modified banishing spell that threw him high into the air, evading the spell fire. A blasting cure reduced one of the wizards to a cloud of bloody shreds. Abraxas prepared for his landing and the next spell. Then it happened. His leg just didn't move fast enough. He stumbled and his spell went wide.

'Too old, too slow.'

Before he could do anything else a piercing pain in his right arm drew his attention. For a moment he just stared in incomprehension. His right hand had been ripped off at the wrist. One of the werewolves held it in his clawed hand. The only reason Abraxas wasn't incapacitated was that he had cast the pain-numbing spell earlier. Snapping out of it, he reassessed the situation. A glance down showed him that the spare wand he carried at his hip had been destroyed earlier in the fight. He was now without a wand and he could barely manage any wandless magic even under ideal circumstances. Luckily his enemies seemed to be surprised by his lack of reaction and gave him a short breather. He simply would have to try. His wand was inaccessible, but he had another weapon.

Concentrating hard, he summoned his discarded walking stick to him. His enemies were still staring at him when he caught it left-handed and started the incantation to deactivate the transfiguration it had been spelled with. A sharp stab into the larynx of the nearest werewolf reduced the number of enemies by one in the meantime. Only now they began moving again, but his incantation was now finished: His walking stick turned back into the sword made out of fine Toledo steel it had originally been.

The first target was the last werewolf with a wand. He went down easily with a pierced heart. Then a chaotic melee ensued.

Slash.

Stab.

Dodge.

Jump.

Strike.

Lunge.

It was a nightmare of blood, steel and claws. All the werewolves were partially transformed, making them stronger and faster than him. The moon would be full in two days, giving them another boost. On the other hand none of them were true fighters; they relied on their superior physique.

Abraxas didn't know how much time passed while he frantically dodged and slashed. More than once claws and teeth ripped into him, but thanks to his spell he felt hardly any pain. He wouldn't stop until either all his enemies were dead or he could no longer move.

Suddenly jaws closed around his remaining hand. The pain was strangely muted. Half of his hand was ripped away, leaving only two fingers. Abraxas saw the look of triumph in the eyes of the severely wounded werewolf who had lost both arms earlier before the creature toppled over. In the next moment a swipe from another enemy hit him squarely in the chest, digging deep into his body. A powerful kick shattered Abraxas' kneecap and he fell to the ground.

Above him stood Fenrir Greyback, his face a mask of anger. Fresh wounds crisscrossed his body, but unfortunately none were incapacitating or even life-threatening. A clawed hand closed around Abraxas' throat and he was lifted into the air.

"Old man, you decimated my pack. You will pay for that. I will make your death painful beyond all imagination."

Then Greyback rammed his other clawed hand into his stomach, slowly digging deeper until he was inside up to his elbow. The pain was nearly unbearable despite the numbing charm. In that moment Abraxas realized that he wouldn't make it out of there alive. All his planning to get Harry and his grandchildren out of the country would be for nothing. Without the deal he had hoped to strike today it wouldn't work and thanks to his long illness he had not been able to find effective alternate solutions. The future of House Malfoy would be in the hands of his grandson if Lucius didn't manage to destroy them in the meantime. At least some contingency plans were in place there.

'No, there is one thing left I can do before I die.'

He would be able to rid the world of a monster. Even without his wand and at death's door he wasn't completely helpless. During his travels he had learned some magic that didn't require a wand and would be considered extremely Dark, for good reason. One of the factors for the fall of the Diamond Sultanate had been the spread of sorcerers who used the blood and life of others to gain more power, making deals with things not from this world in the process. They had mostly annihilated each other in succession struggles before he arrived in the Middle East, but at one point in time Abraxas had infiltrated a surviving cell under the guise of an acolyte. When the time had been right he had poisoned them all and taken their riches. Luckily the opportunity had arrived before he had been deemed ready to make a deal of his own. There would have been no going back from that. He had learned a few spells, but without a deal he had no way of powering them aside from using his own life force. Even casting one of the most low-powered spells would kill him. Well, it wasn't as if he had any other use for his remaining seconds of life.

Having made up his mind he began mentally reciting the incantation in the strange language the sorcerers had used for that purpose. He could feel his remaining strength draining as the words took shape in his mind, their meaning clear to him in spite of the inhuman language. 'Burning in the depths of the pits of darkness, may the fires of hell take you! Let the fire be my sword and strike you down!'

Abraxas touched Greyback's brow with his mangled left hand. A moment later the head of the werewolf burst into unquenchable black flames that emitted a biting cold. The man screamed in pain and dropped Abraxas, disemboweling the old wizard in the process. It didn't make much difference pain-wise. He was already slipping away. Greyback's screams cut off as the werewolf succumbed to the unholy fire.

As Abraxas lay dying amidst the corpses of the enemies he had slain he couldn't help but smile. Dying peacefully in his bed surrounded by his family had been his hope, but this was a good second best. Some small part of him had always wanted to be a hero. Slaying a monster like Greyback certainly counted.

A break in the cloud cover allowed him to see the sun a last time. When the gap closed and the light faded from the world Abraxas' life went with it.

"Abraxas Malfoy was a great man. He will be sorely missed. It was a great privilege for me to have him call me friend. I clearly remember…"

Draco kept his pose beyond reproach while he let the eulogy held by Alan MacDougal wash over him. It was important to keep up appearances; he was already old enough that he couldn't allow himself to show weakness. Besides, it was enough that he felt the sadness, anger, hollowness and grief inside. There was no reason to show intense emotions to the world. People could easily take advantage of that. A quick glance to the side showed him that Aquila held up well enough, too. His mother had come for him and his sister a Hogwarts and brought them home before the news officially broke.

The funeral on the Malfoy grounds was extremely well-visited. The heads of the Old Families (and their family members); the entire Wizengamot; everyone from the Ministry of Magic who was in any way important as well as countless others had come. Some of them could have been expected even under more normal circumstances; his grandfather had been an important figure in Britain's magical society, after all. Only the circumstances were anything but normal. The Minister had even declared an official day of mourning.

Abraxas' death had not been just a death. It had been a clear-cut case of murder of an important pureblood politician not seen since the Voldemort War. Abraxas had died, yes, but he had taken almost two dozen werewolves with him, Fenrir Greyback among them. The monster's pack had been effectively annihilated. Still, the backlash against werewolves was very strong.

Meanwhile, Cornelius Fudge had taken over from Lord MacDougal. "…It is with enormous sadness that I learned of Lord Malfoy's untimely death at the hands of these beasts just when he had recovered from his illness. With him we lose one of the pillars of our community. Be assured, my administration will do the utmost to prevent anything like this from happening ever again. It has been my long-standing policy to protect our society from these dangerous animals despite deep-seated opposition. Have these beasts not shown again and again that they cannot be trusted? As I speak new laws to keep every witch and wizard safe are drawn up and will be put to vote shortly." Fudge paused for effect. "Still, we owe the deceased Lord Malfoy an enormous debt of gratitude. Even severely outnumbered he refused to accept his fate and fought. Not only did he strike down every werewolf attacking him before he succumbed to his injuries, he rid us of the monster Fenrir Greyback who plagued our world for such a long time. I'm proud to bestow an Order of Merlin First Class on the deceased. His behavior sets an example we all should aspire to."

At that point Draco stopped listening consciously. Fudge and others were turning his grandfather's death into a political advantage. Their outrage was probably genuine, though. Fudge and especially his undersecretary Umbridge had always pursued an anti-werewolf agenda. Draco himself was unsure about his own views on the matter.

Werewolves in general were a complicated subject. Some saw them as innocent, unfortunate victims while others regarded them as vicious beasts. The problem was that both sides were right.

Lycanthropy didn't only affect the victim's body during the full moon. It influenced their minds, too. Not in every case and not immediately, but at some point almost all werewolves turned into monsters that combined the worst of beast and human. The change could happen from one moment to the next without warning, but usually it was a more drawn-out process that was almost unnoticeable over the years or even decades. The werewolf in question would 'forget' to take safety precautions or sabotage them, sometimes without realizing what he was doing. Then he would begin to actively plot ways to harm other humans. Sometime later only a beast in human skin would be left, its only goal to hunt and maul and kill while spreading the disease further. In the late stages even their human appearance assumed more and more beast-like qualities. In the end they changed permanently. A few retained their minds while others degenerated into little more than rabid, bloodthirsty animals. Those who retained a semblance of their intelligence were the most dangerous and generally led the packs werewolves instinctively formed. Some like Greyback embraced the change and glorified it. It gave them additional power and control, made them somewhat resistant to magic and allowed them to transform at least partially without the help of the full moon. Others tried to live as humans until the change overtook them and they succumbed to the beast.

It was these properties of the disease that made lycanthropy such a feared illness; the uncertainty if and when a loved one would turn into a monster that only hid behind a human mask. More than one family who had tried to simply isolate a victim during the full moon had fallen prey to the werewolf when the disease progressed far enough. Of course, thanks to the high individual variance that wasn't common knowledge. Wolfsbane Potion wasn't really a solution, either. It prevented the werewolf from losing his mind during the monthly transformations, but did nothing against the creeping, fundamental mental change. Besides, even properly brewed it was toxic long-term.

Draco wasn't sure what to do about that. The general treatment of werewolves was terribly unfair to the victims, but they did pose an incalculable danger to everyone around them. Even the older Draco had learned of no way to truly cure lycanthropy. In the future they had found a way to cure the freshly bitten with some chance of success, but it didn't work once the first transformation took place.

'I wish the day would finally end.'

After the speeches ended the casket with his grandfather's remains was levitated some distance into the woods to the special burial grove the Malfoy family maintained. Thankfully only his family and the few close friends of his grandfather entered there. Setting the casket down on a stone pedestal, everyone took a few steps back. Then Draco's father raised his wand and turned casket and body into a cloud of ash. A conjured breeze scattered it between the trees. A gravestone would be erected at another location to serve as memorial, but it was here where the remains ended up.

"The earth gave birth to us and to the earth we return in death. Rest in peace and nurture the new life, Abraxas. You are now gone from this world, but not forgotten. We remember." Alan MacDougal intoned. Being the oldest of Abraxas' friends it fell to him to lead the ceremonies.

A few minutes of silence followed. Most European wizards in general and Draco's family in particular didn't follow any specific religion. There was some druidic influence and earth mysticism, but nothing that resembled any of the organized muggle religions. Rituals and beliefs often varied somewhat between families, but the general attitude was to keep the spirits of the dead and of nature calm and other possibly existing higher powers safely out of their lives.

All too soon they returned to the manor where a lot of visitors still lingered. Guest after guest came to give them their condolences. Draco just wanted for the day to end.

"Our condolences, Lord Malfoy. Fate was cruel to strike your father down just after he had recovered from… his illness." Lord Nott and Lord Greengrass had finally cornered him, not that Lucius minded too much. It felt good to be called Lord Malfoy and given the respect that was his due.

Lucius carefully kept the smile from his face. He knew better than to give himself away. Nott and Greengrass might suspect something, but they had no proof. "It is truly a tragedy. Without those filthy beasts my father would have surely enjoyed many more years as Lord Malfoy. I can only hope I will be able to steer House Malfoy in the proper direction without his guidance."

The elderly Nott inclined his head. "There always comes a point when the young generation has to leave the shadow of the previous one. A session of the Wizengamot will take place soon after Easter. Your inauguration has already been placed on the agenda."

Greengrass was more direct. "Can we expect some change in the stance of House Malfoy? I hesitate to speak ill of the dead, but in the last years your father sometimes chose a… not entirely reasonable course of action."

"I always felt my father's views were somewhat… detached from reality. We spoke about that often, I remember. There will be some adjustments, after proper consideration, of course."

"Of course." Both men nodded and left, leaving Lucius free to be sought out by the next guest.

Lucius greatly enjoyed the day. Ever since the Ministry had informed him of Abraxas' death he was almost giddy with pleasure. Finally, finally his father was out of his life. It had taken far too long, but finally the meddlesome old man was gone. The children were obviously distraught, but sooner or later they would get over the death of the old codger. Lucius disapproved of some things the old man had taught them or allowed to do anyway. For example, that Ravenclaw mudblood friend of Draco would have to be cut off. Using the mudbloods as information sources was bad enough, but actual friendship was intolerable.

'Well, the mudblood has been petrified for some months. Perhaps the friendship has cooled without constant contact.'

Shoving those thoughts to the side, Lucius continued to enjoy the evening. The power over the family now belonged to him. All the money and resources of House Malfoy were now his to control.

With a pulse of pure white light the Malfoy heart stone accepted Draco as the new head of the family, absorbing the drops of blood the boy had sprinkled upon it. Once upon a time it had been a head-sized formation of clear quartz, but now it was anything but a normal rock. A central large hexagonal crystal was based in an irregular cluster of smaller crystals. Filled by a magical white inner light it had rainbows constantly running through the prisms making up its structure, bathing the room in a constantly moving and changing mixture of colored light.

Generations of Malfoys had given their blood and bound part of their power to the stone. It was one of the responsibilities of the head of the family to make sure that blood of every newborn child was used as soon as possible in a ritual to strengthen the connection anew. Even without that a descendent would be connected to the heart stone, but over the generations the connection would grow weaker until it would disappear after three or four unbound generations.

There was another ritual to take control as head of the family, the very ritual Draco had just performed. Every Malfoy with the appropriate knowledge and access to the stone could do that irrespective of other factors. It would lead to conflict if two people laid claim at the same time; which was why information was tightly controlled. There was a simple reason his father hadn't done it: Lucius didn't know about the heart stone's existence. Abraxas had never trusted Lucius enough to share that knowledge. The other Draco had only learned about it decades later after a lot of research and following hidden hints.

Concentrating on the stone, Draco sought out the existing connections leading away from it.

'There are Father and Aquila. Mother is there too, but the connection is clearly different.'

That wasn't surprising considering that Narcissa was originally only bound to the Black heart stone. Marriage included a ritual transfer of authority, not that most of the participants recognized it as such. At the current time his mother had two connections with the Malfoy one being the dominating one. The Black heart stone probably recognized Sirius as its master (not that the man knew about the existence of heart stones), but Draco lacked detailed information. Every heart stone was different, the particulars differed greatly between families. Arcturus had left him only vague hints before he died; he had considered Draco too young to learn everything. He still knew that the Black heart stone had some sort of automatic change of ownership when the old master died. At some point in the future he would have to search for it.

With a soft sigh Draco stopped. Currently he had no direct use for the heart stone. It wasn't possible to forcibly control family members; the heart stones hadn't been created with a tyranny in mind. No, they served as a tool to pool the magical resources of a family. Its main applications consisted of long-term ritualistic magic that was otherwise impossible. In an emergency Draco could draw additional magical power from the stone, but aside from that it had virtually no combat applications. It wasn't some sort of ultimate weapon.

'I probably should leave. Riding back will take me some time and I don't want them searching for me. It was difficult enough to go for an extended ride alone.'

Unfortunately, Draco being the magical head of the family had absolutely no bearing on his legal status. The heart stones were a closely guarded secret of the few families possessing one, using their power openly was unthinkable. For almost all intents and purposes Lucius was the head of the family. Draco could now forcibly wrest away control of some of the family magic-based wards from Lucius, but he hoped to keep his father ignorant of the true facts. Most wards on their lands were not connected to the heart stone anyway. The Malfoys had always been too paranoid to create a single point of failure. Of course, Abraxas had taught him all the secrets of those unconnected wards, too. The ultimate loyalty of the house elves was an open question; their bond was independent of the heart stone. They clearly disliked his father, but he was the senior Malfoy alive.

Draco sighed again. His grandfather's untimely death had created so many problems. Not the least had it ruined the only way to bring Harry to safety.

'I swear to you Grandfather, I will find the people responsible.'

Someone had ordered his grandfather's death. Greyback wouldn't have gone after Abraxas without someone paying him. Who had it been? There were a lot of possible suspects, but fewer than in case of the poisoning. The werewolf had been a monster and not that many would have willingly employed his services. Assassinations happened on occasion, but Greyback tended to be deliberately messy. Unfortunately the two surviving werewolves hadn't known anything as Draco had overheard from a conversation between his father and Fudge. If there had been intermediaries involved there was virtually no chance of finding the culprit.

The main suspects were the old Death Eaters. Voldemort had often employed Greyback; some of them would have been familiar with him. Furthermore, considering Lucius' leanings they all had reason to want Abraxas gone.

Dumbledore wasn't a primary suspect. The old man had a strange aversion against killing and didn't allow his followers to employ lethal means. Now, he wasn't above maneuvering people into a situation that would get them killed, but he wouldn't give the order for an assassination, even indirectly.

Another suspect was Draco's own father. He didn't want to believe that of Lucius, but it was a possibility. It was clear that Lucius had desired the Lordship and had been discontent with some of Abraxas' policies, but Draco had no way of knowing if he actually took steps to remove Abraxas.

At the present time there was nothing Draco could do to find the culprit, but he already knew that this would change. Someday in the future Draco would be good enough to scry the past. Then he would learn the truth and someone would pay.

Author's notes: Thanks for all the reviews.

Yes, dear readers, Abraxas now left to the Next Great Adventure. He will be missed. I hope his end was worthy of such a character.