"Where do you think you're going?" it slipped out of Draco's mouth as Tom approached him, clad in a coat he couldn't possibly have afforded on an employee's salary. The coat was of a fine fabric with a collar of rare wampus cat fur. In addition, a gold watch shone on his wrist and his hair was strictly combed to the side. Only one unruly curl of lard always fell back into his face, which he then patiently tucked back behind his ear.

"To Smith." Hastily, Tom threw a note on the counter.

"In this outfit?" it slipped out of Draco's mouth once more and he realised that he didn't really know what was good for him today. Smiling apologetically, he reached for the piece of paper.

"It was a gift." Tom looked at him grimly and disappeared out the door without another word.

Draco was alone in Borgin & Burke's. Well, not really alone, Burke was still in the back room at his desk, but a regular grunt sounded from the room. Draco would do the devil to wake him up. If Burke found him here without Tom, he would throw him out. Where would he go then?

Sighing longingly, he unfolded the note.

Dystyl Phaelanges

Bones, Teeth & Fossils

Nockturngasse 17

Ringing by Riddle

"Tom gave you his address?"

Suddenly Abraxas stood in front of him and also looked at the piece of paper. Draco quickly put it away. "Could be. Where are...are you from?"

Abraxas pointed dumbly to the fireplace that Draco had long forgotten about. "Where is he?"

"He just left. You only missed him by a few seconds. If you run after him, you might still catch up."

"It's all right, that won't be necessary." He actually smiled with relief. "Just give him this when he returns." With pointed fingers, he handed him a journal bound in leather. It was a dark brown and had gold embellishments. The name Tom Marvolo Riddle was outlined several times.

"Er," Draco said with little intelligence, but it didn't bother him. Absent-mindedly he flicked through the book, er diary, but it contained only blank pages. "Strange..." Astonished, he fell silent, for Abraxas had already walked back to the fireplace. "Wait!"

But Abraxas did not pause. The green flames flickered upwards and engulfed him. Draco came to a halt in front of an empty fireplace. His breath was coming in jerks. He needed this invitation for Tom to fix the vanishing cabinet for him. In the meantime he had tried the spell a few more times, but apart from a burst of laughter from Tom, nothing had come of it. Besides, he had the chance to spend some more time with his grandfather, to experience him as a young man. Who else had that chance? In any case, he wanted to take it.

So absorbed in thought, he didn't even notice how his hand reached out for the bowl of flea powder. The fine grains felt right. Yes, he had to go after him and ask Abraxas for an invitation. He would think of a reason on the way. Maybe he could ask if they needed a temp? Or he could say he was doing an internship at the Daily Prophet and would like to cover the wedding? In the worst case, he was also prepared to plead with him. Only that he was a time traveller could not be allowed to come to light under any circumstances.

The green flames leapt up and enveloped him. Within seconds he was standing in the Malfoy salon.

Not much had changed in fifty years. Of course, the marble floor was the same and the furniture was the same too. His mother had changed it just before Draco came to Hogwarts, but for an identical looking model. The decor was in the style of the forties, with bold colours and flowery patterns and all the flourishes and loops that were now considered old-fashioned.

Abraxas stood in the middle of the drawing room, his hands raised defensively and a furrowed brow. On the couch sat a middle-aged woman Draco only knew from photographs. She was his great-grandmother named Imogene Malfoy.

"Excuse me, I know it's abrupt, but I would like to ask for an invitation to the wedding. I'm also willing to make myself useful, depending on what is needed," Draco began to speak in the quiet room. His voice grew quieter as he realised that this had been a bad idea. Abraxas didn't know him, he would just see him as an intruder. Security would beat him up.

Slowly, so as not to frighten anyone further, he took a few steps back towards the fireplace. "Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy, I apologise so much for intruding. I...still need to recover from the trip."

Abraxas and Imogene continued to remain in place, silent, so that it became more than uncomfortable.

But - Draco had to pause. Why didn't they call for security? Why didn't Abraxas attack him?

They just stood there looking at him with wide open eyes.

"What's wrong?" whispered Draco, far too frightened to make an impression.

"Who are you?", Imogene found her words again first. Tears came to her eyes. Draco could not understand that at all.

"Draco ..." he mumbled. "Draco Manthey."

Imogene shook her head in disbelief. "Stop lying. You don't have to go easy on me."

"He is a Malfoy, at Burke's he introduced himself as a Malfoy," Abraxas said.

Confused, Draco looked to Abraxas. "Er...that was a slip of the tongue."

"After that he made up Manthey, no, Tom made up Manthey." At the mention of Tom, Abraxas' eyes narrowed to little slits. Suspiciously, they eyed Draco, who took another step towards the fireplace and bumped into the ledge.

"Stay here," Abraxas shouted and Imogene added: "Now it's too late to change your mind. You were going to confront us, now we'll do the same. Come with me!" She rose and gestured for him to follow her out of the drawing room. "You too, Abraxas," she urged her son, who looked as if he would like to sink into the floor.

"Mother, this is unnecessary drama."

"Neither is it unnecessary, nor is it my drama," Imogene replied to him firmly. "Your father asked for it. Now come on, both of you!"

Reluctantly, Draco and Abraxas started to move. As they walked along the corridor, Draco soon realised that they were heading for the study. Imogene strode imperiously ahead, Abraxas following behind with his head bowed. Oh dear, what had he got himself into? The march felt like walking into an execution.

"Armand!" thundered Imogene as she flung open the door to the study.

Her husband flinched, startled. "What happened?"

Her call had been so loud that she also opened the opposite door and another young man stuck his head out. He was Abraxas' age and looked not unlike him; it had to be Amadeus, Abraxas' younger brother. He was wise enough to watch his parents' argument in silence.

"He was suddenly standing in the drawing room," Imogene said, pulling Draco into the room by his arm. "Who is he?"

"He is Burke's new employee," Armand replied. "I think they're finally going to fire that ominous Riddle. I am so glad, Abraxas, that you have finally distanced yourself from him. He has done you no good."

Abraxas sighed. "He has crossed the Rubicon. There's no going back. Unfortunately."

Imogene straddled in, "Don't lie to me anymore, Armand!"

"I never lie to you!"

"Yes you have, I haven't forgotten."

"But I'm not doing it now! Believe me."

Imogene folded her arms. "Then explain to me how it is that this boy passed our fireplace immediately after Abraxas placed the barrier on it."

Armand's mouth dropped open. "I...don't know. Abraxas probably did it wrong again!"

"I didn't!" he interjected. "I did everything as I was taught. Only someone from our family should have been able to cross it."

"The spell doesn't work anymore...", Amadeus muttered to himself.

"Has everyone fallen on their heads?" Imogene threw her arms up in the air. Draco flinched, as did Abraxas, thinking she was about to strike, but then her hands fell back to her sides. "It's not about family, it's about blood. Only someone who is of our blood can cross the barrier. At last I have proof of your infidelity!"

"Imogene, don't get into this," Armand growled. "I don't have a bastard."

Draco noticed from the corner of his eye how Abraxas took more and more steps back. Amadeus also closed the door to the room again.

"You still deny it? That you have no shame!" cried Imogene. "It's not the first time you've cheated on me, but it's the last time I'll be fobbed off by your excuses!"

"What are you going to do? Get a divorce?"

"I will make your life hell!"

Armand snorted contemptuously. "Abraxas, stay here, you are also responsible for this discussion."

"Me?" he croaked. "This is supposed to be my fault?" Rebooking the steps he had just taken, he walked back towards his parents. They thundered down the hall, his back stretched through so that he was an altogether too majestic figure. "You, father, cheat on mother and force me to marry a woman I don't love. Where is the sense, the morality in that? Should I suffer like you two? You don't even like to look at each other any more."

"Abraxas, that's not you," his mother breathed.

"I can't stand it any more," Abraxas said. "The constant bickering, the lies, and yet I'm supposed to marry Ariana at all costs."

"A respectable Malfoy just has to have a wife," Armand grumbled.

"I doubt by now that you know anything about honour, father. Excuse me." Abraxas turned so quickly that his parents could not get a word back to him. He almost sprinted down the corridor. Draco blinked briefly, then his instinct to flee kicked in as well. Without thinking twice, he ran after Abraxas. Armand and Imogene let him escape and it took only a few seconds before their angry reproaches resounded again.

Draco chased Abraxas outside into the rose garden, but no matter how much he hurried, he couldn't catch up with the athletic Abraxas. Suddenly he turned around: "What more do you want? Isn't the chaos you've created enough?"

"I'm sorry," Draco panted without breath. "That was not my intention at all."

"Hard to imagine."

"I just wanted an invitation."

Abraxas frowned.

"To the wedding."

"Oh, is that what all the fuss is about?" he snorted. "But my father said it loud and clear that you simple shop workers are not invited. After all, we can't invite everyone."

But he wasn't everyone, even if he could hardly say that. "Er...I...thought that was just referring to Tom. Armand gave him that evil stare when he did it."

"That was also primarily directed at Tom. But I don't even know you, why should I invite you to my wedding?"

"Well...how many guests are coming and how many of them do you really know?"

"Oh, are you a business associate of my father? A high-ranking employee in the ministry? Or a well-known researcher?"

Draco swallowed. "As I said, I thought the explicit disinvitation referred to Tom alone and I was allowed to accompany Burke if I asked. I can also offer my services...something..."

Draco fell silent as Abraxas raised his eyebrows in confusion, but also a little amused-annoyed. "You want to be invited to my wedding under any circumstances?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"Tom gave me this as an assignment," Draco decided to tell the half-truth.

"Why is Tom doing this?"

Draco swallowed. "Well...he didn't find me particularly convincing. He made fun of me...and he's not allowed to go himself."

"That's like Tom...", Abraxas murmured and seemed to be lost in thought. "Come on then, you've already proved that you can use the flea network without being noticed. I'll instruct the house elves not to betray you, but stay away from my parents throughout the festivities. I don't want them to even catch a glimpse of your coat-tails, do you understand?"

"Oh, thank you very much!"

"But you have to do something for me."

Draco sighed, again, "What are you thinking about?"

"Tom may try to appear. Prevent him from disrupting the wedding proceedings in any way."

Now he was something of a double agent. Overwhelmed, he puffed out his cheeks, but to prevent Abraxas from changing his mind, he nodded again. "No problem. Thank you for your understanding," he squeezed out.

Abraxas made a throwing gesture with his hand. "The main thing is that you stop bugging me now. I don't want to hear any more about this gruesome wedding. You're pretty stupid to volunteer to see my suffering."

"Sorry...for the wedding."

"It is what it is."

"Is there anyone else?" Draco slapped his hand over his mouth. Now that had perhaps been...a little direct and insensitive.

"In a manner of speaking." Abraxas turned and looked at the mansion that would also be Draco's home in fifty years. "I'm going back inside now. Probably best if you get the hell out of here."

"Don't worry, I'll do that." He was glad not to have to face Armand or Imogene again.

"Tom must be expecting you by now," Abraxas said bitterly.

"You think?"

Abraxas looked at him urgently, for so long that Draco felt uncomfortable. Then Abraxas said, "Tom is easily irritated. Don't keep him waiting. He is by far the most quick-tempered wizard I have ever met...But also the most intelligent. I don't think you can keep up with him. No one can."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I am serious. Tom doesn't see you as a human being, but only as a tool. Don't have any illusions about that. He'll get bored with you too at some point." With these words, Abraxas turned away and walked back to the mansion.

Draco snorted and shook his head as he looked at Abraxas' back. When he was no longer in sight, he turned around and walked towards Nokturngasse, number 17.

The name on the bell was only provisionally attached. He rang it several times, but no one answered. Rain started and it only took a few seconds for Draco's clothes to get soaked. Had Tom forgotten what he had written to Draco? Angrily, he sounded a note to Dystyl Phaelanges.

"Yes, hello?" A stone-aged man with a pale, slightly greenish face opened the door. A large top hat sat on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes. "Oh, you're Tom's visitor, aren't you?"

Draco nodded and the old man reached to the side to a wall that was completely in darkness. There was a rattle of what turned out to be a lone key on a key ring.

"He left these for you. Be quiet tonight, I always have such a hard time falling asleep. Tom blames it on stray cats, but I don't believe him."

"No problem."

"Come in then!" He yanked the door wide open. "Straight up the stairs, there's his flat."

Draco actually wanted to ask another question about Tom, but the man disappeared into the dark back room of his flat. He took a few steps after him, but the pale bones and skeletons scattered all over the shop window and display cases sent a shiver down his spine. They were not from animals, as Draco had first assumed, but human remains.

"Would you like to see my collection of pickled eyes?" cried the man from the darkness. "I also have a heart soaked in alcohol."

"I'll pass!" shouted Draco back in a squeaky voice and hurried to the stairs in question. "I need to rest, tomorrow will be a long day."

Tom's small one-room flat was no better. The dark wooden floorboards crackled with every step and even when Draco didn't move. In the middle of the room was a small table that could seat exactly one person and in one corner a bed, laid out for one person. The kitchen was sparse like the rest of the flat, basically consisting of only a sink and a small cooker.

Draco worked up the courage to look in the pantry cupboards, but apart from a few packs of pasta and a handful of apples that had been neatly lined up, the cupboard was empty. Draco scratched his head. He didn't have much kitchen experience, but who bothered to line up apples, matched with a ruler? Why did he only have apples? Didn't he eat anything else? Draco looked for more food, but found none. The sink was already rusted and a black coating had settled on it. After looking at it, Draco didn't dare open the bathroom door.

He winced. There was a knock somewhere.

It took him a few minutes to recognise one wall as a window, it was so opaque. An owl was waiting for him and flew in. It perched on the table and its sharp talons added a few more scratches to the wood. Carefully, Draco untied the package from her foot and opened the enclosed note.

He immediately recognised Tom's distinctive handwriting.

I'm being held up. See you tomorrow at the wedding.

T. M. R.

Draco opened the package. A festive robe of noble crimson fabric emerged. Draco fiddled with his collar. It made it difficult to remain inconspicuous. But he wouldn't be able to get another one in a hurry. He would manage somehow.