In which our hero is challenged.

'Stop faking, Lucius. Get up.'The voice was that of Minerva McGonagal but the intonation was all Voldemort.

Lucius pried himself off the rug. Get him talking. If Tom Riddle was talking he wasn't cursing. 'How?' he whispered hoarsely.

'A cat with the prerogatives of a Headmistress can get in anywhere. She was worried about poor old Dumbledore.' In an effort to put off the inevitable, Lucius concentrated on looking confused. 'The fool's still keeping secrets and she didn't know better than to open the box,' Riddle gloated, raising his wand.

'And so you possessed her?'

'It was easy enough. She was a cat.

'And when she changed back.'

'I had three horcruxes, Lucius.' The wand came back up.

'How did you get through the wards of the manor?'

'You keyed me into them yourself. But perhaps you've forgotten?' Or been made to forget. Knowing that his rage would show, Lucius avoided looking at his one time master. 'I trust that you do remember where the cellars are?'

Still clad in no more than a towel, Lucius made his way down through the manor followed by Madame Bones,with Riddle watching him, like the cat McGonagal could be, all the way.

'In!' Lucius entered the cell and the bars closed behind him. 'You betrayed me, Lucius. I had expected better of you. Perhaps you'll be relieved to hear that I still have a use for you? No? You are, of course, being demoted. Put the cup down on the floor, Amelia.' The witch placed the horcrux on the ground, before returning to standing blankly staring.

A very cold feeling came over Lucius. 'You intend . . .?'

McGonagal's face smiled. 'Yes. It won't take as long as with the diary. You have my mark, willingly taken: consent irrevocable to my taking from you whatever I want.' The smile twisted. 'Look at you. The flower of Pureblood superiority. As it's just ourselves, I'll tell you this: none of you deserve to live. You're all so stupid you sicken me

'Pardon?' said Lucius.

McGonagal's body leant idly against the bars. 'You should get out in the garden more.' The voice took on the intimate tone Voldemort had once used with his favoured followers. 'The most perfect rose, the most exquisite lily doesn't grow in a crystal vase: it grows with its feet in the mud. Your prized refinement only weakens you. Your magic is wasted maintaining bodies not fit to live. And as for your minds . . .'

Dropping the confidential air, Riddle spun away from the bars.' Hah! Didn't the name give you a clue? Sin eaters take on themselves the sins of others. What did you think I expected of you? A muggle superstition of course, but you could have found out. Indeed you should have at least suspected. So much the worse for you that you did not. "Petrificus!" Tell your elf to obey me, Lucius. 'Tell him that the order cannot be countermanded.'

Amongst the darker shadows, Lucius could see something that might have been a house elf and was too dismayed to say anything. 'Very well.' Riddle gestured. There was a choked sob as most of one of the creature's ears fell away.

'Obey him,' said Lucius. 'The order cannot be countermanded.'

The elf's other ear was cut to match. 'Next time, obey me immediately.'

'There won't be a next time. I'll be dead.'

'Yes and no,' said Riddle. Just because a thing's empty it doesn't mean it's useless. Not when it can be refilled. You, elf, go into the cell and don't leave it.' The petrificus dispelled, Sal obeyed. His wounds weren't bleeding, apparently cauterised. 'Don't allow Lucius to communicate with anyone or anything else. Apart from that, don't use magic. '

'How would you refill . . .?' Lucius began, now convinced of Riddle's insanity.

'You'll do that yourself.' Riddle glanced at the elf. 'Bon appetite. Incidentally, when do you expect your family back.? The thing wearing McGonagal smirked and turned away. 'I think it might be time for our visit to Azkaban. Keep up Amelia.'

When they had gone, Lucius turned to Sal. The elf was extremely adept at creatively interpreting instructions but he only shook his head and then raised his hands towards mutilated ears.

'You look like Yoda.'

That bought an almost smile. 'Help, Sal cannot,' he intoned mournfully.

The wizard took stock of the situation. He had a towel.

. . . . .

Lucius thoughts whirred; and they had plenty of space for whirring because he felt hollow. Something was standing just outside the cell, slowly becoming more real: he could feel it consuming him. Worse, he could feel himself being drawn to the life energy surging through the elf. He needed to act.

Sal, how sharp are your teeth.

'Sharp, master.'

'I want you to split this towel in two lengthwise.'

Using Sal's teeth?

'To start a rip. Can you do it?'

Sal could. Lucius wrapped half a towel back around himself. 'I want the other half turned into a rope strong enough to support my weight. It will need to be turned into strips . . ..' From nowhere, Sal had produced the cleaver from earlier on in the day. 'I thought Riddle forbade magic?'

'Sal is a magical creature. Only possible to obey so far.'

Lucius heart beat faster. 'What else can you get?'

The elf looked heartbroken. 'Sal only has this.'

'Is there anything you can do to get either of us out of here?

'No, master.'

'Never mind.' Lucius eyed the wickedly sharp blade. 'Give it to me.' As the elf fumbled, trying to avoid handing his master the sharp end, their fingers touched and it felt like cool water in a desert. Sal pulled back as if burned and then remained very still, waiting.

Lucius took himself away to the farthest part of the cell.

He would not do such a thing. Not if there were any way at all to prevent it. dementors disgusted him, This was no better. He wished he could be sure that his death would stop whatever it was Riddle had done to him, that he could, in fact, die. First things first though. 'Sal,' he asked, 'what am I wearing?'

'A towel, master?'

'No, it's only a bit of a towel. It is not actually a towel. Try again. What am I wearing?'

Sal looked at him askance. 'A thing that is not a towel?'

'Yes! Something that isn't a towel. And I am wearing it, so it must be clothing. It is, in fact, a short, towelling sarong.

The elf looked at him.

'Bring me the other short, towelling sarong.' The elf fetched the other half a towel. 'Now hold out your hand,' Face expressionless, Sal obeyed. Careful not to touch him, Lucius draped the torn cloth over the elf's long fingers; they closed on it tightly.

'Master has given Sal clothes?

'Yes, Sal, most excellent of elves. You are free. You don't have to obey anyone. Live long and be happy.' He let that sink in. 'However, if I might suggest: Harry Potter needs help and protection. You could offer to be his hench-elf. If you take the horcrux with you. Severus has a little knife that will destroy it. You can warn them about Riddle and not to come here . . .. Sal snapped his fingers and the cell bars sprang open. Then he and the cup were gone.

Lucius allowed himself to smile and then cursed. He was free, at least from the cell, but the elder wand was still in his possession. It couldn't be allowed to fall into Riddle's clutches. Perhaps he could call Sal back to take it away. He decided not to try calling just yet. The warning was more important. At worst, he could destroy it. Fortunate indeed that he had left it in the bathroom before his capture.

On the way back to his bedroom he passed his great-grandfather's portrait. 'Lucius! My wand. In the case.'

It was the work of a moment to cleaver open the display case and collect his ancestor's wand. While he was still wearing only half a towel, he felt considerably less naked and, with the cup far away, he had a little more time. Severus would deal with the horcrux. While he awaited the Dark Arse's return, perhaps he could arrange a trap. Wards could be made to keep things in as well as out. His dream of overflying the burnt out remains of the manor came back to him. Fiendfire would take out the locket and the diadem. The wards would unravel after Lucius death but not nearly quickly enough for even Riddle to escape.

Once again fully dressed and with the Elder wand in a pocket, Lucius put the Gaunt ring on his finger. The notification of the destruction of the horcrux would be bound to rile the Dark Arse no end. Then Lucius made himself some tea. Properly fortified he set about some adjustments to the wards. Keyed in and, doubtless, paying attention, Riddle would know if Lucius left or used the flue or even sent an owl. He would not notice physical changes made to the components until the particular elements were activated.

With Amelia Bones under imperius, Riddle wouldn't find it too difficult to break his followers out of Azkaban. Then he'd summon the others. Lucius just hoped they would have the sense not to respond. He was turning the final ward stone in the back of one of the shadier borders and becoming painfully less grateful for the fact that the peafowl had decided to avoid him, when Sal returned.

Within Lucius, the life-thirst surged. He avoided looking at the elf and crushed the instinct down. 'What can I do for you, Sal?'

'Harry Potter is sending his invisibility cloak.'

That's actually touching, thought Lucius. It would be practical too. Under other circumstances. Then he decided that it would be wrong not to at least try to separate McGonagal from the horcruxes. 'Later on,' he told Sal, I will want you to take the cloak back to Harry. And . . . this is the Elder Wand. He should have that too. Will you do that, Sal? It's more important than anything else. It could help stop You-Know-Who.'

'Sal will do that.'

As he swung Harry's cloak over his shoulders, it occurred to him that he design on the ring's black stone meant something other than the sign of the Deathly Hallows, appropriated by Grindelwald and scraped, by an idiot, onto the black stone. He wondered if perhaps the ring had once held something valuable. Oddly, he was feeling better. He did not like the idea that he might be draining Sal even without touching him. He turned his attention to the elf who was shifting from foot to foot and wringing his hands again. 'What is it,' Lucius asked.

'Sal would like to be Lucius Malfoy's hench-elf.'

Lucius considered: his former servant didn't seem to be suffering anything. Lucius didn't want him to start. 'I would like that,' he said. 'Unfortunately, at the moment, I'm cursed. Let's see what happens.' Confusingly, he could remember Sal's, or rather, Dobby's death. And how he had felt about it. He drew the Elder Wand from his pocket and worked fast, layering spells of protection onto his would-be minion and waiting for the warning from the wards that someone was at the gates. Finally it came.

Again the design on the Gaunt ring struck him. It looked like a diagram. And there was something tellingly different about the cloak. The Deathly Hallows: a wand, a cloak and a stone. Aligned. Without really thinking about it, he pulled the hood up over his face; ring still on his finger he grasped the Elder Wand midway along its length and held it vertical.

Nothing happened. Lucius exhaled.

'Should touch the ground perhaps,' said Sal.

The idea was silly and Lucius' fraught response was rage. He crushed that down too. While he had avoided striking the much abused elf, he felt deeply ashamed and decided that, for once, he would indulge him. Sinking on one knee he allowed the wand to descend. A moment before it made contact, he knew that that the small creature had been right. The cloak flared about him before lifting free, the wand extended upwards and the stone broke from the ring expanding. He was on his hands and knees inside something entirely indescribable, not least because he was unsure how many dimensions it possessed. In self defence, he closed his eyes.

'Finally!' said the voice that had once sworn that it was Lucius Malfoy. His eyes flew open and he found himself surrounded by a hazy, cloud like grey. He stood up. The voice appeared to have come from a large white ceramic ovoid supported on seven glassy pillars growing from a crystalline base through which coloured lightening forked and flooded. Slowly it rotated, the 'egg' tipping up to reveal an ancient being cocooned within. 'Were you busy?' While not a muscle moved on the wizened face, it was clearly he who was speaking.

''You're me?'

'I was you. Centuries ago. We had a problem we needed to put to right.'

What could have been bad enough that time travel was a rational solution? He hazarded a guess. 'Dementors?'

'Hive mind. Individually stupid; the more there are of them: the more intelligent. In the year of Voldemort's ascendancy they were allowed to breed. When it was over, many of them hid. They had learned to hide their feeding: easy enough to push someone over a cliff or drive them to suicide. Unfortunately they became unstoppable and weren't clever enough to limit their numbers until they had sterilised almost all of the planet.'

Lucius took a deep breath and tried to consider the situation as an exercise in logic. 'Right. So if Riddle is stopped, then the dementors are stopped?

'And then we have to see they stay stopped. Time's . . . sticky. And slippery. Prevent something one way and later the same thing is likely to crop up for a completely different reason. And resistant: if you tried killing your grandfather, you'd probably trip and break your neck. Or it would turn out that he wasn't really your grandfather. I won't tell you how long we spent messing around before we decided to go right back to the root of things and try a lot of small changes to make one really big change. Specifically, how people feel about Lucius Malfoy so that you can persuade the Ministry to help the muggles reign in the dementors instead of repeatedly obliviating them. If we'd just left them alone to get on with it, there mightn't have been a problem.'

'Muggles can't see . . .'

'Technology lets them see temperature. Even from orbit. No problem at all.'

Not entirely understanding what he'd been told, Lucius decided to let it stand. 'Would not earlier have been better?' How much better never to have fallen for Riddle's lies.

'It isn't that simple. Not this far back. Fawkes willingly becoming part of the machine gave us the energy. We used the Hallows for direction. The target needed to be present with the wand and the cloak at a known place and time. Hagrid's arrest gave us all that. Even so, I kept getting dragged back. Or forward. Right up to that business with the peacock and the potion and now I find that Tom's damned mark can block me. I thought I'd died.'

'You may well have,' Lucius told him. 'What does it mean to be "Master of Death"?'

'You've the cloak?' Lucius found his recent memories being ransacked. When his older self had finished there was silence. 'I don't know,' the voice admitted finally. 'Potter was the last to have all three, and never simultaneously. Possibly an honorific the way Severus is a "Master of Potions." Possibly more. We still have a problem.'

'You want me to . . . move over? What will that mean for me?'

'Again, I don't know. I'm sorry but I think I have a better chance of success than you and, if it is death, at least it's not Fiendfire.'

Lucius thought of Narcissa and Draco. His older self was right. 'Agreed,' he said trying to think of nothing. The world turned dark.

. . . . .

It was very hard to wake up. By sheer effort of will, he forced himself to concentrate: to reconcile the different ideas occupying his mind: enjoyment of the comfort and ease of a young man's body, even in this dream scape, and simultaneously the power and complexity of the ancient wizard's magic and the astonishing things he knew. He found himself smiling. There had only ever been the one soul and it had reintegrated. The sound of a child's agonised wailing broke through his self-absorption.

He was in a place that looked like Platform nine and three quarters, or rather a pale representation of it, empty of people except for a boy on his knees beside a bench; the crying was coming from underneath it. 'Let me take care of it, Harry,' he said.

Excellent! thought Lucius. Just as he got himself sorted out, there was another presence in his head; one which was effortlessly dominant.

Under the bench was what looked like a deformed and partially flayed baby. No wonder it cried. He reached out to discover that his 'hand' was only hand shaped and composed, apparently of light. At its touch the 'baby' seemed to collapse into a dirt encrusted strip of something, its torn edges faintly gleaming: a torn fragment of Tom Riddle's soul. Gently, he wrapped it around the others. The new arrival in Lucius head felt only compassion.

Harry was staring at him. 'I'm dead, aren't I?'

This happened the last time, he thought. Harry went back. His heart stopped in the chamber. He can return.

'It's Ok,' said Harry. I'll see my parents again.'

Why not? thought Lucius, and although he sensed that the other didn't approve, he knew that he would be allowed and his desire was sufficient. They were there: James and Lily, moving towards them, seizing hold of their son and wrapping themselves around him. Lucius turned away. Let them explain.

After a time that wasn't Harry said: 'I'm ready to go back now.'

The child wasn't of course, but still he had a life to be lived. 'It will get better,' said Lucius. 'I promise.' And that too had been Lucius rather than the angel; if that's what indeed it was. Harry vanished and then Lucius was kneeling on the grass with Sal. The ring, wand, cloak and soul fragment were all gone. And so was something else. Even without baring his arm, he could feel it. He looked anyway. Gone. Lucius grinned.

The wards were reporting forty or more individuals approaching the manor, one of them with unrestricted access. Not for long. He got to his feet.

'Hallows is gone?' said Sal.

'I don't understand either,' Lucius said. I'm going to trap our visitors within the wards. I may have to set fire to things. If I need to stay to hold the wards, if I ask you to, promise me that you will leave at once and stay away. Harry will need you.'

'Sal promises.' The elf presented the very picture of dejection. Sod it, thought Lucius. 'How about some champagne, hench-elf? Or would you prefer butter beer? On the grass in the rose garden below the terrace.'

He arrived to find the oblong where the grass paths met occupied by a small, white painted, iron table and chair, covered in blue coloured cushions, an iced bucket of champagne. a pair of glasses and a bottle of butterbeer. 'Where's your chair, Sal? Another arrived. Lucius lengthened its legs.

'Umbrella?' Sal suggested.'

'Perfect.'

Umbrella in place, Lucius sat down and took some time just to be alive. The garden was lovely at this time of year and it had been so long since he had seen the sky. Well, his younger self had, of course. The elf was sitting very upright and stiff in his chair. A small plate of smoked almonds had appeared on the table. Lucius sipped his champagne and took one. 'Sal,' he said, 'you need to relax a bit more. Sprawl out on the cushions. That's better. A hench-elf, especially a Malfoy hench-elf, should look as though he's enjoying life.'

'Yes . . .'

'Lucius,' the wizard said firmly.

'Yes, Lucius,'

The Dark Arse and his minions had passed the fountain with the tritons that marked the innermost boundary of the outer ward. The revocation of his stolen privilege took no more than words and a little blood. Riddle was still moving inwards. Lucius fully activated the wards and closed the trap. Nothing now would enter or leave except that he willed it.

Except, of course, for a phoenix.

And, of course, anyone transported by a phoenix.

'Professor Dumbledore.'

The old mage startled, having thought himself invisible, and pulled his wand. He looked singed and somewhat battered. Also slightly concussed, although that might have been his reaction to Sal. Fawkes appeared, circling overhead and Lucius conjured a perch and a large bowl of fruit and crystallised ginger. Hello old friend, he thought. The bird landed warbling happily.. Lucius could recall the phoenix plunging into molten gold, burning until nothing remained but the metal infused with the phoenix's essence. A soft trill and he was again being groomed. Comforted, he bent to rest his face against the bird's brilliant feathers.

Dumbledore dropped the disillusionment. 'Mr. Malfoy . . ..'

Lucius straightened. 'What happened to you?'

'Riddle happened. You're looking far better than I had been led to expect.'

'Master of Death,' said Lucius. 'Whatever that means. The wand, ring and cloak have vanished. To the good, so has my Dark Mark. Politely, he conjured up a comfy chair. 'Champagne?'

'Thank you, not just now.' Pulling from his pocket a box, Dumbledore opened it to reveal Hufflepuff's cup and placed it on the table 'I suppose that might explain why it stopped being a horcrux,' he said. 'If Tom doesn't realise that, we might use it for leverage. I don't suppose you have thought of any way we might go about rescuing Professor McGonagal? And Madame Bones, of course, but the horcruxes are the main problem.'

The old wizard was trying, he would give him that, and it would be better for Severus if Dumbledore were more kindly disposed towards former Death Eaters. 'Call me Lucius.'

'Albus.'

From the distance, there was a scream. 'Devil's Snare,' Lucius remarked. 'Probably. Actually, I wonder if it might not be possible to rescue most of them. Do you remember Bellatrix as a child?

'Very spirited,' said Dumbledore diplomatically.

'Precisely. That slavish mindset never was her. And she changed so suddenly.'

You think 'Imperius?'

There was a pop and Kreacher and Tess arrived, holding hands and looking very pleased with themselves. 'Reinforcements is standing ready in the Black Keep,' said Tess. 'For when you is opening wards.'

'First,' said Sal, from sprawled amongst his cushions, 'for rescuing, we must be taking away and locking up minionses. Sneaking up behind them. Elves is very, very good at sneaking. Sal is volunteering to sneak up behind and pinch minions . . ..' He'd vanished.

Even Fawkes was staring.

'Sal is a free elf.' The elves exchanged looks. 'He is also my hench-elf.'

'Not respectable,' grumbled Kreacher. Tess vanished. Lucius directed Dumbledore to the comfy chair and insisted that he sat down.

Sal popped back with something, or rather someone, wrapped in a wet sheet, cursing weekly and attempting to extricate himself. Dumbledore gestured and the lump subsided. Sal clicked his fingers: and the covering vanished.

'Rookwood,' said Lucius. 'Put him in the nursery.' Sal took the Death Eater away. 'Inescapable,' Lucius explained. 'Relatively easy to get people in and out of.'

Dumbledore nodded sagely.

Another pop. 'Tess is Severus Snape's hench-elf,' she reported triumphantly.

'Where is Severus,' Lucius asked.

'Tess only able to bring herself through wards.'

A pop announced Sal's gleeful reappearance with another cursing bundle. 'They is not noticing yet.'

'Sal, are you able to transport anyone through the wards?'

The elf considered. 'Not now. Wards is being much stronger now.

'Later on, if necessary and if you can, take our guests to the Black Keep. Protect yourself first though.''

'For now, Sal should continue to pinch minionses?'

'Use the defensive garden features for distraction,' said Lucius and Sal grinned. In the meantime . . . He concentrated and the manor's roads and paths started rewinding themselves. Kreacher, do you know where the nursery is?

'Of course master.'

'Help Sal and keep an eye on our guests, if you would.'

'Kreacher will attend guests, master.' He, sheet and contents vanished.

'Tess can be helping Sal?' the elf asked shyly. Sal took her hand and they were gone.

'If you open the wards. . . .' Dumbledore began.

'Then they will flee. We will lose two horcruxes. He will make more.'

'Without the elder wand even . . . perhaps especially in Minerva's body, I fear that Riddle may have the advantage.'

'Not against fiendfire. Not within these wards.'

'You would condemn . . ..'

'To end this? said Lucius. Yes. Let's hope it does not come to that. I die the moment I cast against Riddle but I can prevent interference. If you want to bring in back up, you might consider how many Fawkes can take out.'

'Fawkes had extreme difficulty bringing me in.'

Lucius sat down and conjured a tea tray. After a while, Dumbledore helped himself to a jam tart.

Eleven more bundles had made their way to the nursery before a green and yellow topiary lion sprang roaring into life, bounding away through the shrubbery.

Dumbledore got his feet underneath him. 'Relax,' said Lucius, knowing all about old bones. 'They do that sometimes.' The old wizard subsided.

Lucius had added up the numbers and reached a conjecture. 'He's emptied Azkaban.'

'I would imagine that he intends to drain life force from from the others.'

'Probably,' said Lucius, brightening. 'Well, that's one good thing: keeping people out of Azkaban is easier than actually getting them out.'

'They are not all innocent.'

'No one should be food for dementors.'

'I would agree but . . ..'

Something seemed to shift and Lucius found himself really looking at Dumbledore with an understanding that was beyond human, nonetheless, supplying information. The old man had lost his way when he had lost his lover. He tried: acting a faith he could no longer truly feel; needing to trust but crippled by his own insecurities and crushed under the weight of other people's expectations. Lucius wanted to be angry at him but was finding it difficult for which he blamed the angel. He also had to persuade the old mage to continue his mission should he fall.

'No one should be food for dementors,' he reiterated. 'You have my permission to use legilimancy.' Dumbledore drew his wand and Lucius showed him the future that had been.

'Mr. Malfoy . . ..'

'Lucius.'

'Lucius, there is some thing in your mind.'

'I believe it to be an effect of having had all three of the Deathly Hallows. It is not evil. You should not let it worry you.' He smiled. 'Although I do have to wonder what sort of bridge it was the brothers built.'

'A portal of some sort?'

'Maybe.' Lucius bared his forearm, 'The Dark Mark did not survive contact.' He shook his head. 'I don't have the Hallows any more.'

'Are you quite sure? Where could they have gone?'

Without consciously thinking, Lucius turned the question to the other presence in his mind and then he knew: he knew altogether too much; he had to let it go, to turn away and hide if he hoped to remain Lucius Malfoy. The presence withdrew. Seemingly from some vast internal distance he watched himself stand up. There was something immense where the grass of the rose garden met the drive. The outer triangle was silvery and partly translucent. By contrast, line and circle or sphere or something else was impossibly black. A line of green fire appeared, opening like a cat's iris where they intersected. He had the distinct impression that it was watching him.

Logically, it should have blocked his view but it didn't. At the same time as he could see the Dark Lord and his retinue straggling up the drive he could see this thing appearing both flat and solid, and he knew that it looked like that from whatever angle it was viewed, despite the fact that it didn't appear to move. At least it would look that way for humans. The Hallowgate, supplied the angel and Lucius knew that he would never again lightly use Avada Kedavra. Such a being aught not to be commanded. When he could think again, it had become darker and much colder. He looked up to see a roiling sky full of dementors.

'What foolery is this, Lucius?' McGonagal, possessed by Riddle, was standing almost close enough to touch the Hallowgate.

'It's not possible to summon them,' murmured Dumbledore, referring to the horcruxes. 'Can she pass through it?

'Yes,' said Lucius. 'Without harm.'

Riddle blocked the summoning charm and was starting to move back when Sal appeared beside him. A snap of the fingers and the Dark Lord wearing McGonagal's body was launched forwards and upwards like a football.

The instant she had passed through the portal she reverted to felinity. Twisting mid-air and landing gracefully, ears down and hackles up, the cat shot under the table and then turned, hissing, to face the incomers, most of the whom were collapsing to the ground. The sky turned red, darkening to near black before brightening as the outer wards ruptured. If he could have felt anything, it would, he thought, have been stark terror. He watched the dementors spiralling down only to disappear silently through the portal. When they had all gone, the Hallowgate folded into itself in a way that was eye watering and entirely disturbing and, along with the presence, disappeared.

Lucius drew a deep breath. While he had no doubt that he would, at some point in the future, be grateful, it had been too much. He refilled his glass and emptied it.

'Mr. Malfoy?' said Dumbledore. 'Lucius?' An auror was helping Madame Bones up.

Lucius sat down and put his head in his hands.

'I suppose that I should be grateful to you,' mused Dumbledore, if you had let me have the ring, you might have had difficulty getting it back and then where would we be?'

'I never want to see any of the Hallows again.'

He pulled himself together. After a very, very long lifetime, he had been rather proud of his mind. Now it felt somehow ripped open and expanded, something like a fresh breeze was blowing through it and he was experiencing an irritatingly youthful compulsion to act. 'What do you think she would say to you, Albus?' he asked. 'What is there that you could do for Ariana?' Go and make up with your brother.' Madam Bones was on her feet and on her way over. 'But first, can I ask you to deal with the ones that I can't send to the nursery?'

Dumbledore patted his shoulder and wandered off. Professor McGonagal emerged from under the table and, returning to human, gave him a very caustic look. Lucius apparated to the Keep where he was nearly knocked flying by his son. He wrapped his arms around the boy and let his wife, (Narcissa, after so long mourned, alive), hold them both. 'The nursery is full of the people from Azkaban,' he told her. It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. But she had a right to know.

'I'll take care of it,' she said. 'Riddle is gone?'

'Gone and no one was hurt.' Lucius looked up to see Ministry personnel, former Death Eaters who had refused to answer Riddle's summons and members of the Order of the Phoenix staring at him. Reinforcements. They had not been necessary but now he had an opportunity. 'I had the wand and the stone and the Harry sent me the cloak. For a very brief time I was Master of Death. I opened the Hallowgate and Sal, my elf, pushed Riddle through it. Professor McGonagall is fine.' Moody disapparated. The rest of them stared. 'I intend to celebrate. You are all very welcome to join me. As are your families. You'll want to tell them first, of course. Narcissa, you're good at this . . ..'

'Champagne and nibbles?' Narcissa smiled.

. . . . .

It was a very strange party, with most people dressed just as they had been when they received the invitation. It started with champagne and then little pies and cakes and finger food. More and more people were arriving and Lucius was wondering where the supplies were coming from. 'Petunia's out with Mitty raiding twenty-four hour supermarkets in the greater London area,' confided Narcissa.

'Good grief.'

'She's very resourceful, you know. I suppose that muggles have to be.'

The lift opened and a raiding party of young children headed by Cartimandua Goyle, bearing a large water gun, emerged and made off with a large Black Forest Gateau, raspberry roulade. ice cream and fruit pies. Perhaps I should check on them, said Lucius. He took the stairs, unsurprised to find himself being followed by Gandolf Goyle and Molly Weasley. Leaving the stairwell they were nearly run down by a shrieking gang of five to ten year olds pursued by a large quilted crocodile snapping its cloth teeth and looking surprisingly ferocious.

'Lucius,' said Gandolf. 'Why was it ticking?'

'It's from a muggle children's entertainment. 'There's a small TV lounge set up upstairs, if I can find someone to press the buttons.' Gandolf and Molly exchanged looks. Lucius led the way to the gymnasium where a snowball fight was under way, overseen by an elf with a tureen of hot chocolate. Rather more elves than were perhaps strictly necessary to watch the children were sitting in the back of the cinema watching something involving lots of explosions. Some of them were holding hands. One of them came out.

'Can we be helping yous?'

'I wanted to show them how well our younger guest were being taken care of,' said Lucius.

Swelling with pride, the elf led the grand tour. As the door shut on a room full of sleeping toddlers, Lucius thought that Molly might cry. Lucius took her arm and escorted her back to her family to discover that a special edition of the 'Prophet' had been delivered carrying a surprisingly accurate rendition of events along with the news that Bartemeus Crouch junior had shown up at Saint Mungo's alive but unable to remember even his own name and been sent to the Janus Thickey ward.

By the time the fireworks went off over the loch there were perhaps a thousand people in and around the Black Keep.. It might have been the realisation of the close call they had had or the miraculous disappearance of the dementors but it had been a surprisingly peaceful evening so far. Lucius discovered Draco (where else) on a broom overflying the keep. What no longer surprised him was the people with him.

'Harry, if I could have a word.' The boy swooped down and they found quiet place to talk.

'I'm sorry, Harry, I no longer have your father's cloak . . ..'

'That doesn't matter. Draco's still got you. ''

'I was going to say that I can't replace if but I do know where there are other cloaks and I can arrange to purchase . . ..'

'. . . and anyway, I don't think it was mine. Not really. You needed it to open the portal.' Lucius looked at him. 'I did want to thank you, though. Things are much better like this.' For a moment he looked as if he might say more but instead he mounted his broom and launched himself into the night.

'Either must die at the hand of the other,' murmured Dumbledore from behind him. 'It never occurred to me that Harry might appoint a champion.'

'Is that what you think happened.'

'I did say that I thought that Harry's power was love.'

Lucius remembered what he knew about time and the persistence of certain events and tried to convincee himself that there was absolutely no need for him to throw the hairy old aggravation from a great height personally. Searching within himself, he could find no trace of the angel. Around him a little world of relieved and happy witches and wizards continued to party on into the night. He was the hero of the hour: the first part of his mission was complete. His duty to the future remained but it didn't terrify him.

All, he was sure, would be well.