The Senior Project

Chapter 19

Albus Dumbledore sat in his study leafing through a draft of the Annual Report to be presented to the board of Governors at their next meeting. He had tried to sleep, but the twisting currents of emotion in the castle were audibly different than usual, and he knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily – even with the help of the always soporific Annual Report. Given the number of teenage students in the castle, the ebbs and flows of emotions created a low cacophony that reminded him of an orchestra warming up before a performance, and while it was always present, it was usually nothing more than a background hum. Tonight however, he heard new sounds – not the usual sounds of teenage angst, or even the melodious oboe that he had learned to recognize as Hermione Granger’s developing sense of responsibility for the life of another.

He took for granted that he could sense the changing temperaments of the school’s inhabitants, although he wasn’t sure if that was a talent that he obtained once he became Headmaster, or if he had become Headmaster because he had always had always been able to detect the moods of others. Regardless of when it occurred, it was a sense that had served him well in the past, and he was certain that the presence of the new elements in the ‘orchestra’ were an indication that tonight was not going to be a restful night.

Distracting him from his parchments was a loud but unsteady bass drum (Severus, no doubt), a blatting flugelhorn (Minerva – a sound that was so ironically suited to her when her emotions ran high) and something new. He focused on the sound, struggling to identify it, as the sound was lost in the noise, only to emerge briefly before retreating into the normal tumult. Finally his mind latched onto the sound – a harpsichord. A harpsichord? The old wizard’s eyes widened in amazement, the audacity of the man! He had dealt with the man enough to recognize the sound, and yet rather than the pounding Handel that he often associated with the wizard in question, the emotion came through as halting and hesitant.

Sighing, he sat back in his chair, watching Fawkes sleep. It wasn’t like Lucius to be halting or hesitant. Severus, certainly on occasion, and Draco frequently, although less so as of late, but not Lucius. Not even fathering a child with a Muggleborn witch should change the intensity of the emotions that the blonde wizard experienced. However, it had caused him to leak information about a Deatheater raid to Hermione, so perhaps the man was mellowing. He shook his head at the thought. That still didn’t explain the emotional hesitation that he sensed. Nor was there anything thatcoulcould do about it at this point. He’d have to wait and see how things developed.

Reluctantly, he turned back to the parchment on his desk, listening for any subtle changes in the symphony of the castle.

&&&&

Lucius paused, leaning heavily on his as as his eyes lost focus, waiting until his head cleared and he could walk without stumbling. Every step felt as though he had lead weights attached to his feet, but he couldn’t risk apparating. In his condition it was almost certain that he’d splinch himself. He was filled with an overwhelming desire rest for a just a few minutes. He stopped again, feeling his eyelids drooping. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. He couldn’t stop now. He had things to do. Forcing his feet in front of him, he made his way to the ornate doorway and rapped feebly with his cane.

&&&&

“Lord Voldemort has demanded that my wife and son be presented to him in 72 hours. Less than that now. I will not have that happen. That is why I am here.”

The aging Headmaster nodded; Lucius didn’t usually have a tendency to state his business directly. Of course, the always formal Malfoy had also collapsed into the nearest guest chair without waiting for an invitation. Further inspection revealed a few small twigs in the famous blonde hair, and brushes of dust on the silver trim of the black robes. His words sounded forced and slightly confused. Something was definitely not right. “Your wife? What does Voldemort want with Narcissa? I thought that she had left this region for the more northerly climes.”

“Narcissa is not my wife.” Albus Dumbledore found himself fighting a smile at the acidity in Lucius’ voice, even in his current condition. “Hermione. My wife. My future wife. The woman bearing my child.” Mab’s knickers. How dense was the Headmaster?

“Your wife? I believe that she is betrothed to your son. Not to you.” It had to be said. He had to judge how clear Lucius’ mind was at the moment. While it was obvious that plans would have to be made, he wanted to gauge the blonde wizard’s mindset.

“Damnit, you old fool! I do not have time for this.” He paused, his voice shaking with frustration and exertion. “Hermione is carrying my child, and will be my wife. t ist is not my concern right now. My concern is that she and Draco must be protected from Lord Voldemort. If you cannot help me, I will have to find someone that will.” He reached for his cane, ready to struggle to stand up, but the Headmaster’s shaking head stopped him.

“Lucius. Please. Do not be angry with me. I am fully aware that Hermione’s child is yours, and I have some sense of the feelings that Ms. Granger has toward you. I had to assure myself that things were as they seemed, and not something else.”

Gods. Did the old wizard think he’d be here simply to give him false information? Obviously so. The room spun suddenly, and the blonde wizard realized that he was in no shape to continue. “Headmaster. I am not in a condition to discuss details right now. I must, ah, I must get some rest. Lord Voldemort’s ‘request’ was phrased in a manner such that I would not be likely to forget it. My body must recover before I can plan the protection of my family.”

“Indeed. Although might I suggest that you stay in the guest housing here at Hogwarts? It will save you the inconvenience of apparating to the Manor.”

Malfoy nodded and watched as the old wizard tapped on the stone wall behind his desk, revealing a passage to the guest housing. Trying not to show his physical distress, he stood up slowly and walked carefully through the archway.

Albus Dumbledore watched the younger wizard leaving the office before turning his mind back to the momentous thing that had just taken place. In a few halting sentences, Lucius Malfoy had admitted to caring about Hermione, not wanting to see his son join him as a Death Eater, while also implying that he would like to see Voldemort removed. The old wizard smiled to himself; a new wizard baby was always a blessing, and this one just possibly more so.

&&&&

Hermione slept fitfully the rest of the night, awakening with an uneasy feeling. Unable to rationally attribute the feeling to a specific source, she brushed it off as yet another side-effect of the pregnancy. She felt better after showering and dressing, and giving herself an extra boost of confidence by making sure that she had Lucius’ signet ring around her neck. By the time she got to the Gryffindor common room she was feeling almost human.

Harry wasn’t there, and she wasn’t surprised. It was actually a bit of a relief to not have to see him. Ginny Weasley, however, had obviously been waiting for her, the red-headed witch giving her a hesitant nod of approval at her clothing selection. “Not bad, Herm. We need to do some work on your hair, but I think it’s a good start.” Smiling conspiratorially, Ginny began to prattle on about the latest fashions in robes, and Hermione nodded, thankful that the younger woman was comfortable talking without expecting much of a response from her listener.

Luckily, Ginny was such a font of information concerning wardrobe and hairstyles that Hermione only had to grunt her assent three times before she found herself in the Great Hall, and was able to extricate herself from the younger woman’s clutches with a parting, “Thanks so much for the advice, although I’m sure that I’m still going to need your help every step of the way.” Not looking back, she escaped to the Head Table, grateful for Draco’s hesitant but sincere smile, and even more grateful for the welcome absence of Severus. The last feelings of unease dissipated as she buttered her toast and mentally prepared for the day.

&&&&

Her mind still teasing out the implications of a particularly knotty Transfigurations question that had arisen just before classes ended for lunch, Hermione wasn’t aware of the guest at the Head Table until she was well inside the Great Hall. Looking up to the front of the room, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of long blonde hair, black robes, and noble profile sitting next to Albus and an empty chair.

Lucius? What was he doing here? And talking to Dumbledore, of all people? Oh gods. And an empty chair. Maybe she could just casually slip into it, and at least have the chance to talk to him while he was here. Or possibly even touch him – just on the leg, of course, to be safe – under the table, where no one would see. To see him again so soon. Almost unconsciously, her fingers felt for his signet ring under her robes as she watched him talk with the Headmaster, the Hall too noisy to catch any of their conversation. She was shocked out of her reverie when a third-year Hufflepuff accidentally bumped into her. Her face flushed as she realized she was standing and staring, and she force her feet to carry her up to the front of the room.

Luckily, the seat was still open when she got the table, and she put her book bag down by the chair before pulling it out, barely glimpsing at the head of blonde hair next to her, afraid that even a simple glance might tell everyone in the Great Hall that she was carrying his child.

She sat down and scooted her chair in clumsily, inadvertently drawing the attentions of the blonde wizard and the Headmaster to her. “Ah. Ms. Granger. I believe you know our esteemed guest, Lucius Malfoy.” The old wizard smiled pleasantly but said nothing else.

Hermione nodded. “Yes. It’s, ah, a pure,ure,” she fought a blush, “to see you again, sir.” She extended her hand her to him, and smiled shyly when he reached for it and kissed the back of it. She decided that the nerves were certainly a result of the fear that the entire school body was watching this interaction with interest.

Lucius smiled back, although his eyes were guarded, and Hermione detected a hint of something she couldn’t identify. “A pleasure. And please, call me Lucius.” Hermione smiled, wondering for whose benefit the last statement was.

“Certainly, Lucius. But only if you call me Hermione.” Beezlebub’s breath! That sounded so stilted! Especially when she wanted to throw her arms around him, and ask him what was troubling him; despite his immaculate presentation, he looked tired, and there was definitely something wrong if he was here, chatting with Professor Dumbledore.

“Of course, Hermione. Albus was just saying that the school’s Governor’s really should take more of an opportunity to get to know the students here. That it would give us a better perspective on how to manage the facility. I, ah, couldn’t agree with him more. So I have taken up a temporary residence in the school’s guest quarters. To see how things are run on a daily basis.”

Hermione nodded, filing away the information about where he was staying and briefly wondered if she could borrow Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. No. Definitely not. Not after their last encounter. Even now she noticed him studiously avoiding looking up at the Head table.

Just as she was about to respond, she noticed Lucius’ attention drawn away from hers as Severus approached the table to take his own seat. The two men nodded curtly at one another, the dark haired wizard’s scowl deeper than usual, while the blonde’s response was that of a piercing gaze. Lucius quickly turned back to Dumbledore, but risked brushing his hand across the top of Hermione’s thigh in a reassuring gesture. She ran her fingers lightly over the top of his before beginning her meal, feeling slightly more comfortable.

She spent the rest of the meal listening to her child’s father talk to the Headmaster of her school about salaries (interestingly, Lucius seemed to be somewhat in favor of giving the faculty a raise), the curriculum (although there was no mention of the DADA classes, something that Hermione found to be amusing), and the school grou(Luc(Lucius had read about a Whomping Willow being accidentally cross-bred with a poppy, resulting in a Whomping Wildflower and suggested that some level of care be taken so that cross-breeds could be kept to a minimum – a statement that was followed by the blonde shifting slightly in his chair, so that his thigh could gently press against her own).

While she made a few small contributions to the conversation (suggesting that Divination should be continued as an elective, and not added as a required course, and giggling at the possibility of a Whomping Waterlily) she mostly listened, observing Lucius with a sideways glance, and studying Severus’ and Draco’s reactions to Lucius’ presence (Severus was trying overly hard to ignore the blonde – and failing miserably, while Draco caught her eye more than once, giving her a blatantly curious look each time).

As lunch was ending, Lucius risked one more brush of his fingers against Hermione’s thighs before excusing himself and approaching his son. The Headmaster turned to Hermione and asked her if he might spare a few minutes of her time before the afternoon session of classes. Nodding, Hermione followed the old wizard out of the Great Hall, unaware of the ferocious glare directed at her from Severus Snape.


A/N: Okay. Majorly overdue author’s note. First of all, yes I am alive. (Obviously. Although I am sure that there were times when that was in question!) I gon gone through some major life changes, including moving in with my ski racing coach. That has brought great joy, and great angst into my life, as well as three poodles, two more cats, and two fish, as well as about 10,000 mice. Like any shock to the systI amI am still adjusting to the whole thing. (Especially since in my online diary, I have been referring to the ski coach as ‘Mr. Volatile’ for the last two years.) It’s a good thing, and I’m very happy about it, just l a l a little overwhelmed.

I can’t promise regular updates. Unless by regular, you mean like, erm, monthly. As well as my personal live getting drastically more complicated, I am getting busier at work, with several of my own research projects in the design and implementation stages. Still, I am trying to write when I find a few minutes, and would like to continue with this. It just may not happen in the most timely of manners. Still. I haven’t given up on this, no matter how much it seems like I have.

Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed this story in the last several months. I really appreciate your thoughts and while the Muses have been on a bit of a vacation, they are being reined in again, with threats of being shackled to the desk until something good happens. That cracking noise is the whip. Just ignore it!