The Senior Project

A/N: First, yeah, I am still alive. My real life has just been interfering with the my online life, in a pretty serious way (some good, some not so much, but that is life, is it not?). Anyway, my brother bought me the audio copy of The Half-Blood Prince for Christmas, and as I’ve been listening to it (I had read the book shortly after it came out – a good friend of mine lent me hers), I have had a couple of thoughts. First, I need to finish this story. I can’t leave it hanging. Second, this is clearly AU; Lucius isn’t in prison, other people are still among the living, I’m ignoring the whole ‘half-blood’ thing, etc., etc. Tough. I am keeping the characters that I like, the way I like them. If you want this to be canon, go read the books. Third, I’m really struggling with Severus. I think I know which way he’s going to go – in this story, at least. But I’m still wrestling with it. Forgive me if he seems a little schizophrenic. And again, sorry for the hideous delays in updating.

*****

Chapter 24

“Help you find your rooms? Surely the cruciatus didn’t affect your short-term memory that much.” Hermione grinned coyly.

Lucius smiled. “Not the cruciatus as much as my ‘advanced age’.”

The young witch giggled. “’Advanced age’ my wand. You’re just barely reaching the age where wizards turn back into real human beings again. I really think that any wizard under the age of 30 shouldn’t be let out without a keeper.”

“Oh, and you’ve got a great deal of experience with that?” His eyes mocked her gently in the torchlight, as they opened the passage that led to the guest quarters.

Lucius pulled Hermione to him with one arm, his arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist. After tonight’s meeting of the Order, Hermione didn’t care who saw them. Still, she was a bit relieved that they didn’t run into Peeves – there was a difference between running into a few very skittish first years, and having their relationship broadcast through the halls at high volume. That would happen soon enough, as it was.

“I believe you are well acquainted with my experience,” she mocked him in return, and then fell suddenly silent. It was so fascinating how just being in his presence could give her the courage to face her fears.

“I think it went rather well tonight, don’t you?” she asked after a pause.

The blonde nodded. “I was really quite surprised with the degree of acceptance that we received. In truth, I would have expected Minerva’s reaction to be more along the line of suggesting that I be strung up by my balls.” Hermione’s lips twisted into a wry smile. Not too many weeks ago, she would have expected the same thing. “And the Weasleys. I doubt Molly will ever warm to me, but Arthur was surprisingly welcoming.”

“I think Mrs-Molly will always been a bit defensive. That whole issue with Ginny didn’t exactly endear you to her.”

“Regrettable,” Lucius muttered, a hint of his aloof, aristocratic-self visible in the dim light. Hermione couldn’t prevent the small grin that appeared on her face; Lucius had a checkered past, and a personality that could be acerbic at best at times, and she loved him despite it. Or for it. Or just possibly because there were elements of his temperament that so well matched her own.

Hermione continued. “Arthur seemed to think you were heaven-sent, though. And he carries a lot of weight with that lot. Once we got him on our side, I think the tide was turned.”

The blonde drew her more tightly to him. “You were magnificent. You managed to quiet all dissention, even before I could respond.”

“Sorry. I just thought it would be better coming from me, first. After all, I am the Head Girl, respectable, and honest as the day is long.” It wasn’t an apology, and they both knew there was no need for one.

“And betrothed to a former Death Eater with questionable acquaintances.” Lucius’ voice held the slightest hint of humor.

“Well. Yes. But I engendered respectability, and was made Head Girl long before they began to know about my, er, unsavory alliances.” She smiled, her eyes flashing in the low light.

“Unsavory, to say the least. And I fully intend to uphold that reputation tonight.” The wizard leered.

“I should hope so. I’m not going to defend your honor, only to have you become all respectable on me,” she replied, smiling.

“Don’t worry about my reputation. It is firmly intact.” The leer widened.

“I’m not,” she responded, attempted to sound severe, and failing. “But what about the meeting. What about Severus?” She hated to bring it up, but she wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy her betrothed if she couldn’t discuss the minor explosion that had occurred.

Lucius was caught somewhat off-guard at her change of topics, but understood Hermione’s need to process the meeting. He was of a similar tendency, although in the last several years he had drowned that need in expensive brandy. “ Severus? His stomping out of room had that histrionic flair that is so, ah, melodramatic. And so Severus.”

The witch nodded. “But do you think he’s dangerous? I mean, do you think-“

“Do I think he’s going to go to Lord Voldemort?” He paused, his voice suddenly serious. “I don’t know. I think there will be a great deal of people who will try to prevent that – Albus, even Draco. And I think that Albus will know if Severus leaves the grounds. But can anyone actually prevent him from going to the Dark Lord? No. Severus will do what he’s going to do. But the Dark Lord obviously already questions my loyalty – if Severus goes to him now, I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference at this point. For Severus or for us.”

They had reached the guest rooms. Lucius leaned his cane against the stone wall and opened the door with his free hand, ushering Hermione in. When he closed the door behind them, he finally spoke again. “Let’s not worry about it tonight, my love. We cannot control the actions of others. Only our own. And the only actions I want to focus on right now are the ones that involve you. And me.” He gave a lascivious grin, and Hermione felt her body grow hot.

“I like that idea. For so many reasons.” She felt momentarily shy. “I wish we could just escape the world – just the two – three,” she correctly quickly, “the three of us, and not have all of this hanging over us.”

Lucius enveloped her in his arms, his grip encircling her. “Tonight, my love, we will. It is just us. The three of us,” he added with a smile, his lips brushing her ear. “Saving the world will just have to wait awhile.” Hermione nodded, turning her face up to his.

Their lips met, softly at first, and then more insistently, their teeth clashing as they sought to devour each other, to lose themselves in each other. The witch slid her hands through Lucius’ hair, holding his head to hers. When they broke away for breath, she slid her lips across his cheek. “Lucius, my love. I’ve missed you. I’ve needed you.”

“Hermione. Love. My life. I don’t exist without you.” He murmured endearments – truths, at that – as his hands slid from her shoulders and down her back, his fingers caressing and groping, trying to encompass all of her at once.

Her hands sought the clasp of his cloak, her fingers fumbling with it briefly before she was able to release the catch and take the heavy fabric in her hands and deposit it on the waiting chair. Lucius’ hands reached for the broach on her own robes, but she caught his hand, briefly shaking her head. Removing the ornate pin, she slipped out of her robes, and out of her shoes, blouse and skirt, before she stood in front of him, clad only in her panties and bra, the slight bulge of their child visible in the low light. Kissing him briefly on the lips, she began to unbutton his silk shirt, her fingertips brushing against his bare skin.

His body, already charged with adrenaline and testosterone, leapt at her touch. This woman consumed him. His body was battered and worn, but her touch made him feel whole. Helping her, he divested himself of his pants and his boots. Hermione’s tongue touched his lips as her hand found his stiff shaft. “Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” They both grinned inanely at the age-worn phrase. She became more focused as Lucius’ free hand caressed her belly before sliding between her legs, his fingers stroking her through the silk of her panties.

Groaning involuntarily, Hermione pressed her pelvis against his hand. His touch inflamed her, her senses heightened, as much by her pregnancy as by the knowledge that they had all night together.

“My dear.” The rest of the words were unspoken as Lucius gestured toward the bedroom. Hermione nodded dumbly, her hands trailing over his bare shoulders.

Lucius had clearly taken a few minutes to decorate the bedroom to suit his tastes, Hermione noted briefly as she stood before Lucius who sat on the edge of the fur-covered bed. He quickly unhooked her bra, his mouth suckling at her breasts. She held his head to her, his tongue teasing delicate patterns on her hardened nipple. Her breathing came quicker, the familiar dense heat pooling in her belly.

Leaning back, she removed her lover’s mouth from her breast, wanting to taste him, needing to feel him. Their mouths met and she buried her fingers in his loose hair, their tongues toying with each other, as Lucius’ hands snaked down her body, easing her panties off her. He pulled his mouth away, taking in the sight of her; her swollen lips, her full breasts, her eyes bright. With a smooth move, he eased her onto his lap, her slick folds parting for him.

Hermione gave a deep groan as her flesh met his, and she squirmed in pleasure, settling herself. Her squirming became a more recognizable rhythm, and Lucius pressed his hips upward. The young witch gasped as her tender nub of flesh found the right amount of pressure and contact. Flames shot through her body as the heat began to grow. Wanting to see Hermione lose herself in her pleasure, the blonde wizard’s fingertips began to graze her breasts, while his mouth sought hers again.

The witch ground her hips again his, repeatedly, the rhythm becoming faster, more insistent, her arms tightening around his broad shoulders as her core exploded in a burst of white heat. Lucius’ own body responded to hers, and his orgasm came quickly after hers, his breathing ragged against her shoulders.

As her pounding heart started to calm, Hermione looked at her lover, apologetically, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I just couldn’t last any longer.”

Lucius chuckled, their bodies still joined. “And I was just about to say the same thing. But we’ve got all night, my love. And the rest of our lives.” He wrapped his arms around her tighter.

Later that night they lay together, their limbs entwined, as they spoke drowsily. “Young Desiderio – he’s doing well?”

Hermione pushed herself up on her elbow. “Desiderio? Who?”

Lucius smiled, lazily stroking her belly. “The babe. I’ve just always thought of him as Desiderio. Or perhaps Ursus. Both are family names. But he seemed to me a Desiderio.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you have another name for him, already.”

Hermione giggled shyly. “He’s always seemed like a Finbar to me.”

“Finbar?” The incomprehension in the blonde’s voice made her giggle again, more confident this time.

“Finbar,” she replied, more firmly. “It’s Gaelic. It means white head. But that’s not why, I just always thought of him as Finbar. Couldn’t tell you why. It just seemed to fit.”

“Finbar,” Lucius repeated, slowly getting used to the odd name. “And if he’s a girl?”

The young witch failed to smother yet another laugh. “Then Finbar would be a horrible name. And she’s going to have a hard enough time as it is.”

The blonde sat up with a start. “’Hard time’? What do you mean? He – or she’ll have every comfort and advantage that a person can have.”

“Yeah. If she’s a girl, she will have everything, including a father who will hex anyone who even dares to look at her cockeyed. And when she starts dating? I pity the poor boys who come to court her.” She smiled, pleased that they could both think of the future – of something beyond the next few days.

Lucius chuckled in the dark. “You are probably right with that. Finbar it is.”

Hermione smiled, once again wrapping her arms around her betrothed, before drifting off to sleep in his arms.

&&&&&

“I have known your father for many more years that you have, Mr. Malfoy. If I must remind you.” Severus Snape’s voice was icy. “And,” he continued before Draco could interject, “In my experience, a Kneazle cannot change its spots.”

Draco glared uncomfortably at his godfather. “I don’t believe my father to be a Kneazle.”

“If you are so daft as to not understand my meaning, then this conversation is at an end. As it should be anyway. Lucius is a ruthless, heartless, rutting bastard. Nothing more. And nothing less.” The dark-haired wizard stood up, attempting to prematurely end the meeting.

Noticing the attempted brush-off, the blonde thought quickly. “If you are getting yourself something to drink, I’d appreciate a scotch,” Draco smiled. “Neat, please. Sir.” He added as an afterthought.

Severus turned to scowl at the young blonde. “Very well. Since I assume that I will be the one who will have to pick up the pieces when you discover that your father has not changed, but is merely attempting to save his own skin.”

“His own skin? What about my skin? Surely, Uncle, you’ve got some concern about me. We are blood relations, after all.”

“All purebloods are relations, to some extent or another,” the elder wizard responded dryly as he went to his sideboard to pour two scotches.

“Yes, but you’re my godfather, as well as my kin. That’s got to stand for something. Are you willing to turn me over to the Dark Lord, and hope that he goes easy on me? Or do you have some other plan, hidden up your tightly buttoned sleeve?”

Severus handed a crystal glass filled with amber liquid to Draco, and sat down, across from him. “Would I turn you over to the Dark Lord? Or do I have a plan to eliminate him?” After repeating Draco’s words, the dark-haired wizard pressed his lips together enigmatically before continuing. “Where do you think my loyalties lie?” Severus smiled a satisfied smile, convinced that he had discomfited his accuser.

The young blonde took a swallow of his scotch before responding. “Truly, I don’t know. You were a Death Eater, who’s been at Dumbledore’s side for years, an apparent member of his Order. And yet when the Dark Lord returned, you didn’t meet the untimely demise of some of the other reputed Death Eaters who didn’t seem so pleased with his return.”

Draco paused again. “If I were to hazard a guess, Uncle, I would say that you are no one’s man. You are your own man, sitting firmly on the fence, watching the wind patterns with a close eye. Nothing – no one – has pushed you to one side or the other. You are trying to play both sides, hoping that you can guess the right answer before you are forced to choose a side that might turn out to be the wrong one.” The blonde looked evenly at his Potions’ Master, attempting to gauge his reaction.

The reality was that Draco couldn’t discern his godfather’s reaction; the man seemed to be glowering at his expensive crystal glass.

“I was right before in stating that this conversation should have already ended.” The dark eyes flashed at the blonde wizard. “You do not know of what you speak.”

Draco set his glass down firmly. “I don’t, don’t I?” He tried to control the anger in his voice. “I’ve seen my father lick the boots of the Dark Lord, trying to curry favor. I’ve seen him murder and rape in the name of the Dark Lord, trying to attain a position of power-“

“Attain power? Or fulfill his own base desires? You say you know your father. But do you really know him? Do you know the man who gleefully cut out a man’s heart and showed it to him while it was still beating? Do you know the man whose precious blonde hair was streaked with the blood of his victims, his lips and teeth red with the same? Do you know that man? Can you even imagine that man?” Severus’ voice was steely, becoming more aggressive with each word.

The blonde wizard tried not to swallow audibly. He took a breath and spoke. “Yes. I know that man.” Draco’s inner eye recalled the unbridled rage of his father, a rage that could be set off because of the mildest inconvenience, and could result in horrific aftereffects. I know the man who had forsaken his family for the Dark Lord; the man who had sacrifice everything to be at the right hand of his Lord.” A man who was no longer. Thanks to Hermione. The grey eyes narrowed, searching Severus’. “And I know the man who will sacrifice himself for the woman and child that he loves.” Draco paused, but his facial expression forestalled any response from his godfather.

“Yes. The woman and child that he loves. His unborn child. And yes, he loves me, too. But I am no longer just his child. His spawn. I am his son. And, I hope, in time, I can be his friend. But you. You, his ‘friend’, the man he named the godfather of his firstborn son, you are no friend to him. You tell me how my father is selfish and wants to preserve his own skin. I don’t see it. I see a man who is willing to make the greatest sacrifice. He came to it late, but he came to it. You, on the other hand, won’t sacrifice anything. You’ll sit on your fencepost, unwilling to take a side. Unwilling to commit to anything that might damage your precious skin.” Draco stood up and approached his Head of House, his teacher, his godfather. “My father is not the selfish one here. No.” He shook his head, his eyes glancing at the fire briefly before turning back to the sallow-faced wizard. “No. You are the selfish one.”

“If you make one unselfish act in your life – just one, Uncle – let it be that you allow my father to do what he can to save his family. You don’t have to support him. But you don’t have to betray him, either. If you want to sit on your fence, the post up your arse for the rest of your life, alone and away from the rest of the world, that is your choice. But let my father do what he must. Without. Your. Interference.” Draco narrowed his brows at this godfather.

Severus stood up, not towering over Draco as much as he would have liked. When did the whelp get so tall? “You know nothing about being selfish. Or unselfish. You have had your life handed to you on a platter. Money. Status. Women. You know nothing about sacrifice. And you certainly are not in a position to lecture to me.” The Potions’ master’s voice was hard and biting, attempting to intimidate the younger man.

And had to grudgingly admit that the young man held his ground well. “Perhaps I don’t know much about sacrifice. But I don’t think you know anything about love. Hermione tried to give you her love, but you rejected it outright. And because of that, you’ll remain as you always were – bitter, frightened and alone.”

“Get out.” Severus’ voice was low and dangerous.

Recognizing the signal that his godfather had heard enough, Draco moved to the door. “I’m leaving. But don’t betray my father because he saw the light where you refused to.”

Heart pounding, Draco left the study and headed to his rooms.

&&&&&

Severus Snape stared at the closed door for over a minute, his fingers clenching the heirloom crystal tighter and tighter. His arm involuntarily pulled back to throw the glass into the fireplace when he was stopped by a knock on the door. Draco had damn well better not be back to lecture him on duty, and sacrifice and love. The impudent son of a bitch would regret it.

“Severus.”

Damn it. The headmaster. Damn. He was in no mood to play the toady at the moment. The last 36 hours had been a tumult, and he didn’t have the energy to appease the headmaster. And yet, he had no choice. He walked back to the sideboard to pour himself a generous scotch. “Come in, Albus.”

The headmaster glided into the room and took a seat by the fire, a cup of tea and some Danish biscuits appearing on the table by his elbow.

“I assume you are here concerning Lucius.” It was a statement, not a question. “As everything here seems to revolve around Lucius. As usual.” Severus downed half his drink, refilled it, and then joined the headmaster by the fire.

“Actually, Severus, I am here to talk to you. I have never questioned your loyalties. When I hired you, you told me that you sought solace behind these walls, and I granted it to you, hoping that you would open up to me, in time. And, you have. To the extent that you will. Or that you can.”

The brooding brown eyes flicked back and forth between his half-empty scotch glass, and his employer.

“I am not here to ask you now about your loyalties, either. I cannot ask you to do anything other than what your heart commands. No, Severus. Instead, I am here merely to ask you to listen to your heart, and to your conscience. You have buried that voice, afraid that it will say things to you that will force you to choose sides, to choose one person over another, to choose one way of life over another. I cannot tell you what your heart says. And I cannot change what it will tell you. But Severus, I ask you to let loose the hold on your anger long enough to listen to that voice.”

Severus smirked unpleasantly. “After all these years, after all that I have seen and done, sir, do you honestly think that I have a heart?”

Albus Dumbledore looked at his former pupil, forcing aside the pity that he felt for the tortured man; ultimately, everyone was responsible for his or her own choices. “Yes. I know you have a heart. An da conscience. I remember you as a young man, as a first year at Hogwarts. I saw you grow and develop. I watched you as you opened yourself up to people, and as you subsequently shut yourself off from people. I know that you have a heart. As much as you have tried to escape it. And it has been a long time. But you must choose to listen to it.” The grey-haired wizard sipped his tea. “I will accept whatever decision you make. I just hope that you can find it to be honest to yourself. Whatever decision you make.”

The old wizard stood up abruptly. “It is late, and we must both get some rest. Good night, Severus. And pleasant dreams.”