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The Senior Project	By : Lizski Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 37490 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
Chapter 18

The crumpled form moved hesitantly, only to freeze immediately. The shooting pains in his head forced him to lie still. He tried blinking cautiously, and decided that while the action wasn’t totally without consequence, it gave him some small feeling of control over his body. Painfully, he closed his eyes again. Not wanting to make any further sudden motions, he tried to gauge where he was by the sounds around him. He held his breath, unconsciously trying not to listen, afraid that he would hear nothing, suggesting that he might be imprisoned. After a few moments of silence, he tried to tune into the sounds around him, hoping that he had simply been unaware of background noises. Seconds passed in stillness. Finally, he heard something. For the first time in his life, Lucius Malfoy was happy to hear the grating chirping of crickets in the distance. He released his breath slowly, his eyelids flickering.

It was several more minutes before he attempted to fix his eyes on a given point. In the meantime, he let himself rest on the damp grass underneath him, thankful for the chill in the air that helped to combat the waves of nausea that rolled through him. Finally, his eyes focused on sliver of the waning moon above him. He had to blink several times before he was certain that the spots before his eyes had vanished, and he could let himself process the fact that he was lying on the ground, somewhere in England, virtually unable to move.

The unpleasantly clammy sensation of sweat trickling down his neck brought a sudden sense of urgency to him. In a rush of visions, the events of the Death Eater meeting rushed back to him. He remembered seeing Bellatrix, and that boor, Draynough. Draynough. Mithras’ balls! He tried to sit up, and found himself in agonizing pain, dry heaving into the grass. Moments later, he shivered as the sheen of perspiration covering his body cooled quickly. Hermione. He had to get to her.

The question of why he wanted to see a Muggle-born witch floated through his mind for a split-second before he was flooded with emotions. Hermione. His Hermione. The mother of his unborn child. His future wife. His queen. She would be at his side, ruling the world with him. Except that the Death Eaters planned on gang-raping her and then killing her. Hades’ demons unleashed! Damn it. He couldn’t lie here. He had to get up.

He pushed himself to his knees, trying to ignore the screaming pain in his body. Groping blindly, he found his cane a foot or so from his body, and used it to steady himself as he pushing himself up to a standing position. He swayed wildly one last time before he righted himself. He didn’t have time for his body to rebel. Taking a deep breath, he disapparated.

****

Hermione tossed and turned for almost two hours before she admitted that sleep was escaping her, and she got up. Looking at the enchanted sundial, she saw that it was after midnight, and yet she still felt wide awake. Pregnancy had done strange things to her internal rhythms; some times she could be wide awake at 4 in the morning, and feel fine the next day, and other times it felt like she needed more sleep than Crookshanks’ 22 hours a day.

She gave a cursory glance to the books on her desk. Her mind was too scattered to focus on school work, no matter how much she knew she should. Stepping away from her desk, she looked out the window, her eyes catching on the figure of Orion in the sky before glancing at the moon. For reasons that she couldn’t quantify, she always thought of Lucius when she saw the moon. Maybe it was the foolishly romantic notion - a holdout from her childhood days filled with fairy tales, no doubt - that they both saw the same moon, and that brought them together, regardless of where they were physically located. Her fingers found the ring around her neck, and she felt the familiar sense of comfort that she got every time she touched the warm metal.

But she still couldn’t quiet the sense of unease that she was left with. She had been restless all night, and even reciting the 100 most frequently used potions ingredients hadn’t calmed her racing mind. Her thoughts kept coming back to Lucius, and every time she thought of him, her heart raced. Perfectly natural, she tried to remind herself, and yet she couldn’t relax. It was hormonal, probably. Although it was hard to know if her increased desire for her lover had to do specifically with her pregnancy, or just a better understanding of what it was that she craved.

Unfortunately, there was also the nagging fear that something had happened to him. He seemed so strong and so in control of things that it was hard to believe that he could be in trouble. It was possible, of course, especially given the current political situation, and her relationship with the aristocratic wizard. Gods. It was too easy to let her mind drift to the darker possibilities. He could have been hurt or killed in a Death Eater raid. Or he could have been forced to admit to their relationship. He wouldn’t forsake her, would he? He said he wouldn’t, but there were still nagging doubts. She had to trust him. She had to believe that he was sincere. But she couldn’t push away all the words that she had heard against Lucius in the past seven years. Even Draco thought that his father would leave her. But she couldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t accept it.

Forcibly pushing the concerns out of her mind, she focused on happier thoughts. Maybe Lucius would be able to visit her one of these nights. Tonight, when she couldn’t sleep, would be ideal. To see him. To be able to talk to him. To touch him. Gods. To touch him. She blushed at her own raw need as she felt a shiver of heat snake through her. Her memories turned to the intimacies they had shared only a few days before, sublimating her fears.

****

Severus Snape refilled his crystal glass. The Muggle world didn’t have much to offer that interested him other than their scotch. And Hermione. But Glenlivet was decidedly easier to obtain. He took a quick swallow; thinking of Hermione made him inevitably think of Lucius. He never would have imagined that Lucius would have suffered the Cruciatus. The arrogant bastard had a lucky streak that was a mile wide, and to envision him coming under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord was almost unthinkable. And yet he had watched as his one-time classmate had writhed and screamed under the ministrations of the curse.

He took another swallow of scotch, pleased that he had a large supply of the 18-year-old special reserve stock. Perhaps it would bury the conflicting emotions that he was experiencing. Seeing Lucius twist in agony had been one of his oldest wishes. For most of his life he had wanted to see the bastard suffer. See him suffer for all the horrors that he had unleashed upon the world. The rapes, the killings, the tortures. Lucius was a ruthless bastard, and it was exhilarating to see him being treated as a victim for a change. The blonde’s thrashings had brought him an almost palpable pleasure.

And yet it was painful. Certainly, there was the immediate fear that he could be the next victim, but it was more than that. It hurt to watch one of his oldest friends suffer. ‘Friend’ was perhaps an inadequate term – his emotions concerning Lucius were too complex to define with a simple word like ‘friend’ or ‘enemy’. They had grown up together, introduced long before they ever attended Hogwarts, well aware that they were two of a kind, privileged youth, expected to take on the mantles of their aristocratic fathers. They had formed a close bond of sorts, based on similar values, desires, and frustrations. So many of his adolescent hours had been spent in Lucius’ company, whether they were studying, playing quidditch, wreaking havoc on the countryside, or watching the blonde ruthlessly manipulate the throngs of adoring women that always seemed to surround him.

Certainly over time, he had grown to hate Lucius’ careless disregard for anyone that he didn’t immediately perceive as useful. The casual ease with which Lucius attained everything he desired was also grating, but they had remained acquaintances as they got older. Too many common ties held them close, even when they tried to distance themselves from one another. Despite their radically different values, the older man was probably the one person outside his immediate family that he had spent more time with than anyone else. Which made him a friend, of sorts.

He sighed, his fingers subconsciously teasing themselves through his hair. No matter how much time he had spent with him, it still felt good to see Lucius suffer. The bastard had such a contempt for the people around him, and it was thrilling to see him being treated with that same contempt.

His empty hand curled into a fist. How could Hermione find Lucius attractive? True, most women found the head of the Malfoy family attractive, but Hermione wasn’t most women. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would fall for a pretty face. She was too intelligent, and far too insightful to fall for Lucius’ lines. Didn’t she realize how callous he was with his partners? Couldn’t she see what a selfish, supercilious excuse for a man he was?

He took a long swallow, coaxing his brain into rational thought. Hermione was not a stupid woman. She was young, but she was very perceptive. There was no doubt about that. He just couldn’t see her being drawn in by Lucius’ outward flash. Certainly, she had been taken by surprise during their first encounter. Thor’s hammer! It should have been him. Hermione’s first experience should have been with him. Not Lucius! How could he have been so stupid as to misinterpret her inexperienced attempts at seduction? He could happily spend the rest of his life making up for that lapse, though, if she’d let him.

He sighed. She obviously desired Lucius. She wouldn’t have gone back to him if she didn’t. Either that, or it was that famous Gryffindor loyalty rearing its ugly head again. He shook his head. He just couldn’t see that. Hermione wouldn’t feel obligated to Lucius, of all people. The blonde wizard had spent years perfecting his attitude of disdain toward all things Muggle, and he was certain that the only encounters Hermione had had with Lucius before this year were decidedly negative. Of course, he thought with a smirk, her encounters with the blonde this year hadn’t been entirely positive either.

Gods. What did she see in Malfoy? He was smarter than Lucius. He could challenge her mentally more than he ever could. He had none of the blonde’s crass need for public attention. And his own family coffers could stand well against the Malfoy vaults. And, he didn’t have the lengthy history of bloodlust that Lucius did. Didn’t she realize that she could do so much better than Lucius? That she deserved better? Didn’t she realize that he would willingly forgive her for clinging to Lucius? He’d even raise the child as his own. True, it would be a child of his own blood that would eventually inherit the bulk of his estate, but he wouldn’t slight Hermione’s child.

What was he thinking? She cared for Lucius. And he cared for her. The text he had sent her had been as good as a promise – even with Lucius’ casual disregard for his family’s literary collection, he couldn’t see the blonde freely giving out his legacy. It wasn’t in his genes to do that. Especially not to a Muggle-born witch. Unless Lucius actually felt something for her. Was it really possible? Maybe. Although only slightly more possible than the nearest sty of Herefords taking flight, but still possible, no?

He took another swallow, the heat flowing through him, his muscles relaxing slightly. Yes, there was a small part of him that had wanted to see Lucius suffer tonight. He had enjoyed it. Even though he knew that he shouldn’t. He’d caused enough suffering of his own, and while he could acknowledge the surge of power that that tormentor experienced, he had never been able to fully understand the genuine pleasure that Lucius got in watching others being tortured. Tonight had been the first time in a long, long time that he had felt that thrill. And if he really wanted to be honest, there was a part of him that had wanted to see Lucius killed tonight. He pushed the thought away almost as soon as it was recognized. But perhaps, if that had happened, he could have gone to Hermione and comforted her.

Except that he knew that it would be a crushing blow to Hermione if the blonde had been killed. And he’d never be able to live with himself, knowing that he had done nothing while watching Lucius die. He’d never be able to face Hermione again. Damn. Where did that thought come from? Did he really care so much about Hermione that he was willing to let her be with Lucius, for the pleasure of seeing her happy, even if it tore him apart? Turning back to his glass, he let the amber liquid drown that thought.

He drained his glass and rose to pour himself another one. He had to teach tomorrow, as well as report to Albus, but that wouldn’t stop him from drinking tonight. He smirked to himself; the one advantage of being a Potions Master was an almost endless supply of Hangover Relief.

Except that he couldn’t escape the fact that Lucius had been ordered to produce Hermione and Draco to the Death Eaters in less than three days. His godson, and the woman that in his wildest dreams would become his wife. At the mercy of the Death Eaters. And if Voldemort was true to form, he’d make sure that his followers were worked into a frenzy before Hermione and Draco were produced. Neither one of them would have a chance.

But the reality was what there wasn’t much that he could do. As the scotch took a firmer hold, he was better able to entertain the idea of destroying Voldemort himself, thereby earning Hermione’s undying love. That scenario had the added bonus of completely overstepping young Potter. The image of a bewildered Harry Potter, wondering how his one-time fame had vanished flitted through the Potions Master’s brain. Yes, that would be the icing on the proverbial cake. More importantly, Hermione would be his. He replayed the soft mewls and moans she had made when he had massaged her feet, imagining her making those same noises as he thrust into her hot, welcoming flesh.

Merlins’ balls! Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t be able to take down Voldemort single-handedly. He knew his own abilities as a wizard, and was well too aware of his limitations. He wasn’t strong enough to defeat the Dark Lord by himself. Maybe Albus would have some suggestions when he met with him tomorrow. Certainly the headmaster realized how valuable Hermione and Draco both were; the old wizard wouldn’t sacrifice those two for something greater, would he?

Taking another swallow, he hoped that the old man would help him find a solution. It was much later that he finally set down his glass.

****

Lucius Malfoy swallowed hard, willing his nausea away. There would be time for that later. Now he had things to do. He hesitated only briefly as he walked down the deserted hallway. Priorities, he reminded himself sternly, as he willed his feet down the dimly lit hall.

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The Senior Project