I, Too, Shall Follow—Chapter Thirty-Six
Like nearly everything else magical, the Governing Board overseeing the running of Hogwarts fell under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic. As such, Lucius was a paid employee, not a volunteer like in the Muggle communities, and he had only to trade one office for another upon his appointment as governor. He was thoroughly enjoying his new office, primarily because although it resembled the old one, this one had a window…and more importantly, it had a secretary who didn't pester him with those annoying underage magic cases. Truth be told, in the two days he'd held the post of governor, he hadn't actually done anything, didn't even precisely know what his job description entailed aside from overseeing Hogwarts, which had been his sole objective. But he was here, for now that was enough.
Until the door smacked open and Abraxas stalked in looking as if he'd like to wring his son's neck, that is. Lucius pulled his feet off the desk and sat up straight, genuinely concerned. "Father, is something wrong?"
"Something is very wrong. We need to have a little talk, let's go."
The young man's jaw tightened into a grimace. He suddenly felt like a fourteen-year-old boy in his father's study, where the words 'we need to have a little talk' were code for 'I'm going to whale on you with my cane'. "You can speak here. I'll charm a silence bubble."
Abraxas leaned over the desk to hiss, "Lucius, you're coming with me if I have to take you by the earlobe and drag you down the hall to the floo network. I'm sure that would give your underlings something to gossip about for years to come."
With a disgusted, "Hmph," Lucius stood up in one jerky move and yanked down his shirt robe to straighten it. "I'm not a child," he muttered, glaring daggers at the older man. "What's so important we have to leave to discuss it?"
"The walls have ears and eyes, son," Abraxas replied. With that he turned on his heel and snapped his fingers, motioning out the door. He rightly assumed Lucius would follow, which he did, grudgingly.
Together they strode in silence to one of the fireplaces, stepped inside, and were whisked off to Malfoy Manor. Right beside the fireplace stood Dobby holding a newspaper, which he handed to Abraxas. The man opened it to page three and thrust it into his son's hands.
A picture of Ciro Breen graced the top of the page under the heading 'Retired Governor Seeks Reinstatement'. Lucius' stomach dropped to his feet. This couldn't be! Swiftly he devoured the article wherein the old gentlemen questioned his own reasons for retiring and nominating one Lucius Malfoy, who in his humble opinion was too young and inexperienced for the job. The article went on to say Mr. Breen planned to hold a conference the following day with the panel of governors to answer inquiries on why he quit and why he deserved the position back.
Saucer-eyed with disbelief, Lucius let his arm fall; the paper dropped from his hand onto the floor. "I can't believe this. How could he?"
Abraxas returned a shrewd stare. "That's a very good question, son. I note that rather than say 'How dare he?' you chose to say 'How could he?'. Is this because you've done something that caused him to bow out and appoint you in his stead?"
"I might have encouraged him…" Lucius looked down, cleared his throat, and mumbled, "Quite forcefully."
"Did you threaten him?"
"No, sir." He made no further attempt to explain.
Abraxas sighed heavily. This was far too reminiscent of his son's growing up years, where any information had to be pried from him. "Lucius, you may as well just tell me now, I'll get it out of you eventually." No response. "This isn't a game, son. What did you do?"
"Why should I tell you?" The moment the words left his lips, he direly wished to retrieve them. Insolence came so naturally he often forgot to control it.
The steely voice answered him, "I doubt you'd delight in a trip down memory lane." Here Abraxas brandished his cane and slapped the tip of it on the floor with a resounding thump.
"I'm a little old for that, don't you think?" Lucius remarked, his back stiffening. While bravado came easily, he held no illusions about his father withholding retribution for his effrontery, regardless of Lucius' age. At the same time it peeved him, he chafed at the thought of being under the man's thumb his whole life, of answering to him for everything he did.
"As a matter of fact, I do think you're too old for a beating, but if you insist on it, you'll get it," Abraxas growled. "More to the point, I think you'll obey me, and I asked you a question. What did you do to him?"
"I imperio'd him," Lucius answered defiantly.
His father's impatience dissolved into incredulity, then morphed into exasperation. He threw up his hands while asking rhetorically, "How did I know?"
"You should be proud, Father, you're the one who prompted me to use it the first time."
"On a Muggle!" the older man barked. "If he comes out of it, it doesn't matter—who's he going to tell? This is a wizard we're talking about! If he reports you to the authorities, you could land in Azkaban!"
Because there really was no response to such a statement, inasmuch as it was completely true, Lucius held his tongue. He'd assumed that once the Imperius had been employed, that was the end of it, and although he was aware that a tiny percentage of people were able to resist the Imperius, he hadn't seriously considered the possibility of Breen fighting it. Come to think of it, if he had fought it, Lucius would have known immediately, Breen wouldn't have been so docile. Which meant it was something else.
"Damn it, Lucius, why do you do things like this? All your life I've tried to change you, but you stubbornly refuse to budge. How are we supposed to fix this?"
"What do you want me to say, Father? I'm sorry?" Lucius retorted, getting his dander up. "I'm not sorry, I deserve that job as much as he or anyone else does. I didn't do the curse strong enough, that's all. For the Unforgivables you need to mean it, and I took it too lightly."
Abraxas took hold of one of Lucius' arms and stared into his deliberately expressionless eyes. The boy so easily, so effortlessly soaked in the things that bastard Voldemort taught him, seemingly without worrying about when it was proper to use them. Yet he couldn't count himself blameless, he had encouraged Lucius to use the curse the first time. He was rightfully perturbed at the young man's carelessness; more than that, he feared for his son. Lucius had been a disobedient, willful child who'd grown up into a willful adult in spite of the multitudes of punishments. The young man seemed incapable of staying out of trouble, but this Death Eater business had moved him to a whole new level. Azkaban hardly qualified as ordinary trouble.
Nevertheless, the Malfoy name and Malfoy wealth might be able to keep him out of prison even if Breen asserted he'd been cursed. Proving such a thing would be difficult, reasonable doubt existed. Lucius came from a fine, upstanding family, he'd never had a brush with the law, he donated vast sums to charities. Abraxas relaxed slightly.
"Father, I must go." Lucius pried the man's fingers from his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"To fix this," he said. With that he walked toward the foyer.
"Lucius, don't do anything foolish!"
"Too late for that," Lucius said. "It's done, I have to work around it, but I won't allow him to besmirch our name." To the forbidding look of alarm on Abraxas' face, he added, "I'm not going to harm him, Father. No matter what you may believe, you didn't raise an idiot."
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It was the final day of school for the year at Hogwarts; tomorrow morning students would board the train for home. As per tradition, graduation ceremonies were to commence in mere minutes and the stands at the Quidditch pitch were full of parents, relatives, and those students who wished to attend, which comprised almost the entire student body.
On the field itself a grand stage had been erected, large enough to hold all sixty seventh years, as well as a podium for the speakers and chairs for the Headmaster and honorees. Each of the four sections of the stands was decked out in House colors, as were many of the relatives and students seated there. The Hogwarts band blared one tune after another while the crowd added to the commotion as they waited for the graduates to parade in.
Eileen Prince, one twin on either side of her, twisted around to speak to her parents, who were directly behind her. A bored Julius made a face at his sister for the fifth time, and she scowled back at him.
"Mum, Julius is making faces at me."
"Stop it, Julius," his mother intoned, barely even listening to them.
The boy stuck his tongue out at the girl, who threw her tiny purse into his face. "Mum, she hit me!"
"Justina, that's enough!"
"He started it!" Tina stamped her foot and began to cry. "You always let him do whatever he wants."
Eileen would have lowered her voice to avoid bystanders hearing her, only the noise was so loud she could scarcely be heard as it was. "Do I have to spank both of you right here in front of everybody? Why can't you get along for one evening? This is Severus' day, don't ruin it for him!"
Abashed, Julius hung his head. Justina cried even harder at being scolded. Mrs. Prince leaned forward, caught the girl by her blouse, and tugged.
"Come here, sweetie." She engulfed the sobbing child in her arms until she'd calmed down, then scooted over a little to let Tina sit between herself and her husband, who put a protective arm around the lass.
"Julius, you need to be kind to your sister, to defend her. There'll be plenty of boys to tease her, you ought not be one of them," he advised.
"Sorry, grandpa," he mumbled.
Mr. Prince bent over to ruffle his grandson's hair. "I'm not picking on you, boy, I just want you and your mum and your sister to have some peace."
"I know," acknowledged Julius. He got up to hug the man, then while he was up stretched over to hug his grandmother, which caused him to press against Tina, forcing her backward almost out of her seat. She shoved back at him; with a wicked grin he pulled her forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Sorry, sis," he smirked as he returned to his seat.
"Ewww," Justina growled, harshly wiping at her cheek with her sleeve.
All at once the band's music changed. A voice over the loudspeaker announced the arrival of the graduates. Sure enough, the procession led by Dumbledore was headed into the stadium, every student in their finest dress robes, walking in two columns behind the Headmaster.
"There's Severus!" squealed Tina, pointing excitedly at the tiny figure so far off the adults couldn't make him out.
As they neared the stage, Mr. Filch prowled about inspecting the workmanship, grumbling at how he'd not been asked to erect the stage when he was so obviously the proper choice for the job. Noticing what appeared to be a large, loose bolt, he slinked in and flicked at it with his finger. When it didn't move, he began to twist it manually, exerting great effort to turn it… in the wrong direction. It shot off to land in the grass; there was a moment of unnatural silence before a tremendous, drawn out creaking emanated from the stage. Moments later the creaks were joined by groans, and suddenly half of the stage collapsed with an enormous crash, splintered boards and dust flying everywhere, resulting in a heap of broken boards covered with twisted and smashed chairs. Filch gave a horrified gasp, turned, and ran away in a fashion resembling a horse prancing.
James Potter cast a glimpse up the column at Sirius, who'd looked back at him at the same instant, both wondering if they'd missed something. James pointed at Sirius, who shrugged and shook his head as he mouthed the words, "I didn't do it!"
Professor Dumbledore held up a hand, motioning for the procession to stop, although they'd already come to an abrupt halt when the stage imploded. Even the band had ceased their playing, and the stands were quiet as people wondered what would happen now. Sighing, Dumbledore took out his wand and set to rearranging the stage, moving and repairing floorboards and chairs, setting them in their rightful spots, then adding an extra spell at the end to ensure no more 'accidents'.
"Look over there," Mrs. Prince whispered to her husband. "Isn't that Abraxas Malfoy's son?"
Mr. Prince turned his head to the blond man behind the graduates. "That's his spawn, alright. You know, Eileen, after Tobias died I don't know why Malfoy didn't offer you some of his bountiful wealth if he's so wonderful like everyone thinks."
"He did," Eileen hissed back. "I rejected it."
Astounded, her mother said, "Why? He owes you!"
"He doesn't owe me anything, and I don't need it now that Mr. Sill reconsidered and gave me that settlement. Can we not discuss this here?"
Tina asked, "Grandma, how come you don't like Mr. Malfoy? I thought he was really nice."
"Your mother doesn't want to talk about it, dear," Mrs. Prince said. "Oh, they're starting!"
The music commenced once more and the students filed up onto the stage to take their seats in alphabetical order. At the podium Dumbledore made the mandatory opening speech in which he thanked everyone for coming, praised the students for their years of hard work, and made special note of one student who couldn't be present due to his father's death.
He next introduced Lucius Malfoy as the new school governor. Lucius bowed slightly to the crowd and seated himself; he was here only for show, after all. His job was to shake hands and look nice, he could do that, even when he had to suck it up and shake the hands of mudbloods. Besides, with tomorrow's conference looming overhead, this made an agreeable diversion.
Finally, Dumbledore invited the top student from each House to join him on the other side of the stage where four vacant seats awaited beside Lucius. "In ascending order, based on N.E.W.T. scores, we have a tie: from Gryffindor, Remus Lupin with seven and from Hufflepuff, Cynthia Rice, also with seven."
The crowds in the stands cheered wildly, especially those from the two named Houses, as the two students stood up and moved across the stage to their seats. Lucius rose to shake their hands.
"From Slytherin, with nine N.E.W.T.s, Severus Snape."
An explosion of applause from the Slytherin section, and outright shock from some other corners. Sirius, who'd earlier mumbled to the girl next to him that he'd be surprised if Slytherin got even two N.E.W.T.s, dropped his jaw and gawked in astonishment. Snape? Nine?
Again Lucius rose, clasped his friend's hand with a hearty smile and said, "Congratulations, Severus. I only earned eight myself."
"And finally, our valedictorian from Ravenclaw, with ten N.E.W.T.s, Jacqueline Schumacher."
This time the applause rose to fever pitch, for a second later the Ravenclaw Quidditch team roared overhead in formation, streams of bronze and blue billowing behind them. They separated and flew toward each other again in interweaving, intricate patterns until at last there appeared in the sky the image of the Ravenclaw diadem, which burst into flame and then began to explode one bit after another into beautiful fireworks, leaving a gleaming, sparkling diadem hanging over the crowd for the remainder of the ceremony.
From there the graduation proceeded as usual. The valedictorian gave her speech, the students came forward one at a time to receive their diplomas as their names were called, and finally numerous awards were given out by teachers. From McGonagall, James Potter and Sirius Black each received an award for Advanced Skill in Transfiguration. Severus received the honors for both Excellence in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, as well as the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell Casting.
"Dark spells shouldn't count," Sirius muttered to no one in particular.
As the ceremony wound down, Dumbledore led the procession back to the Great Hall, followed by the spectators. Here the families and friends mingled during the party lasting well into the evening. All in all, another successful graduation.
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"Severus?"
Amid the commotion and turmoil of hundreds of voices, he turned around to the familiar voice, wishing Glenna hadn't just gone to speak to her parents. Feigning indifference, he said, "Hello, Lily."
"I wanted to say congratulations on your scores and your awards," she said. "You did brilliantly."
"You sound surprised," he drawled.
"No, I just—well, I—no, I'm not. Do you know what you're going to do after this?"
Don't notice her eyes, he cautioned himself. Those damned eyes always drew him in like a siren. For the life of him he couldn't understand why her presence evoked such emotions in him, such silly, infuriating emotions. He tried to concentrate on her shoulder, but his eyes slipped to her breasts. He forced himself to stare at her hair.
"Professor Dumbledore arranged for me to interview as an assistant at a potions shop," Severus stated. "I feel confident I'll get the job."
"That's good news." Lily seemed skittish, glancing around as if expecting someone.
"Does talking to me in public bother you, Lily?" he asked. "If you're afraid to be seen, you shouldn't have approached me." He should have known, she regretted her heroic gesture to the gawky Slytherin already.
"No, Severus, I—"
There he was, God's gift to Gryffindor, strutting up to put his arm around Lily as if he owned her. "Hey, Lily, here you are." The look he gave Snape was much less friendly.
Severus tried to hold back a full fledged sneer. "I'll be going. Have a nice life, Lily." He whirled around.
"Severus."
Snape froze in place. That wasn't Lily, it was Potter! Why did he use his real name? He'd been of the impression the moron couldn't pronounce it. "Yes?" He didn't turn around.
"We're leaving Hogwarts. I wish we could leave the animosity behind us," James said in an earnest tone Severus could almost believe. Almost. "We're adults, we ought to act like it."
"Is that an apology or an order?" asked Severus, spinning back to lock eyes with this hated foe.
"Neither. We've both done things we shouldn't have, that's all. Maybe it's time to call a truce."
And who was it that started the whole business, Potter? Snivellus? No, it was you and that arrogant arse Black! But God forbid you might apologize for the humiliation and misery! So, he wanted a truce. What could it hurt? Severus shrugged one shoulder. "Fine, if we meet in the street we'll pass without incident, I can live with that. But don't expect me to forgive and forget. To my knowledge, hell hasn't frozen over yet. Excuse me."
Once more he turned to stalk away, angry and confused, and unsure why he was angry. He'd thought, in his stupidity, that Lily might actually want to congratulate him, but no…she'd only been paving the way for her boyfriend to come and ask for peace. Potter wanted peace, that was a good thing, so why did it bother Severus? Because he didn't trust Potter now any more than he did the night he and Black had plotted to have their werewolf buddy murder him, that's why! How could he trust Potter to be sincere after all he'd gone through for seven years? More than likely he and Black were laughing behind his back right now. No, he didn't forgive and he wouldn't forget. If he never saw any of the Marauders again he'd count himself blessed.
"Mum, it's getting late, you should take the kids home. I want to go to bed."
"You're not ill, are you, Severus?" asked Eileen.
"No, just tired. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight grandma and grandpa." He hugged all three of them, then bent down for the twins to smother him in embraces.
Glenna came over upon noticing the hugfest. "Are you leaving?"
"I'm tired," Severus answered for them. The family exchanged a few more words before going, then Severus leaned over to whisper in Glenna's ear, "If you get rid of your family, we can spend our last evening at Hogwarts in my room."
She smiled coyly at him. "Come with me to say goodbye, then."
He went; he needed some peace and quiet to quell the peevish storm brewing inside, the storm with Lily's and Potter's names written all over it.
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By the time Lucius arrived to the meeting room where the Governing Board convened, all eleven of the other governors were present, seated around a long wooden table. They all blandly raised their eyes to him, not speaking, evidently feeling ill at ease with the day's business at hand. Lucius made a mental note to be early from now on, then smiled pleasantly as he approached the lone empty chair.
"Good morning, fellow governors. As I presume you know, I am Lucius Malfoy."
There was a general, muted greeting from around the table, almost as if they expected he'd be gone by the end of the day, there was no point in being too chummy. The governor at the head of the table, a big bruiser of a woman, cleared her throat.
"Mr. Malfoy, I'm Lorraine Newcastle, the chairperson. Let's be honest, we all know why we're here today." Her voice was surprisingly mellow, soothing almost. "I regret that your first meeting with us, er, may turn out to be your last."
Have these people no sense of decorum? Lucius lamented inwardly, though he forced a tight smile. "I understand your position, Miss Newcastle—"
"Mrs. Newcastle," she interrupted to correct him.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Newcastle. However, I fail to see why you'd consider reinstating Mr. Breen simply because he displays a change of heart. It's only natural that he misses a job he performed admirably for so many years, but I'm sure he wouldn't deliberately sabotage my position." He'd damned well better not, anyway.
"I guess we'll find out," she said. "I wouldn't think Mr. Breen capable of malice, of course. He should be here any minute, probably bringing a reporter from the Daily Prophet."
Lucius took his seat. He felt incredibly nervous waiting for the shoe to drop, wondering how successful he'd been in his second go at Breen. It seemed to have been successful yesterday, and no aurors had come knocking at the door…he wasn't likely to be arrested, then, but would these dimwits give Breen back his position? If it hadn't worked completely this time, he'd need the support of this governing body on his side. How might he sway their attitudes to impartiality so they didn't all immediately vote the man back in, sending Lucius back to his hated job? And he dared not even think of Lord Voldemort's reaction if he were demoted, regardless of the fact that he'd have no control over it.
The man to his left spoke in a low tone. "Your father is Abraxas Malfoy, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is. And you are…?"
"Kidus Chapman," said the gentleman, holding out a hand.
"Ah, Mr. Chapman," beamed Lucius, pumping the man's hand, feeling suddenly more secure. A potential ally! "My father has told me a lot about the soup kitchens you run for the homeless. He's most impressed by your selflessness."
"I couldn't do it without his generous donations," replied Chapman. He nudged the woman beside him and she glanced over. "Mary, doesn't Abraxas Malfoy contribute substantial amounts to your church? I thought you mentioned it."
"Yes, he does," answered Mary, wriggling uncomfortably, to Lucius' delight. Both she and Chapman would think twice before voting against the son of their benefactor! For all he knew, there might be others in the room who owed a debt of gratitude to a Malfoy as well.
Mary was spared any more interaction, for Ciro Breen walked in, a reporter at his heels, and nodded to the gathered group. He cast a frown down at Lucius, who presently occupied 'his' chair.
"Hello, Ciro, it's good to see you," drawled Lucius nonchalantly, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.
"Hello, Lucius," the man responded. He addressed the chairperson. "Lorraine, if I may?"
"Ciro, first I need to remind you that you did retire of your own free will, and you did nominate Mr. Malfoy to take your place. It's unusual, to say the least, for a board member to ask to come back under such circumstances." Her tone gave Lucius another shot of hope. It seemed she wasn't too keen on the ambivalence, either. "But I've—we've known you for years, so we agreed to hear you out."
Ciro approached the table to stand adjacent to Lorraine. "My friends, thank you for being here. I believe I was—"
Don't say cursed! Please don't let him accuse me! Lucius prayed. He'd never been so apprehensive in his life, though till now he'd had no real reason to be. Say what I told you to say!
"—hasty in my decision." A hand went to his forehead as he crinkled his brow in a grimace of pain. "My, it's warm in here. If you'll excuse me." Breen unclasped his long cloak, swirled it off, and laid it on the table in front of him, oblivious to the horrified stares of everyone present. Ciro Breen was wearing only a pair of bright blue cotton pajamas!
"Ciro!" Lorraine gasped. "Your robes are…uh…"
"Beautiful, aren't they? I picked them out especially for today. What was I saying? Oh, yes, I'd like a chance—" This time both hands grasped the sides of his head and he nearly doubled over. "I keep getting this terrific headache. I wanted to say that I'd like… to be a farmer." As if by magic the look of excruciating pain melted from his face. "I love the sound chickens make, don't you?"
No one moved or spoke. Every eye was riveted on the apparently disturbed old man, every mind contemplating the same thing: senility.
Breen prattled on, feeding their ruminations. He seemed to have forgotten he'd come to get his job back. "Brawk! Ba-caw, ba-caw," he cackled in a poor imitation of a chicken. "Isn't that a glorious sound?"
Lorraine reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ciro, are you feeling well?"
"Never better since that headache finally left!" declared Breen. "Best thing I ever did was resign so I could move to the country to live on a farm."
"But you called us here to reconsider giving you back the governorship."
Breen let out an exclamation as a jolt of agony shot through his head. "No, no I don't want it!" he shouted. The pain ebbed away. "I want chickens." He flapped his arms and smiled. "Ba-caw." In another instant he'd snatched up his cloak and toddled from the room.
Not surprisingly, the reporter was furiously writing down every word, gesture, and animal noise, to Lucius' secret relief. He'd been terribly worried over whether his second attempt at the Imperius would work; evidently it had. For show, he affected a posture of concern as he leaned forward, noting the gaping mouths of his associates.
"I hate to be the one to point it out, but I believe Mr. Breen could use a holiday. Perhaps moving to the country might, ah, hasten his recovery." For an extra show of sympathy, he addressed the reporter. "Is it really necessary to put this in the paper to humiliate the poor man and his family? Dementia is no laughing matter in the best of cases, and Mr. Breen appears to be deteriorating rapidly."
"Too true, Mr. Malfoy," concurred Mrs. Newcastle, rising to her feet. "We'd all appreciate it if you simply report that Mr. Breen has decided that governorship is no longer his desire."
The reporter sneered. "You've got to be kidding. A story like this doesn't roll around every day." Before anyone could respond, he bolted from the room and was gone.
Several of the governors groaned and grumbled their outrage, upset not only for Ciro, but for their inability to stop the embarrassing story. One of the men who hadn't yet spoken said, "Maybe if we all go to the Prophet and demand they not run the story—"
"Excellent idea!" seconded a woman across the table from him.
"I disagree," said Lucius quietly. A heavy silence settled over the room as every head turned his way, a few registering subdued hostility. "If we demand they retract the story, they'll retaliate by trying to cast aspersion on the whole Board. It seems to me more discreet and prudent to appeal to the editor, whom I happen to know. I'm relatively certain he'll listen to reason."
Lorraine piped up, "Well then, by all means talk to him, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius got up, nodded to the group, and made for the door. "I'll contact you after I've spoken to him." With another slight inclination of the head, he left.
Yes, he'd talk to the editor, he'd get the story pulled or at least severely modified if he had to placidly threaten the man with dire consequences of no specified type; that was no problem. Withdrawal of Malfoy support or generating Malfoy displeasure could easily damn a business to ruin, anyone with sense knew that. And if they didn't, they'd find out.
Lucius had accomplished his goal of discrediting the old man in the eyes of his former peers, he didn't feel the need to publicize it to the world. In fact, the fewer people who learned of Breen's 'condition', the better. Less chance of suspicions arising. He would now be fully accepted as governor, that's all he wanted. He smiled to himself as he walked along; he could become accustomed to the euphoria of getting what he wanted.