“Fine,” he said in a resigned voice. “You can continue researching in your room. But if you want to go into the library, you will wait and go with me. I will have Topsy restrain you if you try to go alone. Understood?”
Hermione gave a small nod.
She stayed in her room for the most part. Whenever he had time, Draco took her outside to walk and then to the library, standing next to her and watching as she spent hours browsing. He cast analytic spells on his arm for her to study and wrote notes for her.
She was waiting outside the library doors for Draco to return for the evening when she heard two successive cracks of apparition in the foyer down the hall.
Her stomach immediately dropped.
No one should have been able to enter the estate unless Draco permitted it. If Draco were bringing someone back without warning, it was likely Severus, which meant she'd run out of time. Or else Draco had died, and the protections on the estate had collapsed.
Her heart was in her throat as she shrank back into the shadows and strained to hear.
“There has been a notable decline in your performance of late. The Dark Lord wishes to transfer the task to someone with less conventional methods.” Lucius Malfoy's blood-curdling drawl floated down the hallway.
Hermione went cold with terror.
“One less matter for me to attend to. I'm hardly lacking in attention currently.” She heard Draco say in a cool voice.
In the silent, empty house, the voices filled the foyer and bounced down the hallway. She could hear every word clearly.
“Indeed not. It seems I cannot pick up a paper without finding your face splashed across it. My son, the infamous High Reeve.”
Draco made no reply.
“I must admit, I aspired to see my heir achieve slightly more than an international reputation as a mass murderer. A pity you couldn't maintain your anonymity. You're more a hunting dog than a protege.” Hermione could hear the sneer in Lucius' tone.
Hermione began inching slowly down the hall, her fingers pressed against the wall.
“Why Father, I thought I'd inherited my exceptional talent for murder from you. I am, after all, the Dark Lord's humble servant, like my father and his father before him.” Draco's voice was taunting, but Hermione could hear the tension hidden in his tone, the reserve.
“There is an art in the contributions my father and I made. Using Unforgivables is merely pouring out an excess of emotion. Agony is meant to be an art form. There is no craft in the service you provide the Dark Lord. You have allowed yourself to be used as a blunt-edged weapon. Of all the skills you could cultivate… I find your choices — disappointing.”
There was a concealed passage in the wall nearby. If Hermione could just reach it, she could hide. Wait there until Draco came for her.
“There is also less blood on my clothes,” she heard Draco say with a dismissive drawl.
“Do you think the Dark Lord achieved greatness simply because of the quantity of Killing Curses he could cast? Do you think such an ability launched Gellert Grindelwald to infamy? Greatness is more than merely raw power. It requires drive, cunning, and inspirational vision. You're a fool to think your fame as an executioner gives you true significance. You have no followers. No one is loyal to you. Fear is not enough; the Dark Lord learned that painful lesson during the first Wizarding War. The key to his success was his ability to expand his vision when he returned to power. An executioner is little more than a footnote. The Dark Lord gave you the opportunity to apprehend the last Order member. It would have immortalised you in history, but after four months—”
The floorboard under Hermione's foot creaked, and Lucius' voice stopped. Hermione froze, her heart in her throat.
“Is there someone here, Draco?”
Chapter End Notes
Draco and Hermione by abrilas.
Chapter 68
Hermione stared wide-eyed as the silhouette of Lucius filled the entrance to the hallway.
His eyes swept along the walls and alighted at the spot where Hermione was huddled. He stared at her for a moment before beginning to stalk forward slowly. Draco appeared beside his father.
Don't blow your cover. Don't blow your cover, Draco. Hermione repeated the thought in her head like a mantra as Lucius closed in on her.
Lucius felt like a dragon in human skin. He moved down the hall towards Hermione with an indirect and sinuous pace, like a serpent; as though he were daring her to run.
His eyes were bright and glittering as he closed in.
“You recall the repopulation program? I'm required to keep a surrogate. Didn't I mention my impending fatherhood?” Draco's expression was cold but intent as he eyed Hermione. He moved his head faintly, as though to warn her not to move.
“Ahh yes. The Mudblood that The Daily Prophet wrote about. I'd forgotten she was here.” He stood mere inches away from Hermione as he looked her over. The Dark Magic hung around him like a cloak and it caused her stomach to roil as her body broke out in a cold sweat. She pressed herself more tightly back against the wall.
Lucius prodded her head back with his wand until her eyes met his. His pupils were blown wide; there was only a shard of silver encircling them. “A little mouse caught in a serpent's nest.”
Hermione felt her robes shift as Lucius' hand slid lightly along her body. “Do you enjoy her, Draco? Does the commonness appeal to you? I imagine after so many years of being forbidden, there must be a novelty in exploring a Mudblood's filth. It would explain why your wife has wandered so far from her marriage bed. Did your little toy make you crave things a pureblood wife would have better breeding than to indulge?”
Lucius' voice dropped into a predatory purr as he drew closer to Hermione. He smelled of cardamom and leather, but it was masked beneath the coppery fetid scent of old blood. Hermione's tongue curdled, and her throat contracted as she tried to swallow.
“Let's see what assets you have, to keep my son in Britain while his wife entertains in France.”
Don't blow your cover. Don't blow your cover.
She felt the buttons over her bust come undone. She shook imperceptibly, and a small whimper almost escaped her, but she kept it in. Her eyes sought out Draco, trying to warn him off.
He was standing frozen behind his father, his eyes burning with rage.
Don't — don't — don't—
Lucius' hand closed around her throat, and he gave a low, shaking laugh. It wasn't short. The laughter continued on and on rather than stopping. Every time Hermione thought he might stop, he continued his low, relentless, mirthless noise. His fingers were still wrapped around her neck as though he might snap it, and she felt every vibration.
“Why, Draco...” he finally said, glancing over his shoulder. “She's attached to you.”
Draco's expression instantly curved into a cruel, gloating smirk as he met Lucius' gaze. “Yes, she is.”
He reached past Lucius, took hold of Hermione's arm, and pulled her firmly out of his father's grasp.
Draco glanced at her before looking back to his father. “Past torture left her unstable and caused rather extensive memory loss. The Dark Lord has a particular interest in the information he believes she possesses. He wants her kept safe here at the manor until I can extract it.” He gave a thin smile. “It only took a few months and she's grown quite attached to her captor. I'm all she has in the world.” He stared intently down at Hermione and smirked. “Aren't I, Mudblood?”
Hermione didn't need to feign the way her jaw trembled or the rapidly increasing speed at which her chest was starting to hitch as she gave a small nod. Her hand was shaking as it rose up, and she pulled her dress closed.