Draco looked down at her. His mouth twisted derisively. “Calm down and breathe. My father is hardly going to find someone like you worth looking at.”
Lucius was watching with avid amusement. She forced herself to remember it as she met Draco's vicious gaze and felt herself shriveling inside.
“She generally keeps to her room aside from her daily walk. She must have been pining after me to have wandered so far.” Draco's lip curled.
His expression grew cold as he eyed his father. “The Dark Lord does not want her tampered with — by anyone — regardless of how amusing it may be. There are strict rules regarding the surrogates. Maintaining her and recovering the memories she lost is regarded as paramount. You'll excuse me; I have to take her back to her room in order to assure she doesn't have a mental breakdown somewhere along the way.”
Draco started to pull Hermione down the hallway but then paused and looked back at Lucius. “Your wing of the manor has been maintained. I believe Astoria redecorated at some point last year. Come, Mudblood.”
He dragged Hermione forcefully down the hallway, moving so rapidly she could barely keep on her feet as she clutched her dress closed and tried to breathe.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Lucius watching them depart, an unreadable expression on his face.
As soon as they got into the North Wing, Draco stopped and pulled her tightly into his arms.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He turned her face upwards so he could look at her. His hand was warm against her skin as he studied her face, brushing her hair back from her eyes. “He arrived without any warning. Are you alright? I'm so sorry.”
“I'm fine — I'm fine—” Hermione forced out the words as her chest kept spasming and she struggled not to starting crying. “I was just afraid he'd do something and you'd blow your cover.”
Draco's hand slid possessively into her hair at the base of her head, and he pulled her closer. “He won't go near you. I will kill him if he ever touches you again. I'll tell the Dark Lord he snapped, and I had no choice.”
Hermione buried her face in Draco's robes and squeezed her eyes closed. She'd been doing so well. She'd been staying calm, she hadn't panicked in days, but now she felt as though her legs had been violently kicked out from beneath her.
Draco gave a sharp angry sigh. “Of all the times for the Dark Lord to recall him.”
Hermione swallowed and looked up. “He's here to track down the person responsible for destroying the horcrux, isn't he? The last Order member. That's what he said.”
Draco was silent for several damning seconds as he met her eyes.
“He is,” he finally said, his jaw dipping slightly. He reached out gently and rebuttoned her dress. “The Dark Lord has been disappointed by my failure to apprehend the person responsible. He's recalled my father to Britain to reassign the task.”
Hermione's throat went dry. “What — what does that mean?”
The corner of his mouth quirked, and his fingers rose up and ghosted across her cheek. “I don't imagine he'll find anything before you leave. It will hardly matter after that. You'll stay in your room; it won't be for long.”
Hermione flinched and shook her head. “I have things I need to look for in the library. I was waiting for you because I had an idea—”
“Hermione.” He cut her off with a hard voice, and his hand withdrew. “My father will be living in the manor for the foreseeable future. It's hardly a coincidence he was recalled now once Dark Lord no longer has your memories to use. I'll accompany you for walks, I can excuse it as being medically necessary. However, my father is both unstable and unpredictable. He cannot be trusted or expected to follow the Dark Lord's instructions reliably when he gets an idea in his head. Anything he sees, the Dark Lord may see.”
Hermione swallowed and tried to speak.
Draco gave a low sigh, and his shoulders dropped. “I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I'll bring books to you. I know that's not what you want. If I could do better, I would.”
He stared across the hallway for a moment. “I'll take you to your room now. Then I should go. I can't appear to be spending my time with you any longer.”
Hermione's heart felt like lead as she followed him through the halls and watched as he inspected and tested the wards on her room for several minutes before leaving.
Lucius' presence in the manor felt like poison in the air. Narcissa was wan and skittish in her portrait, but she continued her constant vigil over Hermione. Topsy appeared in the evening, her hands covered in burns, and her head bruised purple across the forehead, the skin split in multiple locations.
“What happened?” Hermione asked, horrified as she lightly held the tiny, wizened hands in hers and took in the damage.
Topsy withdrew her hands and concealed them behind her back. “Master Lucius is not liking the redecoration of the South Wing. He is ordering all the elves be punished,” Topsy said, averting her eyes.
“But — but he's not your master anymore. Draco is the Lord of the estate now.”
Topsy looked up at Hermione with her enormous eyes. “Elves is tied to the magic. Master Lucius is still being a Malfoy.”
Hermione let out a sharp breath. “But Draco supersedes him. If Draco says not to, a house-elf's highest law is their master's bidding, you shouldn't have to punish yourself if Draco says not to. Why didn't he tell you not to?”
Topsy shifted and rubbed a foot against her leg. “The house-elves is not to be doing anything that would be making Master Lucius think Master Draco is not liking to be a Death Eater. Master Draco must always be a most loyal son to Master Lucius who is very much liking to be a Death Eater. That is most important.”
“What did he do to you?” Hermione said, drawing Topsy's hand from behind her back. They were blistered and raw.
“Topsy was to iron her hands for one minute each and strike herself ten times with a coal bucket.” Topsy twitched a bony shoulder. “Topsy is being alright. Master Lucius is never liking elves, Topsy is used to it from the years ago.”
Hermione's throat felt thick, and her eyes burned as she swallowed.
“I wish I could heal you.” Her mouth twisted. “I used to be a healer — back when I had magic. Do you have potions? I have some murtlap essence. It's not very much, but it will soothe the burns and help the bruising.”
Topsy patted Hermione gently on the cheek. “The elves is having Potions, but if we is using them too soon, Master Lucius is wanting to punish us again.”
Draco was visibly pale and tense when he came to her room later that night. He walked rapidly across the room, held her face in his hands, and studied her eyes the way he used to during the war.
“I made it clear to him that you're pregnant and that the Dark Lord is using it as a mechanism to recover your memories,” he said after a minute. “I don't imagine he'd hesitate to harm you despite the rules regarding surrogates, but the Dark Lord's specific interest in the pregnancy will hopefully be enough.”
Hermione raised her hand to his cheek. He was worryingly cool to touch. “What did you do, Draco?”
He shrugged her hand off. “I added a few more wards. I want to know if he tries to access the North Wing. It would raise his suspicion if I kept him out entirely, but I can slow him enough to get here first.”
“You used blood magic, didn't you? You look ready to faint.” She pulled him towards the bed. “Sit down. Topsy! I need a Blood Replenishing Potion. I'm sure you have them.” She pressed her fingertips against his pulse. “And a strengthening potion.”
She pulled his wand out of its holster on his arm and slipped it into his hand. “Cast a diagnostic for me. I need to know how much blood you used.”