Hermione's shoulders dropped. “Narcissa…”
“She didn't want him to ever know. You don't know what she put herself through to ensure he didn't find out. You thought that potion's withdrawal was difficult after three doses? She took it more than a dozen times — just in order to see him.” Narcissa's voice was shaking with angry intensity. “Draco used to beg her not to.”
Hermione pressed closer. Her fingers hovering a breath away from the painted canvas. “If she would have left him to protect Draco, she would have told him to try to save Draco.”
Narcissa's expression was ice cold as she sat in her chair. “How would Lucius knowing change anything?”
Hermione looked down. “I don't know. I just think that he—”
“If you interfere and things go wrong, everything Draco put himself through to protect you will be for nothing. There are worse things than dying. Anyone in this family can tell you that.”
She refused to speak to Hermione further.
Hermione reluctantly turned away and went over to her breakfast tray. The warming spell had worn off, and the porridge was cold and unappetizing.
Hermione considered skipping breakfast, but she needed to regain her weight. She wasn't going to build muscle if she skipped meals.
She sighed and half-heartedly picked up the small pitcher of cream and poured it into the bowl, reaching for the spoon.
As her fingers touched the spoon handle, she felt a sharp jerk behind her navel.
It was like being inverted and shoved through a tube. The bedroom vanished, and she reappeared in midair, falling forward and smacking her head on the floor as her stomach roiled.
She almost vomited, as she gripped her tightly contracted abdomen protectively under one hand and tried to find her bearings. She gave several ragged gasps as she breathed. Everything was swimming and her forehead ached where she'd struck it.
She forced herself shakily up.
Lucius was sitting several feet away, reclined in a spindly chair, teacup in hand.
“Ah. There you are.”
Hermione stared at him in blank horror as she took in the remainder of her surroundings. Lucius had portkeyed her across the manor into the drawing room in the South Wing.
He set his teacup down on its saucer and sat forward, eyeing her.
“I have some questions for you, Mudblood.”
She shifted back, and her hand stuck slightly to the floor. She pulled it free and then she realised the ground was sticky.
The ground was soaked with drying blood.
The spoon which had brought her lay on the ground a few feet away. Her heart stalled. Her hand darted out, and she tried to grab it.
It vanished just before her fingers reached it.
“Trying to leave so soon? After all the effort of bringing you here? You offend me, Mudblood,” Lucius drawled, twirling his wand in his hand.
She stared up at him, forcing herself to breathe steadily. She just needed to stay calm and buy time until Draco came.
Draco, your father has me. South Wing. She focused her mind on the thought.
“Did you know,” Lucius pulled his cuffs away from his hands, “you are intriguingly difficult to access? I must congratulate my son for his ingenuity. Since my return, the North Wing of the manor has become bewildering. I enter the hallways and find myself walking in circles and forgetting which doors lead where. Before I recover my bearings, I've walked back into the main wing or recalled something I'd meant to do but forgotten. Or Draco appears requesting my help with a matter.”
Hermione licked her lips nervously and didn't answer.
“Have you noticed the phenomenon?” Lucius asked, his voice lilting. He was toying with the handle of his wand.
“I don't leave my room — by myself,” she said, avoiding his eyes. There was an aching sensation at the base of her spine and sharp pain in her lower abdomen. Her throat tightened and her shoulders almost spasmed as she sat rigidly, trying to ignore it.
“No. It doesn't seem that you do.” Lucius' lip curled. “Then I'm sure you must be unaware that my son was—“ Lucius blinked. “He was injured a few days ago.”
Hermione didn't so much as breathe.
Lucius cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “I've been looking into you recently. The little healer who was caught blowing up Sussex.”
Hermione cringed and felt herself shrivel internally as Lucius continued, “I was at Sussex after it was destroyed. I saw the bodies removed from the rubble. The poison used to ensure that anyone who escaped the blast radius died was a fascinating invention. Ingested, it kills painlessly within seconds, but inhaled is slower… and messier.”
Hermione gulped.
Lucius noticed her reaction and cocked his head to the side. “What kind of healer can build a bomb capable of killing nearly a thousand people in a matter of minutes?”
He leaned forward in his chair, dragging his eyes over her so slowly she could almost feel his gaze on her skin. “Am I intended to believe a little Mudblood healer, so insignificant there are barely records with her name included, was single-handedly responsible for one of the most devastating attacks the Dark Lord sustained?”
Hermione said nothing, forcing her expression to stay neutral as she processed the revelation. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of Order records with her name on them. From the cave at the beach. In Grimmauld Place. She'd managed the reconnaissance team and Order prison following Kingsley's death. The Order's classified records had reflected that.
Unless they were gone somehow.
Lucius sat back, snorting and startling her from her reverie. “It wasn't you. You were a decoy. A sacrificial pawn to protect the last Order member.”
She blinked.
She'd assumed that healing Draco had been what piqued Lucius' suspicion. Instead he'd brought her in over a misguided conspiracy theory. She stared at him, trying to calculate her course of action.
Lucius' eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “You know the identity of the last Order member, the one responsible for blowing up Sussex and for killing the Warden in February.” He leaned towards her again, his silver eyes glittering.
Hermione averted her gaze. “I don't remember. I don't remember anything about a last Order member.”
“Ah yes…” Lucius made an unnerving tsking sound. “Those memories you lost that make you so important now.”
Hermione glanced surreptitiously towards the door.
“My son is resigned to wait until your memories can be safely extracted. He doesn't want anything to happen to his little Mudblood unless the mind-healers approve it.” Lucius sighed and sank back into his chair, his lip curling. “He's young and naive. He succeeded during one war and now thinks being careful and following orders is a dependable path to success. I served during both wars. Victory can be snatched away at any point. Triumph burns to ash in an instant. One error or miscalculation and everything can slip away…” his voice trailed away, and he sat twirling his wand absent-mindedly in his fingers.
There was a long silence.
Hermione began estimating how quickly she could reach the door if she needed to bolt.
“Are you expecting someone?” Lucius' rolling purr was suddenly close. When she looked back, he'd moved from his seat and stood merely inches from her. His gaze was mocking. “My son, perhaps?”
He knelt down in front of her. “Do you expect Draco to appear and save you?” He smirked and glanced around them. “This room is unique. There's such an unusual quantity of magic centred here it affected the ley lines of the estate. It cannot be apparated into, and given inconvenient task of accessing you, I thought I'd return the favour to my son.”