She pulled his face closer until she could press her forehead against his. “You have done more than anyone should have ever asked from you. Let me save you now. Please, take the risk of believing that I can.”
Draco sat frozen for several seconds. She could feel him waver.
Then he slowly nodded.
Lucius was on his knees in the cage, leaning forward as much as he was physically able towards the portrait in front of him.
His expression as he stared at it was starved. Possessive. Ravenous.
He was crying. Hermione could see his entire body shake.
He glanced up and caught sight of her and Draco at the door. He instantly jerked back, his expression closing.
The room had been cleared and cleaned of most of the rubble and blood.
Hermione walked slowly across the room until she stood only a few feet away from the cage. Her head still hurt so sharply it felt as though her skull were fractured. She'd taken several strengthening potions in order to walk reliably, but her vision still blurred slightly.
Draco had wanted to call a healer, but she'd refused. If their escape was going to work, Lucius' attack had to be contained.
Lucius' mouth curved into a ghastly smile as he stared at them. “Well, well, it's my son, come to see me to the afterlife, accompanied by the Mudblood whore who seduced him.”
“Lucius!” Narcissa's voice was sharp.
He flinched visibly, as though he'd been struck. Emotions rapidly flashing across his face. Shock. Guilt. Remorse.
He looked back at the portrait.
“Cissa…”
Narcissa had lost her earlier appearance of composure. She looked shattered.
“She's all he has,” Narcissa said.
Lucius' expression soured with barely concealed disapproval, but he gave a begrudging nod of acknowledgement before looking back up.
The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched, and she stepped closer, studying him. He was covered in cuts from the splinters of wood, his cheek sliced open and bleeding down his jaw and throat. The wound on his side had stopped bleeding. He was injured and in considerably more physical pain that he was letting on, but there was nothing worryingly lethal.
She stepped back again. “How do you have Phoenix tears?”
Lucius stared at her and raised an eyebrow. “The Malfoy Family has been in England for nearly a thousand years. We were gifted a vial during the fifteenth century, in exchange for — certain services rendered. It is only to be used to preserve the family line. It is passed down from father to son when a new heir is born.”
“Really?” Draco's voice was cold and skeptical. “You have a vial of Phoenix tears that you never thought to mention, without any record?”
Lucius' expression grew lofty. “It is only used to preserve the line. Do you have an heir, Draco? No. You do not.” His tone was vicious and full of derision. “The vial is kept in a chest that holds the blood of each generation. If you had an heir, his blood would be added upon his birth, and from that time forward, unless you died, only you, his father, could open the chest. When he had a son of his own, the chest would pass into his possession.”
Draco looked at the portrait. “Did you — know about this, mother?”
Narcissa shook her head, and Draco's shoulders dropped as though he'd been braced against her answer. He swallowed and gave a sharp nod. “Where is it? An additional vault in Gringotts?”
“It should be in my room at the moment,” Lucius said in a bland voice. He'd sat back languidly in the cage.
Draco blinked. “There has been a vial of Phoenix tears on the estate this entire time?”
“No,” Lucius said, rolling his eyes, “it is intended to preserve the family line. I keep it with me.”
Draco stared at Lucius for several seconds. “What do you want for it? What is it you expect in exchange?”
Lucius gave a low, unending laugh until Hermione wanted to strike him. He tilted his head into an unnatural angle so that his hair fell away from his eyes. “Why, Draco, why do you think I would require bribing in order to save my own son?”
Draco snorted.
Something flashed briefly in Lucius' eyes, and he straightened. “I will save you, Draco, because you are my son and heir, without asking for anything in return from you.”
Lucius' eyes strayed from his son.
“What do you want from me?” Hermione asked.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Ten minutes. Alone.”
“Out of the question,” Draco said in a cold voice.
Lucius rolled his eyes and waved a shackled wrist. “What possible benefit would I derive from harming her at this point?”
“What benefit have you ever derived?” Draco looked feral as he sneered down at his father. “I'm not leaving her alone with you. I'd rather die.”
Lucius twitched.
Hermione rested her hand on Draco's arm. “I'll be fine, Draco.”
She didn't entirely believe it, but she was past caring. She was ready to risk everything if it meant she could obtain Phoenix tears.
“Granger—”
She slipped her hand to his and looked up into his eyes. “Just ten minutes.”
Draco didn't move. Didn't waver.
She squeezed his hand. “Please, Draco. You told me you'd let me save you.”
He studied her, his expression guarded. His silver eyes were like mirrors to the point that she could see herself in them. Her eyes and the red of her clothing. She was paler than she'd realised.
“Please, Draco…”
He nodded reluctantly. “I'll stand by the door.”
Before he left, he stalked over to his father and started going through his robes, confiscating several weapons and a variety of objects Hermione couldn't identify.
Lucius had three additional wands concealed in his clothing, a tin containing a dragon's heartstring, and an entire set of torture instruments shrunk into the size of a pocketbook. Draco cast several detection spells and seemed to find something new with each of them.
“I don't even have use of my hands, I don't see how or why you expect me to murder her,” Lucius said in a sulky tone as Draco extracted the last wand.
Draco just wordlessly stashed everything in his own pockets with a sneer and then cast a careless tergeo spell on Lucius as he straightened.
Lucius hissed as the blood was roughly scoured off his face.
Draco stared down at his father for a moment. “Ten minutes. I will set mother's portrait on fire before your eyes if you attempt to so much as touch Hermione.”
Cold rage shone in Lucius' eyes as Draco walked away.
Hermione and Lucius stared at each other.
He didn't say anything; he just studied her. His silver eyes were intent as though he were weighing and measuring who she was.
After a minute, she spoke. “If you expect to make me promise that I'll give him up and disappear once he's safely away, the answer is no.”
He blinked and leaned forward. “What do you intend to do with my son?”
She gazed steadily down at him. “I intend to save him.”
Lucius' eyes narrowed. “Then what?”
She twitched a shoulder. “Then — we live. There are no plans after that. Everything else is dust. What's left of us is all there is.”
He scoffed at her. The noise rattled in his lungs, and he coughed, reddening his lips. “You're fools if you think you can run and disappear. The Dark Lord will never let him go. You'll be hunted down. Unless he has power he can maintain, neither of you will survive. If you want to stay safe and be taken care of, you'll give up your romantic ideation. There's a family in Bul—”