“Draco made an Unbreakable Vow to the Order never to claim Voldemort's power or become a Dark Lord.”
Lucius fell into an astonished silence for several seconds.
“He. Did. What?” His voice was deadly.
The corner of Hermione's mouth threatened to twitch, but she forced herself to continue staring at him impassively. “The Order feared that Draco was using us to further his own ambition. To prove his loyalty, he vowed to do his best to defeat Voldemort, and that following the Dark Lord's defeat, he would never seize power or become a Dark Lord.”
She knelt down so that her face was close to Lucius'. “You're right, he does plan to save me. Since the moment I arrived, everything he's done has been to protect me and for the purpose of getting me somewhere safe before he commits suicide, so that no one can ever find me. That's his plan. That's his idea of taking care of me. But I want to save him. I made promises to him too. I will do anything to save him.”
Lucius' expression grew mocking. “Except give him up.”
She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Except that.” Her throat tightened as she swallowed. “I'm — I'm more selfish than he is.”
“And how do you imagine yourself saving him?” Lucius asked in a cold voice. “Will you send me off to kill the Dark Lord in order to avenge my wife and save my heir?”
He said it derisively, but his eyes were glittering.
Hermione stared at him calmly. “No. There's too much margin for error. Even if you could, killing Voldemort won't protect Draco from everyone else who will want him dead. After you help me remove Draco's Dark Mark, I need you to kill yourself.”
Lucius gave a wet sounding laugh. “I wondered when your true colours would come out. Maybe you did level Sussex.” He tilted his head back. “Why should I regard leaving my son in your hands for the rest of his life as somehow better than his death?”
He was baiting her. He wanted her to beg, she could see it in his eyes.
The Mudblood whore who seduced his son, that was what he saw her as. A paltry source of comfort that Draco had grown attached to while grieving over his mother. In another life, in a slightly shifted set of circumstances, Draco would have gladly walked over her corpse.
Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to keep breathing.
The only way to keep Draco alive was by convincing Lucius to willingly agree to her terms.
She would make Lucius agree.
She would save Draco.
She looked over at the portrait. “He looks like Narcissa, doesn't he? I didn't see it at first, but now I can't look at her without noticing it. It must have been difficult when she was sick and after her death, to always see her.” She looked back at Lucius. “But — it's all fading away now, isn't it? He's not the same as he was. This war has carved away almost everything about him. And now Voldemort is destroying him on purpose.”
Lucius' mouth hardened into a flat line.
Hermione held his gaze and let her desperation show on her face. Looking at Lucius was like brushing against salvation with her fingertips, but finding she wasn't close enough to fully grasp it. Her heart felt like a fluttering bird caged inside her chest, beating itself to death as it kept fighting to escape.
Her lips twitched. “Voldemort will kill him. Even if Draco weren't a spy, even if he was the most unfailingly loyal Death Eater to ever exist, Voldemort would still torture and eventually kill him, just to make sure there's no one who can surpass him. Phoenix tears won't reverse a Killing Curse. They don't reverse the brain and nerve damage from the cruciatus.”
She touched the bars of the cage with her fingertips. “I'm sure you realised that he became a spy to avenge Narcissa. He knew we probably wouldn't win. He was certain he'd be killed for it, but he did it anyway. It was his penance — because he'd always promised he'd take care of her. He's never—” her voice fractured, “—he's never expected to have a life outside this war. Not when he was trying to protect Narcissa, and not now with me. He's always assumed it'll be the last thing he does.”
Hermione shifted forward. “I've tried everything I can to find a way to save him. I've had so many ideas but I never had the pieces I needed to make them work. If you really have Phoenix tears, I can save his life, but only if you'll help me. If saving him is enough for you.”
She wrapped her fingers around the bar. “I can't promise to leave him because I've already given him my word that I never will. But I can promise this: once he's free, if he ever wants to leave me — I'll let him go.”
Lucius leaned closer until their faces were only inches away from each other. His silver eyes were cruel and burning. “Swear it on your magic.”
Her mouth twitched, and her fingers spasmed where they were gripping the cold steel.
She didn't give herself time to hesitate. “I swear it on my magic. If Draco ever wants to leave me, I'll let him go. You have my word.”
Lucius stared at her a moment longer and then sighed and leaned back. “The chest is in my wardrobe. My wand will unlock the door. I'll open it once it's brought, and you can see if there are even enough tears.”
He looked back at the portrait and seemingly forgot about Hermione entirely.
She studied the starved, desperate adoration on his face for a moment before she stood slowly. It wasn't surprising that Draco had never thought his father had space to care for anyone but his mother.
She walked unsteadily across the room. Everything hurt. Even her heartbeat felt painful. The room was so unnaturally cold.
Draco watched her approach from the doorway. His eyes were worried. She gave him a wan smile.
“He says you can use his wand to open the door of his wardrobe,” she said. “The chest is there, he said he'll open it.”
Draco pulled her away from the drawing room. “I'm taking you back to your room.”
Hermione had barely nodded before he was carrying her again.
“I can walk,” she said, trying to slip down, “you're still recovering.”
“You should be in bed,” Draco said in a cold voice.
Hermione was too tired to argue. She buried her face in his robes and half-dozed as he carried her through the manor. She should have been manic with adrenaline, but instead she was tired. She was so tired.
“He does love you,” she said as they neared her room. “I just don't think he knows how to look at you without seeing your mother.”
“I know.” He set her on the bed. “Rest, Granger. If I come back and you're reading, I will call a mind-healer in, I don't care what your plan is.”
She nodded cooperatively. Her head was hurting so much she didn't think she was actually capable of reading. She felt like she might pass out. “If there are tears, the elves have a list of the potion ingredients I need and all the supplies. I need all of them, best quality possible. Your entire medical inventory needs to be restocked. Tell Ginny not to come, and sever the bloodwards you have with the estate. They have to lapse or—”
“You explained it earlier, Granger. Stop talking and rest.”
She curled tightly around her stomach.
He pulled the duvet up over her shoulder, and she caught his hand; gripping it desperately. “Draco — you have to help me make this work. I don't think that—” her voice stalled, and she hesitated. “Promise?”
Draco was silent for a moment. “I'll take care of everything.”
It was evening when Draco woke her. There were half a dozen diagnostics conjured around her that he was studying.
Her hand and leg had healed fully, and the baby was still a bright golden light. The light made her head ache.
“I need to call a mind healer,” Draco said when she sat up wincing.
Hermione shook her head. “No. It's not worth the risk. I'm fine. It's just a headache. I'm not having a seizure. It's fine, the memories are probably just — a bit murky now. It's not as though a healer would actually be able to do anything about it. The damage is already done.”