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.
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—”