Astoria stood before Draco for several seconds, swallowing visibly. She looked down at her robes and back up to him.
“Your father has to go. He can't stay here.” She choked. “He — he — he—”
She gestured down at herself. “The entire foyer is covered in blood. There were things hanging from the chandelier — intestines, I think. It's on the portraits and all the orchids I brought back from France, and my new robes! The whole room is ruined. Mrs. Thicknesse was supposed to come to tea with her daughters and several other ladies planning for the celebration — now I'm going to have to cancel because most of the house is smeared with blood, and Bobbin says there are corpses piled by the gate. Make him go.”
Hermione had barely been in the other wings of the manor since Lucius' arrival; she had no idea if what Astoria said was true, or if she were exaggerating.
Hermione was certain Draco had added wards to her room after the day Lucius brought back the centaur. She could no longer hear any sounds through the doors or the windows. She'd seen bloodstained dragmarks outside occasionally when she and Draco walked, but once inside her bedroom walls, she was nearly oblivious to the world outside.
Draco sighed and straightened his robes. “Astoria, it's traditional for him to live on the estate. He has a private wing of the manor.”
Astoria threw her hands into the air. “He's not using his wing! He's using the main gates and the main entrance. There's blood all over the gravel. I had the elves replace it all this morning, and it's already covered again. The manor looks like a slaughterhouse.”
Draco nodded, his expression impassive. “I am aware of the condition of the manor. There are reasons I didn't ask you to return for the celebration. If you insist on attending, there are other properties in Britain you can occupy for the next several days.”
Astoria stared up at Draco, her eyes wide and incredulous. “Do you know how much people will talk if I'm receiving guests somewhere besides Malfoy Manor?”
Draco quirked an eyebrow and met her gaze coldly. “I didn't ask you to come, Astoria. He's in England on the Dark Lord's orders. You're here on a whim. Do you expect me to defer to your preferences?”
Astoria started to respond, but before she could speak—
“What is this? All my family together in one place. How joyous.” Lucius had seemingly materialised from nowhere.
Astoria shrank towards Draco, who shifted away from her in order to place himself between his father's line of sight and Hermione. The movement was slight, as though he were simply turning to see Lucius, but Hermione was nearly concealed after he'd altered his stance.
“Father, Astoria is dismayed by the condition of the foyer.”
“Really?” Lucius cooed the word as though he were speaking to a small child. “I thought it was a considerable improvement over the barren minimalism she appears so partial to.”
Astoria was visible to Draco's right, and Hermione saw her pale. Her hands moved defensively towards her stomach and then stopped as she curled them into fists at her sides.
“I want you to leave,” she said in a sharp voice. Her earrings were trembling, but she lifted her chin. “I want you off the estate.”
Lucius quirked an eyebrow and stared down his nose at her. “Indeed. You intend to banish me from my own estate?”
“It's not your estate, it's Draco's. It's mine. I am Lady of the Manor, and you are a guest who has abused his welcome.”
“You are lady of this manor?” Lucius purred in a low voice. “My wife was lady of Malfoy Manor; I'm not sure the magic can tolerate such an inadequate replacement.”
Astoria flushed, the hollows of her cheeks staining scarlet as her teeth flashed angrily. “It doesn't matter what you think. The Dark Lord chose me. Draco married me. I am the lady of Malfoy Manor. You aren't the one who gets to decide. I have done everything that has been asked of me. I lived, alone, in this horrible house, I fulfilled every role expected, I did everything asked, I never complained — even when I was taken for granted and then put aside and ignored”—Astoria sounded on the verge of tears—“I still played my part without a word of complaint because—”
“You do like to carry on, don't you?” Lucius sneered at Astoria. “Perhaps we'd pay more attention to you if you were quieter. I haven't heard a sound from the Mudblood since I arrived.”
Draco's hand moved infinitesimally back towards Hermione.
“Get off this estate!” Astoria nearly shrieked. “Get off. Get off! Get—”
A razor-fine line of scarlet suddenly bloomed across the pale skin of Astoria's neck.
Hermione watched, eyes wide with horror. A sort of gasping, burbling sound emerged from Astoria's throat as her head toppled off her shoulders, and her body sank to the ground.
Lucius stared down at the fresh corpse at his feet, and his eyebrows arched approvingly. “You're much quieter now,” he said, bending over and cocking his head at Astoria's face where it lay in the white gravel. Her expression had gone limp and blank.