Lucius wagged a finger towards her. “Stay like this and, in time, perhaps my opinion of you shall improve.”
Hermione peered around Draco in shock.
Lucius straightened, sighing and tilting his head back in the sunlight. “The estate feels better already. My father used to say there's nothing like fresh blood to fertilise the roses.”
“You've killed my wife, Father,” Draco said. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was disbelieving.
“I am aware.” Lucius snorted and he looked at Draco from the corner of his eye. “Don't bother trying to convince me that you'll miss her. She was tasteless and indiscreet. Now you can marry a woman capable of producing an heir. Did I tell you about the delightful young witch I met in Bulgaria this last winter? Pureblooded. Only sixteen, but she'll be of age once your obligatory period of mourning has elapsed. Then we'll no longer be obliged to sully our line by having Mudbloods paraded through the manor like a line of whores.”
Draco's fingers twitched, and his shoulders grew rigid. “You realise I'd require permission to remarry.”
“Indeed. Something more easily obtained when you don't already have a wife and surrogate on hand. In six months time, when the Dark Lord has the information he desires and the Mudblood is dead, things will be different. Someone has to worry over the future, given that you refuse to.”
Draco shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “You can hardly expect this to go unpunished. The Dark Lord requires that he personally approve killing any members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight prior to their execution.”
Astoria's blood was seeping across the ground towards Draco's shoes. He flicked his wand and vanished it.
Lucius twirled his wand lazily in his fingers. “I doubt the Dark Lord will mourn the loss of an infertile witch, regardless of her pedigree. Your value and mine remain considerably greater than hers. Once he hears how incessantly she talked, I expect I shall get off quite lightly.”
Lucius knelt down easily and plucked Astoria's head up off the ground before snagging the arm of her corpse.
“Worry not. I shall assure the Dark Lord that you are deeply grieved by my impulsiveness. You may hope otherwise, but I would advise you to expect my return within the hour. If you are still my obedient son, perhaps you will be so good as to have a pain relief potion ready for me.”
Without another word, Lucius apparated away, taking Astoria with him.
Draco stood staring at the bloodstained gravel for several seconds before he turned to look at Hermione. His expression was masked.
Hermione stared up at him for several seconds, studying his eyes. Her chest was starting to ache. She drew a deep breath before she spoke. “You planned that.”
He didn't react for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curled up. “Clever.”
Hermione didn't smile back.
After a moment, his eyes flashed, his expression hardening as he looked away. “What did you expect, Granger? You can't possibly be surprised.” He scoffed, and his nostrils flared. “She attacked you. She tried to gouge out your eyes.”
Her throat hurt, and she flinched as she remembered the sensation of Astoria's wand digging into her eyeball and her utter terror when she thought she'd be blinded. “I haven't forgotten.”
Draco gave a short laugh. “I would have killed her sooner, but it diverted suspicion to have a pretty wife in the manor. Living here alone with you for so many months could have attracted attention. That was the only reason I let her live.”
“I hate it when you kill people because of me,” she said, turning sharply in the gravel so that it ground beneath her feet. She stared down at the bloodstained ground, her mouth twisting. “I hate it. I've always hated it. There's so much more to you, but sometimes I feel like all I do is bring out the worst in you. You would never go so far if it weren't for me. You wouldn't be like this. I did this to you.”
Draco was silent for several seconds, and he sighed. “You're right. I don't imagine I would.”
Hermione pressed her hand against her sternum. Her head felt light and hollow, and her chest ached as though she'd been struck, as though the bones were shattered and the shards were slowly cutting her to death.
“I used to have so many dreams for us,” she said, her voice thick. “When I'd worry about you, when I'd do things that I didn't want to do, when the war felt so heavy I thought I'd finally break under it, I'd tell myself: someday you're going to run away with him. You'll go somewhere quiet. You won't ask for very much, just you and him and that will be enough. That's what I used to tell myself. I wanted to see what you'd be like away from the war. I thought — maybe we'd find out together. Who we could be without the war.”
She smiled bitterly. “I suppose in the end, I'm just like Harry and Ron. I expect the universe to eventually give in a bit. I thought we'd earned each other. I thought we'd both suffered enough that we'd get to have each other.”
Draco was silent.