Hermione stared wide-eyed as the silhouette of Lucius filled the entrance to the hallway.

His eyes swept along the walls and alighted at the spot where Hermione was huddled. He stared at her for a moment before beginning to stalk forward slowly. Draco appeared beside his father.

Don't blow your cover. Don't blow your cover, Draco. Hermione repeated the thought in her head like a mantra as Lucius closed in on her.

Lucius felt like a dragon in human skin. He moved down the hall towards Hermione with an indirect and sinuous pace, like a serpent; as though he were daring her to run.

His eyes were bright and glittering as he closed in.

"You recall the repopulation program? I'm required to keep a surrogate. Didn't I mention my impending fatherhood?" Draco's expression was cold but intent as he eyed Hermione. He moved his head faintly, as though to warn her not to move.

"Ahh yes. The Mudblood that The Daily Prophet wrote about. I'd forgotten she was here." He stood mere inches away from Hermione as he looked her over. The Dark Magic hung around him like a cloak and it caused her stomach to roil as her body broke out in a cold sweat. She pressed herself more tightly back against the wall.

Lucius prodded her head back with his wand until her eyes met his. His pupils were blown wide; there was only a shard of silver encircling them. "A little mouse caught in a serpent's nest."

Hermione felt her robes shift as Lucius' hand slid lightly along her body. "Do you enjoy her, Draco? Does the commonness appeal to you? I imagine after so many years of being forbidden, there must be a novelty in exploring a Mudblood's filth. It would explain why your wife has wandered so far from her marriage bed. Did your little toy make you crave things a pureblood wife would have better breeding than to indulge?"

Lucius' voice dropped into a predatory purr as he drew closer to Hermione. He smelled of cardamom and leather, but it was masked beneath the coppery fetid scent of old blood. Hermione's tongue curdled, and her throat contracted as she tried to swallow.

"Let's see what assets you have, to keep my son in Britain while his wife entertains in France."

Don't blow your cover. Don't blow your cover.

She felt the buttons over her bust come undone. She shook imperceptibly, and a small whimper almost escaped her, but she kept it in. Her eyes sought out Draco, trying to warn him off.

He was standing frozen behind his father, his eyes burning with rage.

Don't—don't—don't—

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—"

"Hermione." He cut her off with a hard voice, and his hand withdrew. "My father will be living in the manor for the foreseeable future. It's hardly a coincidence he was recalled now once Dark Lord no longer has your memories to use. I'll accompany you for walks, I can excuse it as being medically necessary. However, my father is both unstable and unpredictable. He cannot be trusted or expected to follow the Dark Lord's instructions reliably when he gets an idea in his head. Anything he sees, the Dark Lord may see."

Hermione swallowed and tried to speak.

Draco gave a low sigh, and his shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I'll bring books to you. I know that's not what you want. If I could do better, I would."

He stared across the hallway for a moment. "I'll take you to your room now. Then I should go. I can't appear to be spending my time with you any longer."

Hermione's heart felt like lead as she followed him through the halls and watched as he inspected and tested the wards on her room for several minutes before leaving.

Lucius' presence in the manor felt like poison in the air. Narcissa was wan and skittish in her portrait, but she continued her constant vigil over Hermione. Topsy appeared in the evening, her hands covered in burns, and her head bruised purple across the forehead, the skin split in multiple locations.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, horrified as she lightly held the tiny, wizened hands in hers and took in the damage.

Topsy withdrew her hands and concealed them behind her back. "Master Lucius is not liking the redecoration of the South Wing. He is ordering all the elves be punished," Topsy said, averting her eyes.

"But—but he's not your master anymore. Draco is the Lord of the estate now."

Topsy looked up at Hermione with her enormous eyes. "Elves is tied to the magic. Master Lucius is still being a Malfoy."

Hermione let out a sharp breath. "But Draco supersedes him. If Draco says not to, a house-elf's highest law is their master's bidding, you shouldn't have to punish yourself if Draco says not to. Why didn't he tell you not to?"

Topsy shifted and rubbed a foot against her leg. "The house-elves is not to be doing anything that would be making Master Lucius think Master Draco is not liking to be a Death Eater. Master Draco must always be a most loyal son to Master Lucius who is very much liking to be a Death Eater. That is most important."

"What did he do to you?" Hermione said, drawing Topsy's hand from behind her back. They were blistered and raw.

"Topsy was to iron her hands for one minute each and strike herself ten times with a coal bucket." Topsy twitched a bony shoulder. "Topsy is being alright. Master Lucius is never liking elves, Topsy is used to it from the years ago."

Hermione's throat felt thick, and her eyes burned as she swallowed.

"I wish I could heal you." Her mouth twisted. "I used to be a healer—back when I had magic. Do you have potions? I have some murtlap essence. It's not very much, but it will soothe the burns and help the bruising."

Topsy patted Hermione gently on the cheek. "The elves is having Potions, but if we is using them too soon, Master Lucius is wanting to punish us again."

Draco was visibly pale and tense when he came to her room later that night. He walked rapidly across the room, held her face in his hands, and studied her eyes the way he used to during the war.

"I made it clear to him that you're pregnant and that the Dark Lord is using it as a mechanism to recover your memories," he said after a minute. "I don't imagine he'd hesitate to harm you despite the rules regarding surrogates, but the Dark Lord's specific interest in the pregnancy will hopefully be enough."

Hermione raised her hand to his cheek. He was worryingly cool to touch. "What did you do, Draco?"

He shrugged her hand off. "I added a few more wards. I want to know if he tries to access the North Wing. It would raise his suspicion if I kept him out entirely, but I can slow him enough to get here first."

"You used blood magic, didn't you? You look ready to faint." She pulled him towards the bed. "Sit down. Topsy! I need a Blood Replenishing Potion. I'm sure you have them." She pressed her fingertips against his pulse. "And a strengthening potion."

She pulled his wand out of its holster on his arm and slipped it into his hand. "Cast a diagnostic for me. I need to know how much blood you used."

He waved his wand, and she studied the results carefully. When Topsy reappeared, Hermione asked for several restoratives.

She watched him carefully as he took the potions and the colour slowly return to his features. She pressed her hand again his cheek and felt the warmth seep back into his skin as she pressed her lips against his forehead. "I won't go out of my room without you. You don't need to worry."

His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and he gave a slow nod.

Draco arrived after lunch for her daily walk. As they stood at the doorway of her room, she looked at his hand. "I suppose we shouldn't touch anymore. Just walk, like we used to last winter."

He nodded, his expression tense.

They walked through the rose garden. The buds were just starting to bloom.

As they came around the side of the manor, they both froze. There was a wide trail of blood leading from iron gates of the estate; the white gravel was soaked in it.

Lucius stood at the front doors of the manor with a centaur at his feet.

The centaur had been struck in the torso with the necrosis curse; the rot was slowly spreading across the stomach. The tendons in every leg had been brutally severed. The centaur was moaning quietly and kept struggling to stand, his skin grey from blood loss. The centaur tried to push himself up from his knees and collapsed heavily to the ground with an agonised groan.

Lucius was dressed in leather and dripping blood. His pale hair was stained red. "Ah, Draco... I had hoped you were here. Put your Mudblood away. If you could change the wards to allow me to take captives directly to my wing, that would be useful. Then I won't be obliged to drag them across the estate."

"Setting up a zoo, father?" Draco stood surveying the scene with a carefully closed expression.

Lucius snorted. "This beast came from the Forbidden Forest. I'm sure it knows something about where that arrow came from, or if it doesn't, it can tell me who does."

Hermione chest contracted painfully as Lucius continued "Unfortunately they're such uncooperative creatures, I expect the process will require—persuasion."

Draco sighed and raised an eyebrow. "There are prisons you could interrogate in. It keeps the blood off the gravel."

"Ah yes," Lucius said, waving his wand around in lazy circles. His voice became vaguely singsong. "The prisons. The prisons full of guards and ambitious Death Eaters eager to see our family toppled. Those prisons. Perhaps if you were more careful, you would have apprehended our quarry by now. Why should I use a prison when I have my very own redecorated wing of the manor? No. The manor will do very well. It's been so long since I've been home. Now, Draco, perhaps you could be so good as to transport my project the rest of the way. Unless you prefer I drag it through the halls as well."

There was a pause as Draco stood between Hermione and his father.

"Topsy," Draco called, his voice hard.

Topsy appeared before Draco with a pop. Her bruises had faded to yellow and green.

"Take the Mudblood back to her room and see that she stays there." Draco unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up. "I have more important matters to attend to."

Topsy bobbed and took Hermione's hand, leading her quickly away. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and watched Draco walk towards his father, his wand dangling from his fingertips.

Hermione has been in her room only half an hour when the screaming started.

Even from the other end of the manor, the sound was audible. Inhuman agony reverberated through the house as though it were emerging from the walls.

Narcissa started violently, jumping to her feet, her face turning grey as she gave a choked gasp of horror.

It was the first sound Hermione had ever heard from the portrait.

"It's—it's a centaur," Hermione said. "Lucius caught it."

Narcissa stared at Hermione for a moment and then dropped back into her chair, her hands falling to her lap.

The screaming kept going on and on.

Hermione looked away and tried to swallow, but her saliva was sour. Her hands were shaking as she tried to turn the page in her book. The words swam before her eyes.

She wondered if it was the flaying curse. The way the screaming continued on and on reminded her of Colin.

The book slipped from her fingers and onto the floor. She barely noticed.

She wished she had her occlumency. Or a least the ability to put her mind back together so that all the deaths didn't stay so forefront.

She pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

All the blood. There would be so much blood. And skin. And muscle. Eventually organs. Layer after layer. To the bones.

She wanted to go huddle in the corner of her room. To hide from the sound and the knowledge that it was happening and she had no ability to do anything about it.

If she tried to do anything, tried to go and beg Draco to stop it, it would endanger him, her, their daughter, Severus, Ginny, James.

She started across the room towards the corner, trying not to listen to the screaming that wouldn't stop.

As she went, she glanced towards the portrait. Narcissa's expression kept flinching, as though she were trying not to cry as she sat stoically in her chair.

Hermione stopped and hesitated for a moment before stepping towards the portrait.

Hermione extended her hand. Her fingers spasmed as she rested them against the canvas. Narcissa looked up at Hermione, and her expression was stiff. Her nose scrunched up, and her lip curled defensively as she drew back in her chair.

Hermione waited.

Then Narcissa's blue eyes flickered, and her mouth twisted as her jaw trembled. She moved to the edge of her chair and extended her hand until her painted fingers rested on the canvas beneath Hermione's.

Hermione stood at the portrait until the screaming stopped.

Once the manor fell silent, Hermione's hand slipped away from the frame, and she turned away. Her stomach felt so twisted it was as though she were being strangled from the inside. She made her way dazedly over to her bed and stood beside it for several minutes. She could still hear the screams, as though they were tattooed into her eardrums.

She curled up tightly in the corner between the bed and the wall and stared blankly at the floor.

She blinked and found Draco kneeling in front of her. His expression was hesitant and worried, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied her, his mouth set in a thin, flat line.

He was wearing different clothes, and she could tell he'd showered. His hair was combed back and still damp.

She stared at him in silence. She didn't know what to say.

His expression grew more and more drawn as he met her eyes.

He didn't reach towards her. He didn't speak. They simply looked at each other and felt the weight of it all.

He seemed to be waiting for her to initiate something, to reach for him or look away.

"Did it say anything that could incriminate you?" Hermione finally asked.

Draco's eyes flickered, and she saw his knuckles whiten. "No. I covered my tracks already."

Hermione's mouth twitched, and she gave a small nod.

"Everything you do is on my head too. Every spell."

"It's late. Will you eat tonight?" Draco asked, studying her.

Hermione looked over at the clock. It had been early afternoon when Draco had taken her outside, now it was seven o'clock.

She'd lost the whole day. She hadn't made any progress researching. She hadn't even brainstormed. She'd just stood in cold horror in front of a portrait and listened as a centaur was tortured to death.

She never managed to do anything. Not before her memory returned. Not after. She was a shadow of the person she'd been before. Like the portrait of Narcissa that hung on the wall, she was just a scarred shadow of someone Draco loved.

Her jaw trembled.

"Hermione..."

She looked back at Draco.

His expression was devastated as he watched her. He started to reach for her but then stopped and withdrew his hand. "Will you eat?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. His eyes flickered, but he looked unsurprised.

He stood up, glancing away from her. "I'll send Dreamless Sleep. My father is expecting me to go to dinner tonight. Let Topsy know if you need anything."

That was all he said before he left.

She should research more. It was what she should do.

She didn't move.

Topsy appeared with a vial of Dreamless Sleep which she placed beside Hermione without a word.

Hermione was still sitting in the corner beside the bed when the clock down the hall struck midnight and Draco appeared silently in the room.

"You're still awake."

"I wanted to know when you came back." She stood up.

She stepped closer and buried her face in his robes. It was barely more than a week until the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

He rested a tentative hand on her head.

She looked up at him, watching the way his silver eyes shone in the dim light.

She forced herself to manage a wan smile. "Come to bed. It's cold without you."

"Severus is expected to arrive within the next six days," Draco said while they were wandering through the hedge maze.

Hermione felt her stomach drop. "Oh."

She didn't know what to say. She walked blindly until she hit a dead end and then stood staring at the wall of yew, swallowing and trying to think of something to say.

She finally turned and looked at Draco, standing behind her.

"Can I go to the library one more time? Just once. I just want to look one more time."

Draco stared at her for a moment and nodded. "My father is gone for the day. I'll take you."

She felt his eyes on her as she wandered from aisle to aisle, as though there was a weight to his gaze.

She glanced over at him as she was pulling an encyclopedia of fifteenth-century arithmancy formulas down from the shelf, and her fingers wavered against the spine as she caught sight of his expression.

Wistful.

To him, she was stealing time from them. If she didn't find anything, it was all just wasted. All that time she could have had with him.

Her jaw trembled. She looked down and bit her lip as she slipped the encyclopedia off the shelf, as well as the four books beside it, adding them to a stack.

"These too."

"I found what I was missing to remove your Dark Mark," Hermione said when Draco walked through the door to her room after lunch the next day. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, empty-handed, her meal untouched.

He stopped at the door. "Oh?"

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she looked down at her hands.

"I figured it out with arithmancy. I even had Topsy write down all the numbers for me—to make sure I'd calculated it right." Her voice was empty. She looked down, and her jaw trembled before she forced herself to look at Draco. "Phoenix tears. I'd be able to remove it if I had a vial Phoenix tears."

She might as well have said she needed the moon.

Draco stood staring at her for a minute before he blinked.

Phoenixes rarely cried. When they did, it was always over an injury, not into a vial so that the tears could be saved or used in a potion. Trying to buy Phoenix tears would cost a fortune, and the buyer would be more likely to end up with watered down unicorn blood. It could take years to manage to track down a seller with actual Phoenix tears.

She swallowed and fidgeted, rolling the fabric of her robes between her fingers. "Maybe—if I start over, I can find something. I might have just come at it from the wrong angle..."

She twitched and her shoulder jerked.

"Or—a bomb. I could build a bomb—like the ones I used at Sussex." She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed at it. "I think—I mostly remember how. If you bring me an analysis of the wards on Voldemort's castle, I might be able to design a bomb for them. We could blow it up."

Draco's expression was closed, but his gaze was enragingly patient as he walked over to her. "Can you build a bomb without magic?"

Hermione swallowed, and her mouth twisted. "N-no... But—I could tell you how—"

"Can you safely handle the materials while pregnant?"

Her jaw trembled, and she realized that this was an idea he'd likely already considered and discarded at some previous point.

"No. But you could place wards around me, it would mute the effects and I can show you the techniques beforehand. We could work together—"

Draco picked up her right hand and pressed his left hand against it. His thumb and index finger both twitched faintly. Hermione's entire hand spasmed against his.

"Which of us has hands steady enough to build a bomb?"

Hermione pulled her hand away, curling it into a fist so tight she could feel her metacarpal bones under her fingertips. She could feel the blood draining from her head, and she felt as though she might topple off the edge of the bed.

She pressed her other hand firmly against the mattress to steady herself. "Maybe I can—"

"Hermione, I'm tired."

She looked up at him and saw it in his eyes.

The war had eaten him; there was so little of him left. The ghosts in his eyes, the war, it was almost all there was.

The other Death Eaters had retired from the war after the Battle of Hogwarts, but Draco hadn't had the ability, had never been afforded the luxury. He had continued, because he couldn't find her, because he'd made a vow to defeat Voldemort.

His best to defeat Voldemort.

His best.

Always his best.

Day after day.

He just wanted an endpoint to look towards.

"Draco... I—"

He took her hand in his, running his thumb over her ring. "I would like to say goodbye to you before you're leaving."

Her throat caught as she stared up at him. Her jaw was trembling visibly, and he swam in her eyes when she nodded slowly and buried her face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and sighed.

She wrapped her arms around him, but her mind raced.

The minute he left she went back to researching. She asked for more books from the house-elves. When he returned in the late evening, she'd put them all away. She didn't mention it. She knew he knew anyway.

She kissed him. She pushed him back against the bed and slid her leg up until she was on his lap, her fingers threaded through his hair as she caressed his lips with hers.

She pushed his robes off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, trailing her fingers along his clavicles and following them with her lips. Her hands slipped down his arms. She guided his hands to her waist and then pulled his mouth back to hers.

His hands gripped her. His thumb pressed against her lowest rib, and he arched her against his chest. His other hand rose up and wrapped around her throat, pulling her impossibly close and tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss.

She started unbuttoning her dress. Her hands were trembling, and her fingers fumbled with the buttons. He drew back and tried to close his hands over hers. She jerked them free.

"I want this," she said in a tight, shaking voice. "I want this. I want this on our terms before I go." Her voice wavered. "This was ours..."

She swallowed and blinked hard before meeting his silver eyes. "It was ours."

She twitched her shoulders, and her dress slipped off and pooled at her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him again.

She stayed astride him as they progressed, as things grew warmer and the world around them blurred away. There was nothing but Draco, his hands and eyes, the beating of his heart. She re-explored his body. He was different, he felt damaged in her hands. He had scars she didn't recognise, and his fingers twitched sometimes when he was pulling her closer and trailing his hands across her skin.

She laid against the length of his body, relishing the heat of him while his hand traced up the curve of her spine. He nipped along her shoulder until she gave a low moan and her body shuddered against his. She kissed down his throat and along his collarbones and took note of how he reacted, the ways he tensed and his breath caught, the way his fingers twisted in her hair and slid possessively down her throat.

Mine. She could feel it in his touch, but he didn't say it.

Mine.

His eyes weren't like a wolf's. They were a dragon's, deadly and possessive. He stared at her as though she were all that mattered in the world. It made her blood burn.

Her thighs bracketed his hips as she sat astride him and shifted. She met his eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her pulse was racing, and she knew he could feel it.

She drew his hands to her hips as she slowly lowered herself. His eyes turned black, and his jaw tensed as he gave a low hiss between his teeth, but he didn't hurry her as she paused and adjusted to the sensation and then rolled her hips forward.

It was—familiar, in both good ways and bad.

Over the table, she'd tried not to pay attention, not to how it felt, how it touched her inside, the sensation or the movement. She'd torn her mind away and focused on the bite of the table against her hipbones, the clock, the texture of the wood beneath her fingertips. Poetry. Potions. Anything else.

It had always been a matter of experiencing it as little as possible.

Now she wanted to notice what it was like. They were connected. He was in her and under her. His hands guiding her hips as she moved with him.

It was good. It had felt this way when they used to have sex, she was certain.

The heat of his touch was like a fire. It wasn't too fast or too much for her. He went as slow as she needed him to.

It used to be slow. She remembered that. Slow and intimate as he whispered against her skin. The burning reverence of his touch as he used to make love to her.

That's what it had been. Making love.

That's what they'd had.

Her eyes burned, and she dropped her head down as her shoulders shook.

"I love you." She gripped his hand in hers so tightly it hurt. "I wanted my whole life to show you."