Bile rose in Hermione's throat. Lucius took a deep breath.

"You are under far more scrutiny than Miss Mortensen. In part due to your connection to Harry Potter"—his lip curled—"and in part due to the foolish choices of my son. Hiding you away for nine months would be nigh impossible. If you were to become pregnant, we couldn't protect the child. And I will do everything in my power to prevent inflicting that kind of pain on my son. And my wife."

Hermione felt a spreading numbness splintering out from her chest, running down her arms and into her fingertips.

"So," Lucius said, standing tall and seeming to brush away the conversation like lint from his cloak. "You will take the potion. Is that clear?"

Her stubborn streak begged her to demand whether he'd said anything against those laws. Or whether he'd simply helped spread them. In Switzerland, Romania, and all the other places he'd disappeared to on Voldemort's orders.

But her rational mind knew he was right. She didn't want a child. Not like this.

As she nodded slowly, she wondered if Lucius would mourn the loss of an unborn, half-blood grandchild in the same way he thought his wife and son would. Or if his pure-blood ideologies would prevent him from thinking of a potential pregnancy as anything other than a disgraceful inconvenience.

He examined her, seemingly satisfied that his demands had sunk in. "Come with me."

Hermione's eyes widened as Lucius swept toward the small doorway, ducking smoothly with a practiced ease, and paused just outside the threshold.

"I won't ask twice, Miss Granger."

She stumbled to follow him, her mind reeling. He moved through the corridor quickly, not bothering to spare her a backward glance. He finally stopped at a window overlooking the gardens.

"We have eleven elves in total at Malfoy Manor," he said conversationally, once she joined him at the window. "Four kitchen elves for feasts. When the size of the family is small and there are no extravagant feasts, Tom-Tom and Havy double as tidy elves, along with Boppy, Yipper, and Caf. Yipper is our youngest; he is Boppy's son." He pointed out the window. "Hix, there, is our head grounds elf. He works alongside Jot and Mck. You may never catch sight of Mck. He's terribly shy. Mippy, as you know, is something of a personal elf to my wife."

Hermione turned her gaze on Lucius, astounded. He was still moving pieces on his chessboard, ten paces ahead of her. "Why are you telling me this?"

He kept his eyes out the window. "You like elves, do you not?"

"I—"

He spun away from the window and moved briskly down the corridor. "Do you know where the elves sleep, Miss Granger?"

She huffed and jogged to keep up with him. "No, but I still don't understand—"

"No one but the elves can find their bedrooms." He stopped in front of a tapestry and waited for her to catch up.

Hermione gaped at him. "Why?"