They broke the embrace, but Draco moved his hand to the small of Hermione's back, a reassuring, if icy, presence. "Good evening, Father." He kept his tone even, but the hand began to shake.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lucius' fish-gray eyes flicked between them, raking Hermione.

Draco avoided the issue. "Professor Dumbledore asked to see us."

"Mr. Malfoy-" Hermione began.

"Quiet, Mudblood," he snapped. Draco went rigid against her. Lucius turned back to his son. "Exactly what were you trying to prove with that display downstairs?"

"That we were wrongly Sorted." Hermione hated to be ignored.

The wolf's stare returned to her. "What are you doing with my son?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she retorted.

"Hermione, don't-" Draco wanted to stand in front of her, protect her from everything that was his father, but he found that Lucius had pasted his feet to the floor with nothing but a glance.

"Oh yes, it is, you little chit, because you won't be doing it anymore."

"Father-" Draco tried again.

"You," Lucius' eyes never stopped boring into Hermione as he addressed his heir, "will return to your dormitory and pack your trunk. Now." Draco started woodenly down the stairs. "And you, girl, will stay away from my son, or I will make sure that you never ensnare another as long as you live." He leaned very close to her, and Hermione was sure the same person had taught Professor Snape to talk.

"That's uncalled for, Lucius." Professor Dumbledore's voice came, a welcome interruption, for Hermione, at least.

Neither of them had heard the door open. "Headmaster." A practiced change, voice and faceswitching from threat to silk in the flick of a wand.

"Lucius, I believe your business is with me, not Miss Granger." A command with schoolboy undertones of, 'Leave her alone, you slimy git.'

Mr. Malfoy insinuated himself into the office, leaving Hermione alone on the landing, too stunned to move.