BLOODY FUCKING FABULOUS!

Not only does the twit decide to marry the Granger bitch, they want a bloody MUGGLE ceremony. Muggle! For a Malfoy! Does it never fucking end? Of course, Narcissa is all for it. She thinks it will help us to "understand" the girl's "culture" Bloody women…ruining everything.

Severus owled me another bottle of option. I assume he's heard the news.

To make things better, my darling wife is moping around the house. Apparently I am useless when it comes to reproduction, for I have yet to give her another child.

The miracles of contraceptive charms.

Thankfully, I am quite adept with them. It wouldn't do to have to deal with another bloody catastrophe of a wedding in twenty some-odd years. It wouldn't do to have Cissa knowing anything of Madam Rosmerta's finer abilities either. The last thing I need is a bloody divorce hearing.

Of course, Draco insists on me actually attending the damn ceremony. And he wants me to be there to support Potter and that Parkinson cow as well. Fucking hell, that muggle bitch has taken over his bloody sanity.

After another dismal morning, I rid myself of the household and all of it's inhabitants, to make my way for the Ministry. After several hours and several thousand galleons, Draco's chances as a Quidditch Mongol were seriously in danger.

Thank Merlin some authority figures were born with no bloody backbone.

Feeling much improved, I made a slight detour to The Three Broomsticks.

I left the establishment in even better spirits.

I doubt Madam Rosemerta would ever dismiss my reproduction abilities. She has yet to complain. Then again, neither have I.

Upon returning to the manor, I find a letter on my desk in the study. The ominous demeanor of the owl forewarned me. It was from the Dark Lord.

I require your and Severus' services. Tomorrow at ten. Be prompt.

Bloody Hell.

A quick Floo to Severus reveals that he has also received the message, and that is he looking forward to the night about as much as I am.

I believe it is time to get thoroughly pissed.

Severus agrees, and comes through the flickering green flames. We confide in several bottles of Firewhiskey, as well as some sherry and a nice Champagne. I awaken the next morning to a pounding headache and the extreme urge to empty my stomach across the Persian rug. Of course, I spot the tiny black vial first.

Bless Severus, he knows me well.

After downing the potion I feel almost recovered, and begin towards the bathroom. A quick shower, and much dodging of Narcissa lead me into a night of…..activities….with the Dark Lord.

Merlin help me.

I arrive at five till ten, look to my right and see Severus, also cloaked in black, nod once and slip a white mask over his face. The stench of blood fills the air around the Dark Lord's lair, and a sharp scream penetrates the silent night. It is quickly stifled.

Severus turned to me.

"Weasley."

Sure enough, as we enter the room, a shock of long auburn hair peeks out from under the bed. Tonight, we are in luck. The Dark Lord has already had his fun. He briefs us on future plans and we are dismissed after half an hour. He pulls Severus aside as I hastily leave the room. I wait momentarily in the corridor and he exits with the youngest Weasley in his arms.

It's the same as always, he will carry her back to the castle, revive her and treat her wounds, "comfort" her as only a dark brooding Potions Master can. Then, he sends her back to him, only to repeat the sick and twisted cycle.

It's getting rather old.