I apologize for the wait. Both Hymnophile and I have been exercising the controversial right to having a life outside fanfiction - I know, it's tough. This is actually the uneditted chapter but I figured you guys have been waiting long enough. When Hymnophile gets back to me with the beta-ed version, I'll post any changes necessary. All mistakes are mine. I just felt like you guys deserved a special little Draco-shaped chapter. And I know you hate being kept waiting.
Chapter Six
Absolutely... not?
The past year had not been kind to Draco Malfoy. He hadn't expected much after he'd completely botched the Dumbledore job. That was supposed to be his initiation, his defining moment. And then he went and lost it completely. Voldemort had not been happy when Severus had shown him the memory of what had happened up on the tower. Draco still had the scars.
Things had been very different for a certain Malfoy ever since. While Voldemort had put his father into a flattering position that would keep Lucius right under his nose, he'd shoved Draco far, far down the ladder. Honestly, there was nothing fulfilling about filing paperwork in the Head Court of Muggleborn Trials. One could forgive him if he was a little bit bored, and just a lot a bit sick of it all.
Well. A normal person could. Unfortunately for him, Draco didn't spend time with normal people. His coworkers mocked him openly, taking every chance they could to rub his failure in his face. One of the esteemed Malfoy brood, fallen so far down, stuck here filing lawsuits with the rest of them. But he didn't care so much about them. If there was one thing his mother had taught him before her… death, it was that he should never let the ignorance of lesser… wizards get the best of him. He was a Malfoy. He was inherently better than the rest of them. The memories of his mother impressing this knowledge into him allowed him to keep his chin up and his back straight, and to endure their idiocy as best he could.
Some people, though, weren't so easy to ignore.
Aunt Bella, for example.
She seemed to blame him for his mother's death, even though the fault was all his father's. She blamed the family misfortune on him, pinpointing the day that he had failed them all. According to Aunt Bella, that was the day that he himself had condemned Narcissa to death.
"Draco," she would croon. "You're not upset, are you? Bored with this life? How do you think Mummy would feel about that, hmm? Do you think she'd want you wasting your days moping, and being ungrateful for her… sacrifice?"
He would grit his teeth. It would not do to attack her – she would wipe the floor with his ass. He had to sit. And endure… her. Gods, he hated her. He hated the way her hot breath felt on his throat when she leaned in too close to whisper to him. He hated the whiney edge in her voice when she mocked people. He hated her sick, blind devotion to everything that the Death Eaters stood for.
He hated that that thought would ever cross his head. Draco, of course, still supported the Death Eaters. Ardently. He just… Sometimes, certain things… Well.
His father didn't like him thinking like that.
He clearly remembered the one time he'd tried to talk to Lucius. It was over one of their awkward "family dinners" – the ones full of stilted conversation and forced laughter. Draco had only had his job for a week, and he'd been assigned to work under Crabbe Senior.
"It's humiliating, Father," he'd said, playing with the oyster shell that kept slipping out from under his fingers and skidding across the plate. "I know I fucked things up with Dumbledore, but surely the Dark Lord knows I did the best I could. He can't really expect me to work under that bumbling buffoon? I swear, Crabbe Senior is even worse than his son, and you know that's saying something."
Lucius had put down his fork wearily, after glaring at Bellatrix for her to keep her mouth shut. "Draco, the Dark Lord knows that if you had really given your mission your all, you would have found a way to kill Dumbledore. You should be glad that putting you in such a low position is the worst he's doing to you. Things could have been much worse." He blotted cream sauce from his lips with a linen napkin. "You should be grateful to have your life and your sanity."
Draco took an impossible sip of wine through tight lips. "I still don't feel like I deserve this much of a demotion. He gave you a second chance, Father. Why couldn't he have made me Minister of Magic?"
"Because he trusts Lucius far more than he trusts a scrawny little boy," Bellatrix said roughly, jabbing at her chicken with her fork. "You can't even kill a man, Draco. Why would he trust you with such a high position?"
He bit back the words to scold her for baby talking to him. Instead, he tightened his lips further and said nothing.
"Draco," Lucius said pleasantly. "Your mother sacrificed a lot to get you where you are today. It would be an insult to her memory if you should squander this new chance of proving yourself. She died for this. Do you want that to be for nothing?"
Between Bellatrix being nasty and his father playing the guilt card whenever it fit his fancy, Draco wasn't too thrilled with his family. For once, he didn't take ridiculous pride in being a Malfoy – not if this was what being a Malfoy entailed. And separating himself from the family a bit forced him to see things in a different light.
Fortunately, he hadn't had to see much – if any – of either of them in little more than a month. He'd pass his father in the halls of the Ministry sometimes, or see one of them on the front page of the Prophet, but in general, their paths didn't cross.
Not until Saturday afternoon.
Draco came in that afternoon worn out from working overtime. He was nursing a sore thumb and bruised pride from the paper cut he'd gotten while filing. He hated working on weekends – especially when he was in charge of the filing cabinets. He kicked in his door, cursing to himself, with the intention of digging through the bathroom cupboard for some essence of dittany to dress the wound. Instead, he stopped in the middle of the kitchen and sighed in irritation.
Dickens, Bellatrix's tawny owl, was sitting perched on the back of one of his chairs, staring at him balefully like he shouldn't have kept it waiting. Clenched in his steel grey beak was an envelope of ridiculously heavy parchment with Draco's name calligraphied on the front in Bella's handwriting. He stuck out a hand reluctantly, and Dickens snapped at his fingers as he took the letter.
To his surprise, it was his father's tidy handwriting that read, Draco. Please do us the favor of gracing us with your presence at dinner tonight at 8. I may have found you a wife.
He crumpled the letter and threw it at the wall. Dickens hooted reproachfully.
"Damn bird." Draco glared at it. "What, did they ask you for a reply? Just fly home. It's not like I have a choice anyway." He opened the window wide and looked at the bird pointedly until it flew out.
I may have found you a wife. He picked up the parchment and smoothed it on the table, narrowing his eyes at his father's careful hand. He'd long suspected – and he was beginning to gather proof – that Lucius was slowly going insane. After everything he'd been through because of the man, he was still one of Lord Voldemort's most faithful supporters. He regurgitated pureblood nonsense – mania – more than anyone else that Draco knew. Ever since both Malfoy heirs had… lost standing, Lucius had become obsessed with finding Draco an eligible partner, so that he could raise perfect pureblood babies as soon as possible.
Draco thought it was ridiculous. But he would go to dinner. He always would. He hated that he was so compelled to oblige his father's will, that really, he had no control over his life. And he hated that Lucius told him at least he should do it in memory of his mother. Narcissa would not have approved of any of this.
***
It had been exactly three days, six hours, and forty-three minutes since anyone other than Calico had looked at her, spoken to her, or touched her. She spent all her time locked in her rooms – pacing, sometimes, or staring blankly into space. Three times a day, the door opened and closed just enough for Calico to set a tray of food on her table, and three times a day Calico carried away a tray that was almost untouched.
Sometimes, she sat in the hard, wooden chair at her desk and fought back tears. Her hands would go instinctively to her still-flat stomach and the thought of it bulging out huge and unfamiliar stuck her hard. She wondered if Lucius would keep her hidden away from him so that he wouldn't have to see that – he wouldn't have to look at her and see just how far she truly had fallen, and see how filthy, how shameful she was (because of him). God knows he wouldn't want the Mudblood scum dirtying his house further.
She didn't know why the shame struck her so hard, but it did. It had been apparent since the day she'd told Lucius. There was no other way she could have interpreted his reaction. He was disgusted by her, and he treated her accordingly. For some reason, every time she thought about how "filthy" she was, she found it harder to keep the tears back. They rolled silently down her face, but she refused to make a sound. Not a sniffle escaped her.
A new routine formed. She woke up every morning and vomited. She drank her coffee to wash down the taste of the anti-nausea potion, and ignored her breakfast. She let herself wonder about Harry and Ron, and then she tried for a good half hour not to cry. Calico would come and beg her – if only for the baby's sake – to eat lunch. She would pick at it, then pace and sit, pace and sit, until the dinner she would choke down half of. And then she sank into bad dreams.
In a way, she missed Lucius. Even though the thought of him and his disgusting hands made her nauseous, her body, so used to human touch, craved him. A few times, she woke in the middle of the night to find her body on fire with need. And heat would flood her cheeks when she saw what she'd become – really, no better than a cheap whore. Hermione Granger was better than that. Then, who was she?
If only Ron and Harry could see her now… The thought of them pierced her through excruciatingly. From the lack of boasting, she had to assume that they were still alive. But long days alone lead the imagination in strange, frightening places, and horrible scenarios unwound themselves during empty hours. She usually prided herself on being levelheaded, insusceptible to falling prey to such flights of fancy. Maybe it was the hormones.
Here she was. Pregnant, with Lucius fucking Malfoy's baby.
For three days, six hours, and forty-three minutes, she waited helplessly as her fate was decided for her. Would she even be allowed to live? Would the baby? Lucius had been so, very angry…
And then the door had creaked open and an annoyed-looking Bellatrix waltzed in with a pile of packages.
It was foolish of Hermione's heart to leap at the sight of the Death Eater, but she was so happy to see another human face – even that of a woman who probably hated every particle of her being – that she could have hugged the older woman. Fortunately, Bellatrix gave her no chance to act so rashly. She set her pile down on the bedside table and turned, still sneering.
"Hello, Mudblood."
Hermione held her tongue; a force of habit.
"It would seem," the woman snarled, tearing a package open with her teeth, "that your Lord Malfoy has decided to let his plaything out for a bit. Does that make you happy?"
She shrugged one shoulder.
Bellatrix slapped her in the face and sent her stumbling backwards. She was sure her cheek would bruise. Lucius would be angry.
"If it is what my Lord Malfoy demands," she said tonelessly, picking herself back up. "May I ask what he has planned for me?" Nothing good, she was sure. Nothing that suited Bellatrix, either, if she was in this temper. She'd been almost human three days ago…
Bellatrix glared back but held her hands at her sides in tight fists, knowing the repercussions of marking Hermione further. "If I had my way, nothing at all." She finished tearing the packaging off an expensive set of bath soaps. "Undress. I'm supposed to draw you a bath. Have you been wearing those same clothes all this time?"
***
Draco felt faintly ill as he slipped through the ornate wrought iron gates that had been the doors to his personal prison in the summer times between Hogwarts terms. Lucius hadn't asked him to a family dinner in almost two months, and he hadn't missed being here at all. He had to force his feet down the narrow driveway, and he almost had a heart attack when one of his father's peacocks called from the bushes.
The Manor rose up in front of him, gloomy the slowly sinking sun silhouetted it. He climbed the sweeping staircase with leaden legs and forced his hand up to knock.
The door opened of its own accord and he stepped into the cool marble hallway with trepidation. There had never been anything particularly homey about the Manor. Growing up, he'd hated it. It was too big, too cold.
"In the drawing room, Draco," his father drawled. Draco let himself linger for a little longer, looking at his too-pale face in the gilted mirror above the hat stand. He bit his lip and smoothed his hair. It was just his father.
It was, in fact, just his father who waited for him in the drawing room, perched stiffly on a straight-backed green chair.
"Father."
"Draco."
Draco sank smoothly onto the couch. "Where is Aunt Bellatrix?" he said, surprised to see that there weren't any drinks on the coffee table. He could have used a shot of firewhisky.
"Bellatrix is occupied right now." Lucius picked an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve. "It was nice of you to join us tonight, Draco. I thought you might not be coming at all when Dickens came back without a reply. You do know you're late?"
Draco drummed his fingers on his knee. "Am I? I apologize. I trust you are well, Father."
Lucius' lips twitched into what, for the briefest of moments, looked like a frown. He glanced toward the drawing room door with what seemed like expectation. "Oh, yes. Quite well. And you?"
"I've been following your social life in the Prophet," Draco said, looking, too, at the empty doorframe. "I'm a bit surprised that you would invite the Mudblood into your home. Really, Father? I thought you had better taste than that." Rule number one in the Malfoy household: the more pureblood mentions, the better. Lucius liked it when Draco worked to sound haughty and arrogant. It was becoming of the Malfoy heir.
To his surprise, his father frowned more deeply at his words, and ran an elegant hand through his hair. "I think you'll find that I have extraordinary tastes, actually."
"I think you'll find that it's not nice to talk about people like that when they're just in the hallway," said an annoyed voice. Draco turned again and was startled to see Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, looking at his father with a mixture of apprehension and irritation. Behind her stood Aunt Bellatrix, who yanked one of Hermione's curls in annoyance, trying to get it to stay in place.
He had to admit that the mudblood looked surprisingly good in a strapless, sweeping dinner dress. Green. It set off her skin nicely.
Lucius rose, his brow furrowed in concern, and moved swiftly over to Granger, who shied away instinctively. He reached out for her hand, and, as Draco watched in interest, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek lightly. His father slid his fingers under her chin and forced her face up, angling it so that the light from the crystal chandelier fell upon the shadow on her cheekbone.
"What happened here?" he murmured, touching the bruise lightly. She winced, pulling her face away, and averted her eyes.
Bellatrix tried to slip into the room behind Hermione, but Lucius caught her arm roughly. "Bella, have we not had this conversation repeatedly?"
"Guess it slipped my mind," she said quickly, trying to dart over toward Draco. "Oh, do let go of me Lucius. It's not like it really matters."
"I'd hardly say it doesn't matter. We will discuss this later." He let go of her and turned back to Granger, pulling his wand from his sleeve. He passed the wand over her cheek, and the bruise faded. She touched her face gingerly, and he smiled at her.
"You look lovely tonight."
Her jaw tightened a fraction. "Thank you. As do you, My Lord."
"Miss Granger, did you notice that we have a guest?"
Granger whirled around and her eyes fell on Draco. She frowned slightly, and bit her lip. "Malfoy."
His stomach turned over. Disgust? Dislike? Nervous energy? "Mudblood."
"Now, now, Draco," Lucius said good-naturedly. "Miss Granger is right. That's no way to speak about guests. May I suggest that we all retire to the dining room? Now that we are finally all here, I expect the house elves will be ready for us, and it wouldn't do to keep them waiting." He took Herm – Granger's hand again and gestured to the door.
Bellatrix fell into step with Draco behind Granger and Lucius as they made their way out. "How is my favorite nephew?" she crooned, straightening the collar of his shirt.
He twitched in annoyance as her fingernails scraped against his throat gently. "I'm just fine, Aunt Bella," he said tersely. "I hope you've been well, too?"
She pouted. "Things have been very different around here lately," she whispered conspiratorially. "Ever since the mudblood came, your father has been acting very odd."
He frowned at the news as they entered the dining room, then groaned when he saw that the table had been set for a feast. It was going to be one of those nights.
Lucius helped Granger into a seat, and she glared at him as she sat. He took the seat at the head of the table. Draco sat at the foot, and Bellatrix sat opposite Hermione. Draco fingered the tassel on the end of the table runner as the house elves brought in the first course.
"I trust you're over your nausea, Miss Granger?" Lucius said with forced nonchalance, picking up his fork.
Granger froze halfway in the process of reaching for her water goblet. "Yes, My Lord," she murmured finally. "The potions have been helping."
Draco watched curiously as his father nodded tersely. "Have you been sick, Granger?"
She scowled. "I'd rather not talk about it, Malfoy."
"Some manners would be nice," Bellatrix said lightly.
Granger took a moment to collect herself, then smiled sweetly. "I apologize. Yes, I have been ill. Thank you for asking, Draco." She stretched her hand all the way to meet her water goblet, and her fingers trembled.
"It's nothing," he murmured, ignoring his food completely. He looked at his father questioningly, but Lucius offered no insight.
"How is work going, Draco?" he asked instead.
Yes, it was going to be one of those nights.
***
After the chocolate mousse had been cleared away and they all sat sipping tea, Lucius leaned back luxuriously in his seat. "Draco, I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here tonight."
The sugar cube slipped out of Draco's fingers and fell into the teacup with an inordinately large splash. He dried his burnt fingers on his napkin and nodded. "You're not one for cozy get-togethers, Father. Of course I was curious. You said something in your note about a… wife?"
Granger jumped in her chair and banged the table with her knee, rattling her cup and saucer. She looked at Lucius with wide, accusing eyes, but he ignored her.
"I might have," he admitted, also ignoring Bellatrix's snort of disgust. "I've been thinking, Draco. You've heard the stories. With" – he glanced at Granger – "our two favorite Order members stirring up trouble, things are getting too dangerous. It's about time that you produce an heir, just in case."
"You can't just –" Granger started.
Lucius looked at her sharply. "I just can. Draco, Hermione, how would you feel about a formal engagement?"
"Absolutely not!" Granger shrieked. "I can't believe you. This is what you came up with?"
He shrugged unconcernedly. "You will do what I ask of you, Granger. I thought I'd made that very clear."
"I will not marry Draco to cover up for your mistake," she growled. "Merlin, I knew you were an idiot but I didn't know you were that much of an idiot. Did you ever stop to think about the consequences?"
Draco looked at his father in alarm, sure that he was about to snap on the mudblood for being a mouthy bitch. Instead, he looked at her, amused.
"You have to learn how to take responsibility for your own actions. You can't just dump things like this on Draco. That's… that's…" She looked like she was too outraged to find the right words. "That's disgusting. Repulsive."
"Dearest?" Lucius said good-naturedly. "I think Draco might like to know a bit more about this before you lose your head completely."
"I'm the one who's losing my head? I'm fairly sure you lost yours a good long time ago, My Lord. What you're implying is…"
"Hermione," he said, just the faintest note of warning in his tone. He would have slapped Draco for such insolence, but instead he just looked at her sternly before turning to his son. "Draco, I'm sure you're confused."
Confused didn't even begin to cover it. When had Father grown a heart? "Just a bit."
"Let me explain," Lucius said silkily. "I know you're aware that for some time now, Miss Granger has been my consort…"
"Right…"
"Consort." Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and glanced at Granger, who was turning red with mortification. "Consort isn't a very strong word, Lucius."
"It's better than some," he said quietly, taking Granger's reluctant hand and running his thumb over the back of it absently. "In any case, what happened happened. Call it what you like. But I'm sure that Draco, I don't need to remind you what happens when a man and a woman lie together."
Draco felt his whole face go as red as Granger's. The mudblood looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. "You got Granger pregnant?" he said in alarm. It seemed impossible that his father would be so careless.
Granger huffed in irritation. "He didn't just get me pregnant. He's sticking it to us to deal with it."
Draco liked to consider himself at least moderately intelligent, and would have liked to believe that his brain was quick enough to jump straight to the right conclusion, but there were some things that just couldn't be true. He ran through what he knew again.
His father wanted him to marry Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger was pregnant with his father's baby. That would make the baby his brother or sister. And if he was married to Granger that would make him…
"Fuck no!" As soon as his father's calm, expectant face confirmed that what he was thinking could actually be true, he was faster to react than Granger. "You can't really expect us to…"
"But Draco, I think you'll find I can."
"But that's… that's sick!" he spluttered. "Father, it's your bastard, not mine. I'm not going to –"
"I told you it was a bad idea," Granger pressed hotly. "Not a bad idea. That's not strong enough. It's disgusting."
"Isn't that incest or something?" Draco said over her. "Father, you can't ask that of us. It might seem like an okay solution now, but have you thought about the consequences at all?"
"It's unrealistic of you to expect that Draco and I could handle that by ourselves," Hermione added. "It's unrealistic of you to expect that anything good could come of the baby." She took a deep breath. "My Lord, if I may be so bold, the only good option is to abort it now, before…" She clenched her hand in her skirt, composing herself. "Before it's too late."
Lucius cleared his throat dryly. "I will not abort a Malfoy heir. I don't care if half of its blood will be filthy from you – it still has Malfoy blood and that's that."
"For God's sake, Father!" Draco roared. "Give it up! You still have me. Am I not good enough? Would you really rather have a halfblood bastard as the Malfoy heir? One of these days you're just going to have to realize that the Malfoy name isn't going to last forever."
"I did warn you, Lucius," Bellatrix said, amused, "that this wasn't a good idea."
"Since when would you let something like this happen?" Draco drummed his fingers on the tabletop in an angry staccato. "You didn't always let things like this slip through the cracks. How hard are contraceptive spells? Really? And there was a time when you would have aborted the baby without asking questions. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say you cared."
Granger winced. She'd gone very pale.
"Draco," Lucius said coolly, "I thought you knew better than to question me like that. I don't need to explain everything I do to you, but clearly, you can't handle that right now. Quite simply, I can't father a child right now – not in my position. I won't kill anyone with Malfoy blood. You should know that about me. I want the least scandal to come out of this as possible."
"So I was a ready-made candidate," he said bitterly. "I see how it is. What, is my reputation tarnished enough that you don't mind forcing the baby off on me?"
"Right," Granger sneered. "You can dump your whore on your loser of a son. Won't we be the best of parents for the Malfoy heir?"
"Your condition doesn't keep me from punishing you," Lucius said conversationally.
Draco watched as a dozen different emotions flitted across Granger's face. Fear, disgust, intrigue, loathing, nausea. She closed her mouth abruptly and deflated in her seat. "Yes, My Lord," she murmured.
"That's better." He turned his attention back to his son. "Now, Draco, I think your part in this is relatively clear. You are to convince the Dark Lord that you both seduced and fell in love with Granger, and ask him permission to marry her."
"Why does he have to ask Voldemort?" Granger spluttered.
Bellatrix growled low in her throat. "Because, you idiot, the Dark Lord knows you only as Lucius' slut. If you suddenly go to be with Draco, he will know that something has happened. It's better to keep him informed of these sorts of things."
"So it won't bother him that he'll know you're lying when he uses Legilimancy on you? He's not stupid."
"Granger," Lucius said. "I think it's time for you to stop worrying your pretty little head about this. Everything will work out just fine."
From the look on Granger's face, Draco guessed that she didn't feel like any possible outcome would be "just fine." For once, he agreed with her.
"Good, so it's all settled," Bellatrix grumbled. "Draco and the mudblood can go see the Dark Lord tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Draco wanted to throttle his father. He couldn't just – Oh, but he was Lucius Malfoy. He could do whatever he bloody well pleased. Draco balled his hands into fists, his nails digging painfully into his palms.
"Tomorrow." His father looked at him with an aristocratically raised eyebrow, daring him to challenge him. Draco could almost hear the words, What would your mother think of you now? "If that's not a problem."
He wanted to say yes. Yes, it was a fucking big problem. His father wanted him to marry the mudblood tomorrow. Your mother. Swallowing his pride, he nodded, his stomach churning unpleasantly as he realized that he was, once again, falling victim to his father's whims. "It's not a problem," he said through clenched teeth."Not at all."
"Good." Bellatrix looked just as angry as Granger and Draco, but Draco was sure she had already given Lucius her two cents. "If we're all done, then…"
"Of course."
They all stood, some of them more reluctantly than others. Lucius took Granger's hand again as they walked to the door with Draco on their tail.
"It was good of you to come," he told his son stiffly, as he opened the front door. "I'm glad that we don't have any misunderstandings."
Draco looked at the long, elegant hand curled threateningly around Granger's soft fingers and felt a twinge of what might have been pity. He noticed the almost protective way that Lucius pulled the girl into him, and wondered if he'd ever felt so disgusted in his whole life. Looked at the two of them, knowing what they'd done… He shuddered and turned his eyes up to Granger's face.
She looked at him with wide eyes, and a mixture of curiosity and anger. She held herself awkwardly as far away from Lucius as was possible considering the way he held her.
He couldn't really be angry with her. She hadn't asked for this any more than he had. And she'd had to do unspeakable things with his father. He swallowed hard, aware of three pairs of eyes on him. "G – Hermione," he choked. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "Draco."
He looked at Bellatrix, who was pouting in the background, and met his father's eyes for the briefest of moments. Then he hurried out the door.
He knew there was a reason he never liked it when Dickens came with a new letter for him.
Ron: Harry, did you know that Dickens means "Devil?" Lily the Author spent literally twenty minutes shifting through pet-name websites to find Dickens.
Harry: How do you know that? That's creepy. You're channeling Hermione.
Ron: What? I don't know what you're talking about.
Harry: *sigh* Shut up and help me look for *message reducted because of spoiler content*
Ron: Oohh... Harry, I miss Hermione.
Harry: Me too. I also miss being included in Lily's chapters. Don't you feel a little left out?
Ron: I think we should ask the readers if they want to see us...
Harry: I agree! I also would like to take this moment to thank mjmusiclover for "your brilliant review. I also love Hermione and Lucius, but everyone else hates it... Maybe we should make a joint luvin' fic! Lol. I think Lucius is one sexy bastard..." Whoa. That teaches me never to read things like that before I know what they say...
Ron: Did you say Hermione and Lucius? Lucius Malfoy?
Harry: Yes, Ron. She is his consort... damn. We've gotta do something.
Ron: I concur. Review if you want to save Hermione from that nasty man!