means of a brand or marking so that they couldn't run away."
Draco was already walking to the bookcase that lined the walls opposite the fireplace. "Oh, there's a counter spell, you can be sure," he said. "In fact I'm certain there's a volume here on old-"
Lucius moved like lightning on ice. Hermione didn't even have the time to cry out in surprise when Draco was violently wrenched backwards by his father, and thrown with such force that he hurtled into a small sandwich table laden with fine china and an untouched lunch.
Toolip cried out and covered her face in her hands, her muttering increasing in pitch and speed. Out of instinct, Hermione had reached out in an ineffectual attempt to catch Draco, or at the very least, divert his fall. But she was not quick enough, and he careened into the finely wrought table, causing fine porcelain to smash and silverware to skitter across the floor.
Hermione's look of horror as she bent down to assist Draco was a perfect counterpart to Lucius' cool dismissal of the assault.
"Don't." Draco hissed, flinching away from her. At a loss for words, Hermione let her hands fall loosely to her sides before turning to give Lucius a look of loathing.
"Are there no limits to what I must endure?" Lucius seethed to his son.
"Endurance is strength is it not, father?" Draco returned. He rose to his feet unaided, pressing his fingers against the thin cut at his cheekbone he had contacted with broken porcelein. "I believe you were the one to tell me that."
The animosity in the room was almost tangible. Hate hung in the air like stale wood smoke.
Lucius put an end to it all. "Toolip, you will escort my son to his chambers. I wish to speak with Miss Granger alone."
"No," said Draco.
"Fine," Hermione agreed, at the same time.
Draco spun on his heel to scowl at her. Hermione had gone so pale that the few freckles over her nose stood out in marked contrast. He then gave Lucius a look that she couldn't even begin to decipher, before walking briskly from study with Toolip, and slamming the doors shut behind him.
**
Lucius was seated at his desk, writing briskly on thick cream parchment that probably cost more than anything Hermione had ever used.
"You will have fifteen minutes of my time this afternoon, Miss Granger, after which you will be placed in a guest bedroom for the remainder of this day. Before your return to Hogwarts tomorrow, I shall provide you with a solution to our little problem. It will be up to you and my son to see that you execute said solution with due diligence."
He paused in his writing to look at her, taking note of her fierce glare and shaking hands.
"I take it you don't approve of my discipline?" He spoke in a casual, conversational manner. There was a very slight slur to his words. For some reason, it worked to ease her disgust of him somewhat. The man was drunk.
That did not excuse what he did, but she hoped to God he was a better father when he wasn't pissed.
"You violate your position as a parent. In doing so, you demean yourself, your son and the name of your family. But then, that latter part is rather moot now isn't it?"
"I have precious little too lose, Miss Granger."
It was uncanny how much he looked like Draco. But he was prettier than Draco, if indeed such a thing was possible. Lucius was like a Goya painting, Hermione decided, oftentimes disturbing in content, but exquisite in its rendering. It was a sharp, jarring kind of beauty. Draco's features, meanwhile, were decidedly more masculine.
He may have inherited his father's piercing colouring, but he also had the characteristic Black bone structure. Long, lean lines, lightly curving lips, and the same broad shouldered physique that had favoured Sirius.
Part of Hermione wanted to run from the house as fast as her wobbly legs would allow. Another, less intelligent part of her wanted to sit and simply stare at Lucius, much like one observed a fierce, jungle cat at the Zoo. Only in this instance, the one thing separating her from the predator was a cherry wood desk.
Oh God. She felt nauseous again.
"My mistakes are my own," Hermione told him in a steady voice. "Even if I did tell my parents, they wouldn't so much as lay a finger on me."
"My son is no foundling, Miss Granger. I don't make it my business to know about his