"Sixty-five thousand Galleons," he said, drawing the number out like a question. But she knew it wasn't. "My, my, Miss Granger. What a handsome prize you make."

He wanted her to interact with him. She swallowed her terror, and decided to play his game. "Were you in attendance last night, Mr. Malfoy?"

He pulled a deep breath through his nostrils, the hint of a sneer on his lips. "I have no interest in slave-trading. I have enough house elves." He clasped his hands behind his back and looked out the window at the view she had been enjoying.

She remembered strong arms, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her, taking her somewhere. If Lucius hadn't been there, it had been Draco. Where would he have taken her?

And why did he want her in the first place? And how had he obtained her?

She looked up from the thoughtful gaze she had been sending the carpets to find Lucius Malfoy still before her, watching her. His eyes swept over her body, and she shivered, glad to be rid of the gold dress and in sexless nightclothes.

"How do you like your accommodations, Miss Granger?" His eyes pierced her, his words digging into her skin.

She wondered if he wanted her to misbehave. If he wanted her to spit at him and tell him she'd prefer a cell. To act like a Mudblood beast. She looked into his grey eyes, the same grey eyes that had sneered at her for seven years.

She may be under Narcissa Malfoy's protection, but she was also under Lucius Malfoy's roof.

"It's lovely, Mr. Malfoy," she responded icily. "Thank you for having me for a visit." She lifted a brow at him.

He returned the expression, a slow curl to his lips. "Any time, Miss Granger. The weather is lovely in the autumn," he said, voice lilting, teasing. A pause, and then his features hardened. "I do hope you'll still be here then."

A chill crossed her skin, but she was careful not to blink. She burned to ask him questions. Why am I here? Why did Dolohov give me up? What am I expected to do? But she knew she wouldn't get the answers she wanted. Just more games.

He stepped toward her, now only several paces away, and extended his hand. "Might I have whatever's in your pocket?"

She swallowed, and he saw it. He smiled.

She withdrew the comb and placed it into his waiting hand. He grinned, and then broke the sharp tail off. He handed her back the benign piece, looked to her hair, and said, "You'll need this."

She scowled at him. Such strong resemblance to his son and the easy way his insults would flow. Her fingers curled around the comb, teeth cutting into her palm.

"My son paid a heavy price to obtain you, Miss Granger." His eyes traveled down her jaw, down her neck. She shivered. "Do try to show your... gratitude." He whispered the word across the air like a kiss against her skin. He smirked at her, and swept to the door.