"Very well," Voldemort says, perking up, amusement cruel on his inhuman features as he stares at Malfoy and Hermione. "If you want the mudblood to be yours and no one else's, then claim her as that, in front of everyone here, so there can be no doubt. You can be the evening's entertainment. After all, this is a revel, is it not?" There is a brief, heavy silence. Hermione's head spins, and she feels her gorge rise along with her panic. Claim her as his? Evening's entertainment? She knows what that means without having to be told.