Lucius stared at his son's favorite obsession in mildly disguised disgust. Hermione's hair was a complete mess- something he had not seen since her adolescence and she wore a cheap, wrinkled men's silk shirt that went down mid-thigh. No doubt belonging to Weasley. "You're drunk." He was unsure if he was heard over the music, but he wasn't going to raise his voice for anyone, especially not a Mudblood.