I actually think that it will be interesting to see how
"If it makes you feel any better, I was nude when I brewed it."
With these words, the bitch leaves me to consider my fate as the poison, an icy fire, slithers through my veins. It won't kill me—Narcissa is a Malfoy now and intends to remain one; indeed, according to the terms of our marital agreement, she must remain one—but her draught will render me a eunuch unless she provides me, quarterly, with its antidote.
And that she will not do if I fail to treat her like a lady.
She is pregnant, she says, with our only child.