“‘My lord,’ said a voice, desperate and cracked. He turned: there was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s last escape. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy, ‘My lord…please…my son…’
‘If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?’
‘No—never,’ whispered Malfoy.
‘You must hope not.’
‘Aren’t—aren’t you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?’ asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. ‘Wouldn’t it be…forgive me….more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle and seek him y—yourself?’
‘Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son.And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will have come to find me.’”