The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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Begun 6-16-09

Hello! Welcome to my story - a tale of mystery, romance, sex (goes without saying, I suppose), and friendship. This story is finished so you won't be left hanging - that's my guarantee for all my stories.


I'll post a new chapter approximately once a week. My LiveJournal account announces the new chapters as they appear for those of you using that web site, usually with a picture added for fun. See my profile for the URL.


Let's get started!


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Chapter One

Shanghaied!

Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts…

“No! Let me go! Stop it, you… you blond hag, you’re hurting me!” Hermione Granger beat ineffectually against the broad chest above her as she twisted to get free. She hadn’t expected him to be there yet and blind rage engulfed her, fueling her headlong rush at the despicable wizard; his greater strength held her off.

“Calm down, you miniscule virago, you can’t go. If you’d let that enormous, know-it-all brain of yours analyze it, you’d know you can’t.” Lucius Malfoy had a firm hold of the little witch’s hair, which was the only part of her not trying its best to emasculate him. He adjusted his hold, grabbing her arms, but the slippery material of her blouse made him lose his grip almost instantly, bringing his hand into hard contact with the front of her as she twisted away. He made a desperate grab for the front of her blouse, but only got material.

What the hell was wrong with her? He knew she wouldn’t be at all pleased, but she’d blown up at him the moment she’d walked through the door and seen him standing there, rushing at him with both fists flying. Blaming him, he supposed. He was always the villain no matter if he was saving her from other, more dangerous possibilities. Of course, she had some reason to think so, he allowed. Altruism wasn’t a word Lucius had much use for.

He was only just fast enough to keep her from pulling out her wand and aiming it at him. The Senior Malfoy didn’t want to raise his own wand against her unless there was no other choice. Showing up with an unconscious witch would not only be useless, he would be a laughing stock. Her hair was a surprise, though. He would have thought the stuff would be wiry and stiff, but the handful he’d grabbed was as soft as a baby chick’s fuzz.

She batted at his grappling hand sliding clumsily over her breast, “If you grab me there one more time, you’ll have no fingers for those gaudy rings. Now Let. Me. Go!”

The absorbing thought of Hermione’s downy hair unfortunately distracted the blond wizard for the few seconds she needed to retaliate and he was reaching again for the honey-brown tangle of curls in fascination when he should have been watching his petite opponent.

“Ouch! You little devil. You bit me!” Lucius yanked his wrist out of the witch’s mouth, snapping her head back in the process. All thoughts of Hermione’s hair receded as he inspected his injury. Ye Gods, Snape was right. What a hellcat! Lucius eyed the small crescent of teeth marks with disfavor - Snape was going to owe him for this, if he wasn’t mauled to death first.

“And I’ll probably get rabies.” Hermione won free at the expense of her brand-new, simulated silk blouse, which now sported a tear big enough for the Knight Bus to drive through. “Look what you’ve done. That was new, you lecher.” She tried ineffectually to pull the two ruined pieces back together over her chest as she scuttled back preparatory to using her wand on the tall, overbearing wizard. Her neck now hurt from Lucius yanking his wrist free and she just wanted to get away from the man who would soon be tied to her through that infamous contract. She would rue that mistake until the day she died.

She had only been notified of Lucius’ plans the day before and all attempts to talk him out of his course of action through her solicitor had failed miserably. Hermione was livid at the overbearing sorcerer’s gall in forcing her into the outrageous legal union.

“If you would see reason, I wouldn’t be seeing your no-nonsense, serviceable, white cotton bra. Ugh.” Lucius stood back from his tiny adversary and reflexively wiped his wrist on his robes to get any Mudblood germs off, then he laughed at himself. He was marrying the woman – what was a bit of spit next to the marital body fluids he would be exchanging with her?

He must be absolutely crazy to commit himself to this. What had he been thinking? Or, he groused to himself, what had he been thinking with? A fast flip of his wand and Hermione’s wand went sailing out of her hand the instant before she had enough space to raise it against him. It smacked the wall with a resounding crack and Lucius cringed. He did hope he hadn’t broken the thing. Broken wands were cause for mourning.

“Well,” he sighed, “if you’re not going to stay calm of your own accord…” Lucius felt his wand tingle; he snapped it against his thigh twice, then smiled and made a small circle with it toward Hermione and intoned the childish jinx.

“A silly spell for a silly girl.” He watched dispassionately as the tiny witch lost her footing as though she had wandered onto a field of marbles and she went down hard. A flicker of his eyelids was the only mark that he’d felt her pain when she landed on her backside on the polished wood floor of the empty waiting room. He hadn’t used that stupid Jelly-legs Jinx since his student days at Hogwarts. It was juvenile, but effective.

Hermione knew she was immobilized for the moment without the use of her legs. She raised her hand and uttered something under her breath, then flicked her fingers toward the tall wizard.

An instant later Lucius was dancing in place, tamping out multiple, tiny burn holes in his robes that threatened to burst into flame. In desperation he barked, “Aguamenti” and aimed at the small fires. Water shot out of the end of his wand, sizzling as it hit the numerous tiny flames down his front, dousing them. His robes smoked where the water had trumped the fire, with an unattractive, charred, Swiss cheese pattern now decorating the fabric. A few glimpses of white shirt and black trousers peeked through the expensive, air vented material.

Lucius hastily dried his robe with a broad, encompassing spell before the water could soak too far into the rest of his clothing. His fine, Egyptian cotton, formal white shirt, which he had donned for the ceremony, had uncomfortable patches of wet sticking to his chest; the wizard quickly dried those as well. His trousers had escaped the worst of the water and fire damage, but he now smelled of damp, burnt goat wool from the charred cashmere. Lucius returned his trousers to their former pristine condition after a few experimental flourishes, but he couldn’t fix his robes with magic. They were too damaged.

With a last mournful glance at his ruined cashmere and silk robes, Lucius twitched them into place and strode back over to the fire instigator in some perturbation mixed with not a little disappointment in his fine eyes as he looked down at her on the floor. “You hate me so much you would burn me alive?”

“That bit of fire wouldn’t have harmed you. You were safe enough, if your robes weren’t.” Hermione hunched her shoulders in defiance, but she was embarrassed at her behavior. A shivery, quivery feeling inside, down low, assailed her at his unwanted proximity, as though her legs were a giant tuning fork just struck. Her center quivered.

Hermione cringed; this horrid man was overwhelming her feminine nerve-endings, bringing a painful, unwanted allure where it was least desired. Hermione shuffled on the floor, her lifelong aversion to the Malfoy clan suffering a shock as she absorbed the tall wizard’s bewitching appeal up close. There had been rumors of his charisma, but Hermione hadn’t believed the sighs of the few young women who had gushed about meeting him. It wasn’t anything to do with her. Until now.

His hand accidentally clutching her blouse front had shot horrible zings flying all over her body, infecting her with something dark, and…and…hot and… Hermione whimpered. That was surely repulsion. Perhaps that was what dark magic felt like when one touched a known user of the forbidden art. Trying to bolster that repulsion, she cried, “You’re a monster!”

“Yes, yes, and the price of dragon hide will go up again in the spring. Old news.” Lucius examined his robes again briefly, poking his wand through one of the ragged holes with a sigh and absently twitching at them again before returning his attention to the small witch who had surprised him with her wandless ability. He needed to be more careful if she had powers anywhere near enough to match his.

This was no submissive Pureblood female. Was she capable of murder? Even a rabid puffskein could do damage and this one had a great deal of creative intelligence. Only the dire situation he and Snape were dealing with kept Lucius from ending this fiasco on the spot, hellcat or not. But if he failed at this juncture, Snape would do a lot worse than singe his robes and the blond wouldn’t blame him. Lucius sighed. Why couldn’t life ever be simple?

“If you are quite finished trying to turn me into a human torch,” Lucius drawled and waved one negligent hand toward the lap of the spitting mad witch, “you might want to pull your skirt down or I’ll be found guilty of accidentally seeing your knickers, too.” He stood over her in the middle of the floor waiting for the fierce little combatant to realize she was nearly flashing him. A soft criss-cross motion of his wand by the elegant wizard had the silky material of her blouse mending itself, but Hermione wasn’t grateful.

Lucius frowned and brandished his wand some more, swishing it again experimentally in the air and tsked. He really should see Ollivander about a replacement, but he was very attached to the one he’d had since he was eleven. His poor wand hadn’t had true aim or perfect magic ever since Voldemort had taken it from him and wrecked it against Potter. Lucius had tried to repair it after Ollivander had said it was hopeless.

Now he had to aim left off center to be anywhere on target and his incantations occasionally sputtered, like an engine running out of gas, but it usually worked with a few encouraging shakes. His snakehead wand had great sentimental value but its flaw was most annoying. Lucius hoped the little witch didn’t notice her repaired blouse buttons were no longer quite aligned. Lucius looked guiltily over at Hermione’s wand. It seemed to be in one piece still, but that had been a pretty loud crack.

The elegant blond focused back on his bride-to-be; with a second subtle signal from his erratic wand he created a seamless, invisible barrier between them for the moment and the wizard relaxed with the added safety. Lucius had an agenda, but he wasn’t willing to die for the cause. Snape owed him a new robe, dammit!

“Oooh, you…you…” Hermione paid no attention to Lucius’ wand flourishes as she struggled to get her skirt down over her derriere and her jellied legs. Without the coordination of her lower body muscles it was difficult to make herself decent, but she finally managed. “I never signed that contract with you in mind. And YOU! You didn’t have to acquire it from those moth-eaten, greedy arseholes in the Nuptials Department. You are such a royal bastard.” Hermione crossed her arms and hunched mulishly. “I’m not doing it and you can’t make me. I’m sure it’s illegal.”

“Sorry to say I can. And I will. Never think I won’t do it. And please moderate your language. We aren’t in a brothel.” Lucius glided over to one of the benches arrayed around the waiting room and sat, still too imposing for Hermione’s peace of mind.

Hermione glowered at the wretched, daunting man, wishing she had her wand for just one minute. Suiting action to thoughts, she yelled, “Accio wand!” She flung out her hand and her wand rose from its spot in the corner where it had been thrown, but Lucius aimed his wand at hers with a negligent little downward motion and it sank to the floor again. Hermione crossed her arms in thwarted anger wondering why such a negligible wand movement should make the stupid man look so pleased. He was actually stroking his wand as though he were rewarding it. Could the Senior Malfoy have gone mad?

Hermione had never set anyone on fire before and inside she began to shake from reaction. Lucius didn’t know it, but she was finished trying for any physical harm. Seeing the unexpected success of her spur of the moment wandless retaliation had made her very upset and scared. It couldn’t be a good thing to be forced to marry someone you had just tried to ignite. And the idea of fatally damaging another human being made her skin crawl, bringing back echoes of the Hogwarts battle. She decided it was all his fault, the supercilious ponce.

She just wanted to get her wand and leave. She couldn’t Disapparate; unfortunately, the entire Ministry didn’t allow any form of Apparition within its edifice and that particular ability was completely dampened in the building. Flooing and entering through the regular entrances were the only acceptable modes of arrival and departure after Voldemort’s years-ago transgressions within its halls.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Lucius said idly, now unconsciously rubbing his wrist where the bite mark stood out in a deepening red.

“Wrong about what? I’m not wrong that you are the most supercilious, obnoxious, bigoted, swaggering, pompous, poncy, blowhard, evil monster it’s ever been my misfortune to know.”

The little witch flinched internally at the intent focus of a pair of hypnotic pale gray eyes as they swept her from head to toe. A deeper, more precise shiver traced along nerve endings now on maximum alert, from her breasts to…elsewhere. She wasn’t immune to the devastating effect of the silvery Malfoy eyes, even knowing their owner was a conscienceless prick. Why the sire could affect her when the son, Draco, had never done more than irritate her was a mystery she wasn’t eager to solve.

“Your insults are getting better, but you’re wrong that I’m a royal bastard,” Lucius rejoined mildly. “I’m descended from some French Dukes way back in the day, but not royalty. And obviously I’m not a bastard. What would have been the use of the entire Riddle Revolution, otherwise? Do use your head for something besides impressive epithets and holding up those tangled curls. They’re very soft, by the way.”

All the nasty names she had just called him he could shrug away – all but ‘evil monster’. Did she really see him as evil? A monster? She’d said that twice. Well, perhaps from her point of view he was. Or had been. His family’s exemption from prosecution for helping Potter and Snape and not fighting in the final battle, plus several million Galleons donated to the Ministry’s coffers, didn’t weigh at all with her, and why should they? He sighed again. This was not going to be easy, but then what in his life ever had been? Did Snape know what he was talking about? Was the former Potions Master setting him up to be foolish? Did they really need her? Did he?

“Just as a point of interest,” Lucius asked, “do monsters also light people on fire?” His lips quirked sardonically, “In that case we might be a good match. Forgive the pun.”

Hermione blinked at the flash of humor from the sophisticated Pureblood and winced that she could qualify for monsterhood, but her grievance took center stage again, “You must be the most selfish wizard alive,” she stabbed back. “You’ve got a gazillion Galleons. Buy yourself someone else!”

Lucius bridled in affronted dignity, her inaccurate stab at his financial worth bothering him more than her name-calling or fireworks, “I have one billion, eight hundred and five million, three hundred fifty-five thousand, nine hundred and twenty Galleons to be precise, one hundred thousand of which was just appropriated by the Ministry as part of our marriage contract and that was robbery, pure and simple. So please at least get your facts straight.” Irritation wrinkled his fine features into a scowl, “They don’t lack for nerve, I’ll give them that. Making me pay for slicing my own throat socially is an artistic piece of irony, don’t you think?”

“If you go through with this infamous piece of coercion, it may not only be your social throat that’s sliced from ear to ear,” Hermione warned, trying to intimidate the former Death Eater with a purely illusory penchant for mayhem, but even she didn’t believe her threat came out at all realistically. She hadn’t sounded nearly bloodthirsty enough to carry off her threat – not when her voice squeaked at the ‘ear-to-ear’ part.

Lucius merely smiled cynically in amusement, making Hermione fume helplessly; she knew she would never have the temerity to cut his throat or even pull his hair, although she wanted to – badly. It looked very silky and yankable. The fire-tossing had been her last gasp and they both knew it. His cold smile said he knew she was incapable of slicing anyone’s throat.

Lucius’ amusement turned mocking and he tutted at her shortsightedness, “Your future isn’t blighted – how can it be, tied to the Malfoy name? It is just taking a slightly different course. Life is often like that. Gods, you’re annoying. Naïveté and nobility - a dangerous combination, but typical Gryffindor.”

He frowned – he wasn’t an evil monster. He wasn’t. He was Slytherin and that wasn’t the same thing at all. Lucius glared down at the little witch immobilized on the floor, his attempts to hold onto his temper waning. He had known from the start she wouldn’t be happy at the situation and had steeled himself for displays of anger. But her taunts were finding their mark all too easily.

He was irked at her nasty barb that he should buy someone for a wife. Didn’t she realize his willingness to marry her was a gigantic step up the social ladder for her while sending him plummeting down that same ladder to obscurity? If he was willing to sacrifice his dynastic name, why couldn’t she at least be a little grateful? He was more and more certain that Snape had indeed talked him into a fool’s errand.

Hermione was outraged at the sheer social bigotry of the man, “My future is a repugnant marriage to you. Yech!” Her expression of pinched distaste made her feelings abundantly clear. “You think you are bestowing a benevolent largesse on me with this marriage, but I see it as being dragged into a cesspool of villainy.”

“Well, please, my dear,” Lucius smiled, his temper fading with surprised amusement at her colorful opinion of his heritage, “don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think of my ancient name.” A flourish of his wand punctuated his offer.

“I just wanted that clear,” Hermione’s haughty stare fascinated the blond. She really was very brave.

“I don’t believe cesspools are known for their clarity. So you think the Malfoys are mired in muck? And soon you’ll be one. True irony, I think.”

tbc...


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Well, it looks like this mismatched couple is headed for the altar. If Lucius makes it in one piece.

I've added pics for each chapter. The first pic is here:

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/42849.html

Reviews are very welcome, as always.

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