Diamond in the Rough

She was tense and tired at the same time when she came out of her fireplace into her flat. Lucius Malfoy had this uncanny ability to unsettle her. She was honestly surprised that he had even bothered to stop and speak to her. Why did he care what she did at the ministry? They didn’t run in the same circles at the ministry and they definitely didn’t run in the same circles socially.

She felt gauche and homely in his presence. The man fairly reeked of masculinity in such a cold and austere fashion. She knew many women that almost tripped over themselves to get him to notice them and that was even before he was a widower and married to the very beautiful Narcissa.

Gods, she was tired. She ran a nice, hot bath, adding apricot scented bubbles and went into the kitchen to make a mug of tea. She eased into her bubbles breathing deeply and reached for her mug. She closed her eyes and began thinking of some of her project files but that damn law kept popping up in her head. She was ill at ease as she tried to settle into bed. As she lay back against her pillows she hoped tomorrow would bring a bright, fresh, new outlook.

Hermione slept fitfully, she dreamt of silver and green snakes chasing her through the Department of Mysteries. The snakes kept catching her and twining their way around her ankles, up her legs, around her hips… She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was safe in her bed, no snakes, and no dark mysterious rooms. She sat up yawning widely. Shaking her head she made her way into her small kitchen and began to prepare a quick breakfast for herself.

Tapping sounded at her kitchen window and she turned to see a brown owl waiting to be let in. Opening the window she took the parchment from the owl and gave it a piece of toast. The parchment was stamped with an ministry seal. Puzzled she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

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She plucked nervously at a loose thread on her robes. She was seated in a small waiting room outside of the Department of Matrimonial Matching. She had a meeting set up with Kingsley as soon as she had gotten this absurd testing over and done with. A tiny, little man with huge glasses magnifying his eyes to the size of oranges, opened the door and called, “Miss Granger.” Hermione stood up, brushing out her robes and walked through the door. She closed her eyes, saying to herself, “Everything will be fine, get a grip, everything will be fine….”

“You need to run this test again.”

“Miss Granger, I’ve already run it for you three times.”

“I must insist you run it again. This test cannot possibly be correct; there must be a flaw in the ingredients used or the spell that was cast.” Frustration building she knew some anomaly must exist.

“Miss Granger, I assure you this test is foolproof, we had top minds derive the test to ensure the best compatibility based on genetics and magical signature. This test practical guarantees a superb result of offspring."

Hermione snorted. “Fine, I’m running late for my next meeting anyway but rest assured I will be back.” The little man turned from her shaking his head.

Hermione was ushered into the minister’s office by the minister himself. Kingsley wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders squeezing her gently, “Hermione, my dear, so nice to see you.”

Hermione stepped away from him. “Cut the pleasantries Kingsley, I can’t believe you actually approved of this marriage law ludicrousness.”

He moved her towards a chair in front of his desk, “I understand you might be a bit upset.” He said in his low, deep voice.

Hermione refused to be seated and she watched as Kingsley sat himself behind his desk. “A bit upset? Do you have any idea who I’ve been matched to?” She gripped the back of the chair tightly, her knuckles whitening.

“Now Hermione, the test provides the highest degree of compatibility both genetically and magically to ensure strong, powerful, healthy children…”

“I’m not a damn brood mare, Kingsley,” Hermione cried out. “I can’t marry this person. Do you have any idea who I’ve been matched to?” Her voice rising. She couldn’t believe the direction this conversation was taking.

“Yes, I know. I get the updated official list of all the matches once the tests are run,” Kingsley said and pointed to an official ministry stamped parchment on his desk.

“He’s a Death eater,” she practically screeched.

“He was a Death eater. He served his time in Azkaban and has been an upstanding member of society as well as a heavily contributing member of the board of directors for the ministry for the last four years.” Kingsley stated calmly in the wake of Hermione’s tirade.

She looked at him disbelievingly and finally dropped herself into the chair in front of his desk. “Kingsley, can’t you provide me with an out of some kind. I’ve worked very hard for the ministry; I put my life on the line multiple times during the war. Surely, there must be an exception of some kind that I qualify for?” She asked him beseechingly.

“Now, Hermione, you know I cannot make exceptions, if I start with you, with how well known you are, others will insist on receiving the same treatment and I really don’t want you to become the example of what happens when one refuses the match.”

“You’d take my wand, if I refused.” She said stunned.

“I would.”

Hermione’s eyes welled up, she was so upset, frustrated and felt so incredibly betrayed. All the contributions over the last six years had been for naught. She was being forced into a marriage to produce children with that horribly arrogant, autocratic, dictatorial man who disliked everything she was and stood for.

Walking around his desk to where Hermione sat, he took her hand and patted the top of it gently with his large dark hand. “Hermione, I understand you are upset, but Lucius Malfoy is a reformed man.”

He stood her up. “This could very well work out for the best.” He walked her towards the door of his office and gently pushed her through it. Dazed, Hermione stood in the minister’s lobby. She looked out into the ministry atrium. What were her options? There must be a way out of this debacle. Turning to Kingsley’s personal assistant, Hermione asked, “Do you have a copy of the new marriage law with all its codicils?”

Hermione was a top researcher. Most laws had ambiguity, she was sure to find some way out of this absolute fiasco. She pulled every law written in regards to marriage, partnerships, and alliances. She had boxes upon boxes piled high in her office. Thus far, she had found absolutely no loophole to take advantage of to get out of this absurd law. Who’d ever written the damn thing had thought of every possible angle that could be considered. She’d never encountered anything so drum tight. Her only other option would be to petition the law but that could take months of effort. This law had a time clock associated to it which had begun ticking when she had taken the damn test. She would be forced to follow through or her wand would be snapped. Frustrated, she banged her head against her desk.

A throat cleared and Hermione looked up to find now the bane of her existence leaning against her doorway, his silver snake headed cane in hand. He looked around her office disdainfully running his finger across the top of a file cabinet and looked at his finger, rubbing the dust from it. At her wits end, feeling very close to tears, she dropped her forehead back on to the top of her desk. Oh Gods, not now, she so didn’t want to have this conversation with him right now.

He knew she hadn’t reacted well, was well aware of the fact that she had insisted that the test be run multiple times, had gone to the minister himself to finagle herself out of the match and was quite sure she had spent the remainder of her day looking for possible loopholes which he knew she would find none. Given, he had helped craft the details of the law after it was agreed to. He wondered if she had taken the time to read the requirements of the law she would have to uphold on a weekly basis.

“Miss Granger, I believe I have quite indulged your many attempts to manipulate the outcome of our match today.” He picked nonexistent lint off the cuff of his cape, pulled out a handkerchief from his waistcoat and dusted off the chair in front of her desk and sat down facing her.

“Indulged me?”

“Yes, indulged. Let me make this perfectly clear to you Miss Granger, I will not allow your petty grievances be the reason that my wand gets snapped in two.” He looked at her intently. She squirmed, she was beginning to get the feeling that she had suddenly become prey.

“Petty grievances? I suppose you trying to kill me whilst you and your death eater mates were chasing my friends and me all over the Department of Mysteries OR when you stood by and watched your sick bitch of a sister-in-law crucio me in your home, you consider those to be petty?” Hermione’s face flushed with anger.

“There is no need for such language Miss Granger and do stop shouting at me, you sound like a fishwife. Please do try to remember that as a Malfoy it will be imperative that you show the correct decorum at all times.”

“Correct decorum?" Hermione’s face was now quite red. She couldn’t even begin to believe this man’s gall.

“Are you hard of hearing, you keep repeating everything I’m saying to you. Perhaps it would be a good idea to have my personal physician give you a full physical to ensure you are in nothing but excellent health.” Oh her eyes sparkled when she was infuriated. Ahhh, Gryffindors were so easy to rile. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages.

Hermione stood up. Leaning against her desk, her small hands pressed to the top of it, she yelled at him. “You are unbelievable. You have the gall to tell me that attempts on my life are petty grievances and then have the audacity to speak to me about correct decorum? You are the most fucking arrogant, tyrannical, high-handed sod that I have had the misfortune to meet. You can take this marriage matching result and shove it right up your ars…”

“Enough, I have already asked you to watch your language. Gods, you are going to be so much more work than I anticipated. Listen carefully, you will marry me, you will no longer attempt to make the matching result null and void. Because believe me you will not care for the consequences if you do not cease and desist.”

She had enough. She didn’t know what she would do if she continued to be in the same room as him. “Stop telling me what to do, we are so done with this conversation.” She turned and stomped towards the door.

Leaning back in the chair he was seated in, he crossed his long, muscular legs at the ankles. “Miss Granger, you like your job, do you not?”

Hermione stopped suddenly her hand on the door handle, she turned to face him her face pale. He wouldn’t go there would he? He was so cold sitting there tapping his cane against his leg.

“I assume that you do, with ministry budget cuts that take place from time to time; I could entirely see independent researchers being let go. Certainly in my role as one of the board of directors I could ensure those cuts were made.” He sneered at her and looked at her with those hard, cold gray eyes. His white blond hair framed his sculpted face making him look like a fallen angel.

Hermione was beside herself, she loved her job, after all the work she had done to create the perfect working haven he was threatening to take it all away from her. She was so infuriated her hands were shaking.

Standing up he walked slowly towards her, “you will have dinner with me tomorrow night so we can discuss Saturday.”

“What’s happening Saturday?”

“I have taken the liberty of setting up a civil ceremony for us here at the Ministry at 10:00 am. Please do try to find robes that are clean, no dust smudges and as charming as it is,” he grimaced slightly, “I’d prefer that you have no quills in your hair.” He plucked a quill out of her hair and handed it to her as he watched her curls tumble down over her shoulders.

“Tomorrow, Miss Granger, 7:00 pm, I’ll arrange a port key for your convenience.”

That little chin of hers rose up and her back straightened as if she had a broom handle tied to it. She glared at him. He could see the outrage and stubbornness practically oozing out of her; she would definitely be a handful. He so loved a challenge.

He leaned in closely to her taking in her delicate, flushed features, “Miss Granger,” he said silkily to her, “Do not test me on this.” He stood up and walked out her door.