Diamond in the Rough

Lucius woke very late in the morning. Slowly opening his eyes, he reached out with one lovely sculpted arm for his little wife to find her disappointingly missing. He lifted his head looking around the room, nary a curly hair of her in sight. He had been hoping to awaken her in a rather delectable way. Narcissa, though breathtakingly lovely, had not been a passionate woman particularly in the marriage bed. She had been a wonderful companion and mother but had not been inclined to explore the same erotic paths as he and so alas; they had never explored the full spectrum of flavours to be had. Ahhh, Lucius so loved carnal delights, his experience having been quite vast and broad. He was eager to explore some of his more favoured flavours with his new wife.

He had been delighted with his little muggleborn last night. He had suspected he would find passion within her. He liked to think he did have a bit of insight into her, which would have surprised her if he shared his thoughts with her. He had heard about her exploits from both Draco and Snape for years, she hadn’t exactly played by the rules, having been more inclined to bend those rules to suit her purposes while in school. Rather slythern of her he thought. Snape was still convinced the girl had been pilfering from his personal stores all during her Hogwarts career but had never been able to either catch her or gather sufficient evidence to prove his allegations. Her academic successes were legendary much to Draco’s irritation. Lucius knew from all that he had heard she was a force to be reckoned with intellectually. A huge turning point for how he viewed her had been during the height of battle with Voldemort. While anxiously looking for his son, he had witnessed her fighting. She had been surrounded by death eaters. Seemingly trapped, her magic appeared to explode from her; she had defeated every death eater in her path in one fell swoop. She had been magnificent in her fury and power. In that one moment, doubt seeded within him. Could it be that it was the power within not the blood that called the magic? Years of indoctrination were tested and found lacking based on a mere moment in time.

He watched her closely after the war ended, expecting great things from her in the years to come. He had hopes of perhaps being able to help guide and support this fiercely intelligent and powerful witch. When Narcissa become ill, he had been too focused on her care to watch all that had transpired with the golden triad. After Narcissa had passed it looked as if all had gone quite quiet in regards to Hermione Granger, she had seemingly pulled herself out of the spotlight. He didn’t become aware of the girl again until he became quite active in the ministry once again, in an effort to help move on from the loss of his wife.

Lucius had liked being married; he could satisfy his sexual cravings after his wife had passed but ached for companionship. He and Narcissa had been married for almost 20 years; she had been his dearest friend, his greatest confidante. He had mourned for her. Sexual companionship had been quite easy to attain, He missed having a partner. He admitted to himself that it was more than political connections and extending his network that appealed to him. He was looking forward to having someone be by his side. He also liked the idea of more children. This marriage law had distinct advantages that Lucius intended to capitalize on.

He rose slowly, reveling in the delicious aches and pains that excellent sex brings. She had been incredibly passionate and a wee bit adventurous in his bed. He wanted to see what all the little witch would be open to. He was certain he could easily pull her back into his bed.

He put on his robe and made his way across his bedroom to the sitting room and into his wife’s bedchamber. No Hermione, where could she be? He had been quite explicit about keeping her occupied today. Calling for Twilby, he asked the house elf where the new mistress was.

“Mistress left a note for you, Master. She said she was in the mood to go shopping.”

Lucius scowled at this news, damn the chit, she insisted on constantly testing him. “Give me the note Twilby and bring me coffee, immediately.”

She had gone to Madame Malkin without him. Gods only knew what the Hell she intended to purchase. Having gone through her wardrobe he wasn’t exactly filled with confidence that she knew what she was doing. As smart as the girl was, she hadn’t a clue as to how to present herself to best advantage in her outward appearance. Looking at the note she left him, she’d only been gone about an hour or so. He strode over to a small writing desk. Pulling out a parchment and quill, he began listing out colors and styles he thought would best suit her. Smirking to himself, he detailed specific lingerie he wanted to see her in as well. He included an exorbitant sum of money to be had by Madame Malkin should she follow his directions to the letter. He sealed the parchment with wax and owled it immediately to Madame Malkin’s shop.

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Hermione was becoming increasingly frustrated by the end of the day. This spa appointment was simply the last straw. She knew he was railroading her down a specific path selected exclusively by him. She didn’t like it; she didn’t like her loss of control. She walked out of the fireplace into the Malfoy library to find Lucius sitting gracefully in the large leather chair to her left, a drink in hand.

“How was your shopping excursion my Dear?” he asked coolly. He had been somewhat vexed to have her gone all day. He had originally had such delicious plans which would have kept them in bed for most the day. His constant reminiscences of last night had left him feeling rather randy.

“Productive.” She didn’t feel the need to elaborate further; he most likely had kept tabs on everything she had done anyway. That thought irritated her even further. The possessive, controlling git.

She walked by him stopping in front of the dark, oak cabinet to pour herself a drink. Liquid courage she thought, she was not averse to confrontation, however, the man had this uncanny ability to make her feel so unsure of herself. Finding out he had contacted Madame Malkin earlier in the day had just added more fuel to the fire. She had been on a slow burn in regards to Lucius Malfoy since he began dictating orders to her five days ago. She turned to face him.

He studied her, moving his eyes over her body to rest on her face. “I believe I had told you that I would accompany you to purchase your new wardrobe and that we would go tomorrow, not today. He placed his drink on the side table next to his chair and stood up. As he walked towards her, she drank in that long, hard body. He was elegantly casual in fine black linen trousers and a black silk shirt. His hair cascaded over his shoulders. Gods, he was beautiful, heat pulled low in her body. She wanted him and that irritated her even more.

“I had plans for us today,” he gently chided her.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. The man was unbelievable, how quickly he seemed to forget that he had agreed to discuss things with her first before making decisions for her. She coolly told him, “My plans didn’t align with yours.”

“Oh?” he said quietly. He could see the storm clouds moving in across her brow. She appeared to be winding herself up into some kind of a tantrum. In an effort to move the conversation into a less litigious topic, he asked, “Did you enjoy the spa?”

“Yes and no,” she said irritated with his high handedness. “Ginny loved it. She looks amazing; she enjoyed the foot massage the most.”

“And you? What did you enjoy?”

“I enjoy making decisions and appointments for myself.”

He silently assessed her mood. Irritation rising within him. He didn’t quite understand why she was so upset; when Narcissa had spent the whole day shopping, primping, and being pampered she would be in a good mood for days at a time.

“I’m not five years old. I don’t need to be taken in hand. I managed perfectly well without your help before this marriage law occurred.” Hermione said heatedly.

“I’d say you’ve done quite a remarkable job of burying yourself into obscurity, cloistered away in that little broom cupboard you call an office, dust, quills and all,” Lucius sneered at her.

Hermione saw red, how dare he criticize what she had so painstakingly built for herself.

“You have a Hell of a lot of nerve. You come to my office and threaten me with the loss of my job if I don’t comply with this damn match. You destroy all of my clothing, rush me into a marriage ceremony and then to top everything off after telling me you would discuss decisions and plans that involve me with me, you continue to take it upon yourself to decide things for me.” She was lighting herself up with her anger. Damn if sparks didn’t seem to fly off of her when she was in a snit. He smirked.

That smirk made her even angrier, “I’m so tired of you pushing me around. Our marriage is in for a very rocky ride if you continue to keep telling me what to do and don’t learn to be adaptable. Stop making decisions for me, do you understand me?”

“Lower your voice and I believe I’ve told you a number of times to watch your language.” He was not happy with her behaviour and did not like the turn this conversation was taking.

She walked straight up to him and said coldly, “The world does not revolve around what you want. If I want to raise my voice then I will. If I want to use fuck as an adjective for every sentence I utter I will fucking use it,” her voice ending in a roar. Furious with him and fighting tears of anger, she hurriedly stormed out of the library.

Lucius was at a bit of a loss as to how to deal with this furious little witch. Everything had seemed to be going along so swimmingly, or so he thought. Narcissa had never shown such displays of temper. She had always been cold and collected in her anger. Lucius usually had to make some type of monetary amends usually with something fabulously expensive to assuage her anger. He was unsure as to how to proceed through such volatile waters. He wasn’t sure if the same type of expensive recompense for Hermione would make her forget her believed wrongs. How dare she tell him he needed to be more adaptable. Her temper would need to be taken in hand. She needed to understand with his guidance she should appreciate all that his name, position and fortune afforded her.

Hermione rushed up to her bedroom, wanting to shed her tears in private. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted, disruption into what she had so carefully built for herself. She wasn’t sure how they could find some common ground without him constantly dictating what she should or shouldn’t do. The arrogant arse.