Author's Notes:
1) As stated in the site summary, this is an AU fic. For those who read The Scavengers when it was still posted, something along those lines. So, expect spooky darkness.
2) Typical 'warnings' for my fics apply: Smut, possible violence, possible possessive behavior.
3) Chapter lengths will vary (some may be close to 5k, some may not crack 2k), updates will be sporadic.
Lucius Malfoy Fancast: Alexander Skarsgard (if Jason Isaacs is the 'only Lucius' for you, then you're welcome to imagine him instead, you don't need to tell me ? )
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit from this story.
Chapter One
Professor Lucius Malfoy was dark and beautiful, like a cold winter night. Only he wasn't 'dark' in appearance, on the contrary, his fair complexion, slate-grey eyes and silver-blond hair made comparisons to winter come to mind for other, far more overt, reasons. That beauty was plainly obvious to anyone who looked at him. The darkness, however? The man only needed to open his mouth for that part of the observation to become just as obvious.
He was distant, aloof, and didn't hide his tendency to sneer at those he thought beneath him in intellect. Which, from Hermione Granger's estimation, was just about every other person on the planet.
And there was something more in his condescending demeanor. Oh, a brilliant professor he was—the mildly insulting edge he put on everything inadvertently pushed his students to try harder, even if simply to not feel the sting of his abrasive wit when they erred—but there was just a hint of anger in his tone that seemed to suggest he hated the world, itself.
Some days, Hermione found herself absolutely humbled by his effortless intellect—though, she knew better, no form of intellect came completely without effort, any truth depth of knowledge on any subject was hard-won—other days, it made her feel like she was chewing glass the entire length of his lecture. It didn't help that she actually had a familiarity with him outside the campus grounds.
Oh, said familiarity was by no means pleasant. He was the father of one of her secondary school classmates, Draco. While Hermione had an absolutely wonderful rapport with Draco's mother Narcissa the few times they'd met, she thought perhaps it was some unspoken tenant of divorce that the ex-husband must dislike anyone of whom the ex-wife approves.
She considered perhaps it didn't help his opinion of her that the Grangers, despite being well-off, had self-made wealth from their thriving joint dental practice, and were not old money, like the Malfoys and their ilk. It might be her imagination, but she even thought sometimes she could feel his miserable, judgmental attention on her during his lectures.
She tried not to watch him, but he was the professor, at some point, everyone glanced up from their text and notes when their professor spoke. He would look about the room, his icy gaze touching on students at random as he went on, yet, when those cold eyes landed on hers, she could swear it was with much more disdain than for whomever he looked at before or after her. In fact, she could easily recall several occasions when he'd held her gaze steadily until she felt forced to shift her focus away from him.
Like he was deliberately being terrifying.
Honestly, if Hogwarts University hadn't the most interesting and unique course program in the country, she'd never have bothered. But classes like A History of Alchemy and its Possible Application in Modern Science, Monsters: Separating Fact from Fiction, and Myths and Legends of the Ancient World and Their Place in Modern Psychology were far too intriguing to go to simply any old university, instead.
Except that she learned after submitting her course selection who the professor teaching Monsters was. If she hadn't imagined that the man would snicker haughtily to himself if she tried to change courses after only one lesson with him, she'd have done so in a heartbeat.
It absolutely grated on her nerves the way the other students made complete idiots of themselves, acting as though his attitude somehow made him more appealing. He was rather tall, with long legs and broad shoulders, and certainly had features that were easy on the eyes, but being a self-important arse didn't make one more attractive, that was madness.
She couldn't help the distinct impression, either, during those accidentally-eavesdropped conversations, that more than one of his students just might've thrown themselves at him and been spurned. She didn't know if it was true, but if it was, it either didn't faze him in the slightest, or helped fuel his awful demeanor.
Hermione didn't care to know which. On this particular afternoon, she was dreading that she had to speak with him after the lecture. She honestly, truly, sincerely, did not want to go up there, but she simply could not find enough material on their most recent paper, and if she didn't ask him for a nudge in the right direction, she might turn in her first subpar assignment.
That was not going to happen!
As much as she despised it, when he dismissed the class, she gathered her things and made her way—each step grudging and forced—to the front of the lecture hall. She didn't bother glancing back at the retreating students to confirm it, but she could swear she felt eyes on her as she moved. No doubt each and every gaze landing on her was full of pity. Half of them pitying her for needing to speak to the professor privately, at all, the other half sure she was going to make the same misstep a handful of other female students already had and leave dejected by whatever coarse brushoff he was sure to give.
She couldn't focus on any of that. Hermione needed to simply get her question out, jot down the reference material he recommended, and get out. That was all. She'd be completely business-like, letting him know from the first word out of her mouth that she was not interested in anything beyond the assignment.
But then, the door closed behind the last fleeing student and Professor Malfoy turned away from the smartboard to pin her with that icy stare of his. "Miss Granger. To what do I owe this disruption of my schedule?"
Opening her mouth to speak, she found the words died on her lips as she stared up at him towering over her.
He arched a brow, how displeased he was with her inane stalling evident in his face.
Clearing her throat, she shook her head. "Um, sorry." She refrained from pointing out that her momentary lapse was entirely his fault, as he strove to be intimidating to his students. "I regret to say I'm having trouble with your latest assignment."
At her admittance, his features pinched. Leaning his hips back against his desk, he folded his arms over his chest and crossed his long legs at the ankles. How he managed to make a lazy posture seem regal was beyond her.
He only lifted his brows as he waited for her to elaborate.
She felt like an insect beneath a sunlit magnifying glass. "Oh, well, um, I'm not really accustomed to having to ask something like this, but I was wondering what I could do to perhaps—?"
"Miss Granger," he said in a sharp tone. "I would certainly hope you're not about to suggest anything . . . like one might assume you could be with the sound of that question."
She knew her expression was puzzled as she gaped at him. "I don't understand."
With a sigh, he arched one brow in an eloquent look.
Her eyes widened as she realized she hadn't misunderstood the context of her fellow students comments and conversation about their private dealings with the man. She felt her cheeks fill with a blush that was part embarrassment, part insult. She hated him! How could he possibly think she, of all people, would stoop as low as that?
But then she knew he was aware of how intelligent and observant she was, even if he was loathe to admit it. He probably counted on her being perfectly cognizant of her peers' actions.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said in a low, seething voice, her sudden burst of anger helping her push beyond both her fear and her embarrassment. "I would never suggest any such thing!"
"That is a relief," he answered, though she could imagine the unspoken add-on of because my opinion of you could not possibly slip any lower was implied.
Withdrawing her mobile from a side-pocket on her bag, she opened it to the notes application as she continued in a chilly tone. "I only meant to ask you if you could recommend any sites or other reference materials, perhaps in the university library, that might assist in my research, as my usual methods don't seem comprehensive enough for my liking."
"Hmm." He stroked his chin a moment as he observed her. Nodding, he rattled off a number of reference volumes. "Funny, this paper I assigned . . . . I was aware it would be tricky, but you're the only one who came to ask for research assistance."
"I don't find that all that difficult to believe, actually," she said with a shrug as she hurried to finish typing out the list he'd mentioned. The faster she could be done with this, the faster she could be away from him. "You scare the wits out of most of them."
Taken with an unusual—if barely measurable—moment of camaraderie, he shrugged. "Doesn't very much come across that way when they do pluck up the courage to ask."
"Hence why you would assume the same of me?" She wasn't looking at him as she shook her head, going on as she put away her mobile. "If I slept with you, Professor, it wouldn't be for a grade," the words fell thoughtless from her lips.
Her entire being froze as she realized what she'd just said. What she'd just said, and to whom.
Her eyes growing so very wide she thought it surprising they didn't just fall clear out of her skull, she slowly, painfully, lifted her head. That icy, slate-grey gaze of his was fixed on hers, already. His brows were pinched together, but other than that, his expression was unreadable.
"I . . . I, um . . . ." Dear Lord, why couldn't she get any words to come out? She'd just made it sound like the thought had ever actually crossed her mind, and it most certainly had not! But she knew, being the intellectual that he was, if she scrambled to spit out denials, his first thought would be that ruddy cliché statement about protesting too much.
Oh, this was too good. He almost couldn't help how much he was enjoying how uncomfortable she was. He didn't normally relish others' discomfort . . . . All right, that was a lie, he did, especially when he set out to create it, but now, from her? He found himself intrigued by her sudden shift in demeanor. She'd always seemed undeservedly sure of herself. Overconfident to a fault, this one
Indeed, when he found her asking for help, he did naturally jump to the worst possible conclusion, as he thought her academic career that important to her that she actually might consider demeaning herself for a grade. That she'd proven him wrong honestly improved her standing in his eyes somewhat.
That she'd made that slip just now and was so visibly flustered by it? Well, now he was interested in spite of himself.
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," she insisted, nodding as she backpedaled.
Unable to help himself as he returned her nod, he watched her move back a few paces before he asked, "Oh? Then what did you mean with that statement, I wonder?"
Impossibly, she felt another blush flare in her cheeks as she struggled to form an answer. "Nothing. I didn't mean . . . I only meant that . . . . Never mind. I didn't mean anything by it, at all."
He nodded once more, still observing her as she spun on her heel and hurried to the door. Oh, he couldn't stop the smirk that curved his lips when she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her gaze sweeping along him—from head to foot, and back up—before she disappeared from the room.
Chuckling under his breath, he turned to his desk to gather up his materials. Oh, he knew he shouldn't play at any such thing, but seeing her a bit frantic like that, her anger and her fear and her embarrassment, that he'd watched all of those emotions play across her face in matter of moments . . . and that none of those feelings were the reason for the blush that had filled her face as she'd stepped back from him?
He didn't want to be intrigued by a student. Not that it mattered, he thought with a shake of his head as he shuffled his papers and texts into his briefcase.
A little harmless fun was all this moment had been, anyway.
