A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse.
nostalgie de la boue - (phr.) "yearning for mud" - the feeling of being attracted to that which is depraved or below one's stations [french]
As he sat in the study of his very opulent manor house, sipping only the finest of French champagne from a glass of the clearest crystal, he pondered. He could have anything he wanted with the merest snap of his fingers, and in the past that had been enough to satisfy his desires. It was how his study was so richly furnished, leather and finely polished Bolivian Rosewood everywhere. It was how he owned a venerable fleet of house elves, all dedicated to serving him. His coffers overflowed, his investments all panned out, anything and everything he could ever dream of needing was within reach at his say so.
Except for her.
She was everything he wasn't: dirt poor, born and raised on a farm, freckled from much time in the sun, wouldn't know luxury if it skimmed her fiery red hair. And yet, his thoughts drifted, his pondering solidified, and despite every fiber of his being screaming "NO!", his heart whispered "Yes."
He had tried to forget about her. He had dated others of his station, every one of them the proper Pureblood princess to a tee. His interest had been discreet, suddenly burgeoning, and then immediately lost, as each one proved unfit for his needs. Most too vapid to sustain any semblance of conversation, the rest unable to bear the mental weight of becoming his Lady.
He even looked outside of Britain, loathe as he was to do so, and found the rest of the world wanting in comparison to her.
Her.
Always her.
He had taken up the ancient magical technique of scrying simply so he could watch her from afar. For most, acquiring the proper glass alone would have put them off the habit. He, of course, could take the expense out of his banking interest without even touching the principal, and did so. He watched her as she tended the chickens. He watched her as she prepared the dinner, with and without magic. On the rare occasions his social schedule allowed it, he watched her as she slept, but only for moments at a time; his honor demanded he not invade her privacy more than that.
Inquiries were made. Friends from their school days gave him some idea of where their family farm had moved to; the original had been torched by some of his less desirable acquaintances in the past. Information was collected about the boyfriend she currently had; where he lived, where he worked, everything that could potentially be useful was detailed. From what he could see, the boyfriend was no threat; his only advantage was living closer to her. He would be easily dismissed, thought Draco, once the time was right.
And when the time was right, he would have her.