*Note: The vibe of this fic, especially later, was heavily influenced by listening to Portishead, Garbage, and PJ Harvey while stoned. Play the Garbage radio playlist on Spotify while reading to catch the vibe. :)

Slow burn, lots of tension. Rated M for definite adult themes and later chapters.

...

He sulked around for ages, sometimes moodily, sometimes intimidatingly, always watching. Always so aware of her presence. Perhaps he tried to act like he wasn't always observing her, but she knew. She felt his eyes, felt him react when she entered a room. She noticed his whole demeanor change when he sensed her. She thought it was hate at first. That his resentment of her blood status was so pronounced (perhaps because he was so "pure"), that he couldn't help but physically recoil from her presence. But at the back of her mind, there was the smallest tickle of doubt. A sense of… something else.

...

Recently, a dozen young Ministry of Magic employees had been displaced from their Ministry-sanctioned flats after an act of accidental magical vandalism. A flat full of young ministry witches, hoping to create an antidote to any and every love potion, inadvertently flooded the building with a thick cloud of lust-inducing bubbles that refused to dissipate, leading to the evacuation of the entire building. While high-ranking experts came in to sort out the mess, it was decided that the cleanup could take weeks, if not months. The displaced employees without nearby families were assigned to stay with different "upstanding, charitable" wizarding families in the meantime. Hermione Granger was one such ministry employee. While she had many friends in the area, she felt guilty putting any of them out on such short notice. She figured that she might as well take her randomly assigned family up on their offer. They had volunteered, after all, so at least they knew what they had signed up for.

It was just Hermione's luck, though, to be matched with Lucius Malfoy. Weren't the prospective wizarding families in question supposed to be upstanding and kind? Although those qualities were not part of Lucius Malfoy's reputation, he was trying to fight his way back into the good graces of the wizarding world. The 2nd Wizarding War, now ten years past, had left the Malfoy name irrefutably in the gutter. Though Lucius was lucky to escape Azkaban for a second time, his name was now thoroughly scorned and scrutinized by the average wizarding household.

Now a divorced empty-nester with plenty of money to spend, and nowhere to spend it, he was finally bored enough to slightly inconvenience himself by adding his name and his Manor to the Ministry list of "In Case of Emergency" contacts. Looks good on a resumé, and he probably wouldn't ever have to follow through.

Just my luck, thought Lucius when he received the owl from the Ministry informing him of his requirement after the evacuation of the Ministry flats.

Fine, he thought. I'll put up with a sniveling, uptight ministry brat for a couple of weeks, then back to sweet silence. With some added social points, of course.

Imagine the shock he felt when Hermione Granger showed up at his front door. Any muggle-born would have been bad enough, and here stood one of the very worst, most irritating ones in existence. Not to mention she was the girl, now woman, with whom he'd had some incredibly distasteful exchanges. He had hated her for her lack of a bloodline, and had made that very well known. They, quite publicly, and viciously, despised each other.

...

Hermione had initially been disgusted when she received her housing assignment. Her first thought was to send an owl straight to the Ministry official in charge of this blunder and demand a new assignment. After a moment of contemplation, she decided that, just maybe… this could be a way to have a little fun at the expense of Lucius Malfoy. The wounds left by Malfoy and his son had never fully healed. Draco was, after all, the first person to call Hermione that heinous slur. Taught by his father, no doubt, who had made her feel so small in Flourish and Blotts that day before second year. And that was not even mentioning the torture that she and her friends had briefly suffered in Malfoy's home at the hands of Death Eaters. She realized, of course, that Lucius had suffered greatly during that time as well. Regardless, Malfoy, Sr, at the very least, deserved whatever petty revenge Hermione would feel comfortable doling out. And work was slow for her at the Ministry this time of year, so why not? Thus, she neglected to bring up any concerns about her assignment. She accepted it with a smile and the beginning workings of a plan, and showed up the next morning at the grand front door of the Malfoy Manor, luggage in hand.

...

"M-Miss Granger?" Lucius uncharacteristically stammered, clearly caught off guard.

"Good morning, Mister Malfoy," Hermione answered brightly, as though there had not been years of bitter history between them. They stood in silence for a moment, sizing each other up. She hadn't remembered his eyes being such a bright shade of blue. They were lined now, and not as cold as she recalled. His still flawless, long hair was now sprinkled with strands of white, barely detectable among the platinum blonde. He stood as tall and imposing as she had remembered, but overall, his demeanor seemed to have softened.

Lucius, too, was taking in the changes in the witch before him. She had certainly matured from a frizzy-haired brat into an undeniably lovely woman. Still petite and well-dressed, her now smooth curls framed her warm eyes and good-natured face.

"I trust you received notice from the Ministry of our pairing? I really appreciate your generous offer. I can't tell you how much it means to me at this trying time. " Hermione said warmly, ignoring his bewildered expression.

After picking his jaw up off the floor and thinly veiling his displeasure, Hermione was finally invited in.

These ministry pairings were meant to coexist passively, barely noticed, if not welcomed with open arms. This was most definitely not the case in the Malfoy Manor.

There was disdain at every turn. Snide remarks, cruel sneers, and seething glares. The glares, particularly, could not be ignored. Hermione could feel them boring holes through her clothes. Through my back, she meant, not through my clothes, correcting herself in her head. It took her a while to realize and accept that his stares weren't just through her back, but also, especially, through her clothes. She felt probed, invaded almost. It was more than just the hateful daggers of his usual glare. She finally perceived, deep within the muffled rage, a hunger. A hunger which she empathically felt deep within her core. Deeper than her bones, deeper than her belly, even. More deeply-rooted than she felt comfortable considering.

At this revelation, she considered abandoning her previous tactics of trying to ruthlessly annoy the senior Malfoy. She had, up to this point, purposely been a quite graceless guest. Forcing herself to abandon every etiquette lesson she received as a child, she noisily traipsed about the vast halls of the manor in subtly revealing outfits (a bit of leg here, an exposed shoulder there). She danced to bad music (while reading, of course) in the extensive library, and shamelessly explored locked corridors. All to get the satisfaction of irritating Lucius "Stick-Up-His-Racist-Arse" Malfoy. But as she noticed his glances of indignation begin to linger, and felt them start to sear her skin, she began wanting to aggravate it, encourage it even, to see just how far she could push the "formerly" dark wizard.

It took a while for Hermione to admit to herself, but the thought excited her. Why was that? She had hated this man with a burning passion from the first day she had met him. That passion had apparently evolved since she was a child. She'd be lying if she tried to claim that she hadn't noticed Lucius Malfoy in an… adult way.

If you ignored his many indiscretions, you would have to admit that Lucius was a very handsome man. His masculine jaw and nose contrasted intriguingly with his wicked smirk and long, smooth white-blonde hair. The immaculate, lavish robes that draped tightly across his broad shoulders forced her to consider what else might lie underneath them. Even his family heirloom-adorned hands seemed impossibly compelling. Hermione tried to push away thoughts of what they might feel like wrapped around her neck. And of course, she couldn't forget his eyes.

His ice-blue eyes, though cold and often cruel, ignited her skin, nearly causing it to smolder whenever they lingered on her. When she met them with her own, she felt all the air leave her lungs, as though she was punched deep in her gut. This feeling, which she previously tried to avoid at all costs, was now one she was beginning to crave.

While his year in Azkaban and the subsequent occupation of his home by Voldemort had certainly ravaged the arrogant youth from Lucius' face, it left him with lines that somehow only enhanced his allure. He was once the most prim, stuffiest of snobs, and looked every bit the part. Now, one who didn't know better would see a distinguished, almost ruggedly handsome older man when they looked upon Lucius.

Additionally, though he would never admit it, Lucius had inwardly softened, somewhat. His insults were less biting, leading Hermoine to suspect that his hatred had dulled to annoyance. He didn't even seem to try to actually hurt her feelings anymore. His taunts seemed to come more out of habit than rage. Perhaps he had actually grown from his harrowing time as Voldemort's peon.

Furthermore, Hermione was no longer a child. She was now a woman who recognized an attractive man when she saw one, however taboo it might have been. She was routinely struck with pangs of guilt over the fact that she may or may not have placed aside her justified anger (due to the fact that, of course, Malfoy was a horrible person) just because she thought he was, well, hot. She placated these feelings by reminding herself that, whatever her body's motivations, she was going to torture this man and make him absolutely, utterly, desperately miserable in her presence. That, she decided, could be achieved through teasing pseudo-seduction just as well as, if not better than, merely being a rude houseguest.

So, she began putting more thought into her outfits. Meaning hidden behind her eyes and words when they interacted. More purpose behind the way she stalked through the coldly opulent manor. And she could feel her efforts begin to manifest a change. The tension in the air grew denser, almost musk-like, day after day. She took notice of his jaw clenching more frequently when he turned away from her. That could certainly not be attributed to any suppressed dislike he felt for her, as insults flew freely from his mouth. Yet, for all his purported hate of her kind, he seemed to make no effort to avoid her. They met at every turn, every room, every hour almost. Hermione'd had no expectation that he would remain hidden in his study for the duration of her stay, but it was obvious that he was not even trying to elude her. Hermione, though confused by this attention, nevertheless appreciated it, as she realized it might help her implement her plans as quickly as she could concoct them.

She received some proof of this inkling one evening before dinner, when Lucius cornered her in the dining room with some quip about her lesser breeding. These jibes came so often that she could barely recall the specifics anymore. They all blended together at this point. It was something like:

"I suppose that muggles," he spat the last word, "neglect educating their children about appropriate dining attire."

He peered down at her, silver eyes moving with purposeful speed over her torso, which was barely covered by a thin blue cardigan. Only one button was fastened, so her smooth, pale midriff could be glimpsed above her hip-hugging skirt when she moved. The peaks of her breasts, though not crudely obvious, were still quite detectable if your eyes went searching for them. A bare, lightly tanned shoulder peeked out from the wide neck of the sweater. Lucius tried not to let his eyes rest on the small, glimmering jewel that sparkled from her navel.

How garish, he decided, lip curled in disgust, while attempting to suppress a flutter deep within his belly.

Hermione furrowed her brow in mock confusion.

"Why does my attire," she began innocently, "bother you so?" Without allowing Lucius a chance to answer, she brazenly continued.

"No one is forcing you to look at me. We both know you already find me repulsive because I'm a mudblood." A flash of contempt momentarily broke through the mask of innocence at her own use of that loathsome word.

"So can an outfit really make that much of a difference in your perception of me?"

Lucius hesitated at this, searching for a sufficient answer to her query, which finally came through gritted teeth.

"Do not forget, Miss Granger. This is my manor, and you are a guest here due only to my exceeding generosity."

He took a gliding step toward Hermione, nearly backing her up against the chilly stone wall. She spied the clenching of his jaw, and another dart of his eyes over her front once more. His broad hand tightened over the silver serpent's head at the top of his cane, knuckles shining white. Lucius inhaled sharply through his nose before speaking again.

"You will cover yourself appropriately, at least at my dinner table, if nowhere else. We are, after all, trying to assume the roles of civilized wizards here, are we not?" Lucius took another intimidating step closer to Hermione, and his cold eyes rested on hers expectantly.

Hermione felt an exhilarated spark course through her core as her body reacted to the authoritative command of the striking wizard now towering over her. Fighting hard to avoid yielding to either her desire or to his dominating methods, she doubled down in her "innocence," playing into a meek, compliant role. A role they both knew was not something that came naturally to the stubborn witch.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, Master Malfoy," She tauntingly used a more formal title as she widened her large, brown eyes and looked up at him with feigned guilt and obedience.

"I will dress more appropriately from now on… at dinner. In fact," her heart pounded as she committed to her next words. "I can wear whatever you like." She felt herself softly wet her bottom lip with her tongue, and fought to keep her eyes locked on his while controlling her breathing. "What would you like to see me in?"

Lucius' eyes widened slightly, and his mouth hung open for a split second before he caught himself. He narrowed his icy eyes, then forced himself to turn from her, barely concealing a shudder. It was at this point that Lucius knew he had to draw the line.

"That won't be necessary," Lucius mumbled, barely audible as he whisked away, leaving palpable sparks in the air between them.

Hermione, breathing shakily, watched until the hem of his cloak disappeared as he turned the corner.

This is going to be easier than I thought, she smirked to herself. Unbeknownst to her, the situation was going to get a lot more difficult for both of them before she would be able to claim her victory.

...

End of chapter note: Thanks for reading! Reviews would be greatly appreciated, as this is my first fic. Chapter 2 will be up soon.

Also, I know I describe LM's eyes as a different color each time, but have you seen Jason Isaacs' eyes?! They definitely appear different depending on his surroundings. :)