A/N: There is art for this chapter on my instagram: doodleholic_kayka_ficart. And on Ao3, which is probably a better reading experience, honestly.
Lucius Malfoy took her shoulder with his muddy hand—oh, there was irony somewhere in this action. Her internal observation elicited another nervous titter from her as he compelled her to her feet.
Oh, but he was furious. Covered head to toe in muck, his glorious hair caked with mud and detritus. His once fine robes were completely unidentifiable in dripping shades of green, gray, and brown. Expensive shoes continued to make awful squelching sounds as he moved, not helping her renewed giggling affliction as she faced him, toe to mucky toe.
The entire vision was so absurdly hilarious, she was almost sad she hadn't the forethought to keep a camera in her desk. But speaking of—Hermione truly hoped her little cameras had been up to the task of capturing the glorious cacophony as it happened. It really was a shame she didn't think to have a spare one handy in her office. Then again, she fully planned on pulling this memory out for a whirl in Harry's pensieve later.
Malfoy spoke again; his voice controlled, restrained, and lightly dangerous. If one didn't pay attention to what he was saying, it was almost nice. But in that direction lie danger.
Wait, what did he just say? It wasn't that she was really trying to tune him out this time; it was just that this entire situation of him dripping bog juice in her office was simply so absurd that his words went in one ear and out the other.
Hermione really did need to learn not to play with fire; at least the comprehension of his words stopped her halfway delirious giggling, as her mind caught up with his pronouncement from moments ago.
"You are not spanking me over this."
"Perhaps not today," Lucius granted, inclining his monstrously muddy head. "The… mess might be off-putting."
Lucius tilted his head in further consideration, "Although—"
Hermione took the opportunity to clarify, "No. You are never spanking me."
"Is that really a wager you'd like to make?" He asked knowingly.
The furious edge had bled out of his voice now, even though he was still filthy and looked patently ridiculous, dripping unmentionable slime all over her office.
"You're impossible! How would you feel if I said I was going to spank you?"
"Delighted," Lucius purred.
She colored, her breath hitching as she realized that they were on completely different pages of utterly disparate books, and she'd just accidentally sneaked a peek at his. A highly inappropriate thrill rushed through her at the possibilities that flashed through her mind. She should be mortified by his suggestion, but as most things went where Lucius was involved, her reaction ran counter to her own expectations. It was doubly infuriating because that was not at all how she'd intended it.
After much observation and reflection, Hermione was beginning to suspect that Lucius Malfoy thought primarily with his dick. Though she was unsure if it only was with respect to her or in general. More research was needed in that direction, but it was still a wholly revelatory, somewhat distracting, notion which she would in retrospect blame for him ultimately getting the drop on her.
"Now, come along. You and I are long overdue for a chat."
"What?" Hermione sputtered. "I can't just leave in the middle of the workday! We can chat here, or not at all."
Not that she should be having personal conversations on the clock, but it was by far the lesser of two evils. Even if he was still dripping everywhere and his bog smell was beginning to overwhelm the room.
Hermione crossed her arms, thrusting her jaw forward defiantly, standing her ground.
"You are accompanying me, my vindictive little termagant, and it's not up for debate," Lucius said, deceptively gentle mud-caked fingers again grasping her upper arm, this time tugging just enough to throw her off balance so that she crashed into his equally muck-ridden chest.
"Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked.
Lucius wrapped his arms around her. The foul-smelling slime, that he'd no doubt discovered could not be cleaned up with a simple scourgify, now covered her as well. She would require a change to her own clothes, at the very least. Oh Merlin, was it in her hair?
She tried to twist in his grasp to give him a piece of her mind, but the air around them compressed and twisted as they winked out of existence from her office with a crack.
Hermione screeched indignantly when they reappeared in the most ostentatious bathroom imaginable: black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling length, platinum gilded mirrors. Columns! And arches! A vanity that would probably take up half her flat took up residence on the near wall along with two little green and gold velvet stools placed in front of it. Floaty, ethereal curtains were drawn closed over the massive windows—because every bathroom should naturally have massive windows, of course—but did little to block out the cheery morning sunlight filtering through the room. And the main feature of the room: a recessed bathtub, lined with the same marble as the floor. It brought to mind, and likely took some inspiration from, the Hogwarts prefect's bath in that it was the size of a small swimming pool. This version was unapologetically extravagant, ringed in runes which she was not entirely sure were purely aesthetic or functional.
As it stood she could hardly appreciate it as she tried to squelch the need to retch at the unexpected side-along trip. Hermione stumbled out of Lucius's grasp as the wizard set his wand to turning on the various taps, the runes glowing gold. Functional, then. The entirely too large tub began filling with water and familiar scented oils that reminded her simply of Him.
Oh. Damn.
Hermione was completely alone with Lucius Malfoy in his damnable manor, in his private bath, and no one had even been advised that she was leaving work!
"How in Godric's name did you apparate out of the ministry?" This was somehow her most pressing question. Anti-apparition wards had encompassed the entirety of the grounds for years as an added measure of security.
He spared her a glance while he propped his cane-ensconced wand against the vanity.
"As it so happens, the DMLE Head was in my office at the time of the unfortunate bog eruption. All affected by your little prank were granted a one time, special emergency dispensation," Lucius said as he toed off his shoes and began to strip off his ruined robes.
Hermione colored as he efficiently made it past the outer layers, and she spun around …to face him in the mirror just as he began to tug down his trousers and pants. She slammed her eyes shut.
"Come now, pet, you're being absurd. It's nothing you haven't seen before," Malfoy said from far too close.
As if she could forget.
"I wasn't doing a whole lot of looking the last time," Hermione snipped back. How could he be so casual about it? It had been the first time she had ever done anything quite as waywardly perverse as that and just thinking about it still gave her palpitations. She had yet to decide whether they were the bad or good sort.
"Well, in that case, perhaps you should." Lucius enticed, his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear. Hermione suppressed a shiver.
Remember, his face is covered in mud. She told herself. Absolutely nothing enticing about that.
"Just get in your bath, Malfoy."
"I was rather hoping you might join me, Hermione," he said, his voice pitched low.
Her lower abdomen clenched. Clenched!
Hermione detested the way he made her stomach flip. Picture him as he is covered in mud. He's absolutely filthy. NO. Not that sort of filthy. Dirty. No, stupid brain, in a disgusting way, not an exciting one!
"You're nearly as filthy as I am," he tempted.
"Absolutely not," she replied, steadfast.
"Suit yourself."
She could hear the shrug in his voice as the heat of him disappeared from behind her back. Hermione waited until she heard gratuitous sloshing and an indecent groan of appreciation before she dared to open her eyes.
Not foolhardy enough to fully look in Lucius's general direction where he was hopefully rapidly getting clean, Hermione finally spotted the door and made for it. She needed to find his floo and leave, drop by her own flat for a quick wash and a change, and get back to the office.
The door didn't budge.
She tried the handle again, incanting a wandless unlocking charm as she jiggled the knob. The knob zapped her.
"Ow!" Hermione yelped, kicking at the door in retaliation. She couldn't even blast the damned thing because she didn't have her wand. It had been left behind on her desk. She really ought to charm it to stick to her person to account for her ever increasing rate of Malfoy related mishaps.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Lucius called from the bath, "My personal rooms are warded against intruders and designed to keep them trapped until aurors arrive, should they miraculously gain entry."
Hermione rounded on him then, drawn up short by the sight of a wet Lucius Malfoy. A wet Lucius Malfoy that was not covered head to toe in muck and detritus. A wet Lucius Malfoy that, from what she could see of him above the waterline, was far more deliciously fit than he had any right to be. His damp hair gleamed. Trickles of water traced tantalizing downward paths over planes of muscle that she dared not follow.
Damn it all for how easily he was capable of distracting her. She was meant to be leaving. With her current track record, she might as well just submit to his whims and give up fighting against whatever this was at all.
"Let. Me. Out." She was quite pleased that her tone in no way betrayed how flustered she was by this misadventure.
"Mmm… no," Lucius said airily.
Hermione did not make an unbecoming squealy growl sound and most certainly did not stamp her foot.
Lucius ignored her temper tantrum, combing his fingers through his hair. He grimaced at discovering some more unseen muck and ducked under the water again.
Her mouth ran dry and her heart galloped in her chest when he emerged like some Grecian siren emerging from the sea.
Hermione shook off the poetic nonsense her mind supplied; she was voyeuristically staring at the man bathing. Gawking at him like an idiot. Though to be fair to herself, he simply must be an exhibitionist. She would almost swear that he was preening under her attention.
"You are the most insufferable human being in existence," Hermione's mouth observed, before consulting with her brain.
"The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you. Thus why we really ought to have a discussion on where we stand, don't you agree?"
"What do you mean, where we stand? I think it's all very clear where we stand. You irritate me constantly until I finally manage to get you back for it, and then you kidnap me in a strop and lock me in your bathroom."
She crossed her arms over her chest defensively as she glared down at him. Malfoy only smirked as though she had given him the ultimate prize.
"And there it is. You take the opposite stance to anything I ask of you on principle. Why, if I told you I absolutely did not want you in the bath with me, you would be tripping over yourself to dive in."
Hermione scoffed.
"As if! I only oppose you when you're being a confusing prat. Which is often."
"Hmm. Of course," He mused, pulling deft fingers through another lock of hair, "Then let me be unambiguously clear. I am pursuing you. Romantically. Counterpoint?"
"Er—"
Hermione thought she actually heard the gears of her mind creaking to a halt. He continued when it became obvious she had nothing to say.
"I wish to court you properly, and even though you make it remarkably difficult, I do so enjoy a challenge. Then again, your occasional acquiescence to my whims would be appreciated."
"Acquiescence? What do you mean?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
"You have muck in your hair, my dear. If you would allow me to take care of it, I could begin to show you what I mean."
At this junction of her apparent insanity, Hermione could admit to herself that she was attracted to Lucius Malfoy. More than a bit. She had wondered, agonized, over what would happen next after last week; she had hidden and skirted the possibilities for the greater part of the past several days.
But courting? What did he even mean by that? It sounded a mite more serious than she had believed him to be.
She'd known for a while now of his intent to get into her knickers—and he'd already done that quite literally, the bastard—but somehow along the way the game had changed, and she wasn't sure what game they were even playing any more. Hermione wasn't sure she knew what to do in a world in which they weren't actively opposed to each other. Though even that opposition had admittedly been one sided for some time now. Would it truly be the end of the world if Lucius Malfoy was actually being genuine in his supposed intentions?
If she gave the notion thought, there, frustratingly, was evidence that this wasn't solely some misguided attempt to bed her.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try.
The swamp smell truly was becoming a bit rank, after all.
Hermione nodded to herself, striding to the edge of the strong competitor for Britain's biggest bath.
She toed off her shoes and stockings. This whole ordeal could have been avoided if she had plaited her hair today and worn outer robes, which would have eliminated the need for a wash. But having been in the comfort of her office at the tail end of a hot summer, she'd simply been wearing a smart blouse and pencil skirt. Neither of which she would be removing while there was a naked Malfoy patriarch running around, thank you very much.
Hermione stepped to the edge.
"What in the devil are you doing?" Lucius asked, making it to her side of the tub-pool in three quick strides.
He reached up, offering his hand to help her as she stepped down into the water, regardless of the fact that he probably thought her barmy for getting into the bath clothes and all.
"I'm meeting you halfway," she sassed, but readily accepted his solid support into the waist-height water.
"Hardly halfway," He muttered, loud enough for her to hear. "Must you be contrary in all things?"
"I think so," Hermione said gravely, "I've opposed you for too long to naturally do anything different."
Lucius laughed. "Then by all means, please do not turn around."
He was clean and wet and smirking down at her, and this was shaping up to be a terribly bad, not smart idea. Despite it being exactly what he wanted, Hermione did as bid and turned around.
If possible, it was as though the warm water of the pool rose several degrees when his hand ghosted over her shoulder, gathering her hair.
Hermione turned her head toward him, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of my hair myself."
"Yes," he replied, "However, I've waited ages for this opportunity. Indulge me."
Her complaints died on her lips as he buried his fingers in her hair. Oh, that was nice.
"You might wish to close your eyes," Lucius warned an instant before warm water rained down on her head, absolutely drenching her previously mostly dry blouse.
Hermione sputtered, "You git!"
Lucius laughed, easily and heartily. "I did warn you, my dear," he said, as he tilted her head this way and that, thoroughly rinsing her hair of the swampy grime. "Are you sure you don't want to slip out of—"
"Absolutely not!" Hermione reiterated, cutting him off.
Lucius tsked. "Very well. But don't say I didn't have your comfort in mind." His deft fingers began massaging something wonderfully fragrant into her hair. Hermione couldn't help but sigh and lean back into his touch.
"See? It's not so terrible letting me take care of you, is it?" he murmured some moments later, working the lather through her curls.
"I suppose not," she admitted grudgingly. "But don't let it go to your head. This is a one off."
"Of course," Lucius agreed, but she could hear the sly smile in his voice. "Close your eyes again."
Hermione did as instructed this time, allowing the warm water to cascade over her head as Lucius rinsed the sweet-smelling suds from her hair. His fingers combed through her curls, untangling them with a gentleness she hadn't expected.
He began the process again. Her eyes were still closed, and Hermione had been lulled into a peaceful stupor. The things he could do with his fingers in her hair ought to be illegal.
"What color robes would you prefer for the gala? We ought to match, I think."
She snapped her eyes open.
"What?" she asked twisting to look up at him.
"Perhaps you were too distracted at the time to remember Mallow's suggestion that I attend the gala with you on my arm?"
Hermione blushed at the reminder of her frankly unhinged indiscretion that had somehow directly lead to this moment. She stared at Lucius for a moment, at a loss.
"You want to go to the gala… With me."
"Yes," he replied, as though it should be obvious.
"Because Mallow told you to," she posited. Lucius may have said he was he wanted to court her, but part of her, the majority of her, was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept.
"Because I want to," he contradicted.
"That's just… very public," Hermione demurred, "I wouldn't think you would want to be seen with me in that sort of setting."
"I've 'been seen' with you rather frequently as of late," he reminded.
"That's work," Hermione emphasized.
The way he was gazing down at her now, his grey eyes soft and earnest, made her pulse quicken. He looked sincere, and dare she say it - hopeful. Like her answer truly mattered to him. She continued on.
"This is work related, but it's social. Us attending together, much less matching, would indicate—"
That they were together together. Screaming it from the rooftops together. Guaranteed to appear in the gossip column of the Prophet together. Were they really anywhere close to there yet?
Brilliant, Hermione. Even in your own mind you sound like a numpty third year moaning about your first crush.
On the other hand, did she care what the Prophet printed about her? Not really. It would just be a rare hit for a gossip rag that normally missed when it came to her love life.
Was it really just weeks ago she was both contemplating and denying herself a fling with this infuriating man? Of the two of them, she never would have pegged him to be the one to want a serious, official arrangement with witnesses. Hermione may have passed the point of no return with regard to her attraction, as well as her growing suspicion of sexual compatibility, but did she—could she—potentially want something more?
The surprising answer: Yes.
At least she wanted to see what might unfold from their unholy dalliance and let the pieces fall where they may. There was certainly a spark with more potential than she had ever experienced before, but as for going public at the gala? This coming Friday? It was all just so soon.
"I'm not going with you," the words tumbled out of her mouth before Hermione could fully consider them and arrange them properly.
Had she not been looking directly at him, she would have missed the flash of hurt in Lucius's eyes before he schooled his features into haughty derision.
Of course, this would be the first time she ever truly wanted to take back something she unthinkingly said to him.
"This little game grows tiresome, Hermione. Surely you must see how much more smoothly things will go with me by your side. We have the week ahead to finalize a werewolf bill we can both agree on presenting, and—"
"No. No, wait. That's not what I mean. I wasn't trying to turn you down. Well, I was, but not because it's you. Urgh. This is ridiculous. I'm not going with you because I'm not going at all," She waved her hand to emphasize her point, flinging water around inadvertently. "The galas. The balls. They're all pointless schmoozing."
She had not realized how tense Lucius had become until he relaxed.
"For which you lack the knack," Lucius observed, "And hardly pointless. The opposite, in fact. Are you certain you aspire to a career in politics?"
"I already told you that I don't," Hermione quipped. It wasn't a lie. Not precisely.
They'd had a version of this conversation before, but for the first time in their acquaintance, Lucius Malfoy stared at her as if he were trying to solve a difficult puzzle and only just realized he had been given the wrong picture to go with the pieces.
He didn't stay off-kilter long.
"Regardless, this is necessary if you wish to present your omnibus next week. You will come to the gala with me on Friday. With me, Hermione. Consider it our first public engagement."
Hermione blinked at him, searching his eyes as belated realization dawned.
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"Yes," he said simply, "I am."
He was probably right about it being an opportunity to gauge and begin swaying opinions, but she didn't have to like it.
"Fine," Hermione groaned in acquiescence, "But you're doing all the schmoozing."
"Naturally. I can't expect you to learn if I do not provide proper demonstration."
At some point during this turn of conversation they'd gotten quite close. They were a hairsbreadth apart, and Hermione's eyes flicked to Lucius's lips. It would take nothing at all to simply close that minimal space between them.
As if sensing her line of thought, Lucius smirked, tilting his head back to grin down at her.
"Hmm, now that's settled. Best to get back to work, don't you agree?"
Hermione flushed red. He'd almost kissed her. She would have let him. Morgana, if he had lingered a moment longer, she would have initiated.
She may have just agreed to go on a date with the man, but she hated how easily he completely disrupted all manner of sensible thought. Her mind completely turned to mush around him.
Lucius hoisted himself on the bath's edge and slid out of the bathing pool. In her vaguely conflicted self-recrimination Hermione forgot to look away.
Beads of water sluiced down Lucius's chest, glistening tantalizingly in the late morning light. Her eyes trailed downward as he emerged, tracing the path down to his flat stomach, lower, and she caught an unobstructed view of It before Hermione realized she was staring.
She snapped her gaze upward, knowing she had been caught ogling him, dreading to see the amusement in his eyes. She wasn't disappointed.
He merely quirked a brow while grabbing for a dark dressing gown that materialized nearby. He tied it loosely around his waist.
"I'm going to dress," Lucius said, summoning a second dressing gown and placing it on one of the vanity stools. "Feel free to actually bathe, unless you simply enjoy sloshing about in your work wear. If so, then by all means, please continue."
He flashed her a grin as he picked up his cane, and left the bathing room, the door clicking back shut behind him.
Leaving her again trapped in the warded bathroom as she contemplated the unwise prospect of shucking her sodden clothing.
"Damn it all."
Working with Hermione Granger when they both were not trying to actively sabotage, alienate, or purposefully disagree with the other for the sake of it was something of a revelation. It was, dare he think it: easy. Comfortable.
That wasn't to say they often agreed. No, the actual process of editing Hermione's lycanthrope omnibus bill into something that would actually pass muster and be well received by the public at large was painstaking work, further slowed by their frequent disagreements on the viability of any particular clause.
Lucius avoided any overt overtures in the past days in order to get their work done as expediently as possible. He wanted her complete and undivided attention when he took her for the first time, and until they completed the draft legislation, Hermione's attention was, unfortunately, divided.
That wasn't to say he didn't tease, flirt, and test her boundaries. He did. Frequently. It was as natural to him as breathing, and oh, was it gratifying to fluster her so completely when he had no immediate intention of following through.
A frustrated Hermione Granger was a sight to behold, and at the current rate, she would be in rare form during the gala proper.
It was late Thursday afternoon when the final adjustments were made. Hermione leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply. "I think... I think that's it. It's ready."
Lucius, who had been watching her quietly from the other side of the desk, silently preparing arguments against a fourth revision nodded carefully, lest she change her mind. "Yes, I believe you are correct."
He could have made his move then, but Lucius had already been hard at work making Plans for the gala. And Afterward.
Friday morning, he set out to personally deliver her dress robes for the evening. Apropos to the end of the summer season, he'd chosen matching sets of peacock blue and black. The color would compliment them both while not being as garish as the many expected reds and oranges heralding the oncoming Autumn. He planned to broach the subject of allowing him to tend her hair later in the afternoon, or at least convince her to use the Salazar forsaken tonic he'd once gifted her out of spite.
Lucius sensed the tension in the air the moment he stepped into Hermione's office. She wasn't a creature keen on glamours; her nigh sentient hair floated wildly about her shoulders, her complexion blotchy and tear-stained, her eyes themselves shone red and puffy. She hastily swiped at them with the back of her hand in a vain attempt to hide the evidence of her tears, as soon as she realized he was there.
"What's happened?"
Hermione opened her mouth and shut it back, working it opened and closed twice more through a shuddering breath.
"He—he's dead," she hiccoughed, dissolving into tears.