"Miss Granger," the cold icy voice of Lucius Malfoy cut through her with the severity of a sword, freezing on the spot as she turned glacially on her heel.

"Mrs Weasley," she countered, holding his gaze steadfast, raising a single brow to drive the fact home.

The corner of his lips twitched for a fleeting moment before he pulled his gaze from her own to look her up and down. The knee-length, backless black dress clung to her frame nicely. He noted she was plumper than he had remembered. Her chocolate curls were pinned up high in a bun with a few loose pieces framing her face and he noted to himself that she wasn't completely unfortunate looking.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I stand corrected. I hope the professional partnership with my wife and your husband spans many years. He holds an advantageous position on the team."

"One can only hope," her voice cold. The truth was when she heard the Malfoy's had purchased the team that Ron played for, she begged him to leave. Pleading daily for him to start looking for a new team only fell upon deaf ears, and she knew wherever Harry played, so would Ron.

Deep down, she felt physically and mentally sick that the Malfoys would in essence own Ron, albeit just for the contracted period, but still, it didn't sit right with her.

She looked Lucius Malfoy up and down, making it extremely obvious what she was doing as she analysed his appearance in her head. She thought savagely to herself, still a pompous, self-righteous, colossal jerk. He'd not really changed in appearance, but the shroud of self-importance that hung around him made her want to vomit.

The awkward pregnant pause almost consumed them both wholly, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. What did you say to someone who loathed you beyond words? How did you keep a conversation flowing with a man that not all that long ago would have killed you on the spot, given a chance?

"Photo?" A tall, thin dark-haired man Hermione recognised from the Daily Prophet thankfully sauntered towards them, easing one of the most awkward situations she had ever been in.

"Uh." was all Hermione grumbled before she found herself being pulled in towards Lucius, for a photo. She could only snort and roll her eyes. Ah yes, keeping up appearances, she thought bitterly to herself.

Lucius placed his fingers gently on the small of her back, grinning at the camera. Breath hitched in her throat as she felt a warmth radiating from his fingertips that she had never felt within her before. Her Stomach tightened and then flipped as digits quivered upon white, milky skin. Focus, Hermione, she scolded herself mentally. She tried to pull her thoughts away from the touch, but it didn't work.

Her skin was warm and soft to the touch, his fingers quivered involuntarily against the flesh as he inhaled her scent of rosewater and lavender mingling together to produce a subtle yet intoxicating scent that was assaulting his senses and he tried to ignore it, he tried to push away the feelings she was pulling to the surface.

The two hadn't even realised the flash had gone off, and the photographer had moved away with nary a second thought before Hermione pulled herself from the depths of her thoughts and stepped away from his touch as if she had been burned.

"Nice to see you again, Mister Malfoy, but I must be off."

"Indeed." he gave her a curt nod and watched as she walked away, leaving him wondering what had just happened and why he was left feeling the way he was.

o-o-o-o-o

Hermione had spent the next two weeks replaying what had happened with Lucius Malfoy repeatedly in her head. A sixty-second interaction was all she could analyse right now, and it was sending her mental.

She loathed him. The feeling was mutual. She kept trying to remind herself every time she found her mind slipping and thinking about the man.

His touch awoke something deep within her that she had never felt before like a primal urge was clawing its way to the surface and wanted to be let out. There was no denying the way in which her stomach flipped and clenched as his fingers flittered across her back and she was certain he had felt the same thing.

Tapping her quill tip on her wooden desk, she was once again lost in her thoughts. She hated this. It was confusing to her, and she hated not being able to rationalise her every thought. Hell, even her work performance was suffering because often she was thinking about that one silly little touch, the one that was now consuming her every thought and she knew deep down he wouldn't be giving two seconds of thought or energy to her so why should she continue to think about him?

"You are married," she whispered to herself. "You love your husband," she reminded herself. Rubbing her eyes with open palms, she sighed, exasperated. Why was this happening to her?

o-o-o-o-o-o

This wretched little chit was consuming his thoughts of late, and he hated it with every fibre of his being. How dare she worm her way into his brain and not leave? His fingers still tingled and burned every time he thought about her, and he knew deep down they yearned to touch her skin again and for once in a long time he was utterly confused.

Why was he feeling this way? Why was she constantly on his mind every second of every day, constantly analysing the touch and what it might have meant? He was married, not all that happy, but married nonetheless. The excitement was long gone and the only reason the two of them were still together was that silly one-liner everyone said on their wedding day, but not many held the statement true.

"Till death do us part," he whispered, rolling his eyes. "Till death do us bloody part." He watched his brandy vibrate in the tumbler he held in his hand with every slight movement he made. The Malfoy's always kept their word, and he was a Malfoy. He loved Narcissa but he wasn't in love with her, an arranged marriage with no say thrust the two together and their worlds collided abruptly. He'd grown to love her in a way friends would love one another; he had produced one singular heir as was expected and now he sat idly by waiting for the end of time to tick around and take him so he could be free from the shackles that were this marriage.

He sighed heavily, bringing the glass to his lips and sipping the drink needily. Everything happened for a reason, and he wondered why Hermione Granger was thrust into his world once again.