Their eyes locked from across the room the moment she entered. Both pulled into a world that only had the two of them in it as both felt the pull towards one another, but neither acted upon it. Instead, she gave him a small scowl and turned her back, trying to put push any wayward thoughts she had of him out of her mind.

I am married. I am married; she chanted repeatedly in her head as she held Ron's hand whilst he guided her to an empty table. Another win for the team meant another afterparty as a reward for their efforts.

She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be pressed against a wall as Lucius Malfoy's lips assaulted her own, his hand running the length of her thigh before slipping under her dress. No, she mentally scolded herself, these thoughts had to stop. She was married; he was married. She would not be dragging the sanctity of her nuptials through the dirt, and nowhere during her vowels did it give her permission to sleep with Lucius Malfoy.

His nostrils flared as he watched her walk by, holding his hand. For some reason, he felt a pang of jealousy course through his body, and he didn't know why. He didn't even like the woman; he was married, not happily, but married nonetheless and he wasn't about to ruin that and drag the Malfoy name through the dirt by ways and means of such a scandal.

He studied her from across the room. She sat at the table beside her husband, and he wondered if she was as present in the marriage as they made out to be. From an outsider looking in, perhaps the marriage wasn't as happy as the two led the world to believe. She stiffly sat beside him, her lips pursed into thin lines, and she looked as if this was the last place she wanted to be. Her hands twitched in her lap as her gaze looked as if she were a million miles away, and he wondered what she was thinking about. If he were honest, he hated being at these things as much as she looked like she did. This whole owning a quidditch team was Narcissa's idea, and he merely signed the cheques that paid everyone. When he told her she needed a hobby, he was expecting cross-stitch and knitting, not purchasing an entire team and travelling the world with them. Of course, he expected nothing less from her.

Hermione sat and wondered why she had to come to these things. They were boring and yes; she appreciated the work her husband did to allow them a lifestyle he was never afforded as a child, but she loathed hanging off of his arm like an accessory, expected to sit idly by all night whilst he mingled with teammates as they talked nothing but quidditch. It was mind-numbing the amount of times they could talk about quaffles and snitches and it wasted her brilliance sitting here. She'd much rather be in her office working back late and engaging her mind in something worthy.

The flash of blonde hair and a flurry of fresh-pressed dress robes caught the corner of her eye. Her heart backflipped as she watched him closely. With every step he took, he was getting closer. Her mouth went dry, and her hands trembled. She didn't need the man she had been fantasizing about every day sitting anywhere near her. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Hermione never as much as looked sideways when he pulled the chair out and sat beside her, the cold rush of air hitting her as he did so, he was so close she could feel the man's warmth radiating onto her skin and she made no attempt to move away, she also did not attempt to even cast a glance in his direction.

He wondered how long she was going to ignore him, it couldn't be forever. He watched as Ron removed himself from the table and walked off to greet Harry before he spoke. Leaning over ever so slightly so his lips were perfectly in line with her ear, he whispered, "good evening, Miss Granger." A sly smile tugged playfully at the corner of his lips before it vanished in seconds as he waited for her reply.

She rounded on him, anger flashed deep in her eyes and her cheeks flushed red, nostrils flaring with defiance. She snapped, "Weasley," she bit with ferocity, "and you know it," she added.

"Of course, slips my mind every time," he spoke with an air of both smugness and sarcasm, feeding off of the anger that he could feel radiating off of her and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy this.

"Do you enjoy these events, Mrs Weasley?" he spoke with an air of arrogance, ensuring he punctuated the Weasley just right as he spoke to drive the point across.

"Not particularly. I'd rather be at home, or work doing something useful with my time, instead, I am whisked away to these functions where I am dropped off at a table and left to sit here whilst my husband spends hours chatting about one of the most boring subjects I could think of," she finished off with an exasperated sigh.

"And Mrs Weasley, what is it you do for work?" He asked with an upward inflection, merely feigning an interest.

"I work at the ministry, Mr Malfoy. I work in the magical creature's field. It's a mixed bag of work. Sometimes I am in the field studying and documenting species and their behaviours, other times I might tend to a wayward dragon that has found itself without a home or a Niffler that has gone rogue, but most of the time it's just paperwork, there is a lot of keeping track of various imported beasts that is tightly regulated."

"Indeed." he nodded thoughtfully. "So, if one wanted to import a Hungarian horntail, for example, would that be heavily regulated?"

She snorted. "Good luck with that. There has never been one imported into England. The hoops you would have to jump through to get that signed off would be almost unheard of. Not even you, Mr Malfoy, could pull that one off."

She saw the cogs of defiance begin to tick slowly at first and then gain momentum as the seconds ticked by and she knew she shouldn't have told him what she did.

"I love a challenge, Miss Granger." He grinned broadly, raising a single bemused brow at her.

"It will be a frivolous challenge with an unobtainable outcome, Mr Malfoy," she pressed, knowing full well he had just converted back to calling her Granger, but she didn't particularly have the energy to bother correcting him again.

"Nothing is unobtainable to me, Miss Granger." He held her gaze steadfast with his steely gaze; nostrils flared slightly. "I can be very persuasive at times," his voice dropped to a husky whisper as she watched his lips intently as he talked.

"I doubt that, Mr Malfoy," she spat bitterly, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Maybe, one day, you will find out," he said with a raise of a brow and a smile on his lips before standing and walking away, leaving her to ponder what had exactly happened just now.