They weren't sure how it started.
Both working at the Ministry Post-Voldemort, he had retained an inner hatred of Mudbloods and all things Muggle. It almost killed him to placate the new order of things with his money and fake smiles. Lucius Malfoy was so smooth and practiced at schmoozing it was second nature. That didn't mean he liked it one bit, but to make money, one had to spend money. To gain influence, one had to grease palms, wine and dine, say the right words to the right people and smile, smile, always smile.
Across the board room table as the new Head of Muggleborn Affairs, Hermione Granger saw right through him.
She was a thorn in his pale ass.
All around them, old men, frigid witches and blustering officials from other countries spouted verbal diarrhea as the Summit for International Peace whirled merrily around them.
He was oblivious to it all. The insipid, know-it-all witch had thwarted his policies at every turn, forcing him to play by the rule book. In fact, the brilliant bitch had him by the balls, actually sending him owls with this provision or that subtext highlighted, copied and translated for him from every department, even if it was fresh off the Minister's desk.
Lucius had one word to define the disease that was Hermione Granger: Cunt.
While loathe to use such a distasteful word to describe any person, especially a woman, there was no such hesitation in applying it to HER.
There she sat, smug and gorgeous, holding his arrogant stare. Lucius had no intention of backing off.
The rest of the banal meeting was a simple pretense before documents were passed around, speeches of gratitude and brotherhood given, hands shaken and fine wine passed around. Then everyone would get drunk and call it socializing before passing out, disappearing to fuck one another or retire to their respective wizarding hotel accommodations. It was standard, really.
The first time she had spurned his sexual advances was of no concern. He'd expected as much.
The second time, she'd slapped him while he smirked and called after her with a lewd innuendo, causing several heads to turn and whispers to run rampant for days. The chit was enraged, much to his pleasure.
When she realized he'd meant to rile her up, the cold shoulder started. His blackballing of other Ministry officials seemed to go unhindered for a while until a contingent of Aurors showed up at his office one day and took him into custody, citing his complicity in a murder.
Completely at a loss, as he'd not murdered a soul (knowingly) since before the end of the war, not even his solicitors could get him released from the maximum security cell pending a full investigation. Who would possibly dare to have him held on highest authority on false assumptions? He'd ruin whoever it was. Lucius vowed to cut the bollocks from their body, ruin them financially and run them from the country. Each passing hour infuriated him even more until the aristocrat was apoplectic.
The moment the Mudblood bitch walked through the door in her four inch heels, mid-thigh pencil skirt, tight white blouse and secretary-like glasses, he knew that HE was the one that had been held by the balls.
Lucius had narrowed his eyes and demanded answers from her.
With disgusting, awful clarity the woman laid out her manipulations to have him put away for life if he didn't stop harassing her for sex. With the charges she'd manufactured and evidence planted, the most brilliant witch of her age had ensured he'd never see the light of day.
Even as his cock had stood annoyingly at attention, him standing with his back to her so she couldn't see while she prattled on and cut his life to ribbons, the elder Malfoy forced to concede to her wishes in exchange for his release and clearance to his name.
They held one another's hatred in their gaze for the remainder of the boring meeting, each rising and accepting libation from a house elf.
Lucius made a silent toast to his rival, raising his glass. Turning away, he'd sighed. She had won, the only person post-war to have bested him. It wounded his pride, threatened his manhood as nothing ever had. That such a small package packed a rock solid punch to his proverbial groin annoyed him to no end. The fact that he lusted after her, even after the shame she'd subjected him to, made for the final bit of salt in the wound, rubbed in until he screamed inwardly with frustration.
The only way to forget about her presence for the evening was to get drunk: very, very drunk.
Lucius had made his way around the room, talking to the right people, flirting, making jokes, saying the right things, accepting drinks and knocking them back when no one was looking.
Except someone was looking; Hermione was watching him. Why it should have concerned her that Lucius Malfoy was getting plastered really was a mystery. He hated her, and she hated him, it really was that simple. Hermione had never seen him drink that way at a social event before.
Shrugging off the old man in the middle of a self-initiated conversation of which she had no idea what he was talking about, Hermione stalked the blond around the room until she found herself in one of the many side parlors meant for private negotiations between officials.
"Lucius?" she called, moving further into the room.
Hermione jumped when the door slammed shut behind her, whirling quickly, wand at the ready and her in a battle stance.
Lucius swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled deeply, his own fingers flicking lightly toward the door.
The telltale shimmer alerted Hermione that the door had been warded and silenced.
Constant vigilance, the unbidden reminder from Mad Eye, popped into her head. She hadn't been as vigilant as she should have been. Hermione may have dicked over Lucius publicly, but she had to remember he was still a very powerful, very dangerous, and very attractive, sexual man. Where the hell had that thought come from?
He pushed off from the wall, walking toward her with cat-like grace until his chest was pressed into the tip of her wand.
"Go on then, finish it."
His words both confused and stunned her.
Lucius grabbed her wand and put it to his throat, leaning into the tip so it indented his jugular.
"Go on, witch, do it!" he snarled, his eyes hard like silver-grey diamonds. With an angry cry he whirled and smashed his wine glass into the fire, the alcohol making it hiss and sputter wildly for a moment.
"You will finish what you started, witch! I refuse to go on with this, this travesty! You've shamed me, spurned my family name, thwarted me at every turn, and even tonight you dare to rub it in my face. What have I ever done to you or your kind since the end of the war?"
With growing ire Hermione lowered her wand and pressed one finger into his chest. "You really want to know? Besides trying to force yourself on me sexually, you've attempted to halt every one of my projects, bribed officials to vote against my initiatives, and have even gone so far as to make a number of employees in my department quit. They wouldn't tell me why, but I knew you were behind it. You've been a right bastard, Lucius Malfoy, and I'll be damned if I and my kind, as you so eloquently put it, will bow down to the likes of a horrid, snakey ex-Death Eater who facetiously thinks the world should kiss his ass because it shits diamonds!"
Her breath was coming hard and fast, cheeks suffused with blood, her décolletage plumped and rising and falling prettily. She was magnificent.
"You're right," he answered softly, his eyes still hard, belying the danger in his low tones. "I am a bastard. Do you know what makes me hate you so? The fact that you are the only woman to have ever bested me, and you are a filthy Mudblood, a freak of nature, and the only one I have ever wanted to betray my ideals for by sticking my cock down your throat to make you shut the fuck up!"
His vulgar hatred spewed forth, powered by the presence of sustained ire growing and twisting in the air around them.
Just like that she was pressed to him, his lips tearing at hers, tongue plunging into her mouth, raping it even as she returned his torrid ardor.
Clothing fell to the floor in a tornado of fabric, torn ribbons of her dress, buttons dearly departed from their home along his hundred galleon dress shirt.
Her long legs wrapped around his waist, his tall, muscular frame crushing her onto the duvet. Intimate parts rushed together, his cock finding a willing haven inside of her, so tight and heavenly.
There was nothing romantic about their coupling. It was like their hate; boiling over into their physical union lest they hex and meet their mutual demise at one another's hand. This unspoken alternative suited them both much more, taking their pleasure from the other with frantic thrusts, clenching muscles and words no normal lover would use to ignite their paramour.
"I despise you, witch," Lucius groaned into her ear, his balls slapping hard as he hit bottom with his thick organ over and over, shoving her cervix to the side each time he slid home in her tight pussy.
"The feeling is mutual you pompous bastard," she moaned, arching into his mouth, breasts pressing into long-fingered hands and talented tongue.
"You will pay dearly for your treatment of me."
"Do your worst, Malfoy."
So he fucked her with every ounce of strength in his being, pumping her into the duvet, then up against the wall, finally on her hands and knees across the plush carpeting.
On her fourth orgasm she'd fallen to her stomach, sobbing with unrestrained pleasure, her body trembling from his insane fucking even as she loved the handling and satisfaction of her darker desires, sated as she'd never been by any wizard.
Lucius felt himself tiring, a bit drunk and slowing. He smirked into the witch's back and gripped her slippery hips more firmly, heading into the final stretch. His hips took on a life of their own and slapped into her so fast they were nearly a blur.
Hermione's tight, clutching sleeve felt so good on his cock and he felt the familiar tightening, tingling sensation in his balls as they drew up and exploded. With a hoarse shout he pressed himself firmly inside the woman he hated most in this world and let loose his seed to fill her inner warmth. He jerked with each pulse that erupted through his body, instinctively kissing her back and neck, murmuring nonsensical words as she babbled incoherently beneath his slowing body.
They'd parted without a word.
Three years later they still met, inside that same room. The signal to meet was a staring match that rivaled the one during that first meeting. Each time he caught her blatantly challenging him with her eyes, her superior Mudblood attitude, he was there following working hours. She'd never failed to show and each time he'd taken her multiple times to completion.
He didn't want to think what it meant to either of them. Lucius tried to tell himself it meant nothing, that he was using her as a domination fuck and she just got off on it, but in his heart he knew it was more.
So much more.