Within the next week tensions had mounted between the different forces within Hogwarts walls. The classic battle of good versus evil. Left versus right. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Hermione had only afforded passing glances at Marcus Flint in the Great Hall. As hard as she tried she couldn't erase the memory of their encounter.
After a month of Marcus following her around the climax of their encounters occurred exactly seven days ago in a musty library. She shivered at the thought of him pressed against her, seeming to care for her. But Marcus Flint could not care for anyone. He was an enigma and she didn't want to figure him out. She was afraid of what she might find.
To say that he had been avoiding her for the past week would be wrong. Every time she glanced his direction his dark deep-set eyes were studying her, watching over her. He now made no attempts to stalk her though. This concerned her, it was almost as if he was planning something.
"What's with Flint? Is he still bothering you, Hermione? I thought he gave that up, the stupid prick." Ron spat off angrily. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"He hasn't said anything to me since last week." Hermione replied, pushing her breakfast around on her plate. Harry and Ron knew that Marcus had been following her around for a while, but they knew nothing of their last encounter. They only knew that he had ceased to follow her for the past week. Hermione had become more reserved in the past few months, barely addressing the two she called her best friends. She still cared for them dearly but with everything going on she just needed space to clear her mind.
She got up, gathered up her books, and headed off for the library, as was her Sunday tradition. She settled into her favorite musty room and found herself reasonably unable to concentrate. She stared at the spot where she stood when Marcus Flint, of all people, had skillfully assaulted her mouth and her mind.
Her books lay open in front of her but her mind wandered.
She didn't even hear him come in. He stood in the door frame for a few minutes, observing her in her environment as he loved to do. As he approached her he didn't take extra care to be silent, he couldn't help that he was naturally stealthy despite his brutish appearance.
He leaned over her shoulder and even though he couldn't see her eyes he knew she wasn't focusing on her book. He inhaled deeply, taking in his favorite smell, and then whispered against her ear, "Do you have it with you?"
She gave a small yelp and whipped around to see him inches from her. How could she not have noticed the intense warmth radiating off him? Or the woodsy smell she had recently become familiar with?
"I… what?" She was a little disoriented, honestly believing that he was done following her. Silly her.
"Do you have it with you? My handkerchief?" He wasn't talking with his normal grunt, he spoke with more of a whisper and his breath collided with hers, swirling in the small space between their faces.
"No… I… it is in my room." She felt embarrassed, she was never lost for words and she had no reason to be now. She did not have to answer to him, she barely knew him.
A growl rose up in his throat as he put his hand on Hermione's cheek, forcing her into the eye contact with him that she was avoiding. "I told you to keep it with you, you never know what could happen at any minute." His hands were shaking from the contrast of the anger radiating off of him and the softness of Hermione's cheek. His voice dropped back to a whisper, "please do this for me." He didn't care how pathetic it sounded.
Confusion churned in her eyes. "Why is this so important to you?" Fuck not wanting to figure him out. She couldn't help her curiosity.
His eyebrows furrowed together making him look more dark and menacing. He ran his thumb along her jawbone, averting his eyes to watch the movements of his hand. "I don't know. I just know… that you're important to me. I can't explain why so don't ask me to."
She leaned into his touch unconsciously and he treasured that moment. "You look like despair." Her words didn't even qualify as a whisper but he heard them as if she had shouted them in his ear. He leaned his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes.
"I guess you really do know it all." His eyes slid shut, just absorbing her proximity. He definitely could not say he was in love with her, he didn't even know if he knew how to love. He just knew that she meant more to him than any other human ever head, but that wasn't saying anything considering that no one had ever meant anything to him. "Do I really taste like hate?" He referred back to her comment from their encounter last week.
Her eyes were now closed too, and a smirk formed on her lips. "I don't know, I might need another taste." She closed the space between their lips. This kiss was almost the opposite of the previous week's. It was tender and soft, two words she never thought would apply to the bully Marcus Flint. He pulled her up out of her chair and grabbed her hips gently. She pulled away slightly, breathing heavily. He was very aware of her chest rising and falling against his. "You taste like hate with a side of remorse."
He frowned and kissed her cheek, her jaw, and her neck. She leaned her head back to allow him access as he nibbled and kissed her neck. She buried her hands in his warm robes, pulling him closer. A sigh escaped her lips and he pulled away. "You still taste like love. With maybe a hint of strawberry."
This encounter seemed so different from their last, Marcus Flint hasn't ceased to surprise her.
"Go to your room and get my handkerchief. Never leave it, just in case. It comforts me… please." The desperation in his voice was that of a dying man.
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to." He hissed, his caring tone switching to impatient and rude in the blink of an eye. She pushed him away and he pushed back into her, her thighs pressing against the tabletop. She frowned as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he held her against him and he kissed her again, this time more forcefully and it was making her uncomfortable.
She wrestled her mouth away from his, "You're being an asshole, stop it. You can't force people to do everything you want. Let go of me. Now."
Her forceful tone seemed to have no affect on him as he still held her, his face falling from angry to pathetic in a split second. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Just please… I need some comfort in this world. Keep the handkerchief with you." He nudged her cheek and she relaxed against him. Every moral she ever had told her to slap him again but he was just pathetic and she sympathized with him for some reason. Before she knew what was happening he pushed her back to sit on the table, spreading her legs and nestling in between them. He nibbled her bottom lip and ran his hands over her thighs. "You are the light in my darkness." He whispered against her cheek, he just wanted to stand like this forever. Protected from harsh reality by her soft, welcoming body.
"I will just disappoint you, Flint. I can't be a light in your darkness, I don't even have a light in mine."
"You could never disappoint me."
