I LOVE this chapter and all of the insight into Marcus. Please, please, please review. It really motivates me to write and update as quickly as I can so please let me know what you think. Thank you so much in advance.
Chapter Three – The Start
The instant Marcus apparated into his flat after a day's work, he stripped himself of his black robe and yanked the tie he had to wear every day off, tossing both offending garments onto the overstuffed armchair located near the fireplace. He ran a hand through his black hair, mussing it up, before stalking into the kitchen, ripping drawers and cabinets open, looking for something to eat for dinner. He found nothing, which only managed to piss him off further.
He had not had a good day and all he wanted to do was get piss drunk and pass out in bed in hopes of forgetting everything that had happened over the past few hours.
Michael Flint, his father, had made the unfortunate decision of visiting his only child that day while Marcus had been at work and it was no secret that father and son didn't particularly get along with one another. Normally, the two men could hardly stand to be in the same room together without beginning a fight within the first five minutes. Marcus knew that he had always been a disappointment to his father.
Michael hated that he wasn't more intelligent, more ambitious. He hated that Marcus had fought on – in his opinion – the wrong side during the second war and he hated that the only thing his son ever amounted to was being nothing more than a glorified police officer like some godforsaken muggle in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Nothing Marcus ever did was good enough for his father but for some reason, he kept trying. He didn't know why he tried so hard. It wasn't as if he loved his father, or even really liked him, but at the same time, he craved the respect and approval that he had never gotten growing up.
Marcus didn't know why his father had to drop in on him unannounced like he had that day. Both Flint men knew that nothing ever good could possibly come out of it.
The only bright spot of his day had been meeting Hermione for lunch. Every day – except for Wednesdays when she ate with Ginny, Luna and Pansy – Marcus and her now spent their lunch hour together. He looked forward to it everyday and he hated it when they had to return to work when the hour was over. He liked talking with her. Actually, she did most of the talking. He simply sat there and listened. She tried to get him to talk to her about himself but most things about himself, Marcus didn't want to divulge to her. Those four hours a week he spent with her helped him get through all of the other shit he had to deal with.
He wished he could invite her over to his flat that night. He needed her. For some reason, without him even realizing it, Hermione Granger had become his calm.
The more time he spent with her, the more he got to know her and found out things about her, the more he hated that he couldn't start something with her. Marcus had never been a big fan of relationships. He preferred shagging random witches and never seeing them again once he was done with them. But with Hermione, well, she was different. If he didn't give a shit about what his father thought or about his family's so-called legacy, he would be with her in a second. She would be the girl he would try to have something with.
They had all changed since Hogwarts. Marcus knew he had changed. He supposed fighting in a war could do that to a person. He wasn't the stupid oaf people assumed him to be like he had been when he was just a kid but he let people keep thinking that. It normally didn't bother him in the least. People could have their opinions and go sod off with them as far as he was concerned. Hermione had admitted to him during one of their shared lunches that she, herself, had thought that perhaps he was the same person he had seemed to be back when they had all still been in school but she quickly realized her mistake in thinking that. He had changed along with the rest of them and after everything they had all been through, and fought for, it was nearly impossible to ever go back and be the same person. For some reason, still unclear to him, it was important to Marcus that Hermione not see him as he was but see him as the person he was now.
Having made his mind up and knowing that he had to see her after the day he had had, Marcus quickly scrawled a note, asking her if she was free and would be able to come over to his flat for a few hours though he was not sure what they would do and sent his owl out to seek her answer out. He didn't know what it was that made him want to see her as desperately as he did. He didn't know what sort of spell she had over him but it seemed as if he had fallen quite willingly under her magic. All he knew was that he needed to see Hermione Granger that night and he hoped she would come and make his day just a little bit better.
Marcus didn't know why he insisted on torturing himself like this. The more time he spent with Hermione, the stronger the urge he had to just lean over and kiss her hard and demanding grew. She had no idea how desirable she was or how much he was attracted to her. She was the type of rare girl to be completely unaware of her beauty which surprised him. Hermione was a highly observant person and yet, she never noticed the looks of men as they passed, glancing at her appreciatively before scurrying away upon seeing Marcus glare menacingly at them.
He knew Hermione wasn't his but… he hated when other men looked at her. Damn it. She was his. She belonged to him whether she knew that little piece of information or not. He wanted her. He wanted her sometimes so much, he almost began to shake. And it happened at the oddest times too. They had been at lunch together a few days earlier and she was discussing how she was still crusading for the equal and fair treatment of house elves and though he was listening to every word she said, Marcus suddenly had the vision of throwing her onto the table they sat at, shoving her dress around her hips and burying himself inside of her surely tight and wet accepting body.
He could never have her though – no matter how many arousing thoughts he had of her. As if his father didn't hate him enough, all Marcus had to do was get involved with a girl like Hermione Granger for the shit to really hit the fan, figuratively speaking of course. The Flint family had never been one to be hard up for money and a trust had been set up for Marcus before he was even born – while his mother was still pregnant with him. When he got married, he would receive an undisclosed amount of money and though even he wasn't sure of the exact number, Marcus knew that he and his wife would have more than enough money for the rest of their lives. It was his parents' decision however as to whether Marcus would get the money. He could chose his bride but his parents would decide her worth. Until he married, he received a weekly allowance from his family's funds but it still would have been much nicer if he had more money than he knew what to do with.
Not that he wanted to marry Hermione Granger. He liked her, yes. He was attracted to her and couldn't help but fantasize of how her body felt under his lying in his bed, But he didn't even know her. He was slowly getting there, and everything he learned about her fascinated him, but his family would disown him if he ever got involved with her. She was a …. mudblood.
The knock on the front door of his flat came much sooner than he expected and he found himself looking at his reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway. He stopped himself as he tried to make his hair look somewhat presentable and gave his image a disgusted scowl before going to answer as she knocked again.
The instant he opened the door however, his scowl disappeared. Hermione stood on the small landing outside the door of his flat and the smile she gave him such a happy smile, it felt almost as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. She looked beautiful and he was suddenly very grateful that he had owled her to come over that evening. He needed her company more than he cared to ever admit.
"Thank you for coming," he said, stepping aside so she could pass through the door.
Hermione had never been to his flat before and he did a quick assessment of the condition of the room around them to make sure that it wasn't too messy as she entered, her shoulder brushing against his chest as she passed. He closed the door then quickly moved to help her remove her cloak. She looked at him from over her shoulder, smiling her thanks, and he smiled in return. She really did have a nice smile – one that he particularly liked.
"I didn't know if you would come or not," Marcus admitted to her, hanging her cloak up then ushering her into the living room.
"Why wouldn't I come?" She asked him, sitting down on one side of the couch as he sat down next to her on the other.
He shrugged. "You don't seem to be the type of girl to go to a bloke's flat at night."
She smiled again, almost laughing, as she shook her head. "No, I'm definitely not. But… well, we are friends. It's not as if you invited me over in hopes of seduction."
She paused, looking at him as if she expected him to tell her that that had in fact been his hidden agenda behind asking her to come, and her cheeks flushed a light red. If only she knew just how often Marcus actually thought of what it would be to actually be inside of her.
"Why did you invite me over?" Hermione asked him, turning slightly on the couch so she was facing him more.
His smile, amused from her embarrassed blush at the thought of a seduction afoot, slowly fell from his face and he leaned back in the couch, setting his eyes on the fireplace across the room from them. He didn't want to divulge all of the details to her so instead, he merely shrugged. "I just had a bad day."
"With work?" She inquired, leaning back as well, crossing one leg over the other.
Marcus' eyes instantly went to the her pale white legs exposed from the black skirt she was wearing. She always wore skirts to work and in the process, wound up torturing him daily. Just once, he wanted to lean over and place his hand on her knee, or calf… or perhaps her thigh. He wanted to feel her skin and see for himself whether or not it was as soft as it appeared to be.
"With my father. But I don't want to talk about it," he told her quickly before she could open her mouth and ask him something else.
She stared at him for a moment before nodding her in head in silent agreement and took to looking around the room. He supposed it was the typical bachelor flat – Quidditch magazines and books in disorganized stacks around the room, the furniture dark and mutual colors, no photographs or too many personal effects exposed. He wondered what her flat was like. Probably prim and perfect. Hermione always had to have order in her life, he had found out and had teased her for bordering on obsessive compulsive. For her, everything had to be lined up in a little perfect row while Marcus just let things lie where they fell.
Just yet another countless way in which the two were different from one another.
"This almost reminds me of…" she cleared her throat almost nervously. "Viktor's."
Marcus felt himself scowl. That wasn't exactly something he wanted to discuss either. Being part of the same social circles, he knew that Hermione had been engaged to Viktor Krum for some time. And now being her friend, he knew from her that Hermione felt it was an engagement that never should have happened. He had been her first – and only for that matter – serious boyfriend and she had managed to convince herself that she loved him because of it. Marcus was just silently grateful that she had broken their engagement off before she did something stupid like marry the Bulgarian git. He didn't even know Viktor but he knew he didn't like him.
"Of course, he had a lot more pictures around. Mainly of himself," Hermione added with a roll of her eyes and Marcus smirked.
He looked around the room himself as well. "I don't really like having my picture taken," he said with a shrug.
"Me neither," she admitted. "Whenever I see myself in a photograph, I am convinced I look like I did when I was twelve with the bushy hair and buck teeth."
He laughed. "Trust me. You look nothing like you do when you were twelve."
Hermione stared at him and her cheeks bloomed with a dark red blush again. She smiled faintly. "Do you mean that?" She asked him softly and he turned, setting his dark eyes on her. He didn't need to say anything. The dark intensity swirling around in his orbs fixated on her more than enough made his sincerity clear to her and Hermione felt a rake of shivers bolt down her spine like a fork of lightening. "You are too," she suddenly blurted out and then wished herself to dissolve into a puddle of water and evaporate. Why did she insist on sounding as if she was a butcher of the English language whenever she was around him?
Marcus looked at her, a quizzical expression now on his face as he tried to decipher what exactly she had meant.
"You don't look anything like you used to," she clarified and he nodded his head, almost laughing but decided to save her further embarrassment.
"Do you want to get something to eat?" He asked, standing up. "I don't really have anything here but we could go out."
Hermione tilted her head up to look at him. He seemed upset, antsy. Angry. She wondered what had happened between him and his dad that day to make him so. Not that Marcus was ever in a chipper happy mood but he seemed in a more foul mood than usual. She wanted to ask him if he was alright but she didn't want to pry. He had specifically said that he didn't want to talk about his father so she wouldn't mention it a single time that evening.
She stood up, still keeping her head tilted so her eyes could remain locked with his. They were standing so close together, her chest nearly grazed his and both could feel the heat from their bodies. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. He slowly lowered his head towards hers and she stretched her neck slightly, offering her lips to his. Her stomach tingled with anticipation and her eyes fluttered closed.
Marcus kept his eyes open and he stared at her. His face was now so close to hers, he could count the freckles on the bridge of her nose if he wanted to. He sighed heavily. He couldn't kiss her. As much as he – and apparently she as well – wanted to. He took a step back, not looking at her, rubbing the back of his neck. The room suddenly felt too hot, too claustrophobic.
"What's wrong, Marcus?" Hermione asked, frowning faintly, staring at him. Marcus shook his head and didn't answer. He didn't trust himself to. "You're right," she whispered and he finally looked at her again. She seemed embarrassed. "We're friends. We shouldn't…" she straightened her shoulders with an air of determination now surrounding her. "We're friends. Or we are becoming friends and we shouldn't ruin that."
He stared at her for a moment and then smirked. Jesus. If only she knew the kind of thoughts he was having about her even then. Most didn't think these things about their so-called friends. He shook his head slightly and had to clench his hands together to keep from reaching out to her, pulling her into his arms and not letting her go anytime soon. He had no idea what the hell was the matter with him all of a sudden. He didn't know why Hermione could arouse him like this. He had never felt this before and it was confusing the hell out of him. He didn't even know if he liked feeling like this.
"Do you want to get something to eat?" He asked her again because honestly, he had no idea what else he could say to her. He really just wanted to throw her down on the couch and kiss the hell out of her.
Hermione looked at him closely for a moment, wishing she knew what he was thinking, before nodding her head. "That sounds wonderful," she forced a smile.
Her heart was still hammering in her chest. She had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted to know what it felt to have his lips touching hers. She had been kissed before – by Viktor and by Ron once during the holidays of their seventh year when both had accidentally stood under the mistletoe at the same time and the rest of the Gryffindor house had insisted on it – but she had never actually been kissed before. The kind of kiss that made her toes curl and her knees shake. She looked at Marcus and wondered if he could do that to, and for, her.
When he retrieved her cloak once again and helped her slip it onto her shoulders, his fingers brushed against her and she nearly shivered. Oh yes. She could only imagine how drastic his kisses would affect her. If they ever did kiss – which was quickly becoming her most frequent wish nowadays.
