Chapter 11

May 1998, London

Spring that year had been fittingly grey, Susie observed. She was watching the sun set from the kitchen window, though there was little to be seen but for a slightly pink patch of cloud beyond the familiar London skyline. Even now that the summer months were upon them, the sun could do little more than peer hazily, reluctantly through the clouds for a moment or two.

Times were hard. Thankfully, Wood was one of the relatively few ordinary wizards whose career was still blossoming. Although it was the teams owned by death eaters, and not Puddlemere, that had been most successful in the league, there was to be a World Cup played in Iceland that summer, and he had been called up to the Scottish squad as a reserve keeper.

Susie's career, by comparison, had long since ceased to move in a vaguely positive direction. She had recently been forced to take a substantial pay cut: it was all part of the Ministry's new blood status employment regulations, and her editor had been left with no choice but to comply. She was lucky still to have her job, though she could not know how long that would last. Kingsley Shacklebolt had warned her that the Ministry would soon be summoning witches and wizards of uncertain blood status for questioning, including her; and when they'd last been at the Burrow, it had been made clear that the Order's safe houses were open to her when she needed them. Lupin had already volunteered to be her secret keeper. She smiled slightly at the memory, at the recollection of her former teacher's tired but affectionate smile across the Weasleys' kitchen table. They had become regulars at the Burrow ever since Fred had invited them for Christmas dinner, and she had become more fond of her old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher than ever.

She jumped as a brusque knock at the door suddenly interrupted her reverie, feeling instantly anxious. She hadn't been expecting visitors. Instinctively closing her fingers around her wand, she went cautiously to the door.

She opened it to see a tall, black-haired young man, built like a chaser and wearing long black robes, which were open at the front to reveal a creased suit and a tie loosely knotted over an unbuttoned collar. There was no question as to his identity, and her grip on her wand tightened. His heavy features stretched into a darkly sparkling smile as he saw her.

"I thought I'd find you here, Birch."

A strange flutter of excitement rose within her: a flutter of memory that stirred long forgotten sensations.

"What do you want, Flint?"

"Call me Marcus, please. We're old friends, aren't we, you and I? I just thought I'd pop round for a chat. Can I come in?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past her into the flat and she eyed him guardedly: he was the last person she'd expected to see.

He hadn't changed at all. He was still a little taller than Wood, but not as broad – or as good looking. She'd had a crush on him once, though, back in fifth year, and the word at the time had been that he'd fancied her too. There had been a spot of flirtatious chat at the library counter, once, and a few significant glances across the great hall – not to mention a brushing of hands outside the Potions classroom. It had been more than nothing, but not quite something. She had soon been distracted by O.W.L.s, and he by more attractive sixth year girls.

"Nice little place, this," he commented, nudging the old sofa with his foot. "Is your smug git of a boyfriend at home?"

His tone was jovial, but it was no secret that he and Wood had always despised each other.

"Unfortunately not," she revealed, "because I know he'd be delighted to see you."

"How are things, Susie?"

"Marvellous, thank you, Marcus."

"Work going well?" She hesitated, betraying at once that he'd put his finger on a raw nerve. "I hear your salary has been cut. I was at the Prophet office just now and the place is abuzz with news of the Gringotts break-in today – but you're not there."

"I'm only working part-time at the moment," she explained stiffly.

"And why is that? Everything seemed to be going so well for you. I couldn't open my morning paper without seeing your name."

She didn't answer.

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment, before stating, "I'm working for the Ministry now."

"Naturally. But somewhat unimaginative, I must say."

"I'm a blood historian."

There was a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach, but she tried to stand tall as he approached her slowly.

"Do you know what that means?"

She met his eyes bravely. "I think I could make an educated guess."

"One of the cases I've been assigned is yours, and it's a difficult one." Still, he came slowly towards her. "Usually, you'd have been called straight in for questioning, but I thought we'd see if we could work this out between ourselves."

"There is nothing to work out."

"Then you won't mind coming into the office with me now and handing over your wand."

An icy claw seemed to grip her heart: had it really come to that? She wondered how quickly she would be able to escape to the Burrow. "I have nothing to hide," she declared, though they both knew that she was bluffing.

Flint grinned. "Right. So are you deliberately disregarding your muggle father? And not to mention your mother..."

"My pure-blood mother," she pointed out.

"Your pure-blood squib of a mother," he corrected, now standing uncomfortably close, "who has forfeited her right to pure-blood status by choosing to live as a muggle. That doesn't reflect awfully well on you, now, does it?"

She stood very still. There must be a way out of this, she thought; there must be a way to get rid of him. Perhaps she could hex him before he had time to reach for his wand? No: too risky.

While she stood there silently, still clutching her wand, he raised a hand to her cheek. She couldn't repress the shiver than ran through her when his fingers brushed her neck.

"I thought," he said quietly, "that we might be able to come to some sort of agreement."

She swallowed uncomfortably, his intentions beginning to dawn on her. "An agreement?" she repeated hesitantly.

"I could sort out your blood status for you. You could keep your wand and your job and your nice little flat, but I'd need something in return."

Her initial reaction was repulsion – but there was something else lingering beneath the surface of her consciousness, and she allowed herself to meet his gaze. He was as smooth as ever, she observed, and still attractive, still with that dark, irresistible sparkle of transgression in his eyes. There was a time when she would have given anything to be this close to him. Caught up in the moment, she asked herself whether there might be a better option than resistance. Was it really worth risking everything to fight for a cause that was already all but lost? Why not just surrender those pseudo-heroic principles and have an easy life? Things didn't have to be as difficult as they were, and normality was being offered at a remarkably easy price by Marcus Flint, of all people – her old school crush, with his black hair and dark, sparkling eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she didn't resist. Suddenly, desire and curiosity were stronger than any suggestions of guilt. However, the surprisingly firm pressure of his lips on hers reminded her with a horrific surge of shame of kisses – gentler, more loving, and infinitely more evocative – from Wood. A match was struck in her mind, casting a harsh and unforgiving light on the thoughts of surrender with which she had momentarily toyed. She saw now with perfect clarity what it was that she had to do.

Flint grinned as he drew back, again igniting that tiny flame of desire within her, but this time she fought to suppress it. "I think you understand me," he said.

"I do, perfectly." She stepped back; doubt flickered in his eyes. "And I must say, Marcus, I'm disappointed. I thought that, working under the auspices of the Ministry, you'd at least pretend to possess a hint of integrity."

The smug grin was instantly replaced by a frown and his cheeks reddened with anger and humiliation. "Stupid bitch," he snarled. "I'm offering you security..."

"Leave now, please. And don't bother to come again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Suddenly, his wand was in his hand. "If you continue to be unobliging, I'll be left with no choice but to..."

He was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Susie's heart simultaneously soared and quailed – if that's even possible. Within seconds, Wood appeared, and froze instantly, his eyes swiftly darkening.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"It's good to see you too, Oliver."

Wood closed the door behind him. "You'd better have a bloody good reason to be here, Flint."

"Or you'll – what?" Flint grinned menacingly. "I'm here on Ministry business, just checking up on Birch's blood status. Did you know she's about to be called in for questioning? Her wand will probably be confiscated soon."

At this, Wood's fingers closed around his own thirteen-and-a-quarter inches. "That's not reason enough. I refuse to recognise the authority of a ministry that knowingly employs Death Eaters."

"Those are very dangerous words."

"Do your worst, Flint. You're on my turf now."

Susie watched him in awe and shame. How could she ever have entertained the prospect of betraying him? She could still taste Flint on her lips, and it revolted her.

"As it happens," Flint said, turning his dark eyes on her, "I'd just offered Susie here a chance to avoid any further attention from my department, but she'd decided to be irritatingly loyal." He glanced back at Wood. "She couldn't resist a quick kiss first, though – could you, Susie?"

She felt sick with shame and guilt. If these revelations hurt Wood, however, he didn't show it.

"Get out," he said simply, his voice remarkably calm and controlled, but simmering slightly dangerously. Flint just laughed.

"Didn't you hear?" Susie asked, buoyed by Wood's self-control. "I might as well let my wand go out with a flourish..."

"You—" Flint didn't finish, but let out a gasp of pain and pressed his right hand to his left forearm. Susie exchanged startled glances with Wood as they realised what was happening.

He looked up at them with a twisted smile – "go on, then, curse me" – then turned on the spot and disapparated.

It was a few moments before the full significance of what had just happened sank in, but once these moments had passed, Susie was instantly caught in Oliver's arms. Her heart throbbing with shame and relief, she fell into him gratefully.

"What he said about..."

Wood tried to silence her. "Susie, not now."

"I'm sorry – I..."

"Please." She met his gaze almost fearfully, but saw at once that nothing had changed for him. He touched her cheek lightly, just as Flint had done. "You know me: I'm just as emotionally incompetent as the next man, so this isn't very easy for me to say, but – but I love you, you know. And I trust you. Whatever you want to say, it can wait till later."

Susie felt like crying. I don't deserve him, she kept telling herself. Giving her a thin smile, he kissed her quickly, lingering for only a moment before drawing hurriedly back.

"I don't know where that bastard has pissed off to, but he'll be back. You need to get to the Burrow. Disapparate now. I'll follow you once I've got some of our stuff together."

She realised then for the first time that he was planning on going into hiding with her. "You mean you're coming?" Her voice broke pathetically; the first tears clustered at the corners of her eyes. "But you'll lose everything!"

He stared at her despairingly. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. It was so ridiculous, so pathetic to be crying at a time like this, but she just couldn't hold it back.

Wood took her by the shoulders. "For a clever girl, you can be bloody stupid sometimes. Now do as I say. Go – or am I going to have to carry you all the way there?"

They both jumped as a third person coughed awkwardly behind them and spun round to see Angelina's face in the fire. Susie hastily wiped away her tears.

"I hate to interrupt..."

"What is it, Ange?" Wood knelt by the fire to talk to his former chaser. She looked troubled, but excited: Susie moved closer in interest.

"Lightening has struck at Hogwarts."


A/N: Thank you for reading - and for reviewing, to those of you who have. I hope you enjoyed this. (And if you're not a fan of the "six months later, this is how things are now" technique - which, upon re-reading, I don't think I am - you'll be pleased to hear that this chapter was the last instance of it...)