Chapter Fourteen – The Run-In
Marcus had no idea what she was talking about. He tried to follow her conversation but honestly, he didn't even care. It sounded like she was talking about shoes. Why the hell would she be talking about that? He could have cared less. But there she was, sitting across from him in the restaurant, talking about a pair of shoes she had found that day that went perfectly with a dress she had bought earlier that week.
If this was Hermione sitting across from him, she wouldn't be talking about shoes and even if she was, she would be doing so in such a way that Marcus couldn't help but listen and take an interest in her words.
But this was not Hermione sitting across from him.
It was Veruca – the woman he was going to marry, a thought which still made him cringe and nearly throw up in his mouth. His father was getting impatient with him, not understanding why Marcus wouldn't just go on and marry the girl. A courtship was a respectable step to take before an engagement but Michael was under the suspicion that Marcus was dragging it out longer than necessary.
And he was right. It had been nearly a month since Marcus had last been with Hermione and yet, she was all he thought about. Was all he saw. Was all he heard. He looked at Veruca and could not bring himself to ask her that question that would shape and determine the rest of his life.
Will you marry me? It was too intimate a question to just ask anyone. It was meant to be asked by a person who was in love with another and who wanted to spend their entire life with that one other person.
It was a question Marcus should have been asking Hermione and he knew that.
He looked at Veruca as she went on and on about her shopping excursion that day and he knew that that was all she would be doing once they were married and she had his entire fortune at her disposal. Hermione would never be the type of woman to sit at home and do nothing all day. She would go mad. Even when she was home, supposed to be relaxing, she always had to be doing something – as if the energy within her was tearing at the seams and she had to move to keep from ripping apart.
One Saturday, Marcus had been at her flat, enjoying his day off and watching a movie being shown on her television – one of the hundred film versions of Robin Hood – and Hermione had lasted only about ten minutes of lying on the couch with him before she had begun to fidget. Normally, when a girl wanted to cuddle, Marcus was the one feeling claustrophobic but lying there, on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except watching the movie, Hermione began to wiggle.
They were spooning on the couch, Marcus lying with his back pressed up against the cushions, his arms wrapped around her as Hermione laid in front of him, her back pressed to his chest. He was able to smell her hair and kiss her neck perfectly in that position but for once, he was actually watching the movie. That actor, Errol Flynn. Was his Robin Hood costume actually sequined and… sparkling? That seemed horribly historically inaccurate and Marcus frowned, trying to get a closer look.
Hermione was playing with his fingers and the cuff of his sweatshirt he wore and then she began twirling locks of hair around her hair. When he had laughed and asked what she was doing, she shrugged and said that she was feeling anxious. Eventually, she had convinced – though there wasn't a need for much convincing – Marcus to have a quick snog session with her on the couch before she had went to go get one of her dozens of books and curling back with him on the couch, she had read as he watched his movie.
In bed, after a few rounds of strenuous love-making when Marcus would be lying, practically immobile, Hermione would always be the first to recover, whether it be just tracing his tattoo or kissing his neck or running her fingers through his hair.
Hermione had been a passionate lover – the best he had ever had – and had been so eager and excited to try and learn new things. Marcus knew there was a reason why she had been so different when compared to all of the previous women he had shared a bed with. Hermione had loved him and it radiated forth through her actions. And Marcus… he loved her too.
He couldn't believe that he could admit that to himself now but he could. It only figured that it was too late for anything to be done about it. He was set to marry Veruca and Hermione, well, according to what he had heard Draco talking to Blaise and Adrian about when they had all gone to a Quidditch match together over the weekend, Pansy had set Hermione up on a blind date with Justin Finch-Fletchley a few days earlier and she had agreed to see him again.
She was moving on. Which was good. That was what Marcus wanted her to do. He wanted her to forget about him and the horrible things he had done. He wanted her to be happy in her life and he wanted her to be loved by some bloke who deserved her. He just couldn't help the tight ball of envy in his stomach and the strong desire to go and beat Justin Finch-Fletchley to a bleeding pulp.
He had never been in love before and he hadn't known what to expect when he finally realized his feelings for Hermione. He understood that the feelings had been there, lying dormant, ignored, within him for a while now though. He wasn't sure exactly when he had fallen in love with her but he had an idea as to when it could have been. That morning, in his bedroom after coming to him the night before, admitting her own feelings for him, she had been sitting up in his bed, wearing his tee-shirt and smiling down at him. He had felt his heart seize in his chest as he had looked up at her and he allowed himself to imagine waking up with her like that for many more mornings to come.
That was when he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger.
He was almost certain of it. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him and Marcus knew that for the rest of his life, nothing would ever come close to comparing to her. She was beautiful and sweet and funny and smart and she had loved him completely and wholly, giving herself entirely to him without fear or hesitancy. She had trusted him. She had wanted him. Him. Marcus Flint. The Slytherin oaf who had to repeat his N.E.W.T. year. Why would she have ever wanted to be with him?
It was a question that he would probably never be able to answer without still wondering why. She was too good for him. Always had been and always would be. He didn't deserve her and he knew that he never would. She had chose him though. She had given herself to him – not just in regards to her virginity but she had given him her heart, trusting him and expecting him to look after it for her. It had terrified him but at the same time, he had walked a little taller, knowing that she was his.
What kind of bloke chose money over love like that? He did, apparently. Michael Flint's junior replica.
"Oh, you will love it when you see it, Marcus!" Veruca practically squealed with delight and she reached over and took his hand in hers.
He immediately slipped it from her grasp and held onto his water glass, staring down at his dinner plate as he continued chewing on his piece of chicken. This was his life now. Eating dry chicken while listening to a woman he couldn't stand touching him as she squealed about articles of clothing.
If only his mother could see him now. She would be so proud of him and how her greatest fear had come true. He had chosen the money and in turn, had become exactly like his father. If she hadn't been dead already, this surely would have killed her.
"The Masquerade tomorrow night is the perfect opportunity for making announcements, don't you think?" She asked in what she probably thought to be a sly matter.
Tomorrow night, the Ministry was hosting a Masquerade Ball for all of its employees in celebration of the approaching holiday season. Normally, Marcus would have stayed as far away as possible from something like that but he had agreed to go with Veruca for one simple reason.
Hermione would be there.
Even though they worked in the same building, he hadn't seen her once since his confession to her and successful stomping of her heart. Blaise had informed him that she had gone to Moscow for business for two weeks before returning and she had excellent skills at hiding herself from people who might want to find her. She should have become an auror. She could disappear better than anyone he knew.
He admitted that he walked past her office sometimes though it was on the opposite end of the Ministry and he never had a reason to be there. But anytime he walked by the open door, she wasn't in there but he always got the feeling that she had just left. It was as if she had sensed him coming and had dodged him. He didn't know why he wanted to torture both of them but he couldn't seem to help himself. He wanted to see her. Desperately. It had been nearly a month. He HAD to see her.
"Don't you think, Marcus?" Veruca repeated her question, staring at him. "Perhaps we should tell everyone tomorrow night that we're engaged."
"We're not," he reminded her for what felt like the millionth time.
He was half-tempted to put the bleeding ring on her finger just so she would shut the hell up about it. Michael had given him one of the Flint family heirloom rings to give Veruca but it was still tucked in his top dresser drawer, not imagining it sitting on Veruca's finger but rather Hermione's. Not that that would ever happen now.
"I know we're not," she said, a bit huffy. "Maybe we should be though. Don't you think? If we become engaged now, I will have just enough time to plan it so we can have a spring wedding. It could be so beautiful, Marcus. If you proposed to me. I'm also sure that your father would let us delve a little bit into your trust fund before we were married too so we could spare no expense for the ceremony."
Marcus finally lifted his head and stared at her, the light from the flame of the candle in the middle of the table flickering onto her face. Veruca Crow was beautiful. A man couldn't deny that. But… she wasn't what he loved in a woman. Her hair was thin and blonde, cut to her shoulders and always styled fashionably rather than rich dark brown hair hanging down her back in thick waves and always looking uncontrollable. Veruca didn't have hair he could bury his hands in.
Her eyes were green – like pea soup. And Marcus despised pea soup. When she looked at him, he saw no fire, no passion. Hermione's brown doe eyes had been like windows. Everything she was thinking and feeling could be conveyed in her eyes and sometimes, Marcus found himself quite satisfied with doing nothing except looking into them.
Veruca was tall, willowy, like a model's body would be. Hermione was shorter and she had had womanly curves. Veruca was skin and bones but Hermione had had hips that he loved grasping when she had been rocking on top of him during the night, making love to him. She had fit perfectly against his body and he was able to rest his chin on top of her head whenever he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her.
In simplest comparison terms, Veruca was not Hermione and Hermione was all Marcus wanted for himself.
Without excusing himself from the table, Marcus took the napkin from his lap, tossing it onto the table as he stood up. The restaurant was crowded and he weaved in and out of the other tables and waiters as they bustled back and forth from the kitchen, carrying trays of steaming plates of food.
He felt like he couldn't breathe. He had to go to the bathroom and splash some water on his face but going down the short hallway where it was located, he found the door to be locked. The restaurant had a single unisex bathroom and Marcus sighed, leaning against the wall opposite the door, waiting, his hands in his pockets.
What was he doing here? Why was he here, in one of the fanciest restaurants in Diagon Alley, with some woman he couldn't even stand to be around while Hermione was out there, somewhere, not with him? He wanted her. He wanted her to be there with him. He wanted her to be the one nagging him about an engagement and a wedding though if it was Hermione, Marcus had a feeling that she would already be sporting the diamond ring on her left third finger without having to nag him at all for it.
He had no one to blame but himself and he did with such angry regret, he felt like punching a hole in the wall right then and there, not caring that he was in public and it would probably be in tomorrow's edition of the Prophet. Marcus Flint punching holes in walls. But honestly, did anyone except anything different from him? Everyone thought they had him pegged the instant they met him. All brawn and no brain. Nothing more to him than muscles, glares and snarls.
Hermione, though, had taken the time to get past that and get to know him. She had wanted to know him and she had fallen in love with what she had found.
The bathroom door finally opened and Marcus pushed himself from the wall, thinking that it was about bloody time, but all thought, and body movement for that matter, flew from him as he stared at who was standing in the door jamb, she also immobile upon seeing him.
"Hermione," Marcus whispered, thinking for a moment that the wine he had drank with his dinner was now causing him to hallucinate.
But, no. She was there. Really and truly standing before him. He could feel her, could smell her. He could reach out and touch her if he found the courage to.
She stood before him in a dark blue satin dress that fit her perfectly before hitting her waist and the skirt flaring out slightly, falling to her knees. It was strapless and her pale flawless shoulders were exposed, shoulders he had kissed so many times, he had lost count. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and Marcus hated whenever she had worn her hair up like that but no matter what she wore or how she styled her hair, he knew without a doubt that she was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant that night.
Hermione had gone completely still, remaining in the doorframe of the bathroom, her eyes unable to tear away from him. She felt as if she had just been kicked in the stomach and she couldn't breathe. Her hand was still grasping the doorknob and she held onto it so tightly, it began to hurt her fingers. Marcus… he was standing there, right in front of her, the closet she had been to him in the month that had passed since that night in her flat. A month and she still felt her eyes sting with tears at the sight of him and her heart twist painfully in her chest.
He was wearing a black suit with a black tie and white button down shirt and she noticed immediately that his hair was combed neatly instead of its usual look of him running his fingers through it. What surprised her more than his combed hair however was the state in which he seemed to be. If she didn't know any better, she would think that the past few weeks hadn't been kind to him just like they hadn't been to her. He looked tired – exhausted – and she could swear that he had lost a bit of weight. Hermione knew that she looked horrible. She was barely eating still and except for a couple of hours each night, sleep continued to allude her.
"Marcus," she said, her voice catching in her throat, her eyes glued to him before her.
Why did she still want him? Why was this aching need for him still within her? She thought this was going to pass? When was this going to pass? She hated him. She hated him. She hated him. She had to keep repeating this to herself though within the deepest recesses of herself, she knew it wasn't true. It probably never would be.
No one would ever say such a thing about her but Hermione was so incredibly stupid. Standing before him, staring at her, she knew that she still was hopelessly in love with him but he was no longer hers to love. He never had been hers.
Each morning, she dreaded reading The Daily Prophet in fear of opening to the society page and seeing the engagement announcement of Marcus Flint and Veruca Crow. She didn't know Veruca. Apparently, she had been a Slytherin in the same year as Marcus and after school, she had had a brief career as a model in Muggle New York City before returning to London.
She had heard from Draco before Ginny elbowed him to shut up that Veruca was gorgeous. It didn't surprise Hermione that Marcus would be with a beautiful woman who was a model after being with someone like her. She had been just a bit of fun and apparently, not the type of girl Marcus wanted to spend the rest of his life with married to.
"Were you waiting for the loo?" She asked. After everything, it was the only thing she could think to say.
Marcus continued staring at her, silently, not even knowing whether or not he was breathing. He stepped forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. God, the things he wanted to do to her. His body was practically shaking with his want for her. His need. His desire. His love. God, how could he have been so blind and scared? She was it. Hermione was the one for him. He needed her to live. For the past month, he had felt as if he had just been going through the motions of his day, completely numb to everything around him. But now, just standing and looking at one another, she was already getting him to feel more in that moment than anyone ever had before.
Hermione gasped but she couldn't do a thing more as Marcus took another step towards her and winding his arms around her waist, he pushed her back into the brightly lit bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him with his foot. His hand went to grasp the back of her neck and she managed to take a breath before he lowered his mouth to hers, latching onto her lips, kissing her hard.
Passionately. Hungrily. Desperately.
She put her hands on his chest, trying to push him off, but he wasn't moving away from her, her mouth being caressed by his, his body hard and hot pressed to hers. Her brain told her to put a stop to this that very instant but the rest of her, the part that was winning, returned his kisses eagerly, her lips moving with his, her hands sliding around his shoulders, grasping the back of his suit jacket in her fingers.
The white tile of the bathroom wall was cold on her back as Marcus pressed her against it, his mouth unrelenting on hers, his tongue tasting and feeling every nook and crevice in her mouth. They couldn't stop. The restaurant could begin to burn down right then around them and they still wouldn't stop.
Her fingers moved to run through his hair, tousling it as it should be, and Marcus gripped her hips, bunching the material of her dress in his hands, slowly pulling it up towards her waist as he continued kissing her.
Hermione knew she had to stop this. She couldn't let this happen. He had broken her heart. He had hurt her, putting her through unimaginable pain. This couldn't happen between them – whatever was about to happen. She felt tears sting her eyes but she couldn't pull away from him or push him away from her. She wasn't strong enough.
Marcus curved his hands over the soft globes of her bottom underneath her dress and lifted her slightly off the ground for a moment allowing himself to wedge one his legs between hers.
"Marcus," Hermione gasped into his mouth as her hands clutched at his shoulders.
What was he doing to her? Why couldn't she stop this? Why did her body burn and crave for this? He had hurt her. He was getting married to a girl who wasn't her. He didn't want her. He wanted money more than he ever wanted her.
He smothered his mouth against Hermione's, burning her taste onto his tongue and into his memory. His body was on fire and only she could help him.
Slipping one hand between her legs, he traced his fingers along the front of her knickers, felt the dampness that was beginning to seep through the thin delicate fabric. Impatiently, he jerked the elastic and cotton to the side, baring her completely to him, the bathroom air cold against her heat, shocking her. Running his fingers along her outer lips, he collected the moisture that had gathered there, coating his fingers in it before delving deeper.
Whatever Hermione's earlier arguments in her mind had been, all thought completely disappeared the instant he touched her. Easing a finger deep inside her, Marcus slowly started a lazy rhythm that had her lifting her hips in an attempt to encourage him and moaning softly with each thrust. Her hands had shifted from his shoulders to the back of his neck as she encouraged him to continue kissing her, her nails biting into the sensitive skin of his scalp, messing his hair up further.
Adding a second finger, he began to pick up the pace, his thumb flitting across her clit occasionally to further the sensations. She was hot and wet around him, sucking at his fingers hungrily and reluctant to release him from her grasp. He remembered every time he was inside of her, how perfect and wonderful her tightness had felt squeezing around him. Even now, he was envisioning that it was his cock sliding in and out of her instead of his fingers.
In the back of his mind, Marcus knew that they were in a bathroom in the middle of a busy restaurant. Keeping his fingers delved deeply inside of her, he reached inside the front of his suit jacket with his other hand and pulled out his wand, administering a quick silencing spell on the small room, giving them as much privacy as he could offer that moment.
Marcus resumed his actions, thrusting his fingers deeper into Hermione's body, making a point to flick at the sensitive bundle of nerves each time, and he bent his head to kiss her once again. She climaxed only a few seconds later and his mouth released her, wanting to revel in the soft cries that escaped from her throat.
"I love you," he panted softly in her ear as if he had just been the one to orgasm.
He didn't get a chance to revel in the satisfaction of what he had just done for, and to, her though. As soon as she was able, Hermione wrenched herself from his arms and yanked down her dress, backing up until she stood at the opposite end of the bathroom, staring at him. Tears glassed over her eyes and she shook her head slightly, her body trembling, both from her climax and from the words he had just had the audacity to say to her.
"What?" She asked, her voice shaking. "How dare you say that to me."
"What?" He echoed, turning to stare at her. "I love you," he repeated to her.
She stalked up to him and slapped him across the cheek, her palm and his skin stinging from the contact. He barely flinched though and she stared at him, hard.
"You do not get to say that to me," she said. She could feel her throat tightening and the first tear slowly trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away. "After everything you did to me, after the things you said… or didn't say for that matter, you think that telling me… that lie, I will forgive you?"
"It isn't a lie," he said firmly.
"And what would happen if I forgave you, Marcus?" Hermione demanded to know. "I somehow doubt that I would get any sort of happy ending with you. You tell me you love me but then walk right back out there and resume your happy life with Veruca."
"How could you for a moment think that I'm happy when it's not you I'm with?" He questioned, taking a step towards her, grabbing her arms. "How could you think that me telling you I love you is a lie when you are the one person who knows I wouldn't say it unless I meant it?"
She tried to wretch away from him but his grip on her was too tight. More tears poured from her eyes but her anger grew – anger at him, at herself, at the entire situation they were in.
"You chose this, Marcus! You had me. You could have had me forever if you wanted. But you wanted the money. The high and mighty pureblood Flint couldn't bring himself to such a lowly level as being with a mudblood though."
Hermione put her hands on his chest and tried to push him away but Marcus wasn't having any of that. His fingers latched tighter around her arms, refusing to let her go.
"Go, Marcus," she said, her voice quieter, sounding completely drained. "Go and marry Veruca or some other girl so you can get your money and be happy. I just want you to be happy, Marcus."
He shook his head. "I can't be without you."
She looked up at him, her heart twisting and breaking all over again. It hurt to look at him, knowing that he would rather have money than her. Knowing that he would rather marry someone else other than her.
"You already made your choice, Marcus, and I wasn't the one who won. You can't take it back."
A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter for me. You have no idea how much it means to me. Please read and review this chapter for me and let me know what you think. There is only a few more to go before the story is complete and I would really appreciate feedback and opinions. It helps motivate me and the next chapter is going to be long and hard to write so I will need encouragement. Thank you very much in advance.