They parted with plans to talk again. It was not a resolution but the lines of communication had been re-established. Hermione felt better about that. A burden lifted. She did not know if they could go back to how they had been and she wondered whether it was, well, healthy to do so. Being friends in war-time was not the same as being friends in peace.

You had to live with your decisions, for one thing. There were consequences long-term. She sat on Marcus's great-uncle's comfortable sofa, succumbing to the urge to kick off her shoes and put her feet on the furniture. Hermione lay on her side on the rubbed soft leather trying to turn her brain off for a moment. She shut her eyes.

Someone nudged her.

"Crooks, other sofa. Good boy." The witch mumbled, rousing guiltily aware she fallen asleep. She blinked, staring into eyes definitely not the topaz orbs of her familiar. Stone grey eyes with one eyebrow raised. As a teenager, she had practised that quizzical brow in the mirror but had only ever managed startled rather than snarky. Hermione considered she did a much better stern.

"If you want me to make dinner, it will be sandwiches." Marcus sat on his haunches, still in his Quidditch robes from practice. "How are you feeling?"

The timbre of his voice was just a shade too casual. Hermione was starting to pick up his tells. He was good. All Slytherins were very good at obfuscating their emotions but a little something in his tone gave him away.

"Who tattled?" She sat up, hand going instinctively to restrain her hair before she recalled she'd had herself shorn. The pixie cut was a little rumpled but there were no tangles. She might actually look presentable. "I know someone must have told you I spoke with Harry and Ron. I'm not upset. We didn't argue."

"What is it the Americans say? I plead the Fifth?" Marcus smirked, unwilling to reveal he had received owls from several former House-mates informing him his wife had been seen with Golden Boy and Weasel number six. "The Fifth what?"

"Amendment. Their Constitution allows citizens to avoid self-incrimination." Hermione provided. She and her parents had played the List Game, quizzing each other on Muses and Seven Wonders and all sorts of trivia. She could still rattle off most of the periodic table. "Sandwiches would be fine."

Marcus took himself off to the kitchen, where he was ambushed by Crookshanks demanding a Danegeld of chicken. He fed the half-kneazle then assembled a smorgasbord while contemplating tactically how much he should ask about what his wife had discussed with her friends.

She spared him the necessity of cunning gambits by taking a seat at the kitchen table and just telling him about it. The guilelessness of Gryffindors was astounding. Any leverage she might have won through inspiring jealousy or withholding information, she discarded lightly.

"There's still a lot we need to talk about." Hermione sighed, taking off her robes and hanging them on the back of her chair. She would have to press them again as they looked candidly slept in. "I'm still angry about parts. I'm sure they are too. They have every right to be." She sighed again, breathing out slowly. Perhaps she should take up meditation. "I feel less like I've been cut to pieces."

"Invite them over this weekend. Talk some more. I'll be in Ireland." Marcus brought the tray of open sandwiches to the table along with two bottles of Butterbeer. He was off alcohol for the season. McLeod liked to keep the team dry, particularly when tempers ran hot towards the finals. He would have the Championship or heads would roll.

"First game of the year?" Hermione asked, feeling she should be polite. She would give the invitation some thought. The flat was not Flint Manor but she doubted the boys would see it as neutral ground. Unless she did not tell them of the Flint connection. Which was hardly how she wanted to start rebuilding.

"Against the Kestrels. They trounced us last year. Bloody Maddock kept arsing about." Marcus opened the bottles and drank a long swallow to wash away the taste of defeat.

"Do you think I could get tickets?" A thought occurred. A way of making it up to her best friends without grovelling. "I'm sure Ron and Harry would love to go to the game."

"You could get box seats gratis." He chuckled. McLeod would sacrifice him to Hermes if he let this opportunity slip. "Montrose would be honoured to treat you, Kenmare would be honoured to host and a private box would keep the three of you from being mobbed." Marcus smirked. "And your friends can cheer for the Irish, if it would make them feel better."

"Putting you, Ron, and Harry in the same place suddenly does not sound like a bright idea." Hermione cavilled. There would be other games on the weekend, though the prospect of sitting through another Chuddley defeat made her want to baulk at the whole idea.

"I will be on the field. McLeod wants everyone to be chums. If the Montrose Menace can behave, surely Potter and Weasley can also." Marcus put it to her reasonably, and sincerely. "Do you need a wizard's oath?"

"I'll take you at your word." Hermione covered her awkwardness by eating. Taking her friends to see the Magpies play might be the bridge she needed to negotiate a proper truce. They would probably support Kenmare but she could forgive them that. "Alright, yes. Please get me three tickets." She grimaced at the number. "I'd usually invite Ginny along too but I am not her favourite person right now."

"Were you close?" He asked, knowing the girl only vaguely as a miniature redhead hovering over Lightning Boy.

"I tried to be, but we didn't have much in common." She slid a slice of chicken out of her sandwich and gave it to a patiently expectant Crookshanks. He obligingly sat on her feet to warm them, and to keep her from escaping her feeding duties. "Once she joined the Quidditch team and was dating Harry, she didn't need my advice any more. Story of my life, really."

"Pay her no mind, then." Marcus put a hand on hers; a comradely gesture. "There is no shortage of exploitive people in the world. You are under no obligation to carry her. Be polite, be calm and be better."

"Is that a Slytherin credo or a Flint one?" Hermione tried to make light of what was still a sore point. She could not shake the impression that Ginny had been friends with her solely because she was Harry's friend then Ron's girlfriend. Even the invitation to be a bridesmaid had been for Harry's sake.

"Our family motto is 'Butan Synleahter'. Without Stain." He gave his wife's hand a gentle squeeze. "Some Old English proverb about fire purifying and the stone of fire being forever clean." Out of respect for his lineage, Marcus did not roll his eyes. "Fairly sure the Slytherin motto is 'me first'."

Hermione snickered, giving his hand a reciprocal squeeze. They ate in silence but parted amiably. When the flare of the Floo had faded leaving her alone in the flat, the witch prowled restlessly. She sent an owl to Harry and Ron then tried to did some reading. After she had picked up then put down the same book three times, she went to bed and for no sensible reason cried herself to sleep.