It surprised, and embarrassed, Neville how much latitude he could get as a war hero. When he showed up at the gate, one of the ticket sellers recognised him and sent for the Magpies' Manager. He suspected McLeod was angling for something so he kept his request to speak to Flint purposefully vague, couching it as a family matter. That got him right into a private box.

Montrose was playing Wimbourne, which was a particular treat for him as he was a long-time Wasps fan. Unfortunately there were journalists there and what Neville had hoped to be a quick private word with Flint turned into a bit of a circus. He had to answer awkward questions as tactfully as possible, defaulting to 'private family matter' as often as he could.

He nearly choked on a canapé when one journalist asked him if it was true Madam Flint was expecting. Neville surreptitiously coughed cracker into a napkin and passed that question off to Flint himself while trying not to sound like a prig. He was very fond of Hermione but he could have gone his whole life gladly without the mental image of her cradling a miniature troll.

Wimbourne lost by a nail-biting twenty points after the Magpies' team Captain Bludgered the Wasps' Seeker right off his broom allowing Lennox Campbell to catch the Snitch. Neville did the gentlemanly thing and congratulated McLeod, suffering several photographs of them shaking hands.

When he finally escaped the box, he was in no mood to pander to Flint's arrogance. Neville strode right down to the locker room. The lead Chaser came out shirtless to speak with him, a sneer already on his face.

"I need to talk with Hermione." Neville told him crisply, noting that despite his late adolescent growth spurt his cousin was still taller. He felt confident though that if this turned violent he would be able to hold his own. Since Nagini, he had been taking fencing lessons. The feel of a hilt in his hand helped with the nightmares. A sword in the mind. "And I think she needs to talk with me."

"Bugger off." Marcus bit the words. He scanned the hallway anticipating an ambush from Potter or miscellaneous Weasleys. Pride be damned, at first sight of them he would have to shout for reinforcements. He would not draw his wand.

"I'm not here because of Harry or Ron." His ribs ached, recalling the last time he had spoken with his cousin. "Hermione's my friend and I know what it's like to lose your parents."

"So do I." Menace darkened his voice. Marcus tensed to attack. One word. One fucking word about his mother from Longbottom, and he would merrily risk losing his Quidditch contract.

"Look, Flint, this isn't about us." Neville stood his ground. "I'm not here to argue. I don't know why she married you. I don't know why Ginny blames her. I didn't know about her parents until Ron told me this evening." He squared his shoulders, unconsciously mimicking the other wizard's stance. "I want to know where Hermione is so I can offer my condolences."

"You would be the only fucking one to bother." The snarl was reflexive, territorial. Inside, Marcus was thinking. He wanted Hermione to trust him. And Longbottom was family. Muggles might be able to forget inconvenient relatives but he was a Flint. Flints remembered.

"Please, cousin." Alice Gamp's son asked Alexandra Gamp's son. Neither man wanted to play on their kinship but both saw it as the only peaceful way of getting what they wanted.

"My wife is in Palau." Marcus saw the name meant little to Longbottom. That did not surprise him. If he had not been at the strategy meeting he would not have known where the archipelago was either. "It is in the western Pacific. Same longitude as Japan."

"I expect she is avoiding the newspapers." Neville had seen the front page of the Prophet. It was like fourth year all over again. "Can I reach her by owl or Floo?"

"No. It is a pain in the arse to even Portkey there." That had been a big problem for the those affected by the marriage legislation. Getting multiple multi-leg mass portkeys from the Ministry was a non-starter. It might have been possible for someone to Apparate repeatedly from one of the islands to England but that would require them to be familiar with every stop on the 12,000km journey.

"How did Hermione get there?" He could wait. It appeared he would have to. It seemed uncharacteristic of the proudly Gryffindor witch to run away and hide, though.

"Muggles have these things called airplanes." Marcus smirked. His wife had solved their transport difficulties elegantly. Having checked flights and done a trial run herself flying commercially to Seoul then to Koror, Hermione confirmed it was a practical route. So the Strategy Committee had chartered a jet.

"When will she be back?" Neville refused to rise to the bait. Partly because he did not want to give Flint the satisfaction and partly because he was surprised how accepting the Slytherin was of Muggle methods. Hermione must be rubbing off on him.

"No idea." If it were up to him, he would have sent Longbottom off then and there but this was for Hermione so Marcus exerted himself to be civil. "Wait here." He went back into the locker room and returned, handing over a Muggle business card. "That long number is for her telephone."

"How do I use it?" The card had 'Strategy Committee' printed on it, as well as an address in Kensington he presumed was for owls. The string of numbers under the address made little sense to him.

"Aren't you supposed to be all for Muggle shite?" Marcus was surprised Longbottom had not taken Muggle Studies. It was a soft elective well suited for a near Squib.

"I've never had to make a telephone to someone." Neville tucked the card away in his robes. "I'll ask Harry."

"You will not." He jabbed a finger at the younger wizard. "That feeble prat has his head up his arse. I do not want him anywhere near Hermione. I had to take her home in bloody tears when Potter's ginger bitch let loose."

"You like her." That revelation was stunning. Neville stared at the wrathful Slytherin so astonished he did not even rally to Harry's defence.

"She is my wife." Marcus said flatly. "I will honour her, and see that everyone else honours her. I thank the Fates every day that they gave her to me. She will save my family."

"Hermione loves Ron." Neville felt he was treading on dangerous ground here. Flint seemed rational enough though anyone with a connection to the Black family had to be careful of obsession. "Ron loves her too. They were going to get married."

"His present behaviour puts that to the lie." Folding his arms across his chest, Marcus regarded Longbottom stoically. "Hermione could divorce me with a snap of her fingers. She has not yet. I count that as a successful courtship."