"Heard your sister-in-law took quite a fall last weekend."
In the last month and a half, Hermione and Marcus's attempts to simply not talk to each other and enjoy their idyllic dreamscape had slowly faded until the two began to enjoy on easy rapport. Oddly enough, many of their conversations drifted toward Quidditch. Despite Hermione not being interested in sports almost at all, learning how to engage in discussions around the only wizarding sport had been a survival tactic. All of her in-laws as well as her best friend were absolutely crazy for it, some of them even played professionally.
Quidditch was a safe and strangely humanizing topic. Marcus could've been any of the Weasley's when discussing Quidditch.
He was right, of course regarding Ginny's accident, it had been all over the papers.
Hermione scowled, leaning back on her hands while she sat, legs crossed in front of her. "She did," the witch agreed, her voice laced with more than a bit of malice. "I thought Harry was going to strangle McLaggen afterwards."
Marcus snorted from his spot in the grass a meter or two from Hermione. "Oh aye, heard that too."
Hermione lifted her eyebrows curiously. Seeing as Rita Skeeter had long since left the Prophet, the wizarding publications had shifted their focus from sensationalizing the actions of the Chosen One and, much to Harry's delight, they had stopped mentioning him almost altogether. Harry Potter was old news. Even in the articles regarding Ginny's fall-she was expected to make a full recovery- had been surprisingly lacking any reference to her more famous husband.
Unlike muggle papers that surely would've read, 'Harry Potter's Wife Falls From Broom' the wizarding papers actually referred to Ginny by her own name and her own merit.
Ten points for the wizarding world.
"I've got a few old teammates on the Harpies," Marcus admitted with a shrug, interpreting Hermione's facial expression correctly. "The wizarding world is small and the Quidditch world even smaller, we all basically know each other."
Hermione nodded, conceding the point. A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the two then. At the beginning, when the pair had finally decided they might as well talk to each other if they were going to be stuck together, these lulls in conversation had been awkward at best. As time passed, however, Hermione let go of feeling obligated to fill the silence.
"I think she'll probably retire after this season," Hermione said thoughtfully, more to herself than Marcus.
"Oh?" the wizard asked, an edge of interest to her voice.
"Yea, I think that," Hermione began, "it's been hard. On her body, I mean."
Marcus nodded knowingly.
"There are rough muggle sports, I think that this sort of controlled violence is a very human endeavour, for whatever reason, but Quidditch is- the things that a person has to go through to play, it's rather extreme."
Hermione suppressed a shudder at the memory of not only Harry's shattered arm, but the countless injuries Ginny had sustained as a professional Chaser. She was more than a little glad her own husband had lacked both the talent and the drive to pursue Quidditch at the professional level.
"I'm honestly not sure how Harry does it," Hermione admitted, frowning. "I know that the luxury of magic has made deaths exceedingly rare and the things that wizarding healers are capable of- I mean it's quite astounding, really, but I just can't imagine watching someone I love so dearly risk their body in that way."
"Do you not love the wee Weasley?" Marcus quipped, flashing a good natured smile.
A good natured smile. What an odd expression on Marcus Flint's face, it altered his whole appearance.
"Of course I do!" Hermione insisted with an equally good natured huff. "But you know, it's not the same, watching a friend versus a spouse or partner. The stakes are different."
"I don't, actually."
"Don't what?"
"Know."
Hermione's dark brow furrowed. "Know…?"
Marcus sighed. "Keep up, Granger. I don't know what it's like to watch a friend versus uhh- a partner play Quidditch."
"Oh," Hermione breathed, cocking her bushy head to the side. "Never had a girlfriend -or boyfriend, I don't judge- who plays Quidditch?"
"Ha! Girlfriend. No judgement either but I don't fancy blokes."
"So never had a girlfriend who played Quidditch? The competition too much?" Hermione ribbed. "Couldn't stand to be bested on the pitch?"
Had Marcus been good at Quidditch? Obviously he had if he was playing professionally, but that didn't mean there weren't many players who were better.
"Nah, it'd be pretty hot to date someone who could beat me on the pitch." Marcus wiggled his eyebrows and Hermione mock gagged. "No," he laughed, "no I mean I've never had a girlfriend."
Hermione gawked. "Marcus Flint! Never had-" At the agitated turn his mouth had taken Hermione quickly covered her surprise with a cough. Marcus didn't seem convinced. "Never had a girlfriend?" she said calmly.
Briefly it occured to the witch that she couldn't recall ever being privy to the love life of one Marcus Flint. He wasn't someone who frequented the papers and she certainly hadn't been friendly with him or anyone interested in his romantic escapades. So why had the topic turned thus?
Hermione had spent the first few weeks mulling over the implications these dream interactions presented. As she'd discussed with Flint previously there were four possibilities. Hermione Granger, infinitely curious and unfailingly logical, had come to the conclusion that in fact the most likely possibilities were One and Three; either Flint wasn't real or he was.
Simple enough.
She'd realized fairly quickly, however, that Marcus was not game to play along. He didn't seem to be interested in the nature of their potentially shared dream realities as Hermione did and made it clear he wasn't going to be open for any of her experiments. She had considered tracking the real Marcus Flint down; as he had pointed out, the wizarding world was small and there weren't many places for anyone to hide. Hermione had gotten so far as to look up the rosters of the Appleby Arrows, finding that Flint was in fact listed as as an assistant coach but then-
But then, what?
Flint made it clear he didn't care about her Four Possibilities and, if her suspicions were correct and he wasn't real, then what?
She could owl him and sound like a complete nutter? Clandestinely inquire about the Quidditch player from former Slytherins, such as Malfoy? Follow him around for a day and see if she could confirm-
Actually she hadn't considered trailing him, maybe she could-
No, Granger, we are not stalking Marcus Flint.
Long story short, to save her own sanity, Hermione had determined to just not concern herself with the nature of Flint's existence in her dreams.
For now.
"Don't get me wrong, I've been with plenty of witches." Again with the wiggling eyebrows. "But none I'd call my own."
"Can't be tied down, eh, Flint?" Hermione teased, though she was honestly surprised he was being so candid with her. Once she'd overcome her initial suspicions born of school age prejudices, she'd found Flint to be surprisingly forcomthing and if she was being totally honest, pleasant to chat with.
Now there's a ridiculous thought. Marcus Flint, pleasant.
For a moment Marcus's strong features clouded and something almost like pain flashed across his dark eyes. It was there for only an instant, but Hermione was nothing if not perceptive.
What's that then?
"Oh aye, I've gotta go where the wind takes me," he chuckled, but it lacked genuine mirth.
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, frowning. "I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject."
The wizard shrugged his massive shoulders. ""S'not a sore subject, it just-" he paused for a moment as if considering, until finally waving a hand in the air. "It just is what it is."
Marcus Flint the reluctant bachelor, who would've thought?
"What is it exactly?" the witch asked rather bodly.
"You want to discuss my love life?" Marcus eyed her suspiciously.
Hermione shrugged noncommittally. "If you want to, you're the one who brought it up."
Marcus stopped for a moment, seeming to consider it. "Suppose I did, yea."
"We certainly don't have to discuss anything personal, but I'd say we're actually in quite an appropriate setting to do so," Hermione reasoned, considering it herself for the first time.
"How do you figure?"
"Well," she mulled over her words a bit before continuing, chewing on the idea. "Real or not, neither of us exist within the same social circle or live within the same city. Sure perhaps we have mutual acquaintances, but in many aspects we're practically strangers," Hermione pointed out and Marcus frowned but nodded. "So who better to confess or secrets to or seek advice from than an unbiased third party. Someone who can offer an ear without being weighed down by any friendships or past baggage."
"You don't think we have any past baggage?" Marcus asked, his eyebrows raised.
"I mean, there's some yes, but you and I had few interactions at Hogwarts and none after graduation. I know almost nothing about you, I didn't even know you weren't a pureblood and I'd wager most of what you know about me is second hand or via the papers."
Marcus did that shrug nod one does when they concede the point but still aren't convinced of the merit of the argument.
"Listen, you certainly don't have to tell me anything, I won't be offended if you didn't, but if you did, I could be helpful."
For a moment Marcus stared at Hermione, his short cropped hair unmoving in the eternally pleasant breeze. Hermione, to prove that she could, had taught herself legilimency after the war, but she didn't need such skills to recognize that Marcus was giving in.
He nodded slowly. "Yea, I guess I can see the logic in that."
Hermione grinned widely. She grinned widely because what had started out as a genuine attempt to be congenial and offer her services as a know-it-all advice giver, had turned into something she could use. Thus far everything she had learned about Marcus Flint had been surface level, details she could reason that had been picked up somewhere in the last fifteen years, but if she was able to coax some truly personal information from the wizard, well then she would be in a position to discern what was really going on here. She could determine if this was the real Flint or not and then from there, she would have a better understanding of what this was.
"You look way too happy about this."
Hermione quickly schooled her features. "I'm just happy to be of service."
Marcus snorted. "You would've made a terrible snake."
"This is very interesting!" Hermione insisted and it wasn't a complete lie. "You and I hardly know each other at all, I'm getting rare insight into the mind of a Slytherin."
At that Marcus laughed. It was a pleasant sound, a rumble that began below his diaphragm and moved up through his throat. It was a full laugh and it made Hermione smile despite herself.
"You are now one of the three Slytherin's I speak to on a regular basis," Hermione confided with a chuckle of her own. Three Slytherins. Perish the thought.
"Three? Who are the other unfortunates?"
"Ha! Hilarious," the witch deadpanned. Marcus sniggered. "I'll have you know it's a very exclusive club consisting of you, Draco Malfoy, and Andromeda Tonks."
"Wooow that is exclusive," Marcus mocked and then he frowned suddenly. "You talk to Malfoy?"
Hermione nodded. She supposed it was rather odd. "He and I are business partners," she felt the urge to clarify.
"Business partners?" Marcus let out a bark, much harsher than the genuine laugh he'd gifted her moments ago. "Malfoy, never would've thought."
It suddenly struck Hermione, could Malfoy and Flint be friends? Do they talk? Is this perhaps another piece coming together in her plans?
"Are the two of you friendly?" she asked nonchalantly.
The wizard shook his head and Hermione suppressed a frown.
Bollocks. There goes that.
"I see him around, parties and such in the ancient and noble houses, but honestly he was always a shit."
"Ha! Can't argue with that."
"If you don't like 'im either then why are you, what did you say? Business partners?" Marcus asked.
"Oh, it's a long story."
Is it?
"I have nowhere else to be."
"Well," Hermione ran a hand through her mad chestnut curls. "It's a bit of an odd story too, actually."
Marcus waited a moment and then signaled her to continue with a wave of his hand.
"Malfoy came to me with a business proposition. He had determined that we both had what the other was lacking." Hermione shifted a bit, repositioning herself with legs criss crossed. "We were both, separately, having trouble with our ideas getting off the ground. I may be smart," the witch admitted, "but unfortunately books have yet to be able to teach me how to be, well agreeable. Trust me, I've searched for them." That earned a snort from the wizard. Hermione was adept at this sort of self-deprecating humor, it was the one thing she found about her personality that could endear her to others, though it went against her nature to be self-effacing. "Malfoy, however, despite the odds, has grown into quite a charming and charismatic man, if not a bit entitled."
'A bit entitled' being the understatement of the year.
"Where as he has the clout of old blood and an intuitive understanding of wizarding society, I was - am I guess, a beloved war hero, if Malfoy is to be believed, with all the leverage that entails. Together we combine the most advantageous influences in wizarding society."
Or, at least, those had been the points Malfoy had presented. He was quite convincing when he needed to be. That combined with the shock of Draco Malfoy speaking to her in a civilized manner had convinced Hermione of the merit in his argument. Admittedly, they made a good team.
"Harry Potter, Viktor Krum, Draco Malfoy, do you collect influential wizards, Granger? Is there some sort of color coded notebook you keep them all in?"
"I beg your pardon?" This time her huff was genuine. "Viktor Krum?"
"Aren't the two of you friendly?"
"Well I mean, I suppose-"
"You're something of pen pals aren't you?"
Hermione's amber eyes narrowed. "How would you know that?"
Hermione's correspondence with Viktor Krum had been going on since the end of fourth year. During the war their owls had dwindled and during her year on the run, nonexistent. But while she was at university the two had begun sending letters back and forth again. His was a friendship Hemrione treasured most dear, but not one she spoke of often. Ron was aware that she owled Viktor, but they didn't discuss it. Hermione's husband was prone to bouts of irrational jealousy.
Marcus shrugged, but his grin was sly. "Quidditch is a small world."
"Are you friends with Viktor?" Hermione asked.
"Wouldn't call us friends. But we are cousins."
"Cousins?" Hermione sputtered. How hadn't she known that Viktor and Flint were cousins?
"On my dad's side. There are only so many pureblood families in England,eventually you have to start branching out if you want to keep the bloodlines from getting ahh-"
"Inbred is the word, I believe," Hermione offered, voice clipped.
"Yea, inbred," Marcus agreed.
"So you're cousins with Viktor?" Hermione muttered, biting the inside of her cheek as she considered this new information.
"That's what I just said."
Perhaps she wouldn't need Malfoy after all.