December Prompt #6: Charity

It was just another day at work for Hermione. She was walking through the Ministry looking for Harry when she caught sight of Marcus Flint looking incredibly suspicious. It was in the way his eyes kept shifting around him as he walked towards the exit, a baseball cap covering his face, and a huge bulge in the pocket of his slacks. Nothing about Marcus at that moment was innocent.

Hermione's attention immediately shifted from finding Harry to finding out what Marcus Flint was doing. She slowed down and cast a Disillusionment Spell on herself before walking after him. She dodged a few Ministry workers, grimacing when she almost lost sight of Flint in the crowd.

Finally, she exited the Ministry and looked around, trying to find out in which direction Flint could have gone. Fortunately for her, Flint was just up ahead, his shoulders slouched, back crooked, and feet quickly moving over the cobblestone footpath.

Hermione hurried after him, making a silent note to start exercising again. Her stamina had definitely taken a hit after not having done anything too strenuous since the war had ended four years ago. There was no time to go to the gym when she was working in a department with lots of time-sensitive paperwork.

At the back of her mind, she knew she was acting quite unlike herself. In fact, she was acting a lot like Harry, the memory of their sixth year still fresh in her mind. She ignored the voice that whispered she was acting unnecessarily paranoid and kept following Flint.

After almost ten minutes of walking, Flint stopped in front of a shabby building. Hermione hid behind a large dumpster and waited for him to keep walking. But instead of walking away from the building, Flint walked up to the door and knocked on it.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman came into view. Hermione frowned when the woman smiled warmly up at Flint and immediately ushered him inside, closing the door behind him.

Hermione came out of her hiding spot and slowly made her way towards the building, her curiosity eating at her. Her eyes widened when she noticed the sign above the door.

Redfield Home for Orphans

The first question that popped into Hermione's mind was, "Why is Flint going to an orphanage?" The second question that appeared was, "Is he up to no good?"

She knew she couldn't just walk into the orphanage and demand answers from anyone; she didn't have any right to do that. But she wanted to make sure the children weren't in any danger; what kind of a person would she be if she let them interact with a dubious character like Marcus Flint?

Besides, what did she know about Flint anyway?

All she knew about the man was that he was a former Slytherin, had been vicious while playing Quidditch, and had not played any vital role in the war against Voldemort. In fact, now that she thought about it, Flint hadn't been on either side of the war. She didn't know where he had been, so she knew she couldn't judge him.

But in her experience, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Hermione walked away from the building, deciding on finding out more about Flint before she made her next move. She was being rational, she reasoned to herself. Nothing like Harry.

"Hey, Harry, what do you know about Marcus Flint?" Hermione asked, trying to subtly shift the conversation topic but failing.

Harry frowned, sipping his orange juice from the juice box. "Flint? Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious. I saw him the other day and was just wondering what he's been up to since the war ended," Hermione admitted, fiddling with her sandwich.

"Huh." Harry shrugged before he said, "No one knows much about him. He's a Chaser for Appleby Arrows, though. He's always busy practising for his matches and doesn't have much of a social life. He's rarely in the Daily Prophet, but his stats are phenomenal! He's really good at—"

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, interrupting him before he could start talking about stats, scoring averages, and whatnot.

"You're welcome," Harry teased. He finished his juice box and tossed it over his shoulder straight into the dustbin. He leaned forward and asked, "But seriously, Hermione? What's going on?"

Hermione hesitated before shaking her head. "It's nothing, Harry. Forget it."

"If you're in any trouble—"

"I'm not in trouble, Harry. That's always your gig."

"Still. If you need help or if Flint is troubling you or anything, just let me know, yeah?"

"I will. But you don't have to worry."

"I'll always worry about you. You're practically my sister."

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand, not bothering to say anything because she knew he was aware of how much she loved him. They had a special relationship that no one else really understood unless they were friends with them both.

Hermione changed the subject to the laws she was trying to get passed, instantly distracting Harry. He began talking about the cases he was working on in the Auror department, and Hermione absentmindedly nodded and hummed along. Mentally, she was thinking about Marcus Flint and the real reason he had been there at the orphanage.

Hermione hid around the corner and waited for Marcus Flint to arrive. She had been trailing him for the past three weeks, and she knew that every Thursday, without fail, Flint would visit the orphanage with that suspicious bulge in his trousers.

Earlier that week, Hermione had followed him to a park, where he had sat down on a bench and fed the ducks. Then, he had gone to buy a pumpkin spice latte from a nearby cafe, where he had spent half an hour just scrolling through a magazine.

Once, she had followed him to the stadium where he did his Quidditch drills, and she had been impressed by his tenacity to get his exercises just right. She had hidden behind the stands and watched him from a distance, amazed by how good he was on his broom. He was off in his own world, and Hermione felt like she was intruding on a private moment—which she probably was.

She had followed him to a Muggle gym, too. He had whipped off his shirt and almost dazzled her with the sight of his thick, corded back muscles, straining biceps, and those abs that looked like they were carved of stone. Hermione had been disguised as a middle-aged woman; to her great consternation, she had taken one look at Marcus Flint's shredded body and had tripped on the treadmill and almost busted a hip. Flint had hurried over to help her up, surprising her even more with his gentle behaviour. She had escaped the situation as soon as possible before he suspected anything.

Hermione had also followed him to an art gallery, which had surprised her even more. Who knew Marcus Flint liked Muggle art? Hermione had concealed herself behind a newspaper and surreptitiously watched him inspect the paintings with a small smile on his face as if he knew something she didn't—which annoyed Hermione to a great extent as she didn't like it when other people already possessed knowledge she was seeking.

Yes, she knew it was wrong to stalk him like an obsessed fan, but what other choice did she have? She couldn't just walk up and ask him about his life. They weren't friends.

She was still worrying about her dubious actions when the sound of Flint's distinct footsteps reached her ears. She quickly crouched down and waited for him to come closer. She held her wand in her hand, ready to attack—or defend—if needed.

When Flint walked past her hiding spot, Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Within seconds, Marcus had her pinned against the wall, his wand pressed against her throat. His eyes widened when he saw her before his lips turned up in a slow smirk. "Oh… It's you, Granger. Finally."

"Wh-what?" Hermione frowned, her heart pounding against her ribs at how close he was to her. His thigh was in between her legs, his wand still against her throat, and his arm holding her captive.

Flint smirked and leaned in closer to her. "I know you've been following me, Granger."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? No, that's preposterous! I wouldn't follow you! What do you think I am? A crazed fan?"

"No, Granger," Flint murmured, his breath caressing her lips. His eyes flickered to her mouth before his tongue darted out to lick his lips. "I know you're not a fan."

"Then why would I follow you?" Hermione demanded, trying to think of a way out. She hadn't even thought of the possibility that he would catch her; she had only thought as far as questioning him.

"Well, let's see, Granger…" Marcus pressed his thigh more forcefully between her legs, making her gasp at the intimate gesture. He smirked and lowered his wand but didn't remove his arm. "You obviously noticed I was going to the orphanage and wanted to know why exactly would I do that—after all, I'm a Slytherin and all Slytherins are evil incarnate, right?"

Hermione shook her head quickly, her curls flying in her face and blocking her view for a few moments. "Not all Slytherins."

Flint's eyes widened just a fraction before he reached down to grip her hips and hoist her up onto his thigh. "Really, Granger? Not all Slytherins? I can tell you that phrase is a PR disaster waiting to happen."

Hermione's heart was thundering in her chest, but it wasn't due to fear. Hermione had never been more aroused in her entire life. The way Flint held her against the wall was incredible; no one had ever held her in such an overpowering yet intimate manner before, and it was beginning to do things to Hermione's mind.

She couldn't concentrate on anything else but Flint. His green eyes, that dark stubble growing on his jaw, his perfect bow-shaped lips, and that slight cleft in his chin. He was too close to her, and she could smell the coffee on his breath. He also smelt like broom polish, a sign that he had just come back from his Quidditch practice, and a hint of leather, courtesy of his Muggle jacket.

"Flint… I—" She stumbled on her words, but Flint interrupted her.

"Just admit that you were following me, Granger. I saw you in the art gallery," he said, his lips turning up in a wicked smirk.

"Y-You did?" she stammered, her eyes widening with shock. "But I used the Disillusionment Spell and even—"

"I know when people are following me, witch," he growled, tightening his hold on her hips.

She squeaked out in surprise as he wrapped her legs around his waist, but for some reason, she still didn't fear him. Oh, she was incredibly aroused, never having been held up against the wall like that before, but there was no hint of fear.

"I admit I was following you," she finally said, unable to resist answering him. His gaze was too intense, too overwhelming, too much for her poor little heart to handle.

"Good girl," he purred, sending sharp pangs of pleasure coursing right between her legs. He smirked and said, "Now… I'm certain you have a lot of questions about why I'm visiting the orphanage."

"Y-Yes," she said, trying not to wriggle too much in his hold. He slowly, gently, set her down on the ground and took a step back.

Embarrassment washed over Hermione when she realised she wanted him to keep holding her there against the wall like he'd been doing for as long as humanly possible.

Too many kinky thoughts to analyse right now.

Flint ran his fingers through his cropped hair as he gazed down at her, his stare still as intense as the one he'd given her earlier. "I'll answer your questions… but on one condition."

"What condition?" Hermione's mind immediately gave her all sorts of ideas as to what Flint could want from her—most of them were dirty as hell and were only in her mind courtesy of a very sexually active Ginny Weasley.

"I'll answer all your questions if… you go out with me tonight."

"Wh-what?" Hermione frowned, bewildered by his sudden demand. Why would he want to go out with her? They had nothing in common, and neither was she interested in casual sex (not that Hermione would say no to any of those previous ideas at the moment).

"Say you'll go out with me tonight and then, I'll answer all your questions."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Hermione had heard that stupid reasoning many times before from both Harry and Ron, and it never ended well for anyone involved. It was just too… nonsensical for her, and she rarely followed her gut unless it was a life-or-death situation; she liked to think she thought things through before acting.

Flint seemed to realise what she was thinking, for he leaned back and shrugged. "Well, if you don't want to, it's fine. I'm not going to force you into going out with me. I know I'm not much like the other men you date. I was just making the best of the situation."

Hermione stared up at him incredulously. Did he just say he's not much? What kind of world is he living in? Is he blind or just dumb?

"Are you blind or just dumb?" she blurted out, accidentally voicing her thoughts. Her face warmed when he shot back, hurt by her question. She raised her hands defensively. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud. I just meant that you're blind if you think you're not handsome—"

"You think I'm handsome?"

"I also think you're dumb if you have to ask me that," she grumbled, lowering her gaze.

Flint chuckled and took a step closer to her. He tilted her head up and said, "Well, I don't know about you, but I think you're really pretty. Wait, scratch that. You're beautiful."

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "What do you get out of this? Obviously, I get answers, but—"

"I get to go out with my beautiful stalker, of course."

"I wasn't stalking you, I was keeping an eye—"

"I like calling you my stalker. It makes me feel good about myself," he teased, reaching out to tug on her curl and watching it spring back. "So, what do you say?"

Hermione thought for a moment before she decided to compromise. "How about this? You just tell me what's in your pocket and I'll go out with you. Then, you can answer my questions."

"Maybe it's because I'm happy to see you?" He had a lewd grin on his face that Hermione would have hexed off if it had been anyone else but him. For some reason, the mere idea that he was happy to see her was enough to send her heart pitter-pattering.

"Gross," she lied through her teeth.

Flint laughed and shoved his hand into his pocket before pulling out a red bag that was tied with a white fur-lined string. He waved it in her face and said, "This is what I have in my pocket. Now… I'll pick you up at seven. Dress warmly, but keep it casual. I'm taking you somewhere cold."

"You didn't tell me what's in the bag!"

"You didn't ask me for that. You only wanted to know what was in my pocket—and I showed you. Now, be a good girl and go home. I've got a few things left to do today before our date." He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently nudged her towards the mouth of the alley.

"You're such a Slytherin," Hermione grumbled.

"That's me," Flint said, grinning at her. "I'll see you tonight."

"Okay, bye," she said, waving at him before walking away. She waited for Flint to enter the orphanage and then snuck a quick peek in through the window.

Her heart swelled with happiness when she noticed the children all running up to hug his legs, laughing and trying to talk to him over each other. Hermione pulled away from the window just before he looked up, her heart absolutely full of emotions.

Marcus Flint was very peculiar, and Hermione would get to the bottom of this mystery.