Chapter Eight

Curled up and tucked under a knitted blanket on Viktor's armchair, Hermione stared down the overflowing arrangement of red hibiscus flowers, birds of paradise, anthuriums, and blue orchids that sat on his coffee table mocking her. Since Pansy's baby shower the day before when her friends had helped her craft the perfect arrangement, doubt and embarrassment had been her close friends. She felt ridiculous giving Marcus, or any wizard for that matter, a bouquet of flowers, but especially the one she had arranged with it's larger than life blooms and vibrant colors. Not to mention the overtly sexual nature of it. She would never look at an anthurium or orchid the same way again after what Draco told her they represented in the Victorian era.

His had whispered at sex and the promise of her pleasure. Hers was screaming it. She was only following through on it because of the other meanings associated with the flowers: I return your attraction and romantic interest; I'm consumed by thoughts of you; you bring an abundance of happiness into my life; you are singularly unique and I thank you for your thoughtfulness and understanding. But even still, the sight of it and the message that hid beneath her already secret words to him made her blush and question bringing it to work or if she should give it to him at all.

Even though she had been assured by Narcissa and Theo a dozen times each that Marcus wouldn't be expecting a traditional reply given her muggle upbringing, she had dug her heels in and simply needed to remind herself of that stubbornness. This was the traditional way of doing things in their situation and she was not going to allow her muggle ideals to become a roadblock in showing him an equal level of commitment. He had made the effort and the leap to confess his feelings and desires for her so it was the least she could do to be as equally transparent with him. Plus, there was the added benefit of somehow knowing that her own efforts would please his surprisingly soft, romantic heart. And that, more than anything, helped to banish a majority of her self doubt and embarrassment.

But he didn't give them to me himself, she thought, picking at her magically adhered nail lacquer. Maybe Viktor and Luna will drop them at his house during our session and then I don't have to see his face after receiving them until tomorrow.

"Courage and bravery are not just for war," Luna said without looking up from reviewing her half of the edits for her and Rolf's book.

Swimming in one of Viktor's old Skopsko Stia jerseys, she was stretched out on the couch with her pale blonde hair piled on top of her head and held in place with a large clip in the shape of a radish. Underlining a spot in the manuscript and marking her place, she tossed the thick stack of bound papers onto the coffee table and grabbed her teacup eyeing Hermione as she took a sip. Squirming under her friend's assessing gaze, she wondered - not for the first time - if Luna was a natural Legilimens. She had an eerie ability to know what those around her were thinking without them voicing it and an even more startling way of speaking to them as if they had spoken their thoughts aloud. It was one of the many things she thought made her and Viktor such a good match. They both had this all knowing presence about them and were easily the wisest and most accepting of her friends.

"He's good for you," she decided dreamily, finally breaking her almost trance-like appraisal. "Love doesn't exist in our comfort zones so it's only fitting that he makes you unbalanced and nudges you away from the security blanket of what you thought life would be. I like him." Then as if she hadn't just read Hermione's very soul, she sat up and stretched her neck to see into the kitchen and called, " Medeno meche ?"

" Da, moeto malko zaĭche ?"

"May I have extra cream on mine?"

Prowling into the living room with a dollop of the hand-whipped cream on his fingers, Viktor leaned over the couch's back and growled, "Didn't you get enough last night, little succubus?"

Hearing his words, Hermione sputtered her sip of coffee back into the cup and coughed into the blanket trying to clear her airway. Then when he pushed his fingers into Luna's mouth and she sucked at the confection, her face turned beet red. Hiding behind the blanket as she waited for their moment to pass, she sank further into the armchair as Luna hummed, "No, but maybe after breakfast you'll give me more to lick up."

"Done," he rumbled, his accent thicker than normal before making his way back to the kitchen with heavy steps that directly opposed the fluid way with which he flew.

"Viktor," Hermione called out, peeking over the blanket to be sure the amorous moment had truly passed. "Feel free to leave the whipped cream off my plate."

Barking out a laugh, he asked, "Are you sure? There's plenty to go around."

"Hermione's already had your cream, love," Luna said in that easy way of hers. "I think she would prefer Marcus's now."

"Oh Merlin, kill me now," she groaned in embarrassment, flipping the blanket back over her face in hopes of it smothering her.

"Well you do, don't you?"

"Based on this picture of the two of them on the front page of the Prophet, I would say she isn't the only one wanting a taste," Viktor called.

Jumping up from the chair, she turned to the kitchen and demanded, "What are you talking about?" As he closed the latch on the window above the main sink.

Holding the front page of the Daily Prophet up for her to see, she scrambled into the kitchen to grab the filthy rag that had been ruining her life since she was fifteen years old. Lunging over the island, she snatched the paper from his hands and unfolded it, cursing the crackpot journalists they employed. Splashed across the front page was her and Marcus's almost kiss that should have been a private moment between them. Instead, it was the morning's gossip for the entirety of Wizarding Britain.

Seeing the perfectly framed photo from the morning prior of a shirtless Marcus with her in her sports bra sitting beside each other in the sand outside his home, Hermione wanted to scream, cry, and rip the paper to shreds. Whoever had taken the picture had perfectly captured her holding his hand and the moment they had begun leaning into one another. They had seen them and capitalized on the opportunity to make a few galleons, bastardizing the precious moment she had been replaying in her head on an endless loop. But even in her anger and through her sense of having been violated, she knew she would end up saving the picture because the moment meant that much to her and it was undeniably a beautiful photo of them. Collapsing into one of the bar stools, she forced herself to look lower and read the headline they had crafted to go with the picture.

Trouble in Post-War Paradise?

It's no secret that Britain's darling Golden Couple, Ronald Weasley (Order of Merlin Second Class) and Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin First Class), have had their ups and their downs since coming together three years ago after helping Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived (Order of Merlin First Class), defeat You-Know-Who. What started as a happily ever after to their war-torn love story quickly turned into gossip fodder we all readily devour. These days, the Golden Couple are often seen going about their daily lives separately, leaving many to wonder if this is the beginning of the end. Not even two weeks ago at the memorial anniversary for the Battle of Hogwarts it was noticed by many that things seemed frosty between our favorite couple, no doubt because of Ronald Weasley's alleged party boy ways (see page three of Witchly Happenings for a full recount of the war hero's exploits), which have since gathered mass sympathies for our favorite witch. However in light of this photo, one has to wonder: is Ronald Weasley simply reacting to his girlfriend's not so secret indiscretions and trying to nurse his broken heart?

If you're not a devout fan of the professional quidditch circuit, you may be asking yourself, who is this handsome wizard? Well it should come as no surprise given Miss Granger's history of only dating rich, famous, pureblooded quidditch players, that the wizard she is shown sharing an intimate, early morning with, is Marcus Flint, star chaser for the Falmouth Falcons and sole heir to the Sacred Twenty-Eight Flint family name and fortune. What's even more incriminating? Our sources say this photo was taken right outside Mr. Flint's Falmouth beach home just after dawn. So the question that will be on everyone's minds this Sunday morning as we tuck into our brekkie: just where has Miss Granger been spending her nights and with whom? More speculation over this scandalous development, as well as the answers about who Marcus Flint is on and off the quidditch pitch, can be found on page one of Witchly Happenings.

"Oh my God, she didn't," Hermione prayed, tearing through the sections of the paper to find the rest of Parvati's gossip column.

Spreading out the pages of Witchly Happenings - the section of the paper the Prophet had created to better compete against Witch Weekly - she was greeted by another copy of the photo of her and Marcus. Beneath it was a series of photos chronicling her life not only over the last three years but all the way back to her first debut in the paper when she had been dating Viktor. All of them were accompanied by a highlight reel of her war exploits and of her personal history and the speculation that surrounded her and nearly every wizard she had ever met. Pictures of Marcus over the last seven years sporadically were sprinkled throughout the timeline as well. Most of them covered the details of his quidditch career, however a few tabloid shots from his time in New Zealand with a wizard she assumed to be Tayn and a few of his other teammates had been unearthed. There were also exactly three photos of him with the same unidentified witch whose face was never caught on camera over the three months before he had come back to England.

Trying to extract the paper from her hands, Viktor tried ordering, "Hermione, don't read the article."

"Oh well now I have to," she responded, her indignation already beginning to inflate even more as she tightened her grip on the paper and scanned lower down the page.

Based on the few photos they had of him, Marcus kept his life outside of quidditch extremely private, which under normal circumstances would leave so-called reporters with little to write or even speculate on. Not Parvati though. In the beginning of her career she had kept her reporting of Hermione down to the usual recap of her comings and goings, commentaries on her wardrobes, and mostly harmless rumors and speculations about her life. The occasional bait line about her being in a love triangle or a possible triad with Theo and Draco would surface but they always laughed off the absurdity of it. There was also the occasional story that would follow any memorial event where she, Harry, and Ron had all attended, raising questions about the status of their friendship and dragging out the old question of why Kingsley had not awarded Ron an Order of Merlin First Class like he had Hermione.

Then she had become the head writer of Witchly Happenings, shortly before Ron had cheated on her with Lavender and when the two hadn't become a couple after she had broken up with him the first time, the tides had changed. Parvati had taken up her best friend's defense and attacked in the only way they knew how, proving that some mean girls never really grew out of it. And when it had come out that she and Ron had gotten back together, it had turned nasty and slanderous. She was used to it though, having gone through a trial by fire with Rita Skeeter when she was fifteen. At least these days the public didn't send her hate mail and cursed or jinxed objects. However the utter rubbish she was saying about Marcus had her ready to floo down to London and march right into their offices and throw her name and Order of Merlin around until they printed an immediate retraction and personal apology.

Crumbling up the section, she threw it across the kitchen and growled, "I'm going to kill her."

"No you're not," Luna chided.

"I still have Bellatrix's wand, I could do it."

"You could always keep her in a jar," Viktor quipped, making her scowl turn into a feral smile at the classic tactic for the handling of unscrupulous journalists.

"No one is keeping anyone in jars or killing anyone. That's final."

"Your girlfriend sucks the fun out of everything," Hermione pouted.

"I'm just keeping you out of Azkaban. Besides, once you end things with Ron, it'll all die down because she won't have the excuse of you coming between him and Lavender anymore. And with time, people will get tired of reading about the coming drama with no payout and she'll be forced to move on or lose her job."

"That's fair," she conceded. Looking back at the front page and watching the photo of them repeatedly leaning into one another and her fingers lacing through his, she softly said, "I just can't believe she would do this. Me I get; hell I even get why she would have run with the photo and the possible drama of a love triangle so that people won't hate Lavender if Romilda ever catches her with Ron again, that's all part of the business of selling papers. But he had nothing to do with this. No one can even identify Lavender in those photos of her and Ron. Parvati went too far over the line this time by coming after Marcus. He's going to hate me for this…"

Leaning across the counter, Viktor's arms bracketed Hermione as he drew her attention up from the photo, "This," he started, tapping the picture, "is a part of being with you and your celebrity. He knows and understands that; and if he didn't, he knows it now."

"This is asking too much of him, of anyone. You saw what she said about him."

"Words in a worthless rag written by a witch who cannot see that her friend is being taken for a ride by that little boy masquerading as a man," he dismissed. "This is only the beginning. As you well remember from when I tried to fight the media and the public on what they were saying about you, it will get so much worse before it gets better. If Marcus cannot accept that and pay the small, inconvenient price to be with you, then it is his loss and he too does not deserve you moeto momiche."

Wrapping her slender arms around her chest, Luna kissed her cheek and rested her head on her shoulder, "My medeno meche is right, however I know that this will not deter him from you. I know he's good for you and will be unphased by this. You'll see."

"She published his original NEWT scores, called him slow-witted, and -"

A heavy pounding on the front door cut off her words and drew their attention to the foyer.

"Who could that be? Everyone comes through the floo," Luna asked.

"I don't know, malko zaĭche, but I'm going to block the floo before Ronald sees the paper and comes barging in here."

"Good idea," Hermione said, getting off the stool and pulling her wand from her hair as she made her way to the door with Luna right behind her, the sharp reflexes of war never far away.

Another loud banging rattled the heavy wood door, this time accompanied by a hollered, "Krum, Granger! It's Flint, open up!"

Yanking the door open without thought for her state of dress, she shoved her willow wand back into her hair and looked up at Marcus's tall frame filling the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course. Sorry, it is not a good morning," she explained, stepping out of his way.

Closing the door, she gave him a small smile and gestured for him to follow her into the living room. Coming around the couch, she offered him a seat as she sat one leg down and tucked the other over it. Like Luna, she had slept in one of Viktor's old jerseys from when he had made the Bulgarian National Team that she had kept all these years and pulled it over her knees as she leaned into the back cushion.

Finding his earlier urgency partially gone from his face as he watched her with an almost longing sort of attention, she tucked a phantom strand of hair behind her ear and asked, "Do I have something on my face?" Wiping the long sleeve down her cheeks and across her mouth just in case.

Shaking his head, he gave an embarrassed smile and responded, "Oh no… I was uh… thinking that um…." Looking everywhere but at her, his eyes landed on the flowers on the coffee table and studied them. After a moment, he asked, "Are those for - never mind, I shouldn't-"

"They're for you," she interrupted, her face pinching at how eager her voice sounded. "I was told you wouldn't be… but I felt I should do it properly… so Narcissa and Theo - well actually it doesn't matter how or why," she said, cutting herself off mid-ramble. "They're for you and I had planned on bringing them to our session this morning."

" Gledaneto im e bolezneno ," Viktor muttered, making Hermione shoo him away. "Fine, I'll be in the kitchen and don't worry about the floo, I closed it. Flint, you eat what, two, three portions easy, da?"

"Oh I don't mean to intrude on your morning, it's just Fowler and Richmond both-"

"If you're here, you're eating," Luna decided. Taking Viktor's hand, she added, "Come on love, I'll help you cook. Marcus feels more comfortable being open when he's alone with Hermione."

Once they were out of the room, he pointed back to the vase on the table and asked, "I know you're intelligent so don't take this the wrong way but do you know what those mean?"

Blushing, she slowly looked up to where he was still standing and mumbled, "Not until yesterday but I was told they represent what I want my reply to be to the ones you sent, among… other things… which are also true…"

His face broke into a blindingly beautiful grin that showed off his dimple and perfectly corrected, white teeth as he took the cushion right next to hers and sat so his body was facing hers. Tracing the black stitching of the red jersey along her knee, he said, "In that case, I was thinking that I would much prefer to see you walking around my home in the morning with my name and number on your back, not Krum's." Running his finger over the hem one last time, he pulled his hand away and created a fraction of more space between them and added, "But I respect your need for time and request for my patience. You're worth waiting for."

Missing the feeling of his hand, her fingers twitched wanting to reach for him. Tucking them by her sides, she grasped the bottom of her shirt in a bid to control her urge. She had to be sure she did things right with him, which started with not giving in to the need and want for his physical affection until she was well and truly single and not just separated from Ron in her own mind. He had made it abundantly clear with his words - those spoken aloud and those spoken through floriography - as well as his actions that he wasn't about short, fleeting relationships. He was serious about her and where he wanted things to go. He wanted commitment, loyalty, and to be with her for the long haul. He was respecting her by not coming on too strongly, waiting for her to be the one to guide where things went, and not pushing her for taking too long. And though she was more sure of her feelings and attraction to him after their weeks of daily sessions and long talks than ever, she needed to be sure she waded into her budding relationship with him properly.

She wanted him to never question if her feelings were merely a transference or if she was on the rebound. She wanted him to know and be confident in his knowledge that she cared for him just as much as he did for her. That even though they had met and she had fallen for him while with someone else, that her heart and affection were not as fickle as it appeared to those waking up and reading the Sunday Prophet . She wanted to be sure he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she belonged only to him and longed only for him. He deserved nothing less than that and nothing short of knowing that when she was ready for him that she was already halfway to falling in love with him.

Even with all that though, she couldn't leave his candor unanswered. It went against the very nature of her Gryffindor ways to not match or exceed someone else's bravery. So summoning the blanket she had been using in the armchair, she draped it over her lap and turned to face him fully, crossing her legs as she closed just a little of the additional gap he created.

"If I had one of your jerseys, I would wear it to bed instead of his. As for spending the morning walking around your home in it, you'd have to invite me for a sleepover for that to happen."

"Just say when, e taku ipo ."

"I like that, what does it mean?"

"When you decide you're ready, I'll tell you."

"Fine," she reluctantly agreed, scrunching up her face so he knew she wasn't happy about not knowing. Changing the subject before she tempted herself further, she redirected their conversation to why he was currently in Viktor's living room. "So why were you banging on Viktor's door at eight in the morning?"

"Oh right," he said, clearly having forgotten what brought him to be sitting beside her while she was half dressed and he looked like he himself had only just rolled out of bed, his hair sticking out in all directions like Harry's often did much to Pansy's dismay.

"Fowler and Richmond both called me this morning asking if I had seen the morning's Prophet. I hadn't, I was still asleep when they called having been at Adrian's till the early morning playing poker with some of the old team from Hogwarts. And even if I wasn't, I don't fucking read the paper because more often than not it's just a glorified gossip magazine. Anything of importance is reported at the top of the hour on the wireless by much more reliable journalists. Anyways, they each said I needed to see it immediately and both sent me copies through the floo. I'm pretty sure even now my fireplace is still flaring up with calls from the team sending Darya into a tizzy."

"Merlin Marcus, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. Parvati has-"

"What do you mean you're sorry?" He demanded, his eyebrow furrowing in what was maybe the first time she had ever seen genuine anger grace his face and not just the fierceness he wore while playing quidditch. "They fucking invaded your privacy, again. They splashed our private moment across the front page to make money and rip apart your reputation. You have nothing to be sorry for. I mean for fuck's sake that two bit cun - I'm not going to call her that in front you but you know what I want to say - even went as far as to insinuate that you're sleeping around and carrying on an affair behind your sack of shite boyfriend's back. The very boyfriend who people seem to have forgotten, carries on as if he's Merlin's gift to witches everywhere, when he should be kissing the fucking ground you walk on for giving to give him the time of day."

His massive hands grabbed hers and engulfed them between his own, as he stressed, "I promise you Hermione, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I came here to check on you after what she wrote about you and to be sure you weren't alone if Weasley came by. His tantrums on the pitch are notorious and I couldn't risk him turning that behavior on you after seeing that picture. I know you're more than capable of protecting yourself, but you shouldn't have to."

Looking down at where her hands disappeared between his, she acted against all her previous thoughts and brought her lips to kiss the outside of his palms. Glancing up at him through her lashes she murmured against him, "Thank you," placing a second kiss before pulling back from him and extracting her hands.

Marcus looked at her as if he wanted to say or do something more but remained silent. After a moment of his green eyes dancing between her brown ones and her mouth, he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and stood up.

"Are we still on for ten?"

"I wouldn't let you miss it for the World Cup," she teased.

"Good," he smiled. "Then I'm going to head out before… before."

"But what about breakfast?" She asked, trying to get him to stay longer.

"I think it's best if I leave now. I'll see myself out, e taku ipo ."

Marcus made it exactly two steps - she had counted as if she wouldn't see him in just two hours - before he turned around and cupped her face between his hands, pressing his full lips against her forehead in a swift kiss. Pulling back before she even had the time to close her eyes and savor the touch, he swiftly picked up the vase of flowers and marched out of Viktor's home, closing the front door with a soft click.

Falling back onto the couch with a wistful sigh, she ran her fingers over the spot he had kissed and smiled, a short giggle escaping her.

"Told you he was a good one," Luna sang from where she sat on the kitchen island.

"He's the best one," she quietly replied, turning over the foreign endearment he had used, her giddy smile softening into longing as she tried to picture what waking up with him would be like.

AN:

Bulgarian Phrases

Medeno meche - honey bear
 Da, moeto malko zaĭche - Yes, my little bunny
 Gledaneto im e bolezneno - Watching them is painful