EWE

THC

Ravenclaw, Potions

Themed: inclusion or significance of food

Prompt: (object) a quickly melting ice cream

WC: 2426/3000

Warning: crude humour, dirty minds, etc

People were clapping him on his back from the moment he entered the pub, telling him that he'd done a wonderful job on the field tonight leading Puddlemere United to another victory, but Marcus couldn't look away from the brunette sitting in the corner of the pub. More specifically, he couldn't look away from her mouth.

She was licking an ice cream cone like her life depended on it. It dripped down her fingers, leaving sticky and wet trails, and she traced the liquid's descent with her tongue. She closed her eyes and sighed, licking her hands clean.

His blood rushed to his groin, and Marcus shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. He pursed his lips and tried to look away from the witch, but he just couldn't. A Bludger slamming into his head wouldn't have been able to distract him.

"Okay, Teddy, let's finish our ice creams before they melt." The witch's sweet, lilting voice reached Marcus's ears, warming him. He could listen to her all day. The feeling that he knew that voice crossed his mind, but he just couldn't place her.

She had the most wild curls he'd ever seen; they fell over her shoulders in mesmerising brown ringlets, all bunched up and entwined. She was short, from what Marcus could see from his viewpoint, and slightly curvy.

And who was this Teddy anyway? A stab of jealousy sent Marcus's mind into overdrive. Could he possibly be the witch's boyfriend? Or worse, her husband? And why couldn't he see the damn wizard? Was he invisible? Or had he just left the witch alone? If she'd been Marcus's witch, he wouldn't have left her side for even a second.

Just then, Oliver Wood, his former enemy and now teammate, slid up beside him and handed him a glass of Firewhisky. "May I ask you why you've been ignoring everyone tonight? Not that you don't ignore people usually, but tonight, you seem even more determined to tell them to piss off."

"You may ask me, but I don't have to answer," Marcus said, not looking away from the witch and that Merlin-damned mouth of hers.

Her head bobbed over the ice cream as she licked, sucked, and swallowed. Her tongue poked out from between her front teeth, and she grinned at something under the table.

Marcus gulped half of his drink down in one fell swoop. How much more teasing could a man take? The witch was too innocent for her own good; she didn't even know what effect she had on him.

"Does this have something to do with a certain brown-haired witch you've been staring at for the past fifteen minutes?" Oliver asked lightly. Before Marcus could pretend otherwise, Oliver continued, "Why don't you just go talk to her? Hermione doesn't bite."

Marcus stiffened. Hermione. He knew that name—who didn't?

"That's…Granger?" Even to his own ears, he sounded terrified. He cleared his throat and tried again. "That's Granger?"

Nodding, Oliver smirked. "Don't you recognise her from back at Hogwarts? Of course, she's grown up quite a bit, but she's still the same."

Marcus couldn't see any similarities between the little bushy-haired witch who had stormed up to the Slytherin team and insulted them outright and the witch sitting and nibbling on the bottom of her cone. This witch was a woman and an incredibly attractive one to boot.

And Marcus had always been intimidated by attractive women. Although he had quickly risen to fame by playing Quidditch and witches all over the world vied for just a hint of his attention, he didn't care for them. Marcus knew what he wanted was true undying love—no matter how much his teammates teased him—and he was willing to wait for it.

But the thing was that no woman had ever wanted more than a one-night stand with him. And so, Marcus had indulged a bit but soon got bored. So he had waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Now, Oliver was suggesting that Marcus go up and talk to literally the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen. If Marcus had been a Gryffindor, maybe he could have sauntered up to the witch's table, sat down without hesitation, and flirted with her until he got her out of her knickers. Maybe he could have said something vulgar about the way she licked her ice cream.

But Marcus was a Slytherin, and Slytherins were notorious for self-preservation. They always scoped out the situation before making any move; they didn't risk getting rejected by doing something spontaneous no matter how drunk they might be.

Oliver nudged his elbow and asked, "Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Go on then. Talk to her."

"No, thanks, I'm fine where I am," Marcus lied smoothly. Another Slytherin trait he had learnt over the years.

"As you wish." Oliver shrugged and sipped on his drink. He suddenly sat up straighter and grinned at someone near the door. Flailing his arm overhead, he exclaimed, "Ooh, there's my Percy! I'll see you at practice, Flint."

And then, he was gone, leaving Marcus to sit there and wallow in his half-empty drink.

Suddenly, a small brown-haired head popped up in between Marcus's legs. He blinked once, twice, and then thrice.

The boy couldn't have been older than three. He had bright blue eyes that shone with curiosity as he gazed at Marcus. And then, he opened his mouth and squealed, "You're Fwint! I know you! You wear bwue wobes like Unca Owiver!"

Marcus didn't know how to interact with children; he barely knew how to interact with people his own age.

The child took his silence as an invitation to talk to him like they were best friends. He clambered up his legs like a little monkey. Marcus blinked and found himself with a lapful of the wriggling, overly enthusiastic boy.

Not noticing Marcus's sudden discomfort, the child exclaimed, "Mine-e and me saw you pway today! You're awesome! You went up and down on your bwoom and round and round and round. What's wong with your teef? Did bad men punch you—"

"Oh my god, Teddy!"

Marcus's head snapped up at the voice.

Hermione Granger stood near him, panting as she clutched two ice cream cones in her hands. He hadn't even noticed her leaving her table, so to see her so close to him was a huge surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't even realise he'd run off," Granger said, gasping for breath. White liquid streamed down in between her parted fingers, and she roughly licked it off before glancing at Marcus. "Was he bothering you?"

"Who?" Marcus asked. Merlin, she was even prettier up close. The sight of her deep caramel eyes and plump lips completely numbed his mind. He couldn't come up with anything witty—he couldn't even think. His heart thundered in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the overcrowded pub.

"Teddy," Granger said, motioning to the boy who was sitting on Marcus's lap and counting the number of glasses on the counter out loud. "I'm supposed to be babysitting him, but he runs off when I look away for even a second."

Delight almost overwhelmed Marcus at the realisation that Teddy was the child's name and not her lover's. That Teddy wasn't Granger's child either was just a bonus.

"S'okay," Marcus muttered, ducking his head and avoiding her gaze.

All he wanted to do was throw caution to the wind and scoop her into his arms. How would she react to his actions? Would she gasp and try to pull away? Or would she melt into his arms just as the ice cream cones melting in her small hands?

"Teddy, come on, we should go and finish our ice creams," Granger said, fortunately breaking him out of his reverie.

"No, wanna stay here wid Fwint! He's nice," Teddy argued loudly and hung onto Marcus's robes for dear life.

Nice? Me? What? What's going on?

"But what about your ice cream? You're the one who said you wanted to eat it or else you'd die," Granger said, sounding amused.

Teddy extended one hand and took a cone from Granger before slurping it noisily. "Stay wid Fwint!"

Biting her lower lip, Granger glanced at him from under her long lashes, a move that easily stole his heart. "Would you mind terribly if we sat with you for a few minutes? I'm sure you have better things to do anyway—"

"Sit," Marcus blurted out. He kicked the nearest empty chair and almost sent it sprawling across the floor. His ears warmed when his teammates turned to look at him, but he pretended he wasn't embarrassed.

Granger shyly smiled at him as she sat down beside him. Marcus almost fainted when her knee brushed against his. How was it that a simple knee—that he couldn't even see because she was wearing loose Muggle jeans— could make him pant like a horny teenager?

"I'm Hermione," she said quietly.

"Marcus," Marcus managed to choke out. Her knee was still pressed against his.

"Everyone knows who you are," she said. Marcus's heart leapt at her smile; there was nothing in this world he wouldn't do to see her smile at him again.

"I'm not that famous. You, on the other hand…What are you doing here? Never thought you'd willingly come to a Quidditch match."

"Oh, I wouldn't—" She mumbled something under her breath, and Marcus leaned in to hear her better.

"What?"

"Teddy's a huge fan," she muttered, not looking at him. "He's the reason I'm here."

"Well, whatever the reason, at least you're here."

Just then, Teddy practically demanded, "Want my ice cweam?"

Before he could answer, Teddy shoved the entirety of his ice cream in Marcus's face. Granger gasped and cried, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Teddy, honey, what did you do?"

"It's okay," Marcus said before he looked down at Teddy.

His hair turned a glaring shade of pink, surprising Marcus, as he used his little fingers to smear the ice cream over Marcus's chin and jaw. "I'm sowwy, Fwint! You don't wike ice cweam? I'm sowwy!"

In a hurry, Granger pulled out her wand from her pocket but dropped it on the floor.

"Oh, shoot," she muttered and bent over to pick it up.

Marcus almost had a heart attack at the sight of her cleavage peeking from the neck of her shirt.

He plucked Teddy off his lap and dropped him on the floor before leaping to his feet. The world spun in front of his eyes and he swayed a bit. As soon as he had gathered his bearings, he choked out, "Sorry, I have to run."

He didn't even bother wiping the ice cream off his face; he ran straight for the door, dodging well-wishers and hounding groupies. The warm air hit his face when he finally exited the pub, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He had only taken a few steps when a small body bumped into his back. He whirled around, ready to yell at the person, but stopped dead in his tracks.

Granger was behind him, slightly bent over, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

The boy wasn't with her.

She stood up straight and her eyes slightly widened. "You've still got ice cream on your face."

Marcus reached up to wipe it away, but Granger stopped him. She stepped closer and murmured, "Let me."

Marcus's heart was in his throat, and he couldn't swallow. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her hand on his bicep to steady herself as she began wiping his face. He didn't know how he managed to stand there with his arms by his sides instead of wrapping them around her waist.

Her hand smelt like vanilla, and there was still some residue on her fingers. When she wiped his lower lip with her thumb and glanced up at him through lowered lashes, Marcus's body reacted.

His tongue automatically darted out and licked the pad of her thumb. The taste of sweet vanilla and something that was uniquely Granger bloomed on his tongue, and a sense of belonging swelled in his gut.

Granger's eyes widened, and she gasped.

Marcus's heart fell. He had just made a huge mistake, hadn't he?

But then, Granger's cheeks turned a soft petal-pink, and she ducked her head, hiding behind her curls. She squeaked out, "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Marcus didn't know how he managed to speak so clearly. He was sure his words would have come out a garbled mess—at least that's how he felt inside.

"I…forgot I had a wand," she mumbled, her hands trembling as she pulled out her wand. She dropped it onto the ground and immediately bent over to pick it up.

A tortured groan escaped Marcus. He clenched his teeth and stepped back. "Damn it, Granger! Stop it!"

"Stop what?" she asked, bewildered as she straightened up.

"That! You're too fucking innocent—I'm not—You—Argh!" Marcus snarled and shook his fist. He needed to shut the fuck up right now, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. "You smell like apples and vanilla, and I don't deserve your time, but fuck if I don't want to shag you senseless! But you're so innocent, and I don't want to corrupt you—you don't deserve that—"

"First of all, what? Second, I have no idea what you're talking about," Granger said, frowning at him. "Third, what's this about me being too innocent to corrupt? May I remind you that I've fought Death Eaters twice my age and won—"

"Not that," Marcus said, shaking his head. He gestured to her lips and went on, "Your mouth is practically begging me to kiss you, but I can't—"

"You can't or you won't?"

Her question left him flabbergasted. He stammered, "I don't…I'm not sure…"

"Let me tell you a secret," Granger said, suddenly smiling at him. Stepping closer to him, she placed her hand on his forearm, stood up on her tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, "I've always had a thing for a man in a uniform. Especially one named Marcus Flint…"

Marcus's eyes almost popped out of his head. He wrapped an arm around her waist and dipped her low. She squealed and clung to his shoulders, gawking at him. "Marcus, what are you—"

"I'm going to kiss you, and then I'm going to keep you."

Granger's eyes widened before softening. Smiling, she nodded slowly and squeezed his shoulder. "I'd like that."

Unable to believe his luck but not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Marcus closed the distance between them.