Pairing: Hermione/Marcus
Prompt: I know we hate each other, but your flight was cancelled and it's Christmas Eve, so please come inside
Hermione yawned as she flicked through her documents, looking for her research on the Centaur population. She glanced at the clock on her table and realized it was an hour to midnight. The Ministry was empty, but she was still working. She rolled her eyes as she continued to search for the file; she had never even thought that she would be at her office on Christmas Eve and have no one to go home to.
When she had finally found the file she'd been looking for, she stood up and stretched. She rubbed her eyes and walked out of her little cabin, making her way through the silent corridors to her superior's office to deposit the file on his desk, aware that the man wouldn't even read it until after the holidays. Still, she was Hermione Granger, and anyone who knew her was aware that she never procrastinated. Often encouraging — correction: nagging — people to do the same, she lived by the motto: There's no time like the present.
She went back to her cabin and gathered her coat before walking back out. Reaching the lift, she waited, tapping her foot in a jittery manner. She might not have had anyone to spend Christmas Eve with, but she had her comfiest pyjamas, Christmas movies and hot chocolate waiting for her at home; they were the three things she had been looking forward to all day, and she would let nothing stand in her way.
Entering the lift, she pressed the button for the Atrium and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes to rest a little. But before the lift could reach the Atrium from where she would Floo home, it stopped on Level 6. Hermione didn't open her eyes when the lift opened, but she shot upright when she heard a very recognizable voice grumble loudly, "Merlin, could my day get any worse?"
"Flint!" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with shock. The tall, broad-shouldered man gave her a surly glare. She returned it with one of her own. "What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the weather, of course," he deadpanned, scowling at her. "I was supposed to be halfway to Switzerland by now," he snarled, slamming his fist against the Atrium button as if it would make the lift go faster.
"So… why aren't you?" Hermione asked blearily, and Marcus Flint glared at her like she had done something to personally offend him.
Maybe she had done something, but Hermione didn't care. The two of them had despised each other ever since they had started working in the Ministry together. Hermione worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and in a way, Marcus, who worked in the International Magical Office of Law, was her superior. Every proposal that Hermione put forward went through Marcus, and the ex-Slytherin often argued with her about her research. A day never went by without the two of them hissing and spitting at each other.
"Haven't you heard? All magical means of transportation are down due to the fucking snowstorm brewing outside," he snapped, his fists clenched by his side. "Merlin, you're a right daft witch, aren't you?"
Hermione snarled, "I'm not daft! Just because I wasn't aware of the storm doesn't mean I'm daft."
"It doesn't mean you're bright either," he taunted her, and Hermione mentally counted to ten to stop herself from lashing out. It was Christmas Eve, and she didn't want to spend it fighting with him.
Fortunately for her, the doors opened and she stormed past him and out into the Atrium, which was empty. When she reached the fireplace, she stopped and groaned, realizing that she wouldn't be able to Floo back home due to the storm. She turned her head and caught sight of Marcus, who had sat down upon a bench with his luggage next to him. And for the first time ever, the sight moved Hermione's heart.
She hesitated for a few moments before she walked towards him, her low heels clacking softly. When she reached his side, she cleared her throat and said, "Listen, Flint… I know very well that we don't like each other, but… it's Christmas Eve, and I can't let you stay here on your own."
"As soon as the storm's over, I'm taking the Portkey and leaving, Granger," he said angrily.
"Who's daft now? Don't you know it will be hours — or even days — before the storm blows over?" she taunted him, and he glared at her, not saying anything. She rolled her eyes and said, "I know you live on the other side of London, but I live just ten minutes away. So, why don't you come home with me and wait for this storm to stop? I'll be civil — if you promise to be, too."
Marcus stared at her like she'd grown two more heads all of a sudden. "You're barmy if you think I'm coming home with you, Granger! I'd rather volunteer to stick a fork in my eye!"
Hermione flinched at his rebuttal, startled by how fiercely offended he seemed to be. She had always assumed he despised her, but she started to realize that 'hate' was better suited for the emotions playing clearly on his face. Her shoulders drooped as she murmured, "Okay, as you wish. I just… didn't want you to spend Christmas Eve alone in the Ministry of all places. But if you don't want to come along, that's perfectly fine with me." She turned around and cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed, embarrassed by her strong reaction to his refusal.
Marcus watched her walk towards the gates of the Ministry, and guild began to spread its roots in his heart. His gut clenched as he realized she was genuinely hurt by his rebuttal, and he shot to his feet. "Hey, wait! You're really going to leave me here?" he called out to her, trying to make her angry again. He liked seeing her angry, but he didn't like seeing her shoulders slumped or her eyes filled with tears.
"You said you'd poke your eyes out with a fork," she said, not turning around to face him.
"I said I'd stick a fork in my eyes — there was no mention of poking my eyes out," he retorted, picking up his suitcase and walking after her. "Take me home, Granger. Tout de suite."
"And why should I?" Hermione snapped, whirling around to face him, her eyes dark with increasing anger. "You didn't want to come with me, so why did you suddenly change your plans? Huh? Is this another way to make fun of me?"
"Ugh, you're so blind," he grumbled, opening the door for her absentmindedly. He had been brought up in a traditional Pureblood family, and his mother would roll in her grave if she saw her son disrespecting a woman — of any blood — by not holding the door for her. "Fine, if you must know why I changed my mind, it's because… I pity the fact that you don't have anyone waiting for you at home. Therefore, I've decided to grace you with my presence."
Hermione gawked at him, and even though, on some subconscious level, she knew that he was lying, she couldn't help but glare at him and flip him off. He muttered, "So Muggle of you."
Hermione almost blew her top at his comment, but she reminded herself that she didn't want to fight with him at that moment. She led him out the Muggle entrance, cast a few Warming Charms on herself, and began to walk through the heavy snow towards her flat. Marcus followed her, easily keeping pace with her. Hermione glanced at his graceful legs and silently envied the fact that he was so much taller than her; she had always wanted to be able to walk elegantly, but it was a failed dream.
When they reached her flat, Hermione unlocked the door and walked in, shrugging off her coat and jacket, wiping her feet on the mat, and Marcus followed her actions, looking around the small house. He glanced at the towering bookshelves with the colour-coded books and the couch with the daffodil-yellow cushions, which looked surprisingly welcoming. "How… quaint."
"Oh, stop it, Flint," she muttered tiredly, waving her hand in the general direction of the couch. "I'm not going to entertain you, so you can do whatever you like."
Marcus rolled his eyes and said, "Is this how you treat guests on Christmas Eve? Oh, I forgot… You don't have guests on Christmas Eve."
"Has anyone told you you're a jerk?"
"Has anyone told you that I don't care?"
"Touche," she said with a soft chuckle. Without glancing back at him, she walked to her bedroom, and Marcus was half-tempted to follow her inside. He was surprised by how easily she had invited him into her house, and he wondered if she was really as mad as he taunted her of being.
He dropped his luggage near the door and went to look at the books on her shelf, thinking of how mad she would be if he shifted their positions. He smirked when he saw a well-worn and obviously beloved book, and he knew instantly what the title would be. Hogwarts: A History. Everyone who knew the witch — either by reputation or personally — was aware of her favourite book. Marcus himself had caught her reading the book many times over the years — both when they had been at Hogwarts and during her lunch breaks in the Ministry canteen.
Something shiny caught his eye, and he walked over to the fireplace to look at the photographs on the mantelpiece. There were a few pictures of her with Potter and Weasley, with the Weasley family, with some of the other Gryffindors that had been in her year, and a middle-aged couple, who were most likely her parents. The one thing Marcus noticed in the photographs was that in every one of them, Granger was in the background. None of the photographs had her as the main subject, and it confused him to no end. She deserves to be photographed.
He had just picked up a picture of her with her friends when Hermione entered the living room, her hair piled up into a messy bun, and Marcus' jaw dropped in shock when he saw her green hoodie and black sweatpants, not having expected her to get so comfortable in his presence. He tried to look away, but there was something about her appearance that screamed vulnerable, filling him with the urge to protect her. It was so startling that he almost dropped the frame but caught it just in time.
"Don't break anything, Flint," she grumbled, and Marcus quickly put the frame back on the mantelpiece.
"Why aren't there any pictures of you alone?"
Hermione blushed as she stammered, "I don't like getting my picture taken. It makes me uncomfortable."
He glanced at her but didn't voice his thoughts. Mentally, he wondered if there was another reason she didn't like getting photographed. Maybe, someone had said something terrible about her pictures. A sudden urge to reassure her caused him to open his mouth, but he stopped himself just in time. She would only think he was lying.
Walking into her kitchen and pulling out a mug, Hermione hesitated for a moment before asking in the politest tone she could muster, "Would you like to drink some hot chocolate?"
Marcus paused, staring at the side of her head, but said, "Sure, just don't poison me or anything."
"I wasn't planning on it, but now that you've given me the idea…" She grinned at him, her eyes shining mischievously, and he flipped her off. "That's only going to force my hand."
Marcus rolled his eyes and continued to look through her belongings, and Hermione shook her head in annoyance but didn't say anything. She brought out the hot chocolate and handed him a mug before she walked over to the couch and sat down. She pulled out the television remote from behind her cushion and turned on the television.
"What is that?" Marcus barked, horrified at the loud sounds coming from the little black box. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the moving pictures and people talking loudly in the box. "Granger, what—"
"It's just a Muggle television, Flint," she said absentmindedly, sipping on her warm drink. She turned and fluffed the cushion before she snuggled deeper into it. "You're welcome to watch the movies with me."
Marcus was so out of his depth that it was hilarious, but Hermione took pity on him and patted the spot beside her. "Come and sit down. I'll explain to you what this is."
He cautiously crept forward, his eyes trained on the television like a hawk, and sat down beside her. "Can these people hear us?" he demanded, and she shook her head.
"No, they can't hear you. It's all pre-recorded. It's like a wizarding photograph, but these are much longer, and people don't disappear just because they want to."
"What is its purpose?" His knuckles were white as he clutched onto his mug.
"Movies are mostly for entertainment, but there are documentaries too — they're educational," she explained, flicking through the channels. "There are millions of movies out there on every topic you could possibly imagine. There are movies about Muggle sports, animals, animated movies for children, Christmas-themed ones — which I'm going to watch now — and even about magic."
"That's ridiculous," Marcus argued immediately. "Muggles don't know about magic!"
"They don't know magic is real, but there are many who wish it was. And their imagination pays off," she said calmly. "They've got a lot of books and movies about witches, wizards, goblins, giants, fairies, and even dragons."
"Oh," Marcus murmured. He had so many questions, but he didn't want to reveal how curious he really was. "What did you say you were watching?"
"Christmas movies. I'm going to watch The Search for Santa Paws."
"Who's Santa Paws? Is that a dog?"
"Yeah, hold on…" She finally found the channel that was playing the movie and beamed. "Okay, it's starting, so shut up."
Marcus rolled his eyes but remained silent; he didn't want to ruin her relatively good mood. But as the credits began to roll, he began to pester her with his questions, and she couldn't help but chuckle. Despite her demand that he shut up and let her watch the movie, she took the time to explain everything to him, delighted that he was paying attention.
And as Marcus listened to her enthusiastic responses, he realized that for once, he was at peace. He alternated between watching the movie and gazing at her, wondering how she'd react if he leaned over to kiss her. Would her eyes fill with absolute rage at his action? Or would she slap him across the face? A tiny part of him hoped she would simply let him kiss her. Time to find out.
He said, "Hey, Granger, it's Christmas."
She glanced up at the clock and nodded. "Oh, yes. Well, merry Christmas." She was about to turn away towards the television again when all of a sudden, Marcus leaned forward, cupped her face and chastely pressed his lips to hers.
She stiffened for a moment before she shoved him back and slapped him roughly, the sound resonating through the room. "What was that?" she cried, her eyes wide with disbelief.
He floundered for words as he tried to apologize, his cheeks reddening with shame at having forced himself on her. "I'm sorry — you just looked really pretty. I don't know what came over me."
But then, she grabbed his collar and yanked him closer. "I don't know what you're up to, Marcus Flint, but you better give me a proper kiss to make up for that pathetic kiss you just gave me."
"You're lucky you're so good-looking because you're bossy as hell," he muttered as he leaned closer, his heart unable to believe what she had just said. Still, this time, he kissed her deeply, more insistently, and preened with joy when she scratched his scalp as she tried to bring him closer. He had never thought he would be kissing Hermione Granger on her couch in the early hours of Christmas, but there he was.
As the movie played in the background, Marcus managed to drag her onto his lap, their lips still locked in a passionate kiss. His head swam, all previous thoughts stopped in their tracks, as they pulled and pushed together, trying to gain as much leverage over the other as possible. The kiss wasn't just a kiss: it was a way for all their emotions to physically manifest. They were aware that there was no going back from what they had just done, but neither of them cared.
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