Posting Saturday's update early, because while my plans are for the afternoon, that does not mean that my sisters won't show up hours early because we live an hour and a half apart now, and only get together like once every two months. (Instead of like three times a month like we used to.) Thank you for the birthday wishes. I own nothing, except a new birthday tiara. I hope you enjoy. Oh, and lime warnings in the middle, ye be warned. (Yes, we are pirates now.)
Chapter 17 Meetings
The bar of choice was a hole in the wall two streets over from the stadium. "It isn't much, but the locals give us space and respect our privacy. Nothing that happens there gets passed on to the press. Keeps us going."
"Which is why they keep it that way," she grinned. "Relax, I'm hardly some prissy pureblood that can only be taken to five-star restaurants."
"Hermione, I've seen your parents' house."
"So? They were very down-to-earth people. I'm more comfortable at the local pub than at those places, I promise."
"I just want this to go well. These guys are an important part of my life. If you hate their wives or girlfriends, you'll never come to games."
"Um, if I don't like them, I just won't sit with them. I can afford to buy my own tickets and sit wherever I like."
"You would, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, today was great. Even Draco managed not to be a huge prat."
The interior of the Hart and Hare reminded Hermione of her parents' favorite college hangout, a pub they took her to numerous times over the years. Dim lighting along the outer booths offered privacy, while the brighter center lighting illuminated the center bar. Conversations buzzed about the room. A few people glanced towards them when they entered. Confidently, Marcus lead her across the taproom to the tables commandeered by the celebrating team. Adrian was the first to notice them. "Marcus! Hermione, you came!"
"I did."
"Everyone, this is Hermione. Hermione, this is everyone." Marcus pointed out each player, introducing a wife or girlfriend if he knew her. He did not bother introducing the groupies who had claimed unoccupied laps. Adrian promptly dumped the blonde in his lap to converse with Hermione. Marcus sat next to her, resting his arm on the back of her chair.
She waved, "Hello." A waitress hurried over the take their drink order. She sat in silence listening to the conversations going on around them. After around ten minutes several of the other players began paying more attention to their end of the table. Hermione Lestrange remained a mystery to most of Britain, and their teammates seemed to know her well.
The third chaser, Wulfric leaned forward, "Nice to meet you, now the pressing question of the hour, why is a woman like you with this ugly sod?" He ducked the playful punch Marcus threw at him, grinning like a Cheshire cat."
"Because I want to. I've come to discover that is the best answer for just about anything." Hermione shrugged. "Or because I can."
"Oh, I like her." Wulfric high-fived Marcus, "Nice choice."
"Thanks, I think."
"So, Hermione, what do you do?" asked Nora Barrett.
"About what?" she asked.
"For a living?"
"I haven't decided. I'm investigating several avenues right now."
"That sounds nice." Nora gave her a prim smile. Hermione found herself liking the polite woman. She dressed more demurely than the other women at the table.
"Or she can just spend Marcus," joked a girlfriend or groupie, Hermione wasn't sure which. Several laughed.
"What do you do?" Hermione politely inquired of Nora and ignoring the other comments.
"I am a part-time receptionist at St Mungo's."
"That must be interesting."
"It is generally rather dull. But it gets me out of the house and talking to adults." Nora shrugged.
"Small children?" Hermione guessed.
"Yes, and I love them, and they are amazing treasures, don't get me wrong, but..."
"Your sanity needs a break?"
"Exactly!" both women laughed. "Though, I don't want them to feel like they were raised by the house elves, either."
"Parenting can be a delicate tightrope act." commiserated Hermione. "She said from observations, not any practical experience."
One of the groupies who had been trying, and failing, to get Marcus's attention huffed, "Ugh, who cares about kids and all that boring crap? We're young, we're meant to have fun."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Young people do not stay so forever. And even rich and famous men can desire families of their own someday."
"And then they get bored with the old model and trade-in on something newer and sleeker. And need all the money to keep her." She gave Nora a nasty sneer that cause the woman to briefly recoil.
"That's a mistake. Why risk picking up any number of diseases?"
"What? I don't have any disease!" shrieked the harpy.
"Are you sure about that? I've heard the reports about the rising cases of sexually transmitted diseases amongst jersey chasers. It can be quite high." She looked at Marcus innocently, "You haven't slept with any of these slags recently have you?"
"Haven't been with a groupie since my first season, and then only once. Have you seen them?"
She looked around him to the blonde sitting on the other side, "I have."
"Well, there you go."
She looked over at Adrian, "Are you being safe, as well?"
"I have standards. I only sleep with professional models or better. Also, they spend less money."
She nodded and turned back to Marcus, "For Nora's peace of mind, what about Oakley?"
"He's a good man. He doesn't pay them any attention, ever. And he doesn't mind if she spends money."
"That's nice. Make sure you keep him as an example for future behavior. Though, full disclosure, I think I have more money than you, but I don't mind if you spend it."
"Yes, ma'am." Marcus chuckled.
"Thanks, mate," Oakley saluted him with his drink. Marcus nodded his head once.
"Stop talking about us like we aren't here," snapped the blonde witch.
"Oh, are you still here? I was hoping if we ignored you, you would take the hint and go away." Hermione told her.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I know that I'm the witch about to hex so strongly that your hypothetical grandchildren will be bald and hairy." The blonde started to object, "Yes, I heard myself, no hair on your head, including eyebrows, but your nose hair, chest hairs, armpit hair, leg hair, and other hair will be so long it grows in ringlets." One of the groupies snorted derisively. Hermione whipped out her wand and flicked it. The brunette grabbed her head, feeling the smooth skin. "Do not try me."
The groupie that had been pawing at Adrian all even looked at him, "Are you going to let her treat us that way?"
"Yep." The girl huffed angrily at his answer. "I am far more afraid of what she's going to do to me if she gets annoyed than I will ever be of you."
"What about you, Marcus?" cooed one of the others from further down the table.
"I like it when she shows her feisty side. So sexy." He waggled his eyebrows at Hermione.
"Brute." She lightly smacked his chest. He grabbed her hand.
"You know it." He kissed her. "Finished your drink?"
"I have."
"Let's go get dinner then." He stood, offering her his hand.
Adrian pouted, "You're leaving me?"
"We are," Marcus told him.
"See you Friday?" Hermione asked.
Adrian smiled at her, "You know it."
"Good." She allowed Marcus to place his hand on the small of her back and escort her from the pub. She waved farewell to everyone as they walked past. "So, what would you like to do for dinner?"
"My preference would be an evening in, just the two of us."
"Your place or mine?"
"Hmm, good question. My siblings have wandered home again, but I still find the notion of them wandering in mid snog preferable to your father or uncle."
"There is that," briefly she thought of enticing him back to her childhood home, but decided she didn't want to field the hundreds of possible questions about what things were, at least today. "Let's go with your place. Want to try Chinese?"
"You will find I will try just about anything once." He grinned down at her. "You grab dinner, and I'll go make sure my room is acceptable for company."
"Are you impugning the honor of your elves?" Hermione put her hand over her heart in fake shock."
"Never, I tell them they only have to clean once a week, but I don't know what day that is."
"I see," she said slowly like she didn't quite believe him. "I'll go get the food then."
"I'll be waiting."
Twenty minutes later Hermione emerged from Marcus's floo carrying paper bags of food. She set about fixing plates of fried rice, lo mien, black pepper chicken, beef with broccoli, sesame chicken, and seafood mix. "Do you mind if we listen to the highlight report while we eat?"
"That's fine, just so long as you don't want to then dissect every observation they make, repeatedly, all evening."
"Salazar, no! Listening is more than enough. I like knowing how the other teams did."
Somehow, while clearing away the food, Hermione ended up wearing lo mien noodles and rice. Marcus's elf, Inky, pulled his ears mortified. Hermione soothed the creature, "This is my fault. I need to learn to let you help, at the least, or let you do your job."
"Please to let Inky clean clothes, missy?"
"Okay, okay, you can clean my clothes."
Marcus opened his closet, "My stuff will swallow you, but help yourself."
Stepping inside the walk-in, Hermione stripped to her underwear and socks, passing the clothes through the partially open door. She rummaged through his clothes, eventually finding an old bottle-green quidditch jersey. She slipped it over her head. It swallowed her, but not as much as his current one would. She decided she didn't need much, it was just the two of them, she skipped hunting down a pair of boxers to pair with it.
Marcus felt his mouth go dry at the sight of Hermione in his old jersey. Memories of Yule Ball flashed in front of his eyes. Everyone had wanted her that night, and now he had her. She climbed onto the bed, flashing her knickers. She would be the death of him but figured he'd enjoy dying. He moved swiftly to join her. She lay back on the bed, he settled above her, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her. "Hello."
"Hi."
Comfortable?"
"Yes, thank you." She beamed up at him.
"Nice choice."
"I like it."
"Looks good on you. Better than it did on me."
"You look rather fit in your current kit."
He kissed her, shifting her to lay flat on her bed, while he remained hovered over her. "I bet you would still look better."
"Nah, too big."
He kissed her again, this time deeper and longer, "I think I should be the judge."
"You're biased," she leaned up and kissed him fiercely. Instantly, he matched her intensity, nipping at her lips and using his tongue to assert his dominance. Only for her to switch from defense to offense. Her hands snaked under his shirt. She ran her fingertips up and down his back, tracing the muscles there. He massaged at her breast through the jersey. She broke the kiss, "That is uncomfortable."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, help me take it off."
"Seriously?" he stared at her in surprise.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then help." She sat up as much as she could and shifted her weight as Marcus helped her pull it off and flung it over the side of the bed. She pulled Marcus back down on top of her underwear clad body.
He nibbled her earlobe with a growl, "Gods you're hot."
She giggled, "Not so much anymore."
He ran his hand along her bare skin, "Tease."
"Oi teases don't let you touch."
"Fair. Hmmm," he returned his attention to her ear and neck. "You taste delicious."
She raised to suck on his neck, grazing it with her teeth. "So do you." She increased the pressure.
"Are you leaving love bites?"
"Mmmm, mine."
He pulled back, moving his neck out of her reach. He noticed the scar on her chest. He traced the scar that bisected her torso. "War scar?"
"Dolohov, Department of Mysteries my fifth year." He brushed the razor-thin lashes on her right shoulder. "Running through the Forbidden Forest from a werewolf in third year."
"Do you have any funny scars?"
"Not really, sorry." She jerked when he lightly brushed along her chest scar. "That tickled," she complained.
"Valuable information, the great Hermione Lestrange is ticklish."
"Just remember, I hex first and ask questions second."
"Noted, no tickle wars."
"Good idea."
He toyed with the elastic band of her knickers, locking eyes with a questioning look. She bucked up against his hand, granting permission without ever looking away. Slowly, giving her time to object, his hand slipped into her knickers. He rubbed his fingertips against her slit. Hermione hissed in pleasure and ground against his fingers. In response, Marcus slid a thick digit into her channel, causing her to arch her back. She eagerly met his hand moments. Grinning, he pumped faster, adding a second finger. "Oh gods, oh Marcus, Marcus." He felt her clench around his fingers. He continued to rub as she came down.
Once her orgasm ceased, he removed his fingers and licked them clean, "Hmm, delicious. Next time, I'll lick it from the source." Hermione squirmed in response to the idea.
She reached down to caress him through his pants. Her fingers grazed the material, as the door flung open. Marcus's older brother, Malcolm, strode in before recoiling, "Dammit, Marc!"
"Get out," Marcus growled, covering Hermione with his body.
"You know better than to bring home fangirls." He tried to peek over his brother's shoulder. "Father is coming, you best get rid of her."
"Get out."
"Nope, not listening to a rant over a slaggy piece of fluff." He tried to grab Hermione. Simultaneously, Marcus swung a fist at his brother. Hermione summoned the jersey. Malcolm managed to duck and retreated from the bed while Hermione dressed. She collected her jeans and turned to see the brothers squaring off.
"Oi, knock that off," she snapped. "Marcus, trousers. I doubt your father wants to see your pants." He looked at her and nodded.
Malcolm fretted, "Look, Father is not going to be pleased to find some scrubber in the house. You can't bring birds back here." Heavy footfalls echoed down the hall. In a panic, Malcolm grabbed Hermione's upper arm. "You need to hide." He shoved her into the bathroom. He shut the door, blocking it with his body. "The girls spent the entire trip shopping and partying at inappropriate places. We left with no serious prospects. He's on the warpath."
Before Marcus could respond, Merrick Flint appeared in the doorway. He surveyed the room, frowning, "I thought you were entertaining?"
"I am," Marcus glared at his brother.
"Then where is she?" his father demanded.
Before either son could answer the sound of the toilet flushing interrupted. Hermione emerged pretending to dry her hands. "Oh, hello, you must be Marcus's father and his brother. I'm Hermione Lestrange, nice to meet you." She beamed and moved to Marcus's side.
"Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." Merrick nodded to her. "Perhaps the shame of seeing their baby brother in a committed relationship will spurn my daughters to take adult life more seriously and find husbands."
Hermione nodded, "You could encourage them to get jobs and support themselves instead of living off you."
Merrick blinked twice and considered the idea, "Sadly, I think that would encourage them to insist on one more trip around Europe, just to be sure."
She shrugged, "Malcolm gets a job. No Malcolm, no chaperone, no chaperone, no trip. Damn the luck."
Marcus chuckled, "Then they sulk, moan, and try to get me to take leave to go, or try during the off-season and want to linger once there."
"Don't be silly," she kissed his cheek, "you're far too busy with me for all that."
"There is that," he tugged and she allowed herself to be pulled against him. His father looked pleased, his brother confused.
"Miss Lestrange, you are most welcome to family dinner on Sundays whenever you are available," invited Merrick.
"I'll check my schedule. You will be at my party Friday, won't you?"
"We wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Splendid."
"I will leave you in my son's hands."
"A most capable place to be." She twinkled at the dour older man. He nodded again and left the room.
"What in the all the hells was that?" demanded Malcolm. "She looks thoroughly shagged and he practically pats you on the head and invites her to dinner."
"Being the current darling of the Inner Circle has benefits," she dimpled at him.
"I don't see that happening for me in the near future," he
retorted dryly.
"Date better," Hermione shrugged. "Speaking of dating, go away. You interrupted." Holding up his hands in surrender, Malcolm backed out of the room.
Marcus shut the door after him. Then he addressed her, "Um," he started unsure of her mood.
"No, I'm not in the mood to pick up where we left off, but your brother needed to go regroup, and I didn't want to spend the rest of the night dealing with it."
"Agreed."
"More radio?" she suggested. "Maybe a muggle radio program?"
"Sure." They settled back on the bed and listened to a comedy show on BBC 4. "Do we need to set an alarm or anything?"
"Nah, Roddy knows where to find me." She ran her fingertip along his arms. "Thank you for the snitch and devastating the Cannons."
They settled back on the bed. "That was my pleasure. Some of the boys owed me. The rest will want a similar favor someday." He kissed her forehead. "And they all knew your cheating ex adores the Cannons. Can't beat his face in so, take what I can get." He shifted to be leaning over her. "Do I get a reward?"
"My undying gratitude."
"That could be a hot commodity soon."
"Right?" she laughed. She snuggled into his chest. "Sorry we got interrupted, and that it killed the mood."
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Yes."
He hugged her, "Me, too."
-oOoOo-
Ron stared at the Daily Prophet. The scores from the last Cannons match were impossible. They were not the best team in the league, but the others teams had never embarrassed them in such a manner. He felt his stomach flip flop. He considered crying, but what good would his tears do. He hurled a teacup across the kitchen, then yelled for Kreacher to clean up the mess. He sulked for the remainder of the day, refusing to let Harry cheer him up, or do any work on the problem of horcruxes. Harry rolled his eyes and ignored him, wishing Hermione was here to help him bring Ron out of his snit.
-oOoOo-
Wednesday, Voldemort joined Hermione in her preferred parlor at the Hall, "Less chance of interruptions here."
He sat across from her, "Ask away."
"Why horcruxes? Why not make a philosopher's stone?"
"The short answer? I was young and angry. The philosopher's stone did not tie my soul to the mortal plane. Dead was dead, no chance at coming back. Any kindness or compassion in my soul was slowly killed off as I grew. Those orphanages were horrible places. Albus Dumbledore thought me a cruel bully at eleven. He never bothered to look into why. In my world, only the strong survived, or found someone stronger to protect them. I didn't know what it was but my magic made me strong." He gave her a smirk. "The indifference of the world isolated me. With no one to show me true kindness, love, or compassion, how could I learn? The idea of destroying another for my own gain didn't horrify me as it would another.
"Thanks to Salazar's basilisk I had an opportunity, and I took it."
"You realize the folly of seven horcruxes, right?"
"Six, Nagini replaced my diary."
"Seven. You accidentally made Harry into one in 1981," she corrected.
"Well, that complicates matters does it not?"
"Did you feel the destruction of the diary?" she inquired.
"I was incorporeal, I was not aware of much. I do not recommend it as a long-term existence."
"Noted. You were back in a body when Dumbledore destroyed the ring before he died."
"There was a sudden flare of pain that incapacitated me for several days, then over the next few weeks I felt stronger than before."
"Several of your followers have mentioned you seem calmer than before you left your body."
"Have they?"
"Yes," she frowned, "and, no, I will not tell you who. They did so to reassure me you could be trusted. They said you were less impulsive and mercurial."
"You theorize the difference is the return of my soul fragments?"
"Yes, but I have no way of testing this without destroying one. And if it doesn't, then you pointlessly eliminated one and made it easier for the Order to win."
"That is Potter's current mission, isn't it?"
"Well, it certainly isn't to make friends and positively influence people." He chuckled at her, "So, pro, more possible magical strength, con pain, and being out of commission for a bit." Hermione summed up.
"Yes, though this brings us to the question of living horcruxes."
"Should they show signs of aging, and Harry has, you may have to destroy them or risk losing the fragment. Or, it might return to you upon their natural deaths."
"Nagini's natural death is a way off, familiars live much longer than their counterparts." He paused, "I think I shall destroy one more to experiment. Better to know than not to. That also leaves four, two animate and two inanimate."
She nodded nervously, "Promise not to get mad?"
"I will endeavor not to."
"I have the locket. We stole it from Delores Umbridge after Fletcher Mudungus stole it from Grimmauld Place."
His face contorted and changed colors rapidly as he took deep breaths. "I suppose I should count my blessings that you have it and the Dunderhead Duo as Snape calls them."
"Very true."
"I suppose at the moment you considered it a safety net, an escape hatch so to speak?"
"No, I don't need one. I simply forgot I had it in my beaded bag."
"You trust me to keep my word?"
"Yes, and no. Your magic is on the line, you would never risk that. But also, I have a means of escape. To a place, I am the sole secret keeper of. The only way there or back is a portkey tied to my magical signature."
"Very clever," he beamed at her looking proud.
"May I ask what the two remaining horcruxes are?" she asked.
"If you guess correctly, I will tell you that you did," he responded with a challenging gleam in his eyes.
She thought for a moment, remembering Dumbledore's clues for Harry. "One is Hufflepuff's cup and the other is Ravenclaw's diadem."
"Brava, my dear."
"Dumbledore suggested the cup after the locket. Which lead me to thoughts of the missing diadem. Though I confess surprise you managed to find it after so many years."
"The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost is Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena's daughter. I asked her about it. She confessed she stole it and ran away to Albania."
"Where you found it. Is that what drew you to Albania in spirit form?"
"Perhaps, I do not remember much until I possessed Quirrell. I returned there after his body was destroyed."
"Do you want to destroy it now?"
"No," he frowned, "I would like to prepare, perhaps mitigate some of the pain. Perhaps after the new year, in the lull after the holiday season."
"Just let me know."