AN:

Originally posted on AO3 in December 2022.

I'm currently working my way through this fic with my Beta to clean up a plethora of typos before finishing the final few chapters. As that happens, I'll update the edited chapters on AO3 and cross-post them here.

Chapter One

July 1995

His lips on hers…

Her tongue along his neck…

His fingers pressing into her flesh…

Her nails down his back…

Their breath hot and heavy between them…

Sweat misting their skin…

Whispered words of devotion turning to shouted declarations of euphoria…

His arms around her and his lips in her hair; her chest on his head and fingers caressing the ridges of his ribs until they drifted off to sleep, hearts full and bodies sated.

It had been a perfect night. A perfect beginning and ending of everything they had come to be.

Waking up as the early morning summer rays breached the trees that surrounded the hidden cottage and penetrated the drapeless windows opposite the poorly outfitted bed where she had slept, Hermione traced her fingers over her well loved lips, a soft smile gracing her face. She could still feel every place he had kissed and caressed the night before, his touch leaving a map of where he had been. Extending her limbs in the tangle of sheets, she felt an echo of how her body had stretched for him. The reminder — not that she could ever forget such a night — of where his map had led, had her gentle, still half-asleep smile growing into one of elation.

The first three months of knowing Marcus Flint and not just of him, had led her through an evolution. She had started their thrice weekly meetings with a put upon attitude that had come about from having to accommodate his additional tuition in light of his repeated seventh year. Somewhere along the way she had grown from finding him to be a thick headed annoyance, to not quite a friend but more than an acquaintance. He had become someone she could no longer harbor uncharitable thoughts towards and often found herself having to hold her tongue from lashing out at others when they voiced such words. And by cracking that door open for him, she had created an opportunity for him to waltz right into her heart. An opportunity he had seemed to seize from one meeting to the next, that door nothing but a pile of sawdust and splinters after he was through with it.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had fallen for the brute of a wizard she had been strapped with for the year, but it had happened, surprising her when she became aware of it. It had been as swift as his demolishing of the guarded door around her heart and as irrevocable as the ruins he had left her barriers in.

With the evolution of her thought of him complete and her attention and affection his and his alone, Hermione had settled herself in for a year plagued by an unrequited crush. And even though she believed it to be one sided, it hadn't stopped her growing fancy of him or changed the wish her heart had held back in December upon announcement of the Yule Ball. It had however made it twice as painful to hear the thoughtlessly cruel interjection of Ron asking, who could possibly want to go with her, when she and Lavender had been in an excited tizzy over the ball and the fantasy of a Cinderella-like night of beauty and dancing.

But Marcus had surprised her — in more ways than one — by confessing he returned her feelings. And for the last six and a half months, she had been his and he hers. Their tutoring sessions had moved from having kept a table between them to sitting side by side. From sitting side by side to exchanging said table for one of the plush couches where she could cuddle into his much larger side, tucked safely under his arm like she were something precious, or sit with her legs draped across his lap, rewarding his correct answers as she quizzed him with kisses — an incentive she found to be highly motivating for him.

To put it plainly, the little know-it-all swot and the brutish quaffle head; the muggleborn witch and the son of a staunch blood purist, had become a cliché and fallen into infatuation and from there into love. They had obsessively tended to and nurtured that love, stealing every minute they could whether within the walls of the castle or on cobbled side streets lined with shops less frequented by their peers visiting the village. And that love had manifested into a deep, physical representation the night prior.

With the end of the school year having been cut short in light of Cedric Diggory's murder, Hermione had seized the unfortunate opportunity to spend the spare few days before she was expected by her parents at Kings Cross with Marcus. She had dutifully taken the train back to England with the others but as they were each swept away by their families, her presence fell through the cracks. Forgotten by everyone except Lavender — her friend having ferreted out their secret romance within days of it coming into infancy and often providing her with a much needed cover and means of escape — she disappeared into the crowd, her location only visible if those looking for her knew to track the young wizard who rose above the heads of most everyone else.

Marcus had Disapparated them from the train station to the Leaky Cauldron and from there, had flooed them to a nondescript pub in some undisclosed part of Scotland. Strolling through the quaint suburb, he had led her to a forgotten path, hidden by a dense section of wood. With his large hands over her eyes, they had awkwardly traversed the unleveled ground, laughing as they stumbled along, until his breath was at her ear and he asked, "What do you think?" his hands coming down to reveal a vine-covered, brick cottage beside a rushing waterfall that emptied into a rippling stream.

Turning in his arms, Hermione had commented on its beautiful charm and idyllic location before asking after its significance.

"I bought it for you, for us," he replied, the corner of his mouth turning up in half a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Upon my second completion of school and the return of my second, vastly improved, NEWT scores, my trust was released to me. We're on the outskirts of Edinburgh which puts me within Apparating distance of Hogsmeade as well as Montrose."

"Montrose? What happened to Puddlemore? I thought they offered you a spot on the reserve after passing."

Taking her hands in his, he said, "They did, but Montrose has more going for it than Puddlemore could ever currently hope for. They're closer to Hogwarts and therefore closer to you.

"If I'm here, we can exchange owls daily — even multiple times a day. And like I said, I'm within Apparating distance of Hogsmeade so I can visit you each weekend you're allowed out and have somewhere to bring you where we aren't forced to keep to shadowy corridors and abandoned streets. And with You-Know-Who back… I thought if I, you, added a Fidelius Charm, it would be a safe place for you should you need it."

At his words, she had kissed him with abandon, her fingers lacing behind his neck as she jumped into his arms. He had carried her into the cottage, her attention on him and the clothes he wore that she wanted to remove and not on the home he had purchased for himself, for them. Regardless of how it looked, it was perfect and it was theirs. And as they fell into the bed, their clothes strewn about, with repeated assurances and promises of love passing between them, Hermione had given her virginity in exchange for his.

Reaching out for Marcus, she found his side of the bed empty, the sheets cold and his pillow long since free of the indentation his head had left behind. She patted the mattress to verify his absence as if her eyes had suddenly stopped working. Sitting up, she took the rumpled sheet with her and called out his name, her voice trembling and unsure where only hours ago it had been full of unshakable conviction and satisfaction.

With no response beyond the echo of the breaking of her voice around the syllables of his name, she courageously fought the pit in her stomach and got out of the bed. As she made her way to the stairs that would lead her from the loft style bedroom back to the main living area, the unwanted certainty of what she knew she'd find grew, her feet faltering with each step.

Finding the living room as empty as their bed, she went to the kitchen, tears already beginning to fall as she passed a lone trunk with the initials H.G. on the side. On the counter beside an undoubtedly spoiled tray of cut fruit, cheeses, and cured meats, was a slip of parchment, held safe from the soft breeze that blew in through the open window over the sink by a silver and gold ring.

Picking up the double knotted promise ring, her throat strangled an escaping sob as she read his cramped and nearly illegible handwriting, sinking to the floor in a naked puddle of cotton.

The home of Hermione Granger is at, 777 Sgiath Aingeal, Edinburgh, Scotland.

This isn't what I wanted, to leave you behind. I don't know where you'll land when you fly, but angel, you were the love of my life.

Forever yours,

Marcus

AN:

The note to Hermione features lyrics from the song, Love of My Life by Harry Styles.