Chapter Six

"So wait, we're actually going to help him?" Lavender asked incredulously. "Marcus Flint? The drunken, busted knuckles, whore of the British and Irish League? You're ex-boyfriend who fucked you over so hard you haven't had a proper relationship in ten years? That Marcus Flint?"

Nodding her head as she accepted a large breakfast hamper from a muggle woman behind the counter of a deli that was on the fringes of where magical and muggle Edinburgh collided, Hermione confirmed, "One and the same."

"But why?" the blonde further questioned, her brow furrowed with confusion. Stopping as she went to open the door for Hermione, she put her back to it and demanded, "Tell me something only Hermione Granger and myself would know," her wand slipping down from her sleeve.

"You can't be serious?"

"Deadly."

Adjusting the hamper with her hip, she mulled over her answer for a moment before reluctantly muttering, "Technically three people know this but the first person I slept with after Marcus was Draco sodding Malfoy. It happened the night you and Blaise dragged me to that party on the seventh floor in fifth year. Afterwards, I held him by the bollocks and told him if he ever breathed a word of having lost his virginity to me I would castrate him and give his testicles to Crookshanks to play with.

"To the best of my knowledge he's still planning on taking that secret to the grave. Then again, he only lasted for about ten minutes so I imagine he has just as much invested in keeping that quiet as I do."

Trying and failing to cover her laughter with a cough, Lavender stepped away from the door, stowing her wand as she said, "Oh Merlin, I actually forgot about that. What a horrible way to get yourself back out there."

"You have no idea. I actually wanted to cry afterwards thinking Marcus had set an unattainable bar and I would be relegated to a life filled with bad sex until I gave up and became a nun."

Picking at her manicure, Lavender quietly mentioned, "You've never talked about how it was with him before."

Sighing as she caught a newsstand displaying the newest issue of Quidditch Quarterly, Hermione detoured to purchase the issue and a subscription for the year. On the cover, though not the primary article, there was a blurb over the speculation if the silence around the renewal of Marcus Flint was the equivalent of announcing his ousting from the league. Less of a tabloid and more focused on the game itself, it was going to be a good source to have at her fingertips in studying how he was received as a player and not a headline. Leaving with several other periodicals, new subscriptions, and an order for the last twelve issues of the sports magazine, the two continued their walk back to the office.

Not wanting to cloud her head before she was to enter a meeting with the wizard in question but unable to banish the memories, she settled on saying, "At the risk of sounding overly sentimental, there's something to be said for having sex with someone you love versus a casual thing. There's a depth and passion and security there that you can't find in the arms of a fling.

"Even for our, my, our — you know that's one of the things that bothered me the most; trying to figure out if it had all been some elaborate lie. I was so unsure of everything that when I went to start the process of hiding the cottage, I had actually expected to find out the deed was a fake and it was just some abandoned little place that suited his story. But then realizing it was real kept me attached to the idea that I would hear from him — that he would come back — far longer than I care to admit. I still don't know which is worse. I guess it depends on the day you ask me.

"Anyway, all that to say, even for our first time it was… transcendent. I've never experienced anything like it since. You and Blaise are amongst the lucky few.

"Now then, enough of that. I have a reputation as a heartless bitch to live up to in a few minutes."

Not missing a beat with the sudden slamming of the door to the past, Lavender raged, "I still cannot believe he called you that! Like excuse me! Did he honestly think he could just show up with those soulful blue eyes of his, calling you angel like it's still 1995, and that you would just turn back into the lovesick teenager you once were?" Scoffing as she grabbed the door to the office, she continued, "Well of course he did. Those daft pitch bunnies probably already have their knickers dropped before he even approaches them."

"Actually, the last, 'daft pitch bunny,' I was with was a curse breaker for Gringotts, home on holiday from her post in the Bermuda Triangle," Marcus corrected, coming over from their receiving area to take the door from Lavender, her friends eyes going wide as Hermione internally cringed, afraid at what else he had heard them saying through the open window. Looking directly at her as he tried to relieve her of the hamper, he added, "I found out years ago that whether I can understand a word out of a witch's mouth or not, I have a particular attraction and weakness for intelligence. Especially if they're unafraid to show it and don't dumb themselves down to appease others."

Coming out of his office, Blaise sneered, "Really? Was this the one who you were starkers in the fountain with on New Year's Eve or the one from Thursday night that was sucking your cock on the front page of the Prophet? There's been so many of them, it's hard to keep up." Taking the food for their meeting from Hermione, he too reiterated his newfound distaste for their client by saying, "For the record, I still think we should go with the kerosene idea. I read Wentworth is gunning for shattering Flint's first season records."

"Wentworth is a fucking knobhead," Marcus dismissed, following too close for Hermione's sanity, the fresh application of his familiar cologne filling her nose and clouding her head as they made their way upstairs.

"Oh and you're not?" Lavender mocked. "That must have been the other repeat seventh year Hogwarts had. Our bad."

"Lav," Hermione warned, knowing the depth of insecurity and sensitivity he still held over having to repeat his seventh year after the way he left her office the other morning, his countenance void of all emotion and expression.

"He's paying us to handle him, not coddle him. If he doesn't like it, he can go elsewhere," Blaise said, quick to jump in with his wife.

"Merlin's left nut, what did I ever do to any of you?"

Whirling around so fast, Hermione and Blaise shot their hands out ready to steady her if she lost her balance, Marcus even taking a stance that braced him for catching them both if they fell over, the pregnant blonde jabbed her finger into his chest and spat, "Even you're not that stupid. You know very well what you did, Marcus Flint. You can deny it all you want, but photographs don't lie and half of Britain has seen your cock at this point. So either shut the fuck up and take our shite like a man and say, 'thank you,' for it, or get the fuck out of our offices. Because while Hermione may be willing to help your selfish, philandering arse, the rest of us here are none too happy about it."

Holding her breath and trying to remain as still as possible given that her friend's sudden crowding of Marcus had her pushed almost flush against him, Hermione waited out the tense silence between the two, wishing one of them would blink already. Finally as her chest began to grow tight with the need for air, the hairs along her neck already alert as his breath repeatedly heated her skin, he conceded.

"I already told Hermione that I was in Edinburgh that night."

"What?" Blaise asked, stepping aside to let his stomping wife up ahead of him.

"The picture of me…" he trailed off. Scrubbing his hands over his face before wrapping one around her to grasp the railing, he deflated as he explained, "The picture of me getting head. It's real, it happened after a match against Puddlemere; I'm not denying that. The paper however said it happened the other night and that's not true.

"I was here in Edinburgh that night. It was the night I went with Ades to the restaurant to see Hermione. I couldn't have been in London."

Clearly not believing him as he rolled his eyes and resumed his ascent of the stairs, Blaise poked at his theory, "Floo travel is fast and readily available. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Contrary to popular belief, Zabini, I'm not that stupid. I'm aware of floo travel and how convenient it is having actually used it myself a time or two. But I was not in London that night," he enunciated at the end.

Feeling responsible for how harshly her friends were treating him, Hermione gently defended, "It's true. It was one of the easiest things he mentioned in his file to confirm.

"After sending Ades home on Saturday morning, I went over to the Selkie Inn. Marcus was there in Skins, listening to one of the programs on the wireless, drinking firewhiskey, and making his way through their bar food menu until well after one in the morning. The bartender, three patrons who he took photos with, a waiter, and the witch at reception all confirmed it. He couldn't have been in London on Thursday night as the Prophet reported. Especially not when their deadline for standard publication is midnight."

"See?" Marcus, rubbed in triumphantly. "I'm many things but a liar isn't one of them."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she retracted, making her way up the stairs. "I said what you claim is true. That doesn't automatically translate to you not being a liar."

Looking up at the ceiling for a moment, he spoke so softly she was sure he wasn't even aware his words had escaped his head, "Yeah well, you would know all about being a bloody liar, wouldn't you, angel?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you have to ask, you're as stupid as everyone thinks I am," he mocked, pinning her with the same vacant look from the other morning. "And we both know you're anything but stupid, so lets not pretend."

Brushing past her in the small hallway that was made even more cramped from his commanding size, their fingers grazed each other, stealing her breath as she fought to not react. Though whether her reaction was to yank away or hold on, she wasn't sure — or rather she didn't want to be sure. However, with him seemingly unaffected by the accidental touch as he continued into the war room, she lied to herself and decided her reaction was one of disgust, knowing it would be the only way to get through not only the morning's meeting, but the coming days, weeks, and months of image rehab.

With a small moment passing so that she could tuck away her conversation with Lavender and the subsequent closeness of Marcus and how it had made her heart stutter and race, she followed the other three into the conference room. As Blaise and Lavender arranged themselves on one side of the table and Marcus on the other, she made her way over to the wall of insanity she had spent all weekend putting up, taking down, reordering, and reposting. Locating the tabloid picture of his tattooed back at the center of it all, she grabbed a hold of the neon blue thread — his chosen color back in school for material that eluded his understanding — and followed it to a smaller cluster of moving photographs and articles.

Staring at them for several minutes while the standoff between her past and her present continued to escalate behind her, she examined them all one last time. Like it had been for him, the group she had orbiting the rest, had been too hard to place. And the fact that she couldn't identify a thread for any of the events, left her wondering if she could remain as impartial and unaffected as she would need to in order to properly handle him. Further locking away any questions and uncertainties she had about the merging of her personal and professional life, she made three additional copies of everything from the problematic cluster and sent them to each person gathered at the table.

Ready to dive in, she paused as she looked between Marcus and the abundance of food she had ordered in preparation of asking them all to the office ahead of their normal opening hours, knowing he could and would need and want to eat at least twice during the duration of their first meeting.

Pointing to the empty space in front of him, she asked, "Why aren't you eating?"

"I ate before I came."

"You're nearly two meters tall with a build to match. Surely you must be hungry; you're always hungry."

The mask on his face finally began to crack, his right dimple beginning to appear as he smiled, "True, but unless you're hiding the good revision snacks in that purse of yours I'm fine for the moment."

Only realizing it after she had begun to root around inside her satchel for what he mentioned, her unwitting heart gave another soft thump at the reminder of the hours she held him hostage in the library going into midterms, his NEWTs, and finals. Finding the sealed bag of snacks, she pulled it out and slid it across the table to him, unsure of why she was doing it or of the words that came out of her mouth.

"There's cranberry, pumpkin pie, and apple cinnamon in there. You're too late if you want birthday cake though. I already ate it."

"Of course you did! Your mum used to have to send me my own batch just so I could get some. Always so greedy when it came to those," he laughed, opening the bag up and wasting no time in biting into one of the cranberry protein balls. "How are your parents? I imagine they're quite proud of all this and what you and Potter did for the country. Probably had you expand the mantle in Sam's office again so they could put more of your pictures and news articles out."

Clearing her throat, Hermione looked down at the stack she had retrieved from the wall and answered, "Dead," the standard lie that she had told so many times since going on the run that it almost felt real.

"What?" he asked sharply, startling her at the sudden anger that was lacing his voice and hardening his features.

Glancing at Lavender and Blaise, who were watching them with rapt attention and open curiosity, she shuffled the papers to hide her unsteady hands as she repeated the lie that had helped keep her parents safe, "Dead. They were some of the first to be found and killed after the Death Eaters overthrew the Ministry."

Methodically cleaning his hands on a napkin, Marcus carefully resealed the bag, holding it out for her as he quietly reasoned, "Right… they would have had your home on record from the trace meaning it was all for naught." Meeting her eye as their fingers touched once more, he held onto the bag a moment longer, saying, "I'm sorry about your parents. Muggle or magical, Martha and Sam were two of the kindest, most open hearted people I've ever met. They didn't deserve that."

Snatching her hand back as if he had burned her, Hermione shoved the bag of protein balls she carried with her for when she worked through lunch, dinner, or the night, and flippantly dismissed, "Yeah well, that's war for you. A lot of people were needlessly hurt or killed. Now if you're done, I'd like to start. The less time you're in the office, the less chance of anyone getting wind of you having hired us, and therefore the more believable your turned over leaf will be."

Ready to follow her swift change, Blaise picked up the first article and asked, "What are we looking at here? This is just the announcement of Flint having bought out his own contract with the Ibizan Hounds so he could come play for Montrose after the fall of Voldemort."

"Where he took a thirty-three percent pay cut," Lavender added. "Or so I've heard."

"You not only used your own money to buy out your contract — a contract which gave you shares in team ownership for every three seasons you played as lead chaser I might add — but took a pay cut to come play for Montrose?" Blaise clarified. "What in Salazar's chamber would possess you to have done something so incredibly stupid? At best they were a second tier team when you joined; and that's being generous. You gambled your entire career to play for them."

"Yeah and I helped raise them from half filled stadiums mostly composed of fans of the opposing teams to sold out matches, a waiting list for season ticket purchases, and a National Team made up of a quarter of our players in 2002. A team that we ended up winning the World Cup with, mind you."

"All things that would have increased your ownership shares with the Hounds," Blaise doubled down, his own occasional tendency to fall into being a quaffle head coming out. "Seriously mate, what were you thinking?"

Thumbing through the seemingly random article clippings, Marcus shrugged, "That I'd been away from my home long enough."

"But—"

"Why are these separated? They're all true," Lavender interrupted.

Laying each one out on the table in chronological order, Hermione summoned several photos and articles of increasing salaciousness that had served as tabloid fodder. Laying them as links between the selected articles, she explained, "Shortly following each of these stories, Marcus found himself in the center of a maelstrom of paparazzi and tabloid coverage. Prior to coming back to Scotland, he was very much a brawling, bed hoping, camera smashing, public relations nightmare. Then he returned just days after we had won the war and there was nothing. There was complete media silence surrounding him.

"Initially when I was looking at it all, it made sense. A bunch of children had just won a war and Harry had survived a killing curse from Voldemort for the second time. Of course the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and all the others wouldn't waste valuable headline space on trying to keep up with who was currently warming Marcus Flint's bed or who he had gotten into his latest fight with. But then I remembered the story that came out about you and Blaise shortly before we left.

"Kings had just been named the interim Minister; Hogwarts was being rebuilt; initiatives to integrate muggleborns before the age of eleven were getting pushed through; Harry was starting Auror training; trials galore were taking place with scores of high ranking Ministry officials being outed as Voldemort sympathizers; and yet all anyone wanted to talk about was how Blaise had cruelly dumped his war hero girlfriend upon seeing her after she had been mauled by Greyback.

"There was no mention of how he helped us fight, protected the younger students during the reign of terror at the school, or how he was the one to save you. It was all focused on your breakup."

Nodding along as she trailed her fingers down Blaise's arm, Lavender recalled, "I remember that. We left right after I gave my statement clarifying that I broke up with him. And I think one of the last issues we received before terminating our subscription was about where in the world you disappeared to and why you weren't helping rebuild society and attending the funerals of the fallen."

"Exactly. From one news cycle to the next, I went from the darling muggleborn poster girl to a cold, heartless, bitch who couldn't be arsed to attend the never ending line of funerals and memorials," Hermione smiled. Looking at Marcus whose face had scrunched up at her words and rubbing the back of his neck, she quipped, "Seems as though your new assessment of me is correct."

"Angel, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't-"

"Save it," she cut off. "And don't call me that. We'll consider it your first rule of being a client of Golden Fire.

"Anyway, his reputation in Spain didn't follow him home until the fall. And with nothing having been covered between his return in May and the first tabloid publication that centered around him in October, that leaves five months unaccounted for.

"Something happened in that block of time and I want to know what. Furthermore, I want to know what happened directly before each of these other stories hit the press."

Shuffling the articles together, Lavender stood up from the table and went over to the windows that displayed the highlight reel of the last decade of Marcus's life. Following the blue thread back to the center, she began duplicating additional photos, notes, and articles, her mind working too fast for them to question as she picked and chose the ones that stood out to her. Once she was satisfied, she summoned a folder to store everything in and circled the table so that she stood before Marcus.

Pulling him out with aid of both the wheels on his seat and him, she put her hands on each of the arm rests and brought herself nearly cheek to cheek with him. Hissing too low in his ear for either her or Blaise to hear, she punctuated her words by pushing him back and growling, "So fuck around and found out, Flint."

"Merlin witch, I love it when you do that," Blaise purred, his already hooded eyes growing smaller as he appraised his wife with a smile that was near indecent.

"Later, my love," the blonde cooed, cupping his cheek affectionately. "Right now I have to hit the streets and ambush a few unsuspecting reporters and photographers."

"Keep talking dirty like that and later is about to be right now down in my office."

Chuckling with the same sort of longing fondness she often knew reflected out of her own eyes when watching them, Marcus asked, "Are they always like this?"

"Always. It's sickeningly adorable," she confirmed, perching herself on the edge of the table, the hem of her skirt riding up to reveal a peek of her toned thigh.

"I like it. They make you believe that love doesn't end in unrequited misery."

Sobering as the bubble they had fallen into popped, Hermione stood up and collected a small stack of parchment saying, "Yeah well, you would know all about that wouldn't you?"

Making a noncommittal noise, Marcus shrugged and finally reached out to the spread of food. Grabbing a croissant. He tore it in half and began picking out the inner layers, reminding her that no matter the length of time, some things never changed. Whether he was eighteen, twenty-eight, or a hundred and eight, she was sure he would never willingly eat any sort of bread crust— even the delicious flaky and buttery shell of a well made croissant. And for a brief, flickering moment in time as she watched him eat, she smiled while thinking of him.

Following Lavender's departure, Hermione and Blaise got down to the brass tacks of what would be required of Marcus going forward as a client, namely complete transparency. Nothing was a secret and everything was fair game. They couldn't help him if he withheld information from them or danced around the truth, a point they drove home several times when laying out the details of their two way contract. Then there was the none too minor detail of him being expressly forbidden to discuss anything that was not directly related to an upcoming or newly completed match with the media. And finally, the stipulation that he was to go nowhere and be seen with no one unless he had received their prior approval. Until they figured out the connection between the spirals of bad publicity and the egregious — even by paparazzi standards — and repeated invasion of his privacy, they didn't want him around anyone that could potentially be a leak. And unfortunately for Hermione, that meant his social life was about to downsize to only include Adrian, Blaise, Lavender, and herself until they brokered a mutually beneficial arrangement with whichever witch he selected for his farce of a relationship.

With the finer points of what having them on his payroll would entail, they then moved on to rolling out their plan for him. Over the next three and a half weeks they would slowly pull him from the media's eye. The first step would be ceasing any further scenes of him capping a night of debauchery by being seen leaving with a witch, or two. From there they planned to dwindle his late night appearances in pubs and clubs with the goal of having him completely removed within one month. Finally they had demanded he lift the freeze out he had put around his charity work.

For as publicly as he had lived his life over the last decade, the numerous volunteer hours he put in and the exorbitant amount of galleons he funneled into children's sports and learning programs had never been covered. Neither had his involvement in Hands, Paws, Claws, and Hooves — an organization seeking to bridge the gap in creature equality — or his continuous efforts in garnering support for the war orphans that so many had slowly started to forget about as the years passed. It was something not even Hermione had been aware of when she had begun digging into him over the weekend. A fact that surprised her since she sat on the board for both HPCH and A Hero's Legacy.

Marcus — who up until the mention of his charity work had been unquestioningly on board with everything she and Blaise had laid out for him — had dug his heels in on the idea. He was adamant that he didn't want the organizations used as a publicity stunt in his rehab and had turned the tables by ordering them to either rewrite their plans with equal input from him or strike it from their list all together. Even going as far as calling their capability into question if they were unable to achieve their means without such a stunt. But by mid-morning they had fleshed out, clarified, and amended all the details of his first weeks as their client.

Repeatedly tapping the nub his quill in counts of three on their table, Marcus flipped to the next section of his image rehab timeline and read aloud, "'Romance of Convenience.' What do you mean by that?"

"Here we go," Blaise commented excitedly, sitting back in his chair, ready to watch Hermione explain.

Tickling the feather of her quill along her mouth, she pursed her lips at her business partner hanging her out to dry and slowly started, "Things in Phase One aren't enough. Your reputation and credibility are completely tanked. Instead of seeing a new side to you, they'll just be waiting for the right quaffle to drop to send you back to how you've been."

"Okay yeah, that makes sense but how exactly do you plan to achieve bolstering my standing with, 'proper association?'"

Setting the quill down, she summoned an additional folder that held a variety of pre-vetted and specifically selected witches for him. Sliding it across the table, she explained without the help of Blaise, "In here you will find a list of seventeen witches. All of them are wonderful candidates with varying combinations of what appeals to you emotionally, intellectually, and physically.

"We want you to select a few that you would like for us to arrange a private meeting with. After you sit down with them, either here or at a neutral and secure location, you'll pick one to be your girlfriend through at least the World Cup with us arranging a public 'first meeting' for the two of you in an environment in which we can control."

"You want to set me up with a prostitute?" he laughed without humor. "You can't be fucking serious. I thought the idea was to make the public like me and win over a new contract with the Magpies. Not fucking screw me over more by arranging for me to openly date a damn hooker."

"They're not hookers," Blaise finally said.

"Really? Well since you two have the law degrees, tell me, what is the proper term for a witch or wizard who trades their romantic and sexual company for money? I'm not fucking doing this. If this gets out, my career in Britain or anywhere in the world is definitely over."

Catching the file as he shoved it back to her, Hermione huffed, "They're not prostitutes, Marcus. No money will be exchanged between you and them, or us and them on your behalf. These are highly respectable women, whom we know professionally and personally. It's simply an arrangement between two parties who will garner benefit. We do this all the time. They have something you need and you have something they need. How real or fake you make the relationship outside of your prearranged meetings and dates will be entirely up to you and whomever you choose.

"You have to trust us. The turnaround time you have to secure a spot on the National Team and a new contract does not offer us a lot to work with.

"You need someone at your side who will vouch for you. Someone people will not think to question when they say you've turned over a new leaf; that you've laid your past to rest; that you're looking to live a more quiet and wholesome life now that you've sowed your wild oats or whatever lame arse excuse men give for being whores that's so widely accepted."

"And what happens when they get what they want and reveal the circumstances around how we met?"

"Then we sue them for breach of contract and ruin their reputation and credibility to likes of which the Wizarding World has never seen," Blaise easily responded. "Flint, we're not going to lead you into anything that could potentially make things worse for you. It would be counterproductive and only make our job harder.

"Personal history and feelings aside, we are professionals and Hermione is the best at what she does. If you can't trust anything else, trust that she has already gone over every possible plan to help you and every scenario that could come about under those plans."

Stretching his fingers across his forehead, Marcus rubbed his temples for several minutes, looking at the floor. Then blowing out a dejected sounding raspberry, he held his hand out for the folder before flicking his wand at their bar cart and summoning their decanter of firewhiskey and a tumbler.

"Anyone else want one?" he asked, dropping several ice cubes into the glass before pouring in an entire hand's worth of liquor.

Feeling something burn hot and vicious within her at his easy acceptance of the plan, Hermione mumbled her agreement. And as he opened the file and began reading the front page which detailed the finer points of what would be required of his arranged relationship, she took several gulps to better pretend the sudden discomfort she was feeling was born from some external force and not from unresolved and denied feelings, though it was difficult. She could lie to the world and bend their perception of her as easily as breathing but never to herself. The idea that she could manifest her will by sheer force of thought had always been an elusive concept to execute. If it hadn't been, she was sure that she would have been able to successfully leave Marcus in her past by now.

Breaking her unwanted introspection, he bluntly and brutally began nixing the witches within the folder that she had spent hours selecting.

"Not intelligent enough… I prefer brunettes… too tall…"

"You're the size of a bloody tree! What do you mean, 'too tall?'" she demanded.

"I mean, her listed height is just shy of six foot. I prefer someone of a much smaller stature," he answered without looking up. Continuing in his ruthless cutting, he added, "Again, not smart enough… another blonde… and now a redhead… green eyes are also a no… so are blue… her family was politically aligned with You-Know-Who and she elected to remain neutral, I can't have that given my father… again, too tall…"

"Merlin's sac, you're picky!" Hermione cried. "You sleep with any consenting witch you can find and now you're acting as if I've brought you a parade of trolls in dresses."

Slamming the folder down, Marcus pinned her with his ocean eyes and ticked off, "Physically, she needs to be a brunette — preferably with hair that will try and smother me in my sleep but I'll yield on that. She needs to have brown eyes, similar to the whiskey you're currently drinking, and she needs to be absolutely dwarfed by my height. We're talking someone short enough that even if they have on four or five inch heels they still don't rise above my chest and fit perfectly under my arm. Someone who when, not if, the vultures come after while we're out, I can easily shield with my own body.

"Intellectually, I want a witch who can run circles around me. Not just be smarter than me, because that's easy enough to find in most women. She needs to be the smartest person in any room she walks into and unafraid to show it or challenge those who dismiss her.

"Emotionally, she needs to be a tactile person who will not only be open to me showing her affection, but reciprocate it. She also needs to be kind, gentle, forgiving, and patient. At least within reason because I don't want someone who will be a doormat and go along with whatever I say or want because it'll keep this ridiculous ruse going.

"And most importantly, I want someone who isn't just in this for themselves because if I'm going to do this, whoever I pick better be ready for a commitment way beyond that of the World Cup. I haven't had a girlfriend or even been with the same witch more than a handful of times in ten years for a reason. I will not compromise myself and promises I made by saying I'm in love or on my way to being in love with some random bint you all but pulled off the fucking street like a prostitute."

Holding her hands out as if she were about to choke him, Hermione stifled an exasperated scream with a stomp of her foot.

"You… you… you infuriating arsehole! I am doing you a favor by helping you and you are being completely unreasonable. Perfect does not exist! It is an illusion made up for the sake of fairy tales and only believed by those too naive to know better. And for the last time, they are not prostitutes!"

Standing up from his chair and coming toe to toe with her so that she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his openly expressive eyes, Marcus murmured, "Then I guess I'm naïve, because I've already experienced perfection and I won't settle for anything less," his words leaving her unguarded and dumbfounded as he lifted her chin with the side of his knuckle and pressed his lips to hers.

Before she could fully process his words or the stomach fluttering return of feeling of his soft, plump lips against hers, he was stepping back and telling Blaise, "If I'm to do this, it's with Hermione or not at all. None of those witches will garner favor for me as quickly or as devoutly as she will," as he collected his notes and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "See you in a week, angel."

"He's right and we are so fucked because of it" Blasie swore, throwing his quill on the table as he too gave in to the temptation of a mid-morning glass of whiskey. "You are his perfect candidate, but shite… Flint is going to ruin us."

Tracing her lips as she fell into her chair, she hummed, "I know."

"We don't have to do this, Hermione. I will go after him right now and terminate our contract. You just have to say the word."

"You just said it, he's right. I tick every box of what he's looking for, therefore making it believable to the masses. I also have the social capital he desperately needs. Besides, he's our client and regardless of our history I have to treat him as I would anyone else who walked through that door."

"So that's it? You've already decided."

Finally pulling her hand away from her mouth, she asked, "Would this even be up for discussion if it were anyone else?"

"But it's not. You have loved and hated him in equal measure which makes him a problem. Our job may be to protect our clients, but my job is to protect you."

"And I love you for it but you don't need to worry, Blaise," she responded, staring at the image of angel wings tattooed on Marcus's back until it blurred. "There's nothing left to protect. He made sure of that."