Chapter Sixteen

"Hermione," Marcus called up the stairs of his Montrose home, the two of them having relocated once his practice schedule resumed. "I love you and find everything about you to be perfect, but I swear to Salazar, witch, I will leave your sweet arse if you don't hurry up. I need to be at the pitch in less than fifteen minutes and you're stressing me the fuck out."

Slowly trotting down the stairs as she fussed over the top of her black suede thigh high boots, she rolled her eyes and said, "Relax, I'm coming."

Looking down at her as she stepped off the last stair and barely reached the bottom of his chest in her flat shoes, he bit his lip and groaned, "Fuck," checking his watch. Making a pained sort of noise, he clenched and unclenched his hands around the strap of his duffel bag, saying, "I'm so fucking tempted to be late. It's not like they're going to re-sign me anyway so I may as well just bend you over the couch back now."

Dancing out of his reach as he went to grab the skater hem of her miniskirt, she chastised, "Uh-uh, you were just talking about leaving my arse because I was going to make you late."

"Yes, and now I'm talking about fucking your arse."

"Oh no you are not. One finger, maybe even two, sure. Your cock? Definitely not."

Bending at the waist to pick up Sulley and give Marcus a glimpse of her boy short covered bum with, Property of Marcus Flint, written across the cheeks as she rubbed her nose against their kitten's little pink one, she instantly switched to speaking in a baby voice, "Come on, into mummy's purse you go, sweet boy. We get to watch daddy play today." Then turning around and walking backward down the hall to the front door, she smiled with her tongue in her cheek as Marcus followed after her like a man under a spell, saying, "Your cock is never going in my bum. You make me walk funny just by putting it in my vagina. That thing is never, ever coming near my tush," before skipping out the front door, yelling, "Now who's making us late? Hurry up, love!"

"Just the tip?" he laughed, not even having to jog to catch up to her.

"Nope."

"Fine, I prefer your little pussy anyways."

"You're a depraved man, Mr. Flint."

"I didn't hear you complaining last night. In fact if I recall, you were the one telling me, 'please play with my arse,' after I brushed over it a few times, Mrs. Flint."

Showing him her left ring finger as he took her right hand in his, she ignored her blush and the truth of his words about what new adventure they had gotten into the night prior after he came home to find her reading a rather erotic novel on the couch and said, "For all your talk, there isn't a ring on this finger, love. So until there is, it's still Miss Granger to you."

"I can easily fix that," he challenged, starting to let go of her hand. "Two minutes."

Tightening her fingers around his, she gave an exasperated sigh, yanking him back as she said, "We're running late, remember?"

However truth be told, she desperately wanted him to go back in and retrieve the ring she knew he still had. By his own admission he wanted everything with her as soon as possible and yet he hadn't asked for more since her agreement to move in with him and it was beginning to drive her spare. Each day when he would leave for practice, she would either secretly open his grandmother's box back up to look at the ring or call Lavender on the floo to obsessively talk about why he hadn't brought it up yet. Some days she did both and when she thought about the fact that they had only been in his home for five days, she felt like a nutter.

They were just approaching being back together for two weeks so she knew it was fast. Far too fast some would say, herself included if she were on the outside looking in on them. But she couldn't help herself. Each worshipful word he spoke to her; every reverent kiss he placed on her lips and body; the mundane, slice of life actions they partook in as they adjusted to being in each other's space round the clock; the whispers of what their future could hold; the filthy and arousing things he said in the heat of the moment when they made love. It all knitted and came together in a blanket that he promised to wrap her up in but wasn't following through on.

True, she still had several, rather large, issues to sort out for him and herself and she also had the unenviable task of being the one to tell him about Adrian, all of which were sound arguments — whether he knew them or not — as to why waiting was the better course of action. The rational part of her mind that had been all but smothered the longer she spent with Marcus also whispered about the unromantic things that she admitted were also valid. Things like how much they no doubt had both changed over the last decade and how they needed to learn each other as adults and not teenagers though in both periods of their lives they suffered from the highest degree of being lovesick; how they were currently experiencing the honeymoon phase of a relationship; and how both now and then, they had never experienced any true discord, their manipulated breakup being the only thing bigger than a small ripple to have ever hit them.

Even with all that taken into account though, she knew as surely as he said he did, that this was it for her. He was it, the one and only man or wizard she would ever love. And be it rash and impulsive, but she didn't want to wait to start their lives together. They had waited long enough and she knew first hand how quickly you could lose those you loved the most; and she did not want to lose Marcus ever again. The very idea of having to go back to a life without him in it loving her each and every day pulled forth a visceral reaction from inside her chest.

But as Lavender kept reminding her, patient as ever as Hermione lost herself to her emotions each day — an occurrence that hadn't happened in years before she was reacquainted and united with Marcus — he loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt and possessed as little self control as she did when it came to their relationship. There wasn't a doubt in her friend's mind that the question she had been waiting to hear him ask her for a decade was coming before too long.

Kissing her head as he brought her safely under his arm, Marcus said, "Fine, but only because I'm paying this harridan of a witch a small fortune to fix my image and I'm pretty sure she'll string me up my bollocks if I do anything to mess up her plan for me… again."

"I am—"

"The bossiest little witch I have ever met and I love it when you order me around," he interrupted, pressing his lips to hers as he Disapparated them.

Arriving at the pitch, they landed right in the middle of a nest of photographers and reporters. The scene of pre-match interviews and photographs was already one of chaos. However their arrival raised the bar by several notches as a frenzy ensued over capturing the first image of the two of them together since the interview she had arranged as damage control. From every direction questions were shouted at them and the bright flash of bulbs went off.

Pulling her large purse to her stomach as she felt Sulley begin to nervously shift around, Hermione instantly regretted the choice as a reporter yelled, "Granger! Is that a baby bump you're hiding?" spawning a dozen more reporters to spout off their own inquiries about the current status of her womb.

Allowing Marcus to take charge of the situation, wanting to be just his girlfriend and not his crisis manager for one day, she turned her head into his chest as he pulled her closer to his body. As more bulbs flooded her vision, he brought his large hand around her shoulders to shield her face from the overzealous photographers. It was as they trudged their way through to the players' entrance though that her attention was caught.

Marcus had her inside the stadium far too quickly for her to confirm what she had heard but for a moment, a single reporter's voice breached her deafened ears. She couldn't be sure of their question with more and more people having begun to ask about rumors of their elopement over Valentine's Day and the newest rumor of their growing love child but she could have sworn she had been asked about Sicily. Sulley's terrified shrieks however quickly stole her train of thought as she freed the chubby lump from her purse, cooing in his little ears as she played with his soft paws to soothe his frazzled nerves.

Ruffling the kitten's black spotted silver colored fur, Marcus said, "I think after a week of lazy quiet, the vultures are too stimulating for him. Do you think we should get him a sitter for the next several matches?"

Laughing at how serious he was and how she found herself to be giving the question actual consideration, Hermione chuckled, "Godric, do you hear us? We're talking about a cat, for magic's sake."

"Still our first born, aren't you boy?" he responded, plucking their four legged baby from her arms. Carrying the overly large half-kneazle kitten on his arm, he led them towards the locker room asking, "Did you still want to have your clandestine meeting with the trainers and healers?"

"If it was clandestine, you wouldn't know about it. But yes, I do. Blaise sent me some questions he and Lavender want answers to after they found something curious amongst the details of who has been blackmailing you."

"Fine," he agreed, abruptly turning so that he had her backed against the wall. "But afterwards, girlfriend not fixer. We agreed."

Grabbing a hold of his waistband, Hermione pulled him closer, craning her neck back as she looked up into his blue-green eyes, promising, "As soon as I get my answers, the crisis manager hat will come off. I swear."

"Good," he murmured, bending down to kiss her.

Whimpering as she felt his cock begin to harder along her belly, she stroked her hand down his abdomen and dipped her fingers inside his pants. Pulling back the skintight, athletic underwear he wore, she circled her palm over the head of his cock, collecting the escaping moisture to lubricate her hand.

Pumping her hand down his half erect length once, then twice, she twisted her wrist to reach lower and moved her attention to his heavy sac. Rolling each part of him in her palm, she breathed against his mouth, "How long after a match before the locker rooms are clear of people?"

Rubbing himself along her stomach, he grunted, "Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes."

"And the interviews?"

"Fifteen to twenty, but fuck…" he drawled, slipping Sulley back into her purse as he fisted his hand through her tamed curls in response to her returning her touch to his shaft.

Twisting her wrist as she brought her grip just beneath his head, Marcus moaned along her mouth, "Merlin, that feels so good. Your hand is so small. Can you even completely close your fingers around me?"

"That's far too long to wait," she hummed in response, looking down the corridor in both directions.

Finding it to be devoid of people, Hermione pulled her hand away to begin freeing his cock as she lowered herself to her knees.

"Shite, angel," he responded with a needy, guttural sound. "What if someone comes by?"

Looking up at him through her lashes and feeling her breath escape her at how hungry and ardent his gaze was, she boldly replied, "Then I should probably be quick," closing her lips around his head and beginning to suck his cock to the back of her mouth.

The stifled grown Marcus let out as his hips jerked forward, had Hermione giving off a stimulating hum around his length. With her jaw relaxed, she bobbed her head up and down with an echoing sucking noise as she chased the hand that worked the inches of him that couldn't fit in her mouth and down her throat. Bringing her other hand to his sac to join the efforts of her swirling tongue, she gently squeezed and pulled until the threads of his control frayed apart.

Swearing up a storm as he threaded his other hand through her hair, he rumbled, "Tap my thigh if it's too much," before driving his hips into her mouth and guiding her head up and down his shaft at a faster pace.

Letting go of him in favor of holding on to the tight muscle of his bum as she enjoyed the view of watching him lose control with her, she met his shining, pupil-blown gaze. His cheeks quickly colored and his lips parted in ecstasy while his body vibrated with barely leashed sounds of desire. Reverent as ever even as he used her to chase a fast release, drawn out groans and loving stutters of her name fell from his mouth. Further enticing her own arousal as she glutted herself on the sight of him giving in to the rare indulgence of accepting oral sex from her without reciprocity, he interchanged between tightly cupping the back of her head and caressing her cheeks, jaw, and throat, handling her like a precious, delicate doll.

Sinking his teeth deeply into his brightly colored bottom lip, the pink flesh started to turn white. Then far too quickly for her liking despite their open location and its requirement for a hard and fast exchange, he was coming down the back of her throat with a deep grunt, his reflexes pushing her as far down his length as she could while his gentle mind tried to remain cognizant of her comfort and pull her back some.

Lapping at what remained of his release as he folded his arms on the wall behind her and rested his forehead against them, working to catch his breath, she smiled, "No excuses for losing now."

"Angel, you don't know what you've just started," he panted. "If we win today, athlete superstition may take over."

"If you win," she scoffed, giving a final lick along the underside of his softening cock before tucking him away. "You all are on your way to a—"

"Ah!" he scolded. "Don't finish that sentence."

Raising her hands up in surrender, she conceded, "Lips sealed," as Marcus took the opportunity to hook his hands under her arms and hoist her up off her knees.

"Thank you," he said, wiping his thumb along the corner of her mouth and popping the combination of his come and her saliva into his own before lacing his fingers through hers and pushing open the door they had stopped by, the hall filling with a dozen or more rowdy conversations.

Looking up at him with wide eyes, she hissed, "We were right by the locker room? What if someone came out or heard?" unaware of how close they had actually come to being happened upon.

"Then it's a good thing we were quick," he cheekily retorted, guiding her to the left of the room and down a hall of small offices that were located away from his rambunctious teammates. Knocking on the open door frame, he asked, "Doc, you got a minute?"

"What's up, Flint? You need more recovery draughts?"

"Recovery draughts?" Hermione mouthed, trying not to laugh.

Smooshing his large hand over her face as he pulled her into the office, he laughingly hushed her, "Even at eighteen I wouldn't have been able to manage the refractory period I have the last two weeks. Add in two a day practices and training and of course I've been using a supplement."

"You realize we don't have to have sex multiple times a day right or even every day?" she asked, unable to control her laughter as she forgot the company they were in front of.

"Sweet magic, you two really are a couple," the team's head healer whistled, breaking Marcus's shameless moment that would have embarrassed any other wizard. "I mean we heard of it, saw it even, but Helga's tits, we all thought it was a publicity stunt. I mean he's…"

"A man whore?" Hermione supplied, taking the offered seat across the healer's desk.

"I mean, yes," he bluntly agreed. "And you're…"

"Painted as a wanton slag or a frigid bitch depending on when in the last decade you're looking me up?"

Shrugging again at her accurate summary of how she had been painted over the years, he nodded, "Basically."

Looking up and behind the back of the chair where Marcus hovered over her, she smiled, "Go get dressed in your kit, love. You were all stressed out not twenty minutes ago about being late. I'm a full grown witch; I can have conversations without you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he teased, leaning down to kiss her. "I'll come grab you and take you to the players' box before the match, okay?"

Humming as she stole another kiss, she agreed, "Okay."

Watching as he bent down to pet Sulley before leaving the room, she craned her neck to be sure he was far enough down the hall before flicking two fingers at the door, wandlessly slamming it shut. Closing off the face of a besotted girlfriend, she moved to the edge of her seat and primly crossed her ankles as she said, "I'm going to need an official copy of Marcus's entire medical history to include all the drug tests he's been administered since coming to play for Montrose. If you have them from the Hounds, I'll take those too, but those years aren't my primary concern.

"The last five years are especially important, but I want them all please."

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger-"

"Hermione is fine. And you are?"

"Johnathan, but you have to understand, Hermione, I can't just give you a player's medical history. I know his past is probably concerning but I can assure you, Marcus is in perfect health. You needn't worry."

"I'm not asking as a girlfriend who wants to know where his prick has been, when, and how often. Frankly, I don't care. We're both clean and that's all either of us really care to know of the other's sexual history. He's also not the type to engage in intercourse when he could put his partner at risk.

"I'm asking you as his attorney and crisis manager," she explained, extracting the file of signed documents Blaise had sent over from her purse. Laying it out for Johnathan, she flipped to the blanket waiver that gave her full authority and access to Marcus's personal accounts and information. Pointing first to the legal heading and then to his signature and date, she said, "If I'm ever speaking to you without him present, you can guarantee I'm here in an official capacity on his behalf," duplicating the paperwork. Handing them over, she needlessly explained,"For your personal records."

Taking them to a rather large and unsightly filing cabinet, the Magpie's healer tapped his wand on its top, making the third drawer shoot out. Combing through the files, he pulled one out and tucked the papers she provided him away before bringing it back to his desk. Handing it over for her to look at before copying its contents, he asked, "Do we get to know what this is about?"

"That depends," she answered without looking up as she started speed reading his injury and recovery history. "Are you lot going to tell me why he hasn't been offered a new player's contract? After all, he was instrumental in getting this team into the league's primer tier. That in and of itself should garner him favor with the front office for as long he helps maintain that standing."

Furrowing his brow at her, he drew her full attention as he slowly explained, "The owners and coaches are divided about the future of his role with the team. They haven't been able to pin a firm decision down one way or the other."

"And he isn't aware of this squabble, because?"

"Um, because his contracts are handled by his attorney, Pucey. All legal information is supposed to pass through him as is standard practice with all the players per the league's regulations. As for why he wouldn't be aware of this, well that's something to ask Pucey, not us."

Snapping the folder closed as her eyes zeroed in on positive drug results for Eros Disinhibitor, she swore, "Fucking, Adrian." Holding it back out, she reminded, "An official copy, please."

Using his wand to first duplicate the file's contents and then again to stamp each page with the Magpie's seal and his credentials, Johnathan handed her requested set back to her and said, "That stuff isn't illegal."

"I'm sorry?"

"Eros Disinhibitor. It's not a banned substance. I mean it's odd seeing it used by someone as young as him since it's commonly utilized to treat erectile dysfunction, but even using it recreationally in order to perform without refractory periods isn't banned."

"I'm aware," she seethed, quickly apologizing for her uncharitable demeanor as she packed the answers that confirmed Blaise's suspicions away. Reaching out her hand to shake the healer's she said, "Thank you very much, Johnathan. And I promise, seeing me in this capacity won't be a regular occurrence. I much prefer being Marcus's girlfriend to anything else. In the future you all will be working with my business partner instead. I'm regularly told he's much more charming than I am."

As they stood up and began to move towards more pleasant conversation on their way out of the office, Marcus knocked once before opening the door and asking, "Can I steal my witch back?"

"I'm all yours," she smiled, waving to Johnathan as Marcus led her from the office.

"Business done?" he asked, looking down at her with a soft, inquisitive gaze.

"All done. Fixer hat off and replaced with my obsessed girlfriend one."

"Tomorrow?"

Ducking under his arm as they came up to the players' box, she solemnly nodded her head. "Yeah. I just want to have this afternoon to fret over you and your apparently pre-arthritic shoulder while your flying takes years off my life. Then maybe after, you'll take me out to a quiet dinner before keeping me up far too late by making love to me, so that I can think of you all day tomorrow when I have to return to my job."

"Anything you want, angel."

"Anything, anything?"

"You need only ask," he started to say before they were interrupted by an exuberant squeal.

"Is this her? We were all so disappointed that you sat with the opposing team's owner again for the last match.

"We've been dying to meet the witch that has finally tamed Flint and here you are!" the witch shrieked, almost bouncing in place as she took Hermione's hand to shake it and lead her over to a small group of women and a few men who were all watching on with excited and curious faces. "Honestly I don't know why we're all surprised. I mean obviously it would take someone remarkable to make him hang up his plow. And I mean look at you! It's like every other broom chasing slag has been a poor man's placeholder for you.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone. Though of course we all know who you are. Hermione fucking Granger; Flint, do not let her get away. Like the fact that she isn't already wearing a ring on her left hand has me questioning you. She is the type you lock down immediately."

"I'm working on it, Zoe," Marcus laughed. Looking over her head at the others, he pointed to each of them saying, "I expect my witch to be in one, un-traumatized piece when this match is over." Pulling her into him for a quick kiss that made several of the wives sigh, he quietly teased, "Have fun, angel. I'd rather take multiple bludgers to the head than be where you are."

"So would I," she mouthed over her shoulder as Zoe dragged her along, telling Marcus to move his arse to the field already.

Despite her initial judgment upon meeting the exuberant Zoe and the rest of the eager spouses, Hermione ended up enjoying herself a great deal during the game. In a continued show of irony, she found she wasn't the only person involved with a professional quidditch player who abhorred flying. Nor was she the only one who had no personal passion for the sport beyond the investment of seeing the one they loved succeed at their dreams. The bunch of spouses and one long term boyfriend, had been welcoming and personable and by the end of the match, she felt cautiously optimistic about being accepted by the closely knit group of friends. However, her caution was streaked with suspicion; a new feeling for her in regards to making acquaintances in light of having been so deeply betrayed by someone she had counted as a friend for so long.

After the game — which the Magpies won by more than a narrow margin bringing the team one step closer to achieving a perfect season, a title that would be a league first — she waited outside the locker room with Zoe, whom she was beginning to think would get on splendidly with she and Lavender if she could unwrap herself from the knee jerk reaction of mistrust. Smiling as the perky redhead nearly tackled her husband upon his exit, she waved the witch and the seeker off as they lingered a moment to keep her company. She knew Marcus wouldn't be much longer and figured there was no sense in prolonging the perfunctory post match interviews about their game play. And true to assumption, her own player came out just a few minutes after Atlas.

Lowering her purse with a sleeping Sulley, Hermione jumped in his arms, her fingers combing through his wet hair as she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and kissed him. "You were amazing," she congratulated, before they got too lost in the moment.

Holding on to her as he bent to the side to grab her bag and shoulder it along with his own, Marcus teased, "Would you honestly know if I had played like shite?"

After a moment of true consideration, she answered, "I think so. Even for a pick up match you always played with this determined sense of focus. Your face gets harsh and angry looking when you're in the zone of your element. If you didn't have that, I would think you were having an off day regardless of what the scoreboard said.

"You're very serious about quidditch and constantly strive to play at your best and push yourself to go beyond that even if you have to achieve it only an inch at a time. Love for the game or not, it's actually a trait I find quite attractive."

Giving her another kiss as he slowly lowered her down his body, he replied, "I've always loved how you're impressed by the simplest things."

"I wouldn't call passion, simple," she hummed, relishing in how small she felt against his side when in flat shoes.

"Fair enough," he agreed. Guiding her down the labyrinth of stadium corridors, he asked, "Okay, fixer hat on. What questions am I to be vague on and which ones am I to avoid altogether?"

"Be vague but genuine on anything involving us. As a celebrity, a loss of some privacy is expected. People want to feel like they know you, like they could be your best mate if the stars aligned and their path crossed with yours. But it's a slippery slope. The more you invite them in, the less ground you retain in regards to what you wish to remain private. They begin to feel entitled to the details of your life and as such, can turn awful when you shut them out.

"Speak freely as you always have on anything game related but hold your tongue when asked about other players and teams. If asked about the National team or your future status with the Magpies, throw the quaffle into the league's hands and that of Montrose. You play for them but they don't own you. Don't let them off the hook. Your exchange with them is transactional and while they leave you in limbo, they are not holding up their end. So don't do them any favors but also don't burn any bridges.

"Anything else, you respond with, 'no comment.' If they become persistent, take control of the situation and politely announce your departure. They'll lose a story and in the process learn a lesson about how to navigate the waters of the new you.

"And if they get too aggressive, I'll handle it. No one wants me as an enemy, especially because they know I'll be the one acting as the gatekeeper to exclusive interviews with you."

"Mmm… see there you go again, turning on that bossy little attitude," he hummed, grabbing a handful of her bum. "Brings me to my knees every time."

"I guess I could get used to being called a harridan if that's what it does to you," she giggled, moving his hand to a much more respectable place as they approached the conference lobby. "You've got this, Marcus. It's just like your last two. Only difference is they're beginning to realize you aren't just taking them for a ride." Pointing to a spot about a third of the way down the left wall, she said, "I'll be right over there. Johnathan said something that has me wanting to speak to… shite what are their names? I can't remember."

"Rossi — the tall one — is the head coach for us chasers and is supposedly retiring at the end of next season," he quietly supplied. "Rowan is the co-owner who oversees the actual sports side of having a team and the burly one. And then ironically, Casper is the tan one and our head coach."

"Thank you," she gratefully replied, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "Now go do your interview and let me strong arm your bosses."

"Be gentle, angel. Our stock will plummet if you break any of our coaches or the owners mid-season."

"I make no promises," she called over her shoulder, her words lost as the reporters in the room erupted into a blender of a hundred questions at Marcus's arrival.

Inserting herself amongst the wizards, she greeted, "Gentlemen, I assume you all are in good spirits after the game."

"Miss Granger, or is it in fact Mrs. Flint now?" Rowan asked.

"I assure you, if there was any credibility to the rumors of our nuptials, we would have followed proper etiquette and have sent out marriage announcements to those we excluded from the alleged elopement. If not because Marcus plays for you all, then because I would really rather not burn the fields I have cultivated with Fitzgerald and Enoch, nor those of my business partner who is personally acquainted with Winterspoon," she shamelessly name dropped, reminding them that through her, Marcus was tied two other comparable teams as well as the league's longest held Vice President.

Knowing what they were really after but that it seemed Rowan was the only one with a tenacious enough personality to go after, she cut to the heart of the matter and said, "That's not really what you all want to know though is it? You want to know if what Marcus and I have going on is real or if it's all an act put on by my firm.

"Believe me gentlemen, we're in the business of a great many things, however putting my own heart in the game is not one of them. We are very much together and seeing as we've begun packing up my flat for me to move in with him, I'd say it's rather serious.

"Now I've shown you my hand, why don't you all show me yours?"

"What do you wish to know?" Casper asked with an approving smile.

"What is the hold up on his contract? Why have you all not reached a consensus on his future role with the team? He wins you games, fills your stadium, and makes you enough gold to fill a small branch of Gringotts. Where is the downside in all of that?"

Before Rossi could begin to answer, a pit of dread fell through her stomach. It was the sort of intuition that when she had been on the run with Harry and Ron had kept them alive, more often than not coming only minutes before their campsite was happened upon by Snatchers.

Prior to the war she hadn't been one to believe in such notions, chalking it up to Divination. Afterwards, she had to concede to Lavender that at least some form of supernatural knowledge of the future existed. Though she firmly stood by the stance that it was born of evolution and not an inner eye.

Turning around and scanning the room as she began to sweat and tremble, her eyes landed on a reporter who was taking the floor. Following her gut, she excused herself from the presence of Marcus's bosses and began to push her way to the front. Getting close enough to the stage, she tried to grab his attention but it was no use as he was fully engaged in the art of having the reporters eating out of his hand. In any other moment she would have been proud of him, but in this one, she desperately wanted to snatch his attention so they could vacate the premises before the Bombarda that was coming landed on them.

Not caring for the image she made, Hermione helped herself up onto the stage and began walking with a fast clip over to him, his ocean eyes finally catching hers as they filled with concern.

"Oh wonderful, two for the price of one," the reporter sneered.

"Marcus, we need to go, now."

"Oh no, please stay. I'll be but a minute. I only have one question."

"Piss off," she snapped, beginning to push Marcus towards the steps that would lead them off stage and out of the lobby.

Her sudden hostility and odd behavior only worked to spur the wizard on and slowly silence the rest of the room, giving him the attention he desperately wanted. Contemplating pulling her wand on him, but knowing that it would be a mess of epic proportions to do so, she stowed her twitching hand only to regret it a half second later as the swine faced reporter gleefully began speaking.

"Flint, I just wanted to know if there was any truth to the allegations that have broken just this morning about your girlfriend's implication in the unsolved homicide of Fenrir Greyback, who five years ago was living as a citizen of asylum in Palermo, Sicily?

"The story is that she and Blaise Zabini — the son of the infamous black widow Lola De Marco — took it upon themselves to extract revenge on him for the alleged mauling and sexual assault of Lavender Zabini, née Brown, after Britain was forced to let him walk free as a protected member of Italy's progressive werewolf laws and that you — as member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and sole name to your family line — used your seat's political influence, your father's Death Eater connections, and the vast coffers of your family vaults to bury, bribe, and brutalize anyone who had any information on the case following her arrest."

Frozen, as the room remained quiet enough to hear a feather drop, Hermione's heart slowed with time until in rapid motion shouted questions broke free under the blinding flash of hundreds of bulbs. Grabbing her hand and pulling her through the gathering mass of reporters that blocked their escape, Marcus shoved several out of his way, shattering the camera of two or three as he shielded her from the onslaught in the jacket of his suit.

Falling out into the corridor, he swept her up in his arms as she fumbled with her phone, keeping her head tucked into the crook of his neck as he made a beeline for the Apparition point with the hungry sharks on their bloody heels.

The line rang only once before Blaise answered, her order of, "Go nuclear," cutting off anything he was going to say just as Marcus turned on his heel and popped them out of the danger of the media for the time being. Landing with a harsh thud, he put her down as she raked her fingers through her hair, pacing a short stretch of his garden as she swore, "I'm going to fucking kill him," before handing off Sulley and popping out to leave Marcus behind in Montrose while she headed for Edinburgh with a thunderous clap of magic.