Blame Game

"This is all your fault."

"Oh look, here's my shocked face at being blamed for something else I didn't do."

"Piss off, you giant, ugly arse, troll!"

"You never seemed to mind my ugly troll arse when it was putting your headboard through the wall."

Making fists with both her hands, Hermione turned around and screamed in the corner of the walk-in cloak closet of Grimmauld Place, kicking the wall for good measure.

Everything had been fine, great, even, until Marcus fucking Flint showed up. Where he even got off thinking he would be welcome at Harry's birthday celebration, she didn't know. He was her friend first and, therefore, she got him in their breakup. Her ex-boyfriend had no business showing up, teammates or not.

Whirling back around, she stomped over to him and jabbed her finger into his chest with every word as she raged, "If you hadn't shown up, we wouldn't be locked in here right now!"

"Actually," he corrected, towering over her as he swatted her hand away, "if you were capable of pulling your head out of your stubborn and prideful arse, we wouldn't be in here. So this is your bloody fault, Hermione. Then again, it was always inconceivable that you could be wrong about anything, especially me. Tell me, cupcake, how long have you been waiting for a reason to dump me?"

"This is both your faults!" Harry shouted from the other side of the closet door, followed by Cassius's addition of, "And you'll be staying in there until you figure your shite out."

"Oh come on!" they both yelled, glaring at each other.

Groaning as she heard their retreating footsteps, Hermione picked up as if they hadn't been interrupted and said, "That is not what this is about and you fucking well know it, you great brute."

"Really? Because it took you nearly three months to even look at me after Potter got traded to Puddlemere, let alone actually believe I wasn't some inbred, prejudiced prick and talk to me.

"Admit it, you've had one foot out the door since day one and you bolted at the first chance you got."

"I loathe you."

"Feeling's mutual."

Only just resisting the urge to slap him — a feat that should have won her a second Order of Merlin First Class for its difficulty — Hermione plopped down on her side of the closet and kicked at his foot as he mirrored her actions and stretched his stupidly long legs out.

"Stay on your side."

Yanking his foot back, he muttered, "Real fucking mature."

"And for the record, you are an inbred, prejudiced prick. I saw you at lunch with her when you were supposed to be at practice. A practice which you lied about having."

"I only lied because you would have flipped your lid had I told you the truth. Lot of good it did me; you're still acting like a kneazle that's been dumped in a full tub — spitting and hissing with a puffed up, over dramatic, sense of self righteousness."

"She's your ex-fiancée! Of course I would have been hacked off at you wanting to go cozy up with her over a shared plate of sushi!"

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he shouted, "How many times do I have to tell you, 'SHE WAS NOT MY FIANCÉE!' until you get it through your jealous skull? We were cradle betrothed, nothing more."

Rising up on her knees, the ends of her curls sparking, Hermione returned, equally loud, "IT'S THE SAME FUCKING THING, MARCUS! You're set to marry her but you have been dating me! Living with me! Fucking me! You made the bloody other woman!"

"You're not the other woman, Hermione! You never have been. You're the only woman and yet you don't seem to realize this! I love you. Even now, as you infuriate me and assume that I'm the sort of dog that would cheat on his girlfriend, I still fucking love you."

"Then why were you with her and why lie about it?" she cried. "I had to freaking find out from fucking Pansy of all people. And, Merlin, wasn't she just too happy to gloat about you and Gemma, that pug-faced, cunt waffle."

Crossing the imaginary line she had drawn after their friends had trapped them inside when they started fighting over who would leave the party, she tried to shove Marcus away as he pulled her into his lap but at the smell of his bergamot and lavender cologne, she melted into his hold, the weeks without it on her sheets having felt endless.

"Gemma and I have always just been friends. There has never been and never will be anything more than that between us. Had you listened to me instead of screaming at me like a banshee and throwing my stuff out into the front garden, I could have told you that she's engaged; to a witch."

"What?"

"Yeah, cupcake. Gemma would much rather try and get you into her bed than me."

"Then why did you never tell me about your engagement to her?"

"Arrangement, not engagement. And for the record, we had the contract dissolved after my father and her mother got locked away in Azkaban and we became the family heads." Letting go of her to fish for something in the pocket of his jeans, he handed over a small box and said, "I didn't want to tell you I was meeting with her because if I did, I would have had to explain that I was retrieving my great grandmother's engagement ring for you. My parents had given it to her parents as part of her bride price. She had been digging around in her ancestral vault that morning so she could give it to me."

"You were going to propose?" she asked in disbelief, running her thumb over the old leather of the box. "But I'm a jealous, stubborn, prideful, nutcase."

"But you're my, jealous, stubborn, prideful, nutcase and I don't want to waste another day without you being the one to drive me up the walls. I miss you, cupcake. I miss you and I love you and I want to marry you if you'll have me. Even if you like to jump to conclusions and make assumptions based on the words of a pug-faced, cunt waffle."

"Oh my God, that was so mean. I shouldn't have said that."

"I tell you I want to marry you and that's your response?" he chuckled. "Gods, I love you, Hermione. Don't ever change."

Handing the box back, she rushed out, "You have to put it on me," before his face could fully begin to crumble under her perceived rejection.

"You're saying yes?"

"I'm saying yes and that I'm sorry for calling you an ugly arse troll."

Slipping the continent sized sapphire onto her ring finger, Marcus cupped the back of her head and murmured, "I fucking love your crazy arse," right before he kissed her.

"Thank you, Salazar! They made up!" Cassius cheered, opening up the door. "Now let's celebrate Potter's birthday and your engagement in proper fashion by getting so pissed we start sword fighting on the stairs again."

Grabbing her hand to help her stand up, Marcus wrapped himself around her from behind and with his face nuzzling into her neck, he said, "No can do, Cass. I've got three weeks of sleeping on your couch to make up for. Crooks has probably already re-claimed my side of the bed." Guiding her to the door as she giggled and pinched his face between her neck and shoulder, he called out, "Happy Birthday, Potter! See you at practice in the morning."

"Use protection!" was the only reply they heard before Hermione Disapparated them from the front step to the back alley of their flat, giving chase as she ran inside and up the stairs into their home, screeching out in laughter as he caught up and threw her over his shoulder, grunting, "Troll catch witch. Troll take witch to bed. Troll claim witch for wife."