Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The first thing I did, once I was home that night was take off my heels. Sure, they were adorable. And they were designer—but in the comforts of one's home, going barefoot was very acceptable.
"Misses Bennett is requested in the sitting room as soon as she arrives home," The tiny house elf squeaked, it stood as if it had been standing for a while. I grumpily waved the house elf away—its name was squeaky, stinky, sneaky...something like that. It did not matter in the slightest.
I walked through to the east wing, turning off into the giant sitting room, with its ornate, Victorian era furniture.
I saw my mother standing by the window, a curious expression on her face, on the couch, were the backs of three heads—One I picked out easily, as it belonged to Marie's. The next, could be none other than father—so that left the third to be?
"It's the strangest thing, Aphrodite," I cringed.
"Mother—must you?" I sighed, coming around the couch and walking over to my favorite pink arm chair.
"It is your god given name; you must learn to appreciate it fully." I had to bite my tongue to save myself from remarking in a most acerbic nature.
"Yes, Mother—I'm terribly sorry." I replied dryly, not using up an ounce of emotion. My patience grew short as she played her beat around the bush game, "Whatever did you mean, 'It's the strangest thing'?"
"Well, only thirty minutes passed after you left, and Marcus Flint showed up—announced, though," She shot a glance to the sofa.
That's right...the third unknown. Of course it'd be Marcus...
"We hardly mind, Marcus. Feel free to come whenever you feel the need to. He came today with the insistence; he was not parting until he saw you. So, we've done our part, entertaining Marcus for the last two hours; now let it be your turn." My Mother looked very pleased with herself, "Athena, Archibald, let us busy ourselves elsewhere." They all left, leaving silence waiting behind them.
My father shut the French doors behind him, leaving me in a closed room with the Egg Head.
I waited for him to speak, but as the seconds stacked up to a full minute, it became unbearable, "Well, it's unexpected for you to be here, Flint. Surely you must have a purpose. I suppose you've measured your mantle and are now ready to make sure I'll fit properly?" I asked, raising a brow with a smirk idling on my face.
He barked a short laugh, "I've never sized you up as a trophy."
"And I've never gotten on a broomstick in the rain," I replied, fighting the temptation to roll my eyes.
"You're smirking..." He remarked, grinning as he looked at my face.
"I was not." I frowned, straightening myself, and staring at my fingernails. Rats, I would need to get a manicure before Pansy's ball...
"Push your pride aside, and answer me this. Tomorrow evening, You and I, and dinner?"
"Well the first and the latter sound rather agreeable, it's the part that comes in between that I'm not so sure about." I fired off—once again not using my censor. I smiled sweetly, "Pray Tell, Marcus, what are your intentions towards me?" I teased, trying to create a nicer air. I didn't want him to get offended—now that, would most certainly get me in trouble.
"Courting you as a proper gentleman should." He replied honestly, and shamelessly. I did admire his adherent bravery. "See, as a gentleman of fortune, I am in want of a wife." I laughed lightly.
"And you quote pride and prejudice—now surely, that is not something manly."
He smiled lightly—sweetly. Not harshly as if I were a prize he'd won. That was a welcome change, "Well, my mother told me to say that. That if I did it may help matters."
"Help matters? You're haughty, Marcus. You really believe that you need help in the matter?"
He blushed, "Are you saying that you fancy me?" He asked, "And of course I need help—you'll have numerable suitors. I would not be surprised if I were not the first one."
"Quite an intelligent assumption."
"So I'm not the first one?"
"Truthfully?" I asked, he nodded, hanging onto my every word, "No, you are not the first one. The first was Uther Verne. He called round Sunday evening. I had brunch with him on Monday." I replied, "The second, was Victor Crumb—he came on Monday whilst I was with Uther—"
"It's Krum," Flint replied, laughing.
"Oh, Yes. Krum, well, while he was waiting to speak with me, he ended up having quite a long talk with Blair. And by the time I arrived he'd carefully secured a Tuesday dinner with her. Monday evening, Alberic Grunnion came over, but mother and father declined that immediately—seeing as he already has a wife." I laughed lightly, "And then, Tuesday, some elderly wizard whose name I cannot recall came over, but they declined him too, his marriage isn't...advantageous enough." I replied, "After him was—"
"That's enough," he cut me off, I looked at him with a raised brow.
"What—can't take competition?" I teased.
"No, I can't." He replied, "So, instead of answering my question, you're completely avoiding the subject." I didn't move to answer him, for I couldn't. it seemed as if flint were truly bipolar in his treatment of me. Nice...cocky...nice...overly haughty...
"You didn't exactly ask me properly." I defended myself, squaring my jaw.
"You gave Uther Verne a chance, give me one too?"
I pursed my lips, "Well, Uther Verne is a quidditch captain, I don't know Marcus..." I teased.
"Why don't you know? We've known each other our whole lives." He argued.
"Well, let me think about it," I tortured him, I chewed on my lip for a millisecond, "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt."
"I knew you'd say yes," He let out a low breath—one that I hadn't realized he'd been holding. And finally, shoved his hands (which he had just been ringing frantically) into his pockets. He looked very well at ease.
"You did not." I corrected, rolling my eyes as I massaged my left foot. Okay, my feet did hurt from wearing heels all day. However, that's just part of the package—it's part of the deal. If a woman wants to look elegant and respectable it's necessary.
"You want me to do that for you?" He offered, jerking his head in the direction of my foot. I laughed nervously, lightly.
"No, Thanks. I'll manage." I replied, quickly tucking my foot underneath my other leg, letting my skirt cover my criss-crossed legs.
"Can I be honest and admit something?" He looked at me, and just for a split second I really thought I was attracted to him. Something in the way his eyes sparked with mine, it made this warmth spread from my head, and straight into my toes. I closed my eyes, This is egg headed Flint, Hayley...
I massaged my temples, breathing slowly for a second. Looking up, I pushed the hair back from my face, Flint looked puzzled. "Sure, be my guest." I replied, waving a hand for him to continue.
"Well," he took a deep breath and started staring fixatedly at his black Italian leather shoes, "Growing up, I always had a crush on you," he admitted, laughing lightly, and brushing his hair back from his head with a nervous hand. I fought the urge to giggle, but thankfully forced it back down as it fought its way through my throat, "And I didn't want to say anything about it when we were little. You were so intimidating," He admitted, finally looking at me with his gorgeous brown eyes.
"Why'd you like me so much, then? I was intimidating and Boobless..." I teased.
"You were extraordinary. You were the most beautiful creature I'd ever beheld." Oh great, so he's comparing me to a creature now... "You were so strong, and determined, and opinionated, and everything else wonderful I can't even begin to describe."
"And you never wanted to say anything about my wonderful-ness because?" I asked, raising a brow and regarding him with a truly curious expression.
"And I was never wanted to say anything about it because," He stopped off, looking at me with pursed lips.
He didn't say anything for a few seconds, and I allowed him the room for the air around us to still to a complete silence. Because, What? Why was he torturing me? Why didn't he want to say anything about it?
I watched him, waiting for him to answer, but he didn't.
"Because?" I hinted.
"Don't get mad at me when I say this," He continued, "Promise me that."
"O—" I raised a brow, "Okay." I promised—it was a false promise, of course. No one can honestly predetermine if they really will get mad at something another says or not...
"Well, I always thought you were in love with someone else..." These words didn't make sense in my head.
"Who?" I questioned, still trying to put together the pieces in the puzzle.
"Well, I," He took a deep breath and looked uncomfortable.
"Oh, Just stop beating around the bush already! Say it," I commanded. That is a secret most girls do not know—how easy it is to control a man. All it takes is the right tone of voice, the right smile...
"Well, I just thought you were in love with Draco and it was hopeless." He said quickly and quietly, but I managed to successfully pick out all the words.
"You thought I was in love with Draco?" I laughed nervously.
"Everyone did—I mean, when we were younger everyone thought that the two of you were going to be married as soon as appropriate. The invitations were practically already sent out. " He stated as if all this should be obvious to me.
It's like pouring salt on a wound that hasn't healed. Like pouring hot water on cold skin...
I tried not to show my discomfort, so instead, in a weak voice I asked—"And what made you decide that this was not the case any longer?"
"Well, on Saturday I was in despair," He started—I assumed he was backtracking, he continued, "It seemed as if all those long years you'd been away hadn't changed anything between you and Draco. I knew that he'd sort of moved on, with Pansy. But I knew that if you still expressed feelings for him, he'd change his mind.
"Saturday—you did seem as if you still harbored feelings for him. But then, Sunday. You didn't show particular preference for Draco. You didn't show particular preference for anyone...So I got hope." He got hope from me not showing preference in anyone—himself included?
"And then I came here, and I asked you to join me for dinner, laying my intentions on the table. And you didn't decline me, so I have hope." He finished, staring at me with such a heartfelt expression that my heart did indeed melt. I was feeling quite frosty towards him earlier, but now, now—everything was better.
It was quite peculiar; I was feeling something for Egg Head...
He waited for me to say something in response to his spilled heart on the ground. So I responded.
And I did something that's terrible, that's wrong, and just evil.
I lied.