"My new wife, my clever, war hero Gryffindor wife just Floo called me in bloody tears." Marcus snarled at Golden Boy and a random Weasley. He and McLeod had been arguing about interviews and damned stupid public appearances when Hermione's face had appeared in the grate. "She warned me you fuckers would come after me."

"We're here to talk, Flint. Some questions have been raised about compulsions in securing your marriage." Harry used his best Auror voice. He'd been practising and it came out now with an undertone of menace. Flint's possessive claim of his best friend had appalled him. He did not like the implications of ownership in the brute's words.

"Bugger off."

"We're here for Hermione's sake. We're concerned that the, um, provisions of the Law might not be clear to her." George assayed some feeble diplomacy and tried to cue the stocky man behind the desk to intervene in the argument. The older wizard leant back in his chair, visibly doing some fast calculating. He did not however rein in his Chaser.

"And which bloody one are you? All you Weasels look alike." Marcus kept on the attack as people were more honest when they were threatened, at least with him. He was not in the mood for Ministry verbiage.

"Son of a bitch!" Almost without thinking, George found his wand was in his hand. His hex hit Flint square in the chest, blasting the large man right over the desk and into the wall behind. Because it sure sounded like the bastard was rubbing his nose in Fred's absence.

"So the marriage is legal, then?" McLeod asked blandly, turning in his chair slightly to put a restraining hand on Marcus before he retaliated. "You said compulsions. You did not say objections. You did not say you were sent by the Ministry, either."

"We hoped to deal with the matter privately." Harry heard the unspoken threat and hedged, unwilling to back down but not wanting any more violence. Flint would press charges. One hex they could explain but not an open brawl. "We know of no reason why Hermione would agree to marry a S..stranger."

"She hates the damn law." Marcus picked himself up slowly, hiding any wince. Cracked ribs maybe. Skull was fine, no problems with his vision so no concussion. Arseholes. "You ask her."

"We would, if we know where she was!" George shouted, watching the sneaky bastard's expression closely. One twitch, one smirk and it would be on for young and old. No thrice-cursed Voldy-kissing snob would mock his family ever again.

"She and Ron talked then she just left, no word to anyone. Didn't even pick up her things." This was not going as well as he might wish, which did not surprise him. George's hex probably had not made it any worse. Harry had to admit it would be awfully satisfying to blast Flint until he told them the truth.

"She is your friend. If she did not tell you where she is, maybe she does not want to see you." It was not quite a sneer. Marcus kept his temper in check only because he trusted McLeod to use this situation to their best advantage. That did not mean he would not twist the knife. "She does not have to dance attendance on you any more."

"We won't let you keep her from us." His hand clenched on his wand but George held himself in check. Maybe just maybe Flint did not know where Hermione was. If she had been at his family Manor, the tosser would have thrown that in their faces. "We know what you are, even if you got those troll teeth fixed."

"Six teeth, jaw broken in two places, fractured cheek bone and a cracked skull." Cormack McLeod listed the injuries as though intoning a litany. He pointed to the framed photograph of a cheering team, now hanging crookedly on the wall behind him. "The '98 Championship game. Flint took a Bludger to the face. Still scored the winning goal. I know what he is too, Mr Weasley. My best Chaser, whom you assaulted."

"Hermione..." Harry protested before the Manager cut him off.

"Madam Flint seemed genuinely concerned for her husband's well-being when she called. She was under the impression her friends would hold him responsible for the rift between herself and the youngest Mr Weasley." McLeod spoke like a lawyer. "Which seems the case. I suggest you take your concerns to the proper authorities. As we will."

Marcus kept silent as Potter took himself and Weasley away before either of them caved to his needling. That was a bit of a disappointment. He would have liked to bruise his knuckles on their self-righteous faces.

"I will put in a complaint to the Ministry. Find your wife, Flint. I want her standing beside you when we speak to the Prophet." The Manager gave an outright order to his seething player. "And if you draw your wand on any of her friends, you're off the team."

He went. He had no option not to go. McLeod always made good on his promises. Marcus went to the locker room first and had a hot shower to ease his aching side. Not worth a trip to the team Medi-wizard. Besides, a little pain helped him think better. He stood under the steaming spray and considered.

Potter had said Hermione had not taken her belongings with her. Did that include her cat? Marcus knew she had a cat because Malfoy had plotted inventive things to do to it until Bole, who had a Kneazle himself, vowed to skin him if anything happened to the orange beast. Hermione would not have left her pet behind.

She had made no mention of the cat while they were in Australia. Marcus laced his fingers behind his head, stretching his back with a grimace. So who liked Hermione and cats enough to mind her familiar? He grimaced again as the answer came to him. The old Tabby was an old tabby herself.