"Episkey and my esteem." Hermione flicked her wand at his side, mending whatever damage was troubling him. She met his gaze with a coolness she did not feel. His grin transfigured into something infuriatingly more than smug. "Nothing else."

"You have no intrigue at all, do you?" Marcus raised a hand to stroke the cat on his shoulder and got a cautionary bite for his trouble. He chuckled at the collective defiance of witch and familiar. "You could bargain, milady. Or demand consideration as your due."

"This isn't a Gothic novel and I've never batted my eyelashes in my life." She did not like 'milady' or the expression on his unlovely face but it was difficult to start an argument with someone in such good humour. "I don't want Harry or George in trouble."

"Then do a press conference with the team. McLeod expects you there." He rubbed his bitten finger wondering when he had started getting off on women being angry with him. Maybe it was the residue of the healing spell or maybe it was the way her chest heaved as she tried to keep her temper in check.

"Now who's bargaining?" Hermione demanded sotto voce.

"Not I." Marcus smirked. It was a pity they could not slip away to a discreet spot behind the stacks so he could persuade her to cooperate. But she would never agree to besmirching the library. So it was the high road. "Bald fact. My Manager ordered me to parade you before the Prophet. How you agree is your choice."

"I could refuse." That statement was a matter of form. It got a curled lip of contempt. Hermione ignored the sneer as she was considering the advantage of airing her opinion on the amendment in public. Loudly. "I could, but I won't. Providing neither you nor your team presses charges against George or Harry, I will cheerfully front the newspaper."

"That was not so hard. A little conspiracy every day and soon you will be Minister." He knew McLeod would not be happy with not lashing Weasley but he would hold off for the sake of a war heroine's compliance. "He will give you a statement to read."

"I will have my own." She swatted a hand at the ranked books. "I'll have a nice opening salvo. Do you know some of the precedents for the law go back to Roman times? Pre-Arthurian paterfamilial nonsense." She fumed. It was salving to be angry at someone other than herself right now. "They didn't write anything so archaic into the amendment itself but the intention is there."

"Have not read it." Marcus admitted with a shrug. Crookshanks protested. "I'm a bad perch, I know, tiger." He risked a hand again and this time the cat accepted a pat. "Skimmed the precis and did not hang about."

"It isn't particularly pleasant reading on your side. Whoever drafted it took some time over tightening loopholes." Hermione was more grim than discouraged. This would be a challenge. "We need to get a team together to work on strategy. I need to talk to Harry too. I wouldn't blame him if he thinks I've run mad."

"Fairly sure he thinks I have Imperiused you." The scion of the House of Flint chuckled. "I do not know why I think that's funny. Irony, probably. I expect you can cast all three Unforgivable Curses."

"I can and I have and I don't think that's at all funny." She said heavily. "I didn't have the luxury of innocence. I wish I didn't know the dark places in my soul but I do." That seemed melodramatic but there was no other way of putting it. The power of a Cruciatus came from intent. "And I didn't fight the bloody war to have this fascist obscenity foisted on us."

"Come home with me." The gripping urge that forced the words out of him was not purely sexual. It certainly was not pure.

"I won't do that to Ron."

"If not Flint Manor then one of our properties. There is a terrace house in London where you can stay. Alone." Marcus turned the exchange into something about accommodation. She could not stay at Hogwarts and he was certain she would not want to stay at either of her parents' houses. He had not been able to enter his mother's suite for weeks after she had passed through the Veil.

"How much is the rent?" Hermione asked an ordinary question and a got a blank look over a cultural gulf. "We're only married on paper. I'm not going to take advantage."

"But you are prepared to give offence." He folded his arms across his chest, telling himself she had not meant the insult. "You, Hermione, are not a tenant." When she prepared to argue that point, he shook his head. "None of that. I do not fucking charge you to stay at my home."

"Is the property in your name?" She avoided conceding she had not given any thought to where she would be staying. All her personal belongings were at the Burrow, assuming Ginny hadn't set them on fire by now. "I want to make it up with Ron, not show him I'm being kept like a mistress."

"You are not my mistress." Marcus shaped those words around his teeth. "The terrace house came with one of my great-grandmother's dowries. The deed is still in the Fawley trust." If any of his grandfather's sisters had survived infancy, one of them would have inherited the jointure. There had not been a female heir since, though his daughters would be eligible if they married. "Discreet enough if you want it."

"Just for a little while." Hermione agreed then found her manners. "Thank you, Marcus. What with everything, even thinking about going somewhere is exhausting." That got her a crisp nod, which made her feel like they had reached an accord. Crookshanks agreed, clambering down to wind himself around his witch's ankles. "Could we go now? I'm all in."

Of course they could not simply leave. Hermione insisted on tidying away all her books and thanking Madam Pince, quietly. Their meeting with the Headmistress in her office was his wife's fault too. Marcus could have merrily gone the rest of his life without seeing the old bat again. From her tight-lipped frown, the feeling was mutual.

"Mister Flint." The greeting was cold. The barely civil offer of a seat was refused politely by Hermione on his behalf.

"We won't take up any more of your time, thank you." The witch stepped in front of him as though her diminutive self could shield him from the Scot. "Though with your permission, I would like to use the library further. This is going to take a lot of unravelling."

"Certainly, Miss Granger. I will inform Irma and arrange a study for you. Do let me know if there is anything else you need." McGonagall was positively effusive, something Marcus had never heard before but his surprise did not stop him from correcting her mistake.

"Madam Flint." He said stonily. "Not Miss Granger."

The ambience in the office chilled as though a Dementor had appeared. It took all of Hermione's elan to extract them before her mentor turned her unfortunate husband into a tea cup. She propelled him out of the office, out of the Castle and across the grounds in a frigid silence.

Since the repairs to the school were ongoing, there was a designated Apparition point near Hagrid's cabin. Enough people transited to make an awkward audience, forcing Hermione to defer the ear-bashing she intended to give Flint. As they waited for a clear moment to Apparate, she was distracted by a shout.

"HERMIONE!"

She turned in time to see Hagrid cast his wheelbarrow aside and stomp over to them. The groundskeeper engulfed her in a warm hug, lifting her off the ground and twirling her like a little girl. When he set her back down again, she could not help but smile albeit dizzily.

"How are you, Marcus? Did you get the dung?" Hagrid slapped him on the back as he pumped his hand. The half-giant was the only person the Flint heir could shake hands with without feeling like he would crush their fingers.

"I did." Marcus confirmed his receipt of several barrows worth of Thestral manure. He had never received a more noisome Yule gift but it was second to none in the garden. "The boots suit."

"Aye, they do that." He swept aside his heavy coat to show off his monstrous footwear; thick soled, heavy graphorn leather waders with brass buckles. "And the socks you made for me fit in 'em a treat, Hermione."

"I'm glad to hear it." The witch admired the hard-wearing boots. They had that air of understated quality that cost real money and they looked tough enough to kick in doors by themselves. "Hagrid, if you see Harry or Ron, would you tell them I'd like to speak with them, please?" She bit her lip. "We had a fight."

"O' course, I will. Don't fret." The half-giant patted her on the shoulder consolingly. "It'll all come right, you'll see."