Marcus knew this rite. The pain came first. Something always hurt. This time it was his face mostly though one knee and a shoulder ached too. He tried to relax into the pain, waiting for it to ebb with the potions. He knew he had drunk a pain potion, his tongue felt furry, and the lingering aniseed taste meant he had been dosed with that new anti-inflammatory tincture the team Medi-wizard was keen on.

So he had been injured again. Marcus confirmed that with himself, the bit of himself that was doing the thinking while the rest of him floated in the misty darkness of semi-consciousness. He quite liked it there. It was quiet, no one expected anything of him and it was entirely acceptable to be supine. Supine was pleasant.

Noise was coming back, unfortunately. No one was swearing. He was not at the clubhouse then. McLeod or the team Captain Maconne would be profaning. Always did if someone got knocked out due to the League stipulated medical review and bench time.

He could smell ginger, which meant St Mungo's. The concussion ointment had ginger in it. Must have really given himself a wallop. Marcus kept his eyes shut as previous experience warned him he would have a headache as soon as he opened them.

Someone was holding his hand. That was also pleasant. Probably an apprentice Healer. They did that sort of daft thing. He lay still while quite a bit of him throbbed. His nose hurt a lot. Another bloody Bludger to the face probably. That could mean a dose of Skele-gro. Marcus grimaced.

"You're in hospital." A woman's voice, concerned but not agitated, told him. Concerned was fine. Unconsciousness merited concerned. No agitation meant nothing was badly wrong. He had punctured a lung once. That had earned agitated from the Healer.

"Yerg." Marcus confirmed he had heard. Someone squeezed his hand. He squeezed back a little. He was fine. Nothing seemed to have fallen off. He was just going to lie there for a while doing not very much until more of him woke up.

"You had a fractured nose and cheekbone. Quite a bit of bruising." The voice explained. Marcus groaned another affirmative as the ambient ache confirmed what the woman was telling him. He must have hit the ground. That was not too bad. He had done that often enough.

"We win?" That was another part of the rite. Regaining consciousness was much better if he had been knocked out in the cause of victory. McLeod was much more generous with his fruit baskets if they had won. Last time he had sent one with papaya. Marcus liked tropical fruit. Except mangos.

"No, Marcus. You were in an accident." The woman sounded upset about that so he squeezed her hand again. She put something cool on his forehead, which eased the thumping. He risked cracking an eye open then screwed it shut again at the light. The voice cast a dimming charm. "There, not so bright."

Marcus would rather have stayed out but there were things wrong with the usual regaining consciousness rite. He recognised the voice now and she was not a Healer. He was not wearing Quidditch robes. He really wanted to hex Ronald Weasley.

Fragments of the evening percolated. Bole being happy. Lots of people he had not seen since before the war had congratulating him with wincing politeness on his marriage. Hermione plotting with the brains trust like old chums. Fucking Weasley.

"Punched me." Marcus was not completely sure about that. He was always a little vague about what happened just before he got knocked out. He had been marching Parkinson out of there before she disgraced herself.

"Yes." Hermione confirmed with a leaden stomach. Marcus was going to be furious. She had sat there for more than an hour waiting for him to wake and shout at her. His dark grey eyes fixed on her face, aware but not quite focussed.

"You hurt?" He asked, wanting to get all the important pieces sorted in his head before he exacted revenge. It would be a glorious vengeance. However a little patience now was necessary.

"I'm fine." She offered him a glass of water with a straw and he drank moderately, cautious from multiple hospitalisations Hermione suspected. The Healers had left a bowl in case he was sick. "Several people were cut by flying glass and Pansy was arrested."

Marcus edged up into a sitting position and just sat for a while to allow his head to decide whether it wanted to roll off his shoulders. It appeared willing to remain attached. A Medi-witch noticed he was awake, coming in to do the expected diagnostic spells. She would not give him any more pain potion until she was confident he would not faint or vomit.

He sat silently collecting more of his wits as the matron fussed and Hermione asked sensible questions. Weasley had hexed him, apparently. That was fine. Useful. Marcus was quite prepared to take a few bruises to get what he wanted. He had to play this right though. This was a long game.

Also, his head hurt so he was not keen to start any dramatics. But he could think so he thought. Mostly what he thought was how much of a bastard he could be. That passed the time nicely. That he would opt not to be a complete cad was less diverting. Had to be done, though.

"Got any fruit?" Marcus asked after the Medi-witch had given him the all-clear. He had escaped the Skele-gro ordeal. He would feel like an old man for a few days while his muscles forgot they had been bruised. Nothing new. The wizard carefully did not nod when the Healer outlined what he could and could not do before leaving him to Hermione's care.

"You seem very calm, considering." The witch ventured, still braced for an explosion.

"This is old hat. The team always books a bed here before a big game." He held out the cloth she had put on his forehead for another cooling charm. Hermione obliged and he pressed it to the back of his neck. "McLeod's going to have my hide."

"Because you won't be fit to train for a week?" She was not pleased about that. Professional or not, Quidditch was just a stupid game.

"That too." Marcus rested his head against the bedstead and closed his eyes. He might have drifted off for a moment as the next thing he noticed was her hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.

"Why will McLeod be upset?" Hermione asked in her best 'reasonable question' tone. If this was something she could fix to keep the Magpies' Manager from pillorying Ron, she wanted to know.

"Told me no fighting with Weasleys. He's worried about the team." He put his hand on hers and removed it from his shoulder. "Sore." Marcus retained his hold however, interweaving his fingers with hers. "Don't worry. I'll square it with him."

"Ron could lose his training place." She did not want to ask. Did not want to beg. Hermione stared into his face searching for some prompt as to what she should say. What she saw was a pained look swiftly hidden by a smirk.

"Making a big stink about this will distract from the appeal." It was a good excuse and the Ministry would jump at the chance to divert attention from the Marriage Law.

"You're safe, Marcus." Hermione reminded him, half to reassure and half to see his reaction. He had striven to help those effected by the legislation but most of them were Slytherin alumni. She wanted to know how far his altruism extended.

"At your whim." He was matter-of-fact.

"I would never hold that over you!" She protested, affronted. "That is exactly the sort of extortionist coercion I'm fighting against." Her rant would have continued, she had fought a damn war to get rid of disenfranchisement, except something in his expression changed. "You're baiting me."

"You were baiting me." Marcus countered and kissed her on the cheek. Hermione blinked at him, stunned enough by his gesture that he had to laugh. "I can ogle your tits if you prefer." She was still in her cocktail dress and her cleavage was at his eye height. "Admit it, you expected blackmail."

"Honestly? Yes, I did." There was a perfunctory flare for the crude comment but he was not far from the mark. "That's how Slytherins negotiate, isn't it? I had the distinct impression from Rosier that he believed I was doing this because I had something on you. So I could be Lady of the Manor."

"Higgs asked me the same thing, though he thought I had something on you." He glanced down at her hand he was still holding. He had forgotten how comforting it was to have someone by his bedside. His team-mates would visit if he had a long stay in St Mungo's but only to check-in. Never to sit with him.

"Charming." As Slytherins went, Higgs had a good reputation at Hogwarts. He had played fair on the pitch and had dated half-bloods. By the standards of his House, that made him a woolly liberal. That he had suspected extortion meant it was a near universal assumption.

"What happened after?"

"When we realised the Aurors would be called, Pansy had shattered every glass in the place, we sent everyone to Bole's. It was his party and the catering was paid for." Hermione felt no need to remark on the speed with which she, Nott, Rosier and Yaxley had got everyone out of the Prismatic Dragon. Far away from any negative publicity.

"Was the cake any good?" He had been looking forward to that cake. It had been heavy with the dark promise of chocolate. Hermione had ordered it from a Muggle chocolaterie with a ridiculous name.

"I wouldn't know." Hermione sighed, suddenly feeling the tension leave her. "I'm ravenous."

"Head back to your flat. I'll be here overnight." Marcus considered kissing her again, he wanted to do a lot more than just kiss, but not right now. He settled for keeping hold of her hand when she rose to take her leave.

"This is sorted?" She hesitated.

"I'll demand a big breakfast tomorrow and call it even." He smirked. "Merlin couldn't make me eat what they serve here." Her face was still cloudy. Gryffindors truly did wear their hearts on their sleeves. "If Weasley keeps his mouth shut, so will I."

"Thank you, Marcus." Hermione smiled and left without kissing him, and wondered all the way home why she had noticed that.