"We both know it is not your fault." Marcus spoke as though his words were chiselled in stone. He met her gaze over her coffee mug. "Whatever Potter did, it is his responsibility not yours. If you could control him, we would have had a much shorter war."

"These say otherwise." Hermione thrust the letters from Harry and Ron at him then took hold of her cup with both hands to reassure herself she still had a grip on something. Holy shuddering Hell! Her grandmother used to say that, trying genteelly not to swear. Right now she did not have enough curse words to suffice.

Marcus took the letters and looked at them. Potter had not been Chosen for his handwriting. The missive opened with a badly blotted few lines about trying and failing to calm Ginny. Or Jimmy. Or possible Sammy. He gave up on that one. Weasley was less agitated in his script. Picking his way through, Marcus noted 'bloody' a lot and 'misunderstanding', which was a long word but was spelled as it sounded.

"Potter and his fianceé argued." He diagnosed, picking up the other letters after a nod from her. It was very poor manners to read someone else's correspondence without permission. Marcus was certainly not doing this on a whim of curiosity. The other letters were from Weasleys. Percy had a wonderfully round hand, easy to follow but he still swore at what he read. Fucking drivel about needing family time.

"Harry loves Ginny. He wants to marry her. Why did I blather on about finding myself? Hippy-dippy nonsense. God, how my dad would laugh. He'd have handed me a street guide and said 'you are here'." Hermione sniffed, wiping her nose and trying not to cry. She could hear her father's voice. "I miss them. They'd have loved this flat."

"And hated me." Marcus smirked, hearing what she had not said.

"Well, no, actually." She thought about it, trying to marshal some coherence. "Not hated. They could understand the paper marriage. One of dad's college friends married a woman so she could stay in the country. The legislation would've had them protesting in the street. Mum could get quite bolshie when she thought something was unjust. Her dad was a trade unionist."

"I have no idea what that is." It sounded political and Muggle, a combination that would have had him reaching for his broom to make a hasty exit except he liked conversing with his wife. "Is this where you threaten to take me to a library to remedy my ignorance? I am prepared to grovel to avoid it."

"That'd be rather unkind of me." Hermione put her coffee aside and hugged her knees to her chest. "If you have the time, you could watch documentaries at my parents' house while I tidy. I need to sort out their things. I've been putting it off. I think you'd like some of my dad's movies."

"I think you should put it off for a while longer." Marcus shifted closer and smoothed a hand over her hair. "No need to rack yourself in penance. Someone needs to go to Palau and set everything up. You can access my accounts." He had pledged funds to help and trusted her to spend them wisely. "Why not do that? We need to get people out of the country before they are liable for fines."

"I have to help Harry get back with Ginny." She protested, wincing at how feeble that sounded. She wanted to help Harry more than anything. She had not the foggiest idea how to do that without making it infinitely worse. Hermione glared at the shredded letters. "Which will be a bit difficult when Molly, Arthur and Ginny would 'prefer if I kept my distance' for a while 'so wounds can heal'."

"Why is the entire ginger horde writing to you?" He demanded. Percy had been just as prissy as he had been at Hogwarts but had only alluded to poor advice and letting tempers cool. Nothing much to explain the flurry.

"I was coordinating the wedding. Ginny's busy with try-outs and Harry's flat out with Auror training. Molly wanted to do everything but she doesn't know about Muggle stuff. Harry and Ginny want or wanted, I suppose, a modern ceremony. No robes, no old customs no one knows the meaning of any more." Hermione explained wearily. "That's part of the problem. Ginny wants nothing to do with anything I've organised. Wants me out of the wedding completely."

"Sounds like she was the one who cancelled it, not Potter." Marcus hid his grimace about 'modern'. He wished he had half Golden Boy's luck. Most of the weddings he had attended had been lavishly antiquated and tedious. The only consolation had been the endless drink. His own ceremony had been ideal; one signature, no fuss.

"It was a huge argument. The whole family was at the Burrow for breakfast and heard it all. That's another reason why everyone wrote. Either they want an explanation from me, want to tell me what to do or want me to keep my nose out of Weasley business given I'm now a Flint." Hermione let her breath out a long, exasperated sigh. "Ron says he'll sort it out."

"Then let him."

"I know, but..." She cut herself off, closing her eyes for a moment. Maybe if she gave everyone a little time to talk to each other this would just blow over? Was that craven? Should she write Ginny to explain? She wanted to but that Howler had stabbed deeply. "She said she hoped I died like my parents."

Marcus pulled her into a hug and she let him, burying her face against his chest so he did not see her cry. She did not see his expression. The heir of the House of Flint had been born into a world of feuds. He was quite prepared to add Ginevra Weasley to his roll of enemies. The bitch would pay for her offence. Not immediately. He would be patient. He would wait for the proper time and then they would all pay for making his wife a pariah.

"What's in the paper?" Hermione asked his shirt. She might as well get all the bad news out of the way at once.

"Fucking pathetic lies." Marcus snarled. "A piss-pot of speculation. I bribed you. You were seeing me at Hogwarts. I rigged the spouse match. Weasley smashed up the Prism in a fight with me over you. You are pregnant." He would not have minded the last one being true but not announced like that. "I can guess the source of that one. No one but expecting women buys water at an Irish Quidditch match."

"Palau is looking very inviting right now." Pushing her hair out of her face, she straightened. "Thanks, Marcus." That seemed inadequate but she certainly was not going to kiss him. "Um." So eloquent. "Do you think we could be friends? All documentation aside? You've been kind to me and I appreciate it."

Marcus stared at her speculatively then extended his right hand. "I'd be honoured."

They shook hands then went out to Diagon Alley for a late breakfast and to stick two fingers up at gossipmongers.