A/N: Thank you for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! I am sorry that the updates to this have been so few and far between. I'm quite close to finishing my long fic, Trials (less than ten chapters left!) so that has been my main priority, while my in real life time has been somewhat limited. Then comes this one and then the long neglected All Too Soon. You can follow me over on tumblr where I go by nauticalparamour.
Please let me know what you thought of chapter six and please be on the lookout for chapter seven soon (hopefully next week)!
It had been too mind boggling to consider that Marcus Flint might actually want to spend time with her. Hermione had left the Quidditch building, speed walking back to the safety of her rooms where she was certain of the ground she walked on. Ex-professional Quidditch player, Slytherin, pureblood Marcus Flint could not possibly be interested in spending more time with her than was absolutely necessary. She wasn't Neville Longbottom, who while not ideal was infinitely more acceptable of a friend than Hermione Granger.
She must have been misinterpreting his jovial attitude and questions about what she liked to do for fun. She must have been seeing things when it seemed like he was disappointed that she was making her escape.
Hermione didn't think that her heart could handle a world in which Marcus wanted to be her friend while she was still harboring this massive crush on him. She might actually combust from the incidental touches and the way that he smiled at her when she said something funny. The thought was only made worse when she knew that he couldn't possibly be interested in more than friendship, so she knew that she would just spend her days pining until she was some withered old spinster.
Ugh.
At least, she was so sure until Marcus approached her after dinner a week later on Thursday night. "Granger," he greeted her with a nod.
"I thought we'd agreed to first names?" she asked, scrunching her nose in amusement at the old habits.
"Hermione," he corrected himself, a bit of pink staining his cheeks. "Anyway, there was another break in on Saturday night at the Quidditch dressing rooms. I don't know how, but I think they might have actually gotten around your wards."
She felt a bit affronted that the strength of her magic was being questioned. "Impossible," she said, squaring her shoulders back.
"Well, yeah, that's what I was thinking," he said quickly, obviously not wanting to have offended her. "So that's why it only makes sense to...I don't know, have a little stake out, keep an eye on the building and see how they are getting around your wards. Which I am sure are perfect."
She pursed her lips, trying to think of how a student could have outsmarted her. "I suppose that would be a logical option," she agreed.
"Great!" Marcus said brightly. "So you'll join me, then, on Saturday night? I'll swing by yours to come get you."
Hermione wanted to protest that she hadn't been agreeing with his plan, but he was gone in a flash and she couldn't do it. She didn't think that she could handle another evening alone in Marcus's presence and knew that she should come up with some sort of excuse to get out of it for her own sanity.
But, despite her intentions, she did not come up with anything and was met by Marcus knocking on her door on Saturday evening, this time with a blanket in tow. "I figured we could have like a little picnic of sorts on the pitch," he explained, while they made their way outside. "The students must have known we were there last week, so they didn't try anything. But, they won't notice us out on the pitch."
She found herself agreeing with his logic once again, and helped him to smooth out the plaid blanket in the middle of the pitch, before sitting down on one side, her legs tucked under her. "I don't think I've ever actually been on a Quidditch pitch before," she said, looking around at the well manicured lawn. "The rings are much bigger than they look in the stands."
"If you think they look big now, imagine that you are flying directly in front of them," he quipped. "But, even so, the Keeper always makes it hard to score."
Hermione bit her lower lip and nodded, making a mental note to write that line down. She quite liked it as a double-entendre.
"Firewhiskey?" he asked, pulling a bottle from his cloak pocket. "I brought mugs this time. I figured you didn't fancy the thought of sharing the same bottle with me the other week."
Didn't fancy the idea of putting her lips on the same place where he had put his lips? Essentially having a kiss, by all primary school logic? Where on Earth would he have gotten an idea like that. "That was very thoughtful of you, Marcus," she said, taking the offered mug. "To be honest, I just don't actually drink much firewhiskey. I'm more of a butterbeer girl."
"Oh," he said, his broad shoulders slumping a bit. "Well, you could try to add a little water to your mug. Maybe that would help."
Not wanting to make him feel poorly, she took a sip and forced herself not to flinch. "Nonsense," she said with a smile, wanting him to think that she was cool and worthy of his time. "This is the perfect weather for a bit of firewhiskey to warm you up."
It was quite chilly outside and Hermione could already tell that her nose had gone pink. She could see every breath that Marcus exhaled in the frosty air. The right thing to do would be to subtly cast a warming charm, but instead, she found herself inching closer to the body heat that was coming off of the large man next to her.
"Is that why you don't like to go to the Three Broomsticks? Because you don't like to drink firewhiskey?" he asked, intrigued. "Because I assure you that they would still serve butterbeer to you."
"I've been known to join them for a glass of wine or two!" she said, wanting to defend herself. "It's just...well, don't tell him that I've told you, but Neville is absolutely in love with Hannah Abbott and I just always end up feeling like a third wheel in their conversations."
"Yeah, but I would have been there," he argued. "You could have talked to me."
She scrunched her nose. "I didn't really think that you'd want to talk to me," she said, hoping that she wasn't revealing anything horrid about herself by making the assumption.
"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?"
The firewhiskey was making her lips significantly looser than they would have been otherwise. "I suppose, it seemed a bit like you were avoiding me at the beginning of the school year. I thought maybe you didn't like me."
"I suppose I was avoiding you a bit. Especially after the way that we were reintroduced to one another," he said, giving her a little bit of a smirk. "You probably thought I was a big stupid lunk, half-naked. The sight might have blinded your innocent eyes."
"I assure you, you have nothing to worry about on that front. The view was...not scarring," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly, reminded of how she'd seen him half-naked and sweaty (an extremely welcome sight, if she was honest). "Minerva sort of tricked me down here. I didn't know it was you that I was meeting."
Marcus preened under her appreciation of his body, perhaps pleased that she had liked what she'd seen just a little bit. "That was part of it. But, mostly, because of the whole...Slytherin-Gryffindor thing," he said, his eyes dropping to his lap. He played with the rim of his mug. "I know that I and a lot of my classmates were pretty hard on you, especially about the whole blood purity thing. And then the war."
It was a topic that had so far been avoided. "Yeah, well, you can hardly be held to account for the actions of others," she said, trying to give him a pass. "It wasn't as if you fought in the war."
"Small blessing," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, if you don't stand up against the bad behavior, well, you are really just going along with it aren't you?"
She smiled at him, though he was still too afraid to meet her eyes. "That's a very wise sentiment, Marcus," she complimented him. "I am sure you've done far more introspection on this than many other of your classmates."
"I guess I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," he said, finally meeting her eyes with his own grey-blue ones.
Hermione swallowed thickly. "Thank you. Apology accepted," she said, hoping to absolve him of whatever it was that he was feeling. She couldn't really think of anything he had done to her personally, except maybe laughing at some of Malfoy's stupid jokes, but those were so far in the past that she honestly didn't even think about them any more.
She took another sip of her firewhiskey and realized that her mug was already gone. Biting her lip, she waffled over if she should really be having anymore. Before she could decide, Marcus was already pouring more of the liquid into the mug. "What are you trying to do, you big brute? Get me drunk?" she demanded, with a teasing tone in her voice.
He rolled his eyes at her. "I forgot that you were such a pipsqueak that you got drunk at the sight of a second firewhiskey!" he countered, before adding quickly that she didn't have to drink any more of it if she didn't want to. It wasn't expensive.
"Well, now that we've established that we do both want to talk to each other-"
"Oh, we have?" she teased, unable to stop herself.
"Yes," he continued, giving her a crooked smile. "Are you going to give me any actual suggestions of what there is to do for fun around here? Surely you must do something in your free time."
Hermione looked down at the blanket, pulling her legs to her body. "There's really not much outside of Hogwarts," she said, knowing that she couldn't tell him about the real hobby that took up so much of her time when she wasn't grading papers. What would he think of her then? "Sometimes, I go harvesting for potions ingredients when the weather is a bit nicer. It's sort of like a hike in a way."
He looked at her somewhat like she was speaking a completely different language. "I am sure there is some nice flying around here," he conceded, finally. "But what about like...if you wanted to go on a date with someone. Where would Weasley take you out?"
"Ron?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "Ron and I haven't dated, if you could even call it that, for nearly five years!"
"Okay, Potter then," he said, leaning back on his arms so he could stretch out fully, but still get a good look at her.
Hermione barely resisted a sigh, thinking of how nice it would be to snuggle up next to him on the blanket. "Harry and I would never date," she said, making a face of disgust. "It would be too much like dating a sibling. We have never been interested in one another."
"So, you don't have anyone to date you up here, then, with Neville wrapped up in Abbott at the Three Broomsticks," he said, sounding like he'd solved some mystery.
She wasn't sure if she was meant to be offended or not. "Hey, I do go on dates with people!" she argued, not wanting to sound like some sort of old spinster. She wouldn't tell him that it had been... a while since one of those dates actually materialized. "Just, usually when I am off for the summer. It's not as though I have a ton of options up here, as you've mentioned."
"Ah, so you are more of the type to leave them high and dry after the summer break is over," he said, not bothering to hide his grin this time. "I can just imagine the wild romances you get up to, Granger."
She blushed, knowing how far from the truth that actually was. "Hey! Don't imagine me and any sort of wild romance," she insisted. (Unless it was going to involve him and the Quidditch dressing rooms in some capacity. Maybe over his desk.). "Why are you so interested in my love life anyway? Are you...are you just trying to figure out if I'm single?"
He cleared his throat. "I was just trying to figure out what I should do around here," he said gruffly, not liking being called out. "If I'm going to be here year after year, I can't just hole up in the castle all the time."
"You could always just spend the whole night out on the Quidditch pitch drinking firewhiskey with me," she suggested, raising her now empty mug once again. "I don't think we are going to catch any students tonight," she added. "It's nearly two in the morning. Surely they are all asleep at this point."
"I suppose you are right," he agreed, before standing up and offering a hand to pull her up as well.
She was not expecting him to be as strong as she was, so she stumbled into him when he helped her onto her feet, falling into his arms, her face pressed against his chest. Oh Godric, he felt even more muscular than he looked. She was overwhelmed by his scent, stronger than the robe she'd sniffed in his office. Merlin, it was a lovely scent.
Realizing that she had been pressed against him far longer than was socially acceptable, she pulled away with pink cheeks. "I think I might have actually ended up drunk," she teased, ready to be back in the safety of her rooms at the castle, far away from Marcus and anything embarrassing she might end up doing or saying.
"Pipsqueak," he accused again, with a smile, before gathering up the blanket and holding it over his arms. "Come on, I'll get you back safely to the castle."
He offered her his arm, which she took, shamelessly playing up her swaying if only it meant that she could be a little closer to him for a bit longer.