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"I'm sorry. Can you repeat that, please?" Hermione sputters at the man standing on the other side of her desk.
"I asked you to marry me," Marcus Flint responds without a trace of humour in his voice. He's in a bespoke suit, his whole body pulled straight and tense as he addresses her in his gruff voice. His eyes give nothing away, but there is something about his words that make her pay attention.
She just isn't sure if she believes what she's hearing.
"I assure you, Granger, that this proposal is both legitimate and offered with consideration." He pauses and then softens his tone. "I'm asking you to become my wife."
Hermione leans forward, and stares into his deep blue eyes, trying to figure out just what led this man —this famous, pureblood, dark-aligned, playboy Quidditch player— to her office with such a ridiculous notion.
"But why?" She insists. A million questions are running rampant through her mind, so many things she wants to ask him, but her brain stutters and stops as marry me rattles about in her head. "You’ve barely even spoken to me in all the years we have been friends. I thought you didn't even like me . So, excuse me if I'm a little confused as to why you suddenly want to get engaged."
And she is confused. They’ve run in the same circles since a majority of her close friends started marrying Slytherins, but he’s never really opened up to her. Half the time he just stares at her from across the room or avoids her completely. Its only when he’s drunk or enthusiastic from a Quidditch victory that he ever even talks to her.
"I like you,” he retorts. “Anyway, it's a yes or no question, Granger." Flint pauses as he fiddles with a small black velvet box she’s completely overlooked before now. "I need to marry, and I would like it to be you. I realise it's a little unorthodox, but I promise you—"
" Unorthodox ?!" Hermione cuts him off with a hysterical shout. "It's more than unorthodox! You're standing in my office…you booked an appointment with my assistant…to propose marriage— and I have no idea what in Merlin's name would possess you to do that. Is this a joke?"
For the first time since he stepped through her doorway, she sees a flicker of genuine expression cross his handsome features as he practically grits out his reply. "It is not a joke!" He shuffles closer to grab hold of her hand, and for some insane reason, Hermione lets him. "I have to marry before my 35th birthday or forfeit all rights to the Flint trust and properties. My birthday is in two weeks. I've tried to find a way around it, but since one doesn't seem to exist, here I am."
He kneels then, flipping open the box and stares straight into her eyes. "I'm asking you, Hermione Granger, to marry me."
Hermione gapes at him again, ignoring the enormous glittering ring and motions for him to stand up—which, thank Merlin , he does. She’s not sure if her fluttering heart can handle having him knelt before her. She’s tried so hard to keep herself from having a ridiculous crush on this man, so this swoon worthy move is not helping at all. She ignored the butterflies in her belly to ask, "and what happens when I say no?"
He grimaces a bit and then grunts out, "Then I go to a pub, sleep with one of my groupies and make her Mrs. Flint for the next five years."
"You think that will work?" she asks with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.
"I know it will work,” he says smugly. “I just don't want to do it," Hermione doesn't know if she is impressed with his honesty or dismayed that it probably would be that easy for someone like him.
"What do you want? Why me? I need you to be completely honest." She's almost convinced he's serious about this crazy scheme, but she isn't sure why she's sitting here letting him go on. "Tell me why I shouldn't throw you out of here this instant." Hermione's hands are on her hips, and she desperately wants to hear his reasoning, not only because her mind works best when it has facts and information but also because his proposal, no matter how outlandish, has her heart beating erratically.
This sort of thing doesn’t happen to girls like her.
Or maybe it does. Swotty workaholics who can't keep a relationship are precisely the kind of people who get proposals for a marriage of convenience. Because that's what he's offering her, right ?
"You want me to be honest, little witch?" he asks, his ocean blue eyes boring into her with an intensity she's only seen from him on a Quidditch pitch. She has to squeeze her legs together as a wave of lust sweeps through her body as it registers just what his nickname does to her.
She can't help but stare as she takes in his chiselled features and perfect posture. He's handsome now, self-assured, and she can almost imagine what it would be like waking up to him, with his body hard and warm next to her every morning. She clears her throat, shakes away the inappropriate thoughts running through her mind, and instead says, "If you want me to even listen to this insanity, I need you to tell me precisely why you have to marry and why you think it somehow has to be me. Why would I agree to this? To a marriage of convenience."
"I don't want a marriage of convenience," he all but growls out, and Hermione's eyes widen with confusion and surprise. Flint pauses and sighs deeply, dragging calloused fingers through his short, dark locks. When he continues, he props himself on the edge of her desk and looms closer to invade her personal space.
Hermione doesn't step back as he softens his voice and continues, "Granger— Hermione, I am the last of the primary line of Flints." He pauses and grabs her hand again. She doesn't want to admit that it feels nice. "I don't want the family legacy torn apart by greedy cousins and purebloods who will never work to restore it to its former glory."
"Former glory?" Hermione says, her voice raising an octave. "If what you want is some pureblood supremacy legacy, then you certainly have the wrong—"
"Not that legacy," he interrupts gruffly. "Merlin woman, that's what I'm trying to save it from. If you would just listen—"
"What do you mean save it from?" Hermione interrupts again, and she sees him physically bite back a sigh of frustration. The look he gives her, though, causes her to be quiet.
"Are you always this demanding?" he asks with a half-hearted glare.
"Yes." She swears she sees a smile cross his features, but he coughs to cover it and continues.
"Now, if you would let me explain," he insists. She flaps her hands for him to continue and keeps her mouth shut, and this time there's no mistaking the upward quirk of his full lips. She likes him smiling at her. "Before my father and grandfather got mixed up with The Dark—with Voldemort ," he corrects, "before they almost ran our family name into the ground, the Flints used to be progressive; they used to be a Light-aligned house. I want to be like that again. That's where you come in."
"You want me to help you drag your house back to the Light?" she questions. "Why would I want to do that?"
He sighs but looks sincere. "Because even though you have always fought tirelessly for creatures and people and any other lost cause you can find, you don't actually have the resources to make real change."
"Excuse me, I have plenty of allies and proposals drafted and—"
"And think about what you could do with pureblood connections, nearly unlimited galleons and a Wizengamot seat." Marcus interrupts Hermione's rant and stands back up to his full height, taking careful steps closer until their chests are almost touching. "You would be able to champion whatever causes you wanted; you would sit in the family seat. Merlin knows I don't have the brain for politics, but you…you're the Gryffindor Golden Girl. You will change the wixen world. I can make it easier."
Hermione hisses, "I don't need a pureblood—"
"Yes, you do!" he says firmly. "As much as society has changed in the last decade, blood still matters. You know it does, and you know that you need me as much as I need you— at least for this."
She won't admit that he has a point. A very valid point. For all that she has risen in the ranks at the Ministry, there is still so much prejudice and politics that thwarts her at every turn. Just having the Wizengamot seat and his resources would make a huge difference. Almost enough to make her agree to sacrifice her heart for her causes.
"And what? You let me handle the politics, and you get to be a playboy, sleep around, and do whatever you want?"
"No! If you would shut that brilliant mouth for a second and stop assuming the worst of me, I’ll explain!" He growls and pulls her closer. "This would be real to me, not a farce. If I have to get married, I want to do it right; I want the vows and everything that goes with it." He's breathing heavily now and tips her chin up with gentle fingers so that her chocolate eyes meet his swirling blue. "If you agree to marry me, I'm all in."
"Why? I don't understand,” she chokes out, blinking at him. Did he just confess that he wants her, beyond a political match? Certainly not . But then she looks into his eyes, and she sees emotion and desire there that can't be faked, and she sucks in a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"I've had a thing for you for years, if I'm honest, ever since you punched Draco in the face as a third-year. If I have to marry to appease the family magic, I at least have to take the chance to gain some control. To have what I want. You aren't a convenient wife, Hermione Granger. Frankly, I'm convinced you'll be one hell of a challenge, but you are my first choice, and I'm not stupid enough to pass up this opportunity."
Then he kisses her, burying his big hands in the curl of her hair and pouring every ounce of himself into their kiss. Hermione gasps in surprise, and Marcus uses that advantage to slip his tongue into her mouth. He kisses like he flies, with fearlessness and determination and just a bit of control.
Suddenly, she's kissing him back, winding her hands around the hard muscles of his back and letting herself sink into his delicious heat. His words swirl around in her brain: you're my first choice echoing like a promise in her soul. She's always been needed for her brain or her bravery, but she now feels wanted beyond measure.
So she melts into it, allows him to cup her arse and drag her into his hard body, and she goes with it. For once she doesn't let herself think and analyse but instead, she just feels. And this, this feels like electricity, like flying and falling and simply not caring where the ground is. All her senses are filled with him, and his words thaw her resolve to the point where she's actually considering saying yes.
She can't imagine saying no and seeing him with some trophy wife on his arm. Not when she knows he kisses like he's burning and that he chose her first, wanted her the most. She holds all the power–he's willingly giving her all the power– and that, more than anything, makes her decision.
She pulls back, breathless and kiss-swollen, and places a gentle palm on his cheek. "I'm not going to be an easy wife," she scolds him with a pointed finger in his chest. "I'm not going to change just because I married you suddenly."
"I know that!" He laughs, and she feels her face heat at how he looks at her. She can't even understand what she sees there.
She keeps going, though, because she has one last chance to convince him that this won't be easy. "I'm stubborn, and I work too much, and I'm never going to be happy as a housewife. I care about my career."
"I have met you before," he mocks with a dazzling smile, and she can't help but pout. "And we'll have house elves." She glares at him, and he adds, "freed house elves who are paid. And may I remind you that your career is something I'm very much in favour of."
"I'm going to challenge you and probably fight with you, and I don't like being told I'm wrong—"
He kisses her like he's been doing it for a lifetime, leaving her speechless. Then he cups her cheek and drags her close again. "Hermione, I know all of this. I know you're a bossy, swotty, know-it-all; believe me, it's part of your charm."
"But–" she tries to protest, but he cuts her off.
"Flint Manor also has a huge library, and I'm not above bribery to get you to agree." He must see the glint in her eye at the offer of books, and his smile gets wider—more confident. "Assuming that this is you agreeing."
She can't speak, so she nods and finally finds her voice after a couple of beats. "You had me at library ."
He picks her up and spins her around, kissing her cheek and whooping like he just won the Quidditch Cup, and she giggles against the warmth of his muscular chest. She can't believe that she's agreeing to marry a man that she's only shared a tentative friendship with for the last half-decade, but here she is, letting her heart override her common sense.
And it actually feels good. To stop thinking and leap into the unknown. To regain a little bit of the Gryffindor bravery that's been worn down by life and monotony, and make a choice just for herself and just because she can.
She knows it won't be simple; marriage rarely is. But she shuts down all the little voices that tell her this is a bad idea and listens only to the ones that say you get to choose; you might get to be happy.
Marcus stops spinning her around and kisses her again, short and sweet and filled with potential as he sets her down on the ground. "I can't believe you're saying yes."
"This is going to be a disaster," Hermione says with a slight chuckle and a hint of disbelief that she's agreeing to this insane plan.
"Oh, come on, little witch, it won't be that bad. I promise." Marcus winks at her with his sexy smug grin, and all thoughts of backing out quickly vanish. For better or worse, she's going to do this.
Then Marcus slides back down to one knee, that pesky little velvet box back in his left hand and his right thumb sliding up to cover her pulse point. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over the knuckles of her left hand and beams his best Witch Weekly award-winning smile at her.
Her heart is thumping erratically, and her knees feel like jelly when he asks his question one last time. "Hermione Granger, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?"
And despite knowing this is a bad idea and that this impulsive, crazy scheme is the most reckless thing she has ever done with her heart, the only word that leaves her mouth is "Okay."