#6 ~ A Matter of Matrimony

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR (except Marcus Delaluci). All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 5 ~ Initial Contact

The corridor leading to the library was empty, due to students being in class. Hermione walked briskly, intending on looking up the figure eight symbol to see if she could find any additional information. Her footfalls echoed off the stone walls as she walked. Suddenly, the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She paused and looked behind her. No one was there. Shaking the feeling of being followed off, she continued, but was wary and shifted to battle mode. She walked several more steps and felt someone behind her, very close. She threw her elbow back and up, only to have her wrist neatly caught, and the pointed joint palmed by Marcus Delaluci.

“Did I scare you, Miss Granger?” he asked, smiling down at her over her shoulder.

“I…I didn’t see you, Professor,” she responded. He let go of her elbow slowly, still smiling at her, his violet eyes twinkling with mischief. Hermione considered him.

“That was a pretty good catch,” she said, “I’ve never seen that move before.”

“Oh, just something I picked up in early training. I’ve done some mercenary work in my time. I see you’re no slouch when it comes to protecting yourself.”

Hermione blushed at the compliment. “Well, I had some pretty hairy situations to deal with. Severus insisted I learn to defend myself hand to hand.”

“Smart man. Beautiful women are always in danger of being accosted,” he said, hidden meaning in his voice.

Hermione blushed again. He had no idea.

“Well, beauty had nothing to do with it in my case,” she replied, “Deatheaters were after me.” She began to walk again, Marcus striding along beside her, his hands in his pockets.

“I see you survived. Quite an accomplishment,” Marcus remarked, still looking down at the witch. She was a small woman. He liked that. Small women were easy to lift and manipulate in interesting ways.

“Trust me, I had help,” she said shortly.

“Professor Snape?” he asked.

“Yes. And a few house-elves.”

“House-elves? Now that’s interesting. I had heard that a few helped in the Final Battle. I thought it was a rumor,” he said thoughtfully.

“No, it’s true,” Hermione said insistently, “Eli, one of Severus’ servants, actually received the Order of Merlin First Class for his part in bringing down the Dark Lord.”

“I guess there’s more to house-elves than making great meals,” Marcus replied, “that’s good to know.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, nodding her head.

So Snape had house-elves willing to fight for him. Hm. Something to keep in mind.

“So, where are you off to Miss Granger? Working on a lab project as usual?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m on my way to the library to look up a symbol I dreamed about last night,” she said rather sheepishly, “I’m not big on divination actually, I think it’s a rather wooly subject, but sometimes knowing the symbolism of a thing helps to decipher a subconscious meaning.”

Marcus barely registered what she said, he was so busy looking at her mouth. She had small, full lips…perfect for…

He noticed she was waiting for a response. “Er…what kind of symbol was it?” he hurriedly asked.

“A figure eight,” she replied.

Now this was interesting. And maybe something he could use to peak her curiosity.

“Now that’s something. My birthmark is a figure eight,” he said, watching for her reaction.

“Really?” she said, interested.

“Yes. All the male children of my family are born with it. It is always located in the same place, the right shoulder. The mark was often used to prove a male child’s bloodline. Legend has it that it is a gift passed down by a very special ancestor. A dragon.”

Hermione’s heart caught in her chest. She stopped walking and turned to fully face him, her curiosity in full force.

“You have a dragon for an ancestor? How can that be?” she asked, intrigued.

“If you have a few minutes,” Marcus said smoothly, “I’d be more than happy to share the tale with you.

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione breathed, really wanting to hear this tale. A wizard descended from a dragon? She wasn’t sure she believed it, but it would be amazing if it were true.

Marcus smiled to himself. “This way then, I know the perfect spot.” He offered Hermione his arm. She hesitated for a moment, then decided it would be rude not to take it. She looped her arm through his and off they went.

It felt strange to be on another man’s arm. She could feel the difference between his and Severus’ limbs. Marcus’ muscles were larger, more compact, while Severus had a leaner, sleeker musculature.

Marcus guided them to a door leading to a small patio area, with a table and two long benches. Plants and vines draped the low wall enclosing the area. The lake could be seen from here, and the Giant Squid, gently waving its tentacles in the air. Marcus escorted Hermione to the table and stood as she settled in, and then seated himself opposite her. He leveled his violet eyes at her. Her amber eyes looked back at him uncertainly. The he smiled, and she visibly relaxed.

She seemed a little uncomfortable at being alone with him. He liked that. It meant he was making an impression on her.

“Well, let me begin at the beginning. Dragons were once considered god-like creatures, and villagers offered them virgins to consume as tribute, and to keep them from destroying their homes. For the most part, the dragons ate the virgins, but supposedly Fiona Delaluci was a great beauty, of such gentle character, that the dragon who took her, kept her and became her lover. Dragons of that time lived long, long lives and the figure eight was a symbol of their perceived immortality. Supposedly she bore him a son, and that son was the forbearer of all my line.”

“What happened to her?” Hermoine asked, enthralled.

“Well, her son went on to become a great warrior, a lord who commanded vast armies. But Fiona stayed with the dragon until her death…”

Here he leaned in, his violet eyes intense, and continued,

“for having been with the dragon, she could never be satisfied by an ordinary man.”

Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when he leaned in toward her.

“I imagine not,” she breathed, “were there any other attributes the dragon gave to his descendents?”

Here, Marcus smirked a little.

“Well, yes, but such attributes…um…are generally not discussed in mixed company,” his voice dropped low, becoming only a bit seductive.

Hermione raised her eyebrow for a moment, then flushed in understanding. She felt a strange tug inside. Marcus grinned.

“Oh, and I got these,” he said, pointing to his eyes. Hermione looked closer at them.

They were violet, and on closer inspection flecked with bits of gold. His irises shifted and moved in the light. She had never seen such eyes. They were hypnotic.

Marcus telescoped his vision and the pupils enlarged. His eyes were almost completely black now, with a violet border. He telescoped them again, and now the pupil was as small as a pinprick, making the startling color stand out. Hermione continued to stare and Marcus said in a low voice

“I’m the only one in a thousand years to have these eyes. A gift from my ancestor.”

“They’re amazing,” Hermione said. Those eyes made his story believable.

“Many women think so,” he responded, keeping his eyes locked on hers. They were silent for a long while. Hermione suddenly stirred, rather guiltily.

“I…I need to get back,” she said, her voice quavering a little. “I have to get to my spell work, and then meet Severus for lunch.”

Marcus rose. “Then don’t let me keep you, by all means,” he said graciously as he helped her up from the bench, “but what about the library?”

Hermione balked a little. She’d decided she didn’t need to go to the library, now that she’d talked to Marcus. His very presence gave her answers, answers she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“That can wait,” she said shortly.

He smiled inwardly. He had reached her.

“Let me escort you to your lab then,” he said. He held out his arm again, but she didn’t take it.

“Er…no. I don’t want to take up any more of your time, Professor Delaluci,” she said, trying to leave gracefully. Severus wouldn’t appreciate another man walking with her arm in arm. Funny she should think about this now. The Professor had escorted her here the same way, and it hadn’t seemed wrong then. What had changed?

“Marcus. Call me Marcus, Miss Granger,” he said, looking at her kindly.

Hermione hesitated. She wasn’t on a first name basis with anyone other than Severus. She still addressed the staff members by their titles for the most part.

“I’m not really a Professor,” he said, sensing her reluctance, “and Mr. Delaluci seems too stuffy. So please, call me Marcus. It suits me better.”

“All right,” she conceded, “but you have to call me Hermione.”

He smiled, and tried it out…his voice soft and rich.

“Hermione.”

Hermione felt a bit of a flutter when her name rolled off his lips. She shouldn’t be fluttering.

“Well, I really need to go, Marcus,” she said, moving toward the door. He held it open for her and she had to pass by him closely to walk through. She was very aware of him as he followed her back inside.

“Well at least let me walk you to the main hall. We’re both going the same way, after all,” he said, falling in step beside her. She barely came up to his chest. Yes, he liked a small woman.

“That will be fine,” she said shortly. They walked in silence for a while. Then Marcus swooped in for the killing blow. All or nothing.

“Hermione, may I ask you something?”

Hermione’s eyes shifted to the disturbing man walking beside her, avoiding his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Are you and Severus an exclusive couple, or do you see other people? Because, if you do, I would very much like to take you to dinner. Maybe dancing.”

Hermione blanched, her stomach flipping insanely. He was asking her out.

“We’re exclusive,” she responded, “we don’t see other people.”

“I see,” Marcus said, looking at her intently, “I suppose you are betrothed…engaged?”

Hermione looked at the floor. “Well, no. We aren’t.”

She felt uncomfortable telling him that.

“Then maybe you aren’t as exclusive as you think you are,” Marcus insinuated, “How long have you been together?”

“Seven years,” she responded.

Marcus was silent for a while, letting the seeds of doubt sink into the fertile ground of her psyche.

“I wonder what this exclusiveness without commitment brings to you that\'s worth it?\" he asked, \"Does he ever take you dancing? Because you look like the kind of woman who loves to dance.”

“No, he doesn’t.” she replied quietly, “I haven’t been out dancing in years.”

Marcus looked at her, his eyes sympathetic.

“That’s a shame, a real shame. Years. You’re only in your twenties. There shouldn’t be anything you haven’t experienced for years.”

He shook his head, a frown on his face.

“A beautiful young woman shouldn’t be locked away in a deep, dank dungeon, growing old before her time. She should have some fun experiences, a social life, and friends. Don’t you think?” he asked.

Hermione didn’t answer him. They were almost at the main hall.

“Well, if you ever feel the need to get out and live a little, feel free to let me know. It wouldn’t have to be a date you know. We could always go as friends,” he offered.

Friends. Friends were good. Safe.

“All right,” Hermione said, giving him a little smile, “If I ever get the urge, I’ll let you know. As friends.”

“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

Hermione hesitated, then took it and shook. His grip was warm, firm and masculine. She could feel small calluses in his palm. His fingers were broad and square, the knuckles prominent. Not at all like Severus’ hands. She wondered briefly what they would feel like on a woman’s skin, probably strong, firm, possessive…then she pulled back the thought, horrified.

Marcus looked down at her soberly, his shifting violet eyes seeming to perceive her thoughts. He released her hand slowly. She turned and walked away rather stiffly, forgetting to say good-bye. Marcus smiled at her discomfiture.

“Remember, you promised to help me with my lesson plan later this week,” he called to the rapidly disappearing young witch. She waved her hand at him over her shoulder, and jetted for the dungeons. Soon she was out of sight.

“Now that went better than expected,” he said to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and ambling toward the Dark Arts classroom. He definitely had her attention.

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On the landing above, a dark-robed figure stood looking down at the DA teacher’s departure, pale hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his black eyes full of rage.

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A/N: Ok…we have some initial fluttering here. Please review and let me know what you thought about this chapter. Thanks. Warning: Non-consenual sex in next chapter.