Coffee and Casts

Cho slurped down a mouthful of coffee and gave her leg a resentful look. Not that she normally had a problem with it - in fact, Michael Corner had once told her that it along with its twin was the best set in their entire house - but at the moment it was elevated on the chair in front of her, smothered in white plaster and utterly useless. It itched and made it impossible for her to get comfortable at night, hence the switch from her normally benign green tea to this foul concoction that would be put to better purposes as an industrial-strength cleaning fluid. From the hall came the high-pitched giggles of her mostly female colleagues (Muggle Relations not being thought of as a terribly masculine field), which only compounded the throbbing lump of a headache behind her left temple. She grimaced as the last grainy swallow went down and waited for her reluctant grey matter to click into gear. Someone knocked on her door and the lump went into spasm. "What?" she barked.

"I thought this might make your life a little easier." Marcus Flint swept in, placing a second cup of coffee on the table in front of her. Her uncharacteristic rudeness would have earned a reprimanding look from other office workers, but he seemed to almost enjoy it. "Though I don't know why you don't just hop on over to St Mungo's and get them to heal the bones," he continued, giving her a long look from under his thick eyelashes. "I know that you Ravenclaws are in love with your pathos, but this is a little excessive."

"Marcus, I work undercover in the Muggle Relations Office," Cho explained with a sort of strained impatience. "And at least a dozen of them saw me tumble down the stairs the day I got this-" she heaved her limb off its perch. "If I show up without it when it's only been a week, they'll start to wonder why."

"Tough luck," Marcus said. Cho privately thought that he could make a more sincere attempt at appearing sympathetic. "So how long do you have to keep that thing on for?"

"The Muggle doctor told me at least seven weeks," Cho said. "If she doesn't take it off when I go back, I may just have to hit her over the head with it and knock her unconscious."

"That's very violent talk for a little Ravenclaw," Marcus remarked. "And because in your desire to make small talk you asked so nicely, the reason why I'm here is because the Aurors have a strong lead on a Death Eater in a Muggle area of London, so I got sent over to ask Thomas about our policy on a raid of Muggle areas. Again, nice of you to inquire." He tipped an imaginary hat at her. "Thank you for asking."

"Until my caffeine influx hits, I'm in a very violent mood," Cho told him. Marcus made no response and she resumed the study of her hands. While she didn't possess the dashing, look-at-me heroics of the Gryffindors, she wasn't exactly the type to be intimidated either, but this particularly Slytherin had a gagging affect upon her. Not that she felt afraid of him, just...uncomfortable. It wasn't a bad nervousness either, just a sort of hyper-awareness, as if somehow her senses picked up to fever pitch whenever he was around. And his remark was making her feel as though she was being unnecessary rude towards him when all he'd done was bring her a cup of coffee that she badly needed and that, present disability accounted for, would have been a minor mission to make for herself. She felt guilty - and some other emotion she couldn't quite place. She should still be cautious. He was a Slytherin, after all. But that didn't mean that she couldn't be polite. "Thank you for the coffee, by the way. I'm sorry I've been so grumpy. These days I need two cups just to be able to nod my head."

"Forget it," Marcus shrugged. "If you think that you're not a morning person, you should meet my labrador retriever, Samson." Cho chuckled. For the first time since as long as she could remember, her laughter didn't feel forced. "I didn't know whether you took milk or sugar, so I just left it black."

"Oh, I've got all the sweetness I need," Cho said dryly. She assumed that after giving her the coffee, Marcus would leave. But he didn't - and she realized that she didn't mind. He was studying the photos on her desk. It felt a little invasive, but not in a bad way, as if she was revealing a very personal secret to a close friend. Which was a ridiculous thought to have when someone was just looking at snapshots of your family. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she found herself blurting out.

"Because I feel like it," Marcus said simply. Cho stared up at him blankly. "Aren't we Slytherins allowed to do favours for other people without an ulterior motive?"

"No."

"No? So alright, maybe I am." Cho gave him an assessing look. "I don't know how you can stand drinking that stuff," he continued, replacing a framed photo of her mother with surprising care. "What you need is a caffetierra. You know, what they use to make coffee in Europe. It allows the flavour to filter through, unlike our disgusting way of dumping the coffee into hot water and stirring in the grains. I have one at my flat." He smiled down at her from his seat on the edge of her desk. It was a mocking smile, but in a gentle way. "You've started wearing your hair up, I see."

Cho shrugged and brushed the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. "It's easier to manage that way. I have enough to deal with as it is."

"It suits you. You look pretty like that."

"Thank you." She could feel a blush coming on. Bloody Ravenclaw self-consciousness. Through the open door of her office she saw her colleague, Hermione Granger, chatting animatedly away to Kingsley Shacklebolt. She had never forgiven the Gryffindor for the lack of remorse she had shown over her hex on Marietta. Marcus followed her gaze and raised one eyebrow enquiringly at her. "Yes, having that across the hall doesn't help either."

"I could have her taken care of, you know." Marcus lowered his voice and pressed his head closer.

"What?" Cho blinked.

"I could have her dealt with," Marcus elaborated. "Done away with. Put somewhere she can't do any harm. Avada Kedavra-ed. What she did to Marietta was far too full-on. And I'm part Italian on my mother's side, you know. I have contacts where it matters." He gave the Muggleborn a second look. "Although speaking of Italians, I'd hate to get on the wrong side of Zabini's wand. I have an idea that he's looking to undertake a little Muggle Studies, or the study of one little Muggle in particular."

"You're joking," Cho breathed. Granger and Zabini? The same Zabini who, after a Quidditch victory, had once drunkenly slurred to her that it was shame that such a hot arse was wasted on an old-blood traitor? "That's impossible."

"It may be so, and yet it's happening," Marcus shrugged. "Apparently he started to develop a thing for her during all those Slug Club meetings. And I thought it was Ginny Weasley he fancied. But these are difficult times, and stranger relationships have happened." He gave Cho a long, searching look.

"I don't want you to knock her off," Cho said suddenly. "I mean, we're both very well-aware of how the Gryffindors see things, but I'm a Ravenclaw, and I believe that wanting to do a good deed does not justify using foul means in order to achieve it. I believe that having a moral code is important, and that when working against evil the means you use in order to achieve your goal are as important as the goal itself." She finished off, feeling slightly breathless. It now occurred to her that (although you never knew for certain with a Slytherin) he may have been joking, and she felt like a fool.

Sure enough, Marcus raised one eyebrow. "I wasn't being serious," he said. She expected him to take this golden opportunity to mock her, as would befit one from his house. But he remained silent.

"You weren't being serious about that, or about other things you said - or implied?" she amended her initial query, seeing the perplexed look in Marcus's eyes. Or was she imagining it? Now she really felt like a fool.

"Well, that depends on you, doesn't it, Cho?" His eyes had taken on a cloaked look. Her stomach did a strange twist, but this time she knew why. "So tell me, does this "moral code" of yours let a Slytherin take you out for a cup of coffee that doesn't taste like that ginger furball that follows Granger around pissed in it?"

"It might do," Cho said. For the first time today she was smiling, and for once it had nothing to do with a caffeine high.

The End