Archive of Our Own ^beta

A/N- This fic is extremely self indulgent. There are lots of biblical references, as well as references to Eastern Orthodox Christianity. The Theotokos is what Orthodox Christians call Mary, for clarification. Please feel free to ask clarifying questions if needed. 

Marcus Flint is not what anyone would call book smart, but he can see where this is going from the very beginning. 

He wears an Orthodox cross around his neck that once belonged to his Halfblood mother, before her tragic death. He can recognize a sacrificial lamb when he sees one, and what a pretty little lamb Hadara Potter is- all graceful lines, black curls, and green eyes. 

She’s so pure, and trusting. So good. 

That must be what the Light likes about her, he thinks, as he watches her from across the Great Hall, and down crowded corridors. He doesn’t say anything to her. He’s two years ahead of her- big, and intimidating, and has no desire to scare her.

Still, he can’t help but admire her from afar. 

Will her inherent goodness make the sacrifice mean more, when Dumbledore inevitably leads her to her death?

It must count for something. 

‘Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends’. Sure, but should she be having to make that call at twelve, he wonders? Even Jesus made it to the age of thirty three before he was crucified. 

His father tells him he should consider his options for betrothal contracts. Marcus looks at his parents' own golden wedding crowns, which still hang in place of pride over the mantle in the sitting room. 

“Would you approve of Potter, if I could convince her of my love?” He asks, knowing he’ll leave the family one day if his father says no.

His father looks at him inscrutabley. “Have you ever spoken to her?”

Marcus shakes his head. “Never.” 

Lord Flint blinks, and nods his head. “If you can woo her, then yes, but you might need to actually talk to the girl.”

Marcus turns his back to his father, and though he knows he’s right, he can’t bring himself to talk to her. He sends courting gifts instead, and short letters that he never signs his name on. She opens his latest in the Great Hall, and blushes prettily for him.

‘This necklace has been blessed by the monks on Mount Athos,’ the letter reads. ‘It is without doubt one of the holiest places on earth, and one of the best ways I could think to keep you safe, for now. The Theotokos is the God Bearer, and much like your own mother, she loves fiercely. P.S- The chain has protective enchantments. I may have faith, but I’m not an idiot. You can never be too careful.’

She puts on the necklace that once belonged to his mother and tucks it beneath her shirt, close to her heart. Marcus hides his smile behind a teacup the entire meal. 

He hears, after the fact, that the protective enchantments on the necklace is what kept Lupin from hurting her the night he transformed, out under the moonlight. It had blown him back hard enough he hit a tree and passed out. 

Still, there’s a bandage over a cut on her lip that doesn't’ want to heal and a sad look in her eyes.

He thinks, sometimes, that she must know all the gifts and letters are from him. He catches her looking at him when she thinks he isn’t looking, but he never says anything, terrified of rejection, and neither does she. 

When they return to school for her Fourth Year, and his Sixth, things feel off.

He knows why as soon as Dumbledore announces the Triwizard Tournament during the Welcome Feast. He writes a letter to his father that night. ‘Prepare Mama’s house,’ is all it says. He wants an out for the both of them if this goes the way he thinks it will. 

He just knows Dumbledore will find a way to pull her into the Triwizard Tournament, because he always finds a way to put her life in danger. When he looks at her he can practically hear the Paschal hymns in his head. 

‘Today a sacred Pascha is revealed to us…a Pascha worthy of veneration.’ 

And he would venerate her, as sacrilegious as it might be. He’ll kneel at her feet, if he can get her out of this Merlin damned slaughterhouse. 

He’s been remiss in not approaching her. He knows that, but he feels his hand is forced when her names comes out of the Goblet of Fire. The hymns in his head get louder every day. He can practically see her up on the cross when he closes his eyes. 

He writes to his Great Uncles, the ones in a monastery on Mount Athos, and asks them to pray for the girl he loves.  He has his older sister light candles for her at every church service.  

He watches Potter carefully, but knows he can’t make it that long. Every day the burden is heavier on her shoulders. Every day he’s more paranoid. 

He gets a letter from his father. ‘The house is ready. It’s safe,’ and he knows it’s time to go. He pockets the portkey his father has included, and leaves everything else in his dorm. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about any of it. 

He searches for Potter for hours. He finds her in a deserted corner of the library, dark circles under her eyes. He sits down across from her, and she lifts her heavy head. 

“Flint?” She asks and there is no bite in her voice, just curiosity, because she is so good . 

Her face looks absolutely haunted.

“You can see where this is going, can’t you?”

Potter- Hadara- tilts her head to look at him curiously. The gold of her necklace glints in the candlelight, warming his heart. “The tournament?”

“Your very short life, if you continue to let it be controlled by Dumbledore.”

He’s never had the full force of her gaze on him up close, and he has to admit it’s slightly intimidating. He fiddles with the cross around his neck almost without thought. She zero’s in on it, and her eyes grow wide. 

“I thought you were a Pureblood,” she whispers, ignoring his question.

“My mother was a Halfblood,” he responds. “My father met her on holiday in Greece, and he was charmed by her way of life. I was raised in the Greek Orthodox Church.” 

Hadara pulls the Theotokos medal out from under her blouse and fiddles with it.  “And where exactly do you think this is going?” She asks gently. 

He can see it in that moment, can see why Dumbledore has pinned all his hopes on her. Her eyes are so open, a window to her soul.

She is the perfect little Christ figure. She’d descend to the depths of hell (a war over a decade old) for her friends if he let her. She’d sacrifice herself, and break the gates of hell. (defeat Voldemort)

She’d do it all, but should she have to? Should he let her fight alone when he could give her respite? When the adults could fight their own battles?

No. 

Marcus leans forward, pinning her with his eyes. “The Light is gonna let him crucify you for their sins, sweetheart. All the snakes can see it.” 

“Dumbledore or Voldemort?”

Marcus shrugs. “Take your pick, darling.” 

Hadara flinches at his words. He teaches out and puts one of his massive hands over her smaller one. 

She looks up at him, tears in her wide green eyes. He thinks he can see the resignation there, like she’s known all along, but maybe just needed someone to say it out loud.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He could keep lying, he knows. It would be the Slytherin thing to do, but instead he pushes away all his self preservation and confesses like the most fervent of believers. “A very selfish reason, really. I’m in love with you. I’m the one who sent you all those letters and courting gifts. ” 

A fetching blush covers her cheeks. She looks away from him, and then back in quick succession.

“You’re in love with me? Really?” 

Marcus nods once, sharply. “Quite desperately, so you can see why it’s in my interest to keep you alive.” 

A giggle breaks from Hadara’s mouth, not mean, or mocking, it borders on hysterical. The laugh breaks, and turns into a sob. She crumbles and he’s beside her in a second. He sits in the seat next to her, and pulls her into his arms.

She sobs against his chest. Marcus has never been more glad to be alone in the library. Not that he cares if he’s seen with her, but it might cause problems if Dumbledore hears of this before they’re out of dodge.

It occurs to him that maybe no one has ever told Hadara they love her before, not without an agenda. Surely Dumbledore drones on about love, but because he wants something from Hadara- for her to save the wizarding world- over, and over, and over.

Marcus doesn’t want anything from her.

Except for her to live, and perhaps, one day, if she can grow to love him, her hand in marriage.

If not, he’ll simply love and worship her for all of his days. 

No pressure, really.

“What am I supposed to do?” Hadara sobs against his shirt. “The rules of the tournament are absolute. I have to compete. These tasks- they’re meant to kill.” 

“You have to compete?” Marcus queries. “A fourteen year old girl without the consent of her guardians? Who told you that, I wonder?” 

Hadara looks up at him, to see he’s bouncing a small book against his leg. ‘Rules and Regulations of the Triwizard Tournament,’ the cover reads. She reaches for it, and flips through the book, but gives it up as too long almost immediately. Admittedly, the book is longer than his mothers leather bound bible, with print a third of the size, to fit into the tiny volume. 

When her eyes return to his, there’s trust in them. “You must have read it. What do we do?”

Marcus smiles at the use of the word ‘we’ and uses his thumb to swipe the tears from her face. “We get you to safety. I know somewhere he’ll never find you. He can’t make you compete, not really, but he won’t give up if you’re here. It’s easier for him to let you fight the Dark Lord, than do it himself, even if it leads to your death.” 

Hadara worries her bottom lip. “What if the Dark Lord comes back? What if he comes after us? I couldn’t put you and your family in danger that way.” 

Marcus shakes his head, because how can she not understand? He cradles her face in his hands and tilts it so she has to look in his eyes. He repeats the words his mother told him every day as a boy. “Love suffers long and is kind. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” 

Hadara’s eyes flicker down to where Marcus’ cross rests against his sweater. She coasts her fingers over it gently. She wonders if she’s doing the right thing, running away. Perhaps she should stay and fight. Perhaps- 

Marcus picks up the Theotokos medal around her neck. Hadara’s eyes join his, and suddenly she can see her own mother superimposed over the image of the Theotokos. 

Both so loving.

Suddenly she knows without a doubt that this is not what Lily wanted for her. She gave up everything so that Hadara could live. She wouldn’t want her to throw her life down the drain for some stupid tournament when she was only fourteen years old. 

She blinks up at Marcus, who has a hopeful smile on his face. She wraps her arms around his neck and tucks her face into the crook of his neck.“Can we bring Sirius and Hedwig?” 

Marcus nods as he wraps his arms around her. “You can bring whoever you like, agapi mou.”