Sometimes what you're looking for comes when you're not looking at all. That's kind of how Hermione felt these past few weeks. The new school year started strangely with the events surrounding the dark mark at the Quidditch World Cup and Professor Flitwick asking her to tutor one of his seventh years, Marcus Flint. Plus, the petite Gryffindor girl just can't get the house elves off her mind. There has to be something she can do to rectify their situation, and is determined to think through it for a logical answer.
However, it was tutoring Flint that made her pause. Admittedly being anywhere near him made her as nervous as a kneazle at bath time. Hermione knows exactly who Flint is. He's the Slytherin quidditch captain, a hulking male, and has pulled horrible pranks over the years, which include dressing up like a death eater to scare the wits out of Harry. With that said, he's a hooligan and ruffian with a foul mouth. The guy has laughed at Malfoy calling her mudblood on more than one occasion. Despite her saying the opposite, it stings to be called that dirty word.
And as much as Hermione adores Harry and Ron, they are starting to get on her nerves (especially her red-headed friend). Pretty much anything he can do to make her feel like less than a girl, he does. It's super frustrating. "Why would you want to wear a dress to Hogsmeade, Mione? It's silly," he says. Maybe she wants to wear a dress because it's pretty. Grant it, she's not the frilliest girl around like some of those Slytherin dolls, but she does like to be feminine.
Hermione has no idea why she bothers because it's not like anyone pays attention. It's hard being seen as nothing but brainy or something dirty like a mudblood. All her life, she's been the odd one out, even in primary school. At home, it's the same thing because she can do magic, but her parents can't. They wondered for a long time why that was, and she did too, thinking something was wrong with her until the day the Hogwart's letter arrived. That was the day everything changed, opening a whole new world and level of understanding that wasn't there before. From then on, all Hermione ever wanted to do was fit in with her new surroundings.
When Professor McGonagall showed up and spoke to the muggle family about Hogwarts and the wizarding world, that was everything. For once, Hermione felt like this was it. This opportunity is her chance to be who she was created to be, and she felt it deep down into her soul. It's exactly like the day she got her wand. There is no other way to describe it, but the whole experience was magical. Her wand, 10¾" long, made of vine wood, and possessed a dragon heartstring core, is the best thing she's ever owned.
The next best thing she's ever owned is a copy of her favorite book Hogwarts a History. Little did she know that her father bought a copy from Flourish and Blotts along with her other textbooks. Unsurprisingly Hermione managed to read it cover to cover before school started her first year. Straight away, she knew she wanted nothing more than to be sorted into Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw would be an acceptable alternative. Everything she ever hoped for inside her spirit came true upon discovering she possessed magical abilities, and it was beautiful.
The train, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, all of the classes, everything was lovely. But then Hermione wound up being left out and not fitting in whatsoever. Sure all of that changed with the troll incident in the bathroom. Sure she became friends with Harry and Ron, but still, sometimes, in her heart of hearts, it's hard. Sometimes when it gets too much, and Malfoy has bothered her to the umpth degree, she speaks to the most unlikely person- Professor Flitwick.
Honestly, that happened by chance once during the third year, when he noticed she was troubled and not speaking out in class as usual. The man took her aside and asked what was wrong. And that's when she explained all about being called a mudblood and feeling different from everyone else. It's as if she were meant to talk to him because the Ravenclaw head of house laughed and said, "Dear Girl, you want to talk about feeling different, just look at me." He motioned to himself with his hands.
That made her chuckle. Her professor went on to say, "I'm part goblin, and I have to stand on a stack of books just to see over my desk. Plus, I wear glasses and am a tad bald in front. I would say I have everything covered in the strange and weird department. I came to terms with being different a long time ago. It's okay to be different, Miss Granger. Don't wish yourself to be like everyone else. That's boring. And neither try to fit in because it would make you miss out on being who you were meant to be- yourself."
Hermione has kept those words and treasured them in her heart. Her tiny professor told her that if ever "You get bothered enough, come by my office. I will grade papers, and you may read undisturbed." That is how her charms professor has become a mentor to her, he and Professor McGonagall. They've both taken her under their wings and given her shelter.
But now the triwizard tournament has come about, and she's found she has more prissy feminine competition this year. Those Beauxbatons witches act like they own the place and the male population at large, Harry and Ron not excluded. It makes Hermione want to barf, especially when they flick their hair over their shoulder and bat their eyelashes at any stupid fool who doesn't mind bending backward for them. It's ridiculous, along with all the girls at Hogwarts giving goo-goo eyes to the Durmstrang boys. The essence of love is in the air, and it stinks.
So when she was asked to tutor Flint, Hermione was initially skeptical. But then, in order to keep sane from all the twitterpated nonsense, she decided that tutoring was what she needed. After all, a charmed contract can take care of most worries. Upon getting a list of items the older Slytherin is required to work on, Hermione began drafting a pacing guide for their sessions. She had Professor Flitwick review it for mistakes or changes. Once he approved and gathered books, the petite Gryffindor met her Slytherin student in the library.
Hermione never realized how well-built Marcus Flint was until she faced him up close. She also discovered he's grown into his looks. The guy isn't classically handsome, but he's not a troll, as most people call him. Her parents would have a field day with his teeth, that's for sure. Although, there's nothing so wrong with them that they detract from his other masculine qualities. She takes that back; maybe his attitude needs fixing because that takes away from his better character traits. However, she has yet to learn what those are.
Once they passed that first night, the two started settling into a routine. Their table is secluded in the back of the library and allows them to talk a little more freely, which is nice because Hermione loves to talk. She noticed Marcus is more taciturn in personality than herself or any of her friends. At first, the Gryffindor thought it was because he considered her to be a mudblood.
However, upon observation in the Great Hall or the hallways, she noticed it's just a part of him. It's who he is. The guy ducks his head down if his friends aren't around. He also follows along, not leading unless on the quidditch pitch. It's rather odd to observe, especially given Flint's size and age. Most nights, if he grunts as a response, Hermione counts it as a win.
However, going on week six of her doing all the speaking, she's had enough. Marcus had come in, set his bag down, and removed his sweater. He likewise loosened his tie, took it off, and set it aside. These are the habits the Slytherin has adopted at the beginning of each lesson. Hermione has no idea why he doesn't do this at dinner but never mentions it. Besides, it allows her to see a little chest hair peeking out after he unbuttons a few of the top ones. She must admit there's just something about chest hair that gets to her. It's so masculine.
With the tutoring sessions, they have progressed further along than she thought they would by this point. Having reviewed the second, third, and fourth years, the duo are currently in year five charms. That's where Marcus is having the most trouble. Instead of allowing him to sit there noncommunicative, Hermione put a bookmark inside the text and closed it with a thud.
Her student looked up with a blank expression. "Marcus, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's not making sense," she told him.
Knowing that she wanted an answer, Marcus began his nervous habit of shaking his leg. He shared, "Yes. I know, but if I tell you, you'll think I'm stupider than I already am." His intelligent petite tutor would. There's no doubt in his mind. That's why he never says anything to anyone, not even his professors.
Hermione knew he was shaking his leg and could tell he was about to start playing with the page in his book (his other nervous habit). Putting her dainty hand over his larger one, she cut that off. Looking into his eyes, Hermione addressed his statement. "I don't think you're stupid. I know you're capable of succeeding because I've seen it. Please trust me not to make fun of you, which I wouldn't. I know what that feels like, and it stinks."
The minute she placed her hand on his, the library got warmer somehow. He wondered if Madam Pince had turned the heat on. Removing his hand, he rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then he confided his biggest shame. "Alright, look, what I tell you, please don't laugh or tell anyone else." When he saw the girl nod, he continued. "It's hard to understand this stuff because it's just as difficult for me to read. It overwhelms me, and I get these massive headaches, and my eyes start to ache too. It's worse than being hit with a bludger. Sometimes I have to go ask Madam Pomfrey for a pain-relieving potion."
That was the moment something snapped into place for Hermione. In fact, she blurted out a little too loudly, "Oh my gosh! Why didn't I realize that before? What an idiot I am." Things started coming together in her mind like a puzzle that needs to be completed. She's noticed him squinting and rubbing his eyes towards the ends of their sessions, along with other tells.
This emphatic reaction caused Marcus to look at her oddly. He shook his head and reminded the witch, "If anyone's an idiot here, it's me. I assure you."
His tutor disagreed and made sure to tell him so. Standing, Hermione moved to sit beside him, which made his leg shake again and his stomach knot up. She scooted her chair closer to his, and he could smell her scent of coconut, hibiscus, vanilla, and other sweet tropical things wafting in the air. His senses are overloaded, and his awareness of her is threatening to undo him.
Taking his book, she took her purple ink pen and began running it under a line of text. "What do you read here," she asked?
Marcus stared at the page and squinted. Everything blurs together and doesn't make sense. Therefore he said, "I don't know."
Hermione summoned a pair of sunglasses from her bag. She grabbed them, charmed the lenses yellow, and uttered a spell. Handing them to Marcus, she remarked, "Put these on and try again."
He wondered what a pair of sunglasses could do for him where nothing had worked previously. But he did as requested and put them on. As if a miracle happened, there were words on the page. The athlete could not believe his eyes. He stared at the page stupified and then at the witch beside him.
Hermione met his dark eyes and knew the glasses worked. Her heart sped up, and her hazel eyes grew moist. This is one of those profound life-changing moments. So she gently questioned, "What do you see, Marcus?"
Still stunned stupid, the Slytherin told her, "I see words, Hermione. I see everything, and it almost makes sense."
Wanting to try an experiment, she told him to read the first three lines on the page. He read with his velvety baritone voice perfectly. Then, Hermione had him take the glasses off, and she charmed the lens color to return to normal. Giving them back to her favorite student, she asked him to read aloud the same three lines again.
The minute Marcus put the glasses on, something had changed. The words don't make sense. He could see the letters fine, but the sentences were all jumbled up, which frustrated him to the point of wanting to slam the text shut. Turning his head, Marcus looked at a row of books. "I don't want to read," he stated.
Those words hurt Hermione's heart. She knew her experiment worked, and she hated it. Not thinking anything of it, she took his hand in hers and held it. Little by little, her Slytherin turned towards her again until his defeated eyes gazed at her own. Caressing his calloused hand, Hermione explained, "Marcus, I know what's wrong with you-"
He cut her off by saying, "Yes. I'm stupid. That's what's wrong with me. There's no use denying it. As my parents say, I'm dumb as a box of rocks." Thinking those thoughts made a lump form in his throat and a moisture in his eyes, which he loathes. So, he turned his head away again.
Still holding onto his hand, gently stroking it, Hermione refuted his claims. "No. You're not. You're not dumb or stupid. Yes, it takes you significantly more time to prepare and process things than others. That doesn't mean you can't learn. It just means you have a learning problem."
She noticed his head moved to see her. Once his eyes were on hers, and she had his attention again, Hermione spoke. "To be clear, you have what muggles call dyslexia. It's a disorder that involves difficulty learning to read or interpreting words, letters, and other symbols. But it doesn't affect a person's general intelligence. Does that make sense?"
She saw him give the slightest nod. Then the witch decided to press forward regarding this disorder. "I believe the form of dyslexia you have is called visual dyslexia, which is why you have headaches and eye strain. This form is also why the tinted lenses have helped you read better, well that coupled with the eye spell I added."
Marcus turned his body towards his tutor, still holding her hand. Her feminine hand served to ground him and keep him calm. Unknowingly his thumb began brushing the top of it, which made Hermione heated. However, she doesn't know why a simple thing like that would do so. The broad-shouldered male asked, "What does this mean, and what can I do about it?"
Hermione thought about her response and chose her words with care. "It means that you need a special kind of reading glasses. On my sunnies, I spelled them to enlarge the font size and change the tint. That helped you read the words and see the print better, eliminating any visual distress. It also means you have some visual processing disturbance going on. I have to wonder, when did you notice something was affecting your reading abilities making it difficult to read well?"
Marcus shifted in his seat and let go of Hermione's hand. He considered her question and tried to remember when he first detected a problem. When he thought of something, he told her, "I've never been the best student, at least that's what my governess said when I was younger. But when I was seven, I had taken my broom out for a flight. My older brother, Marshall, was home from his final year at Hogwarts. It was summer, and he enjoyed flying too. I love feeling the wind whipping through my hair and on my face. There's nothing like being up in the sky."
He had a fond look of remembrance that made Hermione enjoy listening to his story and envy him a little. She's the opposite and hates flying. Her fear of heights is almost crippling.
Marcus shook the cobwebs off his mind and finished telling her, "Anyway, I was enjoying the day and didn't see my brother. Marshall didn't see me either until too late. I swerved to miss him, and in doing so, I ran into a tree."
Hermione gasped, and Marcus retook her hand, delighting in the feel of it. He's never shared that story before out of embarrassment, and he's also never had anyone have compassion for him like she does. It feels nice and different. He remarked, "Don't feel bad. It was my own fault, and I'm healed from it. I did have some severe injuries that St. Mungo took care of and rehabilitated. But I guess it was after that my learning dropped off. My focus and concentration fell. As I said, I've never been the best student, so I figured it's all the same."
Again the petite witch disagrees. "No. It's not the same. My cousin has a processing disorder, and I read a lot about it to help her. That's why I realized you might have the same thing. In my reading about the different types of dyslexia, the visual kind can stem from a physical trauma like you flying into a tree. It's nothing to be ashamed of either. I'll help you, I promise. No one will ever know because I won't tell a soul."
But then she got angry. "I can't believe people have repeatedly told you that you're stupid, especially your family. I also can't believe they didn't have your learning checked out. People who put you down reveal their own intelligence, not yours. I hate that you've been thinking and telling yourself that you're dumb because you're not."
Marcus never had anyone standing in his corner rooting and cheering for him besides his Gram. He sat there looking into her soulful eyes, and the two of them connected for a moment. The air in the library changed, and his heart raced fast like it does when he's on his broom. And Marcus smiled genuinely, not a smirk, a sneer, or a grimace for the first time ever at a girl. It felt good to do so, especially since she returned the smile.
That's when they both heard the voice of Ron Weasley calling out for Hermione. The two dropped hands, but not before giving a slight squeeze. "I should go. I don't want him calling you some foul name that I know you're not. But we'll meet again tomorrow. Keep the sunglasses and use them to study with," she mentioned before packing up her belongings.
Marcus did the same, and the two parted ways. He could hear the Weasley brat calling him a stupid troll and Hermione reprimanding him for it. Being called stupid hurts a little less because now he knows what's wrong. He can learn and has the same learning skills and abilities as everyone else. They're just a little slower than others. It's using those abilities that count. Plus, he has his petite tutor on his side encouraging him, and that's worth everything.
