The weeks progressed, as did the tutoring. During that time, the goblet of fire had chosen the champions— Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, and Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts. But at the last minute, a final champion emerged, Harry! It was entirely unexpected, at least in Hermione's mind. And sweet Merlin, it set off a rift between him and Ron.

Ron is slowly getting more and more on Hermione's nerves with every passing day. Between him griping about Harry, fussing about the tournament, complaining about her studying all the time, and calling Marcus the troll of Slytherin, she's ready to hex him into the middle of next week. His own insecurities are becoming an issue. One thing she can't stand is the constant degrading of people. During a particularly nasty put-down of Marcus, Hermione slammed her book Pride and Prejudice closed. Staring at her red-headed friend, she told him, "Ronald, insulting a person with name calling is the last resort of someone trying to appear confident. Words hurt hearts, so stop spewing ugliness."

But Ron didn't care. "Where do you get off telling me that I'm not confident? I'm confident I'm better than that Slytherin troll you help, and I would be a better choice than Harry as champion. All he wants is the fame of it, and mark my words, that troll is just using you! And if anyone is spewing anything, it's you and your silly club." Then he had the audacity to ask her to help him with his runes assignment.

That left her in a ripe mood. With a glare, Hermione stood up and stalked off to her room, where she gathered her knitting bag. Then she walked all the way down to the quidditch pitch, where she knew no one would be around. Since the ministry canceled the season, nobody practices anymore. It's the perfect place for peace and quiet and knitting. She set up on the field to work on the little hats and socks for the house elves.

As she pulled out her magicked Walkman and the knitting needles, a grey cloud hovered overhead. Hermione whipped out her wand from the bag, thinking she might have to conjure a rain jacket. However, that all faded the minute, a person began to land on the field. It was then she noticed that person was none other than Marcus. He was dressed in old quidditch pants with no jersey because it hung out the back of the pants.

Hermione's heart sped up, and her stomach did a few flips. It's safe to say that Marcus Flint had definitely grown more attractive than in previous years. His muscles held definition on his chest and abs, which the sight further heated her throughout. And those pants! They hug his legs and bum. She truly needs to stop staring. It's silly for her to feel that way, especially since he's an older Slytherin, a pureblood, and would never think twice about her. But she can admire the beauty of his sweaty chest, which happened to be walking her way.

Marcus stood and greeted her with a gentle smile and an even softer, "Hello."

Hermione raised a hand to shade her eyes, squinting up into the sun's bright rays. She returned his greeting with "Hi Marcus. How are you today?"

He stood, not knowing what to do with himself but decided to sit beside his tutor on the grass. "I'm good. I thought I'd get some flying in since we don't have tutoring tonight. I want to keep myself in top form to help my chances with the quidditch tryouts in the summer," he told her.

Hermione smiled and commended him for his effort. "I think it's great you're doing that. I knew you liked quidditch, but I had no idea you wanted to play professionally." She noticed the beads of sweat on his chest and the soft brown hair growing there. It made the butterflies in her stomach return.

Having picked a blade of grass, Marcus inclined his head to the girl beside him and caught her eyes roving over his chest. Thinking she was disturbed by his size and brawniness, like every other female, he decided to cover up. He took his shirt, wiped the sweat, and put it on again. Unknown to him, Hermione mourned the loss of the exquisite sight. Then her new companion explained, "I love flying and the sport. It's one of the only things I'm good at doing. I've had scouts contact me from Falmouth and the Tutshill Tornados. They've offered me a tryout, and I responded that I would take them up on the chance. My father thinks it's entertaining and doesn't hold any hope that I'd be accepted. He wants me to join the family business of investing, but I have no clue about investment, and I hate numbers more than I dislike reading."

Marcus despises talking with his father, Maxwell. It always leaves him melancholy and feeling like a worthless loser. The tall man never has anything nice to say except to Marshall or Clementine. Marcus usually takes the brunt of his ire, which really sucks. His friends think he'll be a good quidditch player but don't understand why he wouldn't take the sure thing of the family business. So again, he feels alone in his endeavors and presses on through it regardless.

However, his spirits always lift every time Hermione speaks to him. She leaves him feeling like he could walk on air. Even now, her words praise him, saying, "Marcus, that's incredible! I'm so happy that you have two teams offering you tryouts. I just know one of them will pick you up and present you with an entire contract. I think everyone should work at what makes them happy because life is too short to be stuck in a job you hate. And I'm sorry to hear your father thinks otherwise."

Hermione gave him a sad smile. If she ever has the opportunity to meet Marcus's dad, they might have to arrest her because she cannot promise not to hex him or worse. The more the curly-haired witch hears about Maxwell Flint, the more she loathes him for his child's treatment. Patting Marcus's thigh, she asked, "If you didn't play quidditch, what would you do? Dream big."

That's a question Marcus has never been asked before. It caught him by surprise. However, he thinks, "I might be interested in animal healing. Please don't laugh, but I do seem to excel in my magical creatures class, herbology, defense, and potions. Professor Hagrid thinks I have natural talent. I've taken the creatures class almost every year and even scored an outstanding on my NEWT."

Hermione had no idea! That information blew her mind. She gently patted his thigh again and let him know, "Wow! I never doubted that you were intelligent. I knew there had to be some classes you liked besides flying. Succeeding in magical creatures is nothing to be ashamed of at all. Many students can't understand the animals or care for them, let alone try and heal one. It's amazing that you have the aptitude for it."

After covering her hand with his own, a bashful expression crossed his face. "You think so," he asked before looking at his shoes?

Nodding, Hermione declared, "I do. And I know you'll excel in anything you put your mind to, especially quidditch. That's your dream. Dreams don't become a reality with the use of magic, you know. It takes hard work, a lot of determination, and even sweat." She motioned to his jersey, which had soaked up his perspiration.

Marcus felt like he had someone in his corner for the first time in his life. Not someone with fake words or sarcasm, nor someone who offers adulations from winning a game. Now he might have an honest person who perhaps cares for him. And that's crazy because she's a girl, four years younger than himself, a Gryffindor, and a muggle-born, all put into one attractive little package. But he didn't care because, as his Gram says, "All are created equal. Only some men place themselves above equality. Being a pureblood doesn't make you better than anyone else. It's what's inside your heart and mind."

Plus, he's come to admit that his trim tutor is cute, despite being a fourth year. But then she's fifteen, which he learned after she recounted her incident with a time-turner last year. Being fifteen compared to his eighteen doesn't sound so bad when he stops to think about it. Marcus squeezed her hand and beamed from ear to ear. He told her thank you, then wondered, "What's that grey thing on the ground, and what are you doing with that yarn?"

She first picked up the thing on the ground and explained, "This is my Walkman. I magicked it to play music. I can put a CD in or change the channel to a radio station. Either way, it plays music. Would you like to try it out?"

Noticing the curious expression on his face, Hermione began showing the Slytherin the different parts of the device. Then she accioed several CDs from her room. Marcus saw the round discs and became even more intrigued. After handing the Walkman over, Hermione had him put on the earphones. Then she pressed play, and music began floating into his ears. When he had listened for a few minutes, he took the headphones down, pointed, and asked, "Who is that singing? It doesn't sound at all like Celestina Warbeck."

With a chuckle, Hermione wanted to know, "Did you like it or hate it?"

The beefy Slytherin stated, "I like that band. It's different and sounds better than the Weird Sisters."

Taking the CD out to change it to another, she told him, "That's the group my parents have deemed the essence of maudlin teenage life. The band is an American band from Seattle called Nirvana. I had you listen to one of their famous songs, Smells Like Teen Spirit. It's actually Harry's CD, not mine. He likes them."

Then she played more bands that might interest him, like Def Leppard, and Marcus soaked it up. He's never heard anything quite like it, and it ensnared his senses as Snape says. But then he became interested in knowing, "What's your favorite Hermione?"

She changed the CD again and put in one of her personal favorites. Pressing play, she let him hear the fantastic voice of Whitney Houston singing Dance With Somebody. Hermione loves that song and really anything the woman sings. But that song, in particular, has been on repeat for months, along with her rereading of Pride and Prejudice.

It's safe to say she's going through another maudlin phase where love is on the brain. Listening to her roommates gush on and on about their love interests doesn't help, considering she has no one remotely fascinated by her in that way. No. Hermione's love life is a big fat failure.

Marcus listened to his tutor's favorite song and could oddly relate. However, he will never say that out loud, especially regarding some mushy girly music. It's true, though. When the night falls, the loneliness does call, mainly when his dormmates discuss their dates or conquests. He gets tired of hearing about lips, hands, and female body parts, considering his life is void of those things.

His brown eyes snuck a peek at the girl beside him. There's fire in her soul and water in her words because he's always thirsty for more. Marcus never thought anyone would ever make him smile or feel like a real person. Yet this Gryffindor's happy spirit, kind heart, and pretty features have done that. It's entirely inconvenient how the most unexpected person has succeeded in making him feel things deeply. To be honest, it's rather terrifying, more so than the first time he fell off a broom.

Instead, Marcus ignored these feelings. He motioned to what was in her hands. "What is that your doing," he wondered.

Hermione proudly told him, holding up her knitting, "This is the beginning of a hat. I'm making hats and socks for the house elves. I'm disturbed by how the elves do all this work without pay or holidays. It's cruel treatment."

Not seeing the shock on Marcus's face, she reached into her bag and pulled out a button. She handed it to him, "This is the club I've started- The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I have three members so far and am hoping for more. Do you want to join? I'll let you join for free."

Marcus could not believe what he was hearing. What Hermione says is one of those instances where muggle-borns have no concept of how their wizarding society works. So instead of mocking her words or laughing at them (no matter how hard he truly wants to), Marcus decided to educate her. He called for his grandmother's personal elf Pippy.

The little elf appeared wearing a clean pillowcase with a gold belt. The belt caught Hermione's eyes and filed that away for later. Pippy bowed to Marcus and said, "Pippy is honored to serve the noble house of Fawley. Young master Marcus calls Pippy?"

Marcus nodded and told the little elf, "I did call you. My..." He paused for a moment, unsure what to call Hermione- his tutor? No, it's more than that. His friend? Possibly, but he'd rather it be something more. But for now, he settled for saying, "My friend Hermione and I were discussing house elves. We have a few questions for you."

Pippy bounced around and waved her ears. "Pippy is delighting to answer young master and Missy Mione."

First, Marcus asked her about her job and if she liked it. This question made Pippy upset, and she began tugging on her ears. "Does Mistress CC says something about Pippy to young master? Is Pippy not being a good elf for Mistress?"

Hermione saw the elf's confusion and wanted to console her. But Marcus stepped in and replied, "No, Pippy. Grandmother hasn't said anything negative about you. Grandmother loves you, as you know. Hermione thinks that house elves are slaves and don't enjoy their work. She believes you should be paid and wear clothes."

These words also upset Pippy. She looked at her young master's lady friend and stated, "Pippy loves work. She loves the noble house of Fawley and Mistress CC. Pippy would being disgraced if she's paid and wearing clothes."

She said the word clothes the same way Malfoy says mudblood. Then she spoke directly to Hermione. "Young master's lady is muggle-born, not understanding elves. Missy Mione, Pippy not being like Dobby or Winky. Pippy and other elves live to serve. Pippy, be teaching young master's lady now." The lively little elf came up to Hermione and patted her hand.

Marcus chuckled at Hermione's expression and told his grandmother's elf, "Pippy, thank you for your time. If I need you again, I'll call. Tell Grandmother I said hello."

Pippy flapped her ears and said, "Pippy says hello for young master. Mistress CC misses young master Marcus. Her being happy you have a lady friend."

Then before he could say anything about not telling his grandmother about the lady friend, Pippy disappeared. Instead, a book emerged into Hermione's hands as if from thin air. The ancient cover was titled Of Elves and Men by Merriweather Bagshot. A small thrill rose in Hermione. She couldn't help but wonder if the author is related to Bathilda, who wrote A History of Magic. A tiny squeal left her mouth, and she grinned.

Marcus smiled at the way Hermione lit up with the book. It makes his insides tingly. "I take it this pleases you," he noted.

Turning her eyes from the book to her Slytherin, she told him, "Oh, Marcus! This book is just wonderful! I can't wait to read it. I suppose your grandmother's elf meant what she said about teaching me. But I can't help to feel sad for the creatures because of what Dobby went through with Mr. Malfoy. If more elves are treated that way, why can't something be done about it? That's why I created my club."

Fiddling with the button she gave him, Marcus thought about how to answer. He kept turning the thing over in his hands. Glancing up from it to her, he pointed out, "Not all elves are treated that way. A lot of them are in good homes and enjoy working. For example, my grandmother's elves are treated incredibly well. And even if you try to help those in threatening houses, they will shy away from it. To them, it's a disgrace not to serve their home, their people, or to work. Dobby is a rare case. Does that make sense?"

She nodded and ran her fingers around the edge of the aged book. Not looking at the quidditch chaser, she inquired, "What about your elves? Are your elves treated well?"

Marcus told her, "No. Unfortunately, my father's attitude carries over to them the same way it does to me. But I try to treat them kindly when he isn't watching- especially Topsy, who tends to take care of me. There are more houses than you think who treat the elves in a good manner. It's the ones who don't that give the others a poor name."

Looking up from her book, Hermione leaned over and threw her arms around the boy beside her. It caught him by surprise, and he didn't know what to expect. Having never been hugged apart from his grandmother made him feel unusual, but not in a bad way. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect. It made his face turn the color of a waclops. Everyone knows the glittering insect is red.

Tentatively he embraced her back and got to inhale her tropical scent again. It's the same smell that Marcus has come to associate with a racing pulse, awkward blushes, a bunch of glumbumbles in this tummy, and something that's completely Hermione. He held on for longer than necessary before pulling away.

Picking at blades of grass, he joked, "Please do not pass out your SPEW buttons anymore." Then he sincerely cautioned, "It will only get you made fun of and taunted." He doesn't care to think of that happening to his cute Gryffindor.

Hermione huffed out a breath and returned to her knitting. "As I told Ronald, it is not SPEW. It is S.P.E.W, and I will forgo any more club organizing until I've finished reading the book. Thank you for bringing Pippy here, by the way. I think I'll turn this into a hat for myself, and if you're good, I might knit you one too."

Marcus coughed to cover his laugh. But he did blurt out, "Oh Merlin! Please don't do that on my behalf. I hate hats. They make my head look big."

She chuckled and started telling him all about the resistance she's had to her club. "And do you know that Ronald told me he was making his own club called SPUG- Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins? Isn't that ridiculous?" Marcus laughed, listening to her talk and watching her knit.

The two stayed out at the pitch for a long time that afternoon. Hermione knitted, Marcus flew some more, then landed and listened to her Walkman. She let him borrow it for a few days on the account he would take care of it. When he returned to the Slytherin common room, Marcus was so engrossed in the music playing that he failed to see his friends. It wasn't until Pucey and Montague entered their shared room that they wanted to know what the thing he was listening to and what the button on his comforter are.

Marcus explained the Walkman to them, and the guys naturally wanted to have a listen. He allowed them as long as they didn't ruin it and his two friends discovered they also liked Def Leppard and some group called the Blowfish who sing about holding hands. However, the button he kept to himself. Marcus ran his thumb over it and thought it was a rare occasion that he knew something his tutor didn't. That doesn't happen often, but he decided he liked explaining the parts of wizarding society that Hermione might not understand, like house elves. That night he went to sleep with a smile because he knew he'd see his Gryffindor again tomorrow.