A/N: Here is a quick, fun, little story. I've given it a quick once over from grammar and spelling in 2021.

Hermione had heard about him being at Hogwarts long before she'd seen him. Of course, everyone paid attention when a professional Quidditch player came to Hogwarts, especially two years after he had graduated. What no one knew was why Marcus Flint, of all people, was here.

The first time she saw him, she was sitting at her usual table in the library, busy studying for her OWLs. It was impossible not to notice the weight of his stare on her. The way that the bookshelves were set up allowed for a narrow viewing window between their tables. Annoyed, Hermione did her best to ignore him and continued to study, determined to get lost in her Potions work and forget about him.

But then he'd been there the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Finally, on Friday, she was sure that he wouldn't be there because he'd likely be in Hogsmeade village drinking to his heart's content. But, to her annoyance, Flint was still there and still staring.

Not willing to sit by any more, Hermione stood up and walked between the tables until she reached his. "What is it with big, stupid Quidditch players staring at me?" she asked him derisively, her hands on her hips.

He looked up at her, almost surprised that she was talking to him. Hermione took a moment to take in his face. He had thick dark hair that was cut short on the sides and long, but coiffed on the top. His dark blue eyes seemed to hint at something Hermione didn't understand. He'd gotten his teeth fixed, but he still wasn't the most attractive wizard in the world.

"I'm nothing like Krum," he finally told her.

Hermione felt a bit of warmth in her chest that he'd somehow been aware of her the year before, even after he'd left the school. It felt oddly nice to be noticed. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Studying," he answered her, his voice low and graveley.

"Obviously," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "I meant at Hogwarts. Shouldn't you be off training with the Montrose Magpies or whoever you play for?"

Flint looked at her with a smirk. "Correct on the first guess. Or have you been keeping up with me, Granger?" he teased. Caught red-handed, Hermione could feel her cheeks grow hot. Flint's grin grew wider. "I had a season ending injury, came back to retake my NEWTs"

"Third times the charm?" Hermione asked, snidely.

The burly Quidditch star just shrugged and an uncomfortable silence settled between them. Suddenly aware that she was alone in the library, staring openly at Marcus Flint, Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, just keep your eyes on your paper from now on," she instructed in her bossiest tone, hoping it would stick.

He seemed reluctant to see her go so soon. "Actually Granger, I don't understand this concept. Maybe you could...help?" he asked, sounding a little bit ashamed. He was reading from a Transfiguration book.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know..." she said, knowing that she had a lot of her own studying to get through.

"Oh, I guess this is pretty advanced...a fifth year like you couldn't possibly help me," Flint goaded her.

Even though she knew he was baiting her, she couldn't stop herself from sighing, and pulling up a chair next to him. "I suppose I could try to help you," she said with a put upon sigh.

And thus began their unusual friendship.

Over the next few weeks, Flint asked Hermione for help on his studies more often than not. It happened so frequently, that Hermione just started to bring her own work over to his table. If anyone saw them working together, no one had said anything about it to Harry and Ron, who remained blissfully unaware.

Hermione liked sitting with Marcus. He was much more serious than she would have expected, and he seemed to be taking his studies just as seriously. He wasn't very bright, but with Hermione's help, he was quickly grasping the core principles of each subject he was taking. Marcus revealed to her that he'd already gotten passing grades in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, from the last time he took his NEWTs. This time around, he was focusing on Transfiguration, Charms and Potions.

Once she got to know him better, Hermione wondered why he was retaking them at all. So she asked him one day, as they sat in the dying light of the day. "Marcus, why are you retaking your NEWTs?" she asked. Noticing the slightly wounded look on his face to be asked that question, Hermione gave more explanation. "I mean, surely you're making plenty of money playing Quidditch. You aren't planning on retiring, are you?"

Flint shook his head. "No, I love Quidditch too much to ever give it up," he told her, before deciding to lay his cards on the table. "I guess I just wanted to…to prove to my family, the wizarding world…to prove to myself that I could do it. That I am not just a troll."

Hermione instantly felt guilty. Of course, she'd always giggled at the jokes that Marcus Flint had some troll blood in him. Now, she saw how hard he was trying, all she wanted was for him to succeed. "I don't think you're a troll, Marcus. For what it's worth," she told him sincerely.

Marcus gave her a broad smile, and they both returned to their work.

Marcus knew it was wrong, this little crush he'd developed on Hermione Granger. After all, she was only sixteen, and he was nearing twenty. Not to mention, his parents would go ballistic if they knew he was interested in a muggleborn.

But he just couldn't help it.

With her messy curls and little freckles on her cheeks, Hermione was a bright spot in his otherwise dull days during his time at Hogwarts. She took time to explain things to him in easy ways he could understand, and he found things to be much easier to grasp when they were discussed in her airy voice.

Sometimes, he caught himself staring into her bright brown eyes or letting his eyes drop to her dainty, pink lips…

When he finally finished retaking his NEWTs, he was ready to leave Hogwarts and never see Hermione Granger again, to rip this crush up by the roots. But he couldn't resist seeing her one more time.

That was how he found himself striding to the table that they always shared in the library.

Predictably, she was there, and she rewarded him with a bright smile and asked him how he did on his exams. He told her he was confident, and thanked her for her assistance. And then, before he could give it a second thought, he bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

If it was unwelcome, she didn't say. Instead, a rosy blush bloomed on her cheeks and she smiled shyly at him. "Well, see you around I suppose," she told him finally, when he made to leave.

They both knew it wasn't likely.