A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after the first chapter! I am always so pleased to hear the love for this pairing and it is truly one of my favorites. Huge thanks to lanamarymack for alpha/beta reading this chapter. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
Please let me know what you thought of chapter two and be on the lookout for chapter three next week!
It was a few weeks into the school year before Hermione could finally admit that she had been knocked hopelessly out of orbit. Somehow, she felt even less confident than she had the very first year that she'd taught at Hogwarts. Why, less than a week in, she'd even flubbed the a rather basic match to needle transfiguration in front of a group of very amused First Years! It was terribly embarrassing really.
But, no matter what she tried to do, she couldn't seem to get her head clear. All of her daydreams and musings seemed to lead back to the one wizard who'd invaded her sanctuary: Marcus Flint.
Godric help her, Hermione realized very quickly that she had developed something of a crush on the brooding flying instructor right away, struck by his enviable physique and unexpected good looks. She spent a lot of time trying not to stare at him during mealtimes, but it was nearly impossible when he preferred the spot on the other side of Neville.
She couldn't remember a single time in her life that she'd been quite so overwhelmed with the giggly, butterflies in her tummy feelings about a guy. Even Viktor and Ron (her most serious relationships) hadn't made her feel this way. Sure Viktor had been exciting, but he had mostly pursued her. She'd been flattered by the attention. And Ron had made her feel a weirdly empty sort of longing - a multi-year build up that ended up being actually really quite underwhelming when they finally got together.
But, Marcus...Marcus was making her feel like a silly school girl, biting her lower lip when she caught a glimpse of him. Her interest was somewhat bordering on obsession, as she catalouged the little things that she noticed about him.
For instance, she knew that he was still insecure about his teeth, even though they'd been fixed after a Quidditch accident(apparently a rogue bludger during a game...yes, she'd looked it up). When he smiled, he still kept his mouth closed, so as not to show a hint of teeth. But, when he found something really funny, he would smile, transforming his face into something even more pleasant.
She'd also noticed that he wasn't completely self-conscious about his looks. He obviously took a lot of care in his general appearance and all of his robes were carefully tailored to his more muscular proportions, fitting his broad shoulders perfectly, but not being so tight as to be distracting (well, to anyone but her). He had obviously taken the media training lessons of his former squad on board and followed them even now that he was an anonymous teacher.
She'd determined that Flint's eyes weren't just blue, they were actually a sort of grey-blue, like a stormy ocean. That discovery had nearly caught her out, as she realized she had been resting her chin on one hand, breathlessly hanging onto his every word about the new golden snitch regulations while he was talking with Neville. He'd blinked at her dreamy expression and commented on it. "I didn't know that you took such an interest in Quidditch, Granger," he said, his voice deep and rough.
(That was another thing. He was nearly on a first name basis with all the other professors, but she was still just Granger.)
Luckily, she had been able to save herself some embarrassment. "Oh, you know, I'm always fascinated with rules and regulations," she said, lamely. Merlin, could she have made herself sound any more stupid. "It will give me something to impress Hary with next time I see him."
"Right," he said, a furrow between his brow, before asking Neville something else about using a plant for a muscle salve.
That thought was enough to send her mind to darker places, thinking about what it might be like to apply the salve to Marcus's sore muscles herself, his warm skin under her hands. Would he like it, she wondered? She wasn't sure, but her brain was only too happy to provide a variety of scenarios that she might find herself in after offering him a massage, most ending with her flat on her back!
And really, this was her biggest problem.
Catching a glimpse of Marcus shirtless on the Quidditch pitch had given her the brilliant idea to write a Quidditch romance novel. It was a no-brainer really. Every witch fancied a professional athlete at some point in her life, so Hermione was sure that it would fly off of the shelves. Only, every time that she sat down to try to plot out her novel, she ended up completely distracted by thoughts of Marcus Flint!
For the first time since she started writing, she was disappointed to report that she had not even written a single sentence. Hell, she hadn't even been able to come up with a suitable name for the hunky hero she'd be fleshing out over the next few weeks. Even scouring the Daily Prophet's sports section hadn't given her a name she could use. It was embarrassing, really.
In order to get herself out of this funk she found herself in, she surprised herself by agreeing to go watch the first Quidditch match of the year when Neville asked her.
"Really?" he asked, surprised. "You never want to watch Quidditch, unless Harry and Ron come up."
It seemed that Neville's pronouncement had caught Marcus's attention - his dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise - that Hermione quickly denied the accusation, despite the blush on her cheeks. "Hey, I watch Quidditch!" she countered, hoping that it sounded cool. "I usually watch a Gryffindor game once a year. Got to support my house, after all."
Neville looked surprised at her defensiveness, but he didn't mind it too much seeing as it meant he'd have company in the stands. Minerva technically wasn't supposed to show any house favoritism during the Quidditch matches, which meant that she wasn't too fun to watch them with anymore. "Well, it will be nice to have another Gryffindor in to sit with. Septima has gotten so cocky after Slytherin won the cup last year," he said.
Hermione smirked at that, thinking of the normally introverted arithmancy professor who was quite keen to trash talk the other houses now that her Quidditch team was on top.
"Well, hopefully I'll be able to keep up with some of the banter. Game Tactics is all Mason has been able to talk about during lessons this week," she said, thinking about the sporty seventh year Captain of the Gryffindor squad.
"Honestly! He's more Quidditch mad than Wood, I think," Neville quipped, with a grin.
"I don't think that's physically possible," Marcus said, reinserting himself into the conversation at the mention of his former rival. "Wood was a machine - absolutely unmatched by anyone I've seen play."
It was a bit odd to hear the burly wizard talk about his former rival, but Hermione was just pleased to have an excuse to talk to him a bit more. That way, it wasn't so weird if she were staring at the strong line of his jaw, free of scruff so early in the morning after a fresh shave.
"I don't know, Flint, I think that you might have given him a run for his money," she said, teasingly. "I don't think I've ever seen someone want to win those games as much as you."
Flint's face wore a confused expression, as if he couldn't decide if she was trying to be rude or friendly. It was clear that he still had no idea how to judge her intentions with him, despite her attempts at being perfectly friendly. "Yeah, well, there was nothing better than wiping Wood's smug smile off his face when we could squeak one out," he said, knowing that Gryffindor had often been the victor when they had matched up at Hogwarts, mostly thanks to Harry's prodigious talent.
"In any case, it will be good to see you on a broom again," she said warmly, hoping to get the point across that she wanted to be friendly.
He snorted in surprise. "Oh, I'm sure you'd enjoy that, Granger," he countered, eyebrows raised. "Well, I'm off to check the quaffles before the first whistle," he added, before awkwardly leaving her and Neville behind.
Neville turned round to look at her with an incredulous look. "What do you suppose he meant by that?" he asked, clearly sensing that there was some oddness between her and the former Quidditch star.
Hermione felt her blush going all the way to the roots of her hair. Was he trying to flirt with her? Or had he been making a point of subtly telling her off because of the way she'd been caught ogling him last time. "Oh Godric," she said, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks, before looking to Neville with panic in her eyes. "Minerva brought me with to welcome Flint to the castle. And he'd been practicing without a shirt on. I got...well, more than an eyeful."
"Wow," Neville said, shocked.
"I know, it's so embarrassing," Hermione said, still unsure of herself. "But it's not like I was trying to look. He was just sort of there. And, he obviously didn't appreciate it."
"If you say so," Neville said, with a shrug, as though he didn't completely believe her. "Come on, let's start walking to our seats. I don't want to miss the start."
The walk down to the pitch was pretty quick, swept up in dozens of excited students. She heard more than one familiar discussion of a classmate attempting to explain the rules of the wizarding game to a muggleborn student, newly initiated to a world that they didn't understand, but wanted to. But, when they got to the pitch, instead of joining some rowdy lions in the Gryffindor box, she and Neville made their way up to the staff box.
"Do you think that Gryffindor will win it today?" she asked Neville, completely unsure of their chances.
"Hard to say. Hufflepuff have got an amazing set of chasers," he said. "And to be honest, Gryffindor just aren't as good anymore since Harry left. No matter how many drills Mason has them run."
Hermione knew that was the normal ebb and flow of sports, but she also knew that Quidditch was completely unpredictable. Either Seeker could end up with the Snitch at the end of the match and that could very well put them over. Rarely did the Chasers make up a deficit that couldn't be overcome by the points won by catching the Snitch.
She watched as the players kick off from the center of the field while Marcus was throwing the Quaffle into the air, and then they were off. Hermione was barely able to see as Mason caught the Quaffle out of the air and took off quick as a flash, flying towards the rings at the end of the pitch. He went one way, catching the Keeper off guard, before swerving back at the last second to score in the unattended hoop. A raucous cheer went up through the crowd as the first points were registered on the board.
Hermione cheered alongside Neville, but per usual, her attention was quickly captured by the referee. Marcus was a natural on a broom, looking like he was made to sit atop one. He maneuvered around the pitch with an ease that made Hermione slightly jealous, weaving through rogue bludgers and fierce players, who were too focused on the action to notice him. His face was serious, but he was clearly enjoying himself. He looked carefree and completely in control of the situation.
Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but find it extremely attractive. She could imagine him being just as sure of himself in other aspects of his life. He definitely seemed like the sort of wizard who would take control of any...amorous activities that he participated in. She could just imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Surely, he would be fierce and passionate, just like he was on the Quidditch pitch. And surely, he'd be determined to figure out just what his witch wanted and liked, just like he was determined to figure out the best plays in his chosen sport.
The thought of kissing Marcus - or rather, of Marcus kissing her - made her flush despite the perfect September weather. That butterfly in her tummy feeling came back with a vengeance, a particular sensation of nerves and excitement at the same time. Oh, what would he think of her if he knew that she was panting over him?
Suddenly, she was startled from her thoughts, by Neville clapping her around the shoulders. "Huh? What is it?" she asked, having to yell over the roaring crowd.
"He did it! Jamison caught the snitch!" Neville cheered. "We've won! Gryffindor won the match!"
Hermione blinked, wondering just how much time had passed with her dazedly staring at Marcus Flint on a broom. She hadn't even noticed that an entire Quidditch match was won!
She really needed to get a grip on herself before this crush got any more out of control!