A/N: Thank you for your reviews, favorites and follows! Huge thanks to lanamarymack for alpha/beta reading this as well! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour).
Please let me know what you thought of chapter four and be on the lookout for chapter five soon!
It had taken a few weeks, but Hermione finally felt as if she was getting things back to normal. She'd been able to regain control of her classroom and had slowly dropped off the extra busy work, much to everyone's relief. She didn't know what she was thinking, she honestly didn't want to read more terrible student essays than she already had to.
After the midnight jaunt to the Quidditch locker rooms, she'd almost managed to regain some of her writing mojo and was finally able to put pen to paper in her story without devolving into naughty daydreams about a specific flying instructor. She'd started to fill out more details about her hero - a Chaser with toffee brown hair and pretty green eyes. She hoped that her readers wouldn't think it was too much of a call back to her previous leading man, but she just could not have him be big, dark haired and burly with eyes like the ocean during a storm or else she would have her brain turn to absolute mush. And, to even the score, her heroine was a blond with a quick smile and freckles across her cheeks, who grew up learning Quidditch from her older brothers. Merlin, she hoped Ginny didn't mind that detail.
And things between her and Flint were at a stand still. She didn't outright avoid him, but she did go bright red every time she talked to him, thinking about how he'd nearly caught her nose deep in his ref uniform. She spent most of her time eating with the other professors, but if she did sit next to Neville, she was able to keep it together enough to join in the conversation.
For his part, it didn't seem like Flint was too broken up about her distance. She sort of got the feeling that he didn't really like her. Which, that hurt. She couldn't think of anything she'd done to warrant that kind of reaction (I mean...besides breaking into his office), but she had realized a while ago she that she didn't have to be friends with everyone. She'd never been good at making friends in the first place and it had only gotten harder and more awkward after being one third of the trio that had saved the Wizarding World.
So, she was more than a little bit surprised when it was Flint who came to visit her office one Friday evening.
She'd been minding her own business, hoping to finish marking the pop quiz that she'd given her sixth years (got to keep them sharp, even if they were between exam years) so that she could slink off to her own rooms to drink half a bottle of wine and get some good writing done. She wasn't expecting anyone to disturb her, but when she heard someone clear their throat, she automatically assumed that it was a student.
"No, you cannot have a chance to retake the pop quiz, Barkworth," she said, not bothering to look up from her red ink well. "It defeats the purpose of it being a pop quiz if you know about it."
A deep chuckle immediately caught her off-guard. That's certainly not what Henry Barkworth sounded like.
"Salazar, I'm glad that I don't have you as a Professor," Flint said, his massive arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her from his taller vantage point with amusement.
Hermione immediately leaned back in her chair, feeling affronted. "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean, Flint?" she demanded.
He raised his eyebrows at her defensive response. "I didn't mean any offense, Granger," he said, his expression no less amused than it was before. "I just mean that I don't think I'd have even made it to my OWL in Transfiguration if you had been my Professor - pop quizzes, extra essays. I think McGonagall took pity on me and gave me a passing grade so that I could keep playing Quidditch."
She pursed her lips, still not entirely sure what to make of it. "I might have gone a little bit overboard at the beginning of term," she said, cautiously. "And no one is failing off of a pop quiz in my class. It's just...a tactic to keep everyone in top form."
"You sound like a Quidditch coach," he answered, with a smirk. "Having his players run drills even if he knows that they all have a blistering hangover."
"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," she teased. "Didn't you know that you could take some Hangover Potion?"
He shrugged his shoulders, twin points of pink appearing on his cheeks. "I don't know how to brew it myself," he revealed, obviously a little bit embarrassed to be admitting it.
Hermione felt bad and immediately began babbling. "It's not a potion that many would take care of themselves," she said. "I need to remember that not everyone is a complete nerd like me and keeps a veritable apothecary in their own home."
"No need to disparage yourself," he reassured her. "It's a nifty skill to have. If I trusted myself enough with potions, I'd certainly try it myself."
Now it was her turn to blush. Marcus Flint of all wizards had said that she had a nifty skill. Godric, he must think that she was a massive dork!
"And now I know that I can swing by yours if I ever need one," he added, hopefully. His grey-blue eyes met hers and didn't look away.
"Awfully better than having to go ask Madam Pomfrey," Hermione agreed, playfully, the more comfortable ribbing restored between the two of them.
A beat of silence followed and Hermione realized that Flint had come to her classroom and was now amiably chatting with her. Surely he didn't want to talk about marks and hangover potions. There must have been something that had lead him to darken her door. "Not that I'm not enjoying the chat, Flint, but is there a reason that you came to see me?"
Flint immediately straightened to his full height. "Of course, I don't want to take up more of your time," he said, sounding a bit embarrassed that their discussion had gotten away from them. "I was hoping that I could talk to you about last Friday night."
Immediately, Hermione felt her blood run cold. Last Friday had been when she snuck into the Quidditch locker rooms. She had been so certain that she'd gotten away unidentified, but surely if he was coming here to talk to her privately then he must know that it was her who had broken in. Oh Merlin, she didn't think she could come up with anything more embarrassing. Honestly, how was she ever meant to show her face at the Great Hall again? And that was only if he didn't tell Minerva about how unprofessional she'd been.
"Um, yes?" she said, hoping to give an air of confidence - like she had nothing to hide.
"Well, someone broke into the Quidditch locker rooms," he said, his face suddenly going very serious.
This was it. He was going to accuse her. She felt her heart stop in her chest, completely unable to take ownership of her bad behavior.
"I think that it was a student," he added, quickly. "Or students, rather."
"A student?" she squeaked out, not sure if she should feel relieved or concerned. What if he was just trying to catch her in a lie?
"Well, yeah," he said, scoffing slightly. "I mean, who else could it be? The school has wards to keep outsiders off of the grounds and it's not like a Professor would have a reason to break in."
She nodded in agreement. "Of course, that's logical," she said, seriously. "It just seems odd that a student would break in, when they have access during the day. Maybe they just forgot some equipment?" (Why, Hermione? she screamed internally, Why are you trying to dissuade him from his perfectly reasonable conclusion?)
Flint snorted and gave her a crooked sort of smile. "I can think of about half a dozen reasons and most of them involve wanting a place where they can be undisturbed, if you know what I mean," he explained.
Immediately, she flushed bright red. "Oh, of course!" she said, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. "Of course they would do that."
He seemed a little embarrassed, too, and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. "Anyway, I was wondering if you might...help me catch whoever it is that has been sneaking around? I don't mind what they get up to in their free time, but I don't want them doing it in the locker rooms," he said, before dropping his eyes to the floor. "Or defiling my office."
Hermione wanted to laugh. She wondered if he would be more or less disturbed at what had actually gone on in his office than whatever sordid scenario that he was thinking of. And, come to think of it...maybe whatever he was thinking about would be good inspiration for her novel!
"Do those sorts of things often happen in Quidditch locker rooms?" she asked, before she could help herself.
He immediately looked aghast. "Absolutely not!" he insisted, firmly.
"Okay, okay," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean to be nosy."
"So, will you help me, Granger?" he asked, pointedly.
She bit her lower lip, thinking over his request. Of course, it would be easy work, seeing as she knew the real culprit who'd broken into the locker rooms was herself. There was no wayward student (or students) to catch in the first place, so it wasn't as if she would have to do a whole lot of work. But, there was also the potential that she would let something slip and reveal herself as the one all along.
On the other hand, it would give her a chance to spend more time with the burly chaser. This was the longest he'd ever talked to her and she found herself quite enjoying it (absolute panic aside). He was funny and didn't mind a little bit of teasing. He didn't seem opposed to talking with her either, so maybe she'd just misinterpreted his stand-offish behavior?
It was a little callous and manipulative to yank him around and let him think that a student had broken in when it was really her, just because she wanted to force him to get to know her better, but she was still way too attracted to him to pass up the chance. Even just looking at him now was enough to send her pulse racing. She could imagine them on a stake out now - pressed close together in the equipment closet while they waited to surprise the students that would never appear. And surely, they would be able to think up something to do to pass the time together?
Hermione's mind was only too happy to think up a dozen scenarios that started with an innocent kiss and ended with Flint's big hands up under her robes. There was even one creative idea where he set her on a floating broomstick and...
Nevermind.
She couldn't fantasize about the wizard when he was standing right in front of her!
"Why me?" she asked, wondering why he would come to her.
"There is no way that I am going to tell the Headmistress that I let students break into a building that's supposed to be secure," he said, another blush on his cheeks, this time at his perceived lack of magical ability. "And, you are supposed to be the very best on the staff with warding. I heard all about how you worked repairing the castle. Neville said you were better than some of the Ministry workers."
Now it was her turn to blush, at the thought that Neville was talking up her abilities so much behind her back. She really didn't think that she was all that great. "I don't think that's accurate," she demurred. "But you are right that I do have warding experience. Well, Marcus Flint, I suppose that I would be delighted to help you catch your amorous criminals," she agreed.
His face was transformed by another one of those crooked smiles that showed off his teeth - the kind that increased his attractiveness by a factor of 100. "Great, I'll see you next week, then, Granger, down on the field," he said, before leaving her alone in her classroom.
What had she just agreed to?