I've made Katie one year older in this story than in canon, (DOB: 1977ish) so in that sense, consider this AU. Otherwise, the plot and events are mostly consistent with J.K.'s story line.

Main Pairings:

Katie/Marcus
Alicia/Adrian

Standard Introductory Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Rights to J.K. Rowling, of course.

Rated M for mature language/dialogue and sexual content. Thoughts/concrit are welcome :)

Some dialogue is borrowed from COS in this chapter.

Chapter One
The Bet

Olive branches symbolize peace while Mars, in Roman mythology, is the god of war.

Flint stones can be used to smolder wood.

It was ironic, Katherine Bell observed, how Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain went by the name of

Oliver Wood while Slytherin's Captain went by Marcus Flint. It was even more ironic that Flint and Wood's relationship was one of two opposing soldiers on the battlefield in their acute dedication to their sport. Flint played his game with vigor and aggression, and Wood played his with strategy and grace.

From the first time the Captains had to shake the opponent's hand before their match, either had attempted to break the other's fingers, and thus, their ritual had commenced. According to Wood and Flint, Quidditch was a season of wholehearted war, all for the win and everything to lose. Their contrasting Houses only built on what sworn antagonism they shared.

The year earlier when Wood was a fifth year, newcomer Harry Potter had earned himself the Seeker's position on his team, subsequently leading them to their first glory in roughly seven years, thereby infuriating the Slytherin brute immeasurably. Flint gifted his enemy some flavorful expletives at their first lost game, but the second time Slytherin lost, he'd attempted to throttle the Scottish bloke. Flint had a dangerous temper, while Wood handled his disadvantages with a mature staunch, or so he'd try, but he'd usually end up tossing fists back at the other Captain in defense, especially when his prized Seeker took them to the win.

Marcus' flaming temperament was peripheral to Katie when she joined the Gryffindor team in the fall of 1989, as the then fourth year boy hadn't come into direct contact with the girl, initially. He stood out like a bull at a rodeo; she was among the audience, scowling while he rammed someone verbally or on occasion, physically. Katie would deem the brutish Slytherin a barbarian and would pay little more heed towards him.

At the start of her fourth year, however, Katie was targeted and tangled into a series of catcalls with her best friends and fellow Gryffindor dorm-mates, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, when the feud between Wood and Flint gravitated for hell. Flint would mockingly label the other Captain's three Chasers Wood's "whores", but Wood in turn would hurl back heated jibes of how Flint had zero girls on his team, thereby verifying him a "homosexual, sexist chauvinist."

It seemed Spinnet and Johnson took their servings of sexual remarks and insults of their feminine inferiority with sharp snorts and a roll of the eyes. If they ever did take minor offense, their darker skin tones would conceal the blush, Bell noticed, once Slytherins' Graham Montague and Miles Bletchley teamed up to scheme only the filthiest of hoots and hollers for the girly trio, namely to incense and distract Wood. Opposingly, Bell was as pale as a porcelain doll's arse, and her flushing cheeks would show clearly, sometimes provoking the lewd snaky gits furthermore when they'd notice. Spinnet and Johnson would chastise their more sensitive, albeit pragmatic friend not to take their childish nonsense too seriously.

One Saturday some weeks into the girls' fourth year, Wood had the pitch pre-booked for practice, unbeknownst, on a morning when heaping seriousness would erect in his entire team. The seven players had exited the boys' locker room where the very awake and enthused Wood had covered that practice's program. The Captain strolled onto the game field with an early bird swagger that irked his players somewhat as they were all still thoroughly weary. He mounted his broom with energized steadiness and took flight swiftly while the others groggily copied his lead. Their plans were in motion for perhaps three minutes before the unwelcome approached. Wood was the first to spy his utmost enemy, and he was the first to return to the ground and confront the nearing snakes with interrogating venom.

"Whaddya think you're doing, Flint?! We got up specially! You can beat it now!"

"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood," Flint replied darkly.

"BUT I BOOKED THE PITCH!" Wood roared as if he were aflame. "I BOOKED IT!"

"Well, I got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape," Flint said, waving a small scroll in his opponent's face.

"Lemme see that!" Wood snatched the parchment from the bulkier boy's grasp. He unrolled it speedily to read, "I, Professor Severus Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today owing to the need to train their new Seeker…" He glared up, his eyes dissecting the crowd ahead donned in green uniform. "You've got a new Seeker? What happened to Higgs?"

"Not that he's any of your concern, but we agreed his continued participation wouldn't be...necessary," Flint supplied. "Besides, our new one's promising enough."

"Yeah?" Wood scoffed. "So who is the snot?"

Flint and several of his players stepped aside so that Draco Malfoy, a snotty varmint indeed, could reveal himself with a self-loving simper.

"Lucius Malfoy's brat?" Fred Weasley said with a hint's incredulity.

"Funny you should bring up his father," Flint interjected. "Let me show you the generous gift he's contributed to our team." He, along with the rest of his crew, poked a shiny, black, state-of-the-art Nimbus Two Thousand and One into the earth for emphasis while each Gryff gaped. Wood was practically frothing at the mouth now upon drinking the sight in, his blood probably boiling. "Very latest model. Just came out last month, in fact. Believe it outstrips the old, splintered and worn Cleansweeps by a vast amount."

The Gryffs went cricket-silent as Flint's disparaging words sunk in. When the Slyths had themselves a hearty snicker, Katie's frustration rose to almost meet Wood's. A sharp remark born and fresh in her head, she brushed past George Weasley and refuted, "They're just a placebo, you know. Those things don't really work any better or go any faster than our worn-out 'Sweeps. They only will if you truly believe in your heart they're capable."

"So you believe," Flint said over the Gryffs' laughter. "Shall we put that weak theory to the test this instant?"

"What're those losers doing here?" Malfoy snorted as Potter's best friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, hurried through the field to encounter them.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry, narrowing his sights onto Draco to gasp, dismayed. "Don't tell me he's a part of their team now?!"

"I am the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasel," Malfoy informed bitterly, shooting a referring glance at his broom. "Everyone's admiring the top-of-the-line, latest edition in Nimbus broomsticks my father's bought the entire team." He, accompanied with the elder snakes, chuckled as they absorbed yet another stunned reaction of jealousy. "Good aren't they? But oi, maybe the Gryffindor team can raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those ancient Cleansweep Fives. Suspect some museum would bid for 'em."

The Slytherins cackled.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," bushy-haired second year, Granger, put forth. "They made it based on their pure talent."

Gryffindor's three Chasers beamed at the girl proudly.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Malfoy spat cruelly.

A melee had bloomed. Flint took a protective dive for the charging Weasley twins, their target, his scrawny Seeker.

"How DARE you!" shrieked Alicia, stomping for the prattish blond boy.

"Arrogant, bigot-bred blighter!" Angelina intervened.

"The nasty little shite!" Katie bonused, about simmering.

Momentarily, a brilliant green light burst in Katie's sidelong view. She craned her neck to watch Ron fly across the lawn—to land roughly on his rear. The Gryffindors sprinted to the shot ginger, Potter, Granger and the twins ahead of everybody else. Seconds later, a loud belch broke into the air as Ron upchucked a fat, slime-soaked slug.

While the Slytherins spasmed in their hard guffawing, Hermione and Harry rushed to help their hexed mate to his feet. They aided him off the pitch and towards Hagrid's, a spread-out trail of slugs left behind. Sniggers still taunted the lions' ears as the tense air dispersed around them for an ephemeral length of time. Wood's ongoing anger pierced a snapping point and he marched for Flint, his wand at the ready.

"Off the pitch, you lot!"

"What are you going to do, Wood?" Flint chortled, wheezing slightly, having laughed for such a duration his chest had to be wearing on him. "You can't hex me, not without landing your arse in trouble. Also, my Head of House's permit to us ousts your 'booking' by a plentiful lot."

"You did this on purpose!" Wood accused, his whole body shaking and shading burgundy. "You saw that I had my team pre-signed for this morning and you ambled along to annoy us and try to sneak peeks at our game plan! Hadn't you the sulky bastard's confirmation, you still would have cruised out here this morning to do what you did!"

"But I do have the sulky bastard's confirmation, you blabbering blood-traitor," Flint spat wickedly. "Therefore, I get the field, or at least half of it. Why don't we be good sports and settle our differences this moment, eh?" He moved his black glints onto Katie, scowling. "I'd like to prove our brooms' quality to your little charlatan Chaser."

"You keep Katie and all my players out of your devious ploys!" Wood hissed, either fist purpling from his peaking rage. "If you don't hightail your tight arses out of here in ten blasted seconds, I'm going to report you lot off to McGonagall!"

"Now you're just being a hypocrite," Flint scoffed. "I have the same jurisdiction you do to report you to Snape."

George and Fred then embraced their Captain and clutched onto him for dear life in efforts to halt his mad progression for the other Captain. Flint and his boys snickered some more, shaking their heads at the past five minutes' hilarious and richly eventful pitch fiasco. At least the Gryffs could all say they were wide-awake now.

o0o0o0o

Conclusively, both teams had ended up practicing that morning. Katie had reckoned her placebo claim correct, as the snakes hadn't gone much faster after all than they used to using the 'Sweeps. Minimal cooperation had roused between either Captain, though they'd eventually concurred on dividing the field. In short time, Flint and his players had evidently crossed over the 'division line' onto Wood's share. Fists were thrown by ten a.m., once Wood's patience and tolerance had emptied absolutely. Word traveled and Wood received his serving of detentions by Snape and Flint got his helping from McGonagall.

Katie and Alicia lounged on their common room's couch that evening, aching somewhat from their flaunted endurance on the pitch. They ridiculed their Captain's harsh militant-ish technique and deemed Quidditch more just a game than anything more, while Wood thought differently, and perhaps rightly so, as he was aspiring passionately to join the Scottish National Quidditch Team after graduating.

"Stinks we have to get up disgustingly early tomorrow morn too," Alicia sighed. "I like Oliver, we all do, but he's damn obsessed with the sport."

"Affirmative," Katie murmured. "Let us pray today's ghastly interference doesn't repeat itself."

"I'd lay odds it will. Seems to me Flint might have a crush on our Wood. Seeing as how he hounded him like a lost pup out there. Well, that hadn't been his first time doing such."

"I'd say it's the other way around," yawned Katie. "Oliver was straight up in that ugly moron's face, utterly puce and unhinged. You could tell the walking atrocity gets Wood all hot and feral."

"I dunno about that, Kate. You saw the way he defended your honor when Flint was throwing sneers at you. The bloke was on fire! I'd never seen him more enraged."

"Arseholes will be arseholes," Katie shrugged. "As you and Ange recommended, I try not to take anything those evil snakes spit to heart."

"I hope they took to heart your note of their extravagant duds. I'd hate to see them excel on those things from sheer faith they actually boost your momentum. I'd imagine they'd be disqualified from the game if they really were."

"Yes, as it would likely qualify as cheating," Katie mused. "So, is Ron Weasley doing better?"

"I think so. He just had to wait-out the effects, unfortunately. There's no relieving antidote for those kinds of spells."

"It's a right shame he missed that awful Malfoy git. He's twelve and already thinks his pedestal's higher than everyone else's."

"It's a greater shame there's more of those supreme bullies to come yet. Draco's only bound to rub off that snooty dominance on his future sprogs."

"Aye, it saddens me to think that even fifteen, twenty years from now, the blood status contention will be just the grave dilemma it is in this age."

"Or possibly worse," Alicia said grimly.

"I'm not particularly one to stereotype, but I swear, each single pureblood Slytherin is worthless. Nothing but a load of good-for-zilch tyrants who get off on drowning their 'lessers' with their witless jests of condescension."

"Amen," Alicia groaned. "May they all one day rot in the pits of hell."

o0o0o0o

Marcus departed his sentenced detention fuming to the high heavens. Wood had Merlin to thank for having his detention set outdoors with the oafy gamekeeper, Hagrid, and not with Filch, polishing up the dusty trophy cases. The eighteen-year-old Slyth pledged to beat the soul out of his opponent in their next confrontation regardless of the consequences.

Wood aside, his focus clung to the words of that pissy little girl, Bell. How had she the audacity to insist the high-in-demand, recently bloody released Nimbus Two Thousand and fucking Ones were but mere 'placebos'. Nothing more to them than what the owner hoped for? His arse! In the trial spin he'd taken upon achieving the device he could straightaway discern its enhancements from the standard Cleansweeps. The tweaks were substantial! Had they not been, he would have tried to refuse Mr. Malfoy's desperate request that he let his precious son onto the team and kept his beyond-adequate Seeker, Higgs, aboard. Then there wouldn't have even been a need to toss that acquaintanceship out the window.

"Confused bint," he muttered to himself, now ascending the second flight of moving stairs, bent on reaching the seventh where, rumor had it, the Gryffindor tower was located. He hadn't known for sure because he'd stuck mostly to his comfort zones down in the dungeons where the atmosphere was dark, chilly and appetizingly eerie, thereby quite satisfying in his twisted book.

Tonight, Marcus was apt to stomp from his more cozy whereabouts since Wood's pretty yet very ignorant Chaser was due for a strict, private, one-on-one discussion with him: the Quidditch tactic and merchandise extraordinaire as well as the Falmouth Falcons' eventual Captain. He didn't know if Bell was itching to play the sport for means of stardom and income someday, but he didn't care one speck. That wasn't why he was storming up to her, closing more distance between them by the tick.

As nine o'clock p.m. crept up, few of the younger Gryffs littered the corridors, but luckily, some did. He would only need the service of one anyway. He seized the first kiddie in his proximity upon stepping onto the seventh floor and he glued him in place with his large mitts alone, effectively scaring the boy shitless.

"Do you know Katie Bell?" Marcus asked lowly, the 'brave' Gryff trembling like a leaf in the wind in turn.

"I - I do," he stammered.

"Go fetch the lady from your common room. Don't tell her who sent you."

"You're...not planning to hurt her, are you?" questioned the boy with what obviously minuscule valiance he bore.

'I might torture her some...'

"I just want a word. Unless you don't see much potential in your nut sacs, I'd hop to it."

He released the youngster to watch him zoom for the Fat Lady, trusting the skinny blonde fourth year would emerge give a minute or so. He'd wait out here all night if he had to.

…

"Yes, I think Wood's grudge against Flint associates with Flint's biased views on blood purity, and vice-versa. I mean, Wood's views on people, whether Muggle, Muggle-born, half-blood, pureblood, the whole platter, are normal, so why wouldn't the jagged-toothed troll consider him anything less than someone who deserves a premature demise?"

"The war, it lives on," Katie sighed dismally. "Why are we still talking about them? Shouldn't we be covering our visit to Hogsmeade after slaving over the Captain's orders at practice tom-"

A gentle index finger tapping her shoulder drew her out of her statement. She turned around to face a nervous first year boy. "S-somebody wants to see y-you...outside the portrait hole," he said tensely.

"Oh? Um, who?" She frowned in thought. Was it Leanne, her Hufflepuff pal? Odd for her to stop by the portrait at this hour... "Is it a girl, Leanne?"

The kid went white as Binns, shaking his head timidly, then walking away suddenly and speedily, as if spooked. Katie shrugged, rising and murmuring a BRB to Ali. She exited the common room with paltry caution, for she was certain it was Leanne waiting outside, desperate to gain the Gryff's condolences once more since her boyfriend had dumped her not long ago.

However, she'd stepped out to see someone she'd not ever seen on this floor to date, and with the sight partnered a bad feeling. Taking in a hearty breath and sporting a calm facade, she crossed her arms and met the older Slytherin where he skulked halfway down the hall.

"What?" she asked casually, in no mood for a skirmish tonight.

"Walk with me, Bell," he said, heading the opposite direction. "We need to talk."

"No, curfew's five minutes away. Tell me what you need to here, and make it quick."

He put up a mean glower for her. "Just walk beside me for a wee stroll, you goody-two-shoe'd princess."

"That won't be the slightest bit requisite," she argued. "What the hell is it?"

"I found your placebo speculation rather fucking inane, Bell," he snarled, plodding up to her, glaring daggers while. "I wanna know what gave you such a retarded idea."

"Drop it if it bothers you this much."

"What makes you think the Nimbuses are faulty?"

"I know they are because they wouldn't be allowed for game-play if they were built to fly faster and perfect your agility. Their benefit would only label them swindlers tools. I'll admit my assumption isn't totally reliable, but-"

"But? No, I get it, sweetheart. You've just tried to wheedle my crew into failure by assuring us that our top caliber brooms actually don't do shite for us. Our gifts were expensive, so expensive, that Mr. Malfoy wouldn't tell me how much he invested in them. They must work to some extent of magnitude, and since they do, you can expect to lose our first game by an astronomical gap in the final score. I'd warn you to maintain a wary guard when we're in the sky next month, but since you're the adversary, I couldn't give a damn for your security or health."

"I'll tell you what, Flint," she snapped, her defiance practically reverberating. "I'm so confident we will win our match, that I'm willing to make a bet with you on it."

"Is that right?" he said, his smirk derisive. "Alright. If you're so certain your little Seeker's going to bring you triumph again, let's vow on it."

A blonde brow quirked. "Vow?"

"You know," he leant in to whisper, "the Unbreakable Vow."

"Don't be foolish! We can't do that! It's illegal for one thing, and-"

"It isn't," he countered slyly, "but it carries just the risk you seem bold enough to go forth with." He chuckled as her face burned scarlet. "Unless I'm mistaken. It's fine with me if you'd like to back out now and admit that we Slytherins just might have at that outnumbering score this game."

"Very well, you proud bugger," she cut in hotly, her reluctance quite transparent. "Behind that alcove, then." She pointed ahead to a pillar where they wouldn't be seen easily as long as they were quiet and quick. "So the loser is to surrender ten galleons. I can only hope you pay through your end of the deal...You are aware of the consequences of breaking your promise?" she asked sternly, her back against the corridor's cool stone wall.

"Of course. Only've done a hundred before with my mates and miscellaneous sources," he answered. "And if you're as sure as you think you are, then I'd like to wager something far more worthy than ten galleons."

"Twenty?" she suggested nonchalantly.

"I've an alternative dare, but why don't you declare your condition of me first."

"Your fee'd twenty galleons suits me fine. So what is yours of me?"

He smiled with profound malice, baring his horrifically aligned and gigantic teeth. "If Gryffindor loses, you must meet me in one of Filch's closets and blow me."

"Pardon?!" she gasped, reddening with fury and abashment, as if his regulation was one of great shock coming from a vile, conceited Slytherin.

"Suddenly don't sound so positive there, Bell."

"Propose something else," she growled.

"There shouldn't be a need to, right? Minutes ago you were foreseeing your team's victory, were you not?" he reasoned snidely.

Huffing her building indignation through her nostrils, she hastily reminded herself of how bloody good Potter was in the air. He'd managed to catch the Snitch twice the last year as a mere first year, and they'd only lost that final match because the boy was unconscious in the infirmary. He seemed a real talent thus far. Not to mention Wood's overbearing practice homework and ridiculous crack-of-dawn pitch bookings solidified their upcoming victories moreover. Harry iced the cake. They would win. There was almost no way they wouldn't.

She grabbed his wrist and nodded for him to commence. Gryffindor wins, she earns twenty galleons. Slytherin wins, she gets to desecrate her dignity and a portion of her innocence on her knees for approximately ten minutes in a dark storage closet after the match, before the clock chimed midnight the same day, as the snake added on.

"Meet me in the prefect's bathroom tomorrow at five. Password's Crescent Bezoar."

"Why don't we just get it over with now?"

"We need a Bonder. Might not work without one."

"A Bonder? What's that?"

"The one who'll bond us, Bell," he scoffed. "Who else?"

"So somebody else has to cast the spell?"

"Yep."

"But this is a personal matter, Flint! I don't want people knowing about this ludicrous deal."

"Mm, if you're too shy, I understand."

"No - no, we're doing it. I'm looking forward to having your money. There's a pair of pricey shoes at Gladrags I've been eyeing.

"And I'm looking forward to your muffled hums."

She flushed rose. "Pervert."

"I'll let you change up the bargain a bit," he offered. "If you don't wish to eat my cock, you may spread your pretty legs for me instead."

'Libidinous bastard!' her brain screamed.

"Keep it as it is," she muttered tersely. If, by infinitesimal prospect, misfortune struck and she did lose the bet, she'd rather preserve her virginity for someone virtuous.

But Gryffindor would win.