Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and no copyright infringement is intended; not making any money, but they are fun to play with.

A/N: This is only a short fic. Maybe five or six chapters. The basic theme is a bit darker than my usual sweety fluff stories. But as I'm not very good with too much angst and drama this one will have a happy ending as well.

Please let me hear what you think^^

AFTER DARK COMES LIGHT

Chapter One: Marcus

All Marcus Flint ever wanted in his life was playing Quidditch. It was the only thing he was ever good at. He was neither good looking like most of his friends, nor overly charming and nobody would ever accuse him of being intelligent. There was a reason they called him ´troll` behind his back during his Hogwarts years. He might have been a bit dumb, but he wasn't deaf.

Not that it mattered, as long as he could ride his broom and play the game he could care less what others thought. Up there, with the wind biting in his face and the adrenaline rushing through his veins the real world didn't matter.

Not the way he looked, his less than stellar notes, the people talking behind his back, Slytherin politics, his drinking mother nor his sadistic father who was too busy liking the Dark Lords boots most of the time to even realise he had a son. During the game he was free.

So no one was astonished when he pursued a professional career in Quidditch. With nineteen he signed his first contract with the Falmouth Falcons as a Chaser and helped his team a great deal to win the cup that year.

He was wildly known and feared for his aggressive behaviour, in and outside the pitch and more than one opponent had found that out the painful way. It was nearly two years after joining the team that a heated argument with a player from a different team ended in a bloody fight, which put the looser in the hospital and himself on the penalty bench. Gibson, his trainer, flat out refused to let him back on the broom as long as he didn't change his ways.

Marcus wanted to balk at the very idea but Gibson made it crystal clear that he wouldn't need to come back should he not play along. So in the end he had no choice but to allow some nancy boy to polish up his image and appearance, at least to some degree. You couldn't turn a bad boy into every mothers-in-law dream over night, but obviously it was possible to soften the rough edges enough to find the approval of the press.

His make-over included a new set of teeth, which now were white and straight, a new hair cut and a crash course in talking with the press as well as some anti-aggressive training which only made his blood boil some more. But he wanted to play Quidditch and if he had to take it a notch or two down to do so, he would grit his teeth and comply. He could still let his anger out on the pitch. As long as he didn't seriously maim anyone and did his job Gibson would look over it.

And he soon discovered that his make-over had its benefits. With his new look and rough attitude witches were now falling over themselves to get to him and Marcus found out that it was a wonderful way to let off some steam, outside the pitch. There had always been witches who would do anything and anyone for their five minutes of fame, after all he was a wildly known Quidditch player, but with his new appearance he only had to grin at a witch to have her jumping his bones.

Being a man he took full advantage of it. There was barley a weekend where he and his best mate Adrian didn't hit the clubs, drinking and taking the most beautiful witches back home with them, or to the next dark corner. The Falcons had the best season in their history and in Marcus opinion his life couldn't be much better.

But that all ended with the death of Albus Dumbledore. Marcus had never been a fan of the old fool, but he had never dreamed that his death would mean the end of his profession as a Quidditch player or that of every one else. But it was that fateful day in June 1997 when the dark mark showed over the sky of Hogwarts that initiated the end of professional Quidditch. Two month later he and the rest of his team were unemployed and as if that wasn't bad enough, his father seemed to remember that he existed and wanted him to join his ranks with the Death Eaters.

Though he was Slytherin and a Pureblood, Marcus never shared the believes of some of his house mates. He never hated anyone for their blood status. There were few enough people he could stand over a lengthen period of time and blood had nothing to do with it. But he didn't have a choice. He could either take the dark mark and do what he was told to do, or being tortured to death.

The following year had been the darkest of his life. He was forced to do things that would hunt him in his dreams till his last breath and others that made him sick just thinking about it. Things he just wanted to forget but never would. In some case being alive and able to remember any moment of your deeds is the greatest punishment of all.

But the darkest point, the one that would always flutter before his eyes when he tried to close them and brought the change was the day his farther and two other Death Eaters took him on a raid. To relive some of their boredom, as they put it. They tortured, maimed, raped and killed while Marcus was shell shocked standing beside them.

It was the moment they forced him to rape the young witch -Madeline- that he finally used the few brain cells he was graced with and made a decision. The decision to stop being a coward and fight the madness that was taking place around him.

He still remembered her, bloody and beaten barley covered by the shreds that once had been her clothes. Her petite body shaking like a leave, her eyes red and puffy from her tears and her blond hair red from all her blood. Her shaky voice pleading him not to hurt her.

In all his life he had never forced himself on a woman, but he knew what his father and the other two would do if he refused. They would not only kill him but rape her even more brutally. So he had done it under the hooting and encouraging shouts of the Deaths Eaters. He did his best to make it as painless as possible but the fact remained that it was rape.

The memory alone was enough to make him want to puke his guts out.

He wanted to whisper to her that he was sorry, that he didn't want to do it and that he would find a way to rescue her, but he didn't dare to utter a word with the others around.

Marcus remembered his farther proudly patting his back afterwards and proclaiming that he always knew that he had it in him. He remembered the other two laughing loudly and the little witch whimpering softly in the background.

That was the moment Marcus knew what he had to do, he told the others that he wasn't finished with her and asked his father to spend a little more time alone with her. Henry Flint had only laughed and nodded light headedly as if he had just ask permission to test out a new broom, and with a plop the three Death Eaters vanished.

For a moment he didn't know what to do, where to bring her, how to help her but he couldn't let her die. So he scooped her up in his arms all the while trying to sooth her and ensure her that he wouldn't hurt her. Nobody would. Ever again. And with a flick of his wand he appareted them to the only person he could think of able to help her.

Valerie Duboi, ex-healer of the Falmouth Falcons and sister of Kingsley Shaklebolt as he later found out. Valerie had been shocked to find him standing in front of her door, though he couldn't say if she was more shocked about him in his Death Eater robes or the bleeding crying woman in his arms. But she didn't ask a question only gestured him in and immediately got down to business. It was her quick wit and professional skill that rescued Madeline, though later he wasn't sure if she really wanted to be rescued.

Even though she never outright told him so, it was clear that a great part of her died that day, together with her parents and her two little brothers.

Marcus himself felt as if something had died inside himself, he felt numb, sick and disgusted with himself at the same time. He had absolutely no idea what he should do. It was Valerie who showed him the way out of the dark pitch he had been sucked in.

Half an our later Kingsley Shaklebolt stepped though the door and Marcus was convinced that he had come to end his life. He didn't even care or made any effort to raise his wand. Whatever punishment was chosen for him wouldn't be enough anyway. But instead of torturing or killing him Shaklebolt simply sat down in front of him and looked him in the eyes.

Till this day Marcus didn't know why, but the words simply flooded out of his mouth. He told him everything. The end of his Quidditch career, getting the dark mark, the raids, the deaths, torture and finally the rape.

"And now?" Kingsley finally asked.

"Now?" He'd asked confused.

"Yes. Now. What will you do now?"

"I...I. I want..."

"What do you want?" Kingsley interrupted his pathetic stammering.

"I want it to stop. All of it."

"Than make it stop!"

That was the day he changed sides. The day he started to be a spy for the order and he had never made a better decision.

He wasn't part of the inner circle and the information he could provide wasn't that much but during that last fight, on the grounds of Hogwarts, he was able to make a change. He fought and killed but this time it was for a reason; to rid the world of the evil Voldemort stood for. To end the torture, the fear and the madness, so that his son would be able to live in a better world.

It was the thought of Madeline pregnant with his child that made him fight with deadly cold precision. He wouldn't allow this madman to take over and force his kid into the same dark hole he had been pushed in, before he was even born.

They won and it was his decision to change sides that spared him Azkaban in the end. Kingsley spoke for him as well as the Partil twins who he rescued during the last battle, but it was Madeline who shocked him the most. Not only did she defend him, she forgave him.

Marcus hadn't wanted her forgiveness, he wasn't worthy of it but he cherished it anyway. Valerie had taken it upon herself to look after the young witch and given her a home and Marcus was thankful for it. He supported her with money, and after the battle was over he visited her daily thankful and uncomfortable at the same time that she would even allow him in the same room as her.

It was three weeks before she was due that the bleeding started. They had been sitting outside, enjoying the warm summer air when Madeline suddenly started screaming, Marcus had been hit by a wave of panic and it was only due to Valeries forceful voice that he was ripped out of his state and was able to apparete her to St-Mungos.

It was August the 23 1998 at precisely 17.43 p.m. that Ewan James Flint entered the world. And it was six minutes later, after she named and kissed her son that Madeline Arlington closed her eyes and never opened them again. The blood loss was to great and her spirit too broken.

Sitting there with his new born son in his arms and the dead body of his mother in front of him Marcus Flint allowed the tears that welled up behind his eyes to fall freely.

TBC