Title: Quidditch Therapy
Author: PadfootsMoony
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I own nothing. Well... except for the German-speaking Russian therapist. He belongs to me.
Author's Notes: Beware! Total chaos in a randomish organized sort of way. This will take place during Harry's third year meaning it's Oliver Wood's seventh year, Cedric Diggory's sixth year, and Marcus Flint's eighth year. Oh, and by the way... --Slash-- If you do not like the idea of two men groping and kissing and snogging and shagging and all that good stuff with each other, then press that useful little back button. Right... so now are the homophobes gone? Excellent.
Quidditch Therapy
Chapter One-- Unhealthy Obsession
Dear Mr. Marcus Flint,
I hope you have enjoyed your first couple of weeks of school. It flatters me that you have decided to return for an extra year, but I am afraid that despite your determination to continue your education, I simply must beg of you to do whatever it takes in your power to have this be your final year at Hogwarts. With that said, many professors (I will not release any names for the sake of their safety) have told me that you appear to be somewhat distracted from your studies. I am sure that it will not come as a surprise to you when I say that Quidditch seems to be the cause of this certain distraction. I would not exactly call it a distraction myself, but more of an unhealthy obsession if you will. The professors have offered suggestions such as suspending you from the sport, but I find that to be quite unfair seeing that you are not the only one who has this Quidditch obsession problem. Therefore I have come up with a solution known as Quidditch Therapy. You, along with several others, will undergo six weeks of intense therapy, which will hopefully calm (not rid of) this obsession. If you so idiotically choose not to participate in the therapy program, I will personally see to it that you serve ten detentions for each of your professors and suspend you from Quidditch. With that in mind, Mr. Flint, the first meeting will take place tonight in the Quidditch pitch at 8. Do not be late.
Yours Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Marcus glared at the letter, which had been delivered to him by a terrified second year Hufflepuff, with furious dark eyes. He could not believe what he had just read (believe it or not, but the Slytherin has a spectacular ability to read small words and such). What on Merlin's Beard had that old bloke been smoking to come up with something as ridiculous as 'Quidditch Therapy'? Surely this was all a joke.
"Oi! Flint!"
Marcus looked up from the letter and hastily crumpled it into a pathetic ball as he saw Oliver Wood walk towards him at the Slytherin table. What a bloody idiot, he thought pleasantly to himself and smirked when the Gryffindor stopped in front of him, holding what appeared to be a piece of parchment.
"Surprise to see you on this side of the Great Hall, Wood. Never thought you had the guts."
"Shut it," Oliver snapped but almost immediately took a step back as he received threatening glances from the Slytherins sitting around Marcus. He frowned, puffed his chest up bravely, and glowered at the Quidditch captain across from him. The table stood proudly between the two, so Oliver was somewhat safe. "I just wanted to see if you got a letter from Dumbledore about... ." Oliver trailed off into silence, and Marcus realized that he was too embarrassed to mention the Quidditch Therapy.
"About what, Wood? I don't have all day," said Marcus indifferently.
"Did you or did you not get a letter? Just answer me, Flint."
Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes before throwing the crumpled letter at Oliver's head. It bounced marvelously off the Keeper's nose and landed by his feet. Oliver looked down at it with a scowl but did not bother to pick it up.
"Are you going to the meeting?" he asked as his eyes found their way back up to Marcus's face.
"I don't exactly have a choice, Wood. It's either that or detentions and suspension from Quidditch, and I know how much you'd love that-"
"You'd be doing the whole school a favor," Oliver retorted with a mocking grin.
"I think I'll do myself a favor and make sure you don't live to play another match." Marcus smirked, revealing his crooked teeth, when Oliver's grin faltered and fell into a frown.
"See you tonight then," he said as he bent over, picked up the crumpled letter, and chucked it at the Slytherin's face.
Marcus caught it without blinking or removing his smirk. "It's a date."
And without another word, Oliver turned and stormed off.
Marcus stepped out onto the grounds around 7:30 that night, and took in a deep breath of fresh air. He never told anyone, but he loved the night. The darkness was what he loved the most. It was eerie and silent and peaceful, and it brought Marcus a feeling of calmness. It wassomething he could not exactly explain. Not even to himself.
A cool breeze gracefully danced across the grounds, and Marcus shuddered silently, wrapping his robes around him tightly to stay warm. Dumbledore was clearly a lunatic, sending him and Oliver and whoever else out into the night with those dementors roaming about. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly becoming much colder than the night itself.
The bloody dementors...
This had to be a joke. Despite the hatred Marcus had for the Headmaster, there was no way he would be stupid enough to have innocent students prance around on the grounds so that the dementors could attack them and feast on their innocent souls. This had to be Wood. Surely he wrote that letter and acted as if he got one too. Marcus groaned at his own stupidity for believing this obvious load of crap, but stopped himself in fear that a dementor might hear him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hissed at himself and looked around frantically, ready to sprint back to Hogwarts and kill Wood. But as he was about to turn and go on with his plan, a voice pierced into the night.
"You! You! Boy! Girl! Vhatever! Come here!"
Marcus moved his head in all directions to find the source of the voice when suddenly he fell onto the ground. He felt a great amount of weight on his chest, and he gasped as he tried to push whatever was on him off. Thankfully he was very much successful and without any hesitation, he stood and looked down to see that it was a short man, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, who had tackled him to the ground. No wonder he could not see who was calling for him; the man's height hardly reached up to Marcus's elbow. The only thing that seemed to be quite wondrous was the fact that despite the shortness of this man, he had remarkable strength. How else could he have knocked down a hugely built Quidditch player?
"You! Are you coming for the Quidditch Therapy? Vhy are you coming so early? Dumbledore said eight! Not seven! Stupid boy! Come quickly! Ve must go as fast as ve can! And be unhappy. The dementors will find us less quickly if ve are unhappy. BE UNHAPPY!" the man added quickly as he noticed Marcus give him a disbelieving look. "Stupid, ugly boy! Be unhappy! Or ve die!" He grabbed onto the bottom of Marcus's robes and dragged him all the way to the Quidditch Pitch, which at the moment was surrounded by white, misty things. The Slytherin could not exactly find a word to explain what was before his eyes, but he watched as the white, misty things swirled around the pitch over and over again.
"What are-"
"Patronuses! They are to protect us from the dementors! Come quickly! Ve are almost there!"
Before long both Marcus and the strange man made their way safely into the Quidditch Pitch. In the center of the pitch were six chairs, all placed in a circle. It came as a relief to Marcus once he realized that this whole Quidditch Therapy thing was not a joke after all (he had been too busy to realize that due to the fact that he was being dragged by a very short man). It still was amazingly stupid, but at least it was not a joke the Gryffindors and Wood would laugh about for the rest of the year.
"Stay here. I vill return vith the other five. Stay here! The dementors von't be able to get passed the Patronuses, but if they somehow do... run around and scream like a girl! I vill be able to hear you and come to your rescue! And be unhappy! Never be happy!"
Marcus simply nodded and watched the short man run as fast as he could across the pitch and out of sight. He sighed softly and sat down on one of the chairs, wishing he had graduated from this strange school. Perhaps 'strange' was too kind of a word to describe Hogwarts. Ever since that Potter came here, things got worse after each year. First that unknown incident that earned the Gryffindors more house points than they deserved. Then the horrid monster that had attacked the Mudbloods, and finally, Black was on the loose. And with Black on the loose, there were the dementors. Marcus kicked himself mentally for failing all those exams that kept him from graduating. If old age wasn't going to kill him, surely Potter would in some form or another.
"Flint! You obsessive little bloke, you," someone shouted, and Marcus turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see that it was Terrence Higgs, his ex-Seeker. Walking beside him was Adrian Pucey, his Chaser, and they both sat down on either side of their captain (ex-captain in Terrence's case... poor boy).
"Can you believe that Dumbledore? Quidditch Therapy? The man must be nuts," said Adrian.
"Not as mad as that horrible man who escorted us," replied Terrence quietly. "You'd suspect he's been drinking with the way he yelled at us. I want what he's having."
Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, crossing his arms. "Will you two just shut the bloody hell up? Higgs, what are you doing here? You don't play Quidditch anymore," he added after a short pause.
"Just because I don't play for your team, doesn't mean I stopped playing Quidditch completely-"
"Which is a shame, really... you should quit seeing as you are terrible on a broom," Adrian interrupted with a grin.
"Anyway, not that it really matters. I've just been doodling on my assignments and notes... Quidditch plays and broomsticks and Quaffles and-"
"Harry Potter's name."
Terrence yelled out several curses as he reached over to strangle Adrian. However, with a very annoyed Marcus in between them, the two could not satisfy their desire to kill each other as Marcus pushed Terrence back in his seat and yanked on Adrian's precious hair for mentioning Potter's name. "Both of you shut those mouths before I throw you out of the pitch and watch the dementors fucking eat your brains!"
"No throwing bodies around vill be permitted vhile I am in charge! Stupid boy!" a familiar, thick-accented voice hollered not too far from where the three Slytherins sat. Marcus, for the second time that night, groaned and turned around, finding that it was, of course, the short man. But he was not alone, as Marcus had suspected. Following him was Oliver Wood, Cedric Diggory, and to Marcus's delight, Harry Potter.
Marcus released Adrian's hair and relaxed in his chair as the three other Quidditch obsessors sat themselves down. The short man stood in the center and looked at each of the boys before nodding and clapping his hands together.
"Good," he said and began walking around in a circle slowly to prevent any dizziness, "ve shall begin! My name is Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii, but you may call me Zvenidorodskii. You are all here-"
"Your mother must have been depressed when she gave you that name," Marcus blurted out and the other two Slytherins sniggered. "How can you honestly expect us to pronounce even a syllable of your name?"
Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii stopped and glared at the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. If looks could kill, Marcus and the whole world would no longer exist.
"My mother vas a good voman! And since you are too stupid to pronounce my name, you vill call me Master because that is vhat I am for the next six veeks!"
"Bugger off. I'd rather choke while attempting to pronounce your stupid name," Marcus mumbled.
"You vill do just that then! Let me see... ." Zvenigorodskii pulled out a piece of parchment and looked at the names listed on it. "Yes... you must be Marcus Flint? Ugly name for an ugly boy." It was the two Gryffindors and the one Hufflepuff's turn to burst out laughing, and despite the Slytherins' efforts to stop them by glaring and scowling, they continued to laugh, if not harder. "That is enough! Let us continue. Now I vill go through attendance. Vill each of you nod as I say your name. Cedric Diggory? Good. Marcus Flint? I vouldn't care. Terrence Higgs? Good. Harry Po-... . Pooter? Harry Pooper?"
"Potter," corrected Harry as he blushed.
Zvenigorodskii gasped at the name and looked up to see if it was truly the Boy-Who-Lived sitting across from him. "Potter! Brave little boy! Vhy has that dumb headmaster sent you out here vhen there is a killer sneaking around?"
"As if we really needed a reminder," Terrence muttered and threw a quick and nervous glance over his shoulder. "Zzz... uh... noodershickle... will you please hurry it up so we can go back?"
"I think Higgs is scared of the dark," whispered Cedric to both Harry and Oliver. However, the three Slytherins heard him quite well, and before any of them could verbally abuse their rivals, Zvenigorodskii shouted loud enough to wake the whole world. Well, the side of the world thatwas sleeping of course.
"Enough! Ve need to hurry before the Patronuses die out! Now... . Adrian Pucey? Good. And Oliver Vood? Good." Zvenigorodskii stuffed the list in a random pocket and started to walk around in a circle again. "Dumbledore has hired me to help you six control your Quidditch obsession. Now before I move on, let me say that obsessions are very dangerous! They can turn you into mindless zombies! That is vhere I come in! For six veeks I vill show you others sports! Both Magical and Muggle! You vill learn how to keep your mind off of Quidditch vhen it needs to be! And most importantly, you vill learn German!"
"German?" asked a weirded-out Adrian. "Why do we need to learn German?"
"Because it vill expand your knowledge, vhich you seem to lack a lot of! Now shush-"
"But... um... Z... um... hickersnitzle-" Oliver began but was immediately interrupted by the therapist.
"Zvenigorodskii!"
"Zv... ni... google...skini," stampered the Gryffindor once again, "if we're going through Quidditch Therapy why are we in a Quidditch Pitch? It's a bit ironic if you ask me."
"It is not! Vhile you are in a Quidditch Pitch, it is obvious that you vill think of Quidditch. Vhile you are in therapy, you vill learn how to control such thoughts... and vhen you can sit in a Quidditch Pitch and not think of Quidditch, the therapy program vill be a success!" Zvenigorodskii explained excitedly, and as he did so, he threw his arms about with so much enthusiasm that the six boys were simply waiting for him to fall over.
"Well... that's stupid. Anyone who walks in here will think of Quidditch," said Terrence indifferently. "Why make us go through this idiotic program thing?"
"Because I am smart, and you are not! Now shush! I vill go over the rules! Rule number eins-"
"Excuse me?" Marcus asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Number one, stupid boy! Learn how to count! Rule number eins," he repeated, glaring at Marcus with dangerous eyes, "you vill be escorted from and to Hogwarts! There are dementors on the grounds, and ve do not vant them sucking avay your useless souls! Rule number zwei: you vill no longer be allowed to speak of Quidditch vhen I am around. Rule number drei: if you do not come to all the therapy meetings, the punishments that have been promised in your letters, vill happily be given! And finally, rule number vier: I vill think of more rules vhen I vant to. Do you all understand? Good. Now ve have a little time left to introduce ourselves."
"We already know each other," said Oliver as he frowned at Marcus.
"I do not care! Rule number funf: listen to my every command or you vill perish! Good. Now Cedric Diggory, vill you please stand up and introduce yourself to us?"
Cedric slowly stood up, nervously looking at the very tiny man in front of him. "Um... well, my name is Cedric Diggory."
"And vhat is your problem, Mr. Diggoy? Vhy are you here?"
"Well... apparently I have a problem with liking Quidditch."
Zvenigorodskii nodded and rubbed his chin in a manly sort of way. "Are you ashamed of this problem?"
"Um... no?"
"Good... sit down. Terrence Higgs, stand up and introduce yourself."
Terrence obeyed and rolled his eyes as he said, "My name is Herrence Tiggs, and my problem is Dumbledore."
"And vhy is he your problem, Terrence Higgs?"
"Because he sent me to this stupid thing."
"Sit down. Harry Potter, kindly stand up," said Zvenigorodskii as he turned to face the third year Gryffindor.
Harry stood up and swallowed hard as six pairs of eyes settled on him. "Well... my name is Harry Potter. And... I have a problem with-"
"Bringing bad luck to us all," Marcus snarled. "And I do believe you forgot to call on me, Ziggerneezlehiggen."
Harry slowly sat back down while Zvenigorodskii turned to glare up at Marcus once more. "Very vell. Stand up and introduce yourself."
Marcus sighed and stood up. "My name is Flint, and my only problem is having too many Gryffindors to beat up in the very little time I have." He flashed a nasty grin towards Oliver and sat down. As Zvenigorodskii moved on to Adrian, who appeared to have a lot of problems, such as masturbating while thinking of Quidditch and so on, Marcus kept his eyes on Oliver. He watched his every movement like the shifting of his eyes. They moved from Adrian to Zvenigorodskii to the ground, but they never landed on him. Marcus was not sure if Oliver was aware that he was looking at him, or if he just too frightened to look at the Slytherin. Either way, Marcus didn't mind. It gave him the chance to stare at the boy for just a moment longer.
"Oliver Vood. Stand up, please."
Oliver stood up and finally looked at Marcus, but the expression held within his eyes nearly surprised the Chaser. Hatred. Pure hatred. "I'm Oliver Wood, and I have a problem with Slytherins because they're selfish and rude and cheaters," spat the Gryffindor mercilessly. "And they're ugly."
"Someone obviously hasn't been looking in the mirror lately," retorted Marcus as he stood, preparing himself for a fight he knew would happen soon.
"I know you haven't, seeing that which ever mirror you looked into surely broke because of your hideousness!"
"Hideousness isn't a word, Wood."
"It is a word,but you wouldn't know, would you? There's a reason why you're the only student in the history of Hogwarts who's come back for an eighth year!"
"You know... you're getting on my bloody nerves," Marcus growled and walked over to Oliver, kicking poor Zvenigorodskii out of the way. "You better hope someone stops me before I strangle you to death."
And before Oliver could do anything to protect himself, they were on the ground with Marcus was on top of him, ramming his fist into his jaw. Harry and Cedric got to their feet instantly to help the defenseless Gryffindor captain, but the moment they made the slightest movement, Terrence and Adrian stood up and got in their way. As for Zvenigorodskii... well, he rolled around on the ground, most certainly unaware of the chaos that broke loose.
"Get the hell off of me!" Oliver yelled as he tried to hit anything his with fist. When he felt Marcus's nose crunch sickly under his curled fingers, he smirked... despite the fact that that smirk was soon squashed into bruised and bleeding mushy lips.
The fight continued between Marcus and Oliver as they exchanged a few punches and what not, and Cedric, Harry, Terrence, and Adrian were quickly involved in a massive altercation of their own. However, all the fighting and shouting and punching had stopped when Marcus heard screaming. He didn't know exactly who was screaming, but it was loud enough to make him look up, away from Oliver. His curious eyes landed on three hooded figures, which were slowly gliding their way across the pitch. Marcus instantly felt a stinging pain in his chest, and every happy thought he seemed to have contained in his little brain was being sucked away.
Quidditch.
Chocolate covered strawberries.
Oliver Wood.
"No!" Marcus yelled, but it was hopeless. He fell to the ground, watching helplessly as the hooded figures stood over him. Marcus thought he saw a flash of white light, but it was too late... the screams and darkness had already engulfed him.
Author's Notes: Okay, I have a lot to say about this chapter. First of all, I almost completely forgot about the dementors and Sirius Black. When I had Marcus walk towards the Quidditch Pitch, I suddenly remembered them, and I just came up with the whole patronus-running-around-the-Quidditch-Pitch-to-protect-them thing. I realize that a Patronus wouldn't last that long... but, well work with me. Zvenigorodskii is a German-speaking Russian. I couldn't find a spot to put that in, so I might have to in later chapters. If not, well, now you know! I wasn't exactly sure how to write down a Russian accent... so I just changed most of the w's into v's cause I know that that's what Germans do... or at least I think they should. Yeah. I'm surprised that I even wrote that much... I was going to stop it at where Oliver storms off, but that was too short. Now I think it's too long. xD Oh well. Hopefully I'll be able to write this much for the other chapters. Anyway! Enough of that, please review! It would mean the world to me. And I promise to review your fics in return! Cause I love you all!
Oh, and don't ask me how to pronounce Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii. You might need a Russian expert or something to help you with that... . I nearly had a seizure when I tried to pronounce the name myself.
