Chapter 2: Transition
It was a bad day. Marcus stood gazing at the house points abacus, glumly noting how many Gryffindor had.
"Too bad that you'll win neither the House or Quidditch Cup in your final year," a voice remarked, oozing with false sympathy. Marcus spun around to see Bell already walking away. He snatched at her bulky, misshapen sweater and pulled her around to face him.
"What was that, Bell? A snark and run?"
"Just an observation, Flint."
"Reveling in your house's victories? You must be very proud of yourself, Bell. It took a lot of courage and determination to be born a year ahead of Potter," Marcus said, ladening his voice with overdone sincerity. Bell stiffened abruptly. Ooh, that hit a nerve.
"Harry isn't the only reason our quidditch team wins, Flint." Katie replied, chin up.
"Looks that way to me. You don't win for years, and then you win all of your games his first year on the team. That is, until he lands himself in the infirmary. Then you get slaughtered. This year, if Potter managed to stay on his broom, you won. If he swooned over dementors, you lost. How many of these games are you winning by more than 150 points, Bell?"
"Sour grapes, Flint."
"What would I have to be resentful about? Three out of the four years I was captain, we won the Cup. Two of those years we won the House Cup as well. Without Dumbledore's boy toy on the team, I might add."
"Although with outrageous cheating, as I remember."
"Oh, that's rich. Please cast your mind back to two years ago. A leaving feast, a hall decorated in green and silver. Then Dumbledore hands out 170 points at the last minute, and surprise! Gryffindor wins the cup."
"They defeated You-Know-Who!"
"Oh, yeah, right. They managed to catch big bad Professor Quirrell, the stuttering fool, doing something or another. What, was Voldemort living under his turban?" He smiled as she flinched at the name.
"He was disembodied! Plus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione protected the Sorcerer's stone!"
"Believing in fairy tales, Katie? There are a lot of weird things in this world, I will admit. However, I will never believe in Neville freaking Longbottom defeating Voldemort."
"He didn't. He just tried to stop Harry...and was hexed..." Katie trailed off.
"Oh, so Harry the Killer Baby and his cronies got points for saving the world and Neville got points for trying to stop them from saving the world? That makes sense. Face facts, Bell. Dumbledore wanted Gryffindor to win the House Cup so he threw you some points."
"That's not true! Dumbledore would never! Your illustrious head of house, on the other hand..."
"What does big bad Snape due to the poor ickle Gryffindors?" Marcus sneered.
"It's amazing we ever can win the Cup at all with the way he takes points. Last year, he took twenty off of me for breathing too loud in Potions!"
"Panting in Potions, Katie? You wanton girl. Oh, don't you share that class with the Slytherins? I understand now." He grinned wolfishly down at her.
"If I were panting, it was because I was hyperventilating from the pervasive Slytherin stench." Katie's eyes blazed but she backed up a step as Marcus leaned forward. She gasped as she realized he had had her up against the wall.
Marcus propped his arm over her head and leaned in. "Now, now Katie, be nice. It's understandable that you get all hot and bothered when a sexy, gorgeous Slytherin is this close to you."
Katie looked around in mock surprise. "Is Adrian Pucey here?" she asked sweetly.
Marcus could feel his grin slip a little. Merlin, her mouth never stopped. He could almost see the next snide remark forming in her brain.
"Move, Flint." She pushed at his chest.
"Y'know, I think I like it here." He let his voice deepen menacingly.
"Sorry, Flint, I'm simply not afraid of you. Oh! Oh! I know what you could do. You could dress up like a dementor again. That was so vewy vewy scawy!" His eyes darkened as she laughed at the expression on his face. He scowled down at her, in her huge sweater and pants that were at least three inches too short. No makeup and hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Nothing that hinted at the amazing audacity inside.
"I'm sure that someday a girl will find you sexy and/or frightening, Flint. Hang in there."
"I'm sure that someday you'll actually succeed at something without riding Potter's coattails, Bell. Maybe."
"I'm sure that you'll back away and quit bothering Katie in the next three seconds, Flint. Definitely." Both Katie and Marcus turned in surprise.
George and Fred Weasley stood there, wands out. Angelina Johnson was next to them with a grim expression on her face. There were a few others that Marcus didn't know as well as Potter's little posse. Alicia Spinnet was jumping up and down behind them, trying to see. Marcus thought distractedly that at least half of them seemed to be wearing knitted monstrosities similar to Katie's. Did Gryffindor mean really ugly sweater in Welsh?
"Move, Flint." The Weasley twins' faces turned ugly. Marcus calculated the odds of taking on twelve Gryffindors at once, and started to step away as McGonagall came barreling down the corridor.
"What is the meaning of this? Professor Snape and I could hear yelling all the way down the corridor." McGonagall was severely displeased. Snape looked dispassionately at the scene.
"It's clear, Minerva. We have about fifteen Gryffindors, some with wands drawn, attacking a lone Slytherin."
"He was hassling Katie," Fred protested. "We just wanted him to get away from her."
"She started it, Weasley." Marcus knew he should shut up and let Snape punish all the little Gryffs, but he was still smarting from being forced to back down.
"All of you go back to the common room, except for Miss Bell and Mr. Flint," commanded McGonagall, overriding Snape's pained protest and the twins' grumbling.
"Some of your students should be punished, Minerva," Snape insisted. "They were clearly ganging up on my student." A long look passed between them.
"Miss Bell, do you have any responsibility whatsoever for this incident?" McGonagall asked haughtily.
"Yes, Professor." Katie said quietly. Marcus looked at her in surprise.
"Very well, then. Both of you will serve detention with Mr. Filch at 7:00 this evening." She quirked a questioning eyebrow at Snape, who nodded.
Katie nodded and quickly began to retreat down the hall. Marcus was watching her when he heard Snape clear his throat behind him. Marcus turned.
"Mr. Flint, a word in my office. Now, I think." Snape pivoted briskly and stalked off toward the dungeons, leaving Marcus to hastily follow.
Snape gestured for Marcus to sit down with a sweep of his hand and an arched eyebrow. His steady gaze remained fixed on Marcus but he didn't speak, waiting for something. Marcus knew better. Snape always let students confess whatever they thought he knew before coming down on them with what he did know. He hadn't fallen for that trick since second year. Snape nodded briefly in approval at Marcus' silence.
"Mr. Flint, do you believe that you will choose to pass your NEWTs this year?"
Marcus was surprised. He thought this was going to be about the fight with Bell.
"I will do my best, sir. I do feel better prepared this year so I expect things will go more smoothly." Marcus kept his expression as blank as possible.
"Do not insult my intelligence, Mr. Flint. Quidditch season was cancelled last year. Ergo, no scouts coming to see the games. Ergo, no contract offers. QED, Mr. Flint magically manages to do just badly enough on his NEWTs to be kept back a year but not badly enough to be denied the privilege of playing quidditch. You judged that very delicately."
Marcus knew he was caught.
"Sorry, Professor."
"Oh, don't apologize, Mr. Flint. I enjoy it when Slytherin House's average NEWT scores drop precipitously." Snape's voice was silky. "I also enjoyed the monthly reports I had to submit on every single seventh year to avoid, in Professor McGonagall's words, a repeat of this unfortunate incident. What I enjoyed most of all, however, was Professor Sprout asking if our house would like to have joint tutoring sessions with hers, seeing as we both had students who had difficulties with the 'highly demanding'...her words, not mine...curriculum. A Slytherin/Hufflepuff alliance. How my heart warmed." Snape's eyes glittered.
Marcus shut his eyes briefly. He was amazed that Snape had not confronted him until the end of the year. Hell, he was amazed that his body hadn't been found, gutted, in Knockturn Alley.
"I am curious, Mr. Flint, as to why such drastic measures were necessary. Surely, you could have gone to tryouts and made a team."
Marcus figured complete and total disclosure was his best chance for survival.
"If you start off with a contract, they're invested in making sure you succeed. Open tryouts will be filled with players struggling for a few positions, and scouts lobbying to make sure that their favorites are looked at closely. Also, quidditch has its own snobbery, like everything else; players who were recruited will end up with higher salaries, more playing time and more respect for equal performance. I could have made a team but playing time would have been hard to come by and if I was injured, well, no team might have looked at me again."
"Very well, Mr. Flint. I suppose I cannot criticize a Slytherin for being ambitious and cunning." Snape's voice was calm. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.
"Sit down, Mr. Flint. I have other things to discuss with you." Marcus sat hurriedly. Snape continued. "I want to make sure that you are keeping certain truths about Miss Bell clear in your mind."
Marcus froze. Snape couldn't know. Not that there was anything to know. At all.
"Uh, truths, sir? That Miss Bell is a Gryffindor or that Miss Bell is a mouthy little twerp?" Marcus chuckled nervously.
Snape looked at him coolly.
"That Miss Bell is fourteen."
"She's turned fifteen." Marcus said without thinking, and then flushed as Snape cocked an amused eyebrow. Marcus recovered quickly. "I'm sorry if my yelling at a younger student reflected poorly on Slytherin. I'll control my temper, Professor."
"Very well, Mr. Flint. Your temper is one of the things you should control around Miss Bell." Snape paused for a long moment and stared at him. Marcus swallowed hard.
"You have almost always been a credit to Slytherin House, both on and off the quidditch pitch, during your eight years here. " Snape's lips twisted into a brief smile. "I thank you for that. I would like you to pick the captain for next year's team and I would also appreciate any suggestions you have for the coming years of Slytherin quidditch. You may go." Marcus muttered his thanks and departed hurriedly. NEWTs should be a breeze compared to a one-on-one session with Snape.
***********
The Slytherin common room was crowded when Marcus returned. Brutus Parkinson and Terence Higgs were stretched out in easy chairs by the fire. Brutus had Morgaine Montague curled up in his lap. Marcus debated briefly and decided that hanging out with Brutus and Terence outweighed having to put up with Morgaine. He headed over.
Brutus peered over his gold-rimmed glasses at Marcus as he collapsed noisily in the chair next to him. Brutus was reading 'Trends in Arithmancy.' Merlin, he was a ponce. Terence lazily waved but didn't bother opening his eyes. Morgaine looked like she always did when Marcus was around-like something had curled up and died in her nostril.
"Morgaine, I read in the Daily Prophet that the weakening of the galleon and the new statutes limiting trade in phoenix feathers will result in a poor year for magical supply companies. I think you might want to run the numbers again and see if Brutus is really the one you want to marry." Marcus smirked at the green-eyed, angular witch.
"Oh, I think I'll keep Brutus around." Morgaine shot back. "His non-tangible assets are definitely appreciating. And appreciated." She leaned over to lick Brutus' ear. Brutus turned a page in his magazine. "I'm curious, Marcus. You dishonor Slytherin House in so many ways...which did Snape want to yell at you for?"
"Just wanted to let me know what an honor and a privilege it was to have me around, Migraine. He also wanted to discuss the quidditch team." Marcus grinned menacingly back at her, making sure to show all his teeth.
"Did he want to discuss the bizarre personnel decisions you've made as captain?" Terence inquired. "About the seeker position, perhaps? Or last minute chaser replacements?"
"No." Marcus gave Terence an annoyed glance. "I'm sure Snape sees it like I do: Trading a crap seeker for a crap seeker and seven state-of-the-art brooms is good policy. I replaced you for the last Gryffindor game because we needed size and I could trust Warrington to play the fucking game, instead of flirting with Spinnet. So shut up about it before I decide to shut you up"
"I was not a crap seeker." Terence said sulkily.
"Well, you weren't Potter either. It frankly didn't matter who I put up as seeker, you can't get around that damn kid. Though, now that you mention it, Terence, it would have been nice for you to have turned yourself into a bloody keeper. You know, like I told you too. A keeper with at least one reflex would have been an improvement. Bletchley's useless."
Markham Montague, another chaser on the Slytherin team, flopped down by the fire. "Talking quidditch?"
"Of course." Morgaine said, smiling at her little brother. "What else does Marcus do except abuse children and plot ways to get Brutus to dump me?"
"You overestimate your importance as always, Migraine. I've long ceased plotting. Although, I did have such high hopes for the garlic and holy water."
"So getting Higgs to try and seduce me wasn't your idea at all, Marcus? Tell us another one." Morgaine smiled viciously.
Brutus' head shot up. "Terence tried to seduce you?" His jaw clenched.
"I tried to seduce you?" Terence asked incredulously. "Merlin, I must have been drunk."
"Terence trying to seduce someone isn't a plot." Marcus scoffed. "It's the natural order of the universe."
Markham tried to break the tension. "What's this about our illustrious captain abusing children, Morgaine?"
"Oh, Marcus cornered a little Gryffindor child outside the dining hall. You could hear him bellowing in Hogsmeade." Morgaine explained sweetly.
"What child?" Brutus asked curiously.
"Their spindly little chaser...Katie Bell, I think."
"She's hardly a child." Markham scoffed.
Marcus' head whipped around. "What the hell does that mean, Montague?"
"I don't know...Bell's in her fourth year. She's my potions partner in that healing potions tutorial Snape's teaching this year. It's not like she's a first year." Markham looked puzzled at Marcus' apparent anger.
"Montague just doesn't want to admit she's a child after he almost beheaded her in that last game." Terence snickered. "What the hell was that by the way? If it had been Johnson or Spinnet, I'd have thought you were trying to feel her up."
"What happened?" Marcus asked lowly.
"You didn't see it, mate? It was brilliant. Bell's got the quaffle. Montague pretends like he's going for it but grabs her head and yanks her off course. She spins out of control, drops the quaffle and almost falls off her broom. It took her about a minute and a half to get it under control. He could have killed her. You'd have loved it, Marcus." Terence snickered. Marcus' eyes narrowed as he looked at Montague.
"What? You said you wanted the Gryffindor chasers incapacitated. Bell's fearsome with her elbows so I improvised. I thought that the whole game plan was 'they can't score if they're unconscious.'" Markham said defensively.
"And they say chivalry is dead..." Brutus remarked dryly. "Marcus, you're so gallant."
"I wanted to win. We weren't going to get the snitch so we had to outscore them by 160 points. We're good but there's no way we were going to get 16 goals up on Johnson, Spinnet and Bell in normal circumstances. Especially not with a weak keeper. If we could have knocked even one of them out, Bole and Derrick could have hammered the other two...leaving us free to score." Marcus tried not to sound defensive. "I thought I told you to take Spinnet, Montague."
"Yeah...but Bell was there with the quaffle, and so was I. It was just one of those magical moments. I improvised." Markham snickered.
"Well, maybe if you knew how to follow orders, we'd have won the cup," Marcus snarled. Morgaine was smirking at him. "What?"
"Oh, Marcus. I learn something new about you every day. You're always so amusing in such unexpected ways." Marcus didn't like the threat in her silky voice.
"Piss off, all of you." He stood abruptly and strode out. It was time to get to detention anyways.
**************
He was early for detention. Moaning Myrtle had been overflowing her bathroom again and they got to clean it up. Without magic. Filch was such a wanker. Myrtle had made her appearance as he and Filch had waited, silently staring at each other.
"Why is there a boy in my bathroom?" Myrtle whined. "You shouldn't be in here, you know."
"I'm not a boy." Smooth, Marcus. Stand there and debate semantics with a dumpy ghost. It is time for you to get out of Hogwarts.
"You shouldn't be in here. This is where I died. It's my place. I ran in here one da-"
"Shut up." Marcus snarled at her. "Let's get something clear. I don't want to hear about Olive Hornsby. I don't want to hear about the big ugly snake...or the heir of Slytherin...or about lemon-scented cleaning products. I don't want to listen to any of your sniveling."
"You're rude!" Myrtle gasped and immediately made the toilets overflow again. Filch swore softly.
"Let me explain something to you. I am very, very good at hurting things. I like to hurt things. You know about Slytherins?" He asked. Myrtle nodded, wide-eyed. "I'm a very, very bad Slytherin. I know how to cause pain to all living things...including plants. I will admit that even I don't know how to cause a ghost pain. I do promise however, that if you don't shut up and get out of my sight this instant, I will spend the rest of my life figuring out how to. Are we clear?" Marcus snarled.
Myrtle made a little gasping sound and disappeared down the drain. Filch looked impressed. They stood there and stared at each other some more.
At precisely 7:00, Katie walked in. She was wearing an even more gargantuan sweater than earlier and her hair was pulled back. She avoided Marcus' gaze as Filch explained their duties to her. She nodded and then turned to get to work.
Marcus scowled. This would be a long three hours if he couldn't wind Bell up.
"It's your lucky day, Bell." She still refused to look at him. "Another detention that offers you unparalleled opportunities to stare at my ass." That got her attention and she looked up, meeting his challenging gaze with angry eyes. Marcus grinned. Game on.
"The only good thing about looking at your ass is that it means your ugly face is pointed in the opposite direction," Katie sneered.
"I'd say something rude about your ass, but nobody's ever seen it with those baggy clothes you're always wearing. Do you not know how to dress or are you generously trying to spare the rest of us the nausea caused by looking at your scrawny frame?"
"I dress like this because I'm not one of your little sluts. With the company you keep though, it's no wonder your perspective is messed up. For further reference, most women don't spend most of their days kneeling with their mouths open."
"You certainly can never manage to keep yours shut. Although, you Gryffindor lasses probably do think too much of yourselves to ever kneel. It's probably why the Gryffindor male's favorite activities are shouting and brawling; it's the only way they can work off the frustration."
"It beats the scheming and bed-hopping that are oh so de rigueur with the Slytherins. Explain this to me: according to Slytherins, girls aren't allowed to play quidditch, but they certainly are expected to polish broomsticks."
"Most girls don't need to play quidditch; they have plenty of other talents. It is a really good thing that you play, though, Bell. Seeing as that broomstick is going to be the only thing that you're ever going to get between your legs."
"Oh, I despair over that, Flint. I really do. Night after night, I lie in my bed thinking "Oh, if I were just one of Marcus Flint's sluts. In his bed, looking up at him...thinking 'if only Terence Higgs and Adrian Pucey hadn't already been busy.'"
"I don't get any complaints from my bedmates, Bell."
"Well, as previously stated, their mouths were probably full."
Marcus' blood was pounding through his veins. He wanted to apparate over a dragon's nest, take his broom into a nosedive...get into a fistfight with a troll. He felt good. Katie had risen up on her toes, arm flung wide and breathing hard. No cowering there. He was leaning over her, just a few inches away. How in the hell had that happened? Merlin, her eyes were blue. Her full lips were contorted into a snarl and her blonde hair was all wild around her face. She looked a hell of a lot like he felt.
And she was in her fourth year. Plus, it was freaking Bell, for Circe's sake. He took a step backward and tried to school his features into indifference.
"Let's get back to work, Bell. The last thing I want to do is spend more time with you than necessary." He noted proudly that his voice was steady. Katie sucked in a long breath.
"Finally, Flint, something we can be in perfect agreement on."
"Well, then isn't it lucky for both of you that you'll have some extra help?" Angelina Johnson remarked dryly. She was leaning up against the doorway casually, but her gaze was intent as it flickered between the two of them.
**********
"Angelina? What are you doing here?" Katie gasped.
"Detention, obviously." Angelina smiled. "Were you aware that Filch doesn't like dungbombs? See, I didn't know that. If only he had ever mentioned it..." She sighed melodramatically before flashing an impish grin at Katie.
"Your Astronomy OWL is in an hour and a half. Why would you deliberately get detention? You were supposed to be doing something with Fred," Katie protested.
"Where do you think I got the dungbomb? Filch'll let me leave in time for my OWL. Gred and Forge wanted to come play too," Angelina cast a dark look at Flint, "but we decided that would be too suspicious. Alicia is finishing up your transfiguration essay for you."
"Ooh, ickle Gryffindors are cheating. I think I'll have to tell McGonagall." Marcus commented.
"Go ahead, Flint." Angelina replied coolly. "Who do you think she'll believe?"
It was almost comical. He was across the room from both of them. He had a sponge in his hand, not his wand. Yet every time he moved to a different part of the room, Johnson would not so subtly maneuver herself between him and Bell.
What the hell did she think he was going to do? He'd been at Hogwarts for eight years and no young women had mysteriously disappeared.
He could overhear their muttered conversation. It was about quidditch. He smiled. Typical Bell.
"Kevin McMandon." He called over. They looked puzzled. "The name of the beater who lost his club and had to use his broom to hit bludgers in the 1956 World Cup. The one you guys couldn't think of." Katie's 'thanks' reached his ears at the same time as Angelina's 'quit eavesdropping, Flint.'
Katie stood and stretched. "We need another mop. I'll go grab one."
"Why don't you go, Johnson? Since you're leaving early." Marcus interjected.
"Go ahead, Katie." Angelina replied. "I'm sure Flint and I will have plenty to discuss while you're gone." Katie hesitated. "Go." Angelina insisted. With a last uncertain look at the two of them, Bell departed.
"Do you always order her around like that, Johnson?" Marcus sneered. "Bit heavy-handed, aren't we?"
"I had a few things that I wanted to say to you alone, Flint." Angelina strolled over to him. "I don't know what you did to Katie last week in detention. I don't know precisely what happened this morning, or what I walked in on earlier here." She took a deep breath and continued. "I do know that you're a bully. Whatever it is you're doing to Katie, I want it to stop."
"I'm not doing anything to her, Johnson. Not that it's any of your business anyways." He forced himself to hold her gaze. She was looking at him with steely determination, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She really was an Amazon.
"I know that you probably think she's weak and an easy target. I'm here tonight to tell you that you'll have to put off your sadistic jollies until you graduate and can go around torturing muggles. That is, if you manage to pass your NEWTs this time."
"Sticking up for your little Gryffindors, eh, Johnson?" Marcus pushed down the rage that was rising.
"I would stick up for any Gryffindor, but Katie's not just any Gryffindor. She's special to me. She's special, period, even though you'd never be able to see it. No hulking Slytherin brute is going to harass her on my watch. Are we clear?" Angelina's voice remained even.
"I have no idea what you're going on about, Johnson." Marcus replied blandly. He was irritated. Bell, at least, never handed him this 'my magical Gryffindor power that can divine Slytherin intentions without proof' crap. He'd almost forgotten how annoyingly superior Gryffindors were. They were still staring at each other when Bell and Filch returned.
"Miss Johnson, you may go." Filch said. "Bell and Flint, finish up and then you may leave as well."
Angelina quickly protested but Katie insisted that she'd be fine and that Angelina needed to go. Marcus smirked inwardly at the annoyance that had crept into her voice.
As they were running the mops over the floor one last time, Katie spoke.
"Well, you got one of your wishes granted tonight, Flint."
What was she talking about? "And that would be?"
"You had detention with one of the 'Gryffindor chasers who is actually hot'." Katie mimicked his guttural voice. Yeah, and what a joy that was, Marcus thought.
"Too bad we had this annoying brat around, or something might have actually happened," Marcus muttered but he knew his heart wasn't in it. His earlier euphoria had completely evaporated.
"I'm sorry too, since that 'something' would have involved Angelina making you eat your own kidneys." Katie sneered but she sounded tired as well. She propped the mop against the wall and grabbed her bag. "Good luck on the NEWTs. I understand you get a few points for spelling your name right. Brush up on that." She started to push past him.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed her arm. He wasn't stupid and she should know that. Hadn't they had a hundred sparring matches by now?
"Why so hostile, Bell?" He paused and racked his brain for something that would hurt. "I know. You're just disappointed that you didn't get a chance to throw yourself at me like you did last detention."
He didn't know what he expected back. Something verbal. Something cutting that he would swat away at the time, and then would nibble on his psyche for days afterward.
He wasn't prepared for the pain that flooded her eyes. He certainly wasn't prepared for her hard shove that knocked him to the ground. She left the room at a run and he could hear her steps echoing down the hall. By the time he'd gotten to his feet and out into the hallway, it was like she was never there.
***********
Marcus sighed. He was going through end of the year individual meetings with the quidditch team but his heart wasn't in it. Usually, he had a million things to say about every facet of the game, but not today. He'd just spent five minutes with Derrick basically saying, "Please continue to hit things hard with a stick."
Terry hadn't even bothered to show up. Marcus was trying to come up with different ways to say 'don't suck' to both Malfoy and Bletchley. He had to make freaking Montague captain.
Montague walked in, looking entirely too cocky. He would be the next captain. Marcus knew it had to be him. Montague knew it had to be him. Bole and Warrington were graduating. Terry was...well, Terry. Malfoy was too young and Bletchley too incompetent. Derrick was really good at hitting things hard with a stick.
Marcus stood up as Montague entered. Good, he still had at least an inch and a half over Montague, and maybe 30 pounds. For a while, Marcus thought he'd have to slip the kid some porlock droppings to stunt his growth.
They discussed a few things that would make the outlook much brighter for Slytherin quidditch. It would help if Malfoy continued to improve as he had been. It would really help if Terry, with his great reflexes, would practice being keeper. It would really, really help if someone managed to knock Potter off his broom.
"As captain, you'll be representing Slytherin house. Keep fraternizing outside the house, whether sexual or social, to a minimum." Flint tried to emulate the quiet menace that Snape could convey. Montague laughed nervously.
"You're kidding, right? There are more Ravenclaws in our common room than their own on weekends. Same goes for Hufflepuffs."
"I see I wasn't clear. There are two, and only two, houses at Hogwarts that matter-Slytherin and Gryffindor. You don't hang out with Gryffindors, you don't sleep with Gryffindors and frankly, you don't even talk to Gryffindors." Marcus paused. "Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are fine. Tutors and shags have to come from somewhere." He added as an afterthought.
"I know not to hang out with Gryffindors." Montague said incredulously. "I've been in Slytherin for five years."
"And yet you have a potions partner who is not only from Gryffindor, but is on their house team, " Marcus replied calmly.
"Bell? It was the only seat left. Besides, she knows what she's doing so I don't have to." He faltered as Marcus' gaze remained on him. "Fine, I'll make sure I have a different partner next year. I won't even speak to Bell."
Marcus nodded.
"You can go now, Montague."
**********
Marcus pored over his notes in the crowded dining hall. His final NEWT was tonight; the leaving feast was on the following night. His Hogwarts time was almost over. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Nope, she wasn't looking at him.
A few seats over, some fifth years were quizzing each other for their remaining OWL.
"What type of creature follows people in Russia, creating an overwhelming feeling of lethargy?" One of them intoned gravely.
"What kind of creature can't keep its pants zipped for more than five minutes at a time?" Brutus mimicked, looking darkly at Terence.
"What kind of creature names their children 'Brutus' and 'Pansy'?" Terence returned snidely.
What kind of creature has gits like you two for friends, thought Marcus. They hadn't stopped sniping at each other since Brutus heard that Terry hit on his woman. He glanced at the Gryffindor table again. Bell and Woody had their heads close together, looking at something on the table. Quidditch plays no doubt. Their discussion looked fairly animated. She still wasn't looking over at the Slytherin table.
Over the last year, he'd always been able to catch her looking at him at least once a day. A quick glance over at the Gryffs and their gazes would lock, until Bell flushed and looked away. Bell hadn't looked at him once since their last fight. When they passed in the halls, she stared right through him. Marcus wondered whether it was because their last altercation had been so overtly sexual or because he had actually managed to make her break and run. It bugged him but he couldn't say why.
He glanced over again. She and Spinnet were laughing at something Jordan said. She still seemed blithely unaware that the Slytherin table existed. Marcus pushed away from the table. One more NEWT to go.
***********
Marcus looked out over the quidditch pitch. It was over. The party had started in the Slytherin common room last night and would continue through tomorrow morning until they had to get on the train. He'd go back to it in a minute but he'd wanted to take one more flight over the pitch. He grinned at the tiny blonde dot executing tight turns high in the air. Two birds with one stone then.
As soon as Bell realized she had company, she landed her broom and started walking back towards the school. Marcus landed beside her and tried to catch her eye. She resolutely looked at the ground and walked faster.
"You'll never make a pro quidditch team with the way you've been going," he called after her. She stopped and turned around.
"You have hideous teeth," she shot back, and then snorted with impatience as he didn't reply. "C'mon, Flint. Now you say something derogatory about my personal appearance and I tell you how stupid you are. Then you take one of two tacks, A that I'm a pathetic weakling dripping with lust for you or B I'm a moralistic, stuck-up prude. I say that you're an egomaniacal pureblood snob. Then we usually descend into a few rounds of 'Gryffindor, Slytherin, blah blah blah.'" Her eyes looked tired but defiant. "Or better yet," she continued, "we'll skip all that today and go straight to the part where we never have to deal with each other ever again. Have a nice life, Flint." He felt a peculiar twinge in his gut at her words.
"Typical Gryffindor," he started, ignoring her snort of impatience, "always thinking you know what the other person is going to say." Marcus pinned her with a look before he continued. "I was going to say that you're good enough to play pro quidditch in a few years, but you're not going to get noticed with the Gryffindor team's current game plan."
"What do you mean?" She was trying to hide the curiosity in her voice.
"Wood's strategies are pretty straightforward, speed and strength type stuff, with set plays. You're a highly intuitive flier, which gets shortchanged in a highly regimented system. Who is going to be captain next year?"
"Probably Angelina." Her eyes were trained on him and for once she wasn't mouthing off.
"Her strategies will probably be similar to Wood's from what I've seen, but she's your mate. Come up with a few plays that show off your moves and show them to her. Something with a lot of turns that highlight your maneuverability. Also, improvise successfully during practice and she'll be more willing to let you do it during games."
"OK, what else?" she asked quietly. Man, he'd never seen Bell listen this intently before.
"Your size will count against you; you're pretty spindly for a chaser. The Harpies are your best bet, so watch their games over the next few years and see what they need. Then try to mold your game to fit it." He smiled at her quick nod. "Try to make Captain in your final year. You'll finally get the credit for all those plays you're constantly outlining at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall."
Katie looked surprised but nodded slowly. "Thanks," she muttered, quickly meeting his eyes and then looking away. He nodded back.
"Oh, one more thing, Bell. The scouts are going to be blinded by Potter. Arranging an 'accident' for him that keeps him out of a few games would benefit you and your other teammates." He smirked as he could see the Gryffindor righteousness flare in her eyes. "Nothing that keeps him out against Slytherin. He's the only way you'll ever beat us. You could take the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws without him though. Think about it."
"Sabotage my own teammates? You truly are a Slytherin." Katie retorted.
"Proud of it. Have a nice life, Bell. It's been interesting." He took one last look at her blue eyes set in her determined face before he turned around and started walking away.
"Flint." He stopped and turned when he heard her call out after him.
"Yeah?"
"When you're attacking from above on the left side and you switch the quaffle to your left hand to make it look like you're aiming for the lower right corner, you always end up firing at the upper left quadrant. That's why Oliver always can make the save." Katie told him, demonstrating with wide-sweeping gestures. Marcus swore softly, remembering all the times Wood had blocked him on that type of shot.
"How the hell did Woody figure that one out?" Marcus asked sourly. He didn't want to think that the Scottish git might be brighter than he looked.
"Oh, he didn't." Katie gave him the beaming, impish smile that he'd only ever seen directed at her mates. "I told him."
She turned and walked back to the castle. Marcus forced himself to mount his broom for his final spin around the Hogwarts pitch.