Handprint On My Heart
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
The Fear
Pairings: Marcus Flint/Adelaide Potter (fem!HP).
There is something utterly terrifying about Marcus Flint.
At 11, it's one of the first things she notices about him. His shoulders are wide, his lips pulled into an ugly sneer, and there is a particular presence about him, malicious and menacing, that has her hiding - unabashedly - behind Fred, George, and Oliver.
It is, also, why Adelaide has never said a word to him. It's been three whole years, and nearly half of a fourth. She is 14 years old, she's confronted Voldemort, giant spiders, a basilisk, dementors, a werewolf, a cerberus, and still, she is absolutely intimidated by him.
It's ridiculous, really.
"We're having a scrimmage against the Slytherin quidditch team," Angelina informs her.
"That sounds dangerous," Katie quips.
"We don't have a keeper," Adele answers, bewildered, at the same time.
"McLaggen's volunteered," Angelina explains.
The boy in question looks pale and sweaty, and Adelaide wonders, idly, what Angelina's idea of 'volunteering' is.
"When is it, then?" Alicia queries.
"Right now," Angelina answers.
Katie, Alicia, and Adelaide each glance between themselves, nonplused, and scramble towards the dormitory stairs with muttered oaths beneath their breath.
They do not, however, complain.
In truth, Adelaide's missed quidditch, missed the opportunity to fly regularly, and it is always satisfying to trounce Draco Malfoy at every opportunity. She's missed that, too.
"Ready?" Katie asks. She stands in the doorway of Adele's dorm, her broom propped against her side, and already dressed in her training clothes. It consists of a linen blouse and a leather jerkin, tight fitting pants tucked into lightweight boots, and a robe, of course, and Adelaide wears the exact same thing.
"Yes," she confirms, snaps her hair elastic into place, and pins her fringe behind her ears, "Let's go."
Adelaide retrieves her broom on her way out, descends the stairs behind Katie, and follows her friend through the common room. Angelina awaits them by the portrait hole, stood with the twins, Alicia, and Cormack McLaggen, and she nods brusquely upon their arrival.
Katie rolls her eyes.
"Merlin, but the leadership position's really gone to her head, hasn't it?"
Adele's responding smile is wry. "Could be worse, I suppose. We could still be training."
"Touche," she concedes. "What do you think this is about, anyway?"
"She and Flint probably just got into another argument," Adele shrugs, "I don't really care. It's nice to get away from that gods-forsaken egg, I swear to Merlin…"
Katie's smile is sympathetic, but she says nothing regarding the matter. For that, Adele is grateful.
Eventually, they reach the quidditch pitch, and the Slytherin team, unsurprisingly, has not yet arrived.
Angelina takes the opportunity to lecture Cormack for all he is worth, and meanwhile, Adelaide rockets off into the sky, followed shortly thereafter by Fred, George, Alicia, and Katie. The November winds are biting against her skin, but the sky is clear, and the day is beautiful.
"Merlin's balls," George grimaces, "It's cold as a witch's tits up here."
"I resent that," Alicia grumbles, but there's a smile on her face, and the older girl is hopelessly smitten.
"Can you confirm that your tits aren't fucking freezing right now, then?" Fred queries.
"Hey now," Katie interjects, "No one wants to hear about Alicia's breasts."
"Speak for yourself, blondie, I'd love to hear about them," George answers.
Adelaide, face red, flies away. Such conversation is nothing new, of course, but her older friends' frankness regarding such matters is always a surprise, and Adele's fairly certain she'll never grow accustomed to it.
"Gods, you'd think they'd learn," Katie grouses, catching up to her. She doesn't allow Adelaide the opportunity to respond, however. "Looks like the Slytherins have arrived."
Adele casts her gaze downwards, and indeed, the Slytherins have gathered near Angelina and Cormack. Adele begrudgingly descends, Katie by her side, and as they do, the younger girl studies their schoolyard rivals.
There is Draco Malfoy, of course, arrogant and conceited as ever. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle, with beaters bats in hand, and particularly dense-looking expressions on their faces. There is. Bole, whose first name Adelaide doesn't actually know, with all of the height of Hagrid, but with none of the girth.
Stood side by side, Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington watch the Gryffindors gather, silent and wary, and almost as terrifying as their captain.
Then there is The young man in question, with that same hideous scowl, but somehow even larger than he was the year prior. Marcus Flint, in his second round as a Slytherin 7th year, as terrifying as ever, and Adelaide can't even meet his gaze.
She, blessedly, doesn't have to.
-!- -#-
The game ends in a bloody draw. Cormack's got a broken nose and a fractured eye socket, Katie's arm is twisted at a disturbingly wrong angle, and Malfoy's ribs are cracked six ways to Sunday. There are scrapes and bruises, and Pucey wears a trio of jagged scratches along his cheek from Alicia's talons, and that's only the beginning.
"Just go," she exhales, "I'll pack up."
"Are you sure?" Angelina nurses her sprained wrist, reluctant. The others are already gone, and Adelaide offers her friend a smile she doesn't really feel.
"I'm sure. Now go, your wrist shouldn't ever be that shade of purple."
Angelina concedes with a nod, and once Adelaide has packed away the snitch and quaffle, she braces herself to catch the bludgers. Before she can mount her broom, however, she is startled by a voice behind her.
"Need help, little bird?" The tone is gruff, the voice itself gravelly, and it takes Adelaide a few moments to actually recognise the speaker. When she does, she stills, turns slowly, and comes face to face - well, chest - with Marcus Flint.
Adelaide resists the urge to bolt, but she's fairly certain the Slytherin Captain can see right through her. There's a small, knowing smirk on his face, and somehow, it makes him even more scary. As though, knowing that she's afraid of him, and not actually giving a damn, gives him a certain power he would have otherwise lacked.
She doesn't like it.
She doesn't like the words he said, either, because they're scrawled out across her collarbone, in a cramped, slanted cursive that shouldn't come from a bloke so - well - thuggish.
She doesn't want her soulmate to be a brute that enjoys inflicting pain upon others. She's already spent too much of her life with Dudley, thank you very much.
Thus, she shakes her head, no, and takes to the sky. She returns with both bludgers, one after another, and as she does, Flint wrangles them into their box in silence. Then she dismounts, and he lingers.
Adelaide blinks at him, mute.
Flint looks back, and his expression is grave. He wears no sneer, no smirk, but instead, there is a thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows, a frown on his lips.
It somehow transforms him.
"You don't have to be afraid of me, little bird."
Adelaide tilts her head, and her heart thunders inside her chest. "I don't know how not to be, Marcus Flint."
He nods, and he is unsurprised. She wonders how he already knows. "Then you'll just have to learn."
She bites her lip, nods slowly, and attempts a smile. "I'll try."
He nods his acknowledgement, hauls the quidditch crate up in both arms, and gestures for her to walk beside him. Adelaide does so in silence, and she smiles.
Like this, she's not so afraid.
Author's Note: The Aaron Hotchner continuation has been posted. You can find it on my profile, or in the Criminal Minds/Harry Potter crossover section. It's called 'All That You Are', as in 'All that you are, is all that I'll ever need'. The lyrics are Ed Sheeran's, but I can't remember what song. Tenerife Sea, I think. Anyway, your thoughts on the Marcus Flint/fem!HP oneshot? I'd love to hear them. Hope you enjoyed. Until next time, -t.
