It was nearly midnight when Marcus unlocked the gates to the Falmouth Falcon's stadium. Katie shifted behind him, her hands tightly wrapped around the neck of her broom. Practice ran late on Friday nights, so the stadium hadn't been free for their use until now. The players had cleared out, the coaches had flooed home, and yet Katie was nervous. Scared, even.

The gates creaked as Marcus opened them just enough for him and Katie to sneak through. He glanced down at his friend. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his brown ones. "We don't have to-"

"No," Katie cut him off, her voice firm despite her obvious discomfort with the situation. "This is the perfect place to test it." Katie pushed past Marcus, entering the bottom of the stadium. Marcus followed her closely, watching her march purposefully towards the pitch.

"Does this broom have a name?" he asked.

"It does." Katie didn't offer any more information. Marcus didn't push her. The name of the broom wasn't important. What was important was how well it flew. She'd explained the details of the broom to him, breaking it down in a way that very few would understand. Marcus didn't understand some of it, and he understood brooms more than most of the population.

They stepped onto the pitch. Katie removed her outer-robe, revealing the flying-wear beneath. Marcus averted his gaze, catching only a glance of the form-fitting athletic clothes. They were designed for racing, not quidditch. No pads. No baggie tunics. No loose trousers. Just slick cloth clinging to Katie like a second skin.

Trying to distract himself from that line of thought, Marcus grasped at the first topic that crossed his mind. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"What do you think, Marcus?" Katie's tone clearly indicated that she thought it was a stupid question. It was. Even if her parents had known and approved of their friendship, they never would have allowed Katie to spend time with him unsupervised. Not without a family member or several of her friends tagging along. They especially wouldn't allow her to spend time with her at night. It simply wasn't done.

"They think you're spending the night at Leanne's," Marcus guessed.

"Right on."

"That's nice of her."

Katie hummed in agreement. "She owed me after covering for her when she spent the night at Romilda's. Her parents don't approve of that friendship at all."

"Why not?" Everything that Marcus knew about the pureblood families had been drilled into him as a child. The Vanes barely qualified as pureblood, with a muggleborn only four generations back and a decent amount of creature blood mixed in. They were a Light family, dedicated to Dumbledore and his cause. There was no reason for Leanne's parents, both of whom were Neutral, to deny their daughter a friendship.

"Because they're fanatical, that's why. The Locks don't get mixed up in any politics. They're true Neutral. Leanne'd get in more trouble for being friends with Romilda than I would for being friends with you." Katie sighed, stepping suddenly into Marcus's line of vision, her hands on her hips. "What's so interesting about the stands?"

Marcus gulped. "Nothing." There was absolutely nothing interesting about the stands. That was why Marcus was staring at them. The pitch on the other hand had Katie––Katie wearing racing robes, which didn't qualify as robes at all. It gave Marcus ideas .

"Okay. Good. Cause I need you to spot me while I take this bad boy out for a spin."

"Out for a what?"

Katie waved her hand in dismissal. "It's a muggle saying. Wish me luck." Mounting the broom, she sent Marcus a stomach-fluttering grin and pushed into the air.

Watching Katie soar around the pitch, Marcus could admit to himself that he was attracted to his best friend. With the wind whipping through her hair, trying its best to pull out her ponytail as Katie leaned close to the broom, she looked beautiful. And Marcus was a nineteen-year-old wizard. It was perfectly natural to have certain thoughts about a pretty witch who knew how to handle a broom. He wouldn't act on them, though. He would never act on them.

He'd almost lost Katie once already. When she'd discovered the real reasons for his befriending her, she'd stopped talking to him. She'd only just turned thirteen then, and he was a sixteen-year-old idiot who'd managed to convince himself that the halfblood witch hadn't wormed her way under his skin. He'd been able to keep telling himself that lie for nearly a year, ignoring the loneliness that gnawed at his chest until it couldn't be ignored any more. That year had been miserable. Marcus didn't think he'd survive another one.

Any thoughts about Katie in a non-platonic way were strictly out of bounds. It was for the best.

Katie whooped as she wove through the goal hoops. She'd have made one hell of a chaser if she'd been given the opportunity. Not that Marcus imagined for a second that Katie would've been on his team. Gilbert might have had the makings of a Slytherin, but Katie probably would've been in Ravenclaw (or Gryffindor, but Marcus didn't want to imagine the possibility of her on Wood's team). Diving towards the ground, Katie coasted to a stop only a few feet away from Marcus, a grin on her face.

"How's it fly?" Marcus asked.

Dismounting, Katie handed the broom over to Marcus. "See for yourself."

"Are you sure?"

"It's designed for you." Katie's eyes widened as she realized the words that had slipped out. "Not for you , obviously. I wouldn't design… It's not like… It's a chaser's broom, and you're a chaser, so it was designed with a chaser in mind. A rougher chaser, but that's…" Katie's head sunk into her hands. Marcus bit back a chuckle. "Just ride it."

"Your wish is my command." Katie rolled her eyes at Marcus's mock-bow. Mounting the broom, which he noted was the perfect size for him making it a little big for Katie, he took off into the sky.

Sitting on the green, Katie leaned back as she watched Marcus soar through the air. She loved flying, but it was a skill that she'd had to work to develop. Marcus was a natural. When he flew, the broom became another part of his body. He had perfect control over it, responding to the slightest of breezes. Watching Marcus fly was like watching a ballet without the music––graceful and beautiful. Natural.

The balance on the Flintlock was slightly wonky on sharp turns to Katie's dismay. She'd need to fix it when she got back to her workshop. With her parents thinking she was spending the night at Leanne's, she'd have plenty of time to fix the flaws she discovered and even catch a few hours of sleep. That would make Marcus happy. It annoyed her how invested he got in her sleep schedule sometimes.

She idly wondered what he'd think of her business venture with Caelum Lestrange. Katie didn't know what to think of it herself. She wondered if she was being foolish entering into experimentation with a pureblood elitist. A part of her couldn't believe that she was even considering it. Partnering with a Lestrange went against everything that she believed it. Not that Katie believed in much. She should investigate the aspiring potioneer before continuing on her rough drafts. Marcus wouldn't be any help in her investigation. He was wary of others and naturally distrustful. She'd have to ask Alicia.

Turning her attention back to the sky, Katie watched Marcus loop around the field. He was smiling––that lopsided, uncontrolled smile that he rarely wore because it displayed his unruly teeth. Katie's chest swelled with pride as she watched him. Marcus Flint was born to fly. It was an undoubtable fact to anyone who saw him.

She swallowed the embarrassment as her words from earlier came to the forefront of her mind. Marcus didn't know it, but the broom was designed specifically for him. It was designed with his flying style in mind, with his namesake coating it. The broom wasn't just a chaser's broom. It was a Marcus broom.

As Marcus dipped, Katie noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. In the stands below Marcus was a figure. By the time that Katie stood, intending to peer closer, the figure was gone. Maybe it was a figure of her imagination, Katie hoped.

Marcus coasted to a stop and jumped off the broom. "The balance is off on sharp turns, but otherwise it's good. I can tell it's designed for endurance. I would've loved a broom like this back at Hogwarts."

"You can have it," Katie managed to sound like it was a sudden idea that came to her, not what she had planned all along. She took the broom from Marcus. "Once I've fixed it."

"I will treat it well," Marcus promised. To Katie, that was better than thanks.

She tried to level him with a menacing glare but was certain that she ultimately failed. "You better."

"I will. Promise."

Morning came all too soon for Marcus's liking. It was Saturday, and he would have loved to take the opportunity to sleep in, but Nilsy had other ideas. The house elf wrenched open the curtains of Marcus's bedroom, letting the golden rays of the sunrise shine directly in Marcus's eyes. He groaned and flipped over, stuffing his pillow over his head.

"That won't do, Master Marcus." Nilsy snatched the pillow off of Marcus's head. Marcus cracked an eye open to see Nilsy waiting impatiently, his arms crossed, Marcus's pillow nowhere to be seen.

"It's Saturday," Marcus complained.

"If you wished to get more sleep, perhaps you should have considered that when you returned home at three this morning," the house elf scolded.

"I was out." Marcus didn't need to explain who he was out with. He was sure Nilsy already knew. "Let me sleep. You work for me."

Nilsy chuckled as if Marcus's commands were a hilarious joke. They probably were to the elf. "When you're married to Miss Katie, I shall allow you to sleep to your heart's content. As it is, a package arrived for you this morning, and there is an important-looking man from the Falcons waiting in the sitting room."

Marcus bolted up in bed, ignoring Nilsy's comment about Katie. Scrambling to pull on something that resembled appropriate clothes. "Did you catch his name?"

"Of course," mild irritation seeped into Nilsy's voice at the idea Marcus would doubt his competency. "Mr. Karl Broadmoor," the elf said before disappearing.

With Nilsy gone, Marcus let out a string of curses. Karl Broadmoor had been a beater for the Falcons in the late fifties all throughout the sixties. Alongside his brother, he was notorious for breaking rules. They were the players who gave the Falcon's their reputation for violence in the league that lived to this day. Now, Karl Broadmore was the coach of the Falcons. While he technically wasn't Marcus's superior, he was not a man he wanted on his bad side.

Finally dressed in a casual set of robes, Marcus burst out of his room and raced down the stairs. He stopped just outside the sitting room. Adopting an air of relaxed interests, he strolled into the room.

Karl Broadmoor was a rough, stocky man with a grey goatee and robes that barely seemed to fit across his broad chest. He didn't look right in Marcus's sitting room, drinking tea from a china cup that looked comically small in his hand. He and his brother were halfbloods, but they'd earned their reputation by the time the league laws were implemented. Only a fool would fire Karl Broadmoor and the Falmouth Falcon's owner wasn't a fool.

"Mr. Broadmoor." Marcus offered the coach his hand, which he shook, before taking a seat across from him. He never used the sitting room. He barely even used his flat at all. "I wasn't expecting your visit."

"And I wasn't expecting to see you flying around my stadium last night." Broadmoor set his cup down on the table beside his hair. Marcus's heart sped up at the declaration. Panic seeped into his mind, but he let none of it show on his face. "Don't worry, Mr. Flint. You're not in trouble. I know Kenny lets the recruiters use the pitch."

Marcus never thought that he was in trouble for that. What scared him was that Katie had been with him last night. Broadmoor could've seen her. He could know. He didn't say anything, allowing for Broadmoor to continue.

"Most of the recruiters in the league are people who love quidditch but aren't good enough to make the teams themselves, but that's not true in your case." Broadmoor eyed Marcus, his gaze knowing. "I looked up your record, Mr. Flint: Slytherin captain since your fifth year, an impressive number of wins, and notorious for running drills that scared your players shitless––pardon my french. It's impressive."

"Thank you."

Broadmoor leaned forward. "So, why aren't you playing?"

"It wasn't something that interested me." It was a lie. In another life, Marcus would have done anything to get a spot on a professional team, even if he were stuck in the reserves like Wood. But Marcus didn't have the luxury of only thinking of himself. He had his mother to worry about. With professional quidditch came fame, and with came people poking their noses into his business. He couldn't do that to his mother. She was just now starting her life.

Broadmoor arched an eyebrow. "You spent six years on the Slytherin team and you weren't ever interested in playing professionally?" Marcus nodded. Broadmoor shook his head. "Well, get interested, son, because the Falcon's are going to need a new chaser, and I want you on my team."

Marcus blinked. "What?"

"The Falcon's are trading Crane and Crouch for the Bell brothers. The Wasps know they're taking a hit, though, so they demanded Shafiq too. Giving up two competent beaters for ones as ruthless as the Bells was worth the deal, so we're down a chaser. That's you."

"No offense, Mr. Broadmoor," Marcus said, "but I have no desire to play professional quidditch."

"None whatsoever?"

"None."

"Huh." Broadmoor stood. "We'll see about that."

Marcus stood. Anger rose in his chest as he stared down Broadmoor. The man had a traditional Beater's build, short and stocky. Marcus towered over him. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm not stupid enough to threaten you, Mr. Flint," Broadmoor reassured him. "I'm just saying you should reconsider. I'm sure I'll be able to change your mind. I can be very convincing." The older man grinned at Marcus before turning to leave. Marcus watched him disappear through the front door. What did he plan on doing?

A throat cleared behind Marcus. He whirled around to find Nilsy standing in the doorway, a long package wrapped in brown paper in his hands. "This came from Miss Katie early this morning," Nilsy said. "I already took the liberty of sending her a note reminding her to get some sleep."

"Thanks, Nilsy." Marcus took the package from Nilsy, gingerly peeling of the paper to reveal the broom from last night––the broom Katie had gifted him.

Nilsy eyed the broom with a fondness that always shone in his eyes when something was related to Katie. "A broom is hardly a traditional courting gift, but they are rather expensive. In Miss Katie's case, this is a labor of love."

"This isn't a courting gift." It wasn't. It was a gift for a good friend. Katie had made a chaser's broom and he was a chaser. It was entirely logical to give him the broom.

Nilsy clearly didn't believe him as he arched an eyebrow. He didn't say anything, choosing to leave Marcus alone instead, for which Marcus was thankful.

His fingers brushed over the handle, the wood was smooth but there was a slightly rough texture to it, like a painted wall. At the tip of the handle, 'Bell' was carved into the wood just how all the professional designers did it. Underneath was the name of the broom, so faint that it was barely legible: Flintlock. Marcus smiled.