School was a joke for Katie Bell. The correspondence classes she was enrolled in were tedious, but not hard. It was not the world-class education she would have received had she gone to Hogwarts. There'd been talk for a while when Elliot was eleven, and again when Gilbert was eleven, of sending them to America for school. By the time that Katie turned eleven, it wasn't even considered an option. Correspondence learning had worked for her brothers. It would work for her.
That didn't make it any less of a joke, though.
From nine to noon, Monday through Wednesday, Katie worked on her schoolwork. She was enrolled in Ancient Runes, Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology, Transfiguration, and, much to her annoyance, Potions. She would have dropped the last one if she could. She wasn't any good with potions. They were too volatile—too complicated. Potions were exact in everything. One tiny mistake and everything blew up in your face.
Katie was well aware of the irony of hating potions when her favorite pastime was designing and crafting brooms. They didn't teach broom magic in any of the major wizarding schools. It required a combination of runework and charms, with a highly physical element involved. The physical melded with the magical when crafting brooms. Carving, weaving, tying, brushing, sanding, and, occasionally, welding, all interspersed with charms and runes that Katie had known of since she was young. Potions, on the other hand, were about timing. Stirring and waiting. Katie had never been good at that.
Wednesdays found her at Leanne's house without fail. Leanne would brew a double batch of the weekly potion while Katie completed Ancient Runes work, first for herself and then for Leanne using a handwriting spell. Leanne was good at potions. Not so good that she considered it a likely career field (Leanne's true passion lay in fashion, but trying to break into that industry as a halfblood was like trying to teach a dragon to fly through hoops), but much better than Katie. After the third melted cauldron, they'd worked out this system. It was a good system.
They were currently holed up in the attic of the Lock's house which was used as a classroom by Leanne and her younger sister, Olivia. The Bells didn't have a designated classroom space in their house, which meant, more often than not, Katie ended up at Leanne's. It was better to have someone else to work alongside. In that aspect, she understood the appeal of Hogwarts, even if she had no desire to go herself.
As if she'd read her thoughts, Leanne asked, "Do you ever wish we'd been able to go to Hogwarts?"
"For the quidditch, maybe." Katie shrugged, finishing her charms essay. She idly wondered if anyone actually read the essays she wrote and how they decided on grading. It all seemed completely arbitrary to her.
"Only for quidditch? Seriously, Katie?"
Katie glanced up from her essay, focusing on Leanne. She looked different today—sadder, somehow. Sadness looked wrong on Leanne. She was a naturally happy person. "Yep. Just for quidditch. No real point in having to take ridiculously hard classes in subjects that I'd never use." Katie had known that she would be a broom designer since she was four years old. She'd spent the last twelve years learning and honing her craft. She was light years ahead of her peers. Hogwarts didn't even teach broom making.
"You don't wonder what the rest of it would have been like?" Leanne pulled the cauldron off of the flame and began bottling up the potion with a sigh.
Katie would be lying if she said she hadn't wondered what it would have been like to attend school with Alicia and Angelina—especially in the beginning. That wasn't her lot in life though. Dreaming of impossible possibilities wouldn't fix the unjust system. Besides, Katie liked her life. She liked being in charge of her own schedule—being able to vanish into her workshop for hours on end. That wouldn't have been possible at Hogwarts.
"What's this really about?" Katie asked, refusing to believe that Leanne was fantasizing about a school that had gained a reputation for students being unable to protect its students in the last few years. Last year had been the first quiet one, but Katie wouldn't be surprised to learn that the entire class of first years were targeted by the grim reaper. Hogwarts seemed unreasonably dangerous.
"Nothing."
"Like I believe that." Shutting her textbook, Katie scooted closer to Leanne, invading her personal space. The freckled girl refused to meet her eyes, looking everywhere else instead, which was, again, odd. "Lee." Katie's eyes narrowed. "Seriously, what's this about?"
Leanne finally met Katie's eyes. She sighed, collapsing against the table. "It's stupid. Just something Romilda said."
"Romilda Vane's an idiot."
Katie didn't even have to ask Leanne what had happened to know that Romilda was being an idiot. It was one of Romilda's specialties. Katie wouldn't consider Romilda a friend, but they were friendly. She was one of Leanne's friends, drawn together by their mutual love of fashion. They'd planned on going into business together for years.
"She's lined up to get an apprenticeship at Madame Malkins as soon as she graduates," Leanne explained, "and she's decided that she doesn't need me anymore."
"As I said, she's an idiot."
"She said that she would've loved to work with me if I'd gone to Hogwarts––like I have any control over that." Leanne was close to crying, Katie noticed. Leanne never cried. She seemed to be perpetually happy, to Katie's occasional annoyance. She wanted to hurt Romilda for breaking their pact. She settled for pulling the petit girl into her arms.
"You wanna egg her house?" Katie asked.
Leanne leaned against Katie. "Wouldn't do much good when she's not home. We'd probably get arrested for vandalism."
"It'd almost be worth it." Katie shrugged. Rubbing a hand over Leanne's back, she smiled as an idea suddenly came to mind. "Why don't you try to get an apprenticeship?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You're a designer. I might not be the most fashionable of witches–" Leanne snorted at that, "–but I know you're a good designer. Madame Malkin would hire you in an instant if she saw your designs."
Leanne sighed. Her shoulders slumped. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Halfbloods can't get fashion apprenticeships in Europe without backing from a pureblood." Leanne ran a hand through her dark hair. She pulled away from Katie. "That's why I've been saving up to go to New York. Anyone can enter the industry in America."
Pulling the sketchbook out of her bag, Leanne rifled through robe designs. They were good designs, practical yet fashionable. Katie loved them. Leanne had made her a set of robes for Yule the year before. The plum robes were some of the best that Katie owned.
"You mind if I make a copy of this?" Katie took Leanne's sketchbook from her. Unlike her own journal, it was sleek and black, matching the artwork inside.
"Why?"
Pulling her wand out of the holster, Katie made a copy of the design book. "I'm going to try to get you a sponsor."
Leanne grinned. "Gonna get one of your pureblood boyfriends to back me?"
Katie flushed at the suggestion. "I don't have-"
"Oliver Wood."
"I barely know him. We haven't even gone on a date."
"That potions bloke, then. What's his face? Capheus Lestrange?"
Katie blanched at the suggestion. She couldn't imagine dating Caelum Lestrange. She could barely stand to work with him. He had so many questions and opinions. Not to mention, he was a complete neat-freak. Potioneers . She'd never understood her father's frustration with the masters of the craft before working with Caelum. Now she understood it too well.
"Nope. Nope. Never suggest that to me again. Please. I'm begging you."
"Fine." Leanne raised her hands in surrender. Katie thought she was finished with the unhelpful suggestions when a smile teased Leanne's lips. "Marcus."
Katie ignored the butterflies that stirred in the pit of her stomach at Leanne's comment. That had been happening more and more lately, ever since she crafted the Flintlock. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Katie said.
"C'mon, Kat. Don't try to say that you've never thought about it, because I distinctly remember what you told me when we were eleven." Leanne wagged her finger in Katie's face.
"I never-"
"You tried to convince me that he was handsome. You, Katherine Felicity Bell, firmly believed that Marcus Flint was handsome." Leanne shook her head.
Katie felt herself blush. Who could blame her for being infatuated with Marcus when he'd first appeared? Outside of Alicia and Angelina, she hadn't had any pureblood friends, just a budding resentment towards the group as a whole. She'd fancied him back then. She'd fancied Marcus Flint, with his intimidating glare, menacing smile, and silent ways. She'd thought him handsome, and so she'd tried to convince her friends to see it too. None of them had.
(Katie might not have had a crush on Marcus anymore, but she'd never stopped finding him handsome. Tall, dark, and muscular. His teeth may have needed work, but Katie found them endearing. Not that she'd ever tell Marcus that . She didn't want it to go to his head.)
"Maybe I liked him once," Katie agreed, "but it's not like that anymore." Leanne hummed in false-agreement. "And, for your information, I was going to send it to Alicia. I know that she'll be more than happy to back you."
"Huh." Leanne looked dumbfounded. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I know you didn't." Packing up her stuff, Katie slipped the design book into her bag. "I've got to go. Audrey is out sick, so Mum needs help in the shop today." She rolled her eyes in annoyance. She'd rather not spend the afternoon making change and trying to sell elderly grandmothers brooms based on their safety features. "I'll send this to Alicia later."
Saying her goodbyes to Leanne, Katie left the Locks house. Flooing home quickly to drop off her school bag, Katie descended the stairs into her father's workshop tucked away in a room in the back of the house. It had been built specifically for the purpose of being Franklin Bell's workshop. Katie loved the room.
A model of every broom her father had ever made hung on the wall, one on top of another. There was a work table in the center of the room, stacked with designs and materials. A record-player sat on top of the table, playing a Queen album. Cabinets with the best materials the world had to offer lined the walls. A chalkboard with designs and equations scribbled all over it leaned against one side of the room. A workbench sat beside the large windows looking into the small backyard.
Franklin hunched over the workbench, carving the bark off of a long branch of chestnut. He glanced up when Katie entered, a smile crossing his face. "Bluebird," he said.
Katie almost rolled her eyes at the childish nickname. Everyone had a different nickname for her it seemed. To her father, she was Bluebird . To Marcus, she was Kates. To Leanne, she was Kat . To Gilbert and Elliot, she was Kit Kat (but only when they were trying to get something from her). To Angelina and Alicia, she was Katie Pie (when they were in an extremely fond mood) . To her mother, she was Katherine. She wondered what was wrong with Katie? She liked her name.
"Didn't your mother ask you to help her out this afternoon?" Franklin's green eyes twinkled behind his reading glasses. He eyed the muggle jeans she'd worn to Leanne's. "She'd probably want you to change."
Katie had planned on changing, but her father's comment caused her to pause. Franklin Bell never, ever commented about clothing. He didn't even really notice it. Their fashion at home tended to be a blend of muggle and magical. Katie owned several pairs of muggle jeans and plenty of t-shirts. Franklin never cared what she wore.
Her eyes narrowed. "What's she have planned?" Helena Bell had been a Slytherin during her time at Hogwarts, and it showed. She could be as cunning as Marcus if she wanted to.
"I'm not supposed to tell you." Pushing up his reading glasses onto his forehead, Franklin leveled Katie with a stare that said you-better-not-tell-your-mother-about-this. Katie nodded in promise. "Mr. Oliver Wood is going to stop by to pick up an order."
"Oh."
Katie gaped at her father. She'd known that her mother was trying to make a match for her, but she hadn't known that she'd be so determined about it. The law wasn't even passed yet. She had time.
"She's just trying to help you," Franklin said. "If it were solely up to her, you'd be free to choose whatever witch or wizards you wished to be your partner––regardless of money, blood status, or alignment."
Franklin's last comment surprised Katie. What would they think of Marcus? she wondered. Not that she was planning on bringing Marcus home to meet her parents, but he was a Dark wizard. He had grown up in the same circles as her mother. She didn't believe for a second that Helena would approve of him if only because he reminded her of the wizards she'd grown up with and nearly been engaged to. She'd run from that life. She'd run straight into the loving arms of Franklin Bell.
"I know," Katie said.
"Oliver seems like a nice boy. He likes quidditch. He's a second-string keeper for Puddlemere United, you know." Katie did know. Oliver had talked about it at dinner, bonding with Elliot and Gilbert over playing on a professional team. Franklin quietly mused, "I made the brooms for that team. Mark five Violetears for the chasers. Hawks for the beaters. He should be on a Pelican as a keeper."
Katie smiled at her father's naming system. All of his brooms (save the Firebolt because it was commissioned) were named after birds. The broom hanging on that wall of her room that had been specially designed for her was called a 'Bluebird.' The only one of its kind. Elliot's broom was the 'Robin,' and Gilbert's was the 'Goldfinch.'
"To be clear, Mum doesn't actually need my help in the shop, and is just arranging a date, right?" Katie asked.
Franklin nodded. "Yep."
Sighing, Katie pulled her hair out of its high ponytail. If she was going to do this, she may as well do it right. "Right, well, I'm going to go change. I'll probably be home late." Katie started towards the door. Nilsy had asked her to stop by for dinner. He claimed that she was needed to convince Marcus of something very important, but Katie was almost certain it was a ploy from the house elf to make sure that she was eating.
"Going to your friend who likes brooms' flat?"
Katie froze at Franklin's suggestion. Whirling around, she studied her father, trying to figure out what he knew. He looked completely calm as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on her entire world. "What?"
"I decided to drop by the QQS workshop when you were spending the night at Leanne's. I saw the two of you step out and apparate. It didn't take me long to put two and two together. Your brothers have been talking about your friend who likes brooms for a few years. Figured it was him."
Katie stared at her father, unable to process his revelation. He knew? He knew, and he hadn't done anything to stop her. He didn't even seem mad that she'd lied. It went against everything she'd ever believed.
"That was a nice broom you had," Franklin said, "One of your own?" Not trusting herself to speak, Katie nodded. "How's it fly?"
"Uh, good." Katie swallowed. Her throat felt dry.
"What's it called?" When Katie didn't answer, Franklin leveled her with a disappointed stare. "It does have a name, doesn't it? I thought I taught you to respect your creations. Every broom deserves a name."
"The Flintlock," Katie answered defensively. "It's a chaser's broom. Smooth. Quick breaking. Fast turns. Can take a hit."
"Flintlock, huh?" Franklin hummed. "Not very subtle, are you?"
"You know…"
Franklin nodded. "He looks like his father. Not the eyes, though. Those must come from his mother."
Katie blinked. Julian Flint was the villain of so many of Marcus's stories, spoken and unspoken. She never wanted to meet the man, and yet her father––her muggleborn father––was talking about him as if they had met before. Her brain couldn't even begin to process what that meant.
"I trust your judgment, Bluebird," Franklin said. "If you trust him, so do I. Just be careful. Your mother wouldn't approve of the friendship, and if he has plans of courting you-"
"He doesn't," Katie interrupted. "There are no plans about courting. We're friends. He's just a friend."
Franklin studied Katie for a moment, his green eyes peering into Katie's soul. After a moment, he nodded. "Alright, then. Bring him around the house the next time your mum's at her book club. I'd like to meet him."
"Okay." Katie nodded. "I will." Scared of what Franklin would say if she continued to stay, she retreated to her room to get dressed for her chance encounter with Oliver Wood. She filed away the conversation with her father to be dissected at a later date. Right now, she had other things to worry about.
This isn't a date, Oliver reminded himself as he stared down the doors of Quality Quidditch Supplies. This wasn't a date, no matter what his mother wanted it to be. He was ambushing the poor girl at her work. That wasn't a date. Dates were flowers and dinner and romance. Dates were sneaking onto the quidditch pitch, racing each other in the chilly night, and falling to the ground kissing. Dates tied up Oliver's tongue as he stared across the table at a smile that should not be as charming as it was. Oliver had done dates before. This was not a date.
He pushed down the part of himself that whispered that he was a traitor, scolding himself for thinking such a thing. Katie Bell was a nice witch. A nice halfblood witch, whose brothers played professional quidditch and whose father designed brooms for a living. They had things in common, Oliver knew. She was intelligent enough about the sport. She didn't complain about it being inane and explain how it could be made better as other people did. Oliver could get along with Katie Bell. They made sense as a couple. He imagined that he could fall in love with her, given time and space away from––
"Are you gonna stand out here all day or are you gonna go inside?"
Oliver turned to find the object of his thoughts standing beside him. Katie Bell was slightly taller than him with blonde hair down to the bottom of her shoulder-blades and chilling blue eyes. She wore a pair of eggplant robes––not dress robes, but fancier than what a witch would normally wear. Just like how Oliver was currently dressed in nicer-than-usual-robes. It would seem they'd both known about the set-up.
"Um…"
"The way I see it, you can either go in to get your new pads and we can make painful small talk within close vicinity to my mum, or we can ditch the pads––I'll send them to you via owl, like they should've been in the first place––grab an ice cream, and actually talk to each other without having to deal with our family." Katie arched an eyebrow, reminding him, strangely enough, of Marcus Flint. "Which would you rather do?"
"The ice cream," Oliver answered. "Please."
"I'd be my pleasure."
Fortescue's ice cream parlor was pretty empty on a Wednesday afternoon in late September. Katie hadn't expected it to be busy, which was half of the reason why she'd suggested it––no one to talk about her not-date with Oliver Wood.
She ordered a Lemon and Rosemary ice-cream cone, while Oliver got a hot fudge sundae. A classic, Katie noted. Marcus preferred Sunflower and Honey. She quickly followed up that mental note with a note of all of her friend's favorite orders: Mint for Leanne, Caramel Mocha Fudge for Gilbert and Alicia, and Angelina didn't like ice cream.
"So…" Katie had no idea what to say. She hadn't planned this far ahead. She didn't know what one was supposed to ask on a not-date. Thankfully, Oliver saved her from asking any embarrassing questions, "You're still in school, right?" Katie nodded. "You got any idea what you want to do when you graduate?"
It was not a question that Katie was familiar with. People didn't tend to ask her what she wanted to do with her life. Those close enough to know her already knew, and strangers made assumptions based on her family. Caelum Lestrange had made assumptions. The assumptions were probably right, granted, but that didn't change the facts.
"I want to make broomsticks," Katie answered honestly.
"Like your dad?" Katie nodded. Oliver whistled. "That takes a lot of dedication. I'm impressed."
"Thanks." Katie supposed that it was her turn to ask questions now. "How was playing quidditch at Hogwarts?" She's heard Alicia, Angelina, and Marcus's perspectives on Oliver Wood's passion for quidditch. Alicia and Angelina hated his practices. Marcus had wished that he was a tad bit lazier so he'd be easier to beat. She wanted to hear about it from the man himself.
Oliver's eyes lit up and Katie knew that she'd chosen the right topic to talk about. She leaned back and listened to him tell stories of his time as Gryffindor's quidditch captain. They were good stories––fun stories. Stories about how they would've beat Slytherin if the team had played fairly. As Katie listened, she became confident that she could be friends with Oliver Wood. In fact, she would go as far as to say that they already were friends. But that spark––that attraction––that understanding of souls––wasn't there.
Katie wondered if she'd ever find that.
She wondered if she already had.
Not wanting to surprise him by barging in through the floo, Katie climbed the three flights of stairs leading up to Marcus's flat, not passing by a single person on the way up. That was one of the things that annoyed her about most wizards. They never seemed to use their front doors––not if they had a fireplace keyed into the floo network. Everyone in Marcus's neighborhood did.
It was easy to forget how different they were sometimes. Marcus wasn't just a pureblood like Alicia and Angelina. He was a Flint . He was the sole heir to one of the Sacred 28 families, written in the book of gold. He didn't seem like one of those snotty pureblood heirs most of the time. Tucked away in her workshop, he was just Marcus, and she was just Katie. They were equals. Here, though…
Before Katie had the chance to knock, the door swung open to display a stern-looking Nilsy. Katie felt an overwhelming desire to cast a tempus to make sure she wasn't late. She didn't want to disappoint Nilsy.
"Miss Katie." Nilsy bowed. "Thank you for coming."
He opened the door, allowing Katie to step inside. Katie glanced around the flat. She'd only visited once since Marcus had moved in, back when he'd first purchased it. The large window overlooking the sky all the way into muggle London was what had drawn him to the flat. Katie liked the view too. Back then, the walls had been a stark white. There hadn't been any furniture. Now, the walls were covered in impersonal artwork. The furniture was cold and uncomfortable. It didn't feel like Marcus at all. It felt like the Flint heir.
Katie hated it.
"I told him to get a few more personal effects," Nilsy said, reading Katie's mind with his butler-elf magic. "Unfortunately, Master Marcus denied doing so. His bedroom fares somewhat better." Nilsy sighed in disappointment. "Follow me, please."
Leading the way, Nilsy led Katie into the dining room. Marcus was already sitting at the table, reading a fictional book––one of the muggle westerns Katie had nicked from her father. They were the only books Marcus enjoyed reading. When he'd graduated from Hogwarts and moved out, he'd given Katie the money to buy a whole trunkful of them.
"Master Marcus." Nilsy cleared his throat. Marcus glanced up. His eyes widened as he noticed Katie. "Miss Katie has arrived." Pulling out a chair, Nilsy ushered Katie into the seat across from Marcus. With a snap of his fingers, bowls filled with butternut squash soup appeared before them. Nilsy disappeared.
"You didn't know that I was coming, did you?" Katie asked as she started eating.
Marcus shook his head. "No. If I'd know, I might've worn something other than lounge-robes."
Katie liked Marcus's lounge-robes. They fit him. Casual and functional. It was a very Marcus thing to wear. She suddenly felt overdressed in the robes she was wearing––the same robes she'd worn to grab ice cream with Oliver.
"You look good," Marcus commented.
"Thanks." Katie didn't tell Marcus why she'd dressed up. She didn't want to talk about Oliver––not with Marcus.
"I can't remember the last time I saw you with your hair down." A small smile tugged at Marcus's lips causing Katie to smile in response. "It must've been two or three years ago at least. You had to chop it off after that Nimbus blew up in your face."
Katie frowned at the memory, not nearly as fond of it as Marcus was. "I remember." She had been young and inexperienced, thinking that she could fix the broom without her dad's help. She'd been wrong. Speaking of Franklin Bell… "My da wants to meet you."
Marcus arched an eyebrow. "You told him we were friends?"
"He figured it out on his own."
"And?"
Katie shrugged. "He's fine with it, but he was never the one I was worried about. It's my mum who'll freak. She's weirdly prejudiced against you lot."
"Said the pot about the kettle."
Katie rolled her eyes. "I don't like the entitlement that most purebloods have. That doesn't mean that I hate all of you without thought or reason. I befriended you, didn't I?"
"If I remember correctly, I was the one who befriended you."
"But not for the right reasons."
"I learned my lesson."
The year-when-they-didn't-talk was a sore subject for Marcus. Katie supposed he felt guilty about it. She didn't blame him. It was a part of their past. She'd accepted it, forgiven him, and moved on. She wouldn't trade her friendship with Marcus for anything.
Before the tense atmosphere could settle onto their conversation, Katie broke it. "When are you going to decorate this place?" She glanced around the dining room. An abstract painting hung on the wall, the dark colors churning into each other. It was depressing.
"It is decorated."
"Sure," Katie agreed, "It just happens to look like the evil lair of a comic-book villain. It's rather impersonal. It doesn't feel lived in. Feels like a museum––a bad museum. No offense."
"You insult my decorating choices and tell me not to take offense?" Marcus shook his head fondly. "But you're right. I didn't even decorate it. Hired someone to do it for me."
"Ah." Katie nodded in understanding. "That's why you can't sit on your living room furniture."
"It's sit-able," Marcus protested.
"Not comfortably."
"You haven't even tried."
"You want me to try?" Pulling away from the table, Katie strolled through the entrance to the dining room. She grabbed the first chair she encountered in the living room––an uncomfortable-looking chaise lounge that arched in all the wrong places––and dragged it back into the dining room. Katie plopped down on the chaise, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. She couldn't. "See," she said, gesturing to the offensive piece of furniture.
Marcus eyed the chaise, noting the way that Katie was sitting on it. "I was told that piece of furniture isn't for sitting on."
"What's it for then?" Marcus raised a suggestive eyebrow. Katie flushed as the realization settled in. "Oh." She sprung up from the chaise. "Oh." She was sure her face was quickly turning red. "That's…" Her mouth felt dry again as she imagined Marcus using the chaise for its intended purposes against her will. "That's… You haven't… I mean, if you have, it's a totally normal thing to do, but-"
"I haven't," Marcus said before Katie could embarrass herself further. "I don't have people over."
"Right." Katie pushed aside her embarrassment as she made her way back to her chair. What little soup remained in her bowl was cold, but Katie didn't care. It gave her something to focus on––something other than Marcus, who was smiling for some reason. Why was he smiling? What was so funny? As she swallowed her final bite, Katie muttered, "We're getting you new furniture."
"As you wish." Marcus's smirk still hadn't left his face, much to the irritation of Katie.
Nilsy popped into the dining room. He eyed the lounge suspiciously. With a snap of his fingers, he made it vanish. Katie felt herself relax. "Master Marcus," Nilsy began, "I have asked Miss Katie to join you for dinner with the express purpose of convincing you to accept Mr. Broadmoor's offer."
Marcus sighed in annoyance. "Nilsy-"
"Hold up," Katie interrupted him. "Broadmoor? As in Karl Broadmoor, the couch of the Falmouth Falcons?" Marcus nodded. "What did he offer you?"
Crossing his arms, Marcus leaned back in his chair. He was being defensive, Katie noted. He never got defensive around her. "The Falcons are losing Shafiq to the Wasps because of the trade for your brothers."
"A stupid trade, on the Wasps part," Katie couldn't help but add. "The new management is blood prejudice beyond belief. Doesn't want anyone less than one-hundred percent pure on their team. They traded their keeper with the Harpies because she had creature blood. It's complete bullshit."
"I agree," Marcus said. "They'll lose their ranking. Broadmoor sees it as an opportunity to rise from the bottom of the league. He offered me Shafiq's position."
"And you're going to take it, right?" Katie knew that Marcus was built to fly. He was the best chaser she'd ever seen, and she was friends with Angelina. Playing professionally was his dream.
"No."
"No?" Katie reeled back. "Why not?"
"I have other things that take precedence."
"Like what?"
"Like making sure that nothing bad happens to my mum."
Katie froze. Merriam was a touchy subject with Marcus. He was fiercely protective of her. He'd helped her escape his father's clutches earlier that year. Katie only knew a fraction of what had happened to Merriam, and she didn't have the first clue where she'd vanished to. Marcus wouldn't tell her. He didn't want to compromise her, making her an accessory to a crime. Katie admired Marcus's protectiveness. Sometimes, when she was lying in the dark unable to fall asleep, she wished that it was directed towards her.
"Talk to your mum about it, then," Katie said. "Make sure she's okay with it, and then take Broadmoor up on his offer. Sure, the Falcons may be second-to-last in the league––first in penalties––but this is your dream. You were born to fly." She grinned, cracking the tension. "Besides, Gilbert would love to have you on the team."
Marcus groaned. "That's reason enough not to join."
"Hey!" Katie kicked his shin underneath the table. He may have been her best friend, but those were her brothers he was disrespecting. "Those are the two best beaters in the league you're talking about. The two most handsome and charming beaters in the world, according to Witch Weekly."
"You know that's a SOW party propaganda piece to make halfbloods seem more desirable to purebloods despite years of prejudice, right?"
"I know." Katie wasn't political, but she'd read the piece. It may as well have been entitled Thirty Reasons to Marry Elliot and Gilbert Bell . "Don't tell El that. He thinks it's peak journalism."
"And you?"
Katie sighed. "I hated that everyone seemed to fancy my brothers before this. It's only gotten worse since it was published. We got so many callers the first week it was published, and they don't even live at home anymore. That's not to mention the number of witches who've tried to befriend me because they fancy them. The only three witches who aren't completely in love with my brothers are Leanne, Angelina, and Alicia." Katie shrugged. "Kind of makes me feel like a spare part. Nobody's going to start writing articles about the wannabe broom designer locked in the back room of Quality Quidditch Supplies. It's like I don't matter."
It was an insecurity that had grown with her brothers' rising fame. She was happy for them––she really was––but as they moved forward and she stood still, she couldn't help but feel like she didn't matter. Add to that the fact that her mother was pushing Katie towards marriage but neither of her brothers and the message felt pretty clear. She didn't matter as much as them. The surprise baby. Seven years unplanned. Number three. Magical families didn't have three children. Purebloods had one. Halfbloods had two. There was no purpose for a third child.
"That's bullshit," Marcus said, ever the poet. "You're Katie fucking Bell. There isn't a world in which you don't matter. And your brooms are genius. Everyone will see it one day, trust me."
"My middle name's Felicity, actually." Even as Katie deflected she felt her heart swell at Marcus's words. She mattered, if not in the large scale of things, then to him. She had people who loved her. People who cared about her. Her father, her brothers, her friends––Marcus. They cared.
Marcus shrugged. "Same initials."
A laugh bubbled up Katie's throat, spilling over her lips. The tears that had begun to form at her thoughts didn't fall. "Promise me that you'll at least consider Broadmoor's offer."
"If you stop doubting that you're important."
"Okay." Katie nodded. "It's a deal."
"Good." A smile broke Marcus's strong features, softening him––making him look more human and less like a modern incarnation of Mars. If Marcus never stopped smiling at her like that, Katie knew she'd be able to defeat her intrusive thoughts. So long as she was with Marcus, anything seemed possible.