Everyone has a highlight reel. These snapshots start from the time of birth until the last breath is taken. In the highlight reel of life, some people's are grand. They beckon forth happy memories and lives full of love and adoration. These reels are full of family and friends who are there no matter what, at a moment's notice, with arms full of hope. Then there are other kinds of highlight reels. These are the ones that are not so happy and are shrouded in darkness, despair, neglect, and rejection. These are the lives full of hurt.
So many people struggle with insecurity because they compare their behind-the-scenes with everyone else's highlight reel. And after a while, it gets to you. Insecurity kills anything that is beautiful, wounding the soul and marking it forever. Sometimes thoughts are backed by so much insecurity that they start to create lies that are believed. It's an ugly thing, insecurity that leads to ugly actions and reactions.
Perhaps that's why Marcus Flint feels more at home in Slytherin than with any other house. Almost everyone in his group, from first to seventh years, is enveloped in insecurity of some form or another. Most of the time, they play it off by camouflaging it in arrogance. It's easy to act a certain way if it's accepted and believed.
Everyone expects Slytherins to be arrogant, selfish, unkind, and uncaring. No one, outside of their head of house, gives a rat's ass about them- not really. And that's the same even at home. So when Marcus looks at the other houses and sees happiness, joy, and all of those different sickening feelings, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
But really, Marcus is bitter for other reasons too. He failed his NEWTS and has to repeat the seventh year all over again. That news did not come as a shock to his parents, Cora and Maxwell Flint. They've long since known that their youngest child is a blockhead who's good for nothing except quidditch. Marcus's older brother Marshall inherited all of the brains in the family. Whereas his older sister Clementine got all of the beauty. And what did Marcus get? Besides a backhand to the face for having to repeat the final year, he received pure brawn.
Quidditch is Marcus's outlet for everything. If he has a bad day or week, he takes it out on the field. If he's been called a troll one too many times, he scores more goals than any other player. Yet he's blamed for playing rough. Well, he'd like to see how those people who call him brutish would play if they were called a troll or laughed at for being stupid all the time. Quidditch is his life and dream outside of school and ridiculous family obligations. On the field is the only time he does anything remotely right or receives any pats on the back. The sport allows him a bit of notoriety, not that it does anything to sway the female population to his side.
Firmly entrenched in the belief that the rumors of troll blood are true, the females steer clear of him. Marcus Flint, seventh-year repeater, seventeen-year-old, has never had a girlfriend and never been kissed. He tries not to dwell there too long because it's depressing enough listening to all the guys talk about their conquests, especially when he's had none. He'll be eighteen in a matter of months, for gosh sakes. It's truly unfortunate. When he looks in the mirror, he only sees his gross teeth. Everything else pales in comparison to the teeth, but his broad shoulders are a close second these days. He feels much too awkward for a guy of almost eighteen. His mother says he'll continue to grow into it.
Clementine took care of the bushy unibrow situation he had going on the summer after his sixth year. That was the summer she was marrying Cassius Warrington's older brother Clay. According to her, "I cannot have you looking like some hideous beast for my wedding. Your teeth are bad enough, but there's no reason to have poor brows. Girls never trust boys with bad eyebrows. If a guy can deceive himself about how they look, what else will he be capable of?" Then his sister proceeded to pluck away at one of his inadequate features and his eyebrows too.
But Marcus's teeth are another story. Were it not for them; he wouldn't look half bad- at least he thinks so. That summer, he also begged his parents to fix his teeth, but they told him no like they always do. Once he's out on his own, that's one of the first things he will accomplish. He'll never forget his fifth year when he gathered enough courage to ask the gorgeous Ravenclaw, Marnie Spencer, to Hogsmeade with him. Before she laughed in his face, the girl told him, "Why would I want to walk around with a guy with teeth like an ogre and brains like blocks?"
Marcus's heart sank to his feet, so he decided to get a bit of flying in instead. He'll never forget that day or comment. It's stuck with him and plays on repeat, particularly on days he feels the most dispirited. So he stopped trying to win over the women and figured he'll be single for the rest of his life unless his father decides to enter him into some betrothal contract. That's when he poured all of his energy into quidditch, flying, and, believe it or not, Care of Magical Creatures. He's pretty handy with fire slugs, glow bugs, kneazles, fairies, and moon calves. He's just as sufficient with other animals too, but he'll never tell a soul. The guys like Graham Montague say, "Anyone can pass Magical Creatures. It's one of the easiest classes on the list. If you can't pass that, divination, or flying, then something's wrong with you."
Well, something's wrong with Marcus then because flying he aced, magical creatures he also passed with top marks, but divination is a load of bunk. The class is taught by a complete kook, Professor Trelawney. He's decided the woman is half crazy because one afternoon, she told him in front of the class, "My boy, I sensed a great disturbance before you arrived. And now I know why. Your aura is clouded to almost nonexistent. I have felt this before many years ago on the night of the blue moon. It saddens me to say that you do not have the gift of sight. You are hopelessly mundane and will grow old with nothing but brooms around you."
Her bangles clanged together, and she stopped speaking with her fingers on the side of her head, looking off into space. Coming back to herself, she told Marcus, "Unless you make some serious changes, my broom prediction will stand. Coincidentally, how is your sister? Now she was an outstanding student with the Gift. I wish her luck with impending motherhood."
Marcus had snorted at that because Clem would rather give up her shoe collection than be a mother. He remembers picking up his books and leaving the room. The next day he dropped the class in favor of another round of magical creatures. But here he is, sitting in Charms all over again, for another year. It makes Marcus's stomach knot up, and a sickness settle in his belly. He hates Charms, Transfiguration, Runes, Arithmancy, and Astronomy. Those classes are just too difficult for him to grasp. Today they were working on two charms, Arresto Momentum and that stupid advanced level Bird-Conjuring Charm again. He failed to understand them the first time around, and he's sure it will happen this time too.
All class long, Marcus practiced and practiced with the other seventh years with nothing happening. While they all succeeded, Professor Flitwick shook his head in repudiation of the repeating Slytherin. To make matters worse, the man requested him to stay after class. As the other students filed out of the room with snickers directed at the burly young athlete, Marcus slowly trudged up to the professor.
Professor Flitwick fixed his glasses and told the boy, "Mr. Flint, we just need you to pass. That's all. We're not looking for an outstanding here. I have an idea that I think will help- a tutor. I have contacted one of my best students, who, may I add, is quite remarkable at charms. So much so that I begged her to skip a year and go straight for advanced level classes, but unfortunately, she refused, not wanting to miss out on any charms I may teach. But I know she can help you, dear boy. She reluctantly agreed to tutor you, and you can meet her in the library tonight after dinner."
Marcus knew he couldn't tell the professor that tonight he was wanting to practice solo drills for quidditch. That would surely get him into trouble, so he kept quiet and begrudgingly accepted the man's help. Picking his books up, he kept his head down, silently stewing over the fact he now had a tutor. As if being teased for his teeth and called a troll aren't bad enough, now he'll be mercilessly mocked for being tutored. The embarrassment and anger were flooding through his veins that he didn't realize he'd barrelled into someone until he heard a feminine, "Ouch."
He looked up and saw a petite girl rubbing her arm. It's Potter's muddy friend. Not in the mood to even say the word mudblood, he felt a twinge of regret for running into her. Just as he was going to open his mouth and apologize, which is something he never does, the annoying Weasley boy who's always with her and Potter shouted, "Watch where you're going, you big dummy! Your giant troll body can hurt girls like Mione."
Marcus glared at him and started to turn away. He caught the girl's eyes, and they looked at him the same way every girl looked at him, curious regarding his troll status. It's how they all scrutinize him like he's a freak of nature. As he moved to walk away, he heard the curly-haired girl say, "Ronald, if you can't say something nice, then don't talk at all."
The last thing he heard was the boy whining, "Mione! For crying out loud!"
Glaring at anyone in his path, Marcus headed for the dungeon. He had potions, then a nap before dinner. Potions is one of the few classes he can actually grasp the concepts of. It goes along with herbology and magical creatures. All three work in harmony and the core competencies are built on each other. At least that's how it seems to Marcus. Snape actually appears to be a little bit impressed by his efforts, if one can impress the sarcastic man.
It just figures that on the first week of school, Snape started the class on brewing veritaserum. The muscular Slytherin reached across the table for his cup of powdered moonstone. As he did so, he accidentally knocked over Octavia Burke's. She glowered at him and muttered "idiot" while swishing her wand to clean the mess away. Octavia is another one of those uppity girls, like Marnie Spencer, that can't stand his hulking presence. She dates Terrence Higgs, so it's not surprising.
Regaining focus, he added the moonstone one spoonful at a time and dissolved it thoroughly. While waiting for it to simmer, he sliced the adder's fork. Marcus did everything the recipe called for and strained it into a bottle when it was finished. He left it right where Snape directed the completed ones to be placed and was rewarded ten points for finishing and ten for not brewing a mess. Brewing disappointments seemed to be a theme among many seventh years that day, much to the professor's horror.
Once class was over, Marcus made his way to the Slytherin common room, where a majority of the older boys were congregating. Higgs, Pucey, Montague, Nott, Bole, and Zabini were talking about who knows what. He slunk down onto the sofa beside Higgs. "What's up," he asked the group?
Pucey laughed, shook his dirty blonde hair, and replied, "Nothing except Zabini's newest conquest. He's determined to get Eleanor Branstone, the new girl in Hufflepuff. He told her I'll be the huffle to your puff and let you slither into my heart." He started laughing again, which made the other guys chuckle.
That is the most ridiculous thing Marcus has heard, yet it's rather funny. The guys sat there talking about girls, school, and quidditch until Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis, Carrow, McFadden, and Bulstrode showed up. Contrary to popular belief, none of them are interested in those silly strumpets. This is true despite the girls trying hard to get their attention. So, the guys exited the common room and retreated to the sanctity of their dorm rooms.
Dinner that evening was cataclysmic at best. It was announced the Triwizard Tournament was being held at Hogwarts, and the tables in the Great Hall were spelled to enlarge. Everyone was curious about this until visitors entered through the magically opened doors. Guests had arrived from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, to which Montague elbowed Marcus in the side at seeing all of the pretty witches. Then they had to listen to some drivel from Dumbledore about the tournament and the selection process.
The old headmaster gathered everyone's attention. "As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Lots of murmuring broke out across the room. The goblet was set up in the entrance hall and would be there for students who wished to enter the contest to throw their names in. The three champions would be selected on Halloween, which wasn't too far away when you sat and thought about it. Marcus did think about entering for a moment or two. When he studied the faces of the females around the room, it made him feel that perhaps they would find him worthy. But then, nothing is ever that easy, at least for where he's involved. So he determined he would not enter his name for the tournament.
Instead, he ate his food, grabbed his leather carrier bag, and made for the library. It's weird to him being in the library. To be honest, Marcus has not set foot in this part of the building since his first year. He had been full of bright notions then, thinking anything was possible even for a dunce like him. But then runes, arithmancy, and transfiguration ate his lunch, and he realized nothing could help his grades or him for that matter- not even magic. So he began training hard on the field. That first year was a turning point where Marcus realized he couldn't measure up.
Professor Flitwick had said he's looking for a girl, which is an ironic statement. Marcus is looking for a girl in more ways than just a tutor, but again that's one of those unrealistic notions of fantasy. Setting his bag on a table near the back section, he scanned the space. After taking off his outer robe, the older Slytherin fixed his sweater, then bent down to pull up his socks that kept wanting to fall. He hates when socks do that. These ones his mother bought are going in the trash. During his sock fixing, another bag fell onto the table, and the seat across from him became occupied.
While bent over, he noticed a pair of shiny black leather Mary Jane's and black stockings. His heart began to speed up just a tad because this would be the most interaction he's ever had with a female outside his mother, sister, and grandmother. Slowly sitting up, Marcus raised his eyes to notice none other than Potter's friend occupying the chair. Oh, Merlin, save him.
He's heard she's brilliant despite being muddy. He'd rather say muddy than mudblood because his grandmother, Cecilia, would wash his mouth with soap the old-fashioned way. Despite his parents being blood purists, his mother's mother was not. She's an ordinary grandmother if that can be obtained in the wizarding world. Cecilia Fawley is a kind-hearted woman who followed her father's teachings of everyone created equal. Great Grandfather Jameson Fawley taught his children this in the face of being pureblood.
Because of his grandmother, Marcus started having questions about the different types of blood, but he kept those between himself and Gram. That's their secret. So for her to know, he laughed at Granger being called that foul name and even thinking it would break his grandmother's heart. She would be well and properly upset, whereby the graying woman would take him by the ear and wash his mouth out.
Marcus sat there, unsure what to do. His dark eyes studied Granger. Draco called her ugly, filthy, frizzy-haired, and buck-toothed. The girl's first two years were rough, but now he can tell she's changed and grown up in all the right places. Her hair has calmed and sits in brown waves. Her teeth, unlike his, are fine, and she's not the least bit ugly. Is she drop-dead gorgeous like Marnie or Octavia? No, but who is? In fact, the Slytherin is confident that this Gryffindor girl will only continue to get prettier through the years. And that only made him more nervous, so he began shaking his leg like he does when he's called on to answer in class.
Hermione did not hesitate to take out a seventh-year charms book, parchment, and purple ink pen. She loves her quills and ink pots, but she also loves her pens. There are just some things muggles do better, and gel pens are one of them. Looking at the guy in front of her, she clicked the end of her writing instrument (one of her nervous habits) and pointed it at him. Her voice sounded clear and strong. "Let it be known that if at any point during our sessions I hear the word mudblood, I will leave and not return. Thus leaving you without a tutor."
Marcus nodded because that sounded fair. Though he would not call her that, she doesn't know he wouldn't. He opened his book but was stopped when she started rifling through her bag. Hermione pulled out a pastel folder and took out a parchment. She floated it across the table to him and stated, "That is our tutoring contract. It displays all of my stipulations like not calling me mudblood, arriving on time, being prepared, giving advance notice if you cannot make the session, and completing any assigned tutoring homework on top of any regular assignments. Read through it, and if you agree, sign your name and date it at the bottom."
The paper was three pages long. The Slytherin quidditch captain perused the document, felt overwhelmed, scratched his head, and signed his name along with the date. The paper glowed purple, like her pen. It was a unique piece of magic, kind of like her. It took him by surprise, and he asked, "How did that happen?"
The curly-haired witch raised an eyebrow and declared, "I charmed it. I can teach you, but not yet. We need to start back at the beginning of second year. I believe that's where you began to take a wrong turn. I brought my old book and one of Professor Flitwick's." She kept talking as she took the books out and slid one over to him.
Marcus stared at her, the book, the purple thing in her hand that she kept clicking, and sighed. What has he gotten himself into with tutoring? It's like he's been taken by surprise, which may or may not be a good thing.