It was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. For Ginny Weasley to even think that the little raven-haired Gryffindor belonged to her was laughable. Marcus Flint allowed a smirk to curve his lips. Little Harry was fifteen, and he could not be more pleased as he stood up and made his way to the Lion's table.
Those beautiful green eyes looked up with curiosity as Marcus came to a stop in front of him. He held out a piece of parchment, and those dainty fingers closed around it as his smirk grew and he turned to walk away. By the end of the day everyone would know that Harry Potter belonged to him. There would be no escape from what he wanted.