The next four chapters (6-9) are just like 2-4. They are important into understanding the backgrounds of our octet and their issues. After that the action begins.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Chapter Warning: the word poof is used and the f word

C'mon, c'mon with everything falling down around me

I'd like to believe in all the possibilities

Try not mistake what you have is what you hate

It could leave, it could leave, come the morning

Marcus loved the feel of the wind whipping through his hair as he rode his broom around the pitch at Hogwarts. He was out in the pitch as often as he could be. The only other student who rivaled him was a Gryffindor a year below named Oliver Wood. This was the only time they forgot about house allegiances.

Like any day, Oliver was out on the pitch with him. "Fancy a race, Flint?" Oliver asked him after the quaffle left his hands and straight into Oliver's. Wood was only a first year but by far one of the best players Marcus knew. Oliver had to borrow an older Gryffindor's broom to practice.

Marcus smirked at the first year. "You're on, Wood."

The two mounted their brooms. "How will we know when to go?"

Marcus only grinned before kicking off. "No fair, Flint!" He heard Wood shout. It didn't take long for Wood to catch up with him. It was neck and neck the entire time around the pitch. Every now and then Marcus would owl Apollo, who was still having a very successful quidditch career in Portugal, about how he was doing. Apollo would definitely appreciate someone like Oliver. After four laps the two crashed to the ground. "I win."

"You did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Mr. Flint," Marcus looked up and saw his head of house standing in front of him. "You have been summoned to the headmaster's office. Wood, get back to your house and 5 points from Gryffindor for being out flying and having a broom as a first year."

Snape headed back to the castle with Marcus in tow. "Did the headmaster say why he wants me?" Marcus questioned.

Snape didn't answer but instead asked, "Taken to fraternizing with Gryffindors now? I do not believe I've ever seen such behavior from Brutus."

"He likes quidditch and so do I."

"And so do plenty of other children in Slytherin," Snape countered. Marcus stayed quiet. Snape liked Brutus, and Julius when he was still here, but the man seemed to despise Marcus's existence.

The time it took for Marcus to get to the office seemed like an eternity. "Sugar quill," Snape said. The griffin turned to open up to stairs. "Head on up."

Snape left Marcus alone at the bottom of the stairs. As Marcus took the first step, a draft from upstairs gave him a chill. With each step he took, he could feel that this wasn't going to be a pleasant visit. At the top of the landing, Marcus gripped his broom tightly and thought about turning back around and running back to the pitch. He could fly away from there. He wasn't going to be a coward.

Marcus knocked and heard his elderly headmaster tell him to enter. The doorknob seemed to get colder the longer Marcus held it before turning and entering the office.

Brutus sat at the desk. His mother was dressed in all black, including a black veil over her face, sitting in the other chair with Julius behind her. No this was not good. He looked around for his father, the man who was always on his side. He wasn't to be seen.

"Marcus, darling, please come closer," his mother said in a sickly sweet voice. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. With small steps Marcus got closer to his mother and brothers. "Dear children, I must tell you horrible news."

"Where's father?" Marcus asked. His mother cupped his hands with hers.

"Your father has passed on, dear son. Illness took him in the night," she informed them. Marcus ripped his hands out of hers.

"That's not true! You're lying. Father hasn't been sick. He would've told me in our letters," Marcus stuttered.

"He didn't want to worry you."

"Bullshit!"

"Language, Mr. Flint," Dumbledore said. "I know you and your family are grieving but think of the position your mother must be in. The position your brothers are in. Your mother has arranged for you and Brutus to leave via the floo here in my office tomorrow after your lessons and return sometime Sunday."

Marcus stared at his mother. "He can't be dead."

"But he is," his mother replied with an equally cold voice. "You should thank Julius for letting you both attend the funeral. As the new head of house Flint, Julius believed it best for you to take time from your studies to mourn your father properly."

Marcus did the only thing he could do, he walked out of the office, broom in hand. He jumped on his broom the moment he was outside the castle. Oliver was still on the pitch when Marcus flew down.

Oliver smiled. "Snape didn't scare me away. He just doesn't like that I'm a Gryffindor. Must've been not too bad if your back so soon."

"My father is dead."

"Oh. That sucks. I'm sorry for your loss. At least you still have your mum and brothers," Oliver said.

"I have no one," Marcus snapped. "I don't need pity either."

"Do you just want to fly then? Maybe we could get a quaffle—"

"I don't need you, Wood!" Marcus yelled. "Get away from me. You're just causing problems."

"What problems am I causing? I'm just trying to help you. I thought we were friends."

"We're not friends. I could never be friends with a Gryffindor. You're just trying to find out Slytherin quidditch techniques and thought I'd be the easiest to get them from since it's my first year. You're wrong."

Oliver's face fell. "That's not true, Marcus. I thought...I thought...never mind. It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly we are different people," Oliver grabbed the broomstick. "I look forward to destroying you on the pitch someday, Flint."

It rained Saturday morning. It was more of a down pour Marcus decided while he was sitting next to Brutus on the end. Many had showed up to give their condolences for the passing of Cassius Flint. His mother was still dressed in all black with the black veil covering her face and blond hair. Julius and Brutus looked like twins in their matching black robes and slicked back blond hair. Marcus wore grey robes and left his black hair in its normal downed look. Marcus spotted his uncle Thorfinn next to his mother.

The funeral didn't last long because of the weather. Once done, people quickly ran into Flint Manor since Cassius was buried on the grounds like the other Flint ancestors. Marcus didn't move from his seat.

His mother stopped in front him, Thorfinn next to her and Julius and Brutus behind her. "The solicitor is here to read your father's will. After that we will mingle. You can come back here since the wake is not a good place for you at the moment."

Marcus trailed behind them as they walked through the Manor and into the library where a scrawny wizard with big glasses and too bright green robes was waiting. "Are all parties present?" He asked. His voice reminded Marcus of Professor Flitwick's squeaky one.

"Portia Flint, Julius Flint, Brutus Flint, Marcus Flint, and Thorfinn Rowle," his mother introduced.

The solicitor glanced down at his list. "Mr. Rowle is not on here. He'll have to leave."

Marcus saw his mother stiffen. "Thorfinn is my brother. I request to have him present in my time of mourning."

This was no request. The venom in her words was clear. His uncle Thorfinn was staying in that room. The solicitor must've understood because he quickly nodded and took out a single piece of paper from his briefcase.

"This is the last will and testament of Cassius Gaius Flint, finalized 18 August, 1985 in sound mind. To my wife, Portia Calpurnia Flint neé Rowle, I leave to you a quarter of the Flint fortune and all estates except Thornbury Hill. To my eldest son, Julius Cato Flint, I leave an eighth of the Flint fortune, my collection of finely tailored robes, the family house elves, excluding Casca and Cicero, and the stocks I hold. To my second son, Brutus Quintus Flint, I leave to you an eighth of the Flint fortune and the family company. Lastly, to my youngest son, Marcus Tullius Flint, I leave the remaining half of the Flint fortune, my collection of racing and travel brooms, Thornbury Hill, the house elves Casca and Cicero, and the name and title of head and heir of House Flint, effective immediately upon my death and notice of title to Marcus. Iras scintillam irascibilem scintillam."

Everyone in the room was dumbfounded. "Marcus cannot he head of the house," Julius roared. "I am the oldest."

"Your father transferred everything over to Marcus the day he created this will. I was present when Cassius did all the legal procedures. As of two minutes ago, Marcus Tullius Flint is head of the Flint house and makes all grand scale decisions for the name. This isn't the first time a minor has inherited the title."

"Minor!" His mother cried. "He is underage. Until he reaches of age, I or Julius should have control over it all."

The solicitor shook his head. "Cassius made it possible. Even at age 12 almost 13, Marcus is a legal adult. You have no control over him, Mrs. Flint. He is his own guardian," The solicitor turned to speak directly to Marcus. "I'll owl you some papers detailing your new title. I've also already sent a letter to Hogwarts detailing this. The Ministry and Gringotts are already aware. Before I go, I should give you these."

He handed Marcus two keys and a ring. Marcus never noticed that Julius was never wearing the Flint ring. "You already know about the ring. The bronze key is for the Flint vault at Gringotts. The black key is for Thornbury Hill. As for you other three, your portions of the fortune have already been put into your vaults. If that is all, I will be heading on my way."

The solicitor scurried out of the room as quickly as he could. "Get out," his mother snapped as soon as the door shut. "Pack up all your belongs and leave this place. Say good-bye to Cassius's grave because this is the last time you'll be seeing it."

"But mother—"

"Don't you mother me, Marcus," she sneered. "You've ruined everything and I can't do anything about it. Get Casca and Cicero to help you pack and leave. I never want to see you here again. Go!"

Marcus ran as fast as he could down the hall to his room. Casca and Cicero were already in his room, which was completely bare, when he entered. "We heard little mister Marcus is now our Master," Casca spoke. "We moved things to little master's new home when we felt change. We knews miss would not be happy and get rid of little master."

"I'm going to go see my father one last time and then we will go to Thornbury Hill. One of you will have to apparate with me there since I am too young."

Casca took Marcus's left hand and Cicero his right. "We apparate to see master so Rowle family does not get angry," Cicero said.

Marcus nodded and felt his stomach tug as the elves apparated them out of the house and landing in the mud in front of his father's grave. Marcus touched the cold, wet stone. "I'm alone now. I have no one but Cicero and Casca. You were my family. What happened father? Something happened I know it. I recognized the date the solicitor said you changed your will. It was a day Portia, Julius, Brutus, and I went to Diagon. Apollo went to Portugal that day. You came home from work early."

Marcus glanced towards the house. "I'll find out what happened. I won't let this family be ruined. Iras scintillam irascibilem scintillam."

"You're not the same," Adrian looked up and saw Terence standing there. Gently he sat down on the couch next to Adrian. It was February now, and this was the first time they had spoken since those years ago.

"I'm still Adrian," Adrian answered. He looked back down at his book.

"But you're not Adrian," Terence reiterated. "You don't wear your heart upon your sleeve. You always have the same straight faced look. You're to the point with everything you do. That's not the Adrian Pucey I know."

"That was the old Adrian," he huffed. "This is the real one."

Terence shook his head. "No it's not. You are better than this, Adrian."

"Terence, just fuck off."

Adrian saw Terence's jaw drop. If Adrian still felt, his jaw would've fell too. Deep down inside he could feel himself wanting to reach out to Terence and pull him back. "Is that how you feel?" Terence choked. Adrian only looked away. "Fine. If that's how this is now."

Terence stood up. "You were my best friend, Adrian. I never wanted to see you hurt. I loved you, but not this. This isn't the real you Adrian. This is what you think others want you to be but it's not. You're sweet, Ades. You're kind and caring. This cold shell of no emotion you've created is not you. I know the real you is down inside you and I hope it resurfaces because that's the Adrian Pucey everyone loves. You shouldn't be this cold. Being like this isn't good for anyone."

"Don't make me say it again, Higgs," Adrian's voice was as cold as his words.

A small tear ran down Terence's cheek. "This isn't you Adrian. I miss you. I miss you so much." Terence walked away, leaving Adrian alone on the couch with only his book. He picked it up and continued to read, hoping to forget the pain he might be feeling.

Adrian felt relieved when he got on to Slytherin's quidditch team his second year. This is what his grandfather wanted. He didn't realize until the very first practice that Terence was on the team as seeker. It wasn't a good thing. The boys on the team were rough. Terence easily got crushed by them.

"Poof! Look harder for the snitch!" The seventh year beater who was captain yelled. "Surely you're good at finding balls."

Adrian dug his nails into his broom handle. Maybe he wasn't friends with Terence anymore but he didn't deserve that kind of treatment. No one did.

Adrian was about to yell when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was another chaser, Marcus Flint. Adrian had heard stories of the boy. His father had died his second year and made him head of the house even though he had two older brothers. His teeth were messed up from his brothers hitting him with a quaffle or bludger. Adrian had seen Marcus's mother and brothers. They were all short, lean, and blond whereas Marcus was tall with black hair and a muscular build. Many rumors went around about Marcus Flint. Adrian had no idea which were true and false.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," Flint told him. "He will pummel you if you fight back. Higgs has heard this time and time before. He can handle it."

"But it's not right," Adrian whispered.

"Life is never fair, Pucey. The thing is Higgs is the only Slytherin willing to be and good at playing seeker. We can't risk losing him."

"Is it all about quidditch to you?"

"Mostly. Why do you care about him? I, and others, heard your conversation the other day. Here's a tip: if you're gonna have a conversation like that, then do it privately and not in the common room." Adrian blushed. Marcus chuckled and pointed. "This is the best part."

Adrian looked to where Marcus was pointing. Terence was throwing a punch into Flannigan's jaw, who returned a punch into Terence's gut. Blood dribbled down both cheeks. Cuts and bruises appeared on faces.

"How is this the best part?"

Marcus shrugged. "Just is."

"This isn't fair though."

"Quidditch is never fair. Life isn't fair. Get it in your head kid. Being nice will get you nowhere."

Adrian sighed. Flint was right. Life wasn't fair and kindness will get you nowhere. This was something Adrian had been told time and time again. He didn't want to believe it but perhaps this was the truth.

With the use of google translate:

iras scintillam irascibilem scintillam- spark anger spark agression

(This is a rough translation because I forgot to write down what exactly I translated when I wrote this begin with)