Title: Beginnings.
Author: Kerri
Beta: Ravyn. An awesome beta - thanks heaps for all of your help, darl.
Characters: Marcus/Katie
Rating: Mature over all.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just using them for my own perverted sense of fun.
Feed back: Sure thing! Feedback is always helpful.
Summary: When does a relationship really begin? When does it really end? And why does it twist us up inside, until right and wrong are no longer distinguishable?
Authors note; this is my first time writing Marcus/Katie, but they are a couple I have always enjoyed reading.
1
Obsession - an idea or feeling that completely occupies the mind. Fascination, fixation and lust are other words that can be used, and all of them applied. Passion – an intense or overpowering emotion, such as love, joy, hatred, anger or strong sexual desire. They all applied too. Love and hate - a fine line between the two, one that can blur and distort. One that did, with no warning, no reason, and no cure.
If you were stupid enough to approach Marcus Flint and ask him when his obsession with Katie Bell began, he'd probably tear your arms off and beat you to death with them. Him - Slytherin Captain and Chaser, obsessed with some skinny arsed Gryff? Moreover, if he didn't tear said arms off, he might've strongly suggested that you have your head examined at St. Mungos post haste - before he examined it for you.
He had a bevy of pure-blood witches to choose from - why would he want some scrawny blonde kid, who was four years younger than he was? Who had a motor mouth full of insults that could maim better than any knife? Besides - she was in Gryffindor. And that was one house line he would never cross. He might not have much to say, but he wasn't stupid.
However;
If you were to ask any of his Slytherin team-mates when Marcus first become obsessed with Katie Bell, they could tell you easily. You'd need to hand over some Galleons first, but one didn't get ahead in life, without stepping on people to do so. So picture yourself in a private location and a few Galleons short; the lighting is dim, to protect the identity of the person who tells you the following tale;
Marcus Flint's obsession began, when Gryffindor played Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup during his seventh year. It was when Marcus ducked an out-of-control bludger that careened passed him so quickly, that it caused his ears to pop. And while he might have been lucky if he had been flying the other way, luck wasn't to be on his side, as it veered upwards and hit Katie Bell. The bludger disintegrated her broom and shattered her right knee. It also left her in free fall, thirty feet above the pitch. A loud scream of pain, that was intermingled with fear caused him to look away from the approaching Quaffle and upwards instead, and it is in this very moment, where our story begins.
Marcus had a split second to focus on the slim body that was tangled in a red Quidditch cloak; focus on the fact that the body that was plummeting towards him wasn't some mad Chaser hell-bent on catching the Quaffle before ihe/i did, before he instinctively caught Katie as she collided with him. The sheer force of the collision knocked Marcus backwards off his own broom. He became entangled within a red cloak, long legs and slim arms; arms, that were surprisingly strong when they tightened around him.
While Madam Hooch's whistle split the cool air like a knife, the students and teachers alike held their breath as the two tangled players plummeted towards the ground. Marcus Flint didn't hear the whistle, nor did he see several players angle their brooms downwards in the mad hope that they could help – no. Marcus Flint was too caught up in the fact that he had an armful of Katie Bell, and that there were several things about her that he hadn't known.
He was fast coming to the uncomfortable realization, that Katie Bell had subtle curves under her baggy Quidditch robes. He could feel them, pressed against the length of his body as he held her tightly. That her eyes, even though filled with terror, were a startling shade of blue. That while in the air on a broom, Katie might be as large as life, but as tightly tangled as they were, he could feel just how petite she really was. And his final thought, was that it was going to hurt like hell when he hit the ground with her. That he might die. That she might. Then it was really too late to think at all.
Marcus hit the ground with a nauseating, bone-snapping thud as bone gave way to the impact and a thin, high-pitched scream was muffled against his throat. Katie went limp against him as he gasped painfully through his teeth, and the world blurred around him as pain darkened the edges of his vision. The metallic, coppery taste of blood – his blood – exploded across his tongue. The scent of it was thick and when he felt the wetness that was sliding across his skin, Marcus knew that it was Katie's he was smelling too.
He couldn't see properly as his breath wheezed painfully past his lips; Katie's hair was strewn across his face, the blonde strands glinting in the weak sunlight as he stared blindly through them. His upper body was wracked in pain, yet his lower body was strangely numb. In the dimness of his mind, he found that all he could focus on was the glint of gold hair and the weak, thready rasp of her breath against his throat. He had time enough to blink once more, before he lost the ability to see at all, and he slid under into blessed darkness where the excruciating pain could no longer touch him.
He never saw his team-mates land and drop their brooms, those prized Fire Bolts landing haphazardly as his name was called loudly. He never saw the Gryffindor team land, and run towards them, with Katie's name being called with growing panic. House lines be damned - both teams came together, waiting with increasing worry as they stared down at them. Both teams spoke in hushed whispers as the Headmaster, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape ran towards them. Both teams reluctantly backed away, as Madam Pomfrey carefully levitated the two broken bodies and bustled them away towards the medi-wing with the other Professor's. And both teams reluctantly took to the sky again, when Madam Hooch told them to finish the game.
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It was dark when Marcus woke up. The acrid scent of medi-magic was in the air, that thick, cloying smell that tickled the nose and burned the throat as he cautiously worked to open his eyes. The soft rasp of cotton hospital pants and the slight itch of wool blankets tightly tucked around him offered a familiar warmth and comfort; they eased his instinctive need to confirm his location. His body felt like it was floating, no doubt a side effect from the Skele-Gro potions that Madam Pompfrey had poured down his throat in large quantities. His skin tingled with magic and healing warmth, and there was an annoying itch at the base of his spine. The faint glow of candle-light hurt his eyes, causing him to squint as he wondered how long he'd been in the medi-wing, and what the hell had happened to him.
Sitting up slowly, Marcus sucked in a pained gasp as his newly knitted together bones screamed out in protest. It took several unsteady breaths for his nausea to pass; fresh pain made him aware of how lucky he was to live in a world that had magic. Memories slowly swam to the forefront of his mind, causing a new wave of nausea to be fought back, as he gulped in several mouthfuls of air. Fighting to steady his breathing as the nausea slowly passed, he glanced across the room. When he saw the lump in the bed across from his, he blinked slowly in the weak lighting as he finally made out the blonde hair that was strewn across the white pillow.
Tugging back the blankets that covered his legs, Marcus struggled out of bed. Swaying slightly, he wondered briefly why his left arm wasn't working. The thought was fleeting, however, and it fled his mind, thanks to Madame Pomfrey, in a ripple of magic; magic, that was designed to protect the mind from itself, and allow a patient a small measure of comfort when hurt. Resting his right hand against the bed for support, Marcus stared across the room at Katie; it had to be Katie in that moment. Not Bell, not Gryff, not when her blood had stained his skin. He could still hear the scream Katie had strangled in her throat. Still feel the heat of her breath against his skin; smell the scent of soap in her hair, and fresh air that had teased those pale strands. He could still picture the terror in her eyes.
Marcus crossed the distance on unsteady feet, and stared down at a still and pale Katie Bell. Her cheek was scratched, no doubt from the leather of his shoulder guards. Her shoulder was badly bruised against the white of the sheet that was tucked around her for modesty. He stared at her for a long moment, and then blinked slowly when a shaking hand came into his line of sight, and smoothed her hair back from her face. He was disorientated enough to blink several more times before he made the connection between the hand and the fact that it was his.
He briefly touched the blonde hair that was spread across her pillows, and tilted his head slightly as he carefully wrapped a smooth section of hair around his index finger. Marcus had pulled her hair numerous times on the pitch before, but he had never touched it with a bare hand. It was soft to touch; a mix of honey and the palest of gold that glinted weakly in the flickering light. He let her hair slide out of his grasp and slowly lowered his fingertips to the bruises that marred the pale skin of her shoulder and collarbone.
The contrast between the dark olive of his own skin and the pale cream of hers was stark. It never occurred to him what other people might think if they saw him leaning over her as she laid so silently. It never crossed his mind what others might think, if they saw the contrast in their skin tones, as his fingers gently walked over the bruised skin of her shoulder, searching out injury and breaks, searching through touch for what magic had already begun to heal. And as he gently pressed against her shoulder, all he could think about was the fear he had seen in those blue eyes. So large and frightened, and locked with his own as they plummeted to the ground together.
He reached up to touch the bruises and scratches that marred her cheek, and shuddered when he felt the incredibly smooth skin of her face under the calloused pads of his fingertips. Marcus swayed as he stood there, fingers resting against her face, and her scream echoing in his ears as he once more saw the fear in her eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and bent a bit closer to her, his fingers sliding down her face, throat and shoulder to rest against the bed. He struggled to remain standing; his body was screaming with pain, the cloud of medi-magic fogging his mind and sending the room spinning as he rocked back and forth on unsteady feet.
"Bell?"
His voice had broken at fourteen, leaving him with a deep, gravely voice. The rasp of his voice, however, was heavier than usual, and Marcus winced in pain as he swallowed what felt like razor blades and tried to speak again.
"Bell…. Katie…"
There was no answer from Katie, even with Marcus rasping out her name once more, his fingertips running across her cheek. He flinched when a warm hand covered his bare shoulder, and he straightened up and looked over his shoulder. Madam Pomfrey was standing behind him with Professor Snape, her hands outstretched and worry creasing her face as Marcus staggered while turning around fully to face them.
"Back to bed, Mr. Flint. You were badly injured, and you should not be up yet. Come now," Madam Pomfrey said gently, and Marcus blinked slowly as he turned back to stare down at Katie.
"Marcus."
Marcus turned to look at the head of his house when he heard his given name, only to have his knees buckle on him as a wave of nausea left him gagging and fighting for breath. The room swayed, tilted and turned black before he could speak and darkness rose to gently kiss him, as Snape leaped forward to catch his falling body.
When Marcus opened his eyes again, Snape was carefully levitating him down onto the bed as Madam Pomfrey poured another vile tasting potion down his throat. He coughed at the bitterness, and turned his face from her warm hand in protest. She clucked her tongue as she bustled away, muttering under her breath about having to treat men who acted like little boys as she went. Snape appeared in his wavering line of sight, his voice low as he tugged the blankets back over Marcus' legs.
"Professor Dumbledore awarded you one hundred house points, Mr. Flint, for catching Miss. Bell."
"Did we win?" Marcus wondered, and Professor Snape shook his head, as he inwardly hid the smile that Marcus' words bought. Only his burly Chaser would think of Quidditch at a time like this.
"No, not that it matters, Marcus. The game really ended when you and Miss. Bell were injured. Potter catching the snitch was nothing more than a formality."
Marcus rolled his head on the pillow, and looked past Snape to the other bed.
"Is Bell all right?" he asked, and Snape nodded.
"Yes. She was badly hurt, just like you. But it is much better to be hurt than dead, Marcus. You did Slytherin proud."
Marcus nodded and closed his eyes, his voice slowly growing fainter as he spoke.
"Never seen blue like that before… so clear…"
"What do you mean, Marcus?" Snape asked as he leaned closer, and Marcus blinked once more. He would later blame the fact that he was potioned to the eyeballs for what he said next, and no one dared to say otherwise.
"Katie Bell… She has blue eyes, Sir. Pretty blue eyes…"
Professor Snape straightened up when Marcus' own eyes rolled up in his head, and glanced over his shoulder at the other bed. And as he looked between the two students, he made the decision to keep a closer eye on the situation - pretty blue eyes indeed.