3
Marcus sat at the base of the Slytherin Quidditch stand, with his cloak pulled tightly around his body as he stared out over the darkened pitch. The wind was cold against his face, but he welcomed the small measure of pain that it brought. It meant that he could feel after all. After three weeks of Skele-Gro, pain potions, and physical therapy to give him back full movement in his left arm, Marcus had finally been released from the infirmary. Fixing the spine, it seemed, was far easier than fixing muscle damage; Madam Pomfrey had told him that the damage done during his fall would require physical therapy, rest, and most importantly, time.
He had received a resounding welcome from his house-mates when he'd appeared in the great hall for dinner, which under the circumstances shouldn't have surprised him, but he was still caught off guard at the enthusiasm in which Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had joined in on the applause. More shocking, however, was the fact that some of Gryffindor had applauded too. And when the Professors had risen to their feet while clapping, Snape had almost smiled - it had been a truly scary moment.
Dumbledore had publicly announced the one hundred point addition to Slytherin for Marcus' selfless act, amidst cheers and grumbling. While his house-mates had applauded noisily, Marcus had glared at his plate and willed the floor to open and swallow him whole. It hadn't been a selfless act. More like blind luck for the Gryff, than anything else. He wasn't selfless; he was ruthless, calculating and when he put his mind to it, downright cruel. He was a Slytherin, damn it! Leave the feelings and selflessness to the bloody Gryffs! He hadn't been able to eat his dinner and then escape the stares he could feel quickly enough.
Thinking he'd be left alone in his own Common room had been a joke - his house mates had wanted to celebrate his return. Marcus had silently slipped away when things had started to get noisy, after some dim-witted fool had produced a bottle of firewhiskey. Needing some solitude, he'd come to the pitch. This spot was where he did his thinking. His calculating. Even so, calculations weren't what filled his mind. While the medi-witches had healed his body, they hadn't taken his memories. Those, he had found, he wanted desperately to do without.
Grunting slightly as he shifted, Marcus' gaze was drawn to the spot where he had landed. Just left to the centre of the pitch. And as he stared at the spot, he once more heard the snapping of bones. He remembered the excruciating pain that had come when he'd broken his back, along with the strange numbness that had enveloped his lower body. He heard the high pitched scream Katie had emitted, when he had crushed her in his arms. The snapping of finer bones, of her bones, and the strangled tone that her breathing had taken on, as she'd slowly started to drown in her own blood because of his strength. And rolling to the side and onto his knees, he lost the fight with the rolling wave of nausea he had been fighting since he'd first walked into the Great Hall earlier that evening to applause, and emptied the contents of his stomach.
As he knelt on the pitch with his head hanging between his arms, Marcus once more felt the pure despair that he had been feeling since that afternoon just over three weeks ago. He'd almost died. He'd almost been left a paraplegic. If he hadn't been a wizard, if he hadn't lived in a world with magic… Marcus shook his head to clear it, as he panted through the vile taste in his mouth. He did live in a world with magic - he wasn't going to spend his days unable to function as a man. He had always known that by playing Quidditch, he ran the risk of being injured - he'd just never thought that he'd suffer such a serious one. Rolling onto his side away from the mess he had made, Marcus breathed in deeply as he stared blindly across the pitch.
Bell - Katie - was being released tomorrow morning. She had made a complete recovery - she had full movement back in her shoulder, and her knee no longer looked like a pumpkin had taken up residence under her skin. Her body had recovered... Her mind, however, was another thing. Oliver bleeding Wood had returned to the infirmary to discuss Quidditch practice with her yesterday; Wood had missed the fear that had fluttered across Katie's face. Wood had missed it - Marcus hadn't. He knew what fear looked like and it had been as clear as day; it had clouded those haunting blue eyes and turned them murky; it had caused her skin to pale and then slowly gray. And the look in those blue eyes had haunted him for over an hour as Oliver, her oblivious, bloody Gryffindor Captain, had chattered about all things Quidditch. Games, practice, World Cups, professional games, school games, and specific moves.
Oliver had talked and rambled, and Marcus had watched Katie's face from under his lashes the entire time. He had been unable to make himself look away; Katie had gradually grown quieter until finally, he'd had enough. Marcus had summoned Madam Pomfrey under the guise of wanting to know when he was being released. Madam Pomfrey had clucked at him, and told him he was returning to his house later that evening. And when she had turned away from his side, she had caught sight of Katie's pale, drawn face. Within moments, Wood was being shuffled on his way, even as he protested and pleaded to be allowed to stay. Nevertheless, Madam Pomfrey had held firm, and had shown him to the door. As Oliver spluttered, Marcus had kept his eyes on Katie and he'd seen that flicker of relief in her eyes.
Seeing gratitude in her eyes for catching her had made him uncomfortable. The gratitude, combined with the relief, just pissed him off because he hadn't saved her deliberately the first time. And Oliver bleeding Wood had just made that gratitude worse, because he'd been forced to save her. Again. It left him feeling as if he had tainted her in some way. And that feeling was one he didn't care for. In the hours after they had shared that look, Marcus had seen it every time he had closed his eyes. It was almost like they shared a secret now; a dark secret, one that only they knew. It bound them together; connected them. And that had simultaneously scared him and pissed him off.
The last three weeks had been strange, of that he was certain. Johnson had been correct in her view of him - he knew everything there was to know each player on the other teams. From their height and weight, to their speed and agility on their brooms - he knew it all. From the obvious to the obscure - such as the Seeker from Hufflepuff - Diggory; the lad had a flaming crush on Pucey, something that wasn't public knowledge. Marcus knew, however, and he used that crush and his friendship with Adrian to his advantage - Hufflepuff hadn't won a game against them since Marcus had learned that little secret. And before the fall, Katie had only been another statistic in his mind; Gryffindor Chaser. Blonde. Five foot, three inches tall, and if he was being generous, roughly one hundred pounds, dripping wet.
But then Katie had fallen. And she was no longer a statistic in his mind. Five foot, three inches tall, and hell on a broom. However that hadn't told him that she would only come up to his shoulder when they were standing side-by-side in the infirmary, doing physiotherapy. One hundred pounds, dripping wet. That hadn't told him that she was fine boned. Dainty. Petite. However you wanted to word it. Against him, she was tiny. Five foot three, against his six foot even. One hundred pounds of fine bones and delicate skin, against his one hundred and sixty odd pounds of pure muscle. And in his arms, he'd crushed her like a twig.
Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape had spoken with him at length one afternoon, while Katie had been asleep. Marcus' recovery had been set back due to the nightmares he was having, and after a particularly nasty nightmare involving a Dementor's kiss that Madam Pomfrey had woken him from, he was told he needed to speak to someone. He'd smirked at them over that. Smirked, until Professor Snape had pulled the feelings straight out of Marcus' mind. Guilt. He was feeling guilty. Guilty, that Katie was still having trouble breathing. Guilty, that Katie's rib cage was as black and blue as his own back was. But with Snape speaking to him in the clear, precise logic of their house, Marcus had been left with no choice but to believe what he was being told.
He was Slytherin; he was cunning, sly and a complete brute on the pitch when he put his mind to it. He'd grown up with that lifestyle but the thought of laying a violent hand against a woman caused him to break out in cold chills. That kind of violence against women was unimaginable. But in catching Katie, in saving her life, Marcus had physically hurt her. He'd broken nine of her ribs when his arms locked around her. Four on the left, and five on the right… which had lead to her right lunged being punctured. And the guilt of hurting her – Katie, the girl – had been eating at his insides. Snape had stared at him silently for the longest time, before he had spoken slowly, the knowledge and understanding in his gaze forcing Marcus to pay attention.
"She will be feeling that pain for some weeks yet, Marcus. And you will never forget what it sounds like, to hear someone begin to drown in their own blood. That terrible rattle, as they fight to breath through the fluid in their lungs. You'll feel the stain of her blood against your skin for the rest of your life; it is a stain that never washes away. Nevertheless in saying that, also remember this; it could have been much, much worse. You saved her life. What happened to Miss. Bell wasn't your fault. Let go of the guilt; it is..." Snape's voice broke off for a moment, and his black eyes flicked towards Katie. And when he looked back at Marcus, his meaning was crystal clear. "An emotion that will cripple you... If you let it."
Marcus couldn't remember what else they had spoken about that night. Yet every time he looked at Katie, he heard Snape's quiet voice in his head. He heard the underlying warnings, that Snape had tried instilling within him. However it was too late. The look he had shared with Katie had spun a fine thread between them. And as the long days and even longer nights stretched out, that gossamer fine tether between Marcus and Katie grew more tangible. And the more it strengthened, the more Marcus tried to pull away from it. Unable to understand it, unable to trust what he was feeling, Marcus resorted to what he was comfortable with - anger, sarcasm, and a streak of ruthlessness that even his house mates were wary of.
Katie had tried talking to him several times during his last hours in the infirmary. Marcus had ignored her at first, but her typical Gryffindor stubbornness had kept her at it and he'd resorted to simply grunting in response. That hadn't worked for long, and when Katie had asked him to answer her question, he'd found himself snarling familiar insults that had silenced her, and had stolen all the colour from her cheeks. She'd lowered her head, a curtain of hair sliding across her cheek and hiding her from his line-of-sight. However he'd seen her eyes before she'd hidden them from him, and the hurt in them had made him feel like an utter pillock. And as the moment stretched out, Marcus had tried to think of something - anything - to say, that would remove that look from eyes that now bothered him.
Her eyes were blue - not pale and icy, not dark and shadowed over, but a shade of blue so startling, that Marcus had spent several hours wondering why he hadn't noticed them before. Corn-flower blue, a shade he knew so damn well; his mother's favorite and one that had been so predominate in his childhood. Set under eyebrows that were a shade darker than the hair on her head, her eyes were wide, thickly lined with dark lashes, and so fucking innocent, that it made him feel sick. He'd seen her smile at her house mates who had visited, and he'd watched her laugh at their terrible humor and attempts to cheer her up.
His hands fisted, knuckles whitening with frustration as he remembered those instances and the simple fact that he had seen right through her. Why was it that he knew the only true time she'd enjoyed herself at been when the Weasley twins had visited. They had regaled her with a story of blowing garden gnomes sky high at their house and he'd watched, unable to look away, at the way her face and eyes had lit up with laughter. It hadn't mattered that he had been struggling with a gut-deep warning; the knowledge that somehow he'd taint that damn innocence if he watched too long. She was a child – a mere slip of a thing and he had no business letting her confuse him... She had no right to rattle him this way… Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?
Ignoring the feeling in his stomach, Marcus lurched to his feet and made his way back to the dungeons, where he sat in front of the fire, and ignored those of his house-mates who were still awake. One by one they drifted away, until Marcus was finally able to relax as he stared at the flickering lights. And when Diana Bletchley approached him, Marcus sat back in his chair and looked up at her silently. There were two people that Marcus trusted absolutely; Adrian Pucey, and the woman standing in front of him. He was more amused than surprised when she stepped between his spread knees and she smiled down at him, her hand lifting to trace the line of his jaw. The slight curve of her lips widened as the muscle under her hand jumped.
"Such a brave boy," she mused and Marcus snorted.
"Don't play games, Diana," he warned softly as he tilted his head slightly. "What do you want?"
She stepped closer as she smoothed her hands through his hair.
"I know what I want - question is though, Marcus, do you want the same thing?" Diane angled her head at him, letting the fall of her hair hide her eyes from everyone but him. Underneath the teasing there was a glint of affection that deepend when he finally let the tips of his fingers slide down the side of her thigh, brushing against the smooth skin of her knee. Letting his finger curled against her leg, he sighed heavily and shook his head. Diane frowned at him and dropped gracefully to her knees.
"When have you not been in the mood to play, Marcus?" she purred, and Marcus' eyebrows drew together mockingly even as he read the concern in the way she watched him.
"Uh... Let's see... Maybe because we lost the Quidditch Cup. It might be because I've missed two of my NEWTS, which, if you weren't so busy looking for a husband to snare, you'd know means an automatic fail. Oh! I know! It might be because I broke my sodding back, Diana. Take your pick," he snarled.
The coyness vanished from her face, and Diana squeezed his knee, her nails biting into the skin in a silent repremand for his tone, but her voice was gentle when she spoke.
"Has Professor Snape said anything about you missing those NEWTS?"
Marcus scraped his hands down over his face, and then shook his head as he stared bleakly at the fire.
"Not really. Just that I might need to repeat them. He's looking into it."
Diana rose to her feet and sat beside with Marcus silently.
"How long have we been friends, Marcus?" she asked quietly, and when Marcus looked at her, Diana reached out and laced her fingers through his.
"No games... How long have we been friends?"
Marcus finally shrugged, and dropped his eyes to their entwined hands.
"Since we were kids," he mumbled, and when Diana squeezed his hand, Marcus flicked his eyes towards her. Her expression was controlled, but years of friendship let him read her expressions flawlessly and he caught the edge of her determination to get her point across. Anyone else, and he would have brushed them off before they could start. But Diane was different; he trusted her in ways he rarely trusted anyone and if she really had it in her head to discuss this, then she wouldn't let him just walk away.
"A long time. So, when I tell you that it doesn't matter if you have to repeat those NEWTS, do you believe me?"
Marcus' shoulder jerked in response, and Diana sighed.
"All right. Another way of viewing it. If you have to repeat those NEWTS, it means another year of flying, here at Hogwarts. It means another year of Captaincy, and another year of trying out plays. It means a better chance of being picked up by a scout, rather than having to face open try-outs. You knew that the scouts were concentrating on Durmstrang this year, because of Viktor Krum." Diana shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe if you do repeat, you can drop the other classes that you took this year, and just concentrate on the ones that will get you further. Talk to Madam Hooch. She might be able to give you some direction. That way, if you don't get picked up by a scout, you could maybe look into assistant coaching."
Catching his eyes with hers, Diana sighed.
"Failing two NEWTS, Marcus, because of what you did? It doesn't mean anything. Let's face it, you are scarily smart in the way you think. In the way you fly and lead Slytherin. You'll succeed, no matter what you choose to do."
Marcus sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Diane wasn't telling him anything new, but the outside perspective somehow helped mollify his temper. Feeling a little disgruntled, he blew out a breath. He'd be a lot more irritated if anyone but Diane was reminding him logically how the situation could be salvaged - something he should have already done for himself.
And when Diana leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek, he swore softly, and turning his head, he kissed her. He felt the soft hum that she made, the vibration of it tickling his lips. In the quietness of the common room, he snaked his hand around the base of her neck, and pulled her into his lap. Another soft sigh, and Diana wound her arms around him, and coiled her tongue along his. When Marcus finally groaned some long minutes later, Diana broke the kiss, and lightly brushed the tip of her nose down the bridge of his, that faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"It's been a while. For you. For us. So, go slow for me, all right?"
Marcus' lips parted as if he was about to speak, before he bit out a slew of expletives crude enough to make her blush. It had been a while since the last time they'd been together. They both knew the risks of relationships, and the hard truth was, Diana was likely going to be married directly out of Hogwarts, if her father hadn't already drawn up the papers. Being with Marcus let her be with someone she trusted and cared about, neither of which she was guaranteed once she graduated.
So when Marcus stood up, and lowered her to her feet, Diana smiled again as he held his hand out to her. She was still smiling as he turned to her in the privacy of his bed and kissed her thoroughly. She had always loved this about Marcus - when he was with her, she felt like he would devour her whole. The impatient way his hands tugged at her clothing left her breathless. The rough edge of his callouses caught at her skin and she shivered and cursed as she fumbled with the catches of his clothing, working to strip him before he managed to get her naked. Sex with Marcus was a ride, but if she wanted her chance to touch, she had to take control early. Pushing him down, she glanced up from under her lashes and smirked before she took his erection into her mouth, humming in contentment.
Marcus swallowed back a harsh groan at the sensation of Diana using her tongue and lips to drive him mad. Hands tangling in her hair, he squeezed his eyes shut as she gripped him expertly, her familiarity with his body making it far to easy for her to make him beg. Gritting his teeth, he groaned and tugged at her hair. Instead of lifting up, she simply took him deeper into her mouth. Lips parting, Marcus groaned and breathed out harshly. Head tilting backwards, he closed his eyes as his breathing went ragged.
Diana hummed again, loving the way his hips trembled under her, the way his hands clenched the long strands of her hair. Loved that he let her do this, have this control when she needed it. It wouldn't last for long, it had been such a long time for both of them, but she relished each ragged groan, each helpless reaction to her touch. She felt him move and opened her eyes to look up at him from under her lashes when his fingertips grazed her cheek deliberately. Their eyes met, and Marcus' hips jerked up off the bed as he cursed. Abruptly his hands untangled themselves from her hair and curled around her upper arms, pulling her up his body. The sudden flex of muscle and press of his body as he flipped their positions, he barely gave her time to gasp in appreciation before he was between her thighs. Finding her wet and willing, her moan echoed in his ears when he tilted her hips up and pushed inside her.
Hot, wet, and Diana was right. It had been a while, and Marcus paused as he bottomed out. He'd never been so close to the edge before, and he fought for composure as Diana bared her throat and purred. Taking a deep breath, Marcus finally started to thrust, his eyes trained on Diana's throat and his eyebrows drawn together in fierce concentration. Long legs wrapped around his waist and the faint sting of her nails against his shoulder blades made his shiver. Her lashes lifted and when their eyes met, Marcus faltered; his hips jerking as he lost his rhythm. They stared at one another for a heart beat, before Marcus dropped his face into the dip of her shoulder.
Diana jerked under him when he found his rhythm again, hands digging into the muscles of his back desperately as his teeth grazed the muscle of her shoulder. Panting, she couldn't stop the moan as he pushed back inside her, her body slowly beginning to tingle. Fuck, it had been a while since she'd had sex with Marcus, but the wait had been worth it.
The width of his shoulders blocked out the light, and Diana turned her head on the pillow and panted against his skin of those broad shoulders. His hips never stopped moving, and Diana swallowed as Marcus rotated his hips on a withdrawal, and she cried out when on the return, he snapped his hips towards hers. Hard. Not fast - no, Marcus loved this far too much for it to be over too quickly. He preferred his sex slow, with heavy thrusts that she would be feeling for days. She always did. Thick and heavy inside her, Diana began to tremble on every slow withdrawal, and when he shifted his knee on the bed to widen the V of her thighs, Diana skimmed her hand up his back and fisted it his hair.
"Fuck...."
A muggle curse, one that rarely passed his lips, and it was muttered into her skin as she tightened around him. His lips were moving against her skin and she shuddered at the scrap of his teeth against her skin in direct counterpoint to the way his body was moving against hers. His rhythm began to turn choppy but it didn't matter as the tightness in her belly grew unbearable. As it finally snapped, she heard the snarl that escaped his lips as he lifted his head to watch her. Her eyes were already blurring with pleasure, blinding her to everything, but the burn of an intense orgasm. She cried out softly, her fingers digging into his upper arms and Marcus bit his lip to bite back his own voice while he watched her. And as he watched her, as he felt her pulse around him, he tried to ignore the fact that her eyes were blue.