The extremely private thoughts of an extremely disappointed Katie Bell
"You don't hold any mystery for me, darling. You don't. There isn't a particle of you I don't know, remember, and want." -- Noel Coward
Marcus. Fucking. Flint. She's going to the Gala with Marcus fucking Flint. We've called him that so many times, I'm beginning to think that's his middle name.
I'm on the verge of running into her room and asking if she remembers anything from school or even before then. Yes, granted, people can chance -- Alex is proof enough of that -- but, gah! Being kicked off course during a Quidditch match even as six-year-olds, hauling Angelina to the hospital wing after being run into the stands and knocked out, and just plain defending our Gryffindorish tendencies day after day for five years straight. All the work of the one and only Marcus Flint.
If its what it takes to make her happy, I won't say a word.
Marcus. Fucking. Flint. She's going to the Gala with Marcus fucking Flint. We've called him that so many times, I'm beginning to think that's his middle name.
I'm on the verge of running into her room and asking if she remembers anything from school or even before then. Yes, granted, people can chance -- Alex is proof enough of that -- but, gah! Being kicked off course during a Quidditch match even as six-year-olds, hauling Angelina to the hospital wing after being run into the stands and knocked out, and just plain defending our Gryffindorish tendencies day after day for five years straight. All the work of the one and only Marcus Flint.
If its what it takes to make her happy, I won't say a word.