Slytherin Quidditch gods have taken over my brain
Title: Marcus receives a letter
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zeft
Set: Several years post-Hogwarts and post-Voldemort
Characters: VictorMarcusMuse Flint (ahahahahaha) and Penelope Clearwater, with mentions of Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood and Teagan Moran (and other characters)
Pairing: Marcus/Penelope, with Oliver/Teagan if you squint
Genre: General/Snark (yes, that is a genre)/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendos and Marcus's language (and mushiness)
Word Count: 1,844
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back. Satisfied, disclaimer nazis?
Summary: Professional Quidditch player Marcus Fint is at home with his pregnant wife when he receives some unwelcome news.
Author's Notes: I'm trying to get a bit up each day to push my writing muscle into gear for NaNo. I'm fairly happy with this one. It could be part of a larger fic, but works as a one-shot. Dedicated to Millie for Evil!Caveman!Le Bob!MarcusMuse! *ahem* ;p
* ~ * ~ *
Despite the chill of the early autumn air, several occupants were perched on balconies of the revamped and remodernised apartments overlooking the River Thames, designed to house the up and coming of moderate, not modest, means. One such man was Marcus Flint. He sat in amongst the potted herbs and shrubbery that Penelope had dotted the area with, having nothing more but a green terrycloth robe and a pair of boxers to shield him from the bite of cold. With an espresso at his elbow and a cigarette in one hand, he was comfortable, only more in his element when slamming a Quaffle home for the pro Quidditch team he plied his trade for. And when…well, his co-participant in that particular activity was currently dead to the world, snoozing away beneath the covers in the bedroom that was positioned just behind the wall to his back. She was the reason why the cigarette was being taken outside. That, and her condition.
Suddenly he was grinning from ear to ear. Who would have thought that Marcus Aurelis Flint, one of the most reticient and anti-social pricks even by Slytherin standards, would have married the prettiest girl in his year (and a year he’d only made his own by failing his NEWTs the previous one, which just showed that sometimes even the crappiest things could lead to something wonderful and unplanned - if he allowed himself that particular train of Gryffindorian optimist smut) and soon have a family on the way? And who would have thought that Penelope Lucia Clearwater, fit but anal Head Girl extraordinaire who had spent her time in Hogwarts not hitting the books snogging something even less appealing than his Potions text in the form of Weasley, would have been paired with him during their Auror training days and would have ended up to be so bloody…well, wonderful and everything? The hardness and ice from their student days had still been present, but there was also a warmth and a softness and - once he’d dug deeper - humanity and vulnerability. She still followed the rules by the letter, but over time he’d come to understand why she stuck with them, which was pretty much the same reasons why he didn’t stick to them, and they had reached an understanding. Oh, what an understanding.
The air from a flutter of wings disturbed from his reverie and he put down his coffee, running a hand along the feathers of his owl Emmanuel before taking the scroll clutched in his talents. Before he could open though, he was joined by a third presence on the balcony. He looked up at where Penelope stood, clutching a cup of that putrid peppermint tea stuff she’d starting drinking and blinking. Removing his wand from the pocket of his robe, he stubbed out the cigarette and then performed a charm to get rid of the smoke. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, noticing with alarm that she looked pale.
“Yeah.” Penelope brushed a brown curl off her face and sat down gingerly next to him. She was clutching the cup of tea as if the weight was too heavy for her long-fingered hand. “Just a bit of morning sickness, that’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” He shifted over and helped her onto the wooden bench next him, sliding a cushion behind her back. “I mean, that young Mediwitch assigned to you, she didn’t look too competent.”
“You mean Alicia Spinnet?” Despite her waness Penelope looked as though she was on the verge of laughing at his protectiveness, which made him harrumph a little, but he was glad to see a bit of colour back in her cheeks. Even if it was caused by amusement at him. “The very same Mediwitch who got Outstandings on her Potions and Herbology NEWTs, and who Fleur Delacour personally recommended to me? No, this just comes with the deal, Marcus. It’s what being a female and pregnant is about.”
“Well, screw being female and pregnant then,” Marcus shrugged. “You guys definitely got the raw part of the deal. In comparison to us guys, that is.” Then seeing his wife was starting to look distinctly less amused, he added with a hopeful wince, “Er, sorry? For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a much better job than I would in your position - and stuff.”
“Yes, and don’t you forget it,” Penelope said with some satisfaction. Whoever said that Ravenclaws couldn’t be smug had obvious never been proved wrong in a debate by one. At least as often as he had. “Really, Marcus, you needn’t fuss over me so. I haven’t even begun to show properly yet.”
“Yeah, but your stomach’s hard. And the first trimester is the one where you’re most likely to miscarry.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “I should have never let you read those books.”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Like most other Slytherins, whenever an attempt to care was refused, however gently, Marcus got sulky. “I can’t wait until you start to show. I think you’re going to have the best baby bump and that you’ll look real cute.”
“When I waddle, you mean?” The light freckles on her nose scrunched up. “Like a duck?”
“I’ve never had a pet duck,” Marcus grinned. “We can call you Lumpy.” Penelope punched the arm he’d slung over her shoulders, though not as heavily as he might have done. He was careful not to put too much of his weight on her these days. Even - no, especially - during certain scenarios. More specifically the ones that had led to this situation in the first place. “Nah, you wouldn’t waddle. You’ll glide. Like a swan.”
“Tease,” Penelope said, snuggling deeper into his side. She glanced down at the scroll in your hand. “Are you going to open that or not?”
“Course not,” Marcus shrugged. “At least not in front of you. It’s from my mistress.”
“I don’t think so. No other woman will have you. Besides, it has the grey Falmouth Falcons seal. So it can only be work.”
“Excellent.” He brightened. “Bobbins was making hints about how he was this close to signing another Seeker before training last Friday. Who knows, he may have even lured that git Potter away from the Canons, though one bloody sanctimonious Gryffindor on the team with Wood is enough. How we even got him to dot the i’s and cross the t’s for us in the first place, I don’t know. Falmouth’s style is a bit too-” Penelope looked as though she was trying not to smile “-robust for them.”
“I do hope you’re not too horrid to poor Oli.”
“Pah. He brings it on himself.” At the Ravenclaw’s reproving look, he added quickly, “Nah, I’m the captain. I have to maintain team spirit and stop the players from picking on each other too much. I look after him.”
“In a matter of speaking.” Penelope’s mouth twitched. “Those poor young boys are so lucky to have you as a role model, Marcus. Where would they get their sense of gentlemanly decorum from otherwise?”
“Hey, I’m not the worst by any means. Truth be told, I was hoping that Teagan’s presence would calm them down some after she signed.” Teagan Moran was one of the Irish Chasing stars of the past two World Cups, and a large part of the reason why they were currently fourth in the league. “Well, it stopped the worst of the potty talk for a while, but now it’s back to the level it was. They see her as one of the crew now, and they figured out pretty quick that there’s no point wasting the effort to be polite and chivalrous and whatnot around a bird that you’ll never shag. The only one who keeps a civil tongue in his head when she’s there is Wood. Boys will be boys,” he elaborated, somewhat defensively, as Penelope glared at him.
“Oli is a gentleman,” she said reproachfully.
“Wood’s got no balls. At least, where girls are concerned. Well, at least none of them would be touching her anyway. Not with me around.”
“Marcus, have you ever considered that you should be a less overprotective where she’s concerned? I mean, they can’t all be that bad. Perhaps without you glowering over her shoulder all the time, she might actually be able to spend some one-on-one time with them and decide that she likes him.”
“One-on-one time?” He spat out his coffee. “Her? With those wankers? Fuck, no.” Penelope glowered at his language. “And stop looking at me like that. It can’t hear. I have seven whole months before I have to start worrying about being a good influence. But Teagan - and one of them? Over my dead and decapitated corpse. And yes, I know that by it being a corpse, then saying it’s also dead is redundancy,” he blazed on as Penelope opened her mouth. “Not a single one of them is good enough for her! They’re all crass, and foul-mouthed, and only ever associate birds with one thing.”
“Much like you when you were unattached, in other words.” Penelope opined dryly. Marcus stopped suddenly and gazed open-mouthed at her. “Look, they’re single and they’re young and they’re idolised Quidditch stars. So what you’re seeing now is them at their absolute worst around women. I’d daresay their behaviour would be significantly better if they met one that they actually cared for.”
“Yeah, well, Teagan doesn’t have your training skills,” he rapped out. “Wood - as much as it pains me to admit it - is about the only one who doesn’t need to go to dog obedience school.” He paused and ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which was trailing around his ears. Penelope had been nagging him about its length for the last three years, but he wasn’t budging. “Sorry to rant at you, love. Anyway, let’s see what Bobbins is waffling on about.” He slid open the letter. “Aha, he has found a new Seeker! An unknown, but very promising he says. And someone I’d be familiar with.” His dark eyes scanned the page, then widened in horror. He sat mutely for a few seconds, then leapt to his feet, throwing the parchment away in disgust. “Oh no. Fucking Merlin, no! Damn, damn, damn him!” He kicked at a potplant angrily, then let out a torrent of language that would have had a woman more faint-hearted than his wife reaching for the smelling salts.
“Oh for goodness sake, Marcus.” Penelope charmed off the tea that she’d spilt on her lap when Marcus had reacted to the contents of the letter. “Calm down. Let’s just sit and think about this logically for a moment, shall we? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“Not that bad?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Not that bad? And I'm not the one who’s being illogical! I’ll tell you what’s bad. He’s decided to get off his daddy’s trust fund and is coming to play with us, that’s what’s bad. Bloody blimmin’ Higgs!”
The End
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zeft
Set: Several years post-Hogwarts and post-Voldemort
Characters: VictorMarcusMuse Flint (ahahahahaha) and Penelope Clearwater, with mentions of Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood and Teagan Moran (and other characters)
Pairing: Marcus/Penelope, with Oliver/Teagan if you squint
Genre: General/Snark (yes, that is a genre)/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendos and Marcus's language (and mushiness)
Word Count: 1,844
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back. Satisfied, disclaimer nazis?
Summary: Professional Quidditch player Marcus Fint is at home with his pregnant wife when he receives some unwelcome news.
Author's Notes: I'm trying to get a bit up each day to push my writing muscle into gear for NaNo. I'm fairly happy with this one. It could be part of a larger fic, but works as a one-shot. Dedicated to Millie for Evil!Caveman!Le Bob!MarcusMuse! *ahem* ;p
* ~ * ~ *
Despite the chill of the early autumn air, several occupants were perched on balconies of the revamped and remodernised apartments overlooking the River Thames, designed to house the up and coming of moderate, not modest, means. One such man was Marcus Flint. He sat in amongst the potted herbs and shrubbery that Penelope had dotted the area with, having nothing more but a green terrycloth robe and a pair of boxers to shield him from the bite of cold. With an espresso at his elbow and a cigarette in one hand, he was comfortable, only more in his element when slamming a Quaffle home for the pro Quidditch team he plied his trade for. And when…well, his co-participant in that particular activity was currently dead to the world, snoozing away beneath the covers in the bedroom that was positioned just behind the wall to his back. She was the reason why the cigarette was being taken outside. That, and her condition.
Suddenly he was grinning from ear to ear. Who would have thought that Marcus Aurelis Flint, one of the most reticient and anti-social pricks even by Slytherin standards, would have married the prettiest girl in his year (and a year he’d only made his own by failing his NEWTs the previous one, which just showed that sometimes even the crappiest things could lead to something wonderful and unplanned - if he allowed himself that particular train of Gryffindorian optimist smut) and soon have a family on the way? And who would have thought that Penelope Lucia Clearwater, fit but anal Head Girl extraordinaire who had spent her time in Hogwarts not hitting the books snogging something even less appealing than his Potions text in the form of Weasley, would have been paired with him during their Auror training days and would have ended up to be so bloody…well, wonderful and everything? The hardness and ice from their student days had still been present, but there was also a warmth and a softness and - once he’d dug deeper - humanity and vulnerability. She still followed the rules by the letter, but over time he’d come to understand why she stuck with them, which was pretty much the same reasons why he didn’t stick to them, and they had reached an understanding. Oh, what an understanding.
The air from a flutter of wings disturbed from his reverie and he put down his coffee, running a hand along the feathers of his owl Emmanuel before taking the scroll clutched in his talents. Before he could open though, he was joined by a third presence on the balcony. He looked up at where Penelope stood, clutching a cup of that putrid peppermint tea stuff she’d starting drinking and blinking. Removing his wand from the pocket of his robe, he stubbed out the cigarette and then performed a charm to get rid of the smoke. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, noticing with alarm that she looked pale.
“Yeah.” Penelope brushed a brown curl off her face and sat down gingerly next to him. She was clutching the cup of tea as if the weight was too heavy for her long-fingered hand. “Just a bit of morning sickness, that’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” He shifted over and helped her onto the wooden bench next him, sliding a cushion behind her back. “I mean, that young Mediwitch assigned to you, she didn’t look too competent.”
“You mean Alicia Spinnet?” Despite her waness Penelope looked as though she was on the verge of laughing at his protectiveness, which made him harrumph a little, but he was glad to see a bit of colour back in her cheeks. Even if it was caused by amusement at him. “The very same Mediwitch who got Outstandings on her Potions and Herbology NEWTs, and who Fleur Delacour personally recommended to me? No, this just comes with the deal, Marcus. It’s what being a female and pregnant is about.”
“Well, screw being female and pregnant then,” Marcus shrugged. “You guys definitely got the raw part of the deal. In comparison to us guys, that is.” Then seeing his wife was starting to look distinctly less amused, he added with a hopeful wince, “Er, sorry? For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a much better job than I would in your position - and stuff.”
“Yes, and don’t you forget it,” Penelope said with some satisfaction. Whoever said that Ravenclaws couldn’t be smug had obvious never been proved wrong in a debate by one. At least as often as he had. “Really, Marcus, you needn’t fuss over me so. I haven’t even begun to show properly yet.”
“Yeah, but your stomach’s hard. And the first trimester is the one where you’re most likely to miscarry.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “I should have never let you read those books.”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Like most other Slytherins, whenever an attempt to care was refused, however gently, Marcus got sulky. “I can’t wait until you start to show. I think you’re going to have the best baby bump and that you’ll look real cute.”
“When I waddle, you mean?” The light freckles on her nose scrunched up. “Like a duck?”
“I’ve never had a pet duck,” Marcus grinned. “We can call you Lumpy.” Penelope punched the arm he’d slung over her shoulders, though not as heavily as he might have done. He was careful not to put too much of his weight on her these days. Even - no, especially - during certain scenarios. More specifically the ones that had led to this situation in the first place. “Nah, you wouldn’t waddle. You’ll glide. Like a swan.”
“Tease,” Penelope said, snuggling deeper into his side. She glanced down at the scroll in your hand. “Are you going to open that or not?”
“Course not,” Marcus shrugged. “At least not in front of you. It’s from my mistress.”
“I don’t think so. No other woman will have you. Besides, it has the grey Falmouth Falcons seal. So it can only be work.”
“Excellent.” He brightened. “Bobbins was making hints about how he was this close to signing another Seeker before training last Friday. Who knows, he may have even lured that git Potter away from the Canons, though one bloody sanctimonious Gryffindor on the team with Wood is enough. How we even got him to dot the i’s and cross the t’s for us in the first place, I don’t know. Falmouth’s style is a bit too-” Penelope looked as though she was trying not to smile “-robust for them.”
“I do hope you’re not too horrid to poor Oli.”
“Pah. He brings it on himself.” At the Ravenclaw’s reproving look, he added quickly, “Nah, I’m the captain. I have to maintain team spirit and stop the players from picking on each other too much. I look after him.”
“In a matter of speaking.” Penelope’s mouth twitched. “Those poor young boys are so lucky to have you as a role model, Marcus. Where would they get their sense of gentlemanly decorum from otherwise?”
“Hey, I’m not the worst by any means. Truth be told, I was hoping that Teagan’s presence would calm them down some after she signed.” Teagan Moran was one of the Irish Chasing stars of the past two World Cups, and a large part of the reason why they were currently fourth in the league. “Well, it stopped the worst of the potty talk for a while, but now it’s back to the level it was. They see her as one of the crew now, and they figured out pretty quick that there’s no point wasting the effort to be polite and chivalrous and whatnot around a bird that you’ll never shag. The only one who keeps a civil tongue in his head when she’s there is Wood. Boys will be boys,” he elaborated, somewhat defensively, as Penelope glared at him.
“Oli is a gentleman,” she said reproachfully.
“Wood’s got no balls. At least, where girls are concerned. Well, at least none of them would be touching her anyway. Not with me around.”
“Marcus, have you ever considered that you should be a less overprotective where she’s concerned? I mean, they can’t all be that bad. Perhaps without you glowering over her shoulder all the time, she might actually be able to spend some one-on-one time with them and decide that she likes him.”
“One-on-one time?” He spat out his coffee. “Her? With those wankers? Fuck, no.” Penelope glowered at his language. “And stop looking at me like that. It can’t hear. I have seven whole months before I have to start worrying about being a good influence. But Teagan - and one of them? Over my dead and decapitated corpse. And yes, I know that by it being a corpse, then saying it’s also dead is redundancy,” he blazed on as Penelope opened her mouth. “Not a single one of them is good enough for her! They’re all crass, and foul-mouthed, and only ever associate birds with one thing.”
“Much like you when you were unattached, in other words.” Penelope opined dryly. Marcus stopped suddenly and gazed open-mouthed at her. “Look, they’re single and they’re young and they’re idolised Quidditch stars. So what you’re seeing now is them at their absolute worst around women. I’d daresay their behaviour would be significantly better if they met one that they actually cared for.”
“Yeah, well, Teagan doesn’t have your training skills,” he rapped out. “Wood - as much as it pains me to admit it - is about the only one who doesn’t need to go to dog obedience school.” He paused and ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which was trailing around his ears. Penelope had been nagging him about its length for the last three years, but he wasn’t budging. “Sorry to rant at you, love. Anyway, let’s see what Bobbins is waffling on about.” He slid open the letter. “Aha, he has found a new Seeker! An unknown, but very promising he says. And someone I’d be familiar with.” His dark eyes scanned the page, then widened in horror. He sat mutely for a few seconds, then leapt to his feet, throwing the parchment away in disgust. “Oh no. Fucking Merlin, no! Damn, damn, damn him!” He kicked at a potplant angrily, then let out a torrent of language that would have had a woman more faint-hearted than his wife reaching for the smelling salts.
“Oh for goodness sake, Marcus.” Penelope charmed off the tea that she’d spilt on her lap when Marcus had reacted to the contents of the letter. “Calm down. Let’s just sit and think about this logically for a moment, shall we? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“Not that bad?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Not that bad? And I'm not the one who’s being illogical! I’ll tell you what’s bad. He’s decided to get off his daddy’s trust fund and is coming to play with us, that’s what’s bad. Bloody blimmin’ Higgs!”
The End