FIC: "Flint: Staff Reporter" for katelinmr
Recipient: katelinmr
Author/Artist: ???
Title: Flint: Staff Reporter
Rating: PG
Pairings: Marcus Flint/Dudley Dursley, Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Word Count: +/- 6500
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *None*.
Summary: Marcus Flint is determined to make his journalistic mark on the world, but upon setting out to get his big story, he discovers something far more intriguing along the way.
Author's/Artist's Notes: katelinmr, you provided an fabulous list of characters, thank you. I did my best with your suggestions, and I hope this suits. Thanks also to our new mod for continuing to carry the Beholder torch! :)
***
Flint: Staff Reporter
***
Sighing, Marcus stared the blank parchment in front of him. His Quick-Quotes Quill, a gift from his mother which, unfortunately, hadn’t been put to much use of late, sat quietly on his desk. Well, I say it’s a desk, but it’s more like a crate with legs.
“Flint!”
Wincing, Marcus stood up and hurried to his editor’s office. Here it comes. Maybe he’s finally ready to let me write. “Yes, sir? Do you have a writing assignment for me?” he asked, sticking his head around the door.
Cuffe, his editor, was at his desk. Looking up, he scoffed. “Writing? You? Oh, please, don’t make me laugh. My staff writers are go-getters, not layabouts. A good writer doesn’t need an assignment. If you’ve got it in you, you find your own topics.”
“But, sir--”
Cuffe sighed. “Look, Flint. I agreed to give you a job here as a favour to Horace Slughorn, and the only reason I’ve even kept you on is because someone has to make the tea, and everyone else is too busy actually working.” Cuffe held up his mug. “So do what you were hired for and get me a refill.”
“Yes, sir.” Dejected, Marcus took the cup and went to the office’s tiny kitchen. Cuffe was too cheap to hire a tea service, so the staff took turns bringing in supplies and as a result, the tea was atrocious.
Cuffe took his with milk and three sugars. Disgusting, thought Marcus as he carried the mug back into Cuffe’s office. It must taste awful. Placing it on Cuffe’s desk, Marcus cleared his throat.
“What?” snapped Cuffe, looking up at him. “I’m busy!”
“Sir, maybe I could start small? I could start with an article about--”
Cuffe held up a hand, not even looking at Marcus. “Unless you can get an exclusive interview with Harry sodding Potter, don’t even bother me.”
Marcus’ mouth dropped open. “But no one’s been able to get an interview with Potter since the end of the war.”
“Exactly.” Cuffe dipped his quill in ink. “It has the same chance of happening as you do of becoming a staff writer for this paper. Now go away and stop bothering me. I’ll let you know when I need more tea.”
Marcus dragged himself out of the office and back to his makeshift desk. At first he’d been thrilled at the opportunity to be a writer. It’d long been a goal of his. But after being at the Daily Prophet for eight months, it was clear no one was going to give him any breaks.
So maybe I should go out and get my own break. But what can I write about? Marcus blinked. Salazar! Cuffe told me. I just need to find a way to interview Potter and I’ll be all set. If I can swing that I’ll finally be a real reporter. Maybe they’ll even give me a regular column, like Skeeter.
Marcus allowed himself a moment to dream. He could see it-- his name flashing on the cover of the newspaper, Cuffe offering him an assignment... And maybe then I’d finally be on my way in this business.
A shout startled him out of his daydream. “We’re out of tea again, Flint!”
Sighing, Marcus rose and went to make more. As he set about the familiar task he pondered his options. How do I find Potter? No one knew where he lived or any private information about him. He’d made sure of that, ever since the tell-all article Skeeter had written immediately after the war.
He’s a public figure, though. There must be someone who-- Eyes widening, Marcus almost dropped the canister of tea he was holding as an idea occurred to him. The records room! Of course. There’s bound to be some clue there.
Decision made, he hurriedly finished up, and after making sure there was enough tea to satisfy Cuffe, he slipped out the door and down the stairs.
The records room wasn’t ever especially crowded. Marcus had never seen more than one or two others there. Which, he suspected, could have been because of the new records keeper. “Hullo, Nott.”
Theo Nott, records keeper for the Daily Prophet, looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed. “What do you want?”
Marcus coughed. Good thing we’re sort of friends now. I’d hate to see him with someone he dislikes. “I’m looking for some information.”
Nott crossed his arms. “Oh? What sort of information?”
Lowering his voice, Marcus murmured, “I need to get close to Harry Potter.”
Nott blinked, then laughed. Marcus hadn’t actually known he could do that. “Harry Potter? Are you mad? Not only is his home Unplottable, but his life practically is, too.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”
Nott rolled his eyes. “He’s an Auror. Slated to become Head Auror, in fact. Yet that’s all anyone knows about him. Haven’t you noticed that none of his friends talk about him? Actually, not even his enemies talk about him.” Nott pursed his lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he performed some sort of spell to make people reluctant to discuss him.”
“But that’s not possible--”
Nott snorted. “Of course it is. Don’t you remember what the Dark Lord did with his name? This is just a variant of that. Not that difficult to do, honestly.”
Marcus sagged, feeling defeated. “Damn. I’ll never get to be a reporter unless I get an exclusive. Interviewing Potter would be perfect. I’d have my pick of assignments.”
“You’re still set about that?”
Marcus huffed. “Yes, I’m still on about that. It’s what I want to do! I’ve told you that.”
Nott shrugged. “You used to be decent a Quidditch player, maybe you should try that again.”
“I’m too old.” Marcus automatically fingered the scar on his cheek that never seemed to fade. “Plus, I wasn’t good enough to do it professionally, you know that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nott turned away, holding up his hand. “Fine, there may be one way you can get to Potter. Accio!”
“Oh?” Marcus’ eyes widened as an old copy of the Prophet landed in Nott’s hand. “What’s that?”
Nott smirked, grabbing a parchment. Scribbling something on it, he slid it towards Marcus. “Potter may have control of his friends and enemies, but in my experience, not many people have total control of their family.”
***
Dudley crossed his arms and glared at the weedy bloke facing him. “Look, either I see proof of age or you’re not getting in.”
The bloke began to bluster. “Come on, mate! My girlfriend’s in there and--”
“I don’t care if your girlfriend, her twin sister, and three of her cousins are in there, and they all promised you a ruddy orgy, you’re not getting in without proof of age.” Dudley smirked down at the git.
The bloke tried to dart around Dudley and into the club, but since Dudley had been waiting for such a move, he simply grabbed the twerp, lifted him off his feet, and pitched him bodily into the alley.
Several birds who’d also been waiting to get in giggled. Dudley waved them all in without checking their identification.
“Oi!” whinged the bloke. “Not fair!”
Dudley stepped towards him, amused when he scooted backwards. “Whatever I decide is fair around here. Now get out.”
The bloke scrammed and Dudley went back to bouncing. He scanned the crowd, making note of lads he thought could cause trouble, even as he eyed others he thought were rather fit. He liked his men tough, built. No one wants to feel like the bloke he’s shagging will break, after all.
Behind him, throbbing music was pouring out of Club Pegasus. As one of the hottest new clubs in town, the crowds trying to get in were often large. Which was fortunate for Dudley, who had quickly realised that the club’s popularity was providing him job security. Though he counted himself lucky to get his job, it could be boring. And, in a strange way, it made meeting men difficult. I guess it can turn them off if I have to toss them out on their ear.
Sighing, Dudley thought back to when he’d finally come out to his parents. They’d reacted rather predictably, his mother by wringing her hands and crying, his father by shouting. And after the dust had settled, Dudley had found himself chucked out, looking for a job. Luckily, his best mate hadn’t even been surprised when he’d come out to him.
“I’ve known that for ages,” Piers had said. “You can stay with me for a few days.”
A few days had turned into a few months and Dudley would probably would still be living there if Piers hadn’t knocked his girlfriend up. They’d got married soon after forcing Dudley to move out, but by then he’d snagged a job bouncing at a local club alongside Piers, and had saved enough to rent his own flat. It was nothing posh but it was his and he was rather proud of it, truth be told. Mainly because it was all his.
Dudley blinked, straightening up. There was a bloke approaching with something odd about him. It took Dudley a moment, but then it clicked. His clothes are a bit dodgy. He looks like those nutters that used to hang about my parents’ house at night. Wonder what he wants--
“Are you Dudley Dursley?” the man asked.
Dudley narrowed his eyes. The bloke was probably a few years older than he was and a bit taller, but Dudley thought he could defend himself if he had to. He’d been a boxer, after all. “Who wants to know?” he snapped, immediately suspicious.
“My name’s Marcus Flint.” Flint coughed. “And I can see you’re working, but if I could have a couple of minutes, I’d like to talk to you.”
Dudley considered that man. He was solidly built. Not obese but definitely just on the wrong side of muscled. He looks like he’s played a football match or two, though. And has indulged in a pint or three as well. Interest stirring, Dudley crossed his arm. “About what?”
Flint licked his lips. “About a friend of mine. And yours. Harry Potter.”
“Harry P--” Dudley gaped at him. “Fuck off.”
Flint’s eyes widened. “But, er-- He...referred me to you.”
“He what?” Dudley scowled. “Quit having me on. You’re one of them,. Aren’t you people supposed to stay hidden and all?”
Flint coughed. “Er--”
The people queued up behind Flint were beginning to get restless and, irritated, Dudley muttered, “Right, well, just get out of the way and let me deal with these people, then I’ll deal with you.”
After a hesitation, Flint nodded, and as Dudley began either ushering people inside or sending them packing, he stepped aside. Dudley watched him out of the corner of his eye as he worked, noting that he wasn’t fidgety like many people would be in that situation. Since fidgety people annoyed Dudley, his estimation of Flint went up a notch.
Once he’d cleared the queue a bit, he signalled to David, his relief that night since Piers was off, before stepped aside and inclined his head towards the street. “I’m on a break. There’s a coffee shop around the corner where we can chat.”
Flint fell into step beside him and within moments they were settled at a table. The server brought two coffees then left them alone. “So what do you want? Aren’t you people supposed to leave us alone unless there’s an emergency?” He frowned. “Wait, is this an emergency? We don’t have to go into hiding again, do we? I don’t think Mum and Dad will tolerate--”
“No, nothing like that!” Flint fiddled with his coffee cup. “I’m a...journalist, actually. I’m writing a story on Potter and I though it’d be good to take a different angle on things. Talk to his family. You’re his cousin, right?”
“Yeah.” Dudley stared at Flint. “You’re a writer?”
“Er, sort of.” Flint took a quick sip of coffee. “I’m working on that bit.”
“Right.” Flint looked like no writer Dudley had ever seen, although really, Dudley didn’t know very many. Maybe they all looked like slightly pudgy ex-footballers? “So what is it you want to know?”
Flint leaned forward. “You grew up with Potter, right? I’m thinking about doing a background piece on him. Maybe with some previously unknown details of his childhood, you know? I think the public would be very interested in how Potter’s upbringing influenced the man he’s become.”
“And you said Harry told you to talk to me?”
After hesitating, Flint nodded. “Er, yeah.”
Dudley crossed his arms. “You don’t actually know Harry at all, do you?”
“I--” Flint sagged. “Not well. We did go to school together, but we weren’t close. We’re definitely not friends. I tried interviewing his friends but none of them would talk to me.” He frowned. “How did you know?”
Sighing, Dudley drank his coffee and stalled for time. How to tell this stranger that Harry had been mistreated? Having had time over the prior months to think about all he and his parents had done to Harry, Dudley felt rather ashamed. “Because Harry and I aren’t close,” he finally said. “There’s no way he’d tell you to talk to me.”
“But he’s your cousin.”
“Yeah, he is.” Dudley looked away. “Only I never really acted like a proper one I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
Dudley nodded. Something about Flint’s silence was non-judgemental, accepting. It encouraged him to continue talking. “I hunted him, tormented him,” Dudley confessed. “I wasn’t very nice.”
To Dudley’s surprise, Flint didn’t seem bothered. Instead, he just looked interested. “Why?” he asked.
Dudley pondered the question. It was something he’d thought about while he and his parents had been in exile being guarded by wizards. “I think because he was special,” he finally said. “We felt like we had to put him in his place.” He sighed. “Even though we never talked about it we all knew he was special, but my parents don’t like anyone who’s different and I didn’t either when I was growing up. I think--” He paused. “I think he frightened us.”
“His magic, you mean?”
“Yeah, that was part of it,” Dudley said softly. “But it was also that he simply wasn’t like us. My mum once told me that he reminded her of her dead sister and it hurt her to look at him, which is why she made him sleep in a tiny room under the stairs.”
“You mean that rumour’s true?” Flint blinked. “We’d heard about that, but we all assumed it was rubbish.”
“We?”
Flint coughed. “I was in a rival House in school. We went up against Potter several times in...games.”
“Football?” asked Dudley. Annoyingly, his body reacted predictably as he imagined Flint all sweaty after a game. His hands shook and he hid them below the table. Damn, what the hell is my obsession with athletes? And I don’t even know if he’s gay. Working to compose himself, Dudley gestured towards the server for more coffee.
“Is that a Muggle game?” asked Flint.
“Yeah,” Dudley said, accepting another cup of coffee. “It’s pretty popular.”
“So’s Quidditch.” Flint smiled. He waited until the server was out of earshot before continuing. “Although we fly in our games. People don’t do that in football, do they?”
Dudley laughed, imaging his dad’s reaction if the footballers he watched on the telly started flying. “No.” Flint was grinning, too, and for a moment Dudley felt like he was on a date. What the hell’s wrong with me? I must need a shag.
Flint sipped his second cup of coffee. “So, you’ll agree to let me interview you? Potter certainly won’t talk to me, and I need this if I’m going to get anywhere in the newspaper business.”
And I’ll get to see you a few more times. Not a bad deal. Slowly, Dudley nodded. “All right. Why not?”
“Great!” Flint offered his hand. “Do you mind if I used a Quick-Quotes Quill?”
“A what?” Dudley felt a tingle race up his arm as they touched. He drew back his hand, nonplussed. Something made him look out the window, only to see a tall man in dark robes watching them. The moment their eyes met, the man turned away, melting into the shadows. Dudley shivered.
“You all right?” asked Flint.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dudley frowned. “So what’s a Quick-Quotes Quill?”
Flint smirked. “You’ll see.”
***
Dursley had to return to work, so Marcus bid him goodnight after they made plans to meet again the following evening. Watching him walk away, Marcus licked his lips. Decent bloke for all he’s Potter’s cousin. I thought he’d be a stuck up git.
Searching for a secluded spot from which it Apparate, he transported himself back to his flat. To his surprise, Nott was there waiting. “So, how’d it go?” he asked.
Dismantling his wards, Marcus gestured Not inside. “All right, I suppose. He’s agreed to let me interview him at least. Drink?”
“Ale’s good,” Nott said. “So what’s he like?”
“Potter’s cousin?” At Nott’s nod, Marcus shrugged. “Nothing like Potter. Big bloke, kinda burly. He’d make a fair Beater.” Reaching up, he caught the two bottles of ale he’d Summoned from the kitchen. “And he’s blond.” Handing one of the bottles to Nott, he settled on the sofa.
Depositing himself in a chair, Nott snorted. “You always did have a thing for blonds.”
Marcus held up two fingers. “I believe you’re confusing me for you. Wanker. Anyway, he’s not gay.”
“You don’t know that.” Nott smirked. “Unless you asked him?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Marcus said. “Of course I didn’t ask. And don’t Muggles have issues with that?”
“No idea. I’m no Muggle expert.” Nott sighed, settling back in his chair. “And I believe we’re both alone at night, so that makes us both wankers. Pillock.”
Marcus chuckled. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
Once Nott left, Marcus tossed the empty bottles and got ready for bed. The thought that he’d have to go to the Prophet offices the next day and make tea made him shiver. This article on Potter had better work, he thought, looking out his window into the dank alley behind his building. I’ll go spare if all I ever end up going is being a glorified house-elf for a newspaper.
The next day passed so slowly that Marcus thought he would go mad. And there was a meeting of the editorial staff, so he made endless pots of tea, which he serves to Cuffe and his colleagues as they discussed the ‘new direction of the media’ and pondered ‘expanding into other markets’, whatever that meant.
By the time he was done, Marcus was exhausted, but he dragged himself home, changed into what he hoped could pass for Muggle clothes, and went to Club Pegasus.
He hung back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching Dursley work. The man was clearly competent at what he did, managing to look intimidating and manacling when necessary yet almost welcoming to the people who he admitted to the club. And he really would make a fair beater, Marcus thought, eyeing the way his muscles filled out his shirt sleeves. Those arms look powerful.
He’d thought there had been a tingle when they’d shook hands the night before, but Marcus had immediately dismissed the idea. Only magical folk did that and Dursley was a Muggle. At least as far as anyone knew.
At about five minutes before they were supposed to meet, Marcus emerged from his secluded spot and started for the club’s door.
Dursley spotted him immediately and, turning around, said something to the rather scrawny bloke next to him. The man nodded and, turning to look in Marcus’ direction, smirked. He said something to Dursley who, interestingly, blushed.
A more heated exchange followed, ending with Dursley snapping something at the man, who shrugged before gently shoving him in Marcus’ direction.
“What was that all about?” asked Marcus as Dursley came within earshot.
Dursley rolled his eyes. “Piers is an idiot. Come on, let’s go.”
They went to the same coffee shop where the same server took their order. “I can just leave the coffee pot here,” she said, chewing away at her gum. “Save me the trouble of having to come back every few minutes.”
“Sure,” said Dursley. “We may be here a while.”
Once they were alone, Marcus discreetly drew his wand and sketched a shape in the air.
“What was that?” Dursley asked, looking suspicious.
Putting his wand away, Marcus said, “Because I’ll be using a Quick-Quotes Quill, I can’t allow the Muggles to see. It’s against wizarding law.”
Dursley’s eyes widened as Marcus pulled out the quill and it positioned itself over the pad of parchment. “How does that work?” he asked, mouth dropping open as the quill began to move.
“It writes down everything we say.” Marcus smiled. “Look, if it makes you nervous I can--”
“No, it’s fine.” Dursley dragged his gaze away from the quill. “Right, ask your questions.”
As they talked, a picture of Potter as a child began to emerge. Marcus, surprised, just let Dursley ramble. It’d clearly been a while since anyone had just sat and listened to him, and although he occasionally had to refocus the discussion on Potter, for the most part he stuck to the topic. Plus, it wasn’t as if Marcus minded spending time with him.
“...didn’t realise at the time that he was saving me of course. I couldn’t see anything so I thought he was mad. But when whatever those things were got a hold of me it felt like I was dying.” Dursley shuddered. “It was as if every good thing that had ever happened to me in my life was being sucked away.”
Marcus shivered. “Dementors,” he whispered. He’d not had many encounters with them, but the few times in his life he’d seen them they’d filled him with dread. “And Potter saved you?”
“Yeah.” Dursley drained his coffee cup. “He shouted something and a bright light flew out of the end of that stick of his and it was like I could hear and see again.”
“So was that when you decided that he wasn’t so bad?”
Dursley looked sheepish. “Not exactly. Harry got me home and my parents of course went mad, accusing him of trying to kill me. I tried to tell them that he’d saved me but they wouldn’t listen. I mean It wasn’t as if I actually saw anything, you know?” He sighed. “But I certainly felt it.”
Marcus nodded. “I think I read about that. Potter had to go on trial for doing magic in presence of a Muggle. I suppose that would have been you.”
“Guess so.”
Dursley looked away, staring out the window and into the street. He frowned and, concerned, Marcus glanced outside, too, but didn’t see anyone, so he returned to his perusal of Dursley. “Everything all right?”
“I thought I saw--” Dursley shook his head. “Sorry, guess I’m a bit paranoid. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You were talking about Potter saving you?”
“Right, I was. So I think I knew somehow that he saved me that night. I wasn’t nice to him or anything, but I stopped beating him up.” Dursley smiled ruefully. “Actually, I don’t think I could have beat him up by then. He always was a small kid but by then he was tough, wiry. And he had that bloody stick.”
Marcus nodded. “He’s a pretty powerful wizard these days, so...good call.”
“Is he?” Dursley laughed. “Yeah, well I’ve since figured that out. After a bunch of you lot showed up as a protection detail we guessed things were getting bad. They were bad for everyone, actually. I don’t think things would have stopped with magical people.”
Marcus shuddered. “Definitely not.”
“Anyway, my parents never could acknowledge that Harry could be doing something good, so they grumbled the entire time.” Dursley sighed. “But I made friends with one of them. A girl. Tonks? Anyway, she seemed sure Harry would take care of it, and I guess she was right. She had to go and fight, she said. Never saw her again. Whatever happened to her?”
“She died.” Marcus had spent weeks staring at the war casualty list when he’d first got to the Prophet. After all, he’d had nothing better to do. “Both she and her husband did. They had a son. Potter’s his godfather.”
“Figures.” Dursley toyed with his empty cup. “It’s a shame, she was pretty nice. Anyway, I never saw Harry again after he left our house that last time. Almost wish I could see him now.”
“Why?”
“Yes,” came a new voice, one that was eerily familiar. “I should be interested to know that as well.”
***
Dudley gasped, jumping to his feet. “You!” he blurted. “You were the man watching us from outside.”
Flint had gone pale. “Professor Snape?” he whispered.
“Indeed.”
Casually, Snape grabbed a chair from a nearby table to pulled it over. Sitting down, he crossed his arms and stared at Dudley, who felt like a specimen that was about to be dissected. “Why were you talking about Harry Potter?”
Flint exhaled. “Sir, I--”
Snape held up a hand. “I’ll get to you in a moment, Mr Flint. Right now I am questioning Mr Dursley.”
Dudley frowned. He’d said ‘Dursley’ the same way someone else might have said ‘shit’. “I don’t know that it’s any business of yours,” he huffed.
“Ah, but you see,” said Snape, leaning forward. The glint in his eyes made Dudley vey nervous. “I’m making it my business. And you will answer my question.”
“Harry’s my cousin!” Dudley blustered. “I can talk about him if I want. What’s he to you, anyway?”
“That is none of your concern.” Snape transferred his attention to Flint. “Turn that thing off immediately, Mr Flint.”
“What thing--? Oh.” Flint coughed, grabbing the quill. It immediately stopped moving. Dudley blinked, he’d actually forgotten about it. “Sorry,” muttered Flint.
“Now which one of you is going to explain to me why you two gentlemen are cozied up in this coffee shop, discussing Harry Potter?” Snape asked.
“How did you even know we were here, sir?” Flint said.
Snape raised an eyebrow and Flint immediately looked away. “I take a close interest in everything concerning Mr Potter. And my reasons for doing so are not your concern. Now, why are you here?”
“I’m writing an article on Potter for the Prophet,” Flint muttered. “And I don’t need your permission.”
“An article?” Snape hummed. “You don’t need my permission, no, but there are ways for me to ensure that your article, should I not approve of its contents, never makes it to publication.”
Flint’s eyes narrowed and Dudley could see the wheels turning. “Salazar! It’s you!” he finally said. “You’re the reason no one will talk about Potter! You and he must be--”
“I would advise you to be very careful about what you say next, Mr Flint.” Snape interrupted, his tone was silky, menacing. “Should there be any suggestion of anything...improper occurring between myself and Harry Potter make it into the public discourse, I shall be most displeased.”
Dudley blinked as he caught up with the conversation. “Wait. Are you saying that you and Harry are--?” He started laughing. “Mum and Dad were right! He is queer.”
Rage flashed across Snape’s face and he moved faster that Dudley could even see. A moment later he had his stick pointed in Dudley's face. Dudley stopped laughing. “How dare you?”
Flint coughed. “Sir, you shouldn’t--”
“Shut up.” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hex you, Dursley.”
“Because then I’ll be forced to take you in, Severus, and you know how I hate doing that.”
Dudley stared past Snape, his mouth dropping open. The night had suddenly become surreal. “Harry? Is that you?”
“Hey, Dudders.” Harry, clad in what looked like a rather militaristic uniform, walked towards the table. Despite himself, Dudley had to admit he looked impressive. “It’s been a while. Are you all right?”
Snape lowered his wand, but didn’t turn around. “He’s fine. And you have interesting timing, Auror Potter.”
Harry laughed and, to Dudley’s shock, came right up behind Snape and placed a hand on his arm. “I’ve put a trace on my family, Severus.” His tone was gentle. “I did it a while back. Ever since it occurred to me that someone could target them to try to get to me.”
“You put a what on me?” Dudley asked, eyes darting back and forth between Snape and Harry.
“Indeed.” Ignoring Dudley, Snape turned to look at Harry, and within seconds his stick disappeared. Dudley wasn’t sure where it went. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. “That was actually clever, Potter. You’re learning.”
Flint cleared his throat and they all turned to face him. “Since I’m almost done interviewing your cousin, Potter, maybe I could talk to you, too?”
“Interviewing?” Harry crossed his arms and Dudley could see how he might be considered intimidating. “Why the sudden interest in my life, Flint?”
“I just--” Flint huffed. “I work at the Daily Prophet but I’m just a glorified tea-elf. I want to be a writer, but the editor said he’d only let me write if I somehow got an exclusive interview with you.”
“So you tracked down my cousin.” Harry shook his head. “How’d you find him?”
“The Daily Prophet keeps tabs on everyone, Potter.” Flint sighed. “All I had to do was search through the records.”
“I imagine there are ways to remove all traces from their records,” murmured Snape, pursing his lips. “And these two can be Obliviated--”
“No!” Flint looked alarmed.
“What?” Dudley didn’t like the sound of that.
“Severus.” Harry actually sounded amused. “We’re not Obliviating anyone.”
“Harry, be sensible,” hissed Snape. “They are aware of our relationship. If they are allowed to retain that knowledge, people may find out. Your reputation could suffer--”
“So what?” Harry smiled. “I’ve been for telling people for a long time now.”
“Mr Flint, if you do not control that quill, I shall be forced to Banish it,” growled Snape, turning to Flint, who paled and grabbed his quill.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Excuse us a moment, will you?” He dragged Snape away before either Dudley or Flint could say anything. Moments later, they slipped outside.
“Right,” breathed Flint once they were alone. “That was unexpected.”
***
Marcus’ heart was pounding. He’d seen his former head of House irate before but the way he’s pulled his wand on Dursley had been frightening. “That was close.”
Dursley stared at him. “That Snape person wouldn’t really have hurt me, would he?”
“Not with Potter here, anyway.” Marcus glanced towards where Snape and Potter were talking. “I can’t believe it, though. This is the best scoop ever and now I’ll never be able to tell anyone.”
“What is? That they’re together?” Dursley smiled. “I think it’s brilliant. My parents would freak, but then, they lost it when I told them I was gay, so--”
“You’re what?” Marcus interrupted, staring at him.
“I’m gay.” Dursley sat back in his chair. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” And since Dursley wasn’t likely to take offence, Marcus gave him a slow once-over. “Not at all.”
To his delight, Dursley blushed. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to meet good blokes at the club, you know?”
Marcus nodded. “I do know, actually. Since I’m not allowed to do anything but make bloody tea at the paper, I don’t get to meet many good blokes there either.”
“So that’s why you’re doing this?” Dursley smirked. “To meet blokes?”
Following his instincts, Marcus reached across the table, clasping Dursley’s hand. “Well, it seems to be working so far.”
“You two seem to be getting along all right.” Wincing, Marcus looked up to see Potter standing there, Snape looming behind him. Deliberately, he held on to Dursley’s hand. “We’ve come to a decision.”
“Decision?” Dursley’s fingers tightened on Marcus’. “About?”
“About what to do about the two of you.” Snape’s cheeks were flushed and for a moment, Marcus wondered what Potter had done to put the colour there. “Potter is stubbornly insisting that he doesn’t care if others know about...us. Therefore, we have decided to allow you to keep your memories of this encounter.”
“Keep our memories?” Dursley’s mouth dropped open. “You can do that?”
“Dudders, there’s a lot of things we can do.” Potter sighed. “Not all of it good.”
Marcus frowned. “If you’re letting us keep our memories that means you’ll let me write an article about the two of you being together?” He grinned. “Merlin! Cuffe will have to let me be a staff reporter now.”
“Will he?” purred Snape. “And why is that?”
Marcus frowned. “Because he won’t dare pass up a scoop like this. Right?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “You believe he’ll let a junior reporter claim this story?”
“I--” Marcus paused. “Wait, you think he’ll steal he idea and have someone else write the article, don’t you?” Sadly, Marcus could see it happening. Cuffe was just that sort. Fuck me. He’ll give it to Skeeter. Or he’ll write it himself. He sagged.
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Snape smirked.
“How determined you to want to stay with the Prophet?” asked Potter. “Because there may be an alternative for you.”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What kind of alternative?”
Potter inclined his head. “Well, there are other newspapers.”
Slowly, Marcus smiled. “You know, you’re right. There are.”
***
“Marcus? Could you come in here, please?”
Putting down his quill, Marcus stood up and hurried towards his editor’s office.
“Ah, there you are.” Luna Lovegood was as odd woman but she was a fair boss and she had occasional moments of genius. “I have an idea for a story for you to work on.”
“Of course.” Marcus waited. It sometimes took Luna some time to collect her thoughts.
“You did so well with that story about Headmaster Snape and Harry, I thought you’d like to cover their wedding, too.”
“Their...wedding?” Marcus coughed. “I didn’t realise they were getting married.”
“Oh, they will be eventually.” Luna pursed her lips, staring at a parchment on her desk. “And, while you’re there, you could look for Blibbering Humdingers.”
Marcus coughed. “For what?”
“Oh, you’ve never seen one, have you?” Luna looked up at him, a speculative expression on her face. “Well you’re sure to see them there. It’s easier to see them when there’s romance in the air.”
Blushing, Marcus looked away from her suddenly perceptive eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
Luna stood up. “Do you think Theo would agree to attend the wedding with me?”
Marcus choked. Once Theo discovered that Marcus was leaving to work at the Quibbler, he’d quit the Prophet and applied there for a job. And the moment he’d seen Luna he’d been utterly smitten. “I think he could be persuaded.”
“Good.” As Luna walked past him, she said, “I think you should invite Harry’s cousin to go with you. I think the Humdingers would like you two.”
Before he could reply to that, Luna was gone. Marcus shook his head. Such a strange woman. Although quite perceptive. He smiled. Maybe I’ll go and see what Dudley’s doing--
Club Pegasus was busy, as usual, but Marcus didn’t have to wait long to get Dudley’s attention. He saw Piers spot him and nudge Dudley, and he saw Dudley’s big grin and wave. Moments later Dudley moved away from his post at the door, greeting him. “You’re early. Anything wrong?”
“Nope.” Clasping his hand, Marcus led him away. “I just had a sudden craving for coffee.”
“Is that so?” Dudley laughed. “And here I thought important journalists like you were above such things. Or are you hanging about trying to get another big scoop?”
“Actually,” Marcus murmured, pulling Dudley around the corner, “I’d hoped for something a lot better.” Dragging him into an alley, Marcus shoved Dudley against a wall before fusing their mouths together. Immediately, Dudley’s lips parted and he moaned into Marcus’ mouth as he arms went around him to drag him closer.
Pressing his tongue inside Dudley’s mouth, Marcus curled it around Dudley’s, letting them tangle lightly, playfully, and when he finally drew back panting, Dudley lingered, leaning forward to bite gently at Marcus’ bottom lip.
“That was definitely better than coffee,” Dudley whispered as they drew apart.
Marcus grinned. “Well, we don’t have to get coffee. I make a brilliant cuppa. My place?”
“Works for me,” Dudley said. “Maybe you can interview me again. Perhaps do a more...in depth one this time?”
Marcus chuckled. “I like the way you think,” he said. Having set out to get the scoop on Potter, he’d ended up discovering something far more important.
***The End***
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Author/Artist: ???
Title: Flint: Staff Reporter
Rating: PG
Pairings: Marcus Flint/Dudley Dursley, Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Word Count: +/- 6500
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *None*.
Summary: Marcus Flint is determined to make his journalistic mark on the world, but upon setting out to get his big story, he discovers something far more intriguing along the way.
Author's/Artist's Notes: katelinmr, you provided an fabulous list of characters, thank you. I did my best with your suggestions, and I hope this suits. Thanks also to our new mod for continuing to carry the Beholder torch! :)
***
Flint: Staff Reporter
***
Sighing, Marcus stared the blank parchment in front of him. His Quick-Quotes Quill, a gift from his mother which, unfortunately, hadn’t been put to much use of late, sat quietly on his desk. Well, I say it’s a desk, but it’s more like a crate with legs.
“Flint!”
Wincing, Marcus stood up and hurried to his editor’s office. Here it comes. Maybe he’s finally ready to let me write. “Yes, sir? Do you have a writing assignment for me?” he asked, sticking his head around the door.
Cuffe, his editor, was at his desk. Looking up, he scoffed. “Writing? You? Oh, please, don’t make me laugh. My staff writers are go-getters, not layabouts. A good writer doesn’t need an assignment. If you’ve got it in you, you find your own topics.”
“But, sir--”
Cuffe sighed. “Look, Flint. I agreed to give you a job here as a favour to Horace Slughorn, and the only reason I’ve even kept you on is because someone has to make the tea, and everyone else is too busy actually working.” Cuffe held up his mug. “So do what you were hired for and get me a refill.”
“Yes, sir.” Dejected, Marcus took the cup and went to the office’s tiny kitchen. Cuffe was too cheap to hire a tea service, so the staff took turns bringing in supplies and as a result, the tea was atrocious.
Cuffe took his with milk and three sugars. Disgusting, thought Marcus as he carried the mug back into Cuffe’s office. It must taste awful. Placing it on Cuffe’s desk, Marcus cleared his throat.
“What?” snapped Cuffe, looking up at him. “I’m busy!”
“Sir, maybe I could start small? I could start with an article about--”
Cuffe held up a hand, not even looking at Marcus. “Unless you can get an exclusive interview with Harry sodding Potter, don’t even bother me.”
Marcus’ mouth dropped open. “But no one’s been able to get an interview with Potter since the end of the war.”
“Exactly.” Cuffe dipped his quill in ink. “It has the same chance of happening as you do of becoming a staff writer for this paper. Now go away and stop bothering me. I’ll let you know when I need more tea.”
Marcus dragged himself out of the office and back to his makeshift desk. At first he’d been thrilled at the opportunity to be a writer. It’d long been a goal of his. But after being at the Daily Prophet for eight months, it was clear no one was going to give him any breaks.
So maybe I should go out and get my own break. But what can I write about? Marcus blinked. Salazar! Cuffe told me. I just need to find a way to interview Potter and I’ll be all set. If I can swing that I’ll finally be a real reporter. Maybe they’ll even give me a regular column, like Skeeter.
Marcus allowed himself a moment to dream. He could see it-- his name flashing on the cover of the newspaper, Cuffe offering him an assignment... And maybe then I’d finally be on my way in this business.
A shout startled him out of his daydream. “We’re out of tea again, Flint!”
Sighing, Marcus rose and went to make more. As he set about the familiar task he pondered his options. How do I find Potter? No one knew where he lived or any private information about him. He’d made sure of that, ever since the tell-all article Skeeter had written immediately after the war.
He’s a public figure, though. There must be someone who-- Eyes widening, Marcus almost dropped the canister of tea he was holding as an idea occurred to him. The records room! Of course. There’s bound to be some clue there.
Decision made, he hurriedly finished up, and after making sure there was enough tea to satisfy Cuffe, he slipped out the door and down the stairs.
The records room wasn’t ever especially crowded. Marcus had never seen more than one or two others there. Which, he suspected, could have been because of the new records keeper. “Hullo, Nott.”
Theo Nott, records keeper for the Daily Prophet, looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed. “What do you want?”
Marcus coughed. Good thing we’re sort of friends now. I’d hate to see him with someone he dislikes. “I’m looking for some information.”
Nott crossed his arms. “Oh? What sort of information?”
Lowering his voice, Marcus murmured, “I need to get close to Harry Potter.”
Nott blinked, then laughed. Marcus hadn’t actually known he could do that. “Harry Potter? Are you mad? Not only is his home Unplottable, but his life practically is, too.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”
Nott rolled his eyes. “He’s an Auror. Slated to become Head Auror, in fact. Yet that’s all anyone knows about him. Haven’t you noticed that none of his friends talk about him? Actually, not even his enemies talk about him.” Nott pursed his lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he performed some sort of spell to make people reluctant to discuss him.”
“But that’s not possible--”
Nott snorted. “Of course it is. Don’t you remember what the Dark Lord did with his name? This is just a variant of that. Not that difficult to do, honestly.”
Marcus sagged, feeling defeated. “Damn. I’ll never get to be a reporter unless I get an exclusive. Interviewing Potter would be perfect. I’d have my pick of assignments.”
“You’re still set about that?”
Marcus huffed. “Yes, I’m still on about that. It’s what I want to do! I’ve told you that.”
Nott shrugged. “You used to be decent a Quidditch player, maybe you should try that again.”
“I’m too old.” Marcus automatically fingered the scar on his cheek that never seemed to fade. “Plus, I wasn’t good enough to do it professionally, you know that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nott turned away, holding up his hand. “Fine, there may be one way you can get to Potter. Accio!”
“Oh?” Marcus’ eyes widened as an old copy of the Prophet landed in Nott’s hand. “What’s that?”
Nott smirked, grabbing a parchment. Scribbling something on it, he slid it towards Marcus. “Potter may have control of his friends and enemies, but in my experience, not many people have total control of their family.”
***
Dudley crossed his arms and glared at the weedy bloke facing him. “Look, either I see proof of age or you’re not getting in.”
The bloke began to bluster. “Come on, mate! My girlfriend’s in there and--”
“I don’t care if your girlfriend, her twin sister, and three of her cousins are in there, and they all promised you a ruddy orgy, you’re not getting in without proof of age.” Dudley smirked down at the git.
The bloke tried to dart around Dudley and into the club, but since Dudley had been waiting for such a move, he simply grabbed the twerp, lifted him off his feet, and pitched him bodily into the alley.
Several birds who’d also been waiting to get in giggled. Dudley waved them all in without checking their identification.
“Oi!” whinged the bloke. “Not fair!”
Dudley stepped towards him, amused when he scooted backwards. “Whatever I decide is fair around here. Now get out.”
The bloke scrammed and Dudley went back to bouncing. He scanned the crowd, making note of lads he thought could cause trouble, even as he eyed others he thought were rather fit. He liked his men tough, built. No one wants to feel like the bloke he’s shagging will break, after all.
Behind him, throbbing music was pouring out of Club Pegasus. As one of the hottest new clubs in town, the crowds trying to get in were often large. Which was fortunate for Dudley, who had quickly realised that the club’s popularity was providing him job security. Though he counted himself lucky to get his job, it could be boring. And, in a strange way, it made meeting men difficult. I guess it can turn them off if I have to toss them out on their ear.
Sighing, Dudley thought back to when he’d finally come out to his parents. They’d reacted rather predictably, his mother by wringing her hands and crying, his father by shouting. And after the dust had settled, Dudley had found himself chucked out, looking for a job. Luckily, his best mate hadn’t even been surprised when he’d come out to him.
“I’ve known that for ages,” Piers had said. “You can stay with me for a few days.”
A few days had turned into a few months and Dudley would probably would still be living there if Piers hadn’t knocked his girlfriend up. They’d got married soon after forcing Dudley to move out, but by then he’d snagged a job bouncing at a local club alongside Piers, and had saved enough to rent his own flat. It was nothing posh but it was his and he was rather proud of it, truth be told. Mainly because it was all his.
Dudley blinked, straightening up. There was a bloke approaching with something odd about him. It took Dudley a moment, but then it clicked. His clothes are a bit dodgy. He looks like those nutters that used to hang about my parents’ house at night. Wonder what he wants--
“Are you Dudley Dursley?” the man asked.
Dudley narrowed his eyes. The bloke was probably a few years older than he was and a bit taller, but Dudley thought he could defend himself if he had to. He’d been a boxer, after all. “Who wants to know?” he snapped, immediately suspicious.
“My name’s Marcus Flint.” Flint coughed. “And I can see you’re working, but if I could have a couple of minutes, I’d like to talk to you.”
Dudley considered that man. He was solidly built. Not obese but definitely just on the wrong side of muscled. He looks like he’s played a football match or two, though. And has indulged in a pint or three as well. Interest stirring, Dudley crossed his arm. “About what?”
Flint licked his lips. “About a friend of mine. And yours. Harry Potter.”
“Harry P--” Dudley gaped at him. “Fuck off.”
Flint’s eyes widened. “But, er-- He...referred me to you.”
“He what?” Dudley scowled. “Quit having me on. You’re one of them,. Aren’t you people supposed to stay hidden and all?”
Flint coughed. “Er--”
The people queued up behind Flint were beginning to get restless and, irritated, Dudley muttered, “Right, well, just get out of the way and let me deal with these people, then I’ll deal with you.”
After a hesitation, Flint nodded, and as Dudley began either ushering people inside or sending them packing, he stepped aside. Dudley watched him out of the corner of his eye as he worked, noting that he wasn’t fidgety like many people would be in that situation. Since fidgety people annoyed Dudley, his estimation of Flint went up a notch.
Once he’d cleared the queue a bit, he signalled to David, his relief that night since Piers was off, before stepped aside and inclined his head towards the street. “I’m on a break. There’s a coffee shop around the corner where we can chat.”
Flint fell into step beside him and within moments they were settled at a table. The server brought two coffees then left them alone. “So what do you want? Aren’t you people supposed to leave us alone unless there’s an emergency?” He frowned. “Wait, is this an emergency? We don’t have to go into hiding again, do we? I don’t think Mum and Dad will tolerate--”
“No, nothing like that!” Flint fiddled with his coffee cup. “I’m a...journalist, actually. I’m writing a story on Potter and I though it’d be good to take a different angle on things. Talk to his family. You’re his cousin, right?”
“Yeah.” Dudley stared at Flint. “You’re a writer?”
“Er, sort of.” Flint took a quick sip of coffee. “I’m working on that bit.”
“Right.” Flint looked like no writer Dudley had ever seen, although really, Dudley didn’t know very many. Maybe they all looked like slightly pudgy ex-footballers? “So what is it you want to know?”
Flint leaned forward. “You grew up with Potter, right? I’m thinking about doing a background piece on him. Maybe with some previously unknown details of his childhood, you know? I think the public would be very interested in how Potter’s upbringing influenced the man he’s become.”
“And you said Harry told you to talk to me?”
After hesitating, Flint nodded. “Er, yeah.”
Dudley crossed his arms. “You don’t actually know Harry at all, do you?”
“I--” Flint sagged. “Not well. We did go to school together, but we weren’t close. We’re definitely not friends. I tried interviewing his friends but none of them would talk to me.” He frowned. “How did you know?”
Sighing, Dudley drank his coffee and stalled for time. How to tell this stranger that Harry had been mistreated? Having had time over the prior months to think about all he and his parents had done to Harry, Dudley felt rather ashamed. “Because Harry and I aren’t close,” he finally said. “There’s no way he’d tell you to talk to me.”
“But he’s your cousin.”
“Yeah, he is.” Dudley looked away. “Only I never really acted like a proper one I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
Dudley nodded. Something about Flint’s silence was non-judgemental, accepting. It encouraged him to continue talking. “I hunted him, tormented him,” Dudley confessed. “I wasn’t very nice.”
To Dudley’s surprise, Flint didn’t seem bothered. Instead, he just looked interested. “Why?” he asked.
Dudley pondered the question. It was something he’d thought about while he and his parents had been in exile being guarded by wizards. “I think because he was special,” he finally said. “We felt like we had to put him in his place.” He sighed. “Even though we never talked about it we all knew he was special, but my parents don’t like anyone who’s different and I didn’t either when I was growing up. I think--” He paused. “I think he frightened us.”
“His magic, you mean?”
“Yeah, that was part of it,” Dudley said softly. “But it was also that he simply wasn’t like us. My mum once told me that he reminded her of her dead sister and it hurt her to look at him, which is why she made him sleep in a tiny room under the stairs.”
“You mean that rumour’s true?” Flint blinked. “We’d heard about that, but we all assumed it was rubbish.”
“We?”
Flint coughed. “I was in a rival House in school. We went up against Potter several times in...games.”
“Football?” asked Dudley. Annoyingly, his body reacted predictably as he imagined Flint all sweaty after a game. His hands shook and he hid them below the table. Damn, what the hell is my obsession with athletes? And I don’t even know if he’s gay. Working to compose himself, Dudley gestured towards the server for more coffee.
“Is that a Muggle game?” asked Flint.
“Yeah,” Dudley said, accepting another cup of coffee. “It’s pretty popular.”
“So’s Quidditch.” Flint smiled. He waited until the server was out of earshot before continuing. “Although we fly in our games. People don’t do that in football, do they?”
Dudley laughed, imaging his dad’s reaction if the footballers he watched on the telly started flying. “No.” Flint was grinning, too, and for a moment Dudley felt like he was on a date. What the hell’s wrong with me? I must need a shag.
Flint sipped his second cup of coffee. “So, you’ll agree to let me interview you? Potter certainly won’t talk to me, and I need this if I’m going to get anywhere in the newspaper business.”
And I’ll get to see you a few more times. Not a bad deal. Slowly, Dudley nodded. “All right. Why not?”
“Great!” Flint offered his hand. “Do you mind if I used a Quick-Quotes Quill?”
“A what?” Dudley felt a tingle race up his arm as they touched. He drew back his hand, nonplussed. Something made him look out the window, only to see a tall man in dark robes watching them. The moment their eyes met, the man turned away, melting into the shadows. Dudley shivered.
“You all right?” asked Flint.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dudley frowned. “So what’s a Quick-Quotes Quill?”
Flint smirked. “You’ll see.”
***
Dursley had to return to work, so Marcus bid him goodnight after they made plans to meet again the following evening. Watching him walk away, Marcus licked his lips. Decent bloke for all he’s Potter’s cousin. I thought he’d be a stuck up git.
Searching for a secluded spot from which it Apparate, he transported himself back to his flat. To his surprise, Nott was there waiting. “So, how’d it go?” he asked.
Dismantling his wards, Marcus gestured Not inside. “All right, I suppose. He’s agreed to let me interview him at least. Drink?”
“Ale’s good,” Nott said. “So what’s he like?”
“Potter’s cousin?” At Nott’s nod, Marcus shrugged. “Nothing like Potter. Big bloke, kinda burly. He’d make a fair Beater.” Reaching up, he caught the two bottles of ale he’d Summoned from the kitchen. “And he’s blond.” Handing one of the bottles to Nott, he settled on the sofa.
Depositing himself in a chair, Nott snorted. “You always did have a thing for blonds.”
Marcus held up two fingers. “I believe you’re confusing me for you. Wanker. Anyway, he’s not gay.”
“You don’t know that.” Nott smirked. “Unless you asked him?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Marcus said. “Of course I didn’t ask. And don’t Muggles have issues with that?”
“No idea. I’m no Muggle expert.” Nott sighed, settling back in his chair. “And I believe we’re both alone at night, so that makes us both wankers. Pillock.”
Marcus chuckled. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
Once Nott left, Marcus tossed the empty bottles and got ready for bed. The thought that he’d have to go to the Prophet offices the next day and make tea made him shiver. This article on Potter had better work, he thought, looking out his window into the dank alley behind his building. I’ll go spare if all I ever end up going is being a glorified house-elf for a newspaper.
The next day passed so slowly that Marcus thought he would go mad. And there was a meeting of the editorial staff, so he made endless pots of tea, which he serves to Cuffe and his colleagues as they discussed the ‘new direction of the media’ and pondered ‘expanding into other markets’, whatever that meant.
By the time he was done, Marcus was exhausted, but he dragged himself home, changed into what he hoped could pass for Muggle clothes, and went to Club Pegasus.
He hung back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching Dursley work. The man was clearly competent at what he did, managing to look intimidating and manacling when necessary yet almost welcoming to the people who he admitted to the club. And he really would make a fair beater, Marcus thought, eyeing the way his muscles filled out his shirt sleeves. Those arms look powerful.
He’d thought there had been a tingle when they’d shook hands the night before, but Marcus had immediately dismissed the idea. Only magical folk did that and Dursley was a Muggle. At least as far as anyone knew.
At about five minutes before they were supposed to meet, Marcus emerged from his secluded spot and started for the club’s door.
Dursley spotted him immediately and, turning around, said something to the rather scrawny bloke next to him. The man nodded and, turning to look in Marcus’ direction, smirked. He said something to Dursley who, interestingly, blushed.
A more heated exchange followed, ending with Dursley snapping something at the man, who shrugged before gently shoving him in Marcus’ direction.
“What was that all about?” asked Marcus as Dursley came within earshot.
Dursley rolled his eyes. “Piers is an idiot. Come on, let’s go.”
They went to the same coffee shop where the same server took their order. “I can just leave the coffee pot here,” she said, chewing away at her gum. “Save me the trouble of having to come back every few minutes.”
“Sure,” said Dursley. “We may be here a while.”
Once they were alone, Marcus discreetly drew his wand and sketched a shape in the air.
“What was that?” Dursley asked, looking suspicious.
Putting his wand away, Marcus said, “Because I’ll be using a Quick-Quotes Quill, I can’t allow the Muggles to see. It’s against wizarding law.”
Dursley’s eyes widened as Marcus pulled out the quill and it positioned itself over the pad of parchment. “How does that work?” he asked, mouth dropping open as the quill began to move.
“It writes down everything we say.” Marcus smiled. “Look, if it makes you nervous I can--”
“No, it’s fine.” Dursley dragged his gaze away from the quill. “Right, ask your questions.”
As they talked, a picture of Potter as a child began to emerge. Marcus, surprised, just let Dursley ramble. It’d clearly been a while since anyone had just sat and listened to him, and although he occasionally had to refocus the discussion on Potter, for the most part he stuck to the topic. Plus, it wasn’t as if Marcus minded spending time with him.
“...didn’t realise at the time that he was saving me of course. I couldn’t see anything so I thought he was mad. But when whatever those things were got a hold of me it felt like I was dying.” Dursley shuddered. “It was as if every good thing that had ever happened to me in my life was being sucked away.”
Marcus shivered. “Dementors,” he whispered. He’d not had many encounters with them, but the few times in his life he’d seen them they’d filled him with dread. “And Potter saved you?”
“Yeah.” Dursley drained his coffee cup. “He shouted something and a bright light flew out of the end of that stick of his and it was like I could hear and see again.”
“So was that when you decided that he wasn’t so bad?”
Dursley looked sheepish. “Not exactly. Harry got me home and my parents of course went mad, accusing him of trying to kill me. I tried to tell them that he’d saved me but they wouldn’t listen. I mean It wasn’t as if I actually saw anything, you know?” He sighed. “But I certainly felt it.”
Marcus nodded. “I think I read about that. Potter had to go on trial for doing magic in presence of a Muggle. I suppose that would have been you.”
“Guess so.”
Dursley looked away, staring out the window and into the street. He frowned and, concerned, Marcus glanced outside, too, but didn’t see anyone, so he returned to his perusal of Dursley. “Everything all right?”
“I thought I saw--” Dursley shook his head. “Sorry, guess I’m a bit paranoid. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You were talking about Potter saving you?”
“Right, I was. So I think I knew somehow that he saved me that night. I wasn’t nice to him or anything, but I stopped beating him up.” Dursley smiled ruefully. “Actually, I don’t think I could have beat him up by then. He always was a small kid but by then he was tough, wiry. And he had that bloody stick.”
Marcus nodded. “He’s a pretty powerful wizard these days, so...good call.”
“Is he?” Dursley laughed. “Yeah, well I’ve since figured that out. After a bunch of you lot showed up as a protection detail we guessed things were getting bad. They were bad for everyone, actually. I don’t think things would have stopped with magical people.”
Marcus shuddered. “Definitely not.”
“Anyway, my parents never could acknowledge that Harry could be doing something good, so they grumbled the entire time.” Dursley sighed. “But I made friends with one of them. A girl. Tonks? Anyway, she seemed sure Harry would take care of it, and I guess she was right. She had to go and fight, she said. Never saw her again. Whatever happened to her?”
“She died.” Marcus had spent weeks staring at the war casualty list when he’d first got to the Prophet. After all, he’d had nothing better to do. “Both she and her husband did. They had a son. Potter’s his godfather.”
“Figures.” Dursley toyed with his empty cup. “It’s a shame, she was pretty nice. Anyway, I never saw Harry again after he left our house that last time. Almost wish I could see him now.”
“Why?”
“Yes,” came a new voice, one that was eerily familiar. “I should be interested to know that as well.”
***
Dudley gasped, jumping to his feet. “You!” he blurted. “You were the man watching us from outside.”
Flint had gone pale. “Professor Snape?” he whispered.
“Indeed.”
Casually, Snape grabbed a chair from a nearby table to pulled it over. Sitting down, he crossed his arms and stared at Dudley, who felt like a specimen that was about to be dissected. “Why were you talking about Harry Potter?”
Flint exhaled. “Sir, I--”
Snape held up a hand. “I’ll get to you in a moment, Mr Flint. Right now I am questioning Mr Dursley.”
Dudley frowned. He’d said ‘Dursley’ the same way someone else might have said ‘shit’. “I don’t know that it’s any business of yours,” he huffed.
“Ah, but you see,” said Snape, leaning forward. The glint in his eyes made Dudley vey nervous. “I’m making it my business. And you will answer my question.”
“Harry’s my cousin!” Dudley blustered. “I can talk about him if I want. What’s he to you, anyway?”
“That is none of your concern.” Snape transferred his attention to Flint. “Turn that thing off immediately, Mr Flint.”
“What thing--? Oh.” Flint coughed, grabbing the quill. It immediately stopped moving. Dudley blinked, he’d actually forgotten about it. “Sorry,” muttered Flint.
“Now which one of you is going to explain to me why you two gentlemen are cozied up in this coffee shop, discussing Harry Potter?” Snape asked.
“How did you even know we were here, sir?” Flint said.
Snape raised an eyebrow and Flint immediately looked away. “I take a close interest in everything concerning Mr Potter. And my reasons for doing so are not your concern. Now, why are you here?”
“I’m writing an article on Potter for the Prophet,” Flint muttered. “And I don’t need your permission.”
“An article?” Snape hummed. “You don’t need my permission, no, but there are ways for me to ensure that your article, should I not approve of its contents, never makes it to publication.”
Flint’s eyes narrowed and Dudley could see the wheels turning. “Salazar! It’s you!” he finally said. “You’re the reason no one will talk about Potter! You and he must be--”
“I would advise you to be very careful about what you say next, Mr Flint.” Snape interrupted, his tone was silky, menacing. “Should there be any suggestion of anything...improper occurring between myself and Harry Potter make it into the public discourse, I shall be most displeased.”
Dudley blinked as he caught up with the conversation. “Wait. Are you saying that you and Harry are--?” He started laughing. “Mum and Dad were right! He is queer.”
Rage flashed across Snape’s face and he moved faster that Dudley could even see. A moment later he had his stick pointed in Dudley's face. Dudley stopped laughing. “How dare you?”
Flint coughed. “Sir, you shouldn’t--”
“Shut up.” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hex you, Dursley.”
“Because then I’ll be forced to take you in, Severus, and you know how I hate doing that.”
Dudley stared past Snape, his mouth dropping open. The night had suddenly become surreal. “Harry? Is that you?”
“Hey, Dudders.” Harry, clad in what looked like a rather militaristic uniform, walked towards the table. Despite himself, Dudley had to admit he looked impressive. “It’s been a while. Are you all right?”
Snape lowered his wand, but didn’t turn around. “He’s fine. And you have interesting timing, Auror Potter.”
Harry laughed and, to Dudley’s shock, came right up behind Snape and placed a hand on his arm. “I’ve put a trace on my family, Severus.” His tone was gentle. “I did it a while back. Ever since it occurred to me that someone could target them to try to get to me.”
“You put a what on me?” Dudley asked, eyes darting back and forth between Snape and Harry.
“Indeed.” Ignoring Dudley, Snape turned to look at Harry, and within seconds his stick disappeared. Dudley wasn’t sure where it went. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. “That was actually clever, Potter. You’re learning.”
Flint cleared his throat and they all turned to face him. “Since I’m almost done interviewing your cousin, Potter, maybe I could talk to you, too?”
“Interviewing?” Harry crossed his arms and Dudley could see how he might be considered intimidating. “Why the sudden interest in my life, Flint?”
“I just--” Flint huffed. “I work at the Daily Prophet but I’m just a glorified tea-elf. I want to be a writer, but the editor said he’d only let me write if I somehow got an exclusive interview with you.”
“So you tracked down my cousin.” Harry shook his head. “How’d you find him?”
“The Daily Prophet keeps tabs on everyone, Potter.” Flint sighed. “All I had to do was search through the records.”
“I imagine there are ways to remove all traces from their records,” murmured Snape, pursing his lips. “And these two can be Obliviated--”
“No!” Flint looked alarmed.
“What?” Dudley didn’t like the sound of that.
“Severus.” Harry actually sounded amused. “We’re not Obliviating anyone.”
“Harry, be sensible,” hissed Snape. “They are aware of our relationship. If they are allowed to retain that knowledge, people may find out. Your reputation could suffer--”
“So what?” Harry smiled. “I’ve been for telling people for a long time now.”
“Mr Flint, if you do not control that quill, I shall be forced to Banish it,” growled Snape, turning to Flint, who paled and grabbed his quill.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Excuse us a moment, will you?” He dragged Snape away before either Dudley or Flint could say anything. Moments later, they slipped outside.
“Right,” breathed Flint once they were alone. “That was unexpected.”
***
Marcus’ heart was pounding. He’d seen his former head of House irate before but the way he’s pulled his wand on Dursley had been frightening. “That was close.”
Dursley stared at him. “That Snape person wouldn’t really have hurt me, would he?”
“Not with Potter here, anyway.” Marcus glanced towards where Snape and Potter were talking. “I can’t believe it, though. This is the best scoop ever and now I’ll never be able to tell anyone.”
“What is? That they’re together?” Dursley smiled. “I think it’s brilliant. My parents would freak, but then, they lost it when I told them I was gay, so--”
“You’re what?” Marcus interrupted, staring at him.
“I’m gay.” Dursley sat back in his chair. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” And since Dursley wasn’t likely to take offence, Marcus gave him a slow once-over. “Not at all.”
To his delight, Dursley blushed. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to meet good blokes at the club, you know?”
Marcus nodded. “I do know, actually. Since I’m not allowed to do anything but make bloody tea at the paper, I don’t get to meet many good blokes there either.”
“So that’s why you’re doing this?” Dursley smirked. “To meet blokes?”
Following his instincts, Marcus reached across the table, clasping Dursley’s hand. “Well, it seems to be working so far.”
“You two seem to be getting along all right.” Wincing, Marcus looked up to see Potter standing there, Snape looming behind him. Deliberately, he held on to Dursley’s hand. “We’ve come to a decision.”
“Decision?” Dursley’s fingers tightened on Marcus’. “About?”
“About what to do about the two of you.” Snape’s cheeks were flushed and for a moment, Marcus wondered what Potter had done to put the colour there. “Potter is stubbornly insisting that he doesn’t care if others know about...us. Therefore, we have decided to allow you to keep your memories of this encounter.”
“Keep our memories?” Dursley’s mouth dropped open. “You can do that?”
“Dudders, there’s a lot of things we can do.” Potter sighed. “Not all of it good.”
Marcus frowned. “If you’re letting us keep our memories that means you’ll let me write an article about the two of you being together?” He grinned. “Merlin! Cuffe will have to let me be a staff reporter now.”
“Will he?” purred Snape. “And why is that?”
Marcus frowned. “Because he won’t dare pass up a scoop like this. Right?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “You believe he’ll let a junior reporter claim this story?”
“I--” Marcus paused. “Wait, you think he’ll steal he idea and have someone else write the article, don’t you?” Sadly, Marcus could see it happening. Cuffe was just that sort. Fuck me. He’ll give it to Skeeter. Or he’ll write it himself. He sagged.
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Snape smirked.
“How determined you to want to stay with the Prophet?” asked Potter. “Because there may be an alternative for you.”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What kind of alternative?”
Potter inclined his head. “Well, there are other newspapers.”
Slowly, Marcus smiled. “You know, you’re right. There are.”
***
“Marcus? Could you come in here, please?”
Putting down his quill, Marcus stood up and hurried towards his editor’s office.
“Ah, there you are.” Luna Lovegood was as odd woman but she was a fair boss and she had occasional moments of genius. “I have an idea for a story for you to work on.”
“Of course.” Marcus waited. It sometimes took Luna some time to collect her thoughts.
“You did so well with that story about Headmaster Snape and Harry, I thought you’d like to cover their wedding, too.”
“Their...wedding?” Marcus coughed. “I didn’t realise they were getting married.”
“Oh, they will be eventually.” Luna pursed her lips, staring at a parchment on her desk. “And, while you’re there, you could look for Blibbering Humdingers.”
Marcus coughed. “For what?”
“Oh, you’ve never seen one, have you?” Luna looked up at him, a speculative expression on her face. “Well you’re sure to see them there. It’s easier to see them when there’s romance in the air.”
Blushing, Marcus looked away from her suddenly perceptive eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
Luna stood up. “Do you think Theo would agree to attend the wedding with me?”
Marcus choked. Once Theo discovered that Marcus was leaving to work at the Quibbler, he’d quit the Prophet and applied there for a job. And the moment he’d seen Luna he’d been utterly smitten. “I think he could be persuaded.”
“Good.” As Luna walked past him, she said, “I think you should invite Harry’s cousin to go with you. I think the Humdingers would like you two.”
Before he could reply to that, Luna was gone. Marcus shook his head. Such a strange woman. Although quite perceptive. He smiled. Maybe I’ll go and see what Dudley’s doing--
Club Pegasus was busy, as usual, but Marcus didn’t have to wait long to get Dudley’s attention. He saw Piers spot him and nudge Dudley, and he saw Dudley’s big grin and wave. Moments later Dudley moved away from his post at the door, greeting him. “You’re early. Anything wrong?”
“Nope.” Clasping his hand, Marcus led him away. “I just had a sudden craving for coffee.”
“Is that so?” Dudley laughed. “And here I thought important journalists like you were above such things. Or are you hanging about trying to get another big scoop?”
“Actually,” Marcus murmured, pulling Dudley around the corner, “I’d hoped for something a lot better.” Dragging him into an alley, Marcus shoved Dudley against a wall before fusing their mouths together. Immediately, Dudley’s lips parted and he moaned into Marcus’ mouth as he arms went around him to drag him closer.
Pressing his tongue inside Dudley’s mouth, Marcus curled it around Dudley’s, letting them tangle lightly, playfully, and when he finally drew back panting, Dudley lingered, leaning forward to bite gently at Marcus’ bottom lip.
“That was definitely better than coffee,” Dudley whispered as they drew apart.
Marcus grinned. “Well, we don’t have to get coffee. I make a brilliant cuppa. My place?”
“Works for me,” Dudley said. “Maybe you can interview me again. Perhaps do a more...in depth one this time?”
Marcus chuckled. “I like the way you think,” he said. Having set out to get the scoop on Potter, he’d ended up discovering something far more important.
***The End***
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