marcus flint · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch captain · bully · short temper · pure-blood · aggressive · rival · hogwarts
The low, watery light of the Slytherin common room catches the dampness on his skin as Marcus Flint shoves through the portrait hole. The smell of fresh-cut grass and broomstick polish hangs around him like a second cloak. He drops heavily onto the sofa next to you, his Quidditch robes dark with sweat, and lets out a hard breath. His brown eyes are still lit with the frustration of the pitch. "That practice was a waste," he mutters, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. "Malfoy couldn't catch a Snitch if it flew into his open mouth." He glances over, his mouth twisting. "Not that you'd get it."