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Then the news had come that Lord Malfoy had bought seven brand-new Nimbus 2001 for the Slytherin Quidditch Team and Marcus Flint had been certain it was going to be the best year ever. Brand-new brooms normally only owned by world-class players, a new Seeker having plenty of new motivation and six other players boosted from head to toes at the chance of taking their revenge against their Gryffindor arch-enemies, how could it have been otherwise? At the time, Marcus had even envisaged one victory to ask on a date this pretty blond-haired Ravenclaw. Yes, the year should have been perfect.
January had now begun, and most of these ambitions were in ashes. The sixth-year Slytherin was succeeding in his classes of Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, but was failing Defence, Astronomy and History. And with Lockhart teaching Defence and Binns being as boring as ever, the odds were good no one was going to learn the spells and the information needed for the NEWTS anyway. One more year of self-study in these two subjects, like the year before with Quirell and Devkins had not been enough!
To make matters worse, the Nimbus 2001 had revealed themselves a flawed advantage in the match against Gryffindor, albeit one which could have still given them victory...if their Seeker had passed his time searching for the Snitch and not laughing at the problems of the Boy-Who-Lived! Rarely had Marcus felt so angry after the final thrill of the referee had ended this debacle. Despite the problems in the braking charms and enchantments of the Nimbus, they should have won the match! Should the main target of his ire had not been a Malfoy, the Flint teenager would have killed the imbecile responsible of this humiliation. And damn the paperwork and the consequences for his future.
The last months had not rebounded after this fiasco. As tempting as it had been to kick Draco Malfoy out of the team, the alternatives were slim. Terence Higgs had not pardoned him of his unilateral removal in September, and in good Slytherin accepting him back would have implicated a lot of favours neither Marcus nor the rest of the team were willing to bargain. Training a Seeker took time, time which was more or less inexistent in the long months of winter when trying to mount a broom outside made half of the school question your mental sanity. School-wise, there was now a mysterious Heir of Slytherin stalking the corridors, petrifying Mudbloods of the lower years. Those who had had Death Eaters relatives were enjoying boost in terms of popularity in the Snake's Den. The rest of the House was understandably more worried. For all assurances from braggarts like Nott and Malfoy that the Heir was going to purge the castle from the non-deserving vermin of the Squibs and the Mudbloods, these attacks were of a dark magic Marcus had never seen before. Should a Pure-blood suffer the same fate, he would be as petrified as the students lying in the infirmary. A few seventh years predicted it was the first sign of the Dark Lord's return. Marcus Flint prayed it wasn't true.
Officially, Marcus was a supporter of blood-purity of course. As it should be, when his family was a core part of the Dark Houses. But the Slytherin Captain wasn't a believer in the Dark Lord philosophy. Two of his uncles had fought in the war under the banner of The-One-Who-Must-Not-be-Named. Both of them had never come back, and the sole aunt that invited his parents several times for week-end lunches had shared with him nightmarish tales. Suicide missions, torture sessions for those who failed in their duties, black rituals darkening your very soul. Suddenly, the organisation of the Death Eaters had not been that much attractive. Moreover, five of the Flint businesses had been bankrupted by the war, their French partners refusing to trade anymore due to their blood-status positions. The contracts had never been renewed and thus their cauldrons, creatures and ingredients imports had disappeared. Besides, the Dark Lord had been vanquished by a child. What sort of leader was brought that low and that easily?
Unfortunately, this opinion was a sizeable minority but a minority nonetheless in Slytherin House. Many Heirs and Heiresses of the Dark Houses were eager to see the Heir purge Hogwarts from the people they believed inferior. Lewis Wilkes had made numerous speeches in the Common Rooms in November and December how it was their duty to purge the unworthy from the school. Thomson Carrow and Jared Miller were paying some of their fellow sixth and fifth years to beat the younger Lions. With the Gryffindor fighting back proudly carrying the standards of the Light, the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff standing aside and refusing to involve themselves in the corridor duels, speaking out loud in public against one vision or the other was a sure way to be sent to the infirmary. Being a Slytherin was already a guarantee to be scrutinised like you had the plague by three-quarters of the student population. Marcus range of career prospects was dying down, and he was not yet in seventh year.
A muffed grunt coming from a broom closet on his left interrupted these morose thoughts. Intrigued, Marcus Flint approached it, but drew his wand just in case. A couple of years at Hogwarts with the Weasley Twins had taught everyone wearing a snake emblem the need to be extremely careful when dealing with something weird or unknown. The arrival of the New Marauders on the prank business had made the problems magnitude worse.
"Alohomora!"
The door of the closet opened in full, revealing Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Byron Vaisey and Millicent Bulstrode, all tied up in red and gold ropes and with red scarves on their mouths to muffle any exclamations and groans. Not that it was necessary. The four second-years were all unconscious. What Marcus had heard was not a grunt, but a rumble of Goyle' stomach.
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