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Alright, he tried the niceties. Honestly, Oliver still has unfinished business about Marcus’ team and their pathetic attempt at besting his team with their fancy brooms. “Oh c’mon, Flint, s’always a good morning on the pitch, innit’?

Raising a brow the the extreme level of testosterone this boy’s utilizing, he scoffs under his breath to his comment before the other pushes him and he stumbles back slightly, barely catching himself. At first he’s irritated, but that quickly subsides to humour as he manages a condesending smirk. “Oh, of course, Flint! My mistake! You must be excited to try and attempt to knock me off, since you finally got those fancy brooms you’ve always needed to even attempt to keep up.” He mocks slyly, picking up his broom from the ground before clicking his teeth before turning and taking a moment to speak back to Flint over his shoulder. 

“Thankfully we don’t have to rely on such things, seeing we lack the sponsor you have.”

“You haven’t been knocked off your broom enough? I thought you hit your head so hard last year that you finally started to see keeper  wasn’t for you.” He’s teasing to the best of his ability, though it comes out as more of a small threat (like most of his words did). A chuckle tumbles out of his lips, even though he was hoping to knock Oliver clean over. “First of all --those brooms are years old now, not that you would notice good quality. Your broom was your great-grandfather’s right? Maybe that’s why you can never make it in front of the hoops in time?” 

“You should think about relying on it, might improve your game. In fact you guys are in need of a lot of things --like a swim!” In another second he is pushing Oliver again, much harder with the intention of having him fall into the lake. 

Her eyes roll immediately, grabbing the big greenish book from the stand before turning to face the voice of none other than the Slytherin quidditch captain. “I am high and mighty, haven’t you heard?” She says with a tilt to her head and a smirk on her lips - sure enough, Katie wasn’t really actively looking for confrontation, but when confrontation hit her door, she wasn’t about to turn her back on it. 

“What’s your bloody problem with me standing here, anyway? Contrary to you, I actually can read, so why are you here, Flint?” 

“Did you write that in your diary or something?” He doesn’t make much of a move to try and get under her skin physically, (really because he doesn’t want her to throw books at him) and simply chuckles. The problem with this was that his insults weren’t particularly clever. “Doesn’t look like your reading Bell, looks more like you want to start picking fights over who loves Potter the most. Why don’t you fucking run to him now instead of ruining people’s good conversation.” 

“Don’t be so bloody desperate.” 

“Oh, sorry! I forgot you expect everyone to be that self centered as you, right.” Daphne rolls her eyes and slaps his arm, chuckling. “You let me wear my make up without you staring, and I’ll try my best not to snap at you immediately, how about that?” She smiles and shrugs, “What are you doing here early anyway? I know I’m avoiding the new kids, but I didn’t think that many people cared about that.”

“I don’t believe you’re any less self-centered than me, I think you just try to deny it. C’mon you want people to know you’re hot doing your makeup in the open.” Even though she’s clearly not joking he laughs (not being the brightest boy)--something that girls who don’t know any better seem to find charming. “You want me to stare.” 

“Fuckin’ relax Flint, it’s just me.” 

Millicent knew she wasn’t supposed to go to the pitch, not ever since Hooch had expelled her from the team and practically banned her from the place. However, she doubted Marcus was going to say anything. He did play as dirty as she did after all. The only difference between them both was that she had gotten caught. “I was actually on my way to hit some bludgers. Everyone’s so distracted with the bloody tournament that no one seems to really care that I spend time near a broom. I was wondering if you wanted to come with, unless you’re going to rat me out of course.”

“Just you? Why the hell are you up this early?” Honestly, he didn’t mind her too much he thought that she enjoyed to get into trouble for no reason too frequently but it wasn’t as if she would drag him down with her so he didn’t bother sneering. He sat down on the ground taking a break from his push-ups and looking out at the water instead of her. “Now it just sounds like you want to smack me with a bludger. Kinky.” 

Wow, fuck him then. Uncalled for. Oliver’s taken aback by how Marcus snaps at him, but typical Marcus behavior he supposes. he’d be bitter too if he was too stupid to graduate. Raising his hands to gesture he means no harm, he sighs. “Well good mornin’ to you too, Flint.” He says apathetically, tucking his broom underneath his arm. 

Raising a brow to the opposing captain, he resumes. “Was just comin’ ‘round to offer you the field, since i imagine youre avoiding it on the fact you can’t play well or safe with others. S’all yours, I’m done for the mornin’.” He offers bitterly. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say anything about this being good but --okay.” He doesn’t even bother lookin up, continusing to lift himself on and off the ground. It’s only when he heard the bitterness in his voice that he practically jumps up stopping directly in front of the younger boy. Marcus is more of a looming figure at this point. “Offer it to me? I was about to come knock you off your broom, and this happens to be the one morning you leave the pitch early.” He takes a small step forward, lifting both his hands to push Oliver in the chest. 

“Fuck you Wood.” 

“Does it ever get exhausting to act like a connard towards everyone?” Fleur rolled her eyes, walking towards him, but making sure to keep her distance. Of course she knew what his answer was going to be - no, it didn’t. That was his reputation after all. It had been that way in France and she doubted Hogwarts was any different. She didn’t really want people to see them together, or to speculate about what their connection might be. Nonetheless, she knew they were going to have to talk at some point, might as well. 

“I didn’t think you were going to be here, but you are, so we need to talk.”

“Naw --why the fuck would it?” There’s a chuckle tumbling out of his mouth despite the fact that nothing about this could possibly be funny. Having someone he knocked aside as much as Fleur should be sending panic down his spine but discomfort amused him so much that he simply hoped to shake up her morning a bit. He stops what he’s doing, standing up so he’s not in front of her. 

He steps closer. “Why do we need to talk babe?” 

Marcus Flint despised other people, he despised having to wrap his head around their conversations, despised the expectation for a genuine response, and loathed the notion of empathy. Countless reasons added up, he spent his early mornings working out by the lake that is before he went to steal the quidditch pitch from the insane Gryffindor captain or this year some new student who clearly didn’t understand the rules. As he’s preparing to start another set of push-ups he hears rustling and immediately falls into an eye roll. 

“I swear to Merlin --Wood if that’s you I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands.”

location: library time/date: november 5th, after class availability: open

Katie Bell closed her eyes, cleared her mind, let out a deep breath - and summoned the gods and every energy in the universe for patience. Much patience. The days following the choosing of the champions had been tiring to say the least to the Gryffindor house. Snide remarks and side eyes were given here and there, as if they had all worked in agreement to somehow success at cheating the one and only Albus Dumbledore and get their own champion in the tournament. That’s what wore on her the most - Harry’s face the moment his name was called told her all she needed to know about how much he did not want, even tried, to be in the tournament. And she believed him, she supports him, because this is yet one more thing he didn’t ask for. So when she overhears the nearby gossipers spilling their venom, she simply breathes, and breathes out… “Jealousy isn’t a pretty color on anyone - don’t you have something better to do?”

Honestly, he despises opening a book on most occasions so the sole reason he was within the library’s walls was to find someone to irritably poke at. Though his guise was that he was ‘researching quidditch plays’ to be a responsible captain, even if playing was prohibited. So when he heard Katie Bell whining at people with good reason to be pissed at Potter he had to intervene. 

“Are you bloody serious Bell? Wouldn’t you rather be sticking your head up Wood’s arse than standing here acting ‘high and mighty’? 

location: hallways date/time: november 5th, 6:30pm availability: open to all

“It’s never too early to look good,” she shrugs feeling a pair of eyes on her while she holds onto her mirror with one hand and applies her favorite shade of lip tint. Red roses, raspberries and asphodel oil, made by her grandmother’s favorite and personal potioneer in Italy. “Hoping to grab a good seat for breakfast? With so many students in this school now, it seems impossible not to feel like it’s a bit overcrowded. They should’ve extended the schedules, if you ask me.”

There was no special case of his childhood, he was the rich little pureblood boy that his mother and father had expected. He behaved well, followed the path that had been placed in front of him pretentiously, with a small head held high. There was no question that he was planning to be married off, to do some good for the name of Flint, to make the generations before him proud just as his father did before him. The whole prospect was nothing he had a problem with, he’d been ecstatic to participate in such an old pureblood tradition, to allow his family line to pass on as pure of blood for another generation –and that pissed him off. Why was it up to him? How many families were still engaging in this practice? 

It didn’t matter that the consequences of his eye rolls started to shine through as he started to attend school. He was still set on completing his parent’s wishes, attending where they saw fit, smiling at those he should be, and scowling at those he despised.  

Those he did despise happened to be in very high volume, and that dislike was something he did not try to hide. From a young age, he was the one biting other children during afternoon tea or earning scowling letters home from Professor Snape after another child hit with a bludger, (or anything else he can get his hands on)