Chapter 1 : Social Skills
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He sat there quietly watching the wizards walk past him as he sat outside the door patiently. Applying for a job was probably the hardest experience he had gone through. See the young man that was currently playing around with his fingers wasn't the brightest nor the most handsome.
It wasn't that he needed the job, his parents were rich but they thought it would be a good opportunity for him to gain the social skills he needed not only for a long-lasting job but the skills he needed to wooed his future wife.
Yes it was the twentieth century but he was pure-blood and arranged marriage was not an arguable matter.
So you see this is what brought young Marcus Flint to apply for the position of reserve chaser for the Falmouth Falcons.
According to his father playing professional Quidditch would force him to speak to people. It wasn't like Marcus was a loner back at Hogwarts he had been popular with the boys in his house but nothing more, he landed a couple of girls but it was usual thanks to his captain status.
Marcus brought his dark eyebrow together. He still couldn't believe his parents convinced him to do this, play Quidditch. Sure he loved the sport but not enough to go Professional.
After all Oliver Wood was the Quidditch nut, Marcus just loved to spite him. It was all part of being a Slytherin back in the day.
A slim young woman walked past him hanging of the arm of what looked like to be the Falmouth Falcons beater. The young woman smiled at him while the tall beater pulled her closer. He watched the happy couple walk away.
The door next to him was suddenly pulled open. “Flint?”
He nodded standing up stuffing his hands in his pocket. The grey haired man beckoned him into his office. Inside the office was small filled with posters all dated as as the nineteen-fifties. In each of them was that year's team. Like at Hogwarts, Madam Hooch had pictures of the championship team.
“So your father owled me a couple of weeks ago while you were at school said he thought you had what it took to make this team” began the man now pulling on his mustache his eyes scanning Marcus.
Marcus was never the most handsome but he could at least say he was fit. He felt the sweat slip down his forehead.
“I heard you played chaser?”
Marcus nodded though his throat dry he spoke.“And I was captain of my team for four years.” His voice he should like to think was calm, he sat up straight though like always he was playing with his thumbs.
“Yes your father also told me that and Captain Warren seems to like the way you play” the man smiled revealing his yellowing teeth. Marcus tried not to make a face as he went on. “He says your tough, agile, and a risk taker!”
Marcus nodded as the man reached into his desk and pulled out a stack of papers. “Well then young man welcome to the team! Practice starts next Monday!”
Marcus Flint smiled pulling the papers towards him.
* * * *
His parents were proud something that Marcus could care less about. He was just excited to finally meet the woman he was going to marry. His mother constantly glanced at him worried as the awaited patiently by the fireplace.
His palms already felt sweaty and his tie was chocking him. What in the name of Merlin's underpants was taking them so long?!
It happened so suddenly, out of the fireplace stepped a tall thin man wearing silk black robes he greeted Marcus and his parents, then came a middle-aged woman her brown hair in a tight bun and her nose gave her the look of someone who had finished playing with dung.
Then came a tall, slender young woman , her hair hung loose around her face. She turned her blue eyes onto Marcus who did his best to keep his mouth shut.
“Marcus this is Daphne Greengrass.” The young woman walked up to him her hand outstretched, he simply stared.
His father stepped on his foot causing him to curse loudly. The Greengrass stared, Mrs. Flint put her hand over her mouth while Daphne burst into laughter.
“A bit honest aren't we?” she asked her cheeks now pink.
Marcus though blushing gave her a small smile. So much for needing social skills.
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