No one in the school messes with this Slytherin if they know what’s good for them. He’s got a reputation as a thug and a brute, a violent bully that has no issues with punching you in the face if you so much as look at him wrong — he’s got quite the arm on him as well. Marcus Flint can be your best friend or he can be your enemy. If he deems you worthy, he’s fiercely loyal and very over protective. If he doesn’t, you could be in trouble. The thing is, he’s a dick. He’s ambitious, ruthless and cunning, all three traits that are very often shown on the Quidditch pitch. He sleeps around and he breaks hearts — and he enjoys it.
“Mum says you’re not going to be around that much anymore…” For someone so young, Hadrian understood far too much. Flint stared at the little boy stood infront of him, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Hey now, don’t you for one second think I’m going anywhere. There’s just some shi — stuff that needs solving, yeah?” He winked, the way he always did when he was trying to reassure people.  It was hard. He wanted to hate Clarisse, wanted to curse her to oblivian. But as much as he hated her, she had a point. With his father free from Azkaban, Hadrian was potentially in danger. The last time Malcom was out, he had attacked his own family. His wife, to be exact, Flint’s mother. She had been the one to hand him over to the Ministry, along with her son’s support, which meant they were officially targets. And if Flint was a target, so was anyone who was close to him.  A lump formed in his throat as he stared at the kid in front of him. His kid. His fucking kid, who he cherished with all his heart, more than he had ever cherished anything in his entire life. And therefore, he couldn’t hate Clarisse. Sure, he knew deep down she was only doing this to spite him, but he also knew she had a point.  “But you’ll still be my dad, right? You’ll come back?”  “You think you can get rid of your old man that easily?” Flint’s voice was strained as he spoke. Hadrian smiled, not quite understanding the joke but finding comfort in the words. Without warning, Hadrian ran forward and his little arms wrapped tight around Flint’s waist. He clung tight, burying his face into his father’s jacket with a quiet snuffle. The lump in Flnt’s throat grew and for the first time it what might have been forever, his eyes stung with what could only be tears. He wasn’t sure if he had ever cried before, unless you counted the times he had been a child himself. But the way his little boy clutched at him, as if scared this was goodbye forever, broke that hard and cold side of him.  Right now, he wasn’t Marcus Flint, womaniser of Hogwarts and brutal Quidditch captain. He was just Marcus Flint, a father.  

“Mum says you’re not going to be around that much anymore…”

For someone so young, Hadrian understood far too much. Flint stared at the little boy stood infront of him, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Hey now, don’t you for one second think I’m going anywhere. There’s just some shi — stuff that needs solving, yeah?” He winked, the way he always did when he was trying to reassure people. 

It was hard. He wanted to hate Clarisse, wanted to curse her to oblivian. But as much as he hated her, she had a point. With his father free from Azkaban, Hadrian was potentially in danger. The last time Malcom was out, he had attacked his own family. His wife, to be exact, Flint’s mother. She had been the one to hand him over to the Ministry, along with her son’s support, which meant they were officially targets. And if Flint was a target, so was anyone who was close to him. 

A lump formed in his throat as he stared at the kid in front of him. His kid. His fucking kid, who he cherished with all his heart, more than he had ever cherished anything in his entire life. And therefore, he couldn’t hate Clarisse. Sure, he knew deep down she was only doing this to spite him, but he also knew she had a point. 

“But you’ll still be my dad, right? You’ll come back?” 

“You think you can get rid of your old man that easily?” Flint’s voice was strained as he spoke. Hadrian smiled, not quite understanding the joke but finding comfort in the words.

Without warning, Hadrian ran forward and his little arms wrapped tight around Flint’s waist. He clung tight, burying his face into his father’s jacket with a quiet snuffle. The lump in Flnt’s throat grew and for the first time it what might have been forever, his eyes stung with what could only be tears. He wasn’t sure if he had ever cried before, unless you counted the times he had been a child himself. But the way his little boy clutched at him, as if scared this was goodbye forever, broke that hard and cold side of him. 

Right now, he wasn’t Marcus Flint, womaniser of Hogwarts and brutal Quidditch captain. He was just Marcus Flint, a father.  


  1. thankfuckitsflint posted this