fic: The Falling Falcon 1/? Title: The Falling Falcon
Author:
![[info]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_uxTpMsDIxYwSuoPP9IVSUK0Z6_6rTIE5gx9o0gLJ1h_KdBl_N5NEMg-BU3R1aewKnWFaTVf1RtB1aYXwOS4VHb6Pt8kEtK-5djqzmwDtu72vg4Pg=s0-d)
krissi2 Pairing: Marcus/Oliver, later: Adrian/Terence
Rating: PG-13
Beta: The amazing
gregisamazing .
Language: English
Summary: Marcus has an accident and is not able to play Quidditch anymore. Can he deal with it and accept Olivers help?
Chapter: 1/?
The sun was shining brightly, blinding him as he watched the Chaser of the other team score another goal. He swore loudly and made his way towards the Quaffle to score a goal, to help his team win this game. Unfortunately it didn’t look good. Puddlemere United were beating the Falcons 100 to 80 and Marcus hated that with every fibre of his body. It wasn’t an important game, it wouldn’t matter too much for this season if they lost.
But for Marcus it mattered more than anything else in the world. He had to win against Puddlemere. He had to win against Oliver Wood! This was the reason for him to live. It was all about Oliver Wood. It always had been.
Since he first saw the little first-year he had disliked him; that skinny little twat with a passion for Quidditch that rivalled his own. Marcus had hated him back then and he still hated him now. Their lives had grown to one big challenge in everything, every time. Who was the better Player? Who had more fans? Who got more money for playing? And though they both knew it was childish, it was all that mattered. Him and Oliver.
He caught a ball, pressed it against his body while passing through the other players. This was his chance. It was a perfect opportunity for him. After seconds he was in a good position to score, he grinned at Wood, who was eyeing him and suddenly opening his eyes even wider. “WATCH OUT, FLINT!” He screamed and Marcus had just enough time to eye him questioningly and to turn his head to see the Bludger heading straight for him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tell his broom to fly higher, or lose some height. And just like that, in a few seconds he was hit hard on the head.
He didn’t feel much of it. It wasn’t even a second of pain before there was darkness...endless darkness.
He fell.
As he woke up, he found himself lying in a bed with a hard mattress and itchy sheets, not exactly what he thought as comfortable. The white walls were empty, despite a single abstract painting that looked a little bit like his face, as he was brought to Madam Pomfrey in his 4th year, after the match against Ravenclaw.
He knew this room, or at least rooms like it. He was in a hospital. But what had happened? And what time was it? He looked around and recognized that he was alone. Oh just great. Marcus tried to sit up, but failed because of the intense pain that hit him. Every bone ached and he felt like 5000 curses had hit him at once. He wasn’t able to move his legs, his arms where heavy and he could feel a constant hammering behind his ear that felt like his skull was crushed from the inside.
At this moment the door opened and a nurse came in. Marcus knew instantly, that he was at St. Mungo’s, he recognized the uniform of the nurse.
“Finally, Mr. Flint, you’re awake.”
Looks like that, does it? He only nodded, thinking for once it was better to shut up.
“How are you feeling?”
He just raised an eyebrow at her. He was lying here, so he couldn’t be too great.
“Yeah well, I thought so. Do you have any memory loss?”
He thought for a moment. He could remember the fundamentals and most of his memories were still sharp. But there was a blank where his last match should have been.
“I know facts about me and my life… But what happened to me?” He was a shocked at the sound of his voice. It was raw and it hurt like hell for him to speak.
“You were hit by a Bludger, Mr.Flint. Very hard, actually. It caused some minor cranial damage, which is why you can’t remember the accident. After that you fell about 50 feet deep and as you hit the ground you suffered severe internal injuries to your colon and stomach.
We could heal the cranial damage in an instant but the internal injuries need more time to heal.”
He just nodded. Well, that wasn’t too bad. A few days rest here wouldn’t be too bad. But then he looked at her. The nurse looked at him with a face of pity. She bit her lip and her hands were hidden behind her back. “How long?” He whispered, panic rising in him.
“I’m very sorry, Mr Flint. Half a year, I’d say. At first, we’d like to keep you here for about 2 weeks and after that you can go home but you’re going to have to rest there.”
He stared at her. It couldn’t be that bad. He had made it off the reserve team after 3 years and now he had to stop for half a year? Or maybe worse?
”And after that? Will I be able to play?” The nurse looked down, not able to meet his eyes. He sighed.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Flint. But we think it’s unlikely. But I can assure you, that you will be treated by experts and we will do everything in our power to heal you completely.” He looked to his side, biting his lips, refusing to speak to her. She nodded. “I’ll tell the healer, that you’re awake.” And with that she left the room.
Marcus’ trainer Richard visited him the next day. He never really liked him, mostly because all Richard cared for was money. Surely the former Keeper knew about Quidditchtactics, but he just didn’t have the passion anymore that Quidditch required.
Richard was in his mid-thirties and had lost almost all of his hair. He was small for a former Quidditchplayer and Marcus was sure, that as a captain he wouldn’t have chosen this boy as a Keeper. The, by now quite round, man sat down next to his bed and looked at him, trying to be sympathetic. And by the look of his eyes Marcus knew, that this was the end of this season for him.
”Marcus, son. This is surely a regrettable situation, isn’t it? But, did I try to talk to the management? Yes, I did. And? Did I work something out for you? Yes, I did!”
Marcus had almost forgotten how much he hated it, when his trainer talked like that, which he did every time he wanted to look like a hero.
”So, Richard. What is it?” He asked, quite annoyed but trying to hide that fact.
”Well, when you regain your old strength and health you are allowed to join the training, although it could be, that you won’t play in the A-squad. But surely you will still be the best player of the reserve team.”
Marcus swallowed hard, not able to talk or look at Richard.
”Well, Marcus. You know. It isn’t that bad, you are not the first one to fall of his broom. Such things happen. But I have to go, because I have a meeting with that advertising firm. And with the prophet, they are still fighting for the rights to print up the pictures of your accident. We’ll see. You will be better soon, son. No worries.”
And with that he left the room. Marcus wasn’t even able to tell Richard what he thought of him, but maybe that was best.
******
It had been a week since the accident and Oliver still couldn’t get it out of his mind. Flint had always been his favourite competition and to see the pictures of him falling of his broom, plummeting 40 foot, were not the exactly the best way to start his day. Oliver was rather surprised about himself, because it was actually kind of new to him that he cared so much about a Quidditch accident. But he really couldn’t believe that it was Marcus who fell. He always had been sure that accidents like this happened to untalented players and know he was certain that Marcus wouldn’t be in that condition if he had been focused on the game and not on Oliver himself.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking out of the big window to his left. The sun was still shining brightly and the hot summer air was almost unbearable, if you did not have a air conditioner. The grass in the garden of his neighbour, which was once so green, was now brown and equalled straw by now.
He got up, walking toward the balcony door and opening it. As he stepped out he felt like walking against a wall of heat and for a moment he had the feeling that he wasn’t able to breath.
As he reached the handrail he looked down and realized how high the accident had been. He had read in the magazine that Marcus had fallen 50 feet deep, which equals the height of his balcony. He looked at the pictures in the magazine that was still tightly clutched in his hand. Above the shocked face of a falling Marcus Flint was a three-inch headline declaring: “The Falcon that fell from the sky – the end of a career”
It was an exclusive interview with Richard Starnley, the trainer of the Falmouth Falcons, on which Oliver wasted 20 minutes of his day reading it over and over again, mulling. He had never liked Starnley, not only because he was a middleclass Keeper to him but as well because he was famous for his greed.
Oliver was never to understand how a Quidditchplayer could use this sport to make as much money as possible and Richard Starnley had done exactly that.
And now after he read the interview he hated that man even more.
‘Flint won’t be able to finish the Season for the Falmouth Falcons. But we hope that he can play for us next season.’
Oliver knew exactly what that meant: “Shit happens; we are currently searching for a replacement.”
He couldn’t imagine how bad it was for Marcus, Oliver himself would sink into a big whole of depression. He could see it front of him. He would lie on his bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t live without Quidditch. And he knew that Flint was similar to him. For both of them, there were only three things in life: breathing, eating and Quidditch.
Flint had always been an important part of his life…as an enemy, as a competition and as a crush. It didn’t really matter what you called it. It was still an attachment. He wondered if he should pay him a visit. Just to check on him and keep him company. Oliver didn’t know if Marcus had much friends that would visit him. The only he could think of was Adrian Pucey, though he didn’t know if they had still much contact. So maybe it would be good if Oliver would offer him support through his recovery. He knew that Marcus would yell at him if he did but it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to that; he’d endured enough of it as a kid. He let the magazine fall onto the table and without giving it a second thought he left his house and made his way to St. Mungo’s.
But what he didn’t know was the reason why he decided to do that. Sure, for the last years he had had a crush on Marcus, which had taken him years to accept. But Oliver was sure that this wasn’t the reason for his visit; mainly because he’d sworn that he wouldn’t act on that, mostly because he was scared of dying, which he was sure he would if Flint ever found out.
