Katie Bell would never have guessed that[i] Marcus Fucking Flint[/i] would have been their final candidate. Not for all the gold in Gringotts. She grit her teeth, knuckles whitening around her broomstick. No. Fucking [i]no[/i]. She would not play with that son of a bitch. She knew exactly the sort of man he was. Assholes like him had torn England apart. If [i]Santiago[/i] had been a Death Eater, then why the [i]fuck[/i] was Flint here?

Because fate was a cold hearted bitch, he was directed to stand next to her. She fixed him with her most withering stare, jaw clenching. Rage and adrenaline began surging through her. Good. That would help in the air.

“I’d rather break [i]yours[/i], fucker,” she hissed quietly, directing her eyes to Fenrir. The white haired Seeker had unfurled his parchment, his face placid. 

“This is our final drill,” he called, voice crisp and even. In the past year, Katie had never seen him angry. He was likely the single most composed human being in the world. Even on the pitch, in a team that thrived on violence and dirty play, he was calm. “Good luck. I want two teams of six. Team One: Khan, Haggerty, Llewellyn, Pucey, Flint, Bell. Team Two: Meza, Weller, Tabtiang, Miller, Perth, Davies. Everyone else, you’re dismissed. Petyr will contact you with your paperwork. The rest of you, in the air.”

Katie grinned fiendishly. She’d made the first cut. She found Kamala, eyes dancing. The dark haired woman looked just as wickedly thrilled. Pucey was a surprise; she always thought she and Perth and Miller had played better together, but she wasn’t complaining. Douchey Slytherin though Pucey had been, he’d made his way off her shit list at the last team Christmas party. [i]And[/i] he managed to play both tactically and viciously. He was good people.
Flint, however… she pursed her lips as Pucey greeted the man like an old friend, with none of the resentment a blood elitist deserved. 

Sure, Flint hadn’t picked a side publicly—hell, she hadn’t either. But she had used her pureblood immunity to smuggle a few muggleborns out of the country. [i]And[/i] she’d fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. He had kept “neutral”. Katie was convinced that his involvement with Death Eaters would come to a head eventually. Mounting her broom, Katie took to the air. As much as she hated Flint, she [i]had[/i] to play with him. She was getting on this team, come hell or high water.

“Kitty cat, you take point,” Pucey was saying as she joined the weirdest circle of Chasers she’d ever played with. “Run interference on Miller and Perth, but don’t let Tabby fence you in.”

“Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday,” she purred, ignoring his nickname for her. What was wrong with Katie, or Bell? Did Slytherins just hate real names? However, with Pucey it was remotely tolerable.

“Flint—you know what to do. I’ll run mid and travel between you two. What side does Khan favor?” Pucey looked at her expectantly, and Katie answered automatically.

“Middle-left, but her right is solid in early game. She’s doing better, but she needs to tighten up her late game.” She nodded to the other Chasers and Keeper for Flint, even as she wanted to set him on fire. She wouldn’t risk her position on the team over an old grudge. “Miller’s good at long range, he’s fuckin’ quick, usually comes in from the right. He and Perth are almost always on the same page. Perth’s slower, but solid. Good right arm. Davies is the weak link. He’s arrogant, you can probably piss him off if you press him. Meza's a solid Keeper all around, we'll have to press the goal hard.”

Pucey nodded, clearly trusting her analysis. He nodded to their Beaters, “Haggerty is solid defence, he prefers to come from below. Llewellyn is a fuckin’ psychopath with a bat. If you’re in the way of a good shot, he’ll take you out. Tabtiang, tall one over there, he’s the best fuckin’ Beater in the league. Smart and brutal. He’ll make the team. Weller’s simple, but he’s got endurance. Ready?”

Katie grinned viciously, her body humming with anticipation. "Lets kill 'em."