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hp_goldenage2022-03-01 10:30 am
hpgoldenage_mod) wrote in hp_goldenage2022-03-01 10:30 am
Entry tags:
Salt and Pepper Fest: Spam Mail
Title: Spam Mail
Author:![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
TheMightyFlynn
Characters/Pairings: Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5064
Content/Warning(s): Mild language
Summary/Prompt: Marcus never thought he would be thankful for receiving spam mail.
Prompt C9: S/he's been separated from the wizarding world for decades, but circumstances conspire to bring him/her back.
A/N: Thanks to the mods for running the fest again!
Read at AO3 or below:
"Afternoon, Mr. Flint!"
Marcus nodded to the group of children racing past him on scooters. He had known most of them their entire lives, watching them grow up in their quiet cul-de-sac. It was a peaceful life he had carved for himself here, in a small village away from everything. Opening his front door, he stooped to pick up the mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Pizza coupons…
Marcus' breath caught in his chest as he flipped to the last letter in the pile. Or was it a letter? He couldn't tell, and really didn't want to find out. There was no stamp, nor any return address. Rubbing his thumb over the ink on the parchment paper, he shook his head. There was no way anyone from his younger years could have discovered him, was there?
It had been literal decades since he had had contact with anyone from the wizarding world. After the end of the war, he had cut ties and run as far as he could get without actually leaving the United Kingdom. Having been settled here for as long as he had been, Marcus had assumed that no one really cared where he had got himself off to. And he was happy with that assumption. Sighing, he moved through the house slowly.
He tossed the bills onto his dining table, and the junk mail into the recycling bin in the kitchen. Leaving the parchment paper letter on one of the benches, he grabbed his phone and dialled the number on the pizza vouchers. After placing his order, Marcus deliberately ignored the letter and stomped into the living room. Slumping down on the lounge, he flicked the telly on and waited for his food to arrive.
Generally, the news was enough to allow his mind to zone out. Not tonight, though. As the reporter droned on and on about some kind of accident that had happened not too far down the road from his house, Marcus' attention kept returning to the bench.
Only wizards used parchment, right? This couldn't be some company's fancy way of getting his attention with their junk mail? No, he decided. Parchment was too expensive and too heavy to be used in such a general way. Not even the biggest chain stores had attempted something like that. So, the question now became: who had found him?
He hadn't left that many friends behind when he had fled after the war. In fact, he had been fairly certain that the wizarding world would have been glad to see him go. He hadn't been Marked – he hadn't been that stupid, thankfully – but he had done enough to make certain that he wouldn't have been welcome in polite circles. It was a life of wandering Knockturn Alley looking for work that he had been facing after the Ministry had been done with him, and he was glad to have let it go. If he had hung around, waiting for 'an opportunity' to just drop on him, he would have still been waiting, he figured. No, this was much better. A happy life lived in seclusion was better than a miserable one surrounded by people. He jumped when a knock sounded on his door.
"Thanks, mate."
He handed over the cash and voucher, then closed the door and moved off to drop the pizza and garlic bread onto the dining table next to the bills. Glancing through to the kitchen, his eyes were automatically drawn to the parchment.
Screw this.
Marching through the room, he grabbed the letter, tore it in half, and threw it into the recycling. His jaw clenching, he then grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and stomped back to his pizza.
*~*
I should have known better.
It had taken a few weeks, but a second letter arrived, just the same as the first. No stamp, no return address, just a plain envelope made of parchment, addressed in ink, rather than pen. Marcus stood on his front porch, looking around the street. There were no signs of owls anywhere. Frowning, he took the letter inside and shut the door.
"Right." Not bothering to even glance at the rest of his mail, he took the letter to the dining table and sat down. "Right."
Nerves fluttered through his stomach as he stared down at the letter. He had built himself a nice life here. Why was someone trying to ruin that?
His fingers drummed on the table as his mind raced through who could be trying to contact him. The sound was loud in the quiet house, almost echoing off the plain tan walls.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
He had no relations left, did he? No, surely not. Even if he had, why would they be trying to get in touch with him?
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Could it be the Ministry? That thought sent a chill down his spine. Had they decided to retroactively punish him for his actions? Wasn't there a statute of limitations, or something like that? Or was that only a Muggle thing? He had been living amongst them for so long now that he couldn't really recall.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Someone from school? He hadn't had friends so much as minions back then. A group of big guys all around his own age who hung out together under the Quidditch stands, smoking and talking shit. Some bragged about the people they had scored with, others about how influential their parents were, and how they were going to make it big out in the real world. Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. No, none of them would bother with him, if they even knew he was still alive, that is.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Clenching his hand, he thumped it down on the table. Taking a deep breath, he huffed it out his nose. This was ridiculous. He grasped the letter, intent on opening it and reading the contents, but was caught by a moment of hesitation. Instead of opening it, he found himself ripping it into even smaller pieces than the first, and tossing it in the recycling.
*~*
Over the next fortnight, the letters became a problem. Yes, letters, plural. Marcus sighed as he stood staring down at the four he had received that day, all sitting innocently in his hall.
He had been tearing them up the second he received them, but that clearly wasn't working. If they had had a return address, he would have been sending them straight back there, but there hadn't been even the slightest indication about who the mysterious sender was. Marcus had even tried staying home one day to see what kind of owl dropped the letters off, but he must have missed it. When he exited his bathroom in the early afternoon, there had been three of them sitting on his floor. And now several were arriving each day. He sighed.
"Fine," he growled.
Stooping to scoop them up, he stomped through his house towards the dining table. His hands clenched with nerves as he sat down. Then clenched again. He huffed out a breath as his stomach swirled. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath as he grabbed the top envelope.
Mr. Marcus G. Flint,
Records show that you have an active account with Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It is our pleasure to inform you that, as a loyal customer for over sixty years, you are now eligible to collect the interest that has built in your account. Please find the details listed below.
Marcus sat and stared down at the parchment for a long time. Gringotts. He didn't still have money in Gringotts, did he? He'd made certain that he had cleared his account out when he left London. It had all been converted to Muggle money many years before. Frowning, he continued reading.
Account holder's name: Marcus Gordon Flint
Account number: 5908 4534 2909
Account type: Savings
Account balance: 76,589.28
A strange sound – almost a buzzing noise – entered Marcus' ears as he read and re-read the amount in this account. His account? Was it even possible to own a bank account without knowing it? His parents had never really had enough money to keep a proper account for him when he'd been a child, so any money he had earned as a teenager went into an account he'd created for himself. There hadn't been much money in there when he'd closed it forty-two years ago. He blinked in confusion as his eyes finally fell on the last part of the letter.
It seems the previous letters sent to this address have not been received. A team will be sent to your place of residence shortly to clear up any mistakes and/or misinformation that may have been spread. We look forward to seeing you.
Regards,
K.R. Jamison
It took several minutes for Marcus to realise that his hands were shaking. And that his heart was thudding against his ribs so hard that he could hear each beat in his ears. There must have been a small, rational part of his brain still functioning, though, as he latched onto some of the strange wording in the letter.
A team will be sent to your place of residence shortly to clear up any mistakes and/or misinformation that may have been spread.
A tingle of suspicion trailed down the back of his neck. It did not sound like any letter a bank had sent him before, either wizarding or Muggle. And why was there no date of arrival for the mentioned team? Banks did not send teams to people's houses, no matter how much money they had saved in their accounts, for that matter. Or supposed accounts. And what about this 'misinformation' that had apparently been spread? Banks also did not address rumours about their operations. Placing the letter gently down on the dining table, Marcus leant back in his chair.
This made very little sense. In fact, it almost sounded like the wizarding version of the spam telephone calls that went around, with people being tricked into giving out their banking information, or allowing scammers into their computers. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed.
He would sleep on it, he decided when he had spent more time just sitting and staring at the table. Maybe a good night's sleep would clear his mind enough so that he could think properly.
*~*
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The letter had not moved during the night. And the amount had not changed. Marcus had woken almost hoping that it had all been a bad dream.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
He didn't know why, but the repetitive tapping of his fingers seemed to ground him in some way. It kept him focussed on what he was supposed to be thinking about. He added sugar to his coffee and leant back against the bench, staring at the dining table a few steps from him.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
It even sounded good when he drummed them on the side of his coffee cup. Just a cyclic pattern going around and around. Tap, tap, tap, tap. One, two, three, four. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
You. Need. To. Go.
Marcus closed his eyes. He knew the answer to this issue was to go to London and confront the bank itself. Ask exactly what these letters were, why he was being harassed, and how they had found him. Possibly not in that exact order. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, he pressed his lips together.
Like everything else, the bank opened at nine. It was currently half seven. That gave him more than enough time to shower, get dressed, and make his way out of town to where he could safely Apparate. Hopefully, anyway. He was the most magical thing to have ever happened to this sleepy town, as far as he knew, and he would like to keep it that way. If that meant travelling for a little while before Apparating, then so be it.
He felt a little more human after finishing his coffee and getting out of the shower. More than ready to deal with banking bureaucrats. Grabbing the open letter, he stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. His keys went into the other pocket, and his wand – which he hadn't carried on him in many years – was stowed away up an old holster on his forearm. His jacket sleeve should hold it safely away from any prying Muggle eyes, he figured. He was just on his way out the door when he realised that he had also stuffed his phone in his jeans pocket. Shaking his head at himself, he tossed it onto the lounge before turning and exiting the house.
"Morning, Mr. Flint!"
Marcus couldn't help smiling. No matter what the time of day, the local boys were always out racing around on their scooters or skateboards.
"Good morning, boys." Marcus had just made it out of his front gate when a thought stopped him. Turning towards where the boys – three brothers who lived across the street from him – had stopped at the corner. "Boyd, Frankie, Thomas? Could I have a word with you?"
He saw their eyes all go round, and smiled. Shaking his head as he made his way down the street, he had to wonder exactly what kind of trouble they had caused to have that reaction.
"What's wrong, Mr. Flint?" Boyd, the eldest of the three, asked as soon as he was within comfortable speaking distance.
"Nothing, nothing, boys, don't worry." He smiled again when he saw all three of them relax. "I was just wondering. Are you going to be playing in the street all day here?"
Boyd frowned. He glanced at his brothers before responding, suspicion lacing his voice. "Yeah. Some friends are coming over and we're gonna race. Why?"
Marcus nodded. "Good, good. That sounds like fun."
"What're you up to today, Mr. Flint?" Thomas asked, a glint to his eyes that would have told Marcus that he was the troublemaker even if he hadn't known it for years by that point.
"Well, boys, I'm off to London for the day."
"London?"
"Wow, that's cool!"
"You see, the thing is, boys," Marcus continued. "I think there might be some people coming over today, but I can't be sure. If you're going to be playing out here all day, do you think you could watch and tell me if someone knocks on my front door?"
"You want us to spy on your house for you?"
Marcus smiled again. "Exactly. Now, I don't mean camping out here just watching the house. And I definitely don't mean that you should speak to anyone you don't recognise and know. Alright? Just, if you happen to see someone go and knock on the door, let me know."
"What's it in for us?" Frankie asked, his eyes narrowed. "What do we get if we tell you?"
"How about some of those sweets you like from London?"
The boys all glanced at each other. It seemed to Marcus as though they were communicating without speaking. Eventually, Boyd stepped forward, a very solemn look to his eyes.
"Deal."
He stuck out his hand for Marcus to shake. Trying to not laugh, Marcus shook it. He heard them laughing as he made his way down the street and around the corner and shook his head. If only the rest of the day would go so easily.
*~*
Unfortunately, it didn't. Marcus found a quiet enough spot to Apparate from in the town, but that was about the best thing to happen. Diagon Alley was as crowded as he remembered it being, possibly even more so. And Gringotts was even worse.
"Now, please!" a goblin was shouting at the crowd gathered in front of the bank. "Please do not push! We will be getting to each and every one of you in due time! If you would all form an orderly line here, we will sort through everyone's complaints as quickly and efficiently as possible."
Marcus stood a couple of doors down from the bank, just staring in wonder. And horror. There appeared to be hundreds of angry people gathered outside the bank, each of them speaking loudly at the goblin standing on the steps. Some of them brandished what appeared to be envelopes made of heavy parchment, much the same as the one currently sitting in his own jacket pocket. He sighed.
"Too good to be true."
"This has been happening for a couple of weeks now."
Marcus jumped. He hadn't thought there was anyone near enough to him to hear him mumble. Glancing around, he spied a tall, thin man standing a few steps from him. His back was ramrod straight, and his hair was pure white and thinning on top. A vague sense of recognition hit Marcus, but he couldn't quite place the man.
"Letters telling people they have interest to collect?"
The man nodded. "Yes. It's a big scandal. No one knows who these people are, or how they got everyone's addresses. They have even managed to contact people who are no longer part of the wizarding community."
Marcus grunted. "Explains why I got one."
"Yes, I had been wondering why I hadn't seen you around."
Tension raced along Marcus' muscles, tightening his shoulders and forcing his hands to clench. He didn't get any time to react to the man's words further, though, as he turned towards him and held out a hand.
"Percy Weasley. I was in the year below you for much of our education."
Stunned, Marcus blinked. He remembered Weasley, of course. Pompous and self-centred, with the best grades in his year. He took the offered hand and shook it briefly.
"You recognised me? After all these years?"
Weasley shrugged, an action that looked out of place on him. "You really haven't changed all that much, to be honest. Right down to that intimidating glare."
It took a few seconds for Marcus to recognise the strange tone to Weasley's voice meant that he was joking. He offered a small smile in return before turning to look up at the bank again.
"A few weeks, you said?"
"Yes. I got a letter the first week they were sent out. I got in and asked the manager about it, because I knew that there was no bank account in my name with that amount of money in it. She sorted it out in a few minutes, and I went on my way. Now, though, it seems to have gotten out of hand."
Marcus snorted. "You can say that again."
He watched as the people lined up outside the bank began to form a disorderly line, all pushing and shoving each other to be closer to the start. He shook his head.
"This'll take forever."
"I know a quiet place down one of the side streets, if you're interested?"
Marcus watched as Weasley turned and made his way through the crowd to the other side of the street, then down an alleyway. Frowning, he glanced up at the line that seemed to get longer each time he looked. Something tingled through him, but he ignored it, putting it down to annoyance over the inconvenience. Shrugging, he pushed off the wall he had been leaning on and followed Weasley.
*~*
"So, you just left the wizarding world behind? Completely?"
Marcus leant on the rickety-looking table he and Weasley were seated at. The wood dug into his elbow as he rested his chin on his hand.
"Yeah, I did. Got nothing holding me here, do I?"
"Well, yes, but even if that were true–"
"It is."
"–why would you want to leave? Your family didn't have many contacts in the Muggle world, did they?"
Huffing out an amused sound through his nose, Marcus leant back into the chair. "Oh, so you do remember who I am." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Or who I was."
Weasley's mouth quirked up at the edge. He dropped his gaze to the table to where he was picking at one of the knots in the wood.
"I remember a troubled boy. I didn't know you well enough to make any judgement beyond that."
"Troubled?" Marcus snorted again. "Nice way of saying I was a complete douchebag."
Weasley glanced at Marcus over the top of his glasses, but was prevented from responding by the waitress arriving with their coffees. Taking a few seconds to place sugar in his mug, Marcus studied Weasley.
He had never been a particularly attractive teenager, and that had not changed as he had aged. Of course, being Percy Weasley, his clothing all fit to perfection, and he actually managed to make horn-rimmed glasses look fashionable. That was it, though. There was nothing remarkable about him in any way. Still, Marcus found that there was something… different about Weasley; something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Maybe douchebag is a bit of a harsh term."
Marcus couldn't help grinning. "Now there's a word I never thought I'd hear from you."
Leaning back in the chair, he took a small sip of his coffee. Weasley did the same, his eyes wandering around the alleyway.
"Perhaps I have relaxed somewhat in the intervening years."
Marcus would be the first to admit that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He'd never had the brains to work out when someone was teasing him, spoiling for a fight, or even flirting. Sarcasm was really the only verbal indicator he truly understood, and that was only due to the fact that he used it so often himself. He took the time to watch Weasley now, however, as the same tingly sensation flowed through him as he had experienced back in Diagon.
He appeared relaxed at first glance. Leaning back in the uncomfortable metal chair, his legs crossed and eyes wandering the alleyway, Weasley looked the perfect picture of ease he claimed to be. But it was when Marcus looked – truly looked – at him that the cracks began to show.
His shoulders were a little too stiff. The fingers that held his mug were tight. His eyes flicked to the side too often for him to just be people-watching. Marcus' jaw clenched.
"Bullshit."
Weasley choked on his next sip of coffee. "Excuse me?" He sat up straighter, his sharp gaze locked with Marcus'. "What did you just say?"
Marcus leant forward. "Bullshit, Weasley. You are the least relaxed person I've probably ever seen."
"Well, I–"
"Why?"
Weasley froze. Literally just froze in place. It appeared to Marcus as though he wasn't even breathing. Meeting Weasley's eyes, Marcus smiled.
"Why would you claim to be relaxed when it's obvious you aren't? Even to me." Acting on impulse, Marcus leant forward, keeping his eyes locked with Weasley's. "Do I make you nervous, Percy?"
A deep blush tinged Weasley's face, causing Marcus to chuckle. The red caused his freckles to stand out. Glancing down at his coffee, Marcus allowed himself a few seconds to celebrate his small victory.
"That's what this is, then? You see a likely candidate in the street and offer to buy him a coffee?"
"No, I–" Weasley began to splutter before cutting himself off abruptly. "No. I do not usually do this. I haven't done this, in fact, in many years. Not since before I was married."
Marcus' eyebrows rose towards his hairline. His eyes automatically went to Weasley's left hand, looking for a wedding band.
"We divorced several years ago now."
There was now a tension to Weasley's voice that hadn't been there before. Marcus glanced up again in time to see him stand.
"Forgive me. I thought… Actually, I don't know what I thought. Just… Goodbye."
With that, he placed enough money on the table to pay for both their drinks, and leave a generous tip. Marcus stared down at the cash stupidly. He blinked.
"Weasley, wait."
Gulping down the rest of his coffee, Marcus stood and strode down the alleyway. Weasley hadn't stopped. In fact, it seemed that his pace only increased the second Marcus began chasing him. He managed to make it back into Diagon Alley before Marcus caught up with him.
"Weasley!" Marcus grabbed hold of his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. "Wait."
The crowd outside the bank hadn't lessened any. They were still surrounded by hordes of people, each of them with differing levels of annoyance showing on their faces. Weasley pulled his sleeve out of Marcus' grasp and turned to face him.
"What?"
Marcus held both hands up. "Alright. I deserve that. I shouldn't have teased you." He paused, waiting for Weasley to respond. When he didn't, Marcus ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm sorry?"
Weasley scoffed. Staring at Marcus with what appeared to be exasperation, he flicked his head over towards another alleyway, this one not quite as crowded as the first. He began to speak the second Marcus entered the alley.
"When I first recognised you standing outside the bank, it piqued my curiosity. I hadn't heard a single thing about you since the end of the war, so seeing you in Diagon felt strange." He held a hand up when Marcus opened his mouth, shutting him up immediately. "Oliver had always warned me against you, you know. Back in school, he'd always tell me that you weren't worth looking at, let alone trying to get to know."
"You wanted to… get to know me back in school?"
Marcus watched as Weasley pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked less tense than earlier, but that had been replaced with a sort of exhaustion. When he removed his fingers from his face, Weasley mumbled something that Marcus couldn't quite make out.
"Huh?"
Weasley sighed. The blush had returned to his cheeks, turning them a slight shade of pink. "You were a wakeup for me. I…" He broke off, turning to face the wall of whatever shop they were standing beside. "I liked watching you play Quidditch. I only realised exactly why after we left school."
Oh.
Oh.
"So, when I recognised you today, I figured why not give it a try? Talk to you, see where it led?" He sighed and, when he turned back towards Marcus, his face was no longer red. "But it seems I was wrong. Excuse me."
Moving on automatic, Marcus leant forward and placed a hand on the brick wall in front of Weasley's face. "Wait."
Weasley sighed. "Why?"
That pulled Marcus up. He swallowed as Weasley stared at him, his eyes narrowed.
"I, uh…" Taking a slow breath, Marcus tried to sort out what was going through his head. "This wasn't what I expected when I came to London today, alright? I was going to go into the bank and yell at a manager or two, then go back to my house and live out the rest of my life without any further contact from the wizarding world."
"What about human contact? Is there someone, or is this just…" Weasley glanced away. "Look, I don't even know what to think anymore. Please just let me leave."
The look to Weasley's eyes stopped Marcus' breath. His entire body shivered with that same strange sensation from earlier, and he knew that he couldn't let Weasley just walk away.
"Look, I obviously fucked this up. Can we start over?"
Marcus found himself consciously holding his breath as he waited for Weasley's answer. He didn't even know why. Why would this answer mean anything to him? He hadn't seen this man in over forty years! Still, he waited. Not as patiently as he probably should have been, but he waited.
"Fine."
Marcus' breath whooshed out of him in a rush. "'Fine'?"
Weasley nodded stiffly before holding out his hand. "Percy Weasley."
A tiny spark lit itself in Marcus' stomach as he grasped Weasley's hand. "Marcus Flint, village idiot."
Percy's responding laugh carried Marcus through the rest of the day. Not even dealing with the long line and the goblins could put a damper on the spark that laugh lit.
*~*
Two months later
"Mr. Flint! Mr. Flint!"
Marcus smiled as he made his way up the street towards his house. "Good afternoon, boys."
"There was a man knocking on your door again, Mr. Flint," Boyd informed Marcus in lieu of any further greeting. "We watched him."
In the two months since the bank fiasco, the brothers had kept a very close eye on Marcus' house. Possibly because he continued to ply them with sweets from London, which he now visited on a regular basis.
"Very good, boys. Was it the same man as before?"
"Yes! The important-looking one!" Boyd stood up straight, trying not to grin as Marcus fished in his pocket for his payment. "He comes around a lot, Mr. Flint."
Marcus grinned as he deposited sweets into each of the three pairs of waiting hands. "He does, doesn't he? Make sure to keep an eye on him, won't you boys?"
"You encourage them too much," Percy mumbled by way of greeting as Marcus opened the door.
"What's the matter, Weasley? Don't like me having my own personal security force?" Marcus stepped forward and placed a soft kiss on Percy's forehead. "Or is it that you can never get away with sneaking in?"
Percy hummed. "I may have to take to Apparating in so they can't warn you beforehand."
Marcus chuckled. Moving through the house, he put the kettle on, then rested back against the kitchen bench.
"Did you see the paper this morning?" He had taken to reading the wizarding news again in the past two months. "They've caught the bank scammers."
Percy hummed again, moving to join Marcus in the kitchen. He slipped an arm around Marcus' waist and leant in close.
"Two months to the day."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "We celebrating?"
Pressing his nose in behind Marcus' ear, Percy breathed deeply. "If you want. If we can escape without your security force trying to join us."
Marcus chuckled. Turning so he could hold Percy properly in his arms, he sighed.
"You know, I never thought I'd be thankful for spam mail before."
Percy's eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled. "But you are now?"
Leaning in, Marcus brushed their lips together gently. "Definitely."
Author:
Characters/Pairings: Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5064
Content/Warning(s): Mild language
Summary/Prompt: Marcus never thought he would be thankful for receiving spam mail.
Prompt C9: S/he's been separated from the wizarding world for decades, but circumstances conspire to bring him/her back.
A/N: Thanks to the mods for running the fest again!
Read at AO3 or below:
"Afternoon, Mr. Flint!"
Marcus nodded to the group of children racing past him on scooters. He had known most of them their entire lives, watching them grow up in their quiet cul-de-sac. It was a peaceful life he had carved for himself here, in a small village away from everything. Opening his front door, he stooped to pick up the mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Pizza coupons…
Marcus' breath caught in his chest as he flipped to the last letter in the pile. Or was it a letter? He couldn't tell, and really didn't want to find out. There was no stamp, nor any return address. Rubbing his thumb over the ink on the parchment paper, he shook his head. There was no way anyone from his younger years could have discovered him, was there?
It had been literal decades since he had had contact with anyone from the wizarding world. After the end of the war, he had cut ties and run as far as he could get without actually leaving the United Kingdom. Having been settled here for as long as he had been, Marcus had assumed that no one really cared where he had got himself off to. And he was happy with that assumption. Sighing, he moved through the house slowly.
He tossed the bills onto his dining table, and the junk mail into the recycling bin in the kitchen. Leaving the parchment paper letter on one of the benches, he grabbed his phone and dialled the number on the pizza vouchers. After placing his order, Marcus deliberately ignored the letter and stomped into the living room. Slumping down on the lounge, he flicked the telly on and waited for his food to arrive.
Generally, the news was enough to allow his mind to zone out. Not tonight, though. As the reporter droned on and on about some kind of accident that had happened not too far down the road from his house, Marcus' attention kept returning to the bench.
Only wizards used parchment, right? This couldn't be some company's fancy way of getting his attention with their junk mail? No, he decided. Parchment was too expensive and too heavy to be used in such a general way. Not even the biggest chain stores had attempted something like that. So, the question now became: who had found him?
He hadn't left that many friends behind when he had fled after the war. In fact, he had been fairly certain that the wizarding world would have been glad to see him go. He hadn't been Marked – he hadn't been that stupid, thankfully – but he had done enough to make certain that he wouldn't have been welcome in polite circles. It was a life of wandering Knockturn Alley looking for work that he had been facing after the Ministry had been done with him, and he was glad to have let it go. If he had hung around, waiting for 'an opportunity' to just drop on him, he would have still been waiting, he figured. No, this was much better. A happy life lived in seclusion was better than a miserable one surrounded by people. He jumped when a knock sounded on his door.
"Thanks, mate."
He handed over the cash and voucher, then closed the door and moved off to drop the pizza and garlic bread onto the dining table next to the bills. Glancing through to the kitchen, his eyes were automatically drawn to the parchment.
Screw this.
Marching through the room, he grabbed the letter, tore it in half, and threw it into the recycling. His jaw clenching, he then grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and stomped back to his pizza.
I should have known better.
It had taken a few weeks, but a second letter arrived, just the same as the first. No stamp, no return address, just a plain envelope made of parchment, addressed in ink, rather than pen. Marcus stood on his front porch, looking around the street. There were no signs of owls anywhere. Frowning, he took the letter inside and shut the door.
"Right." Not bothering to even glance at the rest of his mail, he took the letter to the dining table and sat down. "Right."
Nerves fluttered through his stomach as he stared down at the letter. He had built himself a nice life here. Why was someone trying to ruin that?
His fingers drummed on the table as his mind raced through who could be trying to contact him. The sound was loud in the quiet house, almost echoing off the plain tan walls.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
He had no relations left, did he? No, surely not. Even if he had, why would they be trying to get in touch with him?
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Could it be the Ministry? That thought sent a chill down his spine. Had they decided to retroactively punish him for his actions? Wasn't there a statute of limitations, or something like that? Or was that only a Muggle thing? He had been living amongst them for so long now that he couldn't really recall.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Someone from school? He hadn't had friends so much as minions back then. A group of big guys all around his own age who hung out together under the Quidditch stands, smoking and talking shit. Some bragged about the people they had scored with, others about how influential their parents were, and how they were going to make it big out in the real world. Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. No, none of them would bother with him, if they even knew he was still alive, that is.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Clenching his hand, he thumped it down on the table. Taking a deep breath, he huffed it out his nose. This was ridiculous. He grasped the letter, intent on opening it and reading the contents, but was caught by a moment of hesitation. Instead of opening it, he found himself ripping it into even smaller pieces than the first, and tossing it in the recycling.
Over the next fortnight, the letters became a problem. Yes, letters, plural. Marcus sighed as he stood staring down at the four he had received that day, all sitting innocently in his hall.
He had been tearing them up the second he received them, but that clearly wasn't working. If they had had a return address, he would have been sending them straight back there, but there hadn't been even the slightest indication about who the mysterious sender was. Marcus had even tried staying home one day to see what kind of owl dropped the letters off, but he must have missed it. When he exited his bathroom in the early afternoon, there had been three of them sitting on his floor. And now several were arriving each day. He sighed.
"Fine," he growled.
Stooping to scoop them up, he stomped through his house towards the dining table. His hands clenched with nerves as he sat down. Then clenched again. He huffed out a breath as his stomach swirled. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath as he grabbed the top envelope.
Mr. Marcus G. Flint,
Records show that you have an active account with Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It is our pleasure to inform you that, as a loyal customer for over sixty years, you are now eligible to collect the interest that has built in your account. Please find the details listed below.
Marcus sat and stared down at the parchment for a long time. Gringotts. He didn't still have money in Gringotts, did he? He'd made certain that he had cleared his account out when he left London. It had all been converted to Muggle money many years before. Frowning, he continued reading.
Account holder's name: Marcus Gordon Flint
Account number: 5908 4534 2909
Account type: Savings
Account balance: 76,589.28
A strange sound – almost a buzzing noise – entered Marcus' ears as he read and re-read the amount in this account. His account? Was it even possible to own a bank account without knowing it? His parents had never really had enough money to keep a proper account for him when he'd been a child, so any money he had earned as a teenager went into an account he'd created for himself. There hadn't been much money in there when he'd closed it forty-two years ago. He blinked in confusion as his eyes finally fell on the last part of the letter.
It seems the previous letters sent to this address have not been received. A team will be sent to your place of residence shortly to clear up any mistakes and/or misinformation that may have been spread. We look forward to seeing you.
Regards,
K.R. Jamison
It took several minutes for Marcus to realise that his hands were shaking. And that his heart was thudding against his ribs so hard that he could hear each beat in his ears. There must have been a small, rational part of his brain still functioning, though, as he latched onto some of the strange wording in the letter.
A team will be sent to your place of residence shortly to clear up any mistakes and/or misinformation that may have been spread.
A tingle of suspicion trailed down the back of his neck. It did not sound like any letter a bank had sent him before, either wizarding or Muggle. And why was there no date of arrival for the mentioned team? Banks did not send teams to people's houses, no matter how much money they had saved in their accounts, for that matter. Or supposed accounts. And what about this 'misinformation' that had apparently been spread? Banks also did not address rumours about their operations. Placing the letter gently down on the dining table, Marcus leant back in his chair.
This made very little sense. In fact, it almost sounded like the wizarding version of the spam telephone calls that went around, with people being tricked into giving out their banking information, or allowing scammers into their computers. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed.
He would sleep on it, he decided when he had spent more time just sitting and staring at the table. Maybe a good night's sleep would clear his mind enough so that he could think properly.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The letter had not moved during the night. And the amount had not changed. Marcus had woken almost hoping that it had all been a bad dream.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
He didn't know why, but the repetitive tapping of his fingers seemed to ground him in some way. It kept him focussed on what he was supposed to be thinking about. He added sugar to his coffee and leant back against the bench, staring at the dining table a few steps from him.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
It even sounded good when he drummed them on the side of his coffee cup. Just a cyclic pattern going around and around. Tap, tap, tap, tap. One, two, three, four. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
You. Need. To. Go.
Marcus closed his eyes. He knew the answer to this issue was to go to London and confront the bank itself. Ask exactly what these letters were, why he was being harassed, and how they had found him. Possibly not in that exact order. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, he pressed his lips together.
Like everything else, the bank opened at nine. It was currently half seven. That gave him more than enough time to shower, get dressed, and make his way out of town to where he could safely Apparate. Hopefully, anyway. He was the most magical thing to have ever happened to this sleepy town, as far as he knew, and he would like to keep it that way. If that meant travelling for a little while before Apparating, then so be it.
He felt a little more human after finishing his coffee and getting out of the shower. More than ready to deal with banking bureaucrats. Grabbing the open letter, he stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. His keys went into the other pocket, and his wand – which he hadn't carried on him in many years – was stowed away up an old holster on his forearm. His jacket sleeve should hold it safely away from any prying Muggle eyes, he figured. He was just on his way out the door when he realised that he had also stuffed his phone in his jeans pocket. Shaking his head at himself, he tossed it onto the lounge before turning and exiting the house.
"Morning, Mr. Flint!"
Marcus couldn't help smiling. No matter what the time of day, the local boys were always out racing around on their scooters or skateboards.
"Good morning, boys." Marcus had just made it out of his front gate when a thought stopped him. Turning towards where the boys – three brothers who lived across the street from him – had stopped at the corner. "Boyd, Frankie, Thomas? Could I have a word with you?"
He saw their eyes all go round, and smiled. Shaking his head as he made his way down the street, he had to wonder exactly what kind of trouble they had caused to have that reaction.
"What's wrong, Mr. Flint?" Boyd, the eldest of the three, asked as soon as he was within comfortable speaking distance.
"Nothing, nothing, boys, don't worry." He smiled again when he saw all three of them relax. "I was just wondering. Are you going to be playing in the street all day here?"
Boyd frowned. He glanced at his brothers before responding, suspicion lacing his voice. "Yeah. Some friends are coming over and we're gonna race. Why?"
Marcus nodded. "Good, good. That sounds like fun."
"What're you up to today, Mr. Flint?" Thomas asked, a glint to his eyes that would have told Marcus that he was the troublemaker even if he hadn't known it for years by that point.
"Well, boys, I'm off to London for the day."
"London?"
"Wow, that's cool!"
"You see, the thing is, boys," Marcus continued. "I think there might be some people coming over today, but I can't be sure. If you're going to be playing out here all day, do you think you could watch and tell me if someone knocks on my front door?"
"You want us to spy on your house for you?"
Marcus smiled again. "Exactly. Now, I don't mean camping out here just watching the house. And I definitely don't mean that you should speak to anyone you don't recognise and know. Alright? Just, if you happen to see someone go and knock on the door, let me know."
"What's it in for us?" Frankie asked, his eyes narrowed. "What do we get if we tell you?"
"How about some of those sweets you like from London?"
The boys all glanced at each other. It seemed to Marcus as though they were communicating without speaking. Eventually, Boyd stepped forward, a very solemn look to his eyes.
"Deal."
He stuck out his hand for Marcus to shake. Trying to not laugh, Marcus shook it. He heard them laughing as he made his way down the street and around the corner and shook his head. If only the rest of the day would go so easily.
Unfortunately, it didn't. Marcus found a quiet enough spot to Apparate from in the town, but that was about the best thing to happen. Diagon Alley was as crowded as he remembered it being, possibly even more so. And Gringotts was even worse.
"Now, please!" a goblin was shouting at the crowd gathered in front of the bank. "Please do not push! We will be getting to each and every one of you in due time! If you would all form an orderly line here, we will sort through everyone's complaints as quickly and efficiently as possible."
Marcus stood a couple of doors down from the bank, just staring in wonder. And horror. There appeared to be hundreds of angry people gathered outside the bank, each of them speaking loudly at the goblin standing on the steps. Some of them brandished what appeared to be envelopes made of heavy parchment, much the same as the one currently sitting in his own jacket pocket. He sighed.
"Too good to be true."
"This has been happening for a couple of weeks now."
Marcus jumped. He hadn't thought there was anyone near enough to him to hear him mumble. Glancing around, he spied a tall, thin man standing a few steps from him. His back was ramrod straight, and his hair was pure white and thinning on top. A vague sense of recognition hit Marcus, but he couldn't quite place the man.
"Letters telling people they have interest to collect?"
The man nodded. "Yes. It's a big scandal. No one knows who these people are, or how they got everyone's addresses. They have even managed to contact people who are no longer part of the wizarding community."
Marcus grunted. "Explains why I got one."
"Yes, I had been wondering why I hadn't seen you around."
Tension raced along Marcus' muscles, tightening his shoulders and forcing his hands to clench. He didn't get any time to react to the man's words further, though, as he turned towards him and held out a hand.
"Percy Weasley. I was in the year below you for much of our education."
Stunned, Marcus blinked. He remembered Weasley, of course. Pompous and self-centred, with the best grades in his year. He took the offered hand and shook it briefly.
"You recognised me? After all these years?"
Weasley shrugged, an action that looked out of place on him. "You really haven't changed all that much, to be honest. Right down to that intimidating glare."
It took a few seconds for Marcus to recognise the strange tone to Weasley's voice meant that he was joking. He offered a small smile in return before turning to look up at the bank again.
"A few weeks, you said?"
"Yes. I got a letter the first week they were sent out. I got in and asked the manager about it, because I knew that there was no bank account in my name with that amount of money in it. She sorted it out in a few minutes, and I went on my way. Now, though, it seems to have gotten out of hand."
Marcus snorted. "You can say that again."
He watched as the people lined up outside the bank began to form a disorderly line, all pushing and shoving each other to be closer to the start. He shook his head.
"This'll take forever."
"I know a quiet place down one of the side streets, if you're interested?"
Marcus watched as Weasley turned and made his way through the crowd to the other side of the street, then down an alleyway. Frowning, he glanced up at the line that seemed to get longer each time he looked. Something tingled through him, but he ignored it, putting it down to annoyance over the inconvenience. Shrugging, he pushed off the wall he had been leaning on and followed Weasley.
"So, you just left the wizarding world behind? Completely?"
Marcus leant on the rickety-looking table he and Weasley were seated at. The wood dug into his elbow as he rested his chin on his hand.
"Yeah, I did. Got nothing holding me here, do I?"
"Well, yes, but even if that were true–"
"It is."
"–why would you want to leave? Your family didn't have many contacts in the Muggle world, did they?"
Huffing out an amused sound through his nose, Marcus leant back into the chair. "Oh, so you do remember who I am." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Or who I was."
Weasley's mouth quirked up at the edge. He dropped his gaze to the table to where he was picking at one of the knots in the wood.
"I remember a troubled boy. I didn't know you well enough to make any judgement beyond that."
"Troubled?" Marcus snorted again. "Nice way of saying I was a complete douchebag."
Weasley glanced at Marcus over the top of his glasses, but was prevented from responding by the waitress arriving with their coffees. Taking a few seconds to place sugar in his mug, Marcus studied Weasley.
He had never been a particularly attractive teenager, and that had not changed as he had aged. Of course, being Percy Weasley, his clothing all fit to perfection, and he actually managed to make horn-rimmed glasses look fashionable. That was it, though. There was nothing remarkable about him in any way. Still, Marcus found that there was something… different about Weasley; something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Maybe douchebag is a bit of a harsh term."
Marcus couldn't help grinning. "Now there's a word I never thought I'd hear from you."
Leaning back in the chair, he took a small sip of his coffee. Weasley did the same, his eyes wandering around the alleyway.
"Perhaps I have relaxed somewhat in the intervening years."
Marcus would be the first to admit that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He'd never had the brains to work out when someone was teasing him, spoiling for a fight, or even flirting. Sarcasm was really the only verbal indicator he truly understood, and that was only due to the fact that he used it so often himself. He took the time to watch Weasley now, however, as the same tingly sensation flowed through him as he had experienced back in Diagon.
He appeared relaxed at first glance. Leaning back in the uncomfortable metal chair, his legs crossed and eyes wandering the alleyway, Weasley looked the perfect picture of ease he claimed to be. But it was when Marcus looked – truly looked – at him that the cracks began to show.
His shoulders were a little too stiff. The fingers that held his mug were tight. His eyes flicked to the side too often for him to just be people-watching. Marcus' jaw clenched.
"Bullshit."
Weasley choked on his next sip of coffee. "Excuse me?" He sat up straighter, his sharp gaze locked with Marcus'. "What did you just say?"
Marcus leant forward. "Bullshit, Weasley. You are the least relaxed person I've probably ever seen."
"Well, I–"
"Why?"
Weasley froze. Literally just froze in place. It appeared to Marcus as though he wasn't even breathing. Meeting Weasley's eyes, Marcus smiled.
"Why would you claim to be relaxed when it's obvious you aren't? Even to me." Acting on impulse, Marcus leant forward, keeping his eyes locked with Weasley's. "Do I make you nervous, Percy?"
A deep blush tinged Weasley's face, causing Marcus to chuckle. The red caused his freckles to stand out. Glancing down at his coffee, Marcus allowed himself a few seconds to celebrate his small victory.
"That's what this is, then? You see a likely candidate in the street and offer to buy him a coffee?"
"No, I–" Weasley began to splutter before cutting himself off abruptly. "No. I do not usually do this. I haven't done this, in fact, in many years. Not since before I was married."
Marcus' eyebrows rose towards his hairline. His eyes automatically went to Weasley's left hand, looking for a wedding band.
"We divorced several years ago now."
There was now a tension to Weasley's voice that hadn't been there before. Marcus glanced up again in time to see him stand.
"Forgive me. I thought… Actually, I don't know what I thought. Just… Goodbye."
With that, he placed enough money on the table to pay for both their drinks, and leave a generous tip. Marcus stared down at the cash stupidly. He blinked.
"Weasley, wait."
Gulping down the rest of his coffee, Marcus stood and strode down the alleyway. Weasley hadn't stopped. In fact, it seemed that his pace only increased the second Marcus began chasing him. He managed to make it back into Diagon Alley before Marcus caught up with him.
"Weasley!" Marcus grabbed hold of his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. "Wait."
The crowd outside the bank hadn't lessened any. They were still surrounded by hordes of people, each of them with differing levels of annoyance showing on their faces. Weasley pulled his sleeve out of Marcus' grasp and turned to face him.
"What?"
Marcus held both hands up. "Alright. I deserve that. I shouldn't have teased you." He paused, waiting for Weasley to respond. When he didn't, Marcus ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm sorry?"
Weasley scoffed. Staring at Marcus with what appeared to be exasperation, he flicked his head over towards another alleyway, this one not quite as crowded as the first. He began to speak the second Marcus entered the alley.
"When I first recognised you standing outside the bank, it piqued my curiosity. I hadn't heard a single thing about you since the end of the war, so seeing you in Diagon felt strange." He held a hand up when Marcus opened his mouth, shutting him up immediately. "Oliver had always warned me against you, you know. Back in school, he'd always tell me that you weren't worth looking at, let alone trying to get to know."
"You wanted to… get to know me back in school?"
Marcus watched as Weasley pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked less tense than earlier, but that had been replaced with a sort of exhaustion. When he removed his fingers from his face, Weasley mumbled something that Marcus couldn't quite make out.
"Huh?"
Weasley sighed. The blush had returned to his cheeks, turning them a slight shade of pink. "You were a wakeup for me. I…" He broke off, turning to face the wall of whatever shop they were standing beside. "I liked watching you play Quidditch. I only realised exactly why after we left school."
Oh.
Oh.
"So, when I recognised you today, I figured why not give it a try? Talk to you, see where it led?" He sighed and, when he turned back towards Marcus, his face was no longer red. "But it seems I was wrong. Excuse me."
Moving on automatic, Marcus leant forward and placed a hand on the brick wall in front of Weasley's face. "Wait."
Weasley sighed. "Why?"
That pulled Marcus up. He swallowed as Weasley stared at him, his eyes narrowed.
"I, uh…" Taking a slow breath, Marcus tried to sort out what was going through his head. "This wasn't what I expected when I came to London today, alright? I was going to go into the bank and yell at a manager or two, then go back to my house and live out the rest of my life without any further contact from the wizarding world."
"What about human contact? Is there someone, or is this just…" Weasley glanced away. "Look, I don't even know what to think anymore. Please just let me leave."
The look to Weasley's eyes stopped Marcus' breath. His entire body shivered with that same strange sensation from earlier, and he knew that he couldn't let Weasley just walk away.
"Look, I obviously fucked this up. Can we start over?"
Marcus found himself consciously holding his breath as he waited for Weasley's answer. He didn't even know why. Why would this answer mean anything to him? He hadn't seen this man in over forty years! Still, he waited. Not as patiently as he probably should have been, but he waited.
"Fine."
Marcus' breath whooshed out of him in a rush. "'Fine'?"
Weasley nodded stiffly before holding out his hand. "Percy Weasley."
A tiny spark lit itself in Marcus' stomach as he grasped Weasley's hand. "Marcus Flint, village idiot."
Percy's responding laugh carried Marcus through the rest of the day. Not even dealing with the long line and the goblins could put a damper on the spark that laugh lit.
"Mr. Flint! Mr. Flint!"
Marcus smiled as he made his way up the street towards his house. "Good afternoon, boys."
"There was a man knocking on your door again, Mr. Flint," Boyd informed Marcus in lieu of any further greeting. "We watched him."
In the two months since the bank fiasco, the brothers had kept a very close eye on Marcus' house. Possibly because he continued to ply them with sweets from London, which he now visited on a regular basis.
"Very good, boys. Was it the same man as before?"
"Yes! The important-looking one!" Boyd stood up straight, trying not to grin as Marcus fished in his pocket for his payment. "He comes around a lot, Mr. Flint."
Marcus grinned as he deposited sweets into each of the three pairs of waiting hands. "He does, doesn't he? Make sure to keep an eye on him, won't you boys?"
"You encourage them too much," Percy mumbled by way of greeting as Marcus opened the door.
"What's the matter, Weasley? Don't like me having my own personal security force?" Marcus stepped forward and placed a soft kiss on Percy's forehead. "Or is it that you can never get away with sneaking in?"
Percy hummed. "I may have to take to Apparating in so they can't warn you beforehand."
Marcus chuckled. Moving through the house, he put the kettle on, then rested back against the kitchen bench.
"Did you see the paper this morning?" He had taken to reading the wizarding news again in the past two months. "They've caught the bank scammers."
Percy hummed again, moving to join Marcus in the kitchen. He slipped an arm around Marcus' waist and leant in close.
"Two months to the day."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "We celebrating?"
Pressing his nose in behind Marcus' ear, Percy breathed deeply. "If you want. If we can escape without your security force trying to join us."
Marcus chuckled. Turning so he could hold Percy properly in his arms, he sighed.
"You know, I never thought I'd be thankful for spam mail before."
Percy's eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled. "But you are now?"
Leaning in, Marcus brushed their lips together gently. "Definitely."