"Life used to be a lot more peaceful when I was dead"
Unnoticed. Ignored. Forgotten.
So he left. Never to be seen again. Vanished from the face of the earth.
Until Today. Four years later, the black-haired Weasley makes a comeback that takes the...
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Marcus grumbled under his breath as he weaved in and out of the busy crowds of Diagon Ally, cursing himself for waking up late. Once again, he had managed to sneak out of Hogwarts in broad daylight, effectively dodging his curious friends and housemates.
Quickly he slipped into Knockturn Ally, rushing into Borgin and Burkes. He pushed his hood back down, "Morning Mr Borgin! Talk later, I'm late again!" he hurriedly greeting the storekeeper as he swept past them and straight into the floo, grabbing a handful of powder on his way.
The boy vanished into a green flame just as quickly as he had appeared. There was a moment of stillness in the store before Mr Borgin shook his head, grumbling as he turned back to his newspaper, "That kid scares me sometimes."
- - - - -
Marcus coughed as he landed on his feet, stepping out of the floo. His clothes were covered in soot and he scowled, "Damn floo-"
"That should be the least of your worries."
Marcus looked up and met a pair of blue eyes. In front of him stood a man who looked as though he was in his late 30's though his real age was beyond Marcus's comprehension. He was wearing a silk blue shirt with brown trousers; a red handkerchief tied around his upper arm. The handkerchief was always present Marcus had noticed- no matter the outfit, it was always on his upper left arm, as though it was a lifeline his master held on to survive.
Marcus smiled sheepishly, dusting his shirt off, "Master...hey....Sorry I'm late?"
The man crossed his arms as he glared at the boy, "90 laps."
"What?! No wait-" Marcus exclaimed but came to a skidding halt as his masters eyes began to glow gold. Immediately, he complied, already running his first lap as he tossed his cloak to the side, "I'm going! I'm going!"
- - - - -
Marcus groaned as he finished his final lap, collapsing onto the couch in front of his master. He gulped in as much oxygen as his lungs would allow.
The man raised a brow over the newspaper he was reading, blowing his tea gently, "I thought you were trained by the Italian Mafia?"
"They didn't cast weighting charms on my shoes old man," Marcus mumbled between breaths.
"Who are you calling old? I haven't a grey hair on my head!" His master defended as he tossed the newspaper aside.
"Couldn't fool me! You probably dye your hair like the Malfoys!"
Suddenly Marcus was hanging upside down from the grand chandelier. Marcus yelped in surprise as he was suddenly falling headfirst from a 20-foot ceiling- his reflexes kicking in and he somehow landed on his feet.
