Duplicitous | T.N.

XL • The real Fox

The quidditch field was eloped in noise. A chilly Saturday morning it was, fog settled unmoving from above, the passerines remained silent, the wind refused to howl, and the creatures and critters had yet to awaken. Despite the early morning, sleepy state of the British outdoors, the field was more alive than ever.

"Another twenty!" The firm voice of Marcus Flint roared. "Are we going to be making it Fifty?" The question was not rhetorical. It was a threat. "My Nan could do better than you lot!"

Marcus Flint barked order after order at the Slytherin Quidditch team. By four am, the low grunts and heavy breaths of the team was all Flint could hear. He thirsted for more, to sharpen his team to the point of indestructibility. He shaped his men to be ruthless, and to hold such power he needed to train them relentlessly.

Theodores' nose came down a mere centimetre from the damp grass before his arms pushed him back up. The process repeated in the form of a push up until he reached twenty, his breathing was heavy, his heartbeat rapid, sweat trickled down his forehead, neck and chest as he prayed for water. He wouldn't dare ask for it.

His face lowered down as he relied on his upper body strength to push his face up and away from the dirt. He allowed himself to intake a breath of relief before continuing one final time. Boys all around were in the same state, their mouths had run dry as their faces burned scarlet.

Flint held no mercy. "Finished are you, ninnies?" He scoffed at the group of them. "Another twenty." Theodore didn't allow for the groan if agitation to release from his chapped lips, he did not wish to face the punishment.

He continued to push himself, his breathing turned faint, he did not stop. Beside him, seventh year, Graham Montague was slowing down, he was mates with Marcus, the two had been hanging about since first year, that did not mean he would be supplied with any leniency.

Flint saw compassion as a means to an end. Useless, if you will. No one achieved anything great with 'clemency', so he forced them to push themselves, to push the limits. Theodore didn't hate Flint. He didn't like him much either, he hated everyone, but Marcus was mutual in his regard, Theo respected his work ethic.

The group continued to train as Marcus screamed his words of encouragement. "We will destroy Ravenclaw this upcoming match!" So endearing. "They shall writhe under the souls of our shoes as we crush them!" He seethed, ambitious as ever.

They were all exhausted in perspiration, their hair damp from hidrosis. Panting at the breath Theodore collected the heavy bag of flour Marcus had laid out for each of them, he threw the weight over his shoulders before he began his run. Each boy collected their own bag of flour before they jogged.

Draco beside Theodore was mumbling under his breath. "Mother fucker." He whined to himself. Theodore chuckled from aside him. Malfoy was redder than each and every one of them, his pale complexion enunciated his blooming, flushed cheeks.

Blaise a step ahead of them, the least red. The boy ran with his head down, counting quietly a tactic formed in order to distract himself. Theodore upped his pace to meet with his mate. Huffing he croaked out the words. "Counting again are we?"

"Shut up, you know it helps." The boy groaned. "You suck man." He sighed as he wore a lazy grin.

Theodore grinned right back before diverting his attention towards the physical torture he was forced to endure. Laps were run and breathing was limited, every intake of air was calculated. They knew they would train until they dropped.
Theodore, despite aware that the physical aspect to their practice was vital in order to win and although he enjoyed the release, he just wanted some water by that point.