Marcys Flint

You didn't want to go to Professor Trelawney's class because Dean Minerva Maggonakal insisted, so you got ready and went to class, dissatisfied.
"Oh, my child," Trelawney drawled, her long fingers brushing your shoulder, "you will bring a storm with you. "
You grimaced, looking down at the almost unfinished coffee in the cup.
“ I just came because otherwise I would have gotten a reprimand.”
You answered..
Looking up at Trelawney , “And yet...” her voice became quiet, almost snake-like. “Fate is already looking for you. Look...” You drank the viscous coffee and turned the cup over. Trelawney screamed. **“ What?! ” She sat up. And you peered into the thick of it. Something... strange appeared on the side of the cup . A dark silhouette, large, with extremely broad shoulders. His back was turned, but... his head was turned. He was looking. At you. A smile. Not kind. Toothy. **“ It's... it's him,” Trelawney whispered. “Be careful. He'll leave a mark. ”
You gripped the edge of the table with your fingers because... you knew who you saw.
Marcus Flint..
One evening you were returning late—you'd been training, lost in Quidditch. The stairs on the seventh floor, the corridor, the dim light of torches. And suddenly—footsteps. Strong. Even behind you.
You turned around, it was too late to develop somewhere in the direction that you see it.
Flint
—Hi, aren't you afraid to walk through the dark corridors of Hogwarts by yourself, Little One?
He asked you in a hoarse, low voice, as if dominating you, hanging over you like a large, massive black shadow...