To say that Marcus was furious was an understatement and it took him a lot of self-restriction to not launch himself at his team captain, Nile Caplan, and throttle him then and there, in the bureau of the current coach and captain of Puddlemere United, Saoirse Byrne.

"I give you the benefit of doubt. Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard."

Nile crossed his arms, seemingly unimpressed by the behaviour of his youngest chaser.

"It wasn't my idea, it was hers, but it seemed like fun, so I went with it".

Marcus turned around, his chestnut eyes now focusing on the only female in the room.
Saoirse was newly elected captain of said club in addition to being one of the Beaters and nearly as short-tempered as Marcus was. "Don't even think about arguing with me, Marcus. You will be a part-", she was interrupted by a familiar figure shyly opening the door and Marcus saw his own body slip into the bureau.
Or well, a body that used to be his.

"You're late", Saoirse admonished disapprovingly but Marcus was bothered by something else: A fine line of blood was dripping down the face of the newcomer.

"Sorry, I had trouble disapparating, I-"

"What have you done to my face? You've had my body for what? Two hours? And you're already injured," Marcus complained loudly, „You're going to ruin my looks."
The person in his body, whom he assumed to be Oliver as he himself was currently stuck with Woods features, lifted an eyebrow.

„What's there to ruin?"

Oh, how badly Marcus wanted to punch his nemesis in the face, if only it weren't his own. Instead, he forced the corners of his mouth upwards ever so slightly and asked,
"How did you do it?"

He watched with satisfaction how the younger furrowed his brows in confusion.
„Do what?"

„Survive the Snatchers. Where did you hide? Maybe you should have told the rest and half of them wouldn't be buried six feet down now."

The punch he dodged easily; unfortunately he did not expect Oliver to kick him in the guts simultaneously and so he found himself crouching on his knees embarrassingly quickly.
While Nile seemed to find amusement in the situation, it was thanks to Saoirse's intervention that there weren't more punches following.

„See, this is exactly why the both of you are in this position now. As I was saying, Flint, you are going to be a part of my team for some time and Oliver, you're going with Caplan."

Marcus shook his head no.
He certainly had better things to do than to be the subject of whatever experiment this was supposed to be. What did they think he was, a child that had to be taught manners?
Oliver seemed to have similar thoughts as his expression was far from happy.

"I don't understand, what's the gain from all this?" the Keeper promptly asked.

Blondie sighed.

"Whenever you two are in the same area, an argument or fight is unavoidable and it's been a pain in the ass, honestly", she started and Nile nodded, clearly agreeing. "Didn't think I would ever say this but shorty here is right. Man, you're not focused on the field and it has cost us points".

In his own humble opinion, Marcus strongly disagreed.

"I am focused!"

"Maybe on how you can get him to have a snogging session with you, yes".

Nile knew he was on thin ice but what is life without a little risk?
Marcus grabbed his captain by the collar, silently cursing about his new body. He wasn't as strong as he used to be but that wouldn't stop him from giving him a fair beating.

"Say that again, I dare you!"

Nile grinned, eyeing Marcus up and down. It was so easy to get on Marcus' nerves and he hoped, that during the Switch, he would learn to be less impulsive.

"You can talk all you want but it's a waste of time if you have the body of a twink."

"Is am right here, you know?", Oliver muttered and Nile nodded. "Right, but not for much longer. Quidditch training starts soon, we've got to go." It looked like Oliver wanted to refuse, but Nile quickly grabbed his arm and disapparated, leaving behind a fuming Marcus and a cheerful Saoirse,
"It's going to be fun", she said, "You'll see."

Admittingly, it was not entirely as bad as Marcus had imagined but he still couldn't see the fun of it.
Not only did he have to spend time with people he did not want to be around, but he also had to play in a position that wasn't his and, although he would never admit it, Marcus was not exactly at his best game when it came to playing on other positions.
He didn't like it at all and the others seemed to notice.

"Come on man, stop sulking! The next game is important and you certainly can't afford to mess up again!", a brunette man told him as he passed Marcus on his broom.

"Fuck you", the Slytherin muttered but went back to his position in front of the hoops anyway. In his mind, he already saw Oliver's satisfied grin if he somehow was to find out how weak Marcus' performance as a Keeper was and there was no way in hell he'd let that happen.
So he did what he always did in such situations: He adjusted the game's rules; to his favour of course.
Some would call his doings 'cheating' but he still followed the rules, he just viewed them from a different - still legal - angle. After all, it wasn't his fault that there were so many loopholes in the quidditch regulations and he would be stupid if he wouldn't use them to his advantage, unlike Wood, a notorious goody-two-shoes.
Unsurprisingly, the other members seemed to have the same view as his enemy and were not too happy about his new tactics.

"Listen Wood, I don't know what the matter is with you today nor am I keen to find out, but we don't do such tricks here", another player, Marcus estimated him to be several years older than himself, finally announced loudly.
It was no other than Jonathan Mayer, a medium-talented chaser and an unbearably annoying ex-captain.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, mate", Marcus answered with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Everything's fair and square here."

"You play like the maniacs from Falmouth!"

"But it's working, is it not?"

Indeed, it worked quite well for him. He hadn't let a quaffle go past him into the hoops since he played after his own rules, why turn back now?

"What's the matter here?"

Saoirse appeared between the two males and Jonathan dismissively shook his head.

"He's cheating!"

"Oh piss off, you're just bitter because you can't score."

"At least I do not need to use foul tricks."

Marcus rolled his eyes.
'Is everyone in this team a fucking sissy?'

"What's the problem here?"
Saoirse effortlessly came to a halt besides them.

"We disagreed on his tactics but he's not being very reasonable."

She visibly sighed. "Take over the training, Jo. I'll talk with Ma-", she stopped, taking a deep breath, "- with Oliver."
The curly-haired chaser nodded briefly before rejoining the waiting team.

"Get your act together Flint! You are ruining Oliver's reputation in the team-"

"You sound like you did not see that coming. Tell me, when did I ever care about Wood or anything related to him? He's been a pain in the arse ever since I first met him at Hogwarts. What exactly did you expect to happen if you and Nile put me in this position?"
He did not exaggerate at this point. He met Oliver for the first time on the quidditch grounds at Hogwarts, him being in his second year and Oliver had just started his first and that lean kid dared to lecture him.
Marcus owned his first broom at the young age of two, started to take lessons at the age of five and Oliver dared to tell him that his way of playing quidditch was not advanced enough to become the new chaser of his house's team.
From this day on Marcus's blood pressure rose whenever Oliver Wood entered his field of vision and that had not changed until now.
If anything, his disliking towards the Scottish Keeper grew with every time they met.

"You are going to regret this, but that's a You-problem. Don't complain, later on, I warned you." She tilted her head. "It's a shame. You and he are not too different, I think you would have been good friends."

"How about you start minding your own business, girly."

Growing up with three brothers, Saoirse learned quickly to grow a thick skin and how to deal with testosterone-driven men, to which Marcus seemed to belong. She wanted to give him an easy start but he needed to understand that she was the one in charge. She worked hard to achieve her goals and certainly did not accept nor allow men to look down on her success, simply because she was a woman.

"Alright, Flint. You're done with training for today but as compensation for the bad blood you caused, you are going to clean and polish every broom in the shack and prepare them for the game tomorrow."
He opened his mouth to object but on second thought, he'd rather be surrounded by a dozen brooms than socialise with the other players.

"As long as I get to be alone, fine."

Marcus, growing up as an only child, never understood why people always had to be around others.
Not having friends meant not having to worry about the possibility of people backstabbing him, it was as simple as that.
Not having friends also made it much easier to focus on his professional career because having friends was such an exhausting task.
So yes, he liked to be alone.

The so-called 'shack' was a room at the bottom of their stadium, next to the male locker room. It did not reach the pres-tige of his own team but it was adequate for a team like Puddlemere United.
The walls were plastered with notes and posters from previous players or idols and the brooms — fourteen firebolts — were hastily placed along the other side, most of them with visible scratches and dirt traces from the last game.
What an apotheosis of a low-level Quidditch team, he thought while he started to check for more serious damage on the brooms before he eventually began with the cleaning session.
He fixed small issues, and cleaned and polished them, all while quietly cursing about the way those quality brooms were treated.

Time flew and before he knew it, Saoirse entered the room to tell him that the training had ended.
Her muddy shoes and wet cape left a trail behind her as she went to inspect the now shiny broomsticks.
"Not bad."

Marcus wrinkled his nose in disbelief.
"Excuse me? That's an understatement. I–"

"You are excused, now, moving forward, how well do you know your new team mates?" He leaned against the nearest wall.

"The desire to get to know them on a personal base doesn't exist and I like to keep it that way." Saoirse smiled innocently.

"I thought you might want some support to get your body back but I reckon you know everything already. Great, it's up to you and Oliver now. See you tomorrow", she spoke and handed him a neatly folded note before disapparating, leaving behind a puddle and an utterly annoyed Marcus. Not even a day had passed since their body switch and he already felt the urge to break something.
Or someone.

The written contents of the note led him from Dorset to a snobby-yet-boring-looking neighbourhood in the suburbs of London and Marcus' mood deteriorated. He, like many other purebloods, was not exorbitantly fond of muggles, and having to live amongst them was tantamount to punishment.
However, the discomfort he felt around muggles was not even a drop in the ocean in comparison to the hatred he felt towards some of his own kind.
Marcus took a deep breath and straightened his posture. Now wasn't the time to burden himself with such matters, he had other things to focus on at the moment; one of which was to find the right flat in those rows of horribly monotonous, brownish houses.

After strolling down the street twice and several questioning looks from neighbours, he finally found a letterbox with Olivers and some other person's name on it. The Slytherin did not bother to read all of it, his interest was already turned toward the house in front of him.
He tried to catch a glimpse inside, but the drawn curtains made it impossible to see something, so he did the next logical thing any wizard would do: With a whispered opening spell he entered the ordinary-looking house. 'It is not burglary if it's technically my own house', he thought while taking off his shoes before continuing his tour through the flat.

Whichever door he opened, he met nothing but plain but admirably neat rooms. He liked the neatness, something Marcus deeply valued, but other than this he would not have minded being somewhere else.
Somewhere less boring, with fewer muggles and a lot more alcohol. The Three Broomsticks was a good example of such a place, but the current reality was inevitable and Marcus decided to make the best of it.
For now at least.

After a while, he ended up in what seemed to be Oliver's bedroom. Plain, like the other rooms, and nothing indicated that this was the home of a wizard. No quidditch posters, no magical books, no capes.
It seemed just as if Oliver Wood tried to get rid of all evidence that connected him to the magical world and deemed him to be of magical heritage, something Marcus thought to be odd.
Why would someone want to hide their magical abilities? Especially someone who already was nothing more than a half-blood?
The unfortunate Slytherin laid down in the king-sized bed. Staring at the white ceiling he tried to recall the events of the day up until this moment.

He did not expect Nile to cooperate with Saoirse, especially because he shared Marcus' disliking towards P.U., nor did he expect to be backstabbed by his captain, but on the other hand, Marcus grungily admitted that he let his guard down. Still, he couldn't just sit by and accept their doing.
Absolutely not.
If someone he knows was to figure out what was going on - he grimaced when he thought about the consequences. He needed his body back as soon as possible.