"S'not mine," Marcus said simply. "He's your husband. That's not changing."
He kicked the broom into action, darting forward, pulling up and twisting into a roll until he faced her again. "Race," he said, since it sounded safest, and he grinned at it. "To the hoops, twist between them, back around the barn, and stopping back at the hoops again." He wasn't going to risk damaging her; he'd been raised a gentleman and there was a reason Slytherin didn't have girls on their team. They knew better than to put them at risk.