A/N: Written for Jade Presley and dedicated to her for the wonderful prompt (Flintwood, Christmas, One has to stay back, the other also decides to stay, sneaking into their dorm on Christmas Eve. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it xxx Love you girl xxx Much love for Starrnobella for beta duties. I also love you girl xxx
The Promise
Oliver jogged up the steps to the Owlery, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket to stave off the cold. It was two days before the Christmas break and he wanted to get the last of his letters and cards off before he went home.
As he turned into the Owlery, he almost collided with Marcus who had screwed his letter up in his fist so tight, his knuckles had turned white.
"Flint," Oliver declared, shocked to have run into him when he thought he was in the dungeons packing.
"What you looking at? Close your mouth unless you want to catch flies," Marcus hissed unnecessarily harshly, causing Oliver to frown.
"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out, his fingers briefly grazing Marcus's cloak.
Marcus shrugged away from his touch, pulling his arm away as though he had been burnt. Oliver took half a step back, his eyes searching as his heart clenched, hurt at Marcus's display of contempt. His eyes dropped to the cupid's bow of his lip as it curled up into a sneer.
"I'm fine, Wood," he spat before storming off moodily, leaving a shocked Oliver in his wake.
Chancing a glance over at the Slytherin table, he saw Marcus sat alone, several tables down from where Draco Malfoy was holding court, Pansy draped across his lap, seemingly enraptured by his every word. Oliver frowned, his fork paused half way between his plate and his mouth, as he studied the situation. Marcus had been brooding since he had come back from the Owlery, and while Oliver usually found 'brooding Marcus' beguiling and sexy, his sudden change in demeanour caused Oliver great concern.
He felt an elbow connect with his ribs, causing him to drop his fork, his head snapping round, a glare ready in his eyes.
"...I said, are you listening to me?" Percy repeated, shaking his head. "Clearly not."
"Sorry," Oliver mumbled, every ounce of strength in him keeping him from not turning back to watch Marcus. By the time Percy had finished lamenting, Marcus had already left the Great Hall.
Glancing at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time, he sighed, sliding down from where he had been sat, swinging his legs on one of the tables in the disused classroom. Crossing the room, he yanked the door open, surprised by the sudden forcefulness as the heavy wood door almost collided with his chest. Marcus barged his way in, glaring at Oliver.
"What? Did you think I wouldn't show up?" he barked, dragging out a chair, the feet scraping noisily across the flagstone.
Oliver carded a hand through his auburn locks. "Well, after earlier, I had no idea if you would show up, in all honesty," he admitted, smiling a little sheepishly at his confession.
Marcus tutted as he sat down, looking up at Oliver. Neither said a word for a minute, before Marcus held his hand out, silently asking Oliver to take it.
Nervously, Oliver took Marcus's hand in his own, surprised at the tenderness with with he pulled Oliver near. Coming to stand between his legs, uncertainty caused his stomach to tie in knots.
With a sigh, Marcus dropped his head to Oliver's stomach, his hands splaying across the backs of his thighs. A vague sense of desire pooled in Oliver's lower abdomen which he pushed aside as his hands found their way into Marcus's dark locks, massaging his head comfortingly.
"I'm not going home," Marcus suddenly mumbled, breaking the silence between them. Oliver frowned as he stilled his hand.
"No?"
Marcus sat up, pain flickering in his eyes before he controlled his emotions, shuttering him away. ' Ever the Slytherin' , Oliver mused drily.
"No," he confirmed, his tone even. "Father has guests for the holidays," he drawled sarcastically. He didn't need to tell Oliver anything else. The talk was all hush hush, but it was still talk and everyone heard it. Voldemort was gathering his forces. The House of Flint was one of the Sacred 28 and his Father was sure to be ensuring his place high amongst the ranks. Oliver shuddered as nausea washed over him. How could anyone put that monster over their own child, and at Christmas, too? He privately wondered.
"I need to go," Marcus suddenly announced, his voice cracking slightly as he rose from his seat. Pausing, he dropped his forehead against Oliver's. Oliver closed his eyes, breathing in the earthy scent that was uniquely and intoxicatingly Marcus, relishing in the way his breath ghosted across his lips causing him to shiver involuntarily- and then he was gone.
Percy hauled his trunk across the room, pausing at the foot of Oliver's bed, frowning at him. Oliver turned the page of his book nonchalantly.
"We need to get going, the coaches leave in ten minutes," Percy informed him.
"I'm not going," Oliver replied, his eyes focusing on the first word of the page, unreading.
Percy's frown deepened. "What do you mean you aren't going?"
"I'm not going home, Perce. Too much to do," he replied, his gaze holding firm on the word as he waited for Percy to leave.
"But it's Christmas," his roommate replied, stating the obvious.
Oliver sat up, dropping his legs over the edge of the bed, chucking the book on his nightstand. "Yes, and that means we have NEWTs to prepare for and I am ridiculously behind," he lied, looking away, making a show of searching for his books.
Percy stared at him, knowing he was lying and that Oliver knew Percy knew this, but not being able to figure out why.
Finally, Percy shrugged, wishing Oliver a Merry Christmas before lugging his trunk out of their dorm. Once he was alone, he collapsed back on the bed staring at the canopy of his bed, wondering if he had made the right decision as his gut twisted with uncertainty.
For two whole days Marcus avoided Oliver. Only a handful of students had stayed behind so it should have been easier for them to find time to spend together away from prying eyes. However Marcus didn't come to 'their' classroom and each time Oliver came down to the Great Hall, Marcus would slip out before Oliver could find an excuse to come over and talk to him. Oliver was growing more and more concerned, knowing Marcus was brooding alone in the Slytherin dungeon.
Lying awake on his bed, staring up at the canopy, he resolved to release some of his frustration. Dropping his legs over the edge of the bed he checked his wristwatch: 5:45am. Whatever , he thought, dragging his trainers out from under the bed and throwing on his sweats. Dressed, he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, tying his scalf as he left the dorm.
The crisp morning air hit him like a blast of ice as he stepped out of the castle, careful to not slip on the ice on the steps as he made his way down to the courtyard. Cursing himself for forgetting his gloves, he thrust his hands roughly into the pouch of his hoodie, bending his head to stave off the chill as he made his way down to the pitch.
Once there, he unclipped his clock and removed his scarf, placing them on one of the stands before starting his jog. Allowing his mind to wander, he tried not to picture Marcus's disconsolate face. The fresh morning air made his lungs burn and he relished the feeling, picking up his pace. Before long he was pounding out a steady rhythm, his mind clearing and his heart soaring at the freedom. His legs smarted from the punishing pace but he didn't care, losing himself to the feeling. Checking his watch as he came in on the home stretch of his fiftieth lap, he grinned broadly, knowing he had achieved a personal best. Slowing, he came to a stop at the end of the stands, grabbing his ankle to stretch.
"You hit a personal best," he heard Marcus state, a hint of pride in his voice causing Oliver's heart to swell. Sport was still their main source of rivalry despite their growing intimacy, and Marcus did not offer compliments in that regard lightly.
Oliver hummed his reply, trying to keep himself from going giddy at the acknowledgement. Marcus raked his hand through his hair, suddenly feeling a little nervous. "I'm sorry," he apologised.
Oliver's face creased into a deep frown, his stomach suddenly bottoming out. "What for?"
"My absence," Marcus replied, anxiety spidering up his spine.
Oliver shrugged as he wrapped his scarf around his neck, attempting to tie it with his chilled fingers.
Marcus rolled his eyes, standing suddenly, closing the gap between himself and Oliver. "Let me," he whispered, fastening the scarf before tugging it slowly to pull Oliver nearer.
Neither boy said anything for a moment, before Marcus pressed his lips gently to Oliver's in a soft kiss. He ran his tongue languidly along the seam eliciting a slight moan from Oliver as his hands found their way into Marcus's hair.
All too soon, Marcus pulled back before pressing a chaste kiss to Oliver's cheek, reddened by the cold. Marcus slipped his hand into Oliver's, the pair walking back to the castle silently.
As they approached the cloisters, a familiar owl swooped down, dropping a letter in Marcus's hand before continuing its flight to the Owlery. The wizard scowled at the handwriting, recognising it instantly. He tore it open, scanning the contents, before screwing it up tightly in his fist, his expression darkening dangerously.
"Marcus?" Oliver questioned, his voice quiet betraying his deep concern.
"It's nothing," Marcus replied tersely. "I have things to do, I'll see you later," Marcus ground out, turning on his heel, leaving Oliver staring after him bewildered.
It was Christmas Eve and another two days since he had seen Marcus. Sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, he stared into the fire as it hissed and crackled. It was odd being the only Gryffindor in the castle and he was taking full advantage, sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire, his feet dangling over the edge. He sighed, wondering if Marcus was enjoying the same feeling being the only Slytherin to have stayed back.
Suddenly, Oliver twisted into a seated position. "That's it!" he cried loudly, waking the sleeping portraits.
"Do you mind? It is almost midnight after all!" one of the portraits complained, moodily.
"Sorry," Oliver mumbled, grabbing his wand and cloak, rushing from the room.
Stumbling out the portrait hole, he whispered lumos , making his way along the maze of corridors in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.
Standing before the portrait guarding the entrance, he tapped the frame lightly to wake its occupant.
"Password!" the figure barked, angry at having been woken late.
"Um...I don't know, but since it's Christmas Eve, can't you just let me in this once, it's important," Oliver begged quietly, glancing round to check Filch was nowhere about.
"NO! No admittance without the password. No intruder has got into this dungeon in seven centuries. I'm not about to let an intruder in!" the portrait yelled.
"Shush, okay, look calm down and let me think for a minute, he did tell me it once, for emergencies, but I've forgotten it," he hurriedly explained, scratching his head.
"Who? Who told you the password?" the portrait yelled again.
"Shush! Flint okay?! Flint told me the password," he replied, then whispered to himself frustratedly. "Fuck, what the fuck is it? Damn that arsehole and his moods!"
"Enter," the portrait chimed, swinging open.
Oliver's jaw dropped. "What? What was the password?"
"Arsehole," the portrait replied, closing his eyes with a shrug.
"Seriously? Who came up with that one?"
"Malfoy I believe, now if you don't mind, I would like to get some sleep," the portrait chastised.
Stumbling into the common room, he made his way down the stairs, searching for Marcus. Pushing open the first dorm door, he waved his wand around the room, finding it empty. The same with the second. Finally, he pushed open the third, finding Marcus sprawled out on his bed, a bottle of Ogden's in his hand as he lay staring at the canopy of his bed.
"Marcus?" Oliver murmured, as he approached the bed cautiously.
Sure he was dreaming, Marcus turned his head slightly at the sound of his name.
"Oliver?" he gasped, reaching out.
In less than a heartbeat, Oliver was by his side, brushing his fingers through Marcus's fringe as Marcus gripped his cloak, pulling him nearer.
Overcome with emotion, Marcus broke down, his body wracking with uncontrollable sobs. Oliver said nothing, crawling up onto the bed, tugging him into him, holding him as his lamentation reverberated around the small dorm. The sound hurt Oliver's heart as Marcus clung to him like a buoy in a tumultuous sea.
Oliver stroked his hair, whispering soothing words as he held him tight, his lips pressing soft kisses to his forehead and cheek as he comforted him with his caresses. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Marcus's crying abated, Oliver's hand rubbing circles on his back until his breathing steadied.
"Better?" Oliver whispered, stroking his cheek with his thumb.
Marcus closed his eyes and let out a long drawn out sigh before responding. "Better."
The young wizards continued to lie in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, until they drifted off to sleep.
Oliver awoke some time later to the feeling of Marcus nuzzling at his neck. He smiled contentedly before turning slowly, his lips capturing Marcus's in a gentle, languid kiss that seemed to drag out into eternity, before Marcus pulled away, the look in his eyes suddenly frightening Oliver.
"Promise me something," Marcus whispered, his voice hoarse as he grabbed Oliver's left hand with his own, bringing it up to ghost a kiss across his knuckles.
Oliver swallowed hard, "What?"
"This shit is going to cause a war," he began, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, they were shining bright but Oliver could see the fear that set in his gaze.
"It's going to get fucking fucked up with death and destruction and torture. Promise me that you won't go all Gryffindor on me," Marcus pleaded, insistently.
Oliver rolled his eyes, "Unless you had forgotten, I am a Gryffindor," he chuckled.
Marcus shook his head. "No. Don't do that; don't make light of what I am saying," he continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "Don't go joining their army."
Oliver started to protest, but Marcus silenced him with a kiss. "I love you, Ollie. I love your bravery, but it could, no, it will get you killed . I couldn't bare that. Don't force me to live a life without you," he begged.
Oliver was stunned into silence. They had never discussed feelings before. Marcus's confession overwhelmed him so much he could not speak. Instead, he cupped the back of Marcus's head, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. Marcus responded in kind before breaking away again.
"Now, promise me, Ollie. Promise me you won't fight; you won't join the Order," Marcus demanded, searching Oliver's eyes.
"But," Oliver began.
"No but's, this is life or death. I choose life. I choose love. I choose you, Ollie. Run away with me. If shit starts to get real, promise me you will choose me and run away with me," he begged, tears welling in his eyes.
Oliver stared in bewilderment, belatedly realising he was nodding. "I love you too, Marc," he confessed, before capturing Marcus's lips once more, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
"Promise me then," Marcus murmured into the kiss.
Tears he hadn't realised where pricking his own eyes, broke forth as the two wizards kissed, holding each other tight as they both cried.
"I promise," Oliver vowed, his gut twisting in knots as anxiety gripped his chest, guilt washing over him as he made a vow he was almost certainly going to break.
Once more Oliver held Marcus until he drifted off to sleep. Slipping out of the bed, he padded into the bathroom, relieving himself before staring at his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands. Taking his wand from where he had wedged it in the band of his pyjamas, he waved it over his left forearm, removing the glamour. The Phoenix ruffled it's feathers before settling down once more, as Oliver bit back the bile that rose from the pit of his stomach, nauseating himself at the acknowledgement that he had just vowed not to join The Order when he had already done so the previous Summer.
Glamour back in place, he padded back to Marcus's bed, slipping under the covers, feeling Marcus pull him near once more, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, sleepily.
Shit was almost certainly going to get very real, very fast. He had promised Marcus 'for always'. He couldn't guarantee that, but what he could guarantee was 'for now' and that was a vow he had no intention of breaking.