Inspired by various "If wished were…", and especially by "…were Basilisks". Give me a prompt, and receive a 200-300 words long story.

Disclaimer: me? Own? No way.

Beautiful Disaster777 requested…

Harry/Marcus Flint - "Protector of my innocence"

Harry should've known better than to wander in this part of the dungeons alone. Few Gryffindors dared to set foot so far into the snake's territory without serious "backup" – and even then, it was a rare occurrence.

He should've remembered that.

Now, staring at the all-too-familiar mugs of some of the less… appealing of the serpent's house (namely: Montague and the too-smug faces of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum – Crabbe and Goyle to everyone else. This time, though, they seemed to abandon their usual ring-leader; Malfoy.), Harry mentally cursed himself for his folly. Getting lost in thought, apparently, was not a good idea for him.

Not when his traitorous body, Merlin damn it, seemed to lead him straight into trouble.

And there goes the notion of him not looking for trouble; no wonder Snape never bought it.

But, Harry was violently shaken out of his musings by a none-too-gentle tug of Montagues' hand on his shoulder

"Lookie here" sneered the Slytherin seeker, baring his clearly un-brushed teeth; and forcing Harry to cringe at the smell coming out of that cavity of the seventh-year in front of him.

"We seem to have got us a little lion here" the young man leaned closer "Came looking for trouble, Potter?"

He flashed the younger boy an unpleasant smile.

Harry gulped: with Crabbe and Goyle crowding him and Montague closing off the only way to escape, one did not need Hermione to tell him how much he was screwed.

"Ew" - the Gryffindor wrinkled his nose. His tongue, as always, running away with him - "Ever heard of toothpaste, Montague? It would do you a world of good" and promptly shut his mouth; eyes searching the Slytherin's face to see how much damage that'd done. Enough, if that – eww, snake! – hand started wandering up his chest and to his neck, the seekers' face turning an unpleasant shade of red.

But, thank Slytherin!

And yes, Harry was going to deny he thought that to the end of his days

"The hell are you doing, Montague?"

Came the familiar voice of the one who caused his mind to wander.

About time, too

"What do you want, Flint?" the seeker was clearly annoyed at being interrupted, if his tone was anything to go by. Wrong thing to say to your Captain.

Harry didn't even have enough time to blink before the boy holding him came crashing down on the harsh, unforgiving stone floor. Didn't stop him from taking his chance and skipping past the shocked duo of trolls.

All the while ignoring that nagging little voice at the back of his mind, that seemed to be sure that there would be hell to pay.

The next meeting with the Slytherin Captain occurred way too soon for Harry's tastes.

This time, instead of waiting and praying for salvation to come, Harry took the valiant way out: namely, he ran as though he had Voldemort and all his followers hot on his heels.

A convenient Flint-shaped shield was a pleasant, if unexpected help.

Harry made sure to grab on the quidditch players' robes, trying to hide as much of himself behind the much-larger boy as he could (that saying, all of himself)

He sighed with happiness, as the too-shrill voice of one Ginerva Weasley passed him and, as he listened, grew more and more distant.

His peace, however, did not last long; for the owner of the robes choose that very time to move.

"You so owe me" came the gruff voice of Marcus Flint. Not too angry, though, and that alone was a blessing.

"My hero" quipped the resident Boy-wonder, turning large, watery eyes up at his "savior". The elder teen, however, looked completely unmoved in the face of the best puppy-dog stare the younger of the two tried to muster.

"Not getting out of this one, Potter. Not when you still owe me"

"Owe?..."

"Short on the memory, wonderboy?"

No, Harry remembered it in perfect detail. But, he hoped that the Slytherin would forget that… Really, really hoped

"You mean you're not here just to protect my virgin innocence?" his voice sounded wondering, almost as though he couldn't imagine what the seventh year meant.

An act Flint didn't buy for a second. So the only response the Boy-who lived got was a snort before he found his body pressed against the wall, his mouth assaulted by a tongue that clearly wasn't his, caged in possessive arms of the taller boy.

Oh.

Hell.

Well, at least it was not Ginevra. Too bad, though… Ooh!

Seemed he was not going to get to keep his virginity.

But, as Marcus Flint's surprisingly skilled hand slipped beneath Harry's shirt, the teen couldn't manage to bring himself to care.