Gambling Hearts Win More Than Money
-- chapter one. --
-- written by: butterfliedd
-- summary: after a rather brutal fist fight, oliver and marcus have landed themselves in detention. three months' worth of it. with each other. and when you add in a secret admirer, aspiring match-makers, and a possesive slytherin... chaos ensues.
-- disclaimer: harry potter, its characters, and the general potterverse all belong to a certain ms. rowling. not me.
-x-
What happens in the Quidditch pitch stays in the Quidditch pitch.
That maxim, once said about Vegas, holds true. 24/7 wedding chapels, made famous by certain couples eloping there then divorcing shortly thereafter- an endless supply of clubs open to the over-21 and the 'well, you look old' enough age group- and the gambling all stay there, as slithering snake-like secrets.
Gambling is normally frowned upon, but there's more than one type of gambling. There's gambling with money, played in dark corners where the only light comes from the pale reflection of a slot screen, and even though you started with a few hundred dollars, there's only a few dollars now- but no need to worry, you can make it up if you just win the next one, or the next one, or the next one. Gambling with your life- taking a jump off the nearest building with a parachute (the fact that you don't know how it works just adds to the rush) and falling through space and air, feeling that perfect perfect rush everywhere. When the parachute doesn't work, and suddenly you realize that the ground is much more closer than it was a few seconds ago, and you know that yes, you're going to die- the rush just explodes. I suppose it would be a wonderful feeling, but unfortunately I haven't had the experience to converse with someone who has felt that incredible rush.
Then as any high school teenage girl will know, there is gambling of the heart, and that is the most dangerous of all. Forget gambling away your money until all you have left is scratched-off lottery cards, curling in the corner of your room. Forget gambling away your life with drugs, taking just a little bit more each time because you really really need it and it's the last time, you swear, until finally you pass out and lay there for hours (then, by the time anyone comes by, you're less than a vegetable anyhow). Even forget gambling away your life, because as far as any fragile teenager is concerned, the breaking of the heart is far worse than the breaking of bones.
It's the same wherever you go. In Muggle schools, people gamble with their heart, then their life. Even in Hogwarts and other magical schools, students will gamble with their heart and if the answer doesn't suit them, most then follow with a healthy dose of alcohol. Sometimes, they will gamble with their heart and a large neon sign will jump up and announce that yes, the gamble has paid off and they have won the lottery, the big prize: true love! As rare as it is, it happens.
As far as the Quidditch pitch and Vegas analogy, perhaps we should back up; around three months ago to inform of the Quidditch pitch history. There, like in Vegas, loves were confessed, the juiciest one being from a girl to a boy- a flaming homo boy. Innumerable secrets were shared as well. And, as they tend to do, students fought. Two particular captains, the highlight of the story, fought harder than ever before.
-x-
"You fucker!"
"Me? You're the ass who cheated!"
"Take a look in the mirror, if it doesn't break first!" Marcus Flint was rarely this articulate. His usual manner of speech was punctuated with snarls and throaty growls, which had many of his companions thinking of a fierce mountain lion, prowling around and roaring to protect his territory. However, he decided that Wood deserved some special treatment.
"Hah! That's a funny thing to say, coming from a troll like you!"
"At least I'm not a scrawny little pipsqueak like you. I could squash you with my thumb!"
"You could, could you? I'd love to see you try!" Oliver Wood screamed the last bit at him, putting the final nail in his coffin, now only needing a hammer. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular (anything but a pipsqueak) - but Flint was taller, more broad-shouldered, and much more muscular. "I could take you any--"
The sound of Oliver nailing his coffin shut was loud and sudden. (It just sounded like a fist hitting his face.) Before Oliver had time to react- say, getting his wand out- Oliver had another fist flying at him and his crooked nose. It rather felt like he had walked into a wall, as if Oliver had sprinted as fast as he could into a wall that was running as fast as it could into him. A red-hot pain exploded right behind his forehead, and all his previous thoughts, blood-red, leaked out his nose. The only thing that mattered now was getting Marcus back. Time meant nothing, reasons were blown away like sand in the wind, and pain was soon dulled to nothing more than a tinny voice in his head. It seemed like a cheerleader, actually, cheering him on and telling him to beathimbeathimbeathim downdowndown youcandoit,Oliver!
His hands formed into fists and flew at Flint in a fire of payback. Feet and fists were flying at both captains, and even they, in the midst of their animalistic brawl, could barely tell whose was whose. Marcus was knee'd in the groin, Oliver was kicked in his stomach, he was punched, bit and nearly strangled, and he was smacked, tackled and pummeled. Both were broken and far beyond bruised. No one was quite sure Madam Hooch stepped in- was it before the sickening crack of a rib, or after the horrible snap of an ankle?- but everyone remembered what happened when she did. A spell was screamed, and suddenly the two were flown backward, ten feet apart from each other. They would have scrambled back up and attacked each other again, had she not intervened.
"What in Merlin's name are you two doing? Fighting like Muggles?" She shrieked, towering above the two bodies on their backs and glaring ferociously. Later, Oliver would remember that she looked like a fierce bird of prey about to peck him and devour his innards, with her hands on her hips looking like wings and her eyes looking exactly like a hawk's. It seemed like that to Marcus too, although he'd hotly deny it. "No- Muggles would be able to control themselves! You are both fighting like animals! Stupid, beastly, stupid animals!"
"But he--"
"No! No buts, no excuses, nothing! Go up to your Heads of Houses, immediately." She ordered sharply, with a wave of her wing- er, arm.
"Ma'am, they're hurt," A timid female voice from the crowd began shakily. "They need to go to the Hospital Wing. I can spell them up there."
"Well- well, then the Hospital Wing. But straight after that, you two are to report to your Heads. I don't have the capacity to deal with punishments for animals." Under her breath, she muttered something about teenagers' damn hormones.
Oliver and Marcus somehow got up to the Hospital Wing, as a mix of magic and men helped them up the stairs. Madam Pomfrey poked and prodded the two, earning far too many 'Ow- that hurts!' from one boy and 'You deserve it, pipsqueak/troll' from the other. Madam Pomfrey, having dealt with fighting boys before, merely rapped them on their head when this occurred, earning another 'Ow!' They slept for a night, resting and preparing for the punishment to come. After they were stitched up, she stood before the two, disappointment and anger clear in her fiery eyes.
"I want to say so many things to you dear boys-" (She could speak surprisingly well through gritted teeth)- "But thankfully, Professors McGonagall and Snape are on their way here. They are to dole out the punishments, not I." She surveyed the damage- Marcus had a bandaged shoulder and arm, while Oliver had a bandaged chest and his left arm in a sling. Both of them were peppered with deep bruises, along with injuries to the jaw. (That certainly explained the lack of protests). She couldn't help noticing that both of them had bruises on their thighs and abdomen especially. Although there was no permanent damage, surprisingly, neither was allowed on a broom for three weeks.
"If you two can behave for a few minutes, I have to check on another patient of mine," She said, and as she shuffled away she shot a glare towards them. This, however, did nothing to stop the two captains.
"You jackass. I cannot believe you'd stoop so low!" Oliver hissed. He was doing his best to whisper- not only because Pomfrey wasn't very far away, but also because it hurt to talk. Damn, Flint could throw a punch.
"How did I do anything? You're just sorry because you lost."
"You stole our playbook! You used my maneuvers, my strategies to win the game that should've been ours. And, as if that didn't give you enough of an edge, Alicia was out because she was 'sick'." Oliver said, completing his accusation with air-quotes around 'sick'. (He did it quite well, considering he could only use one hand.)
"Why would we need to steal your shitty playbook? I think we can get our own maneuvers- some that don't suck. And yeah, she was sick. What, you think we gave her some spell flu?" He grunted. Merlin, someone was quick to make up excuses. That was certainly one of Wood's more creative ones, though. He normally stuck to 'Cheap shot!' or just insulting Flint.
"You didn't answer the question!" Oliver snapped, silently cursing the Slytherin. He'd curse him out loud, but he already knew how Flint fought, and Oliver preferred to stay out of the Hospital Wing. "Did you or did you not steal our playbook? Did you or did you not cheat, like the scummy snake you are?" He paused, waiting to give Flint a chance to lie (again).
"Well, it seems that you two have relatively behaved," Pomfrey said, returning from the other bed where a hexed second-year was lying, purple skin and all. Poor thing, he was always getting bullied. She couldn't help smiling and being optimistic (about the two captains, not the hexed second-year). Perhaps they had already made up! The thought made her smile even as Marcus discreetly shot Oliver the finger, and as he returned it.
A knock on the door alerted the three to a visitor. Madam Pomfrey shot another look at them, then shuffled quickly to answer it. She really hoped it wasn't another of Oliver's fangirls, gushing about his bravery to tackle that obnoxious troll. Marcus seemed to be getting jealous, perhaps because he had no fangirls of his own, and he had nearly pummeled the last girl because she was 'so happy' that someone 'finally got that bully'. Evidently, she was unaware that Flint was in the next bed. It also seemed that Oliver didn't appreciate them very much, unless it was that seventh-year Gryffindor.
Thankfully or unfortunately, depending on how you saw it, the Gryffindor and Slytherin Head of House entered, looking altogether too calm. Snape looked at the two boys, who seemed pathetically beaten as they dripped blood on the previously pristine white sheets.
"As you know, both of us are extremely disappointed in you boys," He began slowly, taking time to glower at Flint and Wood separately. He did seem to find pleasure in this. Perhaps some punny punishment was coming? "But as disgusted as we are with your behavior, we have come to a decision regarding your punishment. Although our first agreement was a temporary ban on your Quidditch--"
"No!" Flint and Wood yelped simultaneously, jaw injuries be damned.
"IF you'd let me finish," Snape continued, silencing the captains with a curl of his lip and a roll of his dark eyes, "That, as I was saying, was our first agreement. We have since come to a second commitment." He paused and looked at Professor McGonagall pointedly.
"Oh, yes," She continued. "Our decision was not as drastic as the first, and I'm sure you will both agree this is appropriate. Three months of detention with our caretaker, Argus Filch, is the bare minimum. We'll not hesitate to add weeks, and something tells me that we'll have to." She glanced at them, daring one to protest.
"Three months?" Oliver's injured jaw dropped in shock and injustice, and he scrambled up from his lying position to gape at his Head of House. "Professor, I simply can't do that. Exams are coming up- and more importantly, Quidditch! The season's just started--"
"Oh, shut up, Wood. You can't even get on a broom for weeks, and your pathetic excuse for a team will suck with or without you." Marcus growled, then turned to Snape. "And that's completely unfair! There's no way in hell I'm serving that. I only got a month for shoving Montague down the toilet, so why do I get double that for taking Wood down a notch?" He barked.
"First, that's triple." Professor McGonagall spoke loudly to be heard over Oliver's snap back (something about 'Then why have we beaten you every game, Flint?'). Really, she thoroughly agreed with Madam Hooch. Damn those teenager hormones.
"And that does remind me. The punishment for avoiding your punishment, i.e. skipping detention, as one of our company tends to do, is a six-month absence from Quidditch." Correctly predicting their outbursts, she barreled on, albeit in a louder voice. "The next person to speak gets a permanent absence!" She snapped, tiring of their constant bickering. They were like bickering children. "And there's one more catch- for every day of your detention, the two of you must be together. You two will get along even if it kills you- but at this rate, it'll kill us."
-x-
Author's Note: I'd really appreciate feedback on this. (: It's my first 'serious' fic, I suppose, and I'd love to know what you love/hate/absolutely despise about it.