And so it was. As much as it pained Oliver, he dutifully reported to library over the next few Saturdays. Like clockwork, he and Marcus would meet each other at the library's entrance, at precisely 6pm, approaching from opposite ends of the corridor.

At first, they wouldn't even look at each other. No eye contact whatsoever as they entered the library, side by side. They would step up to counter and greet Madam Pince in a morbid monotone. Then they would hand over their wands and immediately set off to opposite ends of the library.

By the third weekend however, Oliver felt like things had to change. At the rate they were going, the two of them probably would be serving this detention until the end of term. Working apart like they were was taking too much time. It had been almost three Saturdays already, and they'd only completed one aisle a piece.

As much as Oliver hated to think it, as much as he hated Marcus, his only option was to work with him. Because Oliver refused to spend his extra time working in that library. He was already being forced to spend Saturday evenings there, when he could be off somewhere in Hogsmeade instead. Probably chasing after a bird.

Oliver was certain that if he and Marcus put in a collective effort, things would progress much faster. So on the evening of the fourth Saturday, Oliver dutifully set out to the library once again. When he cut his final corner, sure enough, there was Marcus approaching from the other end of the corridor. When they reached a distance that Oliver felt was appropriate, he caught Marcus's eye for the first time since they'd begun the dreadful detentions.

Marcus didn't scowl. He didn't say anything. He simply locked eyes with Oliver, his deep silver iruses piercing into Oliver's hazel ones as they both continued their stride toward the library's entrance. Oliver took the lack of scowling as a good omen and tested the water with a stiff nod at Marcus as a greeting. Though Marcus's expression remained as cold as the lake in the winter, Oliver was relieved when the older boy greeted him back, nodding just as stiffly in return.

Oliver forced himself not to smile as he and Marcus turned shoulder to shoulder and entered the library. This was a good sign. Oliver had been working out what he'd say to Marcus all week, his rival for the ongoing six years, and obtaining a simple greeting from the boy was Oliver's solid first step.

But after handing over their wands, all of the planning Oliver had put in went out the window when Marcus turned and set off for his side of the library.

"Flint, wait," Oliver stopped him tentatively.

Marcus paused and slowly turned back with a daintily raised eyebrow, as if he were surprised that Oliver had the audacity to speak to him.

"Look." Oliver spoke blatantly. "If we keep working separately like this, we'll be in here forever. I know you want to get this over with and have your Saturday evenings back just as much I do. We might not be best mates, but if we work together well get out of here much faster. What do you say?"

Oliver held a sweaty palm out for Marcus to shake. He didn't realize how nervous he was, that he was holding a timid breath, until he felt him himself relax after Marcus firmly gripped his hand and shook it. Oliver couldn't fight the smile that broke out on his face. It worked!

But Marcus quickly shut him down. "This doesn't make us friends," he said, his face portraying the fact that he would rather be anywhere but there. "I still hate your Gryffindor guts. I'm just willing to work with you if it'll get me away from you."

Oliver's grin swiftly turned to a scowl. "Fine, you slimy Slytherin."

"Fine. Grimy Gryffindor." Marcus curled his lip and folded his arms in a closed and defensive manner. "What do you suggest?"

Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. He wouldn't snap at Marcus's blatantly disgusting tone. Yes, there were still insults involved, but this was good. At least they were communicating.

Oliver spoke calmly. "For starters, we have to stop walking the books back to their proper shelves in our arms. That's too many trips and takes up too much time."

"Well we can't use magic. What do you want us to do?" Marcus asked sarcastically. "Load the books up in our robes and haul them across the library on our backs like mules?"

"You know. That's actually brilliant…" Oliver said as the words sank in. Then he quickly amended himself. "Not the carry them on our backs part, but we can use our robes as a—a sack of sorts. We'll lay it across the floor like a sheet, load it up, then you take two corners, I take the other two, and with our combined strength, we can carry dozens of books at one time!"

Marcus's eyebrows bunched together, Oliver could see him working it over in his brain. "I think that'll work..."

"Yeah it will!" Oliver couldn't help smiling again. "You're brilliant, Flint!"

And this time, Oliver caught the beginnings of smile on a corner of the larger boy's lips as well. "Well then… I guess as I am," he said modestly.

"Come on," Oliver gestured him over to Marcus's side of the library and they picked up where the older boy had left of the previous Saturday.

"We should use your robe," Oliver suggested. "You're larger than me, so your robe is larger and will hold more."

Marcus nodded in agreement and shrugged out of it. He laid the robe out like a sheet, just a Oliver had described, then he undid his cuffs and rolled up sleeves.

In the future, when Oliver thought back, he would know that this was the precise moment that his life changed. It was the moment that he discovered a new side of himself. Because Oliver had seen Marcus up close before on the Quidditch pitch plenty of times. But never like this, never without some sort of robe. The older boy's forearms were massive, veins wrapping around them, flowing down into his hands. His button up clung to his torso, defining his thick arms and broad shoulders.

Oliver had known it before now, could see that Marcus was taller when he stood near the older boy, but he could truly see for the first time how large Marcus was. His hands, his arms, even his neck was all thick with muscles. He was so broad and masculine. And—and… There was no other word for it. Handsome. Marcus was a handsome person.

"What are you staring at?" Marcus sneered, his eyebrows bunched together.

"N—nothing," Oliver stammered, blinking a few times. He hadn't even realized he'd been ogling the boy. "Erm… Where did—whe—where did you stop?" Oliver turned to the shelf, an excuse to not look at Marcus's strong body. What was wrong with Oliver? Was he jealous of the older boy's more fit body?

"It was around in here," Marcus answered, gesturing to the shelf. Oliver could still feel the other boy eyeing him curiously but he ignored it.

"Then let's get to it." And Oliver dove in, grateful for the distraction.

Marcus's method turned out to truly be brilliant. They knocked out an entire corner of the library in one night. The hardest part was alphabetizing them once they got the robe full of similar books where they belonged.

Throughout the night, while they worked, Oliver found himself blatantly gazing at Marcus on several different occasions. He wouldn't even notice he was doing it until Marcus looked up and caught him. Oliver would snatch his eyes away and hastily toss the books in his hands into the robe, all the while trying and failing not to turn red.

But Oliver didn't feel so embarrassed about being caught staring at Marcus after he caught Marcus staring at him a few times. The difference was, Marcus didn't care when Oliver caught him. Marcus never said anything. Neither of them did. He would just look Oliver in the eyes whenever the younger boy caught him staring and Marcus would continue to placidly gaze until he found whatever it was he was looking for in Oliver's face, then he would turn and go back to work.

When Madam Pince finally dismissed them, Marcus actually high fived Oliver for how much they'd accomplished together. Then they'd awkwardly bade each other good night, collected their wands, and went their separate ways.

Oliver made his way back to Gryffindor tower, deep in thought. Marcus's face seemed to be permanently stamped across Oliver's mind. Oliver was certain that if he had the artistic ability, he could could paint it flawlessly without ever seeing it again. It would be a masterpiece like the world had never seen before.

The older boy dominated Oliver's mind for the rest of the night. As he showered. As he prepared for sleep. Even as he lay in bed listening to Percy Weasley's gentle, even breathing from the bed next to his. Marcus's strong body—and the cute half-smirk he'd made when Oliver had called him brilliant—was at the forefront of Oliver's mind even as he drifted off to sleep.