Author's Notes: Hi everyone! I am uploading this chapter a little early because there is a very good chance that for the next week (or maybe two, depending on my internet capabilities) that I will not be able to post, as I'm moving fully and have to get everything set up in my new place. Chapter 8 which follows is going to be the last chapter, so keep that in mind. :)
I'm glad you're all enjoying the story as much as I've been while writing it. Like I said, I'm rediscovering my OTP, and damn, did I miss them.
LittleSuzieQ: Haha, believe it or not, I think that was the whole reason my love for MF/OW started-cause Oliver was such a cutie! But it developed into a lot more after that. Can't even say when or how, but I don't look back. Glad to have helped you discover a new pairing! :)
Lazyslothwho: I figured a story about the war shouldn't be ~LOLZ I THINK I LUV U~ right off the bat, especially with two people as polar opposite (in some ways) as Marcus and Oliver. I can agree with where you're coming from, too, about religion-I typically don't write it in, but this is something new for me and the chars. Usually Marcus has the dysfunctional family and Oliver has the tightly knit one, but I decided I wanted to turn it on a head and give Oliver's family a disapproving outlook on something that he holds secret about himself. As for the mention, of course! Your reviews help me grow as a writer, so why wouldn't I share that? :) As for my friend, her name is xposedagain (I can't remember the exact spelling) but she's on my favorite authors list.
NickelRamaMetalHydride: Thank you! And I agree-this is still a pretty uncommon pairing, which I find intriguing. I guess cause it isn't MWPP or Trio related!
Asphodel Winter: I have to say, when I first saw your username I was thinking of Pottermore accounts. LOL. I got mine and someone I know was talking about how they got like PhoenixAsphodel or something, it was cool. At any rate, good to see the story drew you in as much as it did! Thanks for the compliment, too-I strive to be realistic in all my writings, because sometimes, it's just more fun to explore how they would react in a real setting. :)
All right everyone, enjoy! There's a bit of dramas in this chapter, but it's an interesting turn. I think you'll like it. Lemme know what you think!
Marcus Flint hated the Ministry.
More specifically, he hated the bureaucratic nonsense that came along with it. The idea of a Ministry-sponsored brunch for the families of the Department heads didn't sit right with him. Despite that, he had gone, knowing that it would reflect poorly on his father, brother and sister if he didn't. Not only that, but his mother would have never let him hear the end of it.
The event had been successful. In the end, that was all that mattered. His family's image remained untarnished for yet another round.
Though he would never admit it to anyone, the only thing that had gotten him through the brunch was thinking about his dinner with Wood over a week ago. He wasn't entirely sure at the time what had spawned his desire to take him out, but Marcus usually didn't sit around, contemplating his actions. Second guessing never did anyone any good, his father had taught him. You either went ahead one-hundred percent or you didn't do it at all. No guts, no glory.
Something was happening inside of him, he had come to realize. He was beginning to fancy Oliver Wood. It was as simple as that.
He came upon this discovery when he found himself becoming more and more anxious as he awaited the other's owl post, which arrived three nights ago. When he read it and replied without so much as a second thought, he knew it then.
Was this a bad thing? He didn't know yet. It was unusual, that much was for sure. He hadn't brought it up with anyone. He supposed in due time he would have to let it out, lest it blurt out of him at an inappropriate moment.
He laughed at the thought of how Terence and Adrian would take it. He likely wouldn't hear the end of it…
It was of little importance right now. What he needed to focus on now was Oliver's imminent arrival. In their posts to one another they had agreed upon the Gryffindor coming over to his flat for an in-home dinner. He'd settled on Indian food, knowing that it was commonplace enough that they could both enjoy it. It was take-out, of course, given Marcus' lack of culinary skills.
Somehow he didn't think Oliver would enjoy burned bagels and sausage.
At the stroke of eight, Marcus heard Oliver's arrival through the Floo Network. His fireplace momentarily lit up with brilliant emerald flames. In their wake was the Keeper, dressed in a set of fitted black robes.
Marcus smiled, though briefly. "Evening, Wood."
"Evening, mate. Boy, it's warm in here, isn't it?"
"Never been a fan of the cold."
"Me, neither. I like it. Nice and cozy." Oliver blinked. "Is that Indian food I smell?"
"Nose like a niffler, you've got." Marcus gestured toward the kitchen. "I ordered in."
"Hey, I'm thankful for anything. Really."
Marcus ushered Oliver through the entry of his flat into the dining room. It was just off set the kitchen, whose appliances looked as pristine as the day he'd moved in. Marcus wasn't much one for cooking; when he wanted a nice, freshly cooked meal, he typically returned home and had his mother do it for him. Considering she enjoyed doing it, he figured it was well worth the trip to make her feel happy.
Well, that, and he got a free meal.
"Please, sit," the dark haired man said, gesturing to the seat across from him as he himself sat down. He waved his wand and watched each of the individually wrapped plates float from the kitchen island to his dining room table. There was Tandoori Chicken, Chicken Tikka Masala, several side dishes and one or two desserts. Oliver seemed to have his eye on one of the dessert plates. What was it called? Oh, yes, Marcus remembered. Laddu.
Each man helped himself to a hearty plate of food. By the time Marcus had finished plating his dish, Oliver had already begun digging in to his.
"Merlin, Wood, you act like you haven't eaten in ages."
Oliver showed no restraint. In fact, he appeared amused. "Sorry, mate, but I haven't. S'been all day."
"You haven't eaten all day?"
"It just got away from me. I was working at the Wheezes, and I—"
Oliver stopped himself. Suddenly his amusement turned into guarded discomfort.
Marcus was genuinely intrigued. Why in the world would Oliver need two jobs? "Wait. You play Quidditch and you work at Weasley's shop?"
"Yes," Wood said, looking down and taking a bite of food. His cheeks were scarlet red. It was off-putting to Marcus, who was trying to understand.
"Why?"
"Because not all of us have rich families, mate."
Even though Oliver's words were damaging, he said them with no intentional malice. Marcus could tell. Still, something within him stirred, making his pale ears redden and the tip of his nose do the same. He cleared his throat. Normally restraint wasn't a word that existed in his dictionary, but tonight, it would need to be.
"Yes, well, even the rich have trouble sometimes," he said. He hated it when people brought up family money into conversation. Pucey did it all the time, much to his chagrin.
Oliver's nonplussed expression didn't make Marcus feel any better.
"It wasn't all dandelions and roses for me during the war, Wood. I know what you're thinking."
Marcus knew his words were dangerous. Breeching the subject of the war was by no means a topic he'd have chosen for the night, but the course of the conversation had veered out of his control. And right now, he was feeling backed into a corner, and he didn't like it.
"You mean to tell me that you weren't sitting pretty while Voldemort all but decimated a good chunk of the wizarding and Muggle populations with his terrible actions? Flint, look, you're all right, but you're a Slytherin. What's more, you're a pureblooded Slytherin. Voldemort wouldn't have touched your family with a ten-foot pole."
"We weren't sitting pretty, Wood. Voldemort and his whole fucking faction were trying to manipulate my family each and every day. My father, brother, sister—nearly all three of them had to stop going to work just so they weren't forcibly recruited into his ranks!"
Marcus' fork dropped to his plate with a resounding clatter. It didn't faze him; he continued to stare at Oliver, cheeks flushing. "And me—don't even get me started on the shit I had to deal with. I never wanted to be a part of that war, nor did I ever ask to be!"
"Then you should've joined us!" Oliver exclaimed. "From the sounds of it, you didn't want him in power, either! Why didn't you put yourself to good use?"
"Because it wasn't my fucking fight, Wood!"
"It was everybody's fight!"
Marcus watched Oliver tear himself away from the table, standing up in a rush. The Gryffindor looked betrayed, hurt. It was strangely powerful, and the dark haired one felt momentarily overwhelmed.
"It was everybody's fight," Oliver repeated, quieter this time. He stared down Marcus, the green in his eyes nearly vibrating. He rolled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing his hex burn, which disfigured his forearm. Marcus had never really taken notice of it before, but now it was all he could look at. "We lost a lot of good people in that war, Marcus. We could have used all the help we could get. Now most of us live with scars we'll never forget."
He couldn't help himself. Being told he wasn't good enough had conditioned Marcus to reply in only one way: with confrontation.
He looked away. "Yes, well, I reckon some of us aren't nearly as noble as others."
Silence fell over them for a long while. Oliver turned his back to Marcus, and with a few flares of anger, the Chaser almost asked his guest to leave. However, once the initial upset of the moment had passed, both of them seemed to return to rationality. Oliver apologized, took his seat and closed his eyes. Marcus made no comment of the tears he could see welled up in the corners of the other's eyes. He was surprised at how much the sight of them affected him.
"We have to learn to move on," Flint said, surprisingly quiet. Louder, more clearly, he said, "Voldemort's dead. We need to deal with what we've been given."
"I'm doing my damnedest," Oliver replied with a bitter chuckle. "Reserve Keeper for four years. Working at a joke shop to pay my rent. Oh yes, I'm dealing."
Marcus found himself reaching out to touch Oliver. He stopped himself. He had never been good with moments like these: the rare instances where one bared oneself open for another. He wasn't sure how to properly interpret Oliver's behavior, or his words.
"To answer your original question, I work there because I need extra money. I can pay my rent just fine on my Quidditch salary, but that's only now that I've moved in with Spinnet. Before, it…well. I was exaggerating a little."
Oliver gave a shaky sigh. Even despite his ineptitude with emotions, Marcus could at least tell that the other was trying not to visibly express his distress.
"You ever thought of moving home?" Marcus ventured curiously.
"Love my family, mate, but never want to live there again unless I absolutely have to."
"Mm, can't I relate."
Silence once again crept in between them, though not entirely unwelcome this time. Marcus, with his appetite on hold, stared down at his food in an attempt to distract himself.
"M'sorry," Oliver eventually said once again. "The war's…a touchy subject for me. I try not to think about it when I can help it. Gives me nightmares."
Marcus simply nodded. After a moment, he said, "Seeing that many people dead, I can imagine, yeah."
"Most of them I can get over. It's just hard because…" He sighed, trying to discreetly wipe at his nose with the hem of his robe sleeve.
Marcus knew why.
"Because of Fred?"
"Yeah. Cos of Fred."
Oliver took a deep breath. Marcus watched him. He knew that Wood was close to the Weasley family, as he had always seen him hanging out with Percy and the twins. He realized, however, he never knew the extent of their friendship. Seeing someone so shaken up over the death of a friend was foreign to him. Marcus had lost no one close to him in the war, and by most standards, had gotten through it relatively unscathed. Aside from several threats from Death Eaters, nobody had harmed him or his family in any way, shape or form.
He frowned. Oliver was quiet again, a distant look in his eye.
"You gonna eat your food?" Marcus asked.
"M'not really that hungry anymore." Wood ran his hand over his cropped head of hair, moving to stand again. "Listen, I need to go. Nothing against you mate, I just can't,"—he shook his head—"I just can't right now."
That was a confusing remark. The dark haired man stood as well, cocking his head to the side. "So you're just not going to eat? You said it yourself: you haven't eaten all day. It's gonna go bad, I can't eat it all, Wood."
"I'll eat later, I think. Thanks for having me over. I'll owl you, all right?"
Marcus stood and watched Oliver all but race off to his fireplace. Though he could not see them, he heard the whoosh of the green flames that took the other man away from his flat.
What the hell had just happened?
. . . . .
After the fiasco at his flat the night before, Marcus owled his best friend Terence and asked him over for a drink. Never before had he ever felt the need to talk about what had happened to him, nor with the fervor he felt now. Everything about his dinner with Oliver had confused the hell out of him. He had no idea where they stood, and it frustrated him—even more so now that he knew he fancied the damn git.
Terence showed up after his shift ended at the Daily Prophet. Being the junior editor meant he had an awful lot of responsibilities, but as a true friend would, he put as much aside as he could in order to be there for him. That meant something to Marcus, though more on a that's-how-it-should-be level than anything else.
He poured Higgs a glass of scotch as he paced back and forth in the living room. Not having had practice that day had left him with a large amount of energy. Dwelling on something was new to Marcus, let alone dwelling on something so intense. He was beginning to feel anxious.
"So, what's got you all tied in knots?" Terence asked as he enjoyed his drink.
"Listen. I'm about to tell you something that you won't exactly believe, but I don't want any of your snide or sarcastic remarks. All right?"
Terence smirked. "Me-ow. The claws are out tonight, huh?"
"Promise me."
"All right, all right. I promise. C'mon now, tell me. You've got me all intrigued and titillated."
Marcus proceeded to tell Terence everything from the beginning: about how he and Oliver hooked up; how the two of them ran into each other at the book store and did it again; how they'd gone out to drinks, and how he knew something was developing inside of him that wasn't completely primal in nature. He also went into surprising detail about the night before, making sure to accentuate the odd behavior Oliver had displayed. It had really done a number on him.
Terence could quite obviously tell. "Boy, you're really chuffed about this, aren't you?"
"Yes. No. Fuck, I don't know! It's not normal. One minute, everything was fine, then the next, he's off being weepy and emotional! I don't know what happened!"
"The war happened, Marcus. That's what."
"There you go, bringing in that serious voice. The war. The war! Oh, the war! Honestly, you all act as if it was the end of the world!"
"For some, it was."
Marcus immediately regretted what he said. In that heated moment, he had forgotten that Terence's father had been a victim in the war—a casualty due to his Muggle sympathies.
He turned around. "I'm sorry, mate."
"Yes, I know." Terence spoke swiftly. "You're about as sensitive as a box of bludgers, though, you know? Maybe that's why Wood was acting the way he was. He lost a real good friend when Weasley died."
"I never knew they were that close, though. I mean, really, who was ever that close to those two twins?"
"Apparently he was. And what he needs right now, it sounds like, is for someone to be there for him."
"Isn't that what his family and friends are for?"
"Look. He obviously feels something for you, you dolt. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been there. Hell, he likely would have left after the fight. The fact that he stayed means something. So you should learn to roll with it and go find him."
Terence finished off his scotch, clearing his throat. He looked out the large living room window, staring into the sky above. When his eyes met with Marcus' again, he raised his eyebrows.
"So I should go find Wood and do what?"
Higgs laughed. "Merlin, mate, you're as block-headed as you are pale. Just be there for him, for whatever he needs. Even if he says he doesn't."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be catching on to some hidden meaning in what you said?"
"No. That's why I have Penelope. She got me through it."
"Oh. Right."
"Do you know where he lives?" Terence asked.
"No. Reckon I could find out easy, though. He lives with Spinnet. Apparently he also works with the other Weasley, what's his name. George."
"I'd start there."
"Hm."
Marcus eyed his best friend for a moment. What game was he getting at, telling him to go speak to George Weasley? He knew full well they didn't get along. Why in the bloody hell would he give away Wood's address?
"I'm sure if you asked George civilly he'd let you know, by the way."
"Damn it, Terence, get out of my head."
Terence smirked once more. "You're like a book, you know. A very easy book."
"And you're a wanker. How d'you like that?"
"At least I'm a clever wanker. I'll take that."
As his friend lifted himself from the couch and headed into the kitchen once more, Marcus scratched the tip of his chin thoughtfully.
He supposed it was time to go out on a limb and contact George Weasley.
