Oliver Wood walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, looking out for anyone that might catch him sneaking around after curfew. He'd just came from the library after finishing an essay for potions. Snape made them write 5 feet. 5 feet! What the heck?! That was just ridiculous! The hallway he was walking through was lit only by the moonlight from outside. It was bright enough to see where he was going, but he couldn't make out colors. Pity. He would've liked to see the colorful flowers outside to cheer him up.

As he went to the nearest secret passage (Weasly twins told him), he heard a sound come from behind one of the statues. It was almost impossible to hear. He would have missed it if it wasn't for the fact that he was looking out for any kind of sound. He approached the statue and peeked around it. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't this.

"Flint?"

Though he was whispering, the black-haired chaser heard. Flint was sitting behind the statue, curled in on himself. He turned his head toward the sound of his name, and Oliver could see tear streaks on his cheeks.

"What do you want, Wood?"

Flint whisper-yelled. But it lacked its normal aggressiveness.

"Well, I heard someone crying so I decided to check it out. Why are you here at this hour?"

"Why are you?"

"I finished an essay for Snape. Why were you crying?"

Flint seemed to be contemplating if he should answer or not. Oliver honestly didn't know why he didn't just walk away, he was supposed to hate Flint! But then again, he didn't, now did he? He actually kind of respected Flint. The other was a good quidditch player, and he was kinda handsome. Oliver could admit that. He and Flint would probably have been pretty good friends, maybe more, what with their mutual love of quidditch and their similar personalities. But he was a Slytherin, and Slytherins and Gryffindors just… didn't mix.

"My father." Marcus finally answered his question.

It was only when Flint waved his hand that Oliver noticed the piece of paper, crumpled up in

his hand. Oliver could see Flint's Muscles through the shirt he was wearing and his cheeks turned a shade of pink. He was glad it was dark enough so that Flint wouldn't notice

"What do you mean?"

Flint sighed and handed him the piece of paper. It was a letter, written in elegant handwriting. He quickly skimmed through the note. It was pretty long but he pretty quickly found the message:

Flint's father wanted him to quit quidditch and get a job at the ministry.

He looked at Flint in disbelief.

"He can't be serious."

"Oh, believe me, he is."

A sob escaped Flint's throat as he buried his head in his hands. Oliver had no idea what to do. He was absolutely horrible at consoling people but he could hardly just walk away.

"But you're an amazing player! You'll make a career with your skill!" He had a hard time keeping his voice down.

"My father doesn't think so."

Bitterness filled Flint's voice. Oliver sat down next to him, looking at the stone wall in front of him.

"Then he's an idiot."

Flint lifted his head from his hands to look at Oliver before looking down again, trying to hold back tears. Oliver contemplated for a second, before wrapping his arms around the Slytherin and patting him on the back, seeing that Flint didn't want him to see him cry.

"It's okay to let your emotions out sometimes. Go on, let it out." He said.

After a few seconds, he felt Flint (or should he say Marcus now?) relax into the hug. Silent sobs started to once again fill the air, the only sound disturbing the silence of the night. Oliver was pretty surprised the Slytherin allowed himself to be vulnerable around anyone. A Gryffindor no less! And other than that, they were rivals. It felt like they were supposed to be, anyways. The previous quidditch captains had been rivals and with their opposing houses, it felt like they'd had very little to say in the matter. Maybe, that could change. Maybe they could get past house rivalry.

That thought warmed his heart a bit. The thought of him and Marcus communicating without being hostile sparked a fluttery feeling in his stomach. The others wouldn't accept it though. Everyone else would disapprove. But right there, and right then, that didn't matter. Right then it wasn't two quidditch captains. It was two teenagers. It wasn't a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. It was Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood.

Maybe they could be something else than the stereotype.

Maybe they could be something other than the status quo.

Maybe they could be more.

Maybe…

Just maybe…

they could be different…