Warning: Yep. This is still slash...well sort of. Kinda. Rating is for themes and language.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except what I'm trying to call the plot.

Notes: Sorry this isn't one of the better or more eventful chapters in my opinion, but I felt it was important. Ok thank you to all the people who know they deserve it. Also, I really do apologize for the fact that this isn't much longer than the other ones. And again, thank you to everyone who is still reading this after so long.

CHAPTER 5

Oliver shook his head as if to clear it, as he walked toward the
dungeons. He could not stop thinking about Marcus, and it didn't help
that they had double potions next. It was a strange feeling to Oliver
that seized him when he thought of the other boy, and it was not a
feeling that he could explain, for he had never felt it before. It was
almost as great a feeling as winning a quidditch match, yet as bad a
feeling as losing one. As he walked in dread of the feelings that would
surely overtake him as soon as he saw the larger boy, he wasn't exactly
watching where he was going. He ran right into someone's back. Whether
it was the surprise or the force that almost knocked him down, it didn't
matter because he was able to keep his footing.

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Marcus stood outside the classroom of Professor Severus Snape, talking to
several of his teammates and friends. Montague was staring at one of
their female classmates as she bent over to pick up her quill, Bletchy
was staring much the same way at Marcus (who stood brooding in his
thoughts) Higgs was nearly about to crack up about his suspicion of
Marcus and the professor's tutoring arrangement, and Warrington was going
on about something or another, no doubt bitching about who was the
smartest in Slytherin house.

"How the hell do *you* get better marks than*me* let alone *Higgs*? He's
like the smartest one in our year, at least in Slytherin." Warrington
marveled, "I mean no offense Flint, you have other talents but you're not
exactly..."

"Shut up." Marcus commanded, and that was all he needed to say. Before
anyone could steer the conversation in another direction, a rather lost
looking Oliver Wood walked right into Marcus Flint's back. Marcus barely
moved; it was as if he hadn't even felt it. Slowly he turned to see the
embarrassed face of the Gryffindor Keeper. Again, he arched an eyebrow,
and favored Wood with the same sneer he had shown the keeper that
morning. He thought to tell Oliver that they had to stop meeting like
this, but that just wouldn't do.

"Just where the bloody hell do you think you're going? Open your damned
eyes! Merlin!" He did not sound as angry as he did annoyed; perhaps it
was because he had been waiting for a chance to look into the honey-
depths of Wood's eyes since the boy had fled the Great Hall earlier that
day. Mostly out of surprise, he didn't try to stop the boy as he walked
past him, mumbling an apology.

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"Erm sorry," Oliver said, not bothering to be as witty as he normally was
when arguing with the Slytherin. He didn't wait for a response before
walking into the classroom and finding a seat. He let his head fall onto
the table with a soft thump after he slumped into a seat in the back of
the room. Oliver had never, in his life spent this much time thinking
about anything this much before, except of course for Quidditch. Why
would he wish every second for an excuse to see the dark eyed boy, or to
touch him, somehow feel that rough passionate kiss of his once more? As
class went on, Oliver squashed three eyes of newts, stepped on two
salamanders and spilt his mermaid blood. On more than several occasions,
his attention was drawn to the seat near the front in which Marcus Flint
sat sleeping. It was almost comical, Marcus sat with his head leaned
back and his mouth open. That sparked thoughts in Oliver's mind of
exactly what he wanted from that mouth, and he almost had to leave the
classroom because of it. Somehow, Oliver got through the class alive.
As he packed up to leave, Oliver noticed a short skinny boy cautiously
trying to awaken Flint. On his way out, Wood dropped a small piece of
parchment into Flint's open bag. For the rest of the day he wondered
about whether or not the note had been a mistake, and about whether or
not Marcus would even find it. Then he began to wonder what Marcus would
even *do* with that note; he should have put an incineration charm on it.

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Marcus lay on his bed, thinking about the events of the day, and those of
the night before. Deciding that there was no other way to get his mind
off it, he opened his book-bag. If there was anything that could save
him from thoughts of Oliver, or at least partially save him, it was
homework. Reaching in to grab his charms text, he felt a stray piece of
parchment. It read, 'Meet me again tonight on the pitch. Midnight.'
There was no doubting whom it was from, the real question was if he was
going to go. "That's no question." He said aloud, earning an awkward
look from Bletchy. After destroying the note, Marcus decided to take
another shower; he needed to do some thinking amongst other things that
often came along with thinking, at least in his case.

For the first time since he had kissed the beautiful boy he had always
deemed the enemy, Marcus allowed his thoughts to drift to Oliver Wood;
surely, it couldn't hurt just this once. And great thoughts they were
too. Soft tanned skin, deep honey eyes, and all the muscles on that
wonderful body. One muscle was prevalent in those thoughts though, and
even though Marcus had never seen it, his imagination did great things.
Half wishing, he pretended his own hand belonged to the object of his
thoughts. When he returned to his dorm, Marcus was clearly in a better
mood than when he had left and appeared much more relaxed. He had also
decided to meet the Gryffindor later, if for no other reason than to see
what he might want.