"Oi, I thought I told you to wait for me outside the Prefect bathroom you twat!" Oliver sat down reaching for a chicken wing to put on his plate.

"It's not my fault you're too slow." Marcus grunted.

"Someone's in a foul mood," Oliver remarked as he kept shovelling food onto his plate. "Is something the matter?"

"I don't know Ollie, you tell me!" Oliver thought for a second, trying to figure out what was burdening his friend so much.

"Oh please," Oliver rolled his eyes, "You can't seriously tell me you're still mad about that."

"Mad about what?" Adrian Pucey said, sitting down on Marcus' right side.

"The fact that he couldn't get in a single shot today." Terence Higgs chimed in, appearing on Oliver's left side a moment later, snickering as he too sat down at the dinner table.

At least once a week, Marcus and Oliver would play a one-on-one game of Quidditch consisting of only a quaffle and Oliver's keeper skills. Usually it was a fair game, Marcus making decent shots and Oliver making decent saves, but this particular day, Marcus hadn't made a single goal. Terence, from lack of entertainment and as an excuse to not do homework, had witnessed the whole scene unfold and was now hellbent on wrenching everything out of the situation. He'd long stopped being afraid of Marcus' punches (sort of).

Marcus kept his head down, eating his food in silence. He was not going to give Higgs the satisfaction of getting to him. Contrary to what Terence had said, Marcus wasn't actually that mad about not making any shots, although he wasn't thrilled about it either. It was the perfect cover story though for what was really bothering him. Earlier that day he'd been told by Professor McGonagall that it looked like he would fail transfiguration if he didn't step up and improve his work. Usually Marcus couldn't care less, but he knew that flunking out meant repeating a year, and failing transfiguration after already struggling through his other subjects was a big blow considering he hadn't failed anything else yet. Not making any goals today was truly the salt in the wounds.

"Flint?" he got a light kick from under the table by whom he knew was Oliver, forcing him to leave his own thoughts. When he looked up he met Oliver's eyes, and the other boy was smiling at him, calming his nerves. Oliver always seemed to have that effect on him, and was the sole possessor of such a trait. He gave a little nod back, just quick enough for Oliver to see so that his friend would know that he was all right.

"So are you going to tell me what's really bothering you, or am I going to have to steal some veritaserum from Snape?" Dinner was over, and Oliver and Marcus had found their way to the Quidditch pitch. It was usually empty at this time, allowing for privacy. They normally went there after dinner, sometimes to study, other times to do absolutely nothing of value. Today was one of the latter, just a day where they sat and talked nonsense.

Marcus hadn't wanted to come, determined to head back to his own dorm and wallow in self pity, but Oliver had pulled him aside whilst exiting the great hall and told him they were going to the Quidditch pitch. He didn't ask Marcus if he wanted to, nor did he demand him to come. Oliver simply stated it, and Marcus was inclined to follow. There was an unwritten rule between them when it came to this, so without protest he followed the other boy in silence down the steps of the courtyard to the Quidditch pitch, where Oliver threw himself onto the ground with a thud.

"Nothings wrong."

"Oh please, I get that you wouldn't want to bring it up with Higgs and Pucey on your heel, but they're not here anymore, so spill!" This was a demand.

"Really Ollie, it's nothing." To this Oliver arched his eyebrow in a disbelieving stare that said he wouldn't quit nagging until he was granted a response. "I'm flunking transfiguration." Marcus admitted quietly.

"What was that?"

"I'm flunking transfiguration! There, happy?"

"Ah yes, I love to hear that you've failed." Marcus looked up to see Oliver grinning back at him, leaving him all warm inside. A feeling he'd come to know very well due to the pending crush that had been brewing inside of him since he was twelve. "We'll study." Oliver simply said. "I'll ask Percy to help ya, the guy's already ahead with his homework anyways, it's not like he's busy."

"I'm not sure Weasley would agree with that." This made Oliver laugh lightly, and Marcus felt himself melting. He loved when Oliver laughed. He threw some grass Oliver's way, just like he always did, and as a response Oliver hit him lightly on the arm per routine.

"We'll study." Oliver said again. "Ok? We've got this" Marcus couldn't help but love that Oliver had said we've instead of you've. The two boys might be rivals in most senses, especially when it comes to Quidditch, but at the end of the day they're a team. One entity. They're both as stubborn as they come, and refuse to call the other by their first name on the Quidditch pitch, despite having known each other since before their Hogwarts days. Oliver naggs at Marcus all the time to get him to execute the simplest task, and Marcus always finds a way to complain about absolutely anything he can lay his eyes on. The boys are polar opposites. Yet, they fit together perfectly.

"This is right about the most boring thing I've ever done in my life! Can't we do something else?" Marcus complained, throwing a paper at Weasley's head in an act of boredom and protest. He got a glare back that probably could kill if provoked, and Percy groaned for the millionth time that day.

"For the last time Marcus. Stop throwing papers at my head! If you spent as much effort on trying to study for transfiguration as you did on folding papers to throw my way I'm sure you'd be a top student. As for now, OPEN YOUR DAMN BOOK!" Percy Weasley was not afraid of Marcus Flint. Not anymore at least. The prefect was very good at charms and could therefore probably hex Marcus out of existence if the chaser tried anything on him. Madam Pince gave off a great hiss at the sound. Percy gave off a sniff as he recovered, straightening his robes and switching position in the process.

They'd been sitting in the library studying, or rather Percy attempting to, and Marcus procrastinating, for about an hour. Oliver was occupied with Quidditch practice, and Marcus was feeling murderous tendencies. He wasn't very fond of Weasley, although time had made him respect the boy enough to be able to stay alone in a room with him for more than five minutes. Marcus would never admit it, but he was rather grateful that Percy had agreed to help him out, which is why it sucked that he found himself not listening to a word that was being said. Percy opened a book, pointed at a picture that demonstrated something, and blabbed about something, something.. Spells. Marcus' brain was zoning out, and without warning it stuck on an image of a slightly shorter brown haired boy.

Oliver smiling and laughing at his jokes. Resting his head on Oliver's legs, as the keeper would play with his hair, causing Marcus to positively melt. Oliver with an overused copy of Quidditch Through The Ages that he'll read any chance he gets. All engulfed in the pages as the world around him kept spinning. His eyes burning with passion-

"Marcus!" Percy said sternly. The boy had always refused to call Marcus by his surname, despite several threats. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" He could tell the Gryffindor was pissed. "Look. if you're not going to take this seriously, then I am not even going to waste my time-"

"For god's sakes Weasley, can you chill? Can't a guy disappear in his own thoughts for even five minutes.

"Try an hour. What the hell would someone like you even need to think about over the course of an hour. Feels like sixty minutes of nothingness."

"For your information, my brain happens to be filled with important thoughts."

"I hardly consider thinking about Oliver for an hour to be "important" thoughts." As those words were spoken both boys froze. Marcus stunned, and Percy shocked by his own bluntness.

"How… Why…" There were no words to be found, nothing to be said. What could he say to that without exposing himself? Normally Marcus would start using his fists at a comment like that, but he knew that beating Percy up wasn't an option. Oliver would be furious. Instead his mind went into overdrive trying to figure out the other contexts Percy could be referring to that weren't in any way related to romantic feelings. Maybe he thought Marcus thought about Oliver in a Quidditch sense, thinking about strategies to beat the Gryffindor team. Or perhaps he just said it as a joke. After all, Oliver was Marcus' best friend. It wasn't weird to think about your best friend, in fact, some may even consider it normal.

"So, chapter 3…" And Percy continued to if Marcus hadn't already had a hard time concentrating, this was another cosmic joke sent straight from hell. He knew Percy understood that he wasn't listening, but the red-haired boy plowed on, pretending like nothing. Marcus couldn't determine if he was glad that Weasley had changed subject as fast as the speed of light, or if he was more frustrated. He wasn't sure of just how much Percy actually knew of his feelings for their shared best friend, and that thought alone was unsettling.

"How did studying with Percy go?" Oliver asked, swooping in next to Marcus's left side at the Slytherin table. "Judging by the fact that there are no bruises on your hands I can only assume that no one has died yet, and I don't know about you Markie, but I consider that an absolute win!" Marcus would've growled if Oliver's beaming smile wasn't so damn cute.

"How come that's always your first assumption of events when Weasley and I spend time together? Also, don't call me that, you know I hate that stupid nickname" Marcus said.

"Because he has more than three brain cells, Markie" Higgs teased, earning a laugh from both Pucey and Oliver. Marcus noted that he was always five seconds away from smacking Higgs.

"Naw, don't be mad Marcus," Oliver teased, rubbing his best friend on the shoulder in a(n un)comforting way, "He's just teasing. I know you have at least four functioning brain cells."

"Don't look so sad Flint, we know the rest died of a worthy cause. Quidditch ain't something to play with. I'm sure a lot of Oliver's soldiers have gone in a similar fashion." Pucey chimed in.

"They have indeed," the keeper said, knocking himself on his skull, "All for a worthy cause."

"You're such a dork." Oliver stuck out his tongue.

"Don't be such a twat Flint, you know we're only joking with ya." Higgs spoke, but Marcus had stopped listening. He was too busy staring at Oliver's lips to pay his other friends much attention.

Pucey and Higgs soon stopped paying attention to Marcus as well, as they busied themselves with their own conversation about potions, or charms, or whatever the hell they were discussing. Marcus didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't much care either. Oliver kept staring at him, as if he wanted to say something, but didn't. Marcus looked deep into his best friend's eyes, searching for whatever thought was running through the keeper's mind, and found that he came up empty. How come Oliver could read Marcus' thoughts so easily, but not the other way around? That was just plain unfair.

He couldn't shake this irking feeling that was creeping up his spine. A thought that was always at the forefront of his mind, but that he tried to turn off. The feeling of genuine affection he had for his friend that he knew would never be reciprocated. It was all becoming way too much for him to handle.

"Pitch." Marcus said without thinking. Oliver just nodded. No other words needed to be said.

"So what's up?" Oliver asked, sitting down next to Marcus on the grass of the Quidditch pitch. Marcus searched his mind for something to say but found he was in a loss for words. "I don't know." he admitted. "I just needed some pitch time." he said leaning his head on Wood's legs and groaned as he did so. "Life is just so shite sometimes, ya know?" Oliver didn't answer him, just played with Marcus' hair and allowed his friend the opportunity to vent. Marcus was too upset to be excited by Oliver's touch, which was yet another blow to the evening. "Ollie, I'm going to flunk out of school." Marcus wasn't sure why he'd chosen this angle, but he went with it. After all, it was probably true.

"Don't be dramatic Marcus, I'm sure studying with Percy went alright."

"No," Marcus insisted, sitting up straight with a swift motion, "it was shite, and Weasley will testify. I'm a complete and utter failure!" Who does not deserve you, he wanted to add, but quickly swallowed.

It was true. He knew it was. That was the real reason he couldn't fancy Oliver. Because he knew that the other boy deserved better. More. Someone who wasn't Marcus Bloody Flint, aggressive arsehole and a professional pain in the arse. Well that and the fact that Oliver probably didn't fancy him back, but he preferred to not think about that. He'd much rather look at it as a sacrifice than a rejection.

"You're not any of those things. Honestly Flint, you're one of the most talented chasers I've ever played. You're way better than me at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and… you're my best friend. Which ultimately makes you cooler by default."

Marcus was about to argue that being good at Defense Against the Dark Arts just showed how rotten his family was, when he felt himself unwillingly smile instead. Just a tiny one that was hardly visible, but it was there nevertheless. Yet another thing that belonged to Oliver only, Marcus' smile. It was rare he ever did it with anyone else. Oliver noticed and smiled back.

"We've got this, remember? I'm not gonna let you flunk out of school you idiot. Who will I play against when I go pro?"

"You are aware that there are a lot of talented Quidditch players in the league, right? I'm sure they'd give you a run for your money."

"True," Oliver said thoughtfully, "but I'd much prefer that you were among them." And suddenly Marcus' smile was growing. Fuck, he was whipped.

"Fine, you've convinced me." Marcus groaned as Oliver gave out a celebratory whoop, acting like he'd won a Quidditch game rather than a half-arsed argument. "I shall try not to flunk out."

"That is all I ask." The look on Oliver's face could compete with the sun.

"Besides, I think my parents would like it better this way. Can't let Christopher be the golden boy forever." Marcus joked. "Who am I kidding? He'll always be their golden boy." He added as an afterthought.

Christopher was Marcus' older brother, and his mother's favourite of her three children. His dad favoured his younger sister Anabelle, who'd since coming to Hogwarts had dissociated herself from her older brother, pretending he didn't exist. No bad blood or anything, that's just how it was. Marcus on the other hand would never be his parents' favourite, but it had never bothered him as it probably should. Since finding out he liked guys, it was almost a relief that he'd never have to let his parents down with this information. Him being a failure was so ingrained in their minds, that something like this was small in comparison.

"You can be my golden boy." Oliver broke his way into his thoughts. "The goldiest."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a word."

"Then I'm making it one." He declared proudly. "Marcus Flint, you are the goldiest boy that has ever been." Marcus couldn't help but chuckle.

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know," The keeper admitted. "Whatever you want it to." For you to love me back.

"For you to learn proper English." Marcus teased, Oliver putting out his tongue as a response.

"Ollie." Marcus said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"You're the goldiest of goldies."

"Now who's making up words?" Oliver challenged, a grin on his face.

"Piss off Wood." He threw some grass Oliver's way as the keeper laughingly hit him playfully on the arm.