Gryffindor is playing Hufflepuff. Marcus can't look. Partially because of the terrible weather, and even more so because his stomach is churning from guilt. It is an unfamiliar feeling, but not a foreign one. It's painful to watch Wood struggle, to think that it should've been them in the match, and not the Puffs. That he could've been going through all of this with him instead of watching helplessly from the sidelines. Sure, a part of him was glad to not be playing because he didn't actually wanna freeze his arse off, but the other part knew what a dick move it had been to milk Malfoy's injury the way they had.

He'd hardly seen Wood throughout the week apart from meals because of the training schedule Wood had harassed his teammates with. He'd been forced to spend more time with Higgs and Pucey as a result, and had come to the realisation that there was a reason he avoided alone time with the pair. Spending time alone with Higgs and Pucey was like having a jigsaw puzzle infront of you with no idea what you were trying to make. Nothing they said quite made sense to anyone but themselves, unless they wanted Marcus to get it, which he understood rather quickly that they rarely did.

He'd also had another lesson with Weasley, which had not opened up for any more discussions about Oliver, thank goodness, or anything else concerning Marcus' personal life. He'd shown up, done the spell, and gotten the fuck out of there. A part of him assumed Weasley didn't bring the subject up because he was afraid that Marcus would use his fists to silence him, and that thought was comforting to the chaser. At least part of his life was under his control. Something he realised was a much smaller chunk of himself than he previously thought.

His hands felt like they were about to come off at any second. He cupped them around his mouth, breathing warm air into them, but it was a feeble attempt to keep himself from getting hypothermia. It stung, heat against cold piercing his skin. It did keep him focused though, allowing him to concentrate on something other than the fact that he was a terrible friend. He put all his attention on his breathing. In and out. Inhale, exhale. Soon the game would be over, and he could go inside. This whole ordeal would just be a bad memory in which he and Oliver could laugh about later on. Potter almost always caught the snitch, it was just a matter of time before he would do it again.

Except, Potter didn't catch the snitch. Potter fell, and every single person in the bleachers lost their ability to breath for a second there. Diggory had the snitch, and he was beaming, or at least it looked like he was, until he very clearly wasn't. Gryffindor lost, but Hufflepuff had no opportunity to enjoy their victory because suddenly everyone seemed hyper fixated on Potter. Everyone except, Oliver Wood.

He found him in the showers, looking as though he was trying to drown himself. It would've been comical any other day, but right now Marcus couldn't bring himself to laugh. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had gone. Left was the mess that was Oliver Wood after losing a Quidditch game. A sight in which Marcus had bared witness to many times before, which admittedly, always made him upset. He didn't like seeing Oliver sad.

"Ollie." He said softly behind the keeper, trying extremely hard to approach his friend with as much compassion as he could. "Oliver."

His friend did not turn around, he kept his head down, letting the water rinse the shame and disappointment of the loss away. "Ollie." He tried again. This time Oliver did turn, and Marcus braced himself for a scolding. Anything. But alas, nothing.

Marcus took the opportunity to get a good look at the boy in front of him. The sight was extremely unpleasant. Oliver looked completely empty inside. As if a part of him had died on that pitch, and Marcus officially decided that maybe, just maybe, they needed to cool it with their Quidditch obsession. Perhaps they should stop getting offended when people claimed they took the game too seriously and accept that they might actually be right.

"Oliver, are you ok?" What a stupid fucking question to ask someone who looked like they'd been hit by a bus. Marcus cringed at his own words. "Cmon Ollie, it's just a game, there'll be other matches. There's still Ravenclaw and Slytherin left." And this was just the wrong thing to say, because suddenly Oliver was glaring daggers into his soul.

"Then why couldn't you play?" He snapped, causing Marcus to jump. Something he'd later deny.

"I've told you already, Malfoy is hurt."

"BUT IT'S JUST A GAME FLINT! ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU JUST SAID? SO WHY COULDN'T YOU PLAY?" Oliver's voice was echoing through the changing room.

"Ollie-"

"Don't fucking 'Ollie' me. First you go and fuck up my entire strategy, and then after we loose, you waltz in here and act like everythings ok. It's not ok Marcus. I'm pissed off, and you're going to have to let me be pissed the fuck off, ok? So please, just, leave me alone to grieve."

Maybe if Marcus was a better friend, he would've stayed where he was. Stood his ground. But he wasn't, because he left. He'd always known that their friendship was going to end, just not when it would strike. Leaving Oliver behind, pissed and disappointed, felt defining. As if the universe was screaming at him that this was it. That was the last straw.

Sure, this wasn't the first time Oliver had been pissed after losing a game, but this was the first time Marcus walked away from it as the culprit. Not as the guy who beat him in the game on equal footing, but the guy who'd stabbed him in the back and left him to bleed. And perhaps that was a step too far. Enough for him to make the most rash decision in his life.

Oliver Wood was no longer his best friend, and he hadn't been since they were twelve and made the Quidditch team. They weren't just naive second years anymore, and it was time to stop pretending. Wood was a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin. They weren't even supposed to slightly tolerate each other, and here they were, pretending to be best chums for years. Marcus was done. It's the least he could do for Oliver. The keeper deserved better than friends who made him try to drown himself in the shower. So Marcus closed the door on that. Shut off all of his feelings and promised himself that no matter what happened, he no longer existed in Oliver Wood's life. As far as he was concerned, they were strangers.

That's the way it should have always been.

The next morning, Marcus did something he hadn't done since his first year. He headed for the Slytherin table. He sat down opposite Pucey and Higgs who were slouching all over the place (Marcus was beginning to understand why they'd arranged to eat breakfast by the Gryffindors). As soon as his ass hit the seat Pucey suddenly stirred awake, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What're you doing here?"

"Eating breakfast." Marcus grunted, gesturing to the toast in his hand. "That's usually what one does in the morning."

"No you twat," Higgs spat, him too catching on to what was happening, "he's wondering why you're not sitting with Wood."

Marcus had been expecting the question, staying up late the night before to figure out something convincing to get his fellow Slytherins off his back.

"In case you haven't noticed, unlike Wood, I am not a Gryffindor, hence, I can't eat with them."

"That wasn't a problem when you punched me in our first year." Higgs argued, but Marcus had stopped listening.

He didn't see the look Adrian and Terence shared, the knowing look. He did though, feel like he was being observed. As if they were trying to read him, just like Weasley sometimes did.

"Stop glaring at me." He snapped at them, to no avail, for Adrian and Terence had by now become immune from fright when Marcus yelled at them. He looked directly at them now, and he was greeted by something that he'd never have expected in a million years. The pair looked… disappointed? He knew that look well, his father wore it a lot throughout his childhood, he'd learnt to expect it, but from Higgs and Pucey… well that was just plain weird.

He had no time to ponder before a knock was felt upon his shoulder.

"WHAT-" He turned swiftly. He really wasn't a morning person. His voice stuck in his throat. Behind him stood the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, his sworn rival, his former friend and newly branded stranger… Oliver Wood. He looked way better today, as if yesterday had never happened. It was weird, Wood had that ability. One night and he'd conducted a whole new plan to take him to the top. He didn't need people like Marcus in his life to drag him down. He'd be better off without him.

"Would you care to explain why you're eating breakfast at the Slytherin table this fine morning?"

"If you haven't noticed, Wood," he made sure to put empathis on the last name, "I'm a Slytherin, and this is usually where we eat."

"Cut the crap Flint."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Pitch." Wood said simply, looking satisfied. Like he'd won.

But he hadn't. "No." The words slipped out before Marcus had any chance to catch them, surprising even himself as they left him. No? Had he really just said that? Sure, he was a stubborn prick, but this was on a whole other level.

Oliver gave an audible gasp. Higgs and Pucey looked scandalised. Anyone who wasn't looking before, was now glaring, holding their breath awaiting what would come next.

"What was that?"

"You deaf or something Wood? I said no. N-O." At this, Marcus stood, made sure he got all up in Oliver's business. If he was to get rid of Wood, he would do so with style. "What? You think you can just command me like some sort of servant?" Marcus swallowed hard. This really was the nail in the coffin. Everything sacred about their friendship was crumbling before them in this moment, but Oliver was refusing to back down. Oliver never backed down.

"Marcus, PITCH. NOW!"

"I said NO." And here he shoved him. Hard. They'd never physically hurt each other in any other way than on the Quidditch pitch, not intentionally at least. When his hands touched Wood though it felt like they were burning. It was a strange feeling, a terrible one for sure, but also a thrilling one. He wanted to touch more. He shoved again, causing Oliver to wobble. This time Oliver was snapped out of his shock and shoved him back. Marcus was steady, but not steady enough to not almost stumble straight onto the Slytherin table.

That really did it. Marcus practically threw himself at Oliver, throwing punches left and right. Oliver returned every single hit as ferociously as he received. People around them were going absolutely ballistic. The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams both cheered on their Captains. Percy Weasley tried desperately to create calm as newcomers to the hall scurried over to get a glimpse at the scene. Over by the teachers table, it had become impossible to ignore the stirr.

"Mr. Wood, Mr. Flint. That is quite enough." Professor McGongall was quickly at the scene breaking the two apart with some help from Pucey and Higgs who she'd ordered to assist. Marcus giving Adrian a real struggle. "20 points from Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively as well as detention for both of you. Every evening this week!" She finished with a bite.

As they were pulled apart, Marcus saw the damage he'd caused Wood's face. He felt slightly ashamed, but also partially satisfied. He didn't particularly enjoy inflicting pain on Wood, but he did sort of take pleasure in leaving his mark, no matter how fucked up that may be. Very fucked up. Like he was making sure that everyone knew he'd once held a claim to Oliver. That the keeper had once been his best friend.

Marcus also felt sad. Because marking Oliver up the way he had, meant letting go. He had lost his claim, dispatched of it himself last night when he left Oliver alone to drown. Oliver Wood wasn't his. He'd never been his, and he never would be.

"But professor" Oliver tried to argue, not even looking Marcus' way. "What about Quidditch practice?!"

"There'll be plenty of time for Quidditch preparations after you accept responsibility for your actions! I expect both of you outside my office at eight o'clock this evening, do not be late!" She said sternly before marching off.

The word of the fight spread quickly. By lunchtime every single Hogwarts student seemed to have their own insane version of the happenings. Marcus overheard a third year Hufflepuff telling her friend group that Marcus had broken Oliver's arm, as well as a fourth year Ravenclaw telling his girlfriend how Oliver had stunned Marcus into a coma. The shock on his face when he saw Marcus pass him in the corridor was priceless.

Marcus was supposed to meet Weasley in the library for another tutoring session, but chose to play hookie. The best part about cutting off his friendship with Oliver was never being forced to hang out with Weasley ever again.

The dungeons were cold as he entered, finding Higgs and Pucey propped up on one of the couches.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the library with Weasley right about now?" Was the first words Pucey said as Marcus threw himself down on the couch opposite theirs. Marcus was about to ask him how the hell they knew about that, before remembering that Pucey and Higgs were known walking migraines in his life who knew everything about him, even when he didn't provide them with any information.

"Aren't you supposed to have learnt by now to mind your own fucking business?" Marcus mumbled back, head in a pillow.

"Don't be such a wanker. By the way, what the fuck was that stupid stunt during breakfast? Why're you ignoring Wood?"

"Can you just get off my dick Puce?" Marcus snapped back. "Could you do that? Get out of my business and mind your own for once?" People around them were staring their way at Marcus' voice rise, and the chaser made sure to catch their stares with a hard look to put them on edge and look away.

"Don't talk to him like that." Higgs interjected calmly. "It's not his fault you're a massive prick who can't handle his feelings." It took every ounce in his body not to punch the life out of both of them, but he'd already landed himself in detention for the rest of the week, any more and he would seriously damage practice time. Marcus was a strange wizard in the way he'd rather use his fists to handle conflicts instead of his wand. His father had always made sure to tell him as much.

"Whatever, just fuck off." He said in defeat, leaving the pair behind to go sulk in bed.

Turns out ditching Weasley earlier had been a massive mistake. He'd gone to dinner as usual, figuring eating before his detention was a good idea. Oliver had not come to sit down by their table, in fact, he'd not seen him since the morning incident, which was probably for the best. Weasley on the other hand was quickly at Marcus' side as soon as he'd sat down.

"Where were you today?" One thing about Percy Weasley, he never got angry. Never yelled or screamed. Instead, he spoke loudly. He spoke with authority that he believed his Head Boy Badge provided. He wasn't angry, he was disappointed, and he pointedly made that clear in the way he explained himself to you as if you were three. Marcus disliked him greatly, perhaps because Weasley was a git, or perhaps because he was extremely jealous of Percy's relationship with Oliver. Something he never talked about with anyone, not even Oliver, because Marcus was prone to acting like he had no feelings at all.

"We had a thing today? Must have completely slipped my mind." He tried playing it off.

"Utter lies. Look, Flint, if you want to fail transfiguration, be my guest. Just don't waste my time in the process." Marcus wanted to tell him to keep his voice down, but Weasley was already on his way. "Tomorrow, Library. Same time as always. Don't be late."

"What was that all about?" Bole asked, sitting down by Marcus.

"It was nothing, just Weasley being Wealsey." Marcus' favourite part about Bole? He believed it.

The time was approaching eight, and dread clambered Marcus' insides. Every muscle in his body clenched at the thought of seeing Oliver again after this morning. He didn't want to see the damage he'd caused. The consequences of his big mouth and harsh course of action. Yesterday he'd been adamant on avoiding Wood as much as possible, yet now he would be forced to spend every evening this week with him. Way to go Marcus!

Marcus arrived right on time. Oliver was already there, leaning on the wall next to the office door. He was sporting a black eye and a swollen cheek, but when he saw Marcus he was smiling. "Hurts like a bitch Flint. Always underestimated how painful your punches actually are. Should probably apologise to Higgs." Was he kidding? Marcus had been an utter arse to him all day, and now he was here, smiling and joking with him. He wanted to tell Oliver that he too had left quite the impressionable mark, the bruise on his stomach speaking volumes, but that would completely derail from the fact that he was cutting off contact with Wood. So instead of responding he said nothing as he knocked on the door to McGonagall's office.