A Little Push

Marcus/Oliver


Oliver pulled his jacket off and tossed it over the back of the chair, before taking a seat on the high stool. He kept his head down, not wanting anyone to recognise him. He knew it was a vain thought, but his last local had people staring and whispering.

It had been a year since his injury had taken him out of Quidditch. A whole year and he was out drinking to "celebrate" his freedom from the sport. He knew he should be using the time to think of his next step, but he was struggling to get over his loss from the best thing in his life.

Quidditch was everything to him and he had no idea where to go from there.

"What are you having?" a man asked, heading his way.

Oliver glanced up. "Pint of cider please," he muttered.

The man nodded, his gaze lingering and Oliver hoped the man hadn't been a fan. Thankfully the guy said nothing more, quickly setting the drink in front of him.

Oliver handed the money over and reached for the drink. The man returned with his change, setting it down on the bar.

The drink didn't last long. He glanced up for the barman. The man walked over and leaned on the counter.

"So, this is how the brilliant Oliver Wood spends his evenings?" the man said, a hint of mocking in his voice.

Oliver frowned. There was something familiar about the voice and tone but he couldn't place it. He narrowed his gaze at the man. "Is it any of your business?" he asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Not really, but when has that ever stopped me? I always thought you'd make it big. You did, but this drop is… shocking. Where's all that ambition? Or is this what you did everytime we beat you?"

Oliver stared at the man for a long moment. "Flint," he finally said, placing the face. Marcus Flint had changed a lot over the years and Oliver was surprised. He didn't have a permanent scowl on his face and the more relaxed look suited him better.

"Finally. I was starting to feel offended that you didn't know who I was. I'd recognise you anywhere, even without you in the paper constantly. I don't get you, really."

"What don't you get?"

"You had good grades, great opportunities. Why am I the one coming out on top?"

"Bet you're glad to finally be able to brag," Oliver muttered.

Flint chuckled. "Maybe I should be," he replied. "I didn't get great grades, didn't have any opportunities. All I could get was a job that paid very little in a dodgy pub. But here I am, owner, turning the place around. But I don't think of it as a competition. That was Hogwarts, a lifetime ago."

"You still haven't made your point," Oliver said.

"You got where you wanted, it didn't work out. The Oliver I knew from school wouldn't just give up. He'd find something else."

"You didn't know me."

"I didn't need to. Everyone could see because you didn't hide that side of you. So, no - I'm not going to give you another drink because I don't want to be party to you drinking yourself into oblivion. Now, stop pitying yourself and make a plan."

"Do you talk to all your customers like that?" Oliver asked, shocked. He got off the stool, pulling on his jacket. "I don't have to take this."

"Sure, leave," Marcus said, gesturing towards the door. "Give up again. You know what, Wood, I actually admired you back in school. That Oliver would lose and then make a plan and do better the next time. Maybe you could learn something from him."

Oliver glared at him before leaving. Marcus sighed and grabbed the empty glass. He always imagined running into Oliver again - but never imagined it'd go so badly. But Oliver wasn't the sort to be helped by kind words - he was stubborn and Marcus knew he'd rise to the challenge.

...oOo...

"Flying Professor at Hogwarts," Oliver declared, storming back into the bar and slamming the job acceptance letter down on the bar triumphantly. "Hooch was considering retirement and McGonagall got in touch when she found out I was looking for work."

Marcus smiled. "Good for you."

"What?" Oliver asked, thrown. He had expected Marcus to challenge him again, make some snide comments. But he hadn't expected a genuine response like that.

"I knew my words would piss you off enough to make you want to go and prove yourself," Marcus said. "And I'm happy you did. I think you'll make a good Flying Professor."

"Uh… thank you," Oliver said, still confused. "Why though? Why would you help me?"

"Because we're not at school anymore. There's no competition between us, no rivalry. I just want you to see that you have more potential than just a Quidditch player. I mean, with a Professor that looks like you, there will be a lot more interest in Quidditch."

"Are you complimenting me?" Oliver asked.

"Well, I was going for flirting, but complimenting works," Marcus replied. "Drink?"

"Are you offering as the barman or asking me on a date?"

"Which do you want it to be?" Marcus checked.

Oliver hesitated. "One drink wouldn't hurt."