Work Text:
1994
This was his last school year, it was Oliver’s last chance to get the Quidditch Cup and they failed their first game. Well, they had played pretty well regarding the conditions and the lack of preparation to face Hufflepuff. But these dementors… Oliver knew that clearly this was neither Harry’s nor Diggory’s fault. He blamed Marcus Flint. The fucking Slytherin captain that changed the game because precious little Malfoy had a bit of a problem listening to Hagrid’s instructions. On the other hand, he couldn’t completely disregard the clever move. He would have tried to avoid these weather conditions if he could have. Oliver turned the shower off, where he had been standing for the last 20 or so minutes while the rest of the team had gone to see Harry. He grabbed his towel as the door to the cabin opened.
“Thought you might still be here,” Flints deep voice filled the room.
“What the fuck, Flint? Get out of here!” Oliver yelled at the bigger guy.
“I just wanted to check you are still alive. Heard you tried drowning yourself in the shower?” A smirk spread across the Slytherins lips.
“Since when do you care if I am still alive,” Oliver huffed and turned around to fetch his cloak.
“Quidditch is only fun when I can beat you. And for that, you have to be alive,” Flint explained matter-of-factly.
“I am honoured.” Secretly Oliver thought the same thing. Games against Slytherin carried so much more than those against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. The interhouse rivalry, the curses flying through the school weeks in advance, the atmosphere of the crowd when he was circling his hoops and well, Marcus Flint. Eying him suspiciously the weeks before, while never physically attacking the keeper like other Slytherins did. And of course, the handshake before the game. Staring into each other’s eyes, while continuously strengthening the grip around the other’s wrist. It sent sparks all through Oliver’s body, a feeling he didn’t know from anywhere else.
“But you know, you won’t make up this loss again,” Flint carried on, while, for some reason, coming closer to Oliver. The keeper refused to back away, so soon they were standing only inches apart.
“We will win this Quidditch Cup, Flint. I am not watching you carry it out of the stadium after our final match. It is going to be me.” While talking angrily, Oliver had moved even nearer to his opponent, their noses now nearly touching. And angry as he was, that Flint had the audacity to come in here and talk shit, he felt something tingle in his stomach as he stared into the chaser’s dark eyes. He had no chance to think about this feeling though, because suddenly Flint pressed his lips against Oliver’s. The taller one closed his eyes. Automatically the keeper’s eyelids fluttered shut as well and the sparks that only appeared whenever they shook hands took hold of his body. It felt like he was living through this kiss in slow motion, until Flint teared away from him only a few seconds later.
“Fuck,” he heard him mumble, before the Slytherin captain ran out of the cabin not glancing back at him once. Bewildered Oliver stared at the door for about five minutes, his mind racing. What did this mean? Did Flint like him? Was he gay? Was Oliver himself gay? He had never really thought about it. Percy always said he was ‘married to Quidditch’ and he perfectly accepted that. But those damn sparks…
The following weeks, Marcus (as Oliver somehow started calling him inside his head) ignored him. And by that he meant totally disregarding Oliver’s existence. In lessons, the hallway and even the captains meeting, which was annoying Diggory and Davies even more than their usual constant bickering.
“It is impossible to create a training schedule this way, Flint. Did you hear Wood?” Roger Davies sighed.
“I told you when I need the pitch, I do not care about anything else,” the Slytherin responded.
“And I told you that I need the pitch on Thursdays!” Oliver nearly shouted at him now.
“So, everything is settled then. Diggory, Davies,” Flint nodded goodbye to them and left.
“What on earth is going on, Oliver? Can you please fix this?” Cedric looked exhausted.
“I will try,” he answered without really meaning it.
While the Gryffindor now had to manage his last school year and train his Quidditch team, he also had to think about his feelings towards Marcus fucking Flint. He had feelings for him, that was sure. He just had always considered it hatred. But now he recognised that in lessons they had together, his look always drifted towards the bulky Slytherin. He searched for him in the Great Hall during the meals, his heart gave a leap as they passed each other in the corridor. Oliver realised he missed the unfriendly glares he had gotten when their glances had met. Now the other just hastily turned his head in another direction. He also recollected that their bickering never had been that harsh and on a few occasions they actually have had good conversations about recent events in Quidditch.
Oliver grew more and more desperate, which he kind off reflected on to Quidditch, where he let the team trained harder than ever before. He had to talk to somebody. So, one Saturday evening he went to Percy’s favourite table in the library and sat next to him.
“Are you finally doing your transfiguration essay?” Percy asked, eyes not leaving the parchment.
“Eh, I’ll do that tomorrow. Ehm, Perce. Can I talk to you about… Well I don’t know…”
“The reason you are being so unbelievably unproductive the last weeks? I know it’s not just Quidditch, Oliver,” he put his feather down.
“Well yes, it is… Love? I guess?” Oliver shrugged.
“You guess?” Percy eyed him questioningly.
“I have no fucking idea Percy, when I see this person, I want to interact with them so badly, I practically yearn for their attention,” he had decided to stay gender neutral, he didn’t want to face the whole coming out thing as well. “They kissed me a few weeks back. And after that they ran away and now ignore me.” He rested his forehead on the table.
“So, how did Flint kissing you made you feel?”
“I … I liked it, it was like sparks explo…. Wait what? How… I didn’t say his name!”
“Oliver. As you know, I am not stupid. I see you staring at him. And I think the whole school noticed him ignoring you. At least Penny said a few Ravenclaws had speculated what had happened,” Percy watched Oliver searching for words. He was dumbstruck and had to sort everything out in his brain.
“Do you have a problem with me being…”
“What? Gay? Or in love with ‘the enemy’? As you know I never gave much about rivalries between houses. But you could have settled for a Ravenclaw. Or at least Diggory. Penny considers him good looking.” Percy clearly tried to calm him down ignoring the first question. “I live in the same room as you do for six and a half years now. You are my best friend. I don’t care if you are in love with a dragon for god’s sake,” Percy patted his arm three times.
“Well I think that one is on Charlie,” the keeper grinned and relaxed a bit. “Do you have any idea what I could do about Marcus?” he then asked.
“Well, the obvious answer is, talk to him. Tell him about the sparks. That you miss interacting with him. He kissed you, Ol. I don’t think he did that just for fun.”
“But how can I if he doesn’t even recognise me as a person anymore? It is as if I never existed for him!”
“I do not think you are that bad at kissing, Oliver. Maybe he is afraid and has no idea what he wants?” he suggested.
“Well how can I know what I want then?” Percy had no answer.
Oliver intensified training the next weeks. He kept a watch on the opponent’s seeker Cho Chang before their game against Ravenclaw. The keeper also tried banning Flint out of his head as good as he could. Harry finally receiving back the firebolt that had been sent to him made him quite euphoric, they maybe had a chance to win this game and with this they would still be in for the Quidditch Cup! His seeker also assured him he had trained his anti-dementor magic after his faint in the first game, but everyone hoped they did not need that.
The game was a success. He had to remind Harry not to be too nice to Chang, but the third year managed to get the snitch before her after he had performed the Patronus charm. This had thrown those stupid Slytherins disguising themselves as dementors of their brooms. In all his happiness regarding the victory, Oliver was fuming. What had they been thinking, dressing up to scare Harry? For once Oliver agreed with Filch, detention should not be the hardest punishment. And Marcus that idiot had taken part in it.
Oliver left the celebration in Gryffindor tower; he had forgotten his notebook in the captain’s office by the stadium. The keepers mind was so absent thinking about the game, that he only recognised light coming from the window as he stood in front of the door. He opened it nevertheless and saw Marcus sitting at the table.
“You.” Flints head jerked up, as he hadn’t heard the door. “Don’t you dare run away now,” Oliver added, as the Slytherin stood up.
“Well, I am not going to let you punch me while I am sitting down,” the bigger one growled.
“Punch you? Why should I?” Oliver was taken aback. “I want to fucking talk to you. I want answers. What was this shit you pulled today?! Why the fuck are you ignoring me?! And why, you know, did you… kiss me?” he had started shouting his questions, but his voice went down until he nearly whispered the last words.
“That is none of your business,” Marcus stated.
“None of my business?!” something in Oliver erupted. “You kiss me and then ignore me, while I have to figure out my feelings for you and you say it is ‘none of my business’? And on top of this, you try to sabotage my team by playing a dementor? Why have I expected better from you?” he shook his head.
“No one expects better from me.”
“Oh, and now you dictate what I think?” Oliver put his hands in his hip, for a second he thought that he must look like his mother now, but he did not care. “I expected better of you, because I think you are a sportsman, Flint. Not the fairest one, I can admit that, but I thought you solve your problems on the field. Not by dressing up and trying to scare a third year with these foul creatures. But well, Slytherins must all think they are funny. I hate those things. I can’t even tell you what I feel when they come near me. Not that you care what I feel anyway.” Oliver grabbed the notebook from the table and turned around. Flint was seemingly frozen in his place.
“I hear my father yelling at me what a nuisance I am. That he wished me dead,” Flints voice was quiet. “I am sorry, Oliv… Wood. You are right. That was dumb, and I know that. Why do you think I am here? Couldn’t stand Malfoys tirades about McGonagall any longer. Snape nearly took away my captaincy.”
“He wouldn’t dare to,” Oliver turned around.
“As I started repeating this year, he warned me. One step out of line and I am out,” Marcus shrugged. Oliver now came back to the table, standing opposite the chaser.
“That’s ridiculous, who would replace you?”
“Montague already had the spot, before my father decided it was better for my future to redo my NEWTs.”
“Thank god I didn’t have to endure that,” Oliver grinned slightly and as the other replicated it, making the tingling in his stomach come back.
“See, we can talk like normal people,” the keeper stated. “Can we now please address the elephant in the room?”
Marcus looked back down, “Can we forget that? There was just a lot going on and…”
“No. I did not think about that kiss for the last month or so, to now be told ‘forget it’. All I want to know is…” he gathered his courage. “Did it mean anything to you, Marcus?”
“It…” he breathed in deeply. ”Fuck, I can’t believe I am saying this now. Yes, it did mean something to me, Oliver. That’s why I fucking kissed you, you dimwit.” Oliver couldn’t help it, but a grin spread across his face.
“May I kiss you again?” he had to ask.
“What?... What do you mean?” Marcus had clearly been expecting a different reaction.
“For some reason, I like you, Marcus Flint. And since you kissed me, all I want to do is do it again. So, may I?” The Slytherin just nodded, as Oliver stepped around the table and touched the other one’s face.
“This won’t be easy, ay?” Oliver asked, a few chaste kisses later. The constant worries the last weeks that had eased, instead he felt a constant tingling in his belly. The sparks had become a lasting sensation and in the last minute a warmth had spread through him.
“You really want… this?” Marcus pointed at himself and Oliver nodded. “Then no, this won’t be easy.”
And it wasn’t. Since Adrian Pucey and Percy had known about their feelings towards each other, they now knew about them being together and covered for them quite a bit. They even studied for their NEWTs together, ignoring the bewildered looks that followed them through the library. After the Quidditch final, in which Marcus had fouled as always and Oliver received two bludgers straight into his stomach, they didn’t talk for a week. Marcus ignored Oliver, again.
“This is absolutely ridiculous, Marcus, and you know that!” the keeper had cornered his boyfriend in an empty classroom after a Transfiguration lesson. “You won the damn thing the last years. It was my time now and you bloody well have to accept that.”
“I don’t have to accept shit, Wood,” the Slytherin spat in his face.
“Oh we are back to last name bases now? Just so you know, MARCUS. You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll let you sulk for a few days more. Then I can show you the flats I have looked at,” the last sentence clearly surprised the bigger boy, as he forgot his anger and just asked,
“Flats?”
“Um… yeah. I haven’t told you about that, have I?” Oliver felt his face reddening. He hadn’t planned on talking to him this way. The look on Marcus’ face asked for more explanation, which the younger one reluctantly gave him.
“I… Well I thought about the future. We are graduating in the next weeks. And I know for sure you will do great this time. Otherwise Percy will kill you, I hope you are aware of that.” Marcus grinned slightly and nodded. “And I thought, why not live together? I know you hate staying with your parents and I looked at a few flats that are kind off in the middle of the two Quidditch clubs, so we would have the same way to apparate, and…”
“Hold on. Quidditch clubs?”
“Oh. Um, the next thing... I know that the Montrose Magpies want you for their reserve team. Adrian told me three days ago. And two days after the final, I too got a letter, but from Puddlemere United. They want to train me as their reserve keeper. I would have told you, but you were so preoccupied being bitchy,” Oliver was afraid of being yelled at for calling Marcus bitchy, but what he didn’t expect was the older one shaking his head.
“You know I can’t go into Quidditch. My father will kill me. And I have to behead Pucey myself for telling you.”
“Marcus, that’s ridiculous! You must go professional! And who cares about your father? Did you not here me? I want to get you out of there!” the keeper felt anger rising in him.
“We are having a secret relationship for not even three months, Oliver. And you talk about living together, are you kidding me? We are destined to fail. And even if it works, just getting me out of the house won’t change a god damn thing with my father! He has so many ties to the ‘sacred twenty-eight’ and all that bullshit,” Marcus turned away, his face red with agitation. Tears welled up in Oliver’s eyes. If out of anger or increasing helplessness, he could not say. He knew Marcus did not mean everything he said but it hurt either way. And he was not going to let him off that easily.
“I told you that I want his and that I know it will not be easy. That’s why I am still here after you ignored me for a week because I won a Quidditch tournament, Marcus,” he started slowly. “I know you are not happy doing the things your father demands. And you have the chance to play Quidditch professionally, so do I. You belong on a broomstick, Marcus. And I am willing to do anything for you to be out on a field. I want to live with you. Share my life with you. I don’t care what we are ‘officially’, as long as we do this together,” he watched his boyfriend carefully. He looked at him with a bit of disbelief, his eyes growing bigger with every word he had spoken so calmly. The chaser opened his mouth and closed it again, while Oliver’s heartrate increased slightly. Had he gone too far?
“Why?” was the only word that escaped the Slytherin.
“I thought it was obvious,” Oliver smiled shily and scrambling together all his courage, he stepped towards the other one, took his hands in his and looked him in the eyes.
“I love you, Marcus Flint.”
Silence. His heart was still pumping his blood at a very fast rate, but with Marcus gripping his hands tightly, Oliver was strangely grounded. It was only natural to say these words out loud.
“You don’t have to say anythi…,” he started but was interrupted.
“I love you too, Ollie.” Marcus pulled him nearer and brought their hands to his face where he kissed Olivers knuckles. “I am sorry for being such a wreck. Thank you for sticking with me. I… I would love to live with you. And…“ he hesitated.
“Go on,” Oliver smiled and stroked his thumb over the other’s hand.
“You really think I could make it, playing Quidditch? I don’t want you to answer this in a boyfriend kind off way, but in a Quidditch thinking one.”
“I know you can make it. I never hated and loved playing against anyone more, than playing against you. Fouls set aside. You are a determined, fast and agile flyer with great sense of what’s happening around you. And you throw hard,” he laughed. Marcus suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace, both arms around his back. Oliver did the same thing and they just stood there for a few minutes. Not saying a word while taking in the others company. He couldn’t think of a thing he would like to do more, or a place he would rather be. This was perfect.
“You are amazing, you know that?” Marcus whispered in his ear.
“Sure,” Oliver answered. “But you are too. And when we get rid of the things stressing you out, like grades and your damn family… This will work just fine.”
“Now show me those flats.”
They sat down on the floor together, Oliver took his copy of ‘Hexers Homes’ out of his school bag and Marcus flung his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“So, there are three flats I liked that would be placed in between the training grounds. I thought about London, but it is so expensive.
“Money is no problem. I have a vault at Gringotts my father can’t control. Inherited it from my Grandfather. He didn’t like his daughter marrying a pureblood maniac,” Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “I think I’d like London.”
So, London it was. And since the summer, when Marcus stood up against his father, they both started professional Quidditch careers and moved in together, everything was fine. Until that one day three years later.
1998
It’s the morning after the battle. The sun started to rise over what was left of Hogwarts and the extent of the destruction was plainly visible. But no one – except maybe Argus Filch – cared about the debris lying everywhere.
A few people had left the Great Hall already, but most combatants were still there, mourning their loses and aiding the wounded. The new Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it his business to inform the relatives of the dead and injured that hadn’t joined the fight.
Ron had left the Weasleys to go outside with Hermione and Harry just a few minutes ago and Oliver had taken his place next to Percy, trying to console his best friend. He and Percy had stayed in contact rather loosely as the Weasley was fully committed to his ministry post, but after he rejoined them last night Oliver was glad to have him back. Trying to comfort him in this mess of a situation only seemed natural.
The former Gryffindor captain turned his head away from the once so lively body of Colin Creevey, which he himself had brought to the Great Hall. The boy’s parents, both clearly muggles, had just entered through one of the few remaining fireplaces. The pained scream and following sobs that escaped Mrs Creevey went Oliver through and through. He had thought about leaving Hogwarts, but he had no place to go. His parents were safe somewhere in Ireland, staying with his aunt. Oliver had sent them an owl telling them he is fine. He had been living with the Order for a year now, so this place right here, where his friends and comrades were, was the only place he wanted to be.
He had no place to go, no one to wait for him, the former Gryffindor keeper thought bitterly. "Well not anymore." he mumbled.
Oliver was afraid of what memories he would see if he was alone right now. Just sitting silently next to someone who had experienced the same in the last hours was strangely comforting. But searching for a lone cold room in a pub now, while the news would start to reach everybody? No. Hogwarts was the place he should be right now, he decided and tried stroking Percy's back in a comforting way. Just as he thought about seeing if maybe his other school friends needed him, there was a rumbling sound outside the hall. The heads of those not struck down by grief turned towards the entryway just as the double doors flew open.
Marcus Flint ran in to the Great Hall. He was panting, and his eyes scanned the room. His cloak looked dishevelled, the sleeves were torn in some places and there were twigs in his messy hair. The Slytherin seemed to have run to the castle through the forbidden forest. If Filch hadn't had bigger problems at the moment, he would have scolded him harshly for the path of mud trailing behind him.
The heart in Oliver's chest missed a few beats before starting to run like a rollercoaster. Instinctively he ducked behind Percy, who didn't seem to have noticed the newcomer.
"If he is dead, I swear by Merlin, I'm going to kill his stupid ass! I've waited long enough for this fucking day!", the broad shouldered Slytherin spoke more to himself before he raised his voice:
"Has anyone seen Oliver Wood? Is Oliver Wood here?", there was a pleading tone to his demanding words.
Oliver froze completely and was not able to react. He didn't have to, because Alicia stood up, her wand half raised.
"That's none of your business. Deatheater," she spat at him. Marcus flinched and nodded.
"Please," he sounded desperate now. "Just tell me... Is he dead?" He lowered his head.
"Well… No," answered Alicia with a seemingly softer tone. "But I don't think you deserve to know anymore. You forfeited that right, Flint."
Most of the people in the Great Hall were listening to the conversation and now saw Flint exhale with relief and quickly wipe his eyes.
"Yeah... You are probably right," the burly man nodded. "But thank you! Thank you so much." And with great surprise Alicia Spinnet let Marcus Flint hug her, before he turned his back and walked away.
Murmuring started again everywhere in the Hall and to his astonishment Percy turned to the still frozen Oliver:
"Go after him, Ol."
"What?" Oliver's thoughts were racing. What was Marcus doing here? Why did he look for him? The speed of his heartbeat was probably not measurable anymore. It felt like his insides were ready to explode.
"Go after him you Idiot. You love him. And he is here. Use every chance you get! You see what happens if you don't." With that the lean redhead went back to holding the hand of his brothers’ body.
As if steered by something Oliver got up and went to the door. He ignored the swelling murmuring behind him as he left the hall through the still open doors. Everything in him wanted to touch Marcus, to feel his skin, just to hold him. But there were questions that had to be asked first. The urge to talk to Marcus grew bigger and bigger, so that Oliver started running to catch up with him.
In the courtyard Ron, Harry and Hermione came towards him and the girl called after him,
"He went towards the forest!" Not questioning how she knew where he was going, he followed the path. As he passed the now destroyed Quidditch stadium the memories of their first kiss flooded his head.
Pushing away the thoughts of how everything had started, he kept running. The fear Marcus could have disapparated already grew in him when he saw a well-known figure sitting on a stone on the edge of the trees.
"Marcus," he whispered and slowed down, taking deep breaths while walking towards him. The other had his head in his hands and did not acknowledge his presence until he started to speak standing 5 meters away from him.
What was longing a few minutes ago, turned into anger.
"What do you want, Marcus?"
"Ollie!" there was both surprise and relief recognisable in the dark-haired boys voice as he jumped up.
"You lost. Voldemort is dead. Shouldn't you be fleeing the country via some rat line?"
"Ollie..." Marcus tried speaking, but all the rage broke out of the Scot now.
"We were together for fucking three years, Marcus! And you just left. All your stuff, you, gone! I come home from training and all I can find is this fucking piece of paper?!" He rummaged in his pocket and pulled a crumpled note out of the small bag which held his most precious belongings.
"'Ollie. I can't do this anymore. We fight on different sides now. Goodbye.' That's it! No explanation, no anything. I believed you, you know. All that talk about hating Voldemort and your parents’ views. I believed you, Flint. But once a fucking Slytherin always one, ay?"
"Oliver, listen to me!"
"Only if you fucking tell me why. Did you always pretend to love me, to gain inside information on our side? Why, Marcus?"
"Fuck no. Ol. You know I love you, please don't say that!" Flints voice was begging, the inner pain clearly audible. Oliver tried not to fall for that though. But he just knew the other one wasn't lying.
"But why their side then?" he asked, a bit calmer now.
"I never chose them. I never did, Ollie." The keeper laughed coldly. Before saying another word, Marcus pulled up both of his sleeves to show his dirty, but bare arms. There was no dark mark. Oliver felt like a massive weight was lifted of his chest. If there really wasn't a mark and Marcus still loved him...
"But..." he held up the note. "You were gone for more than a year! Why, Marcus?"
"My mother wrote me a letter. You know, she likes you. Thinks you make me a better person. Well, she is not wrong," Marcus brown eyes were soft as he looked at Oliver.
"I never met your parents!" interrupted the Gryffindor.
"You won't meet my father, that's for sure. I guess he'll go to Azkaban now anyway. But my mother is not that bad. I never got why she married him."
Oliver remembered Marcus telling him about his childhood, about what he would hear when dementors came, about his mother being affectionate to him as long as his father wasn't around. The man had hit the young boy when he wanted to play Quidditch instead of studying. Marcus father was the embodiment of a typical Slytherin pureblood. As his son decided to go into quidditch instead of a position at Gringotts or the Ministry, he had cut ties with him. Only sending him one howler, when he somehow found out that the Puddlemere United keeper and the chaser from the Montrose Magpies were a couple. Oliver could remember the cold deep voice shouting at Marcus:
"I always knew you would disgrace the House of Flint. I should have hexed you into oblivion when you were a child! A quidditch playing faggot is no longer my son!" Marcus had listened to everything thrown at him with a stoic face, before burning the shredded remains of the letter and hugging Oliver.
"Well my mother wrote to warn me," the voice pulled Oliver from those memories.
"To warn you about what?"
"My father had given a few deatheater friends of his inspiration. They should ‘use‘ you to get me to work with them. They thought I had some kind of connection to the ministry. Probably through Adrian Pucey and him working in the Department of Magical Transportation.“
„What?“ Oliver was dumbstruck. He remembered Adrian and his boyfriend Terrence leaving the country right after Marcus had disappeared. He probably told them to go away for their own safety.
„I have no idea in what way but, Ollie… I couldn’t let them get you. So, I had to go. For your safety, Ollie. My mother told me she was afraid for both of us and couldn’t let that happen. If I left the country, the news would travel to my father quite quickly and the plan would be obsolete. So, I left.“
Oliver was still confused.
„But why didn’t you tell me? We could have figured something out! I went to the Order to hide, because I was afraid you would come back and get me!“
„That’s what I hoped,“ Marcus grimaced. „I couldn’t look at you and leave, Ollie. I knew, I couldn’t do that. Do you think it was easy? I just hoped you would stay safe.“
„Marcus, you fucking idiot. I would’ve gone anywhere with you. Anywhere. Greenland, the Falkland Islands, you name it. I would die for you, Marcus,” Oliver noticed himself slipping into the present tense. But it was the truth. after all the hurt the other had put him through, he still loved him and dying for Marcus was a thing he would do without hesitation.
„See. That’s what I mean. You don’t care about your own security you brave idiotic Gryffindor. But I fucking do, Ollie! You weren’t safe with me, so I went away,“ he shrugged his shoulders.
There was still anger raging in Oliver, suppressing his relief to find Marcus alive and healthy.
„Then at least tell me where you have been during the last year! And how do you know about… well, this?“ he pointed at the ruins of Hogwarts.
„I actually have no idea where I was. I travelled through Eastern Europe and spent quite some time in Slovenia I think. That’s where I met Viktor Krum.“
„Krum?!“ a surge of jealousy hit Oliver.
„Yes, Krum. He recognised my Slytherin sweater and asked me about school. Shame we missed the Triwizard Tournament, he seems like a nice chap to hang around… Oliver, don’t look at me like that. He is as heterosexual as I am in love with you!” A grin hushed over Marcus’ face before he carried on, “I was sleeping in my room in a pub in Zagreb tonight, when Krum spoke to me through the fire. Well, at first he yelled till I woke up.“
Oliver laughed out loud as he remembered the time their medicine cabinet in the bathroom fell of the wall and while he sat upright in bed, Marcus kept on snoring.
„He told me he was in contact with Hermione Granger and Fleur Dela...- Weasley since the, the first time we met. And well, I told him about you. And how I want to go back, but I have no idea if you are still alive. So he yelled at me and said Fleur had told him there was a Battle at Hogwarts and Voldemort is dead. I threw on my cloak and kind of lost my way apparating, but I made it. And now, here we are,“ he opened his arms and looked around.
Silence fell between them. Oliver had his problems processing everything Marcus was telling him but he nodded carefully.
„Here we are.“
Their eyes met and Oliver realised there was no anger left in him. Confusion and lack of understanding for the actions Marcus had taken maybe. The only feeling Oliver could clearly define was the longing to touch Marcus again.
„Ollie,“ the bigger one spoke. „I know I have no right to you or anything and if you found someone else in the last year, I get it. I left you and my god would I be angry if the tables were turned. But I had to come and see you. I just had to know you were okay.” He stretched out his hand and wiped some dirt off Oliver’s cheek. The familiar, but so missed sparks inside the Gryffindor began to tumble around. Marcus pulled his hand back. “Thanks for letting me explain everything.“ He turned away to leave.
„Marcus Eusebius Flint. Don’t be a fucking daft idiot now.“ Oliver grabbed his arm and flipped him back around. „We maybe have to talk about everything again. But… fuck. I’ve never been so happy to see you.“
He cupped his partners face with his hands and looked straight into his brown eyes.
„I love you. And I don’t want anyone but you. So please, fucking kiss me you dimwit?!“
A wide smile spread across Marcus’s face and he leaned down until their lips met and Oliver felt the sparks erupt everywhere in his body. Their relationship had never been easy, and it probably will continue to need work forever. But these damn sparks made everything worthwhile.