Warnings: Warnings Flint x Wood slash as well as few other random slash
pairings. Don't like? Don't read.
Author's Note: I like this! It just kind of popped out one night after I watched the HP movie. There was just this one part of it that totally inspired me. The Slytherin vs. Griffyndor match where Flint shoots and Wood blocks and turns up his broom tail at Flint mockingly. Too cute, right?
Light Repelling
Marcus Flint's POV
Oliver Wood just kind of radiates this golden glow. He's absolutely perfect. A gorgeous Quidditch captain. He plays the game like it's a dance, a graceful ballet. Unless he's playing against me. Then it's not any sort of dance at all, it's a taunting game between me and him. No one else. Everyone else on the field is merely a pawn, while we are the knights.
How can I describe Wood? Beautiful. Graceful. Gryffindor. Cheerful. Fair. Golden. So unlike me. I'm ugly, and I know it. I'm rough, Slytherin, grim, and I wouldn't hesitate to cheat to win. And golden? Ha. Where's he's golden, I'm tarnished silver.
Opposites attract, don't they? That's the way the cliché is read, anyway. Only in my dreams, I suppose. Wood is just a touch too obsessed with his precious Seeker. That annoying little third-year brat has been stealing the place in Wood's daydreams that should rightfully be mine.
Everyone thinks Potter is so perfect. I swear half the school is crushing on their sweetie-star. Everyone from practically the entire Weasley family to my own Seeker who pretends to hate him. And the hilarious part about it all is this: Potter doesn't realize. That boy's brains must have been fried by You-Know-Who for him to be so oblivious.
An example. Take the last Slytherin versus Griffyndor match. I shot for the goal, and Wood blocked it with his usual teasing flourish, throwing me a triumphant smirk at me, making the it worth the humiliation. And after that, can you guess what happened? Did he continue to play with typical fierce intensity? Did he call a thanks to the Weasley twin who shot a bludger at me, screwing my aim? No. He looked to Harry to make sure he saw. Harry, in fact, did see, and offered a thumbs up. So Muggle. But Wood appreciated the gesture, and he returned the sign.
Potter continued his seeking, and was "accidentally" mauled by Malfoy. The blonde was careful to make sure that this maul allowed him to touch Potter as well as injure him, but not completely knock him off his broom. In the stands, the younger Weasley boy stood up angrily, protesting the hit, claiming foul. Then he sat back down again, watching Potter with star struck eyes.
See? Half the school is crazy about that brat. So I had to go through with my plan. What other choice did I have? I knew it would break Wood's heart, but... I set Potter and Malfoy up. Yes, I do realize that it's hard to imagine me as Cupid, but bear with me.
I'm not going to go into the details of my plan. The whole ordeal was a rather embarrassing affair. Me, a pureblooded Slytherin reduced to playing matchmaker for a pair of little third-years. All I'll say is that it involved a Truth Potion I wasn't supposed to know how to create.
I just had to keep Potter and Wood apart. They were like a Snitch's wings, I suppose. They both worked hard together, to form a brilliant team, but if they ever touched, it would be a sign that the Snitch... that my world... would be broken.
So that brings me to the here-and-now. Standing near the Charms corridor. Waiting. Malfoy and Potter walk by, Malfoy having a possessive arm wrapped around Potter's waist, Potter's head leaning on Malfoy's shoulder. They both had delirious smiles. This had better not affect Malfoy's Quidditch playing against Gryffindor...
The Weasley boy, the younger one, the one who doesn't play Quidditch, walks closely behind them, glaring daggers at Malfoy. Jealous. I can relate.
And now here's Wood, talking glumly to a few other Gryffindor seventh years, keeping up a mask of enthusiasm. Anyone could tell that he was upset, and his friends seemed to be prying for an explanation. They just couldn't figure out why his one-track Quidditch mind was suddenly so upset. Wood seems to be avoiding the question. Or lying. Either way, his friends aren't satisfied with the answers he's giving.
I step in front of him, blocking his path. He stops, and meets my eyes. It's not some romantic "drowning in his deep gemstone pool eyes" moment. Date a Hufflepuff if you want sap. It was just a look. But it meant something. I could feel his gaze stripping layers off me, down to my soul.
"Hello, Wood."
"Hello, Flint."
Author's Note: I like this! It just kind of popped out one night after I watched the HP movie. There was just this one part of it that totally inspired me. The Slytherin vs. Griffyndor match where Flint shoots and Wood blocks and turns up his broom tail at Flint mockingly. Too cute, right?
Light Repelling
Marcus Flint's POV
Oliver Wood just kind of radiates this golden glow. He's absolutely perfect. A gorgeous Quidditch captain. He plays the game like it's a dance, a graceful ballet. Unless he's playing against me. Then it's not any sort of dance at all, it's a taunting game between me and him. No one else. Everyone else on the field is merely a pawn, while we are the knights.
How can I describe Wood? Beautiful. Graceful. Gryffindor. Cheerful. Fair. Golden. So unlike me. I'm ugly, and I know it. I'm rough, Slytherin, grim, and I wouldn't hesitate to cheat to win. And golden? Ha. Where's he's golden, I'm tarnished silver.
Opposites attract, don't they? That's the way the cliché is read, anyway. Only in my dreams, I suppose. Wood is just a touch too obsessed with his precious Seeker. That annoying little third-year brat has been stealing the place in Wood's daydreams that should rightfully be mine.
Everyone thinks Potter is so perfect. I swear half the school is crushing on their sweetie-star. Everyone from practically the entire Weasley family to my own Seeker who pretends to hate him. And the hilarious part about it all is this: Potter doesn't realize. That boy's brains must have been fried by You-Know-Who for him to be so oblivious.
An example. Take the last Slytherin versus Griffyndor match. I shot for the goal, and Wood blocked it with his usual teasing flourish, throwing me a triumphant smirk at me, making the it worth the humiliation. And after that, can you guess what happened? Did he continue to play with typical fierce intensity? Did he call a thanks to the Weasley twin who shot a bludger at me, screwing my aim? No. He looked to Harry to make sure he saw. Harry, in fact, did see, and offered a thumbs up. So Muggle. But Wood appreciated the gesture, and he returned the sign.
Potter continued his seeking, and was "accidentally" mauled by Malfoy. The blonde was careful to make sure that this maul allowed him to touch Potter as well as injure him, but not completely knock him off his broom. In the stands, the younger Weasley boy stood up angrily, protesting the hit, claiming foul. Then he sat back down again, watching Potter with star struck eyes.
See? Half the school is crazy about that brat. So I had to go through with my plan. What other choice did I have? I knew it would break Wood's heart, but... I set Potter and Malfoy up. Yes, I do realize that it's hard to imagine me as Cupid, but bear with me.
I'm not going to go into the details of my plan. The whole ordeal was a rather embarrassing affair. Me, a pureblooded Slytherin reduced to playing matchmaker for a pair of little third-years. All I'll say is that it involved a Truth Potion I wasn't supposed to know how to create.
I just had to keep Potter and Wood apart. They were like a Snitch's wings, I suppose. They both worked hard together, to form a brilliant team, but if they ever touched, it would be a sign that the Snitch... that my world... would be broken.
So that brings me to the here-and-now. Standing near the Charms corridor. Waiting. Malfoy and Potter walk by, Malfoy having a possessive arm wrapped around Potter's waist, Potter's head leaning on Malfoy's shoulder. They both had delirious smiles. This had better not affect Malfoy's Quidditch playing against Gryffindor...
The Weasley boy, the younger one, the one who doesn't play Quidditch, walks closely behind them, glaring daggers at Malfoy. Jealous. I can relate.
And now here's Wood, talking glumly to a few other Gryffindor seventh years, keeping up a mask of enthusiasm. Anyone could tell that he was upset, and his friends seemed to be prying for an explanation. They just couldn't figure out why his one-track Quidditch mind was suddenly so upset. Wood seems to be avoiding the question. Or lying. Either way, his friends aren't satisfied with the answers he's giving.
I step in front of him, blocking his path. He stops, and meets my eyes. It's not some romantic "drowning in his deep gemstone pool eyes" moment. Date a Hufflepuff if you want sap. It was just a look. But it meant something. I could feel his gaze stripping layers off me, down to my soul.
"Hello, Wood."
"Hello, Flint."