The Heart of the Game

Chapter Four

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Okay, so the dilemma here is I have no idea what I originally made the ending to be. I've let this story alone for so long, that I kind of just…forgot it. So um, new ending. Although I think its actually pretty close to the initial concept. Although I'm older and more corrupt and less idealistic- did you ever notice that the young and naive manage to write way better romance scenes than those who've you know, experienced that kind of stuff and gotten all jaded? Shutting up now. Final chapter, enjoy. This is for everyone who reviewed, and yes, I know it's a little late in coming. I love all of you who've stuck with me all this time, and thanks for your support.

They won. Oliver felt his heart swell with pride. For the first time in weeks, the deal he'd made with Marcus wasn't at the forefront of his mind. They'd won. He'd waited for this moment all his years at Hogwarts. To think that it had finally come, well, it was a moment that had to be savored.

Okay, savored enough. Oliver breathed out. He would have to admire the way the sunlight glinted off the Quidditch Cup later. It annoyed him that after all this time of waiting to win, winning the deal was somehow more important to him. For a while, there had been nothing in his life more important than Quidditch.

Marcus had fled to the locker room the second Slytherin was defeated. The rest of his team was moping on the field. Oliver's heart was hammering its way out of his chest. He wondered if it was really possible, if Marcus would really hand over his heart. He hadn't been doing too well with the whole friendship deal after all. And it wasn't like he could force himself to fall in love. No matter how much Oliver loved him, he could only possess his body. Nobody could ever possess an untamed animal's heart. And that was just what Marcus was; an animal, feral and prowling through the walls of Hogwarts, raging against their restraints. That was what had drawn Oliver to him in the first place.

The locker room was empty. How the fuck had Flint escaped so quickly. Just to double check, Oliver looked in all the shower stalls and even beneath the benches. Which made Fred and George come up with some very creative wisecracks when they came in to find their esteemed captain on his hands and knees with his head under a bench like he was looking for old bits of chewing gum. Oliver just flipped them off and ducked out. He was still sweaty and wearing all his gear, but he would be damned if that rat faced bastard ran out on their agreement. At the very least, he expected Marcus's lips around a very private place as part of a victory extravaganza. And then maybe those three little words he was owed.

No, not 'Fuck you Wood'. Although he wouldn't mind hearing 'Fuck me, Wood'.

Oliver shook his head. His mind was growing filthier with age.

Fancy that, Marcus was at the Astronomy tower. He had a head for heights; most Quidditch player did. Oliver theorized that it made Marcus feel better to be up so high. He knew it made him feel better. Being up in the air, with the wind and the sun and nothing else holding you back was like…freedom. Complete and total freedom.

"You ditched the celebrations."

"I didn't feel like celebrating," Marcus retorted, "Your lot cheated."

"Cheated? What on earth are you talking about?" Oliver demanded. He was about to continued, but Marcus turned towards him with a grim smile.

"I was joking," he informed the boy, the smile twisting into a callous smirk.

"Oh. Right then. I believe you have to complete our transaction."

Marcus glanced down. The grounds unfolded below them, a scenic view of too green grass and sky scraping trees. Students raced around like ants below their feet. Being so high up was like being a god. For a second Oliver imagined he could control all that hustle and bustle below him. He could throw lightning down when he was displeased, or make the sun grow hotter to burn that picture perfect grass to a crisp. And those people down there, his classmates, their problems would just cease to matter. He reclined his face against the sunlight, already grown dim. It was better that he wasn't a god. He would be spiteful and vindictive if he had that much power, solely because that's what power did. It made you grow lazy and bored with things you were supposed to enjoy.

"I'm backing out of our deal."

The words were so quiet that Oliver thought he'd imagined them. He'd imagined those words over and over again, and hoped never to hear them. After all, he had no way to convince Marcus that it was wrong, that they were meant to be, that Oliver needed him. Oliver needed him the way he needed air, and the possibility that Marcus would leave, that he would disappear, was choking him.

"You can't!"

"I can, and I am, and I just did," Marcus snarled. For a second he looked as though the old spark was rising up, and he would pin Oliver to the wall and hopefully hit him or ravish him or touch him. It didn't matter how, as long as Marcus was touching him. Oliver was willing to sustain countless black eyes, and in fact before the agreement had, just so Flint would touch him. It used to be he'd gotten off on the very possibility.

But Marcus warily stayed away, his eyes watching Oliver as though he were some sort of poisonous bug.

"Why?" Oliver whispered, even though he thought he knew the reason. This had been a game for them both, but Oliver's heart was in it. For Marcus, it had just been about triumphing one last time over his oldest school foe.

Marcus surprised him. Stone faced and level voiced, he replied, "I don't know how to love."

"You don't know, or you won't try?" Oliver pleaded. He grabbed the other boy's wrist, and pulled him roughly. Marcus wouldn't have budged except for the shock. He hadn't expected Oliver's sudden onset of aggression. He let himself be pulled in, let his lips be taken in a crushing kiss. He felt Wood's tongue pry his lips apart, felt hands tracing fire across his abdomen. Malleable as clay, Marcus let Oliver kiss him, but he didn't kiss back.

"Try, goddamnit!" Oliver pried his lips away only to scream in his face, and then he was back, greedily devouring Marcus's mouth until the shorter boy had no choice. He didn't like the fact that he wasn't the aggressor, and he turned the tables, yanking Oliver roughly against him, grinding their bodies together until he wasn't completely sure where he stopped and Wood began.

When they separated, both were panting heavily, glaring at each other with hate and something more.

"Explain," Oliver demanded.

Marcus Flint didn't like being told what to do. But he had honor, which is more than he could say for his deadbeat criminal dad or his friends who were just waiting for their first stint in Azkaban. He knew Wood was beyond that. He knew Wood was going to graduate with all the academic achievement awards and the Quidditch cup which had been the one thing that Marcus had fought for. Quidditch was the one thing Marcus was good at.

His pride and his honor fought, and for the first time in his life, Marcus set aside his stubborn pride and decided to tell the truth. If anything else, he owed that to Oliver. He felt a fine tremor in his hands as he began to speak.

"I don't want to love anyone," Marcus said, his steely eyes showing nothing, but the quiver in his voice betrayed all his fear. Fear. Was that a thing Marcus Flint had? Oliver had always thought him fearless. Somehow this rare display only made him love the boy all the more.

Oliver brushed a finger against the other boy's cheek, which only made him flinch. Oliver winced. He'd never seen Marcus like this. Marcus usually was the one who charged into things body and soul, and never backed down. Even now, he looked fierce, like he'd decided this once to put his all into making Oliver understand.

"Why not?"

"You destroy the things you love. That's what my father taught me," Marcus thought of his mother, of his baby sister, and of all the pets he'd had that he'd seen die in front of his face. He thought of the way his father had screamed when he found out that Marcus was moving out after graduation, and belittled his ideas of bettering himself. Because Marcus would better himself. Slytherins were nothing if not ambitious.

"You can't destroy me."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Oliver. So naïve, "I could break you with a single word."

"Try."

After a moment's silence, Marcus replied, "I don't want to. I like you the way you are."

He missed Oliver's triumphant look, but he heard the catch in the taller boy's throat. Suspiciously, he asked, "What?"

"That's the first time…"

"Man up and speak up, Wood."

"That's the first time you told me you liked me," Oliver breathed, and his eyes were wide as his smile.

"Don't let it go to your head," Marcus grumbled, but he couldn't deny what he'd said.

"If you like me now, then you could love me."

"I don't want to."

"But we had a bet."

"Which I'm backing out of."

"Don't."

"I-"

"Don't," Oliver put his arms around the other boy's waist, "Please."

What Marcus had said held true; he didn't want to break his archnemesis. He wanted him to stay fragile and pure. He wanted Oliver to look the way he did on a broomstick; fierce and joyful and completely at ease. Marcus never would have said so, but he cherished that look. And he wanted to keep having Oliver at his beck and call, on his knees whenever Marcus willed it so.

"What else am I supposed to do? I don't want to love you-" he paused, realizing it wasn't true, "I don't know if I can love you right now. I need…time," the word tasted foul in his mouth. He was turning into one of those soft hearted, weak minded, foolish, reckless Gryffindors. The horror. Next thing you know he'd be helping old ladies across the street and joining pro-muggle alliances.

"I can deal with that," Oliver answered, his nose touching his opponent's in a sweet caress. Marcus fought the nausea and claimed the other boy's lower lip instead, nibbling on it, turning the affection into something he could deal with. He bit down too hard and drew blood, but Oliver just hugged him tighter.

"What do you propose then, Wood?"

"A, that in lieu of the earlier deal, you start calling me Oliver," the look on his face was so stern that Marcus had to choke back a laugh, "And B, that we extend the bet. Live with me. Live with me for an entire year. I'll be playing for Puddlemere. I'm getting my own flat. I know you don't have any other plans. So do it. And by then, if you've decided you won't, can't, and don't love me, then I'll let you go."

Marcus thought long and hard about it, his face twisted up comically.

"Done."

It didn't take a year. Three months later, when Marcus though Oliver was fast asleep after a rousing round of inappropriate acts, their naked bodies pressed together, Marcus pressed his lips to Oliver's forehead and whispered, "I love you Wood."

Oliver's muffled laugh rose up through the pillow, startling his lover as he replied, "I know, you huge git. I love you too. And I told you already, it's Oliver."

He laughed as Marcus tackled him to the bed once more.

My baby! Its all grown up! It only took FOREVER. Anyway, this is dedicated to all you faithful reviewers. I promised once I got thirty reviews, right? It just took me a while. I hope you all enjoyed it.