This is something I've been slowly scribbling over the course of a year. It's AU, with Marcus and Oliver being a year lower than they are in the books, meaning that book four is their final year in Hogwarts, not book three.

I've had a major craving for Marcus/Oliver lately. Authors, please write it more! I'm begging you!

Anyway, let's begin, shall we?

"It's Viktor Krum!"

Oliver's head whipped around. "What about Krum?"

"He's here! Blimey, I had no idea he went to Durmstrang! Actually, I had no idea he was still in school at all…"

Ignoring his companion, Oliver searched the faces of the Slytherin table. He bypassed the black robes of the Hogwarts students, stopping at the young man sitting near the end of the table.

"Merlin's beard…" Oliver breathed in awe. He took several deep breaths, clamping down on the urge to vault himself over to the Slytherin table. His common sense said he would embarrass himself; his Quidditch captain senses that he should get Harry (as Gryffindor's Seeker) to do it instead.

He was about to do so when he locked eyes with Marcus Flint from across the room. Flint smirked (gnarled, crooked teeth giving him a fiendish look), before turning to say something to none other than Viktor Krum.

Oliver burned with jealousy as Krum replied back.

Flint's eyes continually turned to him, taunting him, and Oliver turned away to focus back on his dinner. It didn't work, and pictures of a smug Flint flashed through his mind. He swore to himself then that he would talk to the international Seeker, even if it killed him.

For Marcus Flint, Quidditch was a stress reliever; a time where he could release some of his pent-up anger and frustration in the form of flying, hurling a Quaffle, and ordering his teammates around. With all the trouble of school, Quidditch was the only thing that kept him from going mad.

And then Dumbledore announced that Quidditch was cancelled for the year.

In Marcus's opinion, the whole Tri-Wizard Tournament was a waste of time. There could be more important things going on, like Quidditch practice, reclaiming the Quidditch cup, taunting Gryffindors…

…taunting a specific Gryffindor captain.

With Quidditch cancelled, Marcus found he hardly ever saw Wood outside of class (they were in the same year now, meaning they actually had a few classes together). Normally he would be telling Wood how he was going to slaughter him in their up-and-coming match, whispering snide remarks as they would pass each other in the halls. It was always so fun to watch those brown eyes light up in anger, and how Wood's lips would purse into almost a pout as he tried so hard to ignore him…

Besides, it wasn't like he was going to enter himself into some stupid contest where he could get himself killed. That was a Gryffindor's job.

Still, he had to admit that having a professional Quidditch player staying at Hogwarts was interesting. He'd even gotten to talk to Krum a couple of times (though the Bulgarian seemed to be one of few words). Of course, he didn't fawn over Krum. He'd leave that to Wood.

Oh yes, Marcus had known that Wood would go nuts over Viktor Krum. He saw the way Wood watched the man's every move, trying to find the nerve to talk to him. Really, Wood was like a girl with a crush for crying out loud…

…damn he wished Quidditch wasn't cancelled.

Oliver sighed contently as he landed, dismounting his broom and dropping the Quaffle with the other supplies. Just because Quidditch was cancelled for the year, it didn't mean he couldn't brush up on his skills every now and then. He was just about to put the box away, when he caught sight of a figure by the stands. The waning sunlight cast a shadow on the person's face, hiding his or her identity.

"Who's there?" Oliver called out. "Look, I was just leaving, so if you want to use the pitch-"

"I vas just vatching," said the figure, Bulgarian accent thick in his voice.

Oliver knew then that is was one of the Durmstrang students, but he nearly had a heart attack as Viktor Krum walked up to him.

"Ve do no haff a pitch at Durmstrang," the Bulgarian commented. "This one is a bit smaller than I am used to, but it is…how do you say…homey? Comfortable?" He looked around the pitch, nodding to himself in satisfaction. "It is…nice."

"Y-yeah," Oliver managed to choke out. He cleared his throat, speaking more confidently as he warmed to his favorite topic. "The playing conditions are generally good, though you have to watch out for the weather sometimes. I've played here for most of my time at Hogwarts and I've grown attached to it."

"You play Keeper?"

"Yes, and I've been captain of the Gryffindor team since fourth year."

Krum nodded. "You are very passionate about Quidditch, yes? I can hear it in your voice."

"W-well…" Oliver stammered, blushing.

"You love it, yes?"

"Quidditch is my life," Oliver said passionately.

"You haff the drive for it," Krum said matter-of-factly. "You vill do vell."

Oliver continued to pack the equipment, face nearly glowing with pride. Krum helped him put it away, and together they walked to Hogwarts for dinner, chatting amiably as they went.

Neither noticed Marcus Flint watching the entire time, a thunderous expression on his face.

"So Wood, you and Krum seem to have cozied up to each other quite nicely, huh?"

Oliver froze midstep, turning slowly towards the voice he hadn't heard all year.

"What the hell are you talking about Flint?"

Marcus sneered. "Oh, nothing. Just making an observation on how you throw yourself at celebrities. Tell me, did you used to get detention with Lockhart so you could offer to suck him off? Or maybe you just play with Potter in the locker room showers."

Oliver couldn't help his mouth from opening in shock. However, it closed in a snap, a furious expression taking up residence on his face instead. He stormed up to the Slytherin, fists clenched as though to restrain himself from punching the still sneering face.

"What?" he said in a deadly whisper.

Marcus gave a cruel smirk to the other boy, though his eyes gleamed in suppressed fury. "Don't deny it. I've seen how you talk with Krum, batting your eyelashes like a Knockturn Alley whore. Did he promise to get you a spot in professional Quidditch, a recommendation perhaps? Tut tut Wood. I never thought you'd be one to sleep your way to the top."

By now, Oliver was shaking with rage. He jabbed a finger to the other boy's chest. "I don't know who you think you are or where the hell you get off making up such shit. I've talked to Krum what, three, four times? So that automatically means I'm throwing myself at him? And why are you watching me?" The last sentence was said in more confusion than anything else.

Marcus shoved Oliver away, glaring at him. "I'm not watching you Wood. But I can't exactly help noticing when you two blatantly flirt with each other in the middle of the Great Hall."

"Merlin Flint, you almost sound like you're jealous," said Oliver tiredly, no longer in the mood to fight. He rubbed his temples to stop the oncoming headache.

This time Marcus shoved him hard, sneering again. "Don't flatter yourself Wood." He walked away without another word.

Oliver stared after him, until a new voice said, "I did not mean to cause such strife." Viktor came around the corner, looking apologetic and a little uncomfortable.

Oliver couldn't help the flush that covered his cheeks, whether from the slight crush he had on the Bulgarian or from what he had apparently overheard, he wasn't sure. "It was nothing," Oliver muttered. "I'm not sure what Flint was getting at anyway."

Viktor eyed him strangely. "Vell, who vould not be angry if they thought their lover was seeing someone behind their back?"

"L-lover?!" Oliver choked out.

Viktor was still looking at him quizzically, even more uncomfortable than he had been before. "Yes. You are lovers, correct?"

"No!" Oliver yelled. "Flint hates my guts!" Apparently, Krum has heard less of the conversation than he had thought. "Trust me, there's nothing between us."

Viktor turned to leave, but Oliver heard one last muttered comment. "I am not so sure about that."

Marcus was leaning against the wall, staring out a nearby window. He was wrapped in his cloak and scarf to fight the frosty air, but he didn't notice the chill, so caught up in his thoughts. When someone cleared their throat behind him, he was startled. Turning, he found one of the few people he least desired to see.

"What do you want?" he spat.

Viktor ignored the biting words. "You are jealous," he stated simply.

Though he knew exactly what the other man was talking about, Marcus would never admit it. "Jealous of what?"

Krum stared at him, and Marcus knew he didn't believe the words either. "We haff done nothing, and neither do we plan to. Yet you continue to push him avay."

"What Wood and I do is none of you business," Marcus snarled, dropping the act. "Just as what you and Wood do is none of mine."

Seeing that Viktor's eyes were no longer on him, but instead out the window, Marcus turned to see what was so interesting.

He saw two tall redheads (had to be the Weasely twins) and none other than Oliver Wood walking across the courtyard. They were wrapped in their thickest cloaks, Gryffindor scarves around their necks. Looking closer, Marcus saw that Wood's lips were set in a grin and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold. His hair looked messy, probably tossed playfully by the biting wind that blew from time to time.

He watched in amusement as Wood reached down to pack some snow, standing stealthily to pelt both Weasleys in the backs of their heads. The redheads yelled simultaneously, before taking off after the escaping attacker. Wood's clear laugh could be heard even from the fourth floor window.

It wasn't until Marcus turned around and saw Krum's smug look that he realized that he had a small smile on his face. It quickly changed to a scowl.

"Fuck off," he snapped. Surprisingly, Krum did so, though he still looked smug. Marcus waited until he was sure the Bulgarian was gone, before chancing another look out the window.

The three boys seemed to have come to a truce, though Wood looked a little worse for the ware. Suddenly, a boy came up to them (Lee Jordan, he thought), and he gestured for the twins to follow him. They did so with a wave to their captain, who merely shooed them onward. The Gryffindor stood alone, contemplating for a moment, before seating himself on a nearby bench.

Marcus wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching Oliver Wood, but as the Keeper got up to leave, he noticed that it was much colder and darker than when he had arrived. Shivering, Marcus left for dinner.

Oliver watched Viktor pull Hermione Granger from the lake with much less disappointment than he thought he would feel. Over the last few months, his crush on the Bulgarian had dwindled down to nothing more than admiration for his Quidditch skills, and seeing what Viktor would miss most only solidified the feeling.

The crowd's shocked reaction was priceless, especially the group of girls who normally followed Viktor everywhere. Some looked sick, others looked furious, and a vast majority looked near tears.

Chuckling, Oliver turned away from the hysterical girls, only to notice a pair of dark eyes scrutinizing him closely. Flint was giving him a puzzled look, eyes darting from him, to Viktor and Hermione, and back again. Oliver grinned, knowing it would confuse the other boy even more, and turned to head back inside after making sure that Harry had made it to the surface as well. He missed the thoughtful look that overcame the Slytherin's face and the fire in his eyes.

"What's gotten into you Marcus?" Adrian asked. They were in the Slytherin common room, and the two boys had been playing Exploding Snap. The only problem was that Marcus had been zoning out for nearly the entire game.

"Nothing," he muttered, mind still elsewhere.

Adrian sighed, throwing down his cards and standing up.

"Hey, where're you going?" Marcus asked, finally snapping out of it.

"I'm not wasting my time if you're not going to pay attention," he said. With that, he left for their dorm.

Growling in frustration, Marcus stood as well. After a few minutes thought, he decided to go flying. That would, hopefully, take his mind off his current puzzle.

Sometime later, Marcus dove and twisted through the air. He didn't mind the lack of a Quaffle in his hand, content to feel the evening spring air whip by his face. It was only as the sun began to set that he landed, though he didn't immediately leave. Instead, he lay down on the grass, staring up as the stars began to appear.

From his place in the stands, Oliver watched Marcus Flint. He saw him stretch, shirt riding up to show his toned stomach, and eyed the pronounced biceps that came from being a Chaser. He saw the pensive look on the Slytherin's face, though the rest of his body was relaxed from fatigue. Sweat glimmered on his brow.

Oliver trudged back to Hogwarts with a conflicted feeling on his face and in his heart.

"Are you sure he's okay?" Harry asked.

"Well, now that you mention it…"George said.

"Wood has seemed a little strange," continued Fred.

"I mean, we thought it was the lack of Quidditch-"

"-except that he practices every week anyway-"

"-masochistic nut that he is-"

"-so it can't be that…"

"Maybe he just misses the little spats with the Slytherins!"

"Of course!" Fred said excitedly. "He hasn't been able to take out any aggression!"

"But what can we do to help?" asked George thoughtfully.

"Well, unless you plan on trapping him in the locker room with Marcus Flint so they can beat the tar out of each other, I don't see what you can do," said Harry. "Oh, there's Ron! See you guys later."

As Harry left, the twins turned to each other. Both had mischievous smiles on their faces.

"What happened?!" said Oliver, looking around in dismay.

The ground of the Quidditch pitch was no longer flat and smooth. What seemed to be vast hedges were rising from the ground, disrupting the normally perfect ground.

Oliver felt like crying.

"Oliver!" two voices called.

Said boy turned around just in time for a pair of redheads to come crashing into him, knocking him to the ground. After the world stopped spinning, Oliver could focus on the two smiling faces above him.

"Wotcher Oliver!"

"Harry told us about the pitch-"

"-supposed to be something to do with the tournament-"

"-a maze, I think-"

"-we tried to warn you-"

"-before you had a heart attack-"

"-but it's too late now, I guess."

"Huh?" was all that Oliver could come up with to reply.

Both Weaselys sighed, reaching down to help their fallen captain to his feet. As soon as he was standing, Oliver seemed to regain his wits.

"So you're telling me that they completely destroyed our pitch for the bloody tournament?!"

"Yeah," said George.

"Pretty much," added Fred.

"I don't believe this…" Oliver trailed off.

The twins exchanged a quick look, before Fred said, "Yeah, and this isn't even the worst bit."

"What?! How could they possibly do worse than this?!" He gestured to the uneven ground.

"You should see what they did to the locker rooms," George said, giving Fred a sly look. It was completely missed by their captain, so caught up in his rage.

"The locker rooms!" Oliver gasped. "Oh Merlin!"

"Yeah."

"We'd describe it to you-"

"-but it's so horrible-"

"-we can't bear to talk about it."

"I better go have a look then," said Oliver, face both resigned and worried.

"Go look at the Slytherin ones first."

"Yeah, it's the worst out of all of them."

"Serves the snakes right," Oliver snorted, but changed his path to lead towards said locker room obligingly. Reaching his destination, Oliver poked his head in through the door, scared at what he'd find.

Everything looked normal.

"What the hell kind of joke is-" Oliver began, only to be pushed completely into the room. Even as he whirled around, Oliver heard several locking charms being placed on the door, and as he tried the knob, he knew it was too late. He was locked in.

"Hey! Let me out!" he yelled, banging his fists against the door. "This isn't funny! Open the door! You listening to me?"

He was greeted with silence.

Cursing devious redheads (and twins in particular), Oliver took a seat near the lockers. Sighing, he resigned himself to waiting.

"What are they playing at?" he wondered out loud. Normally the twins liked to cause more public mayhem, always keen on getting a laugh. Unless they were planning to bring people all the way down to the pitch to mock Oliver, he couldn't understand what their motive was.

Oliver pondered the issue for at least fifteen minutes, until the sound of voices broke him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah-"

"-in there."

"This had better be-"

The door opened to reveal Marcus Flint, who was shocked at the sight of Oliver. "Wood, what the hell-"

Behind Flint, Oliver could see two mischievously smiling faces. "Look out! Don't let them-"

But it was too late.

In the space of a heartbeat the twins had shoved Marcus into the room and locked the door behind him.

"Hey!" Flint yelled, tugging on the door. "You bastards! Open the door!"

"It's no use," said Oliver, sighing.

"Like hell I'm just going to sit on my arse until they come back! I'm getting out of here!" He took out his wand. "Alohomora!"

Nothing happened.

"Did you honestly expect that something as simple as alohomora would work? Please, I may hate their guts right now, but even I'll admit that the twins are geniuses in their own rights."

"Would you kindly put a sock in it? I figured I might as well test it anyway," snapped Marcus. He sat down across from Wood, huffing at the unfairness of it all. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

"I don't know. Wait until they come back or the spells wear off, I guess," Oliver replied.

There was a long stretch of silence between the two boys, made even more awkward by the memory of their last conversation all those months ago. Admittedly curious, Marcus eventually ventured to ask, "So, how does it feel to be dumped for a Mudblood? Not crying over a pair of Krum's socks every night, are you?"

Oliver glared. "Don't call her that," he snapped. "And considering that we were never dating in the first place, I think I'm doing just fine."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Snappy little bugger, aren't you? Why so defensive about it if there was nothing going on?"

"Because I'm sick of you bringing it up!" Oliver finally yelled. He stood up, placing himself directly in front of Flint. "Why the fascination with my love life? Why the obsession over me and Viktor Krum? What is your problem?"

Marcus stood as well, a sneer already on his lips. "Shut up."

"No!" Oliver shoved the other boy. "Not until you tell me why you're acting like this!"

Marcus shoved back hard, pushing Wood into the wall. "It's nothing. Just drop it."

With a snarl, Oliver drew back his fist to punch the Slytherin hard in the face. It was caught by Flint, who threw his own punch into Wood's stomach. He doubled over with a wince, but recovered quickly enough to kick out at Marcus's shin.

The fight continued until Marcus had the Keeper pinned to the wall, using his greater weight to hold him down. Oliver was panting and had a split lip, which he licked at absentmindedly as he struggled to throw the other boy off of him. Marcus appeared fine, if a little disheveled, but could feel the beginnings of a large bruise on his side. Their faces were inches apart.

"You want to know why it bugs me?" Marcus finally snapped. "Well fine then!" There was a strange glint in his eyes, a certain kind of madness to his air that was both intimidating and captivating. Oliver couldn't look away.

Marcus smirked, but it was bitter and only highlighted the fury in his gaze. "I hate Viktor Krum. Hated him since he got here. Hated him from the moment I saw you looking at him like he was Merlin himself."

Oliver made to say something, but Marcus growled and gripped him harder. He kept his mouth shut.

"Fuck it pissed me off to see you drooling like that. But I figured, hey, let him look. It's not like Krum will look back. So imagine my surprise when I go down to the pitch and there the two of you are, talking like old chums, walking together like it's the most normal thing in the world! Like you've been doing it for years!"

Marcus shivered and was silent for a moment. His eyes spoke of countless nights tossing and turning, imagining another's hands on the Keeper, touching what he was never allowed to touch, always craved to touch. Of dreams kept locked away until a private moment, either behind bed curtains or beneath the warm spray of a shower. Of countless things that would never come to be.

His eyes revealed everything that Wood could relate to.

When Flint spoke again, it was a heated whisper.

"Fuck you, Wood. Fuck you and international Quidditch Seekers and-"

Oliver's mouth silenced the somewhat hysterical mumbling.

With an animalistic snarl, Marcus took control, kissing Oliver as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He pried the other boy's mouth open, tongue staking claim to every cranny. As he switched to attacking the column of the Keeper's throat, Marcus heard Oliver mumbling things like, "Idiot troll" and "Stupid, jealous Slytherins" and "Possessive bastard". He bit his cut lip to shut him up.

As they were beginning to lower themselves to the floor, there was a pronounced click that startled them into breaking apart. Panting, they turned to the door, where the sound had come from.

"What was that?" Oliver asked.

Marcus shrugged, detaching himself from the other boy so he could walk to the door. When he tried the handle, he discovered it to be unlocked.

"Huh. That's weird," he said. He locked around outside, but could find no trace of anyone.

"The spells must have worn off," Oliver decided, coming to stand by Marcus.

"Yeah," he replied.

Silently, they walked together out onto the pitch, stopping by the stands. They faced each other awkwardly, until Marcus reached out to cup the back of Oliver's neck, bringing him in for a quick, but thorough kiss that left them both breathless.

"So…um…yeah?" Marcus asked, though it couldn't really be considered a question.

"Yeah," Oliver agreed, and his smile seemed to say everything that they couldn't bring themselves to voice. He leaned in to peck Marcus on the lips, a way of challenging the Slytherin to try and take more, before breaking out into a run towards Hogwarts. Marcus was stunned for a moment, before smirking and taking off after the other, never able to turn a challenge down (even if he wanted to).

As the sound of the two boys faded away, there was a shimmer as two others materialized out of no where in their place. They grinned at each other.

"I can't believe you were right!" said Harry.

Viktor smirked smugly. "I told you. Flint vas too jealous for his own good."

Harry smiled slyly, leaning into Viktor. "Reminds me of someone else I know."

Viktor wrapped his arms around the younger Seeker. "I vas not jealous. Diggory had no good intentions towards you. I put a stop to them."

"At least I wasn't the one Cedric pulled from the lake."

"Now who is the jealous one?"

"I was not!"

"You know Herm-own-ninny vas only the one I vould miss most because she is a cover for you. She keeps our secret, keeps you safe from unvanted attention."

"I know, I know," said Harry. He smiled mischievously. "Did I mention that Cedric asked me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Oh really," Viktor growled threateningly.

Harry's laughter echoed around the pitch.