The Heart of the Game

By: The Brat Prince

Disclaimer: I don't own a soul.

            He snuck out of his room at midnight, unable to stay in the small stuffy room any longer with only Percy's obnoxious snoring keeping him company. The fat lady was miffed at his obtrusive exit, whined about her beauty sleep. Oliver told her to shut up or he'd reenact what Sirius Black did to her. She grew indignantly quiet very quickly.

            Oliver sighed and snuck down the dark hall, tip toeing down the stairs, skipping over those that creaked, on the lookout for Filch at every step. He knew his destination without acknowledging it in his mind. He stood at the astronomy tower before he knew how far he'd gone. The view of the Quidditch field was priceless. The extravagant trappings of the bleachers and shining hoops he knew so intimately glistened in the moonlight.

            A foreign warmth graced his shoulder, "Sneaking out Wood? Whatever would McGonagall think?" His eyes met with orbs of steel and cobalt blue, straying idly over a mouth that bore a toothy grin.

            "Hello Flint. What brings you out? It's not garbage night yet." The small insults exchanged between the true no longer amused him, yet he played along with enthusiasm. Better than asking for what he really wanted. Better than giving into the enemy.

            Or was it? Oliver would leave the grounds he knew so well this year. He drew his eyes from Marcus's and lead them to the Quidditch field again. It was beautiful. A majestic reminder of glory days long past and never lived. What he had won and lost. Tears and blood had been shed on that field. Marcus and Oliver had competed for seven long, tiring years. Yet he was still standing. He had survived.

            "Very funny Wood. I saw you wandering the stair wells and decided to drop the news," The first raindrops of a new storm started to fall, splattering the glass window panes behind them, "You'll be playing Hufflepuff in this week's game. Draco Malfoy has been unfortunately injured, and we can't afford to play with a disadvantaged seeker, now can we?" Marcus flashed that toothy grin again, seeming to know that it made Oliver unbelievably disgusted, revolted and weak in the knees at the very same time.

            Oliver's temper started to rise, "What do you mean? Draco Malfoy is just fine. That arm injury is a fraud if I've ever seen one!"

            "I know that. And you know that. But Draco's father doesn't seem to accept that." Marcus said, unusually quiet, "And Draco Malfoy's father has quite a lot of influence with the parents of our team. Including mine," he hissed, "Believe me Wood, if we could get this damned thing over with, I would in a second."

            Oliver's heart sunk. So Marcus did hate him. He'd always known, but hearing it…Rain-soaked and heavy-hearted, Oliver sunk to his knees, "Tell me, you coward. Tell me why we have to fight? Why we can't just play Quidditch as it's meant to be. A game Marcus. It's a game. Not some competition to prove yourself," he said the words bitterly, not meaning to make sense.

            "Because. You're you. You're Oliver Wood, campus hero. Protector of the weak and pathetic. Because you're weak and pathetic through being you. What do you want me to do, bow at your feet like every one else does? Kiss the ground you walk on? I don't think so," Marcus growled.

            "No. I want you to love me." Oliver said it so quietly that his words were carried off by the wind. Marcus extended a hand.

            "Get up. You're like a dog down there. I can't hear your mumbling."

            Oliver shook his head. Marcus bent down with much show, like the gesture was back-breaking. He bent his head close to the smaller, but taller boy.

            "Wood, act like a man." Oliver loathed those words. He was acting like a man. Except for the fact that he couldn't…he couldn't make Marcus his.

            Marcus laughed his deep throated chuckle when he saw Oliver staring at him, rain running down his face like the tears of the ancient gods. His lips were trembling out a chant he didn't know and couldn't control, the cold setting into his bones. Marcus leaned his face so close that their noses were touching and opened his mouth, the mouth that Oliver was fascinated by and repulsed by.

            Before he could think about what the consequences might be, Oliver brought his hands to Marcus's strong face, pulling his lips to the Slytherin captains. He wanted, needed to feel those lips on his, the salt of his skin in his mouth.

            Marcus inhaled deeply, not even expecting Oliver's move but taking control of the situation in an instant, pushing the boy to the ground and pressing his lips to his with bruising force, then pulling away when a moan formed in the back of Wood's throat.

            "So that's what you want Wood. Who'd have thought the almighty Oliver Wood wasn't going to end up fucking his broomstick all his life?"

            Oliver sat up indignantly, pale-faced and unsure. What was Marcus going to do? Even after seven years, he couldn't predict Flint's moves. He couldn't control him.

            "It's not stupid hormones Flint. I want-I want you. Not just to fuck. I want to know you."

            "What's to know?" Marcus countered, his face shadowed and slick with rain.

            "More than you think," Oliver replied, "You're just afraid to show me."

            "Afraid?" Marcus scoffed, "How about you and I make a little wager. If you beat Hufflepuff, you can have my body. If you beat Ravenclaw, you can have my company. And if you beat me, you can have my heart. If you beat me Wood, you win the game for a change."

            Oliver didn't even consider it. He always had been a gambling man and as he pondered the prize, he couldn't see that he had anything to lose. Certainly not Marcus's respect. He had never had that.

            "Deal. I'll take that wager. And I'll win."

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(A/N- Please review? Pretty please? Chocolate covered george and fred's to those who review. With little lee sprinkles on top.)