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“I know we’re meant to leave it for last. McGonagall’s already told me.”
Oliver calls over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around when he hears somebody clearing their throat behind him. He’s kneeling by the lockers and trying to get the door to his old one bend back into its flat shape, somehow convinced that if he can mend this one tiny thing then the rest of the Quidditch pitch will be fixable too.
“She never did have her priorities in order, did she.”
Now he turns and of course it’s Marcus Flint who’s come straight here after the welcome talk from the new headmistress to the wizards and witches who’ve shown up to put the castle back in order just a month after the final battle. Oliver doesn’t remember seeing him among the scattering of former students in the Great Hall but then again, his eyes had been drawn to the pitch through the broken south facing wall during her speech.
“I don’t think I made the best argument, to be fair.” Oliver prods the out of shape locker door with his wand. “But Quidditch is more important than having classrooms. You’d agree, wouldn’t you?”
Flint sinks down on the only unbroken bench. He looks a little paler than Oliver remembers him but Oliver had also paled at the state of the pitch. “I’ll deny to have ever agreed with you on anything, but yes. Fixing the Quidditch pitch should be above everything else.”
The locker door trembles faintly when Oliver whispers a ‘reparo’ at it but it remains crooked. “Bugger.”
“Reparo only works on broken things. Your door is bent. Not broken.”
Flint’s posh drawl tugs at something in Oliver’s chest, it’s making him feel like they’re back at Hogwarts as students, not free labour. “Well, isn’t that something. My door is bent but not broken.” Oliver prods the door one last time before getting back to his feet. “That makes two of us.”
“Pucey owes me a galleon then.” There’s no mockery in his voice, just something that sounds awfully similar to resignation.
Oliver would have preferred mockery or even disgust. “You were betting on me?”
Flint smirks. “We were betting on a lot of people. Boredom and money make for bad bed fellows.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Oliver feels a little strange looking down at Flint for once in his life but he isn’t going to sit on the floor and he definitely isn’t going to sit next to Flint. “What made you bet on me being gay then?”
The smirk grows smaller, uncertainty taking up its place. “Hope?” He shrugs, looking oddly young and forlorn in his dark robes that strike Oliver a little strange to wear when you’re meant to be doing manual labour. Then again, Flint’s probably never done any real work in his life. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Oliver laughs at that. “Fancied me then, did you?” He should be freaking out about this, but somehow living through a war has put everything else into perspective. A former school rival who he hasn’t seen in almost four years admitting to having had a crush on him just doesn’t faze him anymore. Even if it’s Marcus Flint.
“Just a bit.” The smirk is back.
“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” Oliver has been told that his rough Scottish twang is quite the turn on. Mainly by the tall, dark and broody toffs he’s been known to favour. Oliver gives the former Slytherin captain a once over. Ah.
“Well it’s definitely not your ripped physique.” Flint stretches, the sunlight coming through the broken window panes making him look almost blurry around the edges.
Oliver’s mouth quirks. “Twat. I’ve got a perfect keeper’s body, I’ll have you know.”
“Sure.” Flint’s mouth mirrors his and soon enough they are grinning at each other. “I thought it’d be weird.”
“You thought confessing your undying love for me would be weird? Whatever made you think that?” Oliver’s grin broadens when Flint flips him off. “Shall we change the topic? Wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Flint gets up from the bench and for a moment Oliver thinks he’s going to kiss him but Flint just walks past him and cocks his head at the bent locker door instead. “You’ll have to replace it.”
Oliver considers pulling Flint close. “I suppose so.” He says instead.
“Oliver! I know you are here. We are meant to help with the kitchens. Oliver!” Angelina’s velvety voice calls from outside.
“Busted.” Flint says, a weak smile on his lips. “No more slacking off for you.”
“Nor you. Where are you meant to be?” Oliver’s already turned around, a hand on the door knob. There’s no answer forthcoming so Oliver leaves before Angelina can make her way into the changing rooms. He doesn’t really fancy explaining himself to her so he firmly shuts the door behind him.
~||~
Flint’s sitting on the bench again when Oliver returns to the changing rooms the following day. He’s in his dark robes again and Oliver reckons he’s not very fond of them and so won’t mind if they get dirty.
“Be still my beating heart!” Oliver places a hand on his chest. “My suitor has returned.”
“Well, actually, I’ve been here already so I think that makes you the returnee. And the suitor.”
Flint looks a little less pale than the previous day, there’s no smirk on his lips but a frown on his forehead instead. It’s the same that Oliver has seen in lessons before, a frown of concentration. Oliver wonders what Flint is trying to work out.
“Alright then. I can be the suitor. Just don’t expect me to know any of those bloody ridiculous pureblood courting traditions.”
Oliver watches the frown disappear and as Flint’s forehead evens out, the wizard seems to regain more colouring. It reminds Oliver a little of a polaroid picture gaining saturation. He rubs his eyes and when his sight sharpens again, Flint just looks like he always does.
“You’re in luck. It’s custom to gift your beloved a metal square on the first date.”
Oliver’s confused for a moment. “What?”
Flint nods at the locker door in his hands. “Is that a locker door or are you just happy to see me?”
“That was really bad.” Oliver still smiles though. “I kind of had to guess at the measurements.”
It doesn’t take much to remove the bent locker door from its hinges and after shrinking the one he brought just a little, he manages to attach it without much hassle. The shiny new door looks out of place in the destroyed changing room but it’s a start.
“Very Slytherin of you to just replace your own locker door and sod all the rest.” Flint says from his spot on the bench. “Can’t deny that doesn’t turn me on though.”
Oliver purses his lips. It is kind of selfish of him. “I will replace all of them eventually. I just needed to…” He’s not quite sure how to finish his sentence. It just seemed important.
“Needed to make sure you’d be able to fix this at least?” Flint’s voice sounds a little raspy and Oliver almost expects to see the other wizard crying when he turns around. But of course he isn’t. “I get that. After everything that’s happened it’s only natural to want to return to somewhere familiar. And to make sure that you can fix that place.”
“Is that why you came here too? To fix it?”
“Yeah.”
They regard each other for a moment. Maybe this is more than just trying to fix the Quidditch pitch. Maybe they’ll be able to fix other things, too.
“Oliver, I swear, if you are in there again…” Angelina calls and Oliver flinches.
“Crap. Back tomorrow?” He hurries to the door, still not ready for Angelina to find out that he’s been talking to Flint.
“Sure.”
~||~
“Where did you go after Hogwarts?” Oliver asks as he’s casting reparo after reparo at the broken tiles in the shower stall.
“Nowhere. Just London.” Flint’s not helping Oliver, but perching on a separating wall instead, his long legs dangling idly in front of him. “I wanted to try out for the Falcons but father needed me to help with the family business instead.”
“Right. Shame we never got to play against each other again. Maybe after this is done. I think the Magpies are short a chaser?” He flicks his wand over the last remaining shattered tile, its shards slotting back into their right place once more.
“Maybe.”
Oliver moves on to the next shower stall. Flint doesn’t leave the wall, just swings his legs over the side so he’s watching Oliver again.
“Are you not going to help?”
“Doesn’t look like you need my help.”
He sighs. “Is that another courting custom? Fixing shower tiles?”
Flint doesn’t meet his eyes. “There’s probably something about china but I can’t remember. I never planned on courting a pureblood so I didn’t really pay attention when mother was going on about it.”
“Because you were planning on courting me.” Oliver can feel the tips of his ears growing hot. Somehow it doesn’t quite feel like joking around anymore.
“Careful or I’m going to start thinking you fancy me back.”
Oliver lowers his wand. “You still do?” He’s not going to turn around, even though he can feel Flint’s eyes burning holes in his back.
“Is Johnson going to show up and safe me from having to answer that?” Flint says and follows it with a nervous chuckle.
“No, she’s in London helping George with the shop today. I’m all yours.”
The words hang heavy between them and Oliver finally turns to face the other wizard. Flint’s looking a little fuzzy with all the dust motes dancing in the air around him. He looks almost ethereal and Oliver’s mouth goes dry.
“Yes.” Flint runs a pink tongue over his bottom lip and Oliver wants nothing more than to pull him down from his ledge, push him up against the wall and snog him senseless. But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment so he stays put. “I still fancy you. That’s why I came back.”
Oliver clears his throat, desperate to get some moisture back into his mouth. “So no altruistic reasons behind returning to help fix the school?”
“When have I ever done anything altruistic?” Flint gives him a weak smile. “I hung around after the battle. Thought you’d show up sooner or later.”
Oliver frowns. “What do you mean you hung around?”
“I didn’t leave. I mean, I did. Leave. I just didn’t go very far.”
“So you stayed in Hogsmeade and waited until I’d show up?” Oliver can’t decide whether that’s romantic or creepy.
Flint shrugs. “Lame, isn’t it.” Another meek smile.
Oliver decides it’s romantic. “I didn’t see you at the battle.”
The smile slips. “Are you going to ask me which side I was on?”
“You are still here and not in Azkaban so I assume the right one? Unless you’ve been hiding here from the aurors.” And Merlin, Oliver can’t help but think that maybe he’s not too far off with that. It would explain the dark robes, the hunted look on Flint’s face. “Shit. You are, aren’t you?”
“I’m not hiding.” Flint says, his arms crossed over his chest defensively. “I came to the battle because I knew your stupid Gryffindor arse would be there.”
Oliver’s is a bit taken aback by that. Nobody’s ever risked their life for him. “You came because of me?”
Flint shrugs again. It’s a pedestrian gesture but he still makes it look posh. “I tried to find you but it was just a big shit show, wasn’t it. So I waited.”
“You didn’t come to the Great Hall when it was over.”
“Somehow I didn’t think a Slytherin pureblood would have been very welcome.” He raises a poignant eyebrow. “With most of us fighting for the wrong side and whatnot.”
Oliver thinks he’s got a point. Oliver would have probably hexed him himself if Flint had walked into the Great Hall just after the battle when everyone was still on edge. “Fair enough.”
“Fred Weasley said I should come back though. So that I could tell you.”
“Fred? Do you mean George? Fred…he…Fred was killed.” Oliver’s heart aches at the thought of his friend.
Flint opens his mouth and then shuts it again. It’d be funny if not for what they are talking about. “Yeah…erm. Yeah. Sorry. I better…I’ve got to go.”
He swings his legs back over and lands on the other side of the wall without a sound. Flint’s gone before Oliver can say anything else.
~||~
He hadn’t expected to see Flint again but there he is, back in his usual space atop the bench when Oliver arrives the following day.
“I’ve told Angelina I’m going to the loo so I’ve only got a minute.” He says. “So whatever you want to tell me, better do it quickly.”
Flint gets to his feet and Oliver braces himself for the kiss that’s surely going to come and then feels himself deflate when it doesn’t. “I fancy you.”
“Alright.” Oliver already knows that but it’s different hearing it without any joking or buried in cryptic half-sentences and insinuations. “So what are you going to do about it?”
The former Slytherin captain frowns at that. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you can’t tell me that you fancy me and then not do anything about it. Like ask me out or something. Or do purebloods not date?” Oliver feels a little queasy all of a sudden. Maybe they don’t. Maybe Flint never wanted anything but tell him that he fancied him but doesn’t want anything more. Crap.
“Of course we do.” Flint straightens his dark robes. “But that’s not what I came back for. I just wanted you to know that I fancy you. That I have for a long time.”
“And now I know.” Oliver looks at his watch, he’s been too long already. “I fancy you too. So let’s do something about it.” Flint looks terrified. “Right. I’ve got to go back. We’ll talk, tomorrow, yeah?”
Oliver gives him an encouraging smile but Flint doesn’t reciprocate it, if anything he looks even more terrified. Well, tough, Oliver wants him and Flint’s going to have to live with that.
~||~
Flint’s not there the next day. He’s not there for the next two weeks either and Oliver doesn’t return to the Quidditch pitch. He can take a hint.
~||~
The reopening of Hogwarts at the beginning of September is an emotional affair. Everyone tries their hardest to be happy and optimistic but when McGonagall unveils the south facing wall of the Great Hall with all the names of the fallen carved into the stones there is not a dry eye in sight. Oliver hugs George until Angelina takes over and then his feet take him to the Quidditch pitch. He doesn’t know who has done it but the pitch almost looks like it had before the battle. Only the grass, still patchy in places, bears evidence to the destruction that had taken place only months before.
“Doesn’t quite feel the same, does it?” Hooch says as she steps up beside him. The flying instructor looks unfamiliar in her elegant robes and without a whistle around her neck.
“Not quite. But it’s still beautiful.” Oliver means it. The new wood of the stands shines in the late afternoon sun and the goal posts are free from nicks and dents from overenthusiastic players.
Hooch nods. “It’ll be even more beautiful once we’ve had a few games. A Quidditch pitch needs to show usage. It’s too pristine.”
“The first game will come round soon enough, I suppose.” Oliver’s eyes flicker to the changing rooms but he’s not going to go there. Flint’s gone. Probably back in London and trying his best to keep avoiding Oliver. “I’ll make sure to make it.”
“That’d be grand, Oliver. I know you’re busy with Puddlemere but it’d mean a lot to the students.”
“Of course.” Oliver fiddles with the sleeves of his dress robes. “Has anyone else been down here?” He can’t help but ask. Just because he’d been keeping away from the pitch doesn’t mean that Flint has. Maybe he did return eventually when he realised that Oliver wouldn’t come bursting into the changing room demanding dates.
“Just a few Hufflepuffs. They fixed the lawn once the carpenters were done with the stands. Anyone specific you’re wondering about?”
Oliver keeps his eyes trained on the goal posts. “I was just…Flint. Has Marcus Flint been here?”
There’s a sharp intake of breath and then Oliver can feel Hooch’s tight grip on his arm. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” He asks but his heart’s already beating faster than it ought to and his vision is going fuzzy. Fuzzy like Flint.
“He was killed in the battle.”
The rest of her words are lost to the sudden buzzing noise in his head.
~||~
It’s eerily quiet. It hadn’t taken much to shake off Hooch even if she did look at him funny when he made his excuses and disappeared towards the changing rooms.
“Flint?” Oliver says into the silence, his voice only breaking a little. “Marcus?”
Nothing for a while but then Flint shifts into existence right in front of him. Oliver doesn’t even flinch, the realisation too painful to allow for any other emotion.
“You weren’t meant to say that you fancied me back.” Flint’s a little blurry around the edges and Oliver can’t believe he never realised that Flint’s feet aren’t touching the sodding floor.
“Why…” Oliver somehow manages to get out.
Flint floats towards the lockers lining the far side of the wall. “He made us all go.” The wizard’s hand goes to his left arm, he doesn’t have to lift his robe, Oliver’s sure there’s a dark mark under the heavy fabric. “I didn’t have a choice. With my family being who they are…I was one of the first to get it after he returned.”
Oliver wants to shake him. “Why didn’t you leave the country, you idiot?”
“I…I believed him at first. What he said.” Flint flickers out of existence but before Oliver can panic at him being gone, he appears again, paler but still there. “Fuck. This keeps happening.”
“Are you…Did…” Oliver does not know how to ask. “Are you stuck?” He isn’t quite sure he wants an answer because he can’t decide what would be worse: Never seeing Flint again or him being a Hogwarts ghost forever, close but never close enough.
“No. It’s…There’s this pull. It’s taking quite a lot of effort to stay. I think if I let go then I can go.” Flint lowers his hand. “I was going to let go when you…You were never meant to say it back.”
“I’m sorry.”
Flint shrugs. “Not your fault. It is kind of nice to know you feel-felt…” He adverts his eyes. “I don’t even know who killed me. Whoever it was did it quickly at least.”
Oliver doesn’t think that any of the students would have been using Unforgiveables at the battle but Flint looks too whole to have been attacked by a dark creature. It must have been a stray curse from another Death Eater. “But you didn’t…leave?”
“No.” Flint meets his gaze again. “Well, I kind of did. Fred Weasley was there.”
“So it was him who told you to come back.”
“Yeah. There was a line queuing for…for something and I was behind him. We spoke and he told me to go back.”
Oliver looks around him, somehow expecting for Fred to pop into existence. “Why didn’t he come back too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he did?”
Oliver mulls that over for a moment. Maybe Fred did and got to speak to George one last time. “You said you came to the battle because of me.”
Another shrug, Flint’s toes lift from the floor a little as he does and Oliver wonders whether he’s like a ghost now and can fly. “I came back to the battle because of you.”
“Fuck.” Oliver reaches out and even though he knows that Flint can’t feel it, he rests his hand on the other wizard’s cheek. “I thought we’d be able to fix it.”
Flint gives him a sad smile. “We have. I got to say how I feel. I can move on now.”
“It’s not fair though.” Oliver’s face twists in hurt and anger. “If I’d known back at Hogwarts…”
“I know.” Flint places his hand over Oliver’s and Oliver swears he can almost feel it. “Will you fly with me?”
Moments later Oliver’s on a broom, Flint’s next to him and it’s only a little strange for him to fly without a broom. The circle the pitch, Flint’s edges becoming fuzzier and fuzzier with every round.
“I’ve got to go.” Flint says when the moon is high in the sky behind them.
Oliver swallows down tears. He’s angry, so angry at Flint for choosing the wrong side, for not telling him sooner how he felt, for telling him at all.“You were my favourite person to play against.”
Flint smiles, his features now only barely there. “So were you. We’ll play against each other again. Not soon, but I’ll wait for you, Wood.” He looks down at his dissolving body. “It’s the accent.” His eyes meet Oliver’s again. “And the body. Your face.” His words speed up, his legs already gone. “Your stupid smile. Your mouth. That little dimple that used to drive me crazy even from across the Great Hall.”
His mouth continues to move but there’s no sound coming out. His steely blue eyes disappear last and Oliver allows his tears to run freely.
“We’ll play again.” He says to the empty space in front of him. Oliver stays in the air for a long while after.