#miles bletchley x omc

[anendofeverything]

Kedvesszívű

Part Two of the When a Snake Loves a Lion series

Read on AO3

——

Chapter Five

January 1994

Oliver

He didn’t know what he was expecting when he mustered up the courage to head to the Quidditch Captain’s office after the first match back after the holidays. Slytherin had all but obliterated Ravenclaw, which was a testament to Marcus’ dedication as a Quidditch Captain, and that he was the only person capable of rivaling Oliver in how relentlessly they trained their respective teams before a match.

They’d sat there, discussing their Christmases, and Oliver had handed over the gift he’d ordered very last minute, which had left Marcus dumbfounded. Oliver didn’t blame him for that reaction - if Marcus had come up to him and given him a neatly wrapped gift, his head would’ve exploded in sheer shock.

And then he said it.

He’d told Marcus he didn’t hate him and spouted off some nonsense about being Captains of their favourite teams someday way off into the future.

“Sounds nice,” Marcus had said. “We’ll be the best of friends, huh?”

It’d hurt, that statement, and Oliver could feel tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. It would have almost been kinder for Marcus to have laughed at him. To straight up reject Oliver’s gift and continue hating him.

Almost.

But as strong as Oliver Wood was in other aspects of his life, he was completely and utterly weak for Marcus Flint. And he always had been.

He somehow stumbled his way back to his dorm room, which was (thankfully) empty, and sunk onto his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. He could feel wetness forming in the corners of his eyes, but he did nothing other than sit there, staring into nothingness as Marcus’ words echoed in his head.

“I don’t hate you either.”

“We’ll be the best of friends, huh?”

“Fuck,” Oliver muttered, swiping at the tears threatening to spill over. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.”

“Ollie?”

“Shit,” Oliver sighed. “Hey, Percy, I-”

“Wood,” Montague tilted his head to the side. “You look bloody awful.”

“Graham!” Percy hissed, elbowing his boyfriend.

“What? He does!”

“Maybe, but you don’t say it! It’s rude!”

“It’s okay,” Oliver shook his head. “Don’t w- wait! Montague? What are you doing inside Gryffindor Tower?! If someone sees-”

“Wood.” Montague interrupted. “Everyone’s downstairs at dinner. Me and Percy were gonna- doesn’t matter. Never mind us, what’s eating you?”

Oliver scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “It- It doesn’t matter.”

“Dear Merlin,” Montague rolled his eyes as he sat opposite of Oliver, Percy sitting next to his best friend. “Întotdeauna e aşa de încăpăţânat?”

“Nu sunt încăpăţânat!” Oliver protested. “Şi de când vorbeşti tu româneşte?”

Montague blinked. “Eu? De când ai-”

“Boys! Graham knows Romanian because I’m teaching him, and he’s teaching me Hungarian. Oliver can speak Romanian because he spent the summer last year with Charlie at the dragon reserve. Băieţi proşti. Ce o să mă fac cu voi doi?” Percy shook his head. “Can we get back to  the matter at hand? Oliver nearly being in tears?”

“Perce, please. Don’t-”

“No, Ollie, you looked heartbroken.”Oliver squirmed in place, ducking his head so he could avoid Percy and Graham’s eyes. The three of them sat there for what felt like an age, Oliver trying and failing to spill his feelings. The words got stuck in his throat, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

—

Graham

Wood looked like he would faint, or throw up, or worse - not that Graham knew what worse would even be, honestly, but he could hear Wood breathing harshly, and, whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Graham thought he was good at reading people, and, instinctively, he supposed, whatever Wood was fretting about, he would not talk about it with him in the room.

“Drágám, where do you keep your O.W.L. Potions notes?”

“In a folder in my trunk, why-”

But Graham had already shot off Oliver’s bed, and dragged Percy’s trunk out from under his bed, and took out the aforementioned folder, flipping through the sections until he found the Potions notes.

“Montague, what are you doing?”

“Look, Wood, whatever’s bothering you, I’m not prying, alright? And I think me being here isn’t helping much, so I’m gonna go, yeah?”

“I-” Wood swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Graham said reassuringly. “The notes are just my alibi for why I’m up here, I’ll give them back.”

“You better,” Percy said teasingly.

“I’ll see you later, drágám,” Graham gave him a quick kiss, and offered Wood a rather awkward pat on the shoulder.

As he exited the dormitory and made his way down the stairs, clutching Percy’s Potions notes as he went, he could hear light chattering. Looks like some Gryffindor’s were back from dinner early. As he walked down further and stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room, he saw that Percy’s youngest brother, Ron, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter occupied it.

Of fucking course.

Ron and Potter were playing Wizard’s Chess in front of the fireplace, and Granger was curled up on a very comfortable looking sofa, reading an enormous book. It looked vaguely familiar, but not something Graham himself had read, he didn’t think.

Sighing to himself, he started walking towards the portrait hole. If he was lucky-

“Montague!”

Shit.

“Weasley, Granger, Potter,” Graham nodded. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“It’s raining.” Potter pointed out.

“Never mind that!” Ron had jumped up, knocking over the chessboard, much to the pieces’ disgust, and pointed his wand straight at Graham’s chest. “Give me one reason not to hex you!”

“Ron!” Granger exclaimed.

Potter looked torn between joining in with Ron in threatening him or not, his wand dangling loosely in his fingers. 

“Look, I’m not here for anything nefarious. Just borrowing some Potions notes from my tutor, see?” he waved the notes in Ron’s direction.

“May I see them?” Granger had approached him, holding out one hand to take the notes, the other clutching the hefty book she’d been reading.

Graham shrugged and handed them over to her. With Granger closer, he could read the title of it - Ilvermorny: A Comprehensive History of the North American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Interested in Ilvermorny, huh?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“What? Oh… yes!” Granger nodded back vigorously. “Percy leant this to me. Their version of sorting is fascinating, I-”

“Hermione,” Potter coughed lightly. “The notes?”

“Yes, yes, alright.”

“What?” Ron asked gleefully at Granger’s frown. “They’re not Potions notes, are they?”

“No, they are.” Granger said, shooting Montague an odd look, as she looked up from shifting through Percy’s notes. “They’re dated from September 1991 through to May 1992. Why use notes that are two years old? The exams change every year.”

“Do they?” Ron asked, perplexed, which made Granger throw him a dirty look.

“If I can but in,” Graham said, taking the notes back from Granger. “Yes, the standard end of year exams change annually, but the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s, they get changed less. Once every decade, or thereabouts, anyway. Lupin let slip about in DADA once, it’s bizarre, really. Luckily, two-year-old notes will do for studying.”

“Maybe,” Granger narrowed her eyes, suddenly hostile. “But that doesn’t explain why you have the Head Boy’s notes.”

“What?!”

“I recognise Percy’s handwriting,” Granger continued. “What are you up to, Montague?”

“Nothing. I said I was borrowing my tutor’s notes, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Unbeknownst to the four students, the Fat Lady’s portrait had swung open, and a tall, pale man had stepped inside. “Now then, what do we have here?”

“Nothing,” Graham answered hastily. “I was just leaving.”

“Is that so?” Professor Lupin asked, amused. “What exactly are you doing up in Gryffindor Tower, Graham?”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault, Professor.”

Percy.

Thank Merlin.

“Percy,” Lupin greeted cheerily. “Ah, yes - the tutoring? Severus mentioned it a few months ago. After some goading from Minerva.”

“Ron,” Percy turned to his younger brother, voice sharp. “I’m taking fifteen points off you. You will report to Penelope on Saturday morning after breakfast and help her with her rounds.”

“What for?”

“Threatening another student.” Percy sniffed. “Professor Lupin, was there something that you needed?”

“Extra lessons.” Potter murmured, tucking his wand back up his sleeve.

“You git.” Ron rounded on Percy, after Lupin and Potter had left. “You can’t just take points off me and expect me to go swanning after your girlfriend-”

“Ex.” Percy whispered, suddenly pale.

“What?” Granger looked between the two Weasley brothers, awkwardly clutching the borrowed book to her chest.

“Me and Penelope broke up months ago.” Percy said, looking pained. “That’s another fifteen points, Ron.”

And with that, Percy turned and fled back upstairs.

“Git!”

“Ron, that’s enough.”

“Lay off your brother, Weasley.” Graham snapped.

“What do you care?”

“I don’t,” Graham lied. “I’d just hate to fail my Potions O.W.L. because your brother was too busy having to deal with you being an insufferable prat.”

Graham shrunk the notes and stuffed them into the pocket of his robes, before storming out of Gryffindor Tower.  

Jobban kellett volna csinálnom, drágám. 

—

Cassius

“I don’t believe it,” Cassius whispered. “I honestly don’t believe it!”

“Warrington,” Bletchley said, shuffling in front of the Ravenclaw student he’d just been snogging. “We weren’t doing anything!”

“Right.” Cassius eyed the Ravenclaw that Bletchley couldn’t hide from view, as the Ravenclaw was taller than him.

The Ravenclaw had short brown hair, ebony skin, blue eyes and freckles. He pushed his square framed glasses back up his nose, and Cassius grinned in response, showing off his teeth.

“Alright, Fernsby?”

“Warrington,” Fernsby crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Bullshit.”

“My, my, my, such language, Fernsby. And from a Prefect, no less.”

“Cassius, please.” Bletchley pleaded. “Just get on with it.”

“On with what?”

“Whatever Pure-blooded, homophobic rhetoric you’re delaying in ranting about.” Fernsby rolled his eyes.

“Well, for one, I’m not a Pure-blood. And for two, I’m gay. Surprise!”

“You… are?”

“I’m sure Bole and Malfoy are the only straight ones on the team. Don’t get me started on the reserve team. It’s a well-known secret that Slytherin produces the most queer students each year.”

“Who produces the least?” Fernsby mused.

“Hufflepuff. But everyone in Hufflepuff is accepting, so that’s summat, I suppose.”

“Everyone?” Sputtered Bletchley, finally finding his voice. “B-But- you- I- Flint?!”

“Bisexual.” Cassius nodded. “Don’t tell ‘im I told ya, dear Merlin, he’d skin me alive!”

“Of course,” Fernsby said, slipping his hand into Bletchley’s.

“Look, guys, you can snog each other to your heart’s content for all I care. Maybe don’t do it in the alcove right next to the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon, though, eh?”

Bletchley blushed bright red, and Cassius cackled loudly as he walked down the hall, only stopping to mutter the password - Salazar - before he entered the Slytherin Common Room.

“Wotcha, Flint,” Cassius grinned. “Or can I call ya Marcus?”

“Screw off, Warrington.” Flint muttered, returning to his book.

“You’re reading?” Cassius asked incredulously. “I’ve never seen you read. Should I be worried?”

“Don’t be daft, Warrington.” Flint scoffed. “It’s the Montrose Magpies’ biography. New edition too.”

“Bet that cost a fair few Galleons.”

Flint paused, idly thumbing the cover. “It was a present.”

“Wood?” Cassius smirked.

“So what if Ollie got me the book?”

“Well, that proves it.”

“Get to the fucking point already, would you?”

“The defensiveness, for starters. You didn’t call Wood Wood, or even Oliver - you called him Ollie.”

“And?”

“Mate, you don’t call people by their first name. Accept Pucey. Sometimes. And that’s only ‘cause you knew him before you started Hogwarts,” Cassius pointed out. “The way you’ve talked about Wood-”

“I’ve barely said shit to you about Ollie.”

“-an’ the way you look at him… Marcus-”

“Cassius, don’t-”

“It’s not just a crush, is it?” Cassius asked softly. “You love him… don’t you?”

“So what if I do? Nothing can happen between us. Not like that.”

“Says who?”

“I’m a Slytherin. I’m a Pure-blood. And he’s a Gryffindor and a Muggle-born.”

“So what?”

“Just drop it, Warrington.”

“Flint, can you stop being a bloody coward for two-”

“I’m a coward?” Flint laughed harshly. “At least I can talk to the guy I like without becoming an enormous stuttering mess!”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh, Ch-Charlie,” Flint began mockingly. “Y-You work w-with d-dragons, that’s s-so b-brave!”

“Stop it.”

“M-me? I’ve only b-been in l-love w-with you s-since s-second y-year!”

“Enough!” Cassius screamed, throwing a wandless Flipendo at Flint, knocking him over, which resulted in him colliding with the armchair he’d been sitting in.

Enraged, Flint roared out a Langlock, but Cassius dodged the spell, and fired off Impedimenta and Oppugno in quick succession. A flash of turquoise light slowed Flint down, making him unable to defend himself from the flock of small birds pecking at his head as they circled around him, and became a blur of yellow and green. Suddenly, a powerful burst of magic echoed throughout the Slytherin Common Room, a pale blue light swirling around to separate Cassius and Flint from each other. Adrian Pucey, usually rather cheery in disposition, was glaring between Cassius and Flint, before silently casting a couple counter-jinxes to eradicate the birds pecking at Flint’s head.

“What the hell are you two playing at? Having a pissing match in the Common Room? What if there had been other students in here? I cannot believe you two! Twenty points from Slytherin. Each!”

“Warrington started it!”

“And I’m ending it.” Pucey snarled. “I should give you both detention, if I didn’t know Marcus would give me hell for disrupting Quidditch practice. I’m giving both of you a warning. You dare do something this foolish again, I’ll- I’ll-”

“You’ll do what, Pucey?” Flint laughed humourlessly. “Tattle on us to Snape?”

“No,” Pucey answered. “I’ll go to Professor Dumbledore and get you both removed from the team.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me!”

“Guys,” Higgs reluctantly dropped the spell he’d cast. “You can’t just duel each other every time you have an argument. Flint - you struggle to control your anger. Warrington - you don’t know when to stop pushing, and you can be manipulative about it. You carry on like that when you’ve both left Hogwarts, and you’ll end up in Azkaban. Or dead.”

“Terry’s right.”

“Of course he is,” Cassius muttered. “Perfect Terry can do no wrong, can he, Ade?”

“I don’t know why I bother,” Pucey shook his head, roughly pushing passed Cassius as he stormed toward the stairs to the dormitories. “Go on, keep dueling! Kill each other for all I care, fucking jumped-up, pig-headed gits!”

“Adrian,” Higgs sighed, following his boyfriend, stopping only to tell Cassius and Flint to ‘fucking sort yourselves out’, and descended into the dormitories.

“I’m not apologising.” Flint snapped, picking up his book.

“Me either.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Cassius scoffed as Flint went back to reading. “You’re fuckin’ unbelievable. And you are a coward.”

“Right back atcha, Warrington.” Flint mumbled, sounding almost defeated.

“Aw, what’s the matter, did I touch a nerve?”

“Yes!” Flint yelled. “You don’t get it Warrington, you just don’t. It doesn’t matter what I do, or what I try, nothing will change. It’s never going to. Don’t you get that?”

Cassius blinked. “You’re… are you crying?”

“No,” Flint protested. “Allergies.”

“We’re in a dungeon.”

“Dust, Warrington, I- I’m allergic to dust!”

“Well, that’s new information.”

“Just- just piss off Warrington.” Flint said, his voice uncharacteristically small. “Please.”

“You gonna hex me if I stay?”

“Yeah,” Flint’s voice wavered.

“For what it’s worth, mate, I think you’d make Oliver Wood dead happy. If you gave yourself a chance to do so.”

Flint said nothing, just shook his head, and tried desperately to refocus on his book. As Cassius walked out into the dungeons in search of distraction, and Flint sat shakily, silently fighting off tears, neither of them knew about the intruder to their conversation - a third year Slytherin slumped on the stairs, out of site of the Common Room, their heart beating wildly. Marcus Flint liked Oliver Wood? Flint? Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint fancied Oliver Wood?  

Maybe their own crush wasn’t so hopeless after all...