I Love You, Melancholy
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,849
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,849
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Electric Shock
Author's Notes: Okay, so after seeing that AFF.net is up and working (by a good friend of mine; many thanks to him! ^^), I decided to upload some of my stories that I've written since it's been down.
What's this one about, you ask? Well, there's this community called "7spells" at livejournal.com, where you take seven prompts and write a set of stories involving said prompts. I've written one for Marcus/Oliver and one for Viktor/Cedric, which I will be picking and choosing for uploads, since most of them aren't R/NC-17 rated. Anyways.
This will be a 7 chapter story, and this particular chapter's prompt is "Electric Shock".
Here's a key for what you'll find within:
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ = Scene/Time Change (Same Day)
------------------------------------------------------------ = Day(s) Later
Don't forget to review, and enjoy :D
Also, I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. I wish I did, but alas.
~*~**************************************************~*~
“Damn it.”
Marcus looked at the stupid toaster in front of him, a disdainful look upon his face with a somewhat irritated finger stinging him. The damn thing had given him a shock! How safe was that, giving the students something like this and trusting them to properly utilize it for making a breakfast without error? Marcus could make a decent breakfast without having to use these Muggle appliances. There was no point to being in the class!
Okay, so maybe there was…somewhat. He was supposed to be making toast with the toaster, but so far all he had managed to do was burn his bread and give himself an electric shock in the process. So much for making a meal sans magic! Why was he even in this course, anyways? He hated it so much, and it wasn’t like he was really going to need it in the future.
No, he knew why he was taking this course: his stupid mother was forcing him to. His mother, much to the chagrin of his father, was a pureblood who was accepting of Muggles and of their society. She told him it was necessary to take the bloody course, when all he really wanted to take was Ancient Runes, which, oddly enough, was the only course in which he got a passing N.E.W.T. score. But that didn’t matter, apparently, because here he was for yet another year, trying to re-pass Muggle Studies.
“Whatever,” he said crossly. He tried, and that was all that mattered. His bread had stopped sizzling and smoking, but instead of trying to fidget with it with his hand, this time Marcus waved his wand and caused it to flop out onto his desk. It landed on the desk just as the bell rang. “Thank Merlin,” he murmured to himself.
“All right, class!” the professor said, clapping her hands together. “Just leave your toasters on the desk and we’ll work on finishing these meals next lesson. If you’re having trouble, feel free to ask me on your way out.”
After Marcus packed up his things, he made his way toward the door, fully intent on not asking for help. He didn’t need it, and if he did, he wasn’t going to ask for it. He had more important things to do.
“…So the toast wasn’t much work, since I do it at home, but I could see Flint fiddling with it and doing horribly. It was pretty funny…”
Normally Flint didn’t pay much attention to what his classmates said, since it was mindless drivel more often than not, but he heard his name. What was worse? His name being spoken by Wood, who had no room to make fun of him for doing badly with some Muggle contraption.
He quickened his pace to catch up to Oliver and Percy (that idiot Weasley always seemed to be around the other Gryffindor for some reason or another), intentionally bumping his shoulder into the other captain. Oliver stumbled and nearly dropped his bag, a bothered look appearing on his face.
Marcus scowled faintly. “Probably better to spread nonsense like that when able ears aren’t listening, dolt.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business, git.” Oliver’s accent flared up when he responded, as it usually did when he spoke to Marcus. Just seeing the older one put him on his guard, and when they talked, it was even worse. As usual, he was on the defense. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Good thing it’s free, then,” Flint said, smirking smugly.
“Goes to prove not all free things are good,” the Gryffindor replied. He looked rather satisfied with himself. Percy laughed in response, but shut up when he noticed the acidic look that Marcus shot him. Oliver, who didn’t fail to notice it, shook his head. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were heading to lunch. You know, where there’s precooked food for you. Merlin knows you couldn’t survive otherwise, probably.”
Oh, that was it. Marcus wasn’t going to take that. Though he had been walking he came to a dead halt at that response, his nostrils flaring. More so now than ever Marcus hated it when someone called him incompetent, and he knew that, if given the chance, Oliver would bring up his having failed his seventh year the first time around. He just knew it…
His fingers had begun to curl into a fist when he realized that he wasn’t but a few feet away from the Head Boy. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble because of this, especially with a game coming up in the next few months against Ravenclaw. Being given detention or being suspended from the team were two rather unworthy results of one brief moment of satisfaction. But oh, how he wanted so badly to just clock the Keeper right upside the head.
“Whatever,” Marcus spat out angrily. “I can, too, fucking cook.”
And with that, he stalked off, feeling considerably more worked up than he had wanted to. Oliver and Percy watched him, giving each other a look before laughing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“What in the world do you think got up Flint’s arse?”
Oliver spread some peanut butter over his piece of toast, glancing at Percy. It was strange that Marcus had taken such offense to that, because their little spats never ended up being that bad; one would make fun of the other, the other would retort, they would share a little glare and move on. At least, that was how it had been last year and the year before that. This year they had more classes together—which meant more time together—due to the fact that Marcus had been held back for having failed his N.E.W.T.s. Sure, Oliver knew that was a sore subject, which was mostly why he didn’t want to bring it up. The last thing he needed was to get injured before the game against Hufflepuff.
Percy took a bite of his apple, shrugging some. “I haven’t the slightest idea. You know how enraged he can get, though, if something doesn’t work out for him. Remember how angry he was when Harry joined your team?”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Oliver replied thoughtfully. “But still, he never got that angry. He seems a lot quicker to anger this year.”
“Probably because he shouldn’t be here this year?” Percy gave Oliver a look that clearly showed his surprise in the fact that the other Gryffindor hadn’t taken notice of that fact.
The look went right over Wood’s head. He folded his piece of peanut butter toast, taking a bite. Like usual, he continued to speak, even when he had the food in his mouth. “You’re probably right. Whatever the case, he’ll take it out on the field. He always does.” With that Oliver glanced over at the Slytherin table, eyes searching for Marcus. He found the black haired boy among his friends, Pucey, Higgs and Warrington, but Flint didn’t look like he was all that content with whatever it was they were talking about.
“You ever think that his friends pick on him for being back this year?” Oliver asked.
Before Percy could respond, his younger brothers Fred and George took a seat across from him and Oliver. Fred grabbed an apple while George snorted. “’Course they do. I hear it all the time.”
“Should expect it from Slytherins,” Fred said before taking a bite.
Percy huffed. “Oh, honestly. There are better things to talk about at the lunch table than Marcus Flint.”
Oliver was about to say something when Fred and George cut in with a rather amused sounding “Oooh!”
Fred continued to speak. “Sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”
“I do not,” Percy stated flatly. “He just isn’t the best topic to discuss when eating.”
“So when is he a good topic?” George asked, winking.
The Head Boy rolled his eyes. “Enough of your idiocy, you two. Grow up.”
“No thanks,” Fred and George replied together.
Oliver remained pretty quiet while the three of them continued to bicker. His mind wandered to his next class, which was Herbology, and how he had forgotten to do the homework again. Quidditch practice had gotten the best of him (as it always did, for it was more important!), and he went to bed late in the night after working on some plays in his playbook. Homework was just a part of his participation mark, however, so if he did well in the practical participation today, then he would be just fine. Well, mostly.
To do that, however, he had to get this stupid guilt out of his head. He usually never felt guilty when he quarreled with Marcus, but this time, something was different. Chalk it up to his hating conflict, but he didn’t figure that he would do all that well today if something else was occupying his thoughts.
“I’ll see you two at practice tomorrow afternoon, after lessons,” Oliver said to Fred and George when he stood up. “And I’ll see you in Defense in a bit, Perce.”
The lunch bell hadn’t rung quite yet but he noticed Marcus getting up, so he decided to say something now instead of waiting until they had Charms together, which was late tomorrow afternoon. It wouldn’t be good for them to let it fester, that much was for sure. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder Oliver offered a wave to the three Weasleys, heading off towards the doors to the Great Hall.
Fred snorted after Oliver left. “Never pegged him to be the altruistic type.”
“Didn’t peg you for the type who knew what that meant,” Percy said, smirking a little.
George threw a small piece of bread at his older brother. “Shut up, Perce. And I don’t think he is,” he added. “Oliver probably just feels bad and wants to get rid of that. Anything to stop him from being distracted in practice later on…”
~*~**************************************************~*~
What's this one about, you ask? Well, there's this community called "7spells" at livejournal.com, where you take seven prompts and write a set of stories involving said prompts. I've written one for Marcus/Oliver and one for Viktor/Cedric, which I will be picking and choosing for uploads, since most of them aren't R/NC-17 rated. Anyways.
This will be a 7 chapter story, and this particular chapter's prompt is "Electric Shock".
Here's a key for what you'll find within:
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ = Scene/Time Change (Same Day)
------------------------------------------------------------ = Day(s) Later
Don't forget to review, and enjoy :D
Also, I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. I wish I did, but alas.
~*~**************************************************~*~
“Damn it.”
Marcus looked at the stupid toaster in front of him, a disdainful look upon his face with a somewhat irritated finger stinging him. The damn thing had given him a shock! How safe was that, giving the students something like this and trusting them to properly utilize it for making a breakfast without error? Marcus could make a decent breakfast without having to use these Muggle appliances. There was no point to being in the class!
Okay, so maybe there was…somewhat. He was supposed to be making toast with the toaster, but so far all he had managed to do was burn his bread and give himself an electric shock in the process. So much for making a meal sans magic! Why was he even in this course, anyways? He hated it so much, and it wasn’t like he was really going to need it in the future.
No, he knew why he was taking this course: his stupid mother was forcing him to. His mother, much to the chagrin of his father, was a pureblood who was accepting of Muggles and of their society. She told him it was necessary to take the bloody course, when all he really wanted to take was Ancient Runes, which, oddly enough, was the only course in which he got a passing N.E.W.T. score. But that didn’t matter, apparently, because here he was for yet another year, trying to re-pass Muggle Studies.
“Whatever,” he said crossly. He tried, and that was all that mattered. His bread had stopped sizzling and smoking, but instead of trying to fidget with it with his hand, this time Marcus waved his wand and caused it to flop out onto his desk. It landed on the desk just as the bell rang. “Thank Merlin,” he murmured to himself.
“All right, class!” the professor said, clapping her hands together. “Just leave your toasters on the desk and we’ll work on finishing these meals next lesson. If you’re having trouble, feel free to ask me on your way out.”
After Marcus packed up his things, he made his way toward the door, fully intent on not asking for help. He didn’t need it, and if he did, he wasn’t going to ask for it. He had more important things to do.
“…So the toast wasn’t much work, since I do it at home, but I could see Flint fiddling with it and doing horribly. It was pretty funny…”
Normally Flint didn’t pay much attention to what his classmates said, since it was mindless drivel more often than not, but he heard his name. What was worse? His name being spoken by Wood, who had no room to make fun of him for doing badly with some Muggle contraption.
He quickened his pace to catch up to Oliver and Percy (that idiot Weasley always seemed to be around the other Gryffindor for some reason or another), intentionally bumping his shoulder into the other captain. Oliver stumbled and nearly dropped his bag, a bothered look appearing on his face.
Marcus scowled faintly. “Probably better to spread nonsense like that when able ears aren’t listening, dolt.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business, git.” Oliver’s accent flared up when he responded, as it usually did when he spoke to Marcus. Just seeing the older one put him on his guard, and when they talked, it was even worse. As usual, he was on the defense. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Good thing it’s free, then,” Flint said, smirking smugly.
“Goes to prove not all free things are good,” the Gryffindor replied. He looked rather satisfied with himself. Percy laughed in response, but shut up when he noticed the acidic look that Marcus shot him. Oliver, who didn’t fail to notice it, shook his head. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were heading to lunch. You know, where there’s precooked food for you. Merlin knows you couldn’t survive otherwise, probably.”
Oh, that was it. Marcus wasn’t going to take that. Though he had been walking he came to a dead halt at that response, his nostrils flaring. More so now than ever Marcus hated it when someone called him incompetent, and he knew that, if given the chance, Oliver would bring up his having failed his seventh year the first time around. He just knew it…
His fingers had begun to curl into a fist when he realized that he wasn’t but a few feet away from the Head Boy. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble because of this, especially with a game coming up in the next few months against Ravenclaw. Being given detention or being suspended from the team were two rather unworthy results of one brief moment of satisfaction. But oh, how he wanted so badly to just clock the Keeper right upside the head.
“Whatever,” Marcus spat out angrily. “I can, too, fucking cook.”
And with that, he stalked off, feeling considerably more worked up than he had wanted to. Oliver and Percy watched him, giving each other a look before laughing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“What in the world do you think got up Flint’s arse?”
Oliver spread some peanut butter over his piece of toast, glancing at Percy. It was strange that Marcus had taken such offense to that, because their little spats never ended up being that bad; one would make fun of the other, the other would retort, they would share a little glare and move on. At least, that was how it had been last year and the year before that. This year they had more classes together—which meant more time together—due to the fact that Marcus had been held back for having failed his N.E.W.T.s. Sure, Oliver knew that was a sore subject, which was mostly why he didn’t want to bring it up. The last thing he needed was to get injured before the game against Hufflepuff.
Percy took a bite of his apple, shrugging some. “I haven’t the slightest idea. You know how enraged he can get, though, if something doesn’t work out for him. Remember how angry he was when Harry joined your team?”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Oliver replied thoughtfully. “But still, he never got that angry. He seems a lot quicker to anger this year.”
“Probably because he shouldn’t be here this year?” Percy gave Oliver a look that clearly showed his surprise in the fact that the other Gryffindor hadn’t taken notice of that fact.
The look went right over Wood’s head. He folded his piece of peanut butter toast, taking a bite. Like usual, he continued to speak, even when he had the food in his mouth. “You’re probably right. Whatever the case, he’ll take it out on the field. He always does.” With that Oliver glanced over at the Slytherin table, eyes searching for Marcus. He found the black haired boy among his friends, Pucey, Higgs and Warrington, but Flint didn’t look like he was all that content with whatever it was they were talking about.
“You ever think that his friends pick on him for being back this year?” Oliver asked.
Before Percy could respond, his younger brothers Fred and George took a seat across from him and Oliver. Fred grabbed an apple while George snorted. “’Course they do. I hear it all the time.”
“Should expect it from Slytherins,” Fred said before taking a bite.
Percy huffed. “Oh, honestly. There are better things to talk about at the lunch table than Marcus Flint.”
Oliver was about to say something when Fred and George cut in with a rather amused sounding “Oooh!”
Fred continued to speak. “Sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”
“I do not,” Percy stated flatly. “He just isn’t the best topic to discuss when eating.”
“So when is he a good topic?” George asked, winking.
The Head Boy rolled his eyes. “Enough of your idiocy, you two. Grow up.”
“No thanks,” Fred and George replied together.
Oliver remained pretty quiet while the three of them continued to bicker. His mind wandered to his next class, which was Herbology, and how he had forgotten to do the homework again. Quidditch practice had gotten the best of him (as it always did, for it was more important!), and he went to bed late in the night after working on some plays in his playbook. Homework was just a part of his participation mark, however, so if he did well in the practical participation today, then he would be just fine. Well, mostly.
To do that, however, he had to get this stupid guilt out of his head. He usually never felt guilty when he quarreled with Marcus, but this time, something was different. Chalk it up to his hating conflict, but he didn’t figure that he would do all that well today if something else was occupying his thoughts.
“I’ll see you two at practice tomorrow afternoon, after lessons,” Oliver said to Fred and George when he stood up. “And I’ll see you in Defense in a bit, Perce.”
The lunch bell hadn’t rung quite yet but he noticed Marcus getting up, so he decided to say something now instead of waiting until they had Charms together, which was late tomorrow afternoon. It wouldn’t be good for them to let it fester, that much was for sure. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder Oliver offered a wave to the three Weasleys, heading off towards the doors to the Great Hall.
Fred snorted after Oliver left. “Never pegged him to be the altruistic type.”
“Didn’t peg you for the type who knew what that meant,” Percy said, smirking a little.
George threw a small piece of bread at his older brother. “Shut up, Perce. And I don’t think he is,” he added. “Oliver probably just feels bad and wants to get rid of that. Anything to stop him from being distracted in practice later on…”
~*~**************************************************~*~