I Love You, Melancholy

Author's Notes: This is the last chapter of the seven. I hope you all enjoyed the story, because I know that I sure did! Also, don't own these characters.

Key:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ = Scene/Time Change (Same Day)

------------------------------------------- = Day(s) Later

Don't forget to review :D

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Returning to Hogwarts that January was probably one of the easier trips back. The snow had let off for a little while, which raised the temperature and made the walk back to the castle considerably more enjoyable. When classes started up the following day, the professors, realizing that being reunited with their friends would distract the students, hit them fast and hard with homework, which didn’t go over well in the slightest. There were a lot of groans and griping, which the professors promptly ignored.

Of course, some of them had other things to worry about, like Quidditch. Marcus had a game against Ravenclaw on his mind, and, when it came to pass, things didn’t go as well as he would have liked. With all of the homework, Marcus barely had time for practice, which was beyond infuriating for him, since he had to beat Ravenclaw. And although he did just that, it was a narrow defeat, with Malfoy catching the Snitch just before Chang did. The score was only ten points apart, and that just wasn’t right. They were better than that, definitely better. But, the nice thing was, it secured them a spot at the end of the year for the final Quidditch match.

Flint had decided to wait a day or two before he spent some more time with Oliver. This was good for the both of them, since the younger boy had booked the pitch for five nights a week in order to prepare them for their upcoming game against Ravenclaw, which was only a few weeks away, and Marcus was still feeling a little annoyed by the fact that he had made such a narrow win. Just thinking about Oliver practicing irritated him a bit, because Potter had a Firebolt, and that was just oh-so fair.

He still remembered when Oliver came to him the day after the term started, a bright grin on his face that just couldn’t be wiped off.

“Marcus, you’ll never believe it! Potter got hold of a Firebolt! Did you hear that, a Firebolt! I can’t believe it, this is amazing!”

It made him somewhat sick.

But, he didn’t let that get to him so much, since there was the chance that Potter wouldn’t know how to properly use it. He wasn’t going to be getting it back any time soon, from what Oliver had told him. Practicing on a broom other than your own was difficult…and if he didn’t get to practice on the Firebolt…well, there was no way anyone could learn the intricacies of such a broom in just a few days. Ravenclaw would likely win, which would put Gryffindor back down again, and that was fine with him.

About two weeks before the game took place, Marcus managed to catch Oliver alone for a night, which had proven to be rather hard for him to do. They had decided to, once again, go to their empty little spot in the Charms corridor.

It was Marcus’ hope that, with this evening, he and Oliver would go a little further. They had snogged some here previously, and then there was their little groping session they had had in the bathroom at the Hog’s Head, but Marcus wanted more. He didn’t think it was all that out of the ordinary, and, given the way that they had both responded to one another just before winter holidays, it didn’t seem like a totally farfetched idea.

Though, it probably would have been better if Marcus had thought about it after the game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw that was coming up. He knew that Oliver was obsessed with Quidditch, but it was just getting ridiculous. They were sitting in their spot sometime after ten-thirty that night, which was later than they should have been out. It was, however, the only way to guarantee some proper alone time. Marcus was resting against the arm and back of their little sofa, with Oliver nestled against him. A compromising position, yes, but like anyone was going to be around that late.

Oliver was murmuring quietly to himself again about plays, which Marcus could clearly hear.

“Oliver…” he said irritably. At first he had been nice about it, but now he was getting tired of it.

“What?” Wood replied quickly. He had clearly been knocked out of whatever focus he had had before, and a confused look appeared on his face. As he shifted, he looked at Marcus in the eyes.

“You’re talking to yourself again about the damn match. Come on, can’t you put Quidditch aside for like, one minute?”

The younger captain appeared aghast at the question. “Look…look at who you’re talking to,” he said, letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah, well, far be it from me to think that for maybe one fucking minute, we could do something,” Marcus said. His irritable tone had become a lot harder, because he was getting tired of it. It was a little inappropriate, and he was getting angrier than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. “I know you love Quidditch, but the damn match isn’t for another couple of weeks. Why don’t you just not pay attention in class like you usually do and think about it then?”

Oliver, still looking bemused, pulled back and away from the older one, who, at first, wouldn’t let him go. “God, Flint, what’s wrong with you? We’ve only been apart for like, what, two weeks, and you want to go at it or something? I’m not a damn plaything for you to screw around with all the time. Can’t we just enjoy sitting together?”

Marcus scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t say I wanted to ‘go at it’!” He used air quotes here, and his cheeks turned the slightest shade of red at his having been found out. He wasn’t going to stand for being that predictable, especially when he was in an argument. “Merlin forbid the two of us enjoy a damned kiss or two. You haven’t given me one since we’ve gotten back!”

“Stop yelling!” Oliver hissed.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I please,” Marcus snapped. He knew that his voice was carrying into the hall, but he doubted that anyone was around, let alone actually awake.

Furrowing his brow, the Keeper stood up and brushed his hands down his front. “Fine, see if I care that you get in trouble. I’m leaving.”

“Whatever, Wood. Go ahead, run off.”

“Whatever,” Oliver retorted in exasperation.

Marcus watched as the other boy stalked off. How stupid was he to act like that? He was just about to comment on something when he heard the other boy’s footsteps come to a very abrupt stop. What had—

“Oh, shit,” he cursed quietly.

Oliver walked back, albeit very slowly, accompanied by Professor Lupin.

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Detention.

Detention.

Granted, it had only been after lessons for three days, but still, Oliver had only gotten detention a few times in his time at Hogwarts, and it had always been about something classroom-related. So, to get it for being out past curfew was something new to him, but nonetheless unacceptable. In all reality, it hadn’t protruded into any of his activities…all it had done was take away time from him, but that still made Oliver angry.

Then again, maybe he was just angry that it had been their fight that had led to the detention. How dare Flint act like that to him? Wood had a lot on his mind! Ravenclaw had just barely lost to Slytherin, and he wasn’t going to lose to them—they were no doubt practicing harder than they had before so they could beat Gryffindor. Oliver wouldn’t let that happen.

Hopefully Potter had his Firebolt by then…

Both Marcus and Oliver were too angry to speak with one another unless they absolutely had to. It was probably best that they didn’t, because if the two of them did talk, they would have probably made their situation worse. Given that they both had hot tempers, they needed to cool down, and the best way to do that was to keep away from each other.

In the few days that Oliver practiced for the game (Potter had retrieved his Firebolt), Marcus had been spending a bit of time with Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy. He and Terence had gotten into a fight after Flint told him what had happened, so he needed some other form of entertainment, and since Pucey was usually with Terence, he was out of the question…the other members of the Quidditch team had friends in their own years, so that left Marcus with very few choices. Truth be told, it probably would have been better for him not to have chosen those three as makeshift companions, because they were ridiculous and foolish…

And also were the ones who led him to want to mess around with his rival captain’s game. Marcus wouldn’t admit to himself that he was being so childish as to do something like what he was going to do, but he was still doing it. He was angry, and it was needless to say that, when he felt that way, he didn’t make the smartest choices.

It was with that in mind that he, along with the other three Slytherins, made their way onto the pitch someway into the game, dressed as Dementors. It was nice outside, with a clear blue sky and a cool breeze, which made them stand out quite nicely. They were going to get in so much trouble for doing this, the Slytherin captain knew, but he had nothing to lose.

Anything to win, after all.

So there they were for a moments, pretending to be scary Dementors, when something knocked them flat on their backsides and caused them to be disoriented. Marcus hadn’t been given much time to enjoy the fruits of his stupid action, because Potter hadn’t reacted the way they had expected, and they were taken off the pitch in their disorientation, being taken to Professor Snape’s office. After a rather harsh verbal assault, they were sent off.

Marcus was sitting in the dormitory, staring at the top of his four-poster when he heard the door swing open. Glancing over at it, he saw Terence stepping in. They weren’t talking, but he was tired of it, because he wanted to know what had happened after he left—or rather, was taken to Snape’s office and then ordered to go to his dormitory.

“Hey, Terence,” he said non-chalantly, still looking at the other boy, “what’s up?”

“Oh, we’re talking now?” Terence replied curtly. He had moved over to his bed and was fidgeting with part of the covers, now looking somewhat touchy. “Funny.”

“Oh come on,” Marcus said, sitting up. “I was in a bad mood. Sorry.”

The taller Slytherin paused for a moment before turning to his friend, sighing. “…Yeah, fine. Okay. But still, you didn’t need to bite my head off like that, you arse. You were the one who wanted to tell me what was going on. I was just listening.”

“Sorry,” he said again, though he didn’t mean it as much as it had originally. He paused, too. “…So what happened at the game?”

Terence replied rather simply. “Gryffindor won.”

“Fuck. Still?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I dunno, it wasn’t that bad of a game, honestly. Wood was playing pretty fiercely. Guess he’s still pissed at you.”

“Probably more so now,” Marcus mused. He sounded briefly worried, but hardened his tone afterward and shook his head. “But whatever, he deserved it.”

“Just because he was thinking about Quidditch when he was with you?” Terence moved toward his friend’s bed and folded his arms over his chest. “No offense, but I stand by what I said earlier: you were being a royal git. If you don’t want to lose what you’ve got, then you should probably go and apologize.”

Marcus said nothing.

“Well?” Terence pushed.

“Tomorrow.”

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Everyone was talking about it the next day: the Gryffindor dormitories had been ransacked after their stupid little party that they had thrown in honor of having won the game against Ravenclaw. Of course, Marcus had been a little weirded out by the fact that the school had been attacked like that. The Dementors were supposed to stop stuff like that, weren’t they? They weren’t doing their job so well!

Since it was a Saturday, everyone came down to breakfast at different times of the morning. Oliver was there at the same time as usual, as Marcus had expected; there were so few other people that he could hear nearly all of the conversations going on within the Great Hall as he approached the Gryffindor table.

“Wanna talk to you,” he said simply, pointing at the younger boy. Anyone listening wouldn’t really understand the true reason behind it, and that was just fine. He wanted them to think that it was just a captain thing. Rumors be damned, really.

Oliver didn’t say anything at first, but when he noticed that Marcus wasn’t leaving, he finally offered a quiet, resigned, “Fine” and got up, following the Slytherin out of the Great Hall and into the corridor just outside it.

There was going to be too much foot traffic here, Marcus figured, and so he gestured toward the left of the corridor, which led to the staircase that led down to the dungeon. It was about as private as they were going to get without appearing weird, he figured. Going into one of the empty classrooms on the ground floor would certainly do that.

When they were alone, Marcus noticed Oliver folding his arms over his chest, looking rather impatient.

“What do you want, Flint?”

“Well, first you can knock that tone down a few levels. Who’re you, mister high-and-mighty?”

“Certainly better than you,” Wood replied shortly. “I can’t believe you’d stoop that low. It’s one thing to sabotage a game when you’re playing against me, but when you’re not? Were you that pissed off?”

Marcus took the offense, feeling that if he didn’t now, he wasn’t going to have the same momentum as he would at that very moment. He spoke quietly, but his tone was clearly angry. “Honest truth? Yeah, I was. You really made me mad, Wood. I know you’re fucking obsessed with Quidditch, but is it so much to ask that you think about me once in a while?”

“I do,” Oliver explained. “But you know that Quidditch comes first and foremost. Always.”

As someone who never liked taking a backseat to anything, Marcus looked incredibly angry. His lip curled and he let out a clearly bothered sound. “Always?”

“Always. That simple.” Wood shrugged.

“So if I asked you to choose between me and Quidditch—”

“—I’d think the answer would be pretty clear, but I don’t want to have to choose.”

“Too bad, Wood,” Marcus said, pursing his lips for a moment. “You just fucking did.”

As Marcus turned on his heel and began to walk off, he realized that he didn’t know what he had been expecting. He knew that it would have never lasted, but he hadn’t thought it would be over so quickly. Granted, he had done some damage to the relationship, but so had Oliver, and it had taken a lot of Marcus’ courage to finally admit to himself that he liked the Keeper more than he was had originally realized.

It would appear, though, that their relationship was right back to where it started: they were rivals again in Marcus’ eyes. History was repeating itself.

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