flintwood + marcus suddenly being nice for @fliintwoods
(bonus: people get injured and its the freakiest of fridays. and it’s from changing povs!! hahaha im so tired)
doll im soooo sorry this took so long i took some stupid bitch juice and i may have twisted the concept a bit but i hope u like it
-
When the both the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch Teams stalked off the pitch without both their captains, there was no aggressive tinge of animosity in the air, no violent urge to fight, nothing. No, now was not the time to act on their rivalry, not when this had happened.
It went like this.
Marcus Flint caught the ball. He began to zoom towards the goals with all the swift skill of a truly experienced player. He’s going fast.
Oliver Wood had his hands up, eyes narrowed, following the player as he zigzagged through players, obstacles. And it’s down to the two of them, as per usual.
A wayward bludger. Finally, they both lost control. Marcus crashed into Oliver, a nasty collision of their heads, and they were sent tumbling unconsciously to the ground in a mess of blood, broken bone, and all everyone else could do was fumble for their wands or watch, horrified.
It’s like a car wreck. Your eyes betray the rest of your body, your eyelids pasted wide open rather than squeezed shut. And you watch.
So no.
The two teams couldn’t fight over this.
Angelina Johnson placed a cautious hand onto Terence Higgs’ shoulder, an olive branch, a white flag, as they walk off the pitch silently.
He didn’t shake it off. He’d never admit it, but perhaps he leant into it.
--
Then it’s the freakiest of Fridays.
But they wouldn’t realise that yet.
--
Oliver woke up cold, blinded by heavy drapes. He frowned. Normally, the sun would flood through his curtains, no matter drawn or not.
He raised a hand to cover his mouth, yawning, then to run a hand through his hair, and yelped in shock. His hair was coarse, short and trimmed at the sides. Oliver looked at his hands.
They were big, his knuckles scarred and bruised, the blue of his veins standing out on the pale backs of his hands. They ran up his forearms, then his biceps, straining against his simple black shirt.
These hands were not Oliver’s.
He got up much too quickly for someone so heavily concussed, groaning as he swatted the windows open, letting the green-washed light into his room, blinking as black dots appeared in his vision. He mustered all the strength he had and staggered to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and looking in the mirror.
Oliver threw up into the sink, heaving and retching, and when he finally looked back up into his reflection, he only saw Marcus Flint.
--
Adrian had automatically known something was off when Marcus, pale faced and looking rather timid, said “sorry” when he knocked into Terence.
Marcus walked straight to him, tapping him on the shoulder, and Adrian beamed. “’Lo, Flint.”
“Morning,Pucey.” Marcus’ voice was a pitch high, and his eyes were flicking around, side to side.
Adrian frowned. He’d said good morning.
Marcus’s knuckles were clenched so tight that they were white. “Need to talk to you. In private, please.”
He’d said please.
They stalked off, out of the Great Hall and into an empty classroom, and Marcus spun around, wincing from the ache in his head.
“What is it?” Adrian asked kindly.
“I’mnotMarcusFlintIdon’tknowwhyI’minhisbodybutIthinkhemightbeinmine.” The older boy blurted what sounded to be nonsense to Adrian’s ears.
“Come again?”
Marcus took a deep breath. “I’m not Marcus Flint. I’m Oliver Wood, I don’t know why I’m in his body but I think he might be in mine?”
Adrian’s jaw all but fell to the floor. The doors of their classroom then slammed open, Marcus letting out a truly uncharacteristic squeak. A furious looking Angelina Johnson was dragging Oliver Wood in by the ear.
“Morning, Captain.” Angelina snapped at Marcus, then shoving Oliver at him.
“Morning Angie.” Marcus said absently. Angelina looked vaguely nauseated that he was addressing her so casually from another body.
“Bloody hell, woman.” Oliver, who was Marcus, rubbed his ear, then his temples. “My head felt like it got trampled by an erumpent and you’re grabbing me by my fucking ear!”
Marcus, who was Oliver, scowled. “Does my accent actually sound like that?”
Angelina chose not to grace the statement with an answer, instead turning to Adrian. “How do we fix it?”
--
Pomfrey didn’t believe them at first.
“I can’t believe you let those horrid Weasley twins get you in on a joke.” She had said crossly, and Angelina had to beg her to hear them out.
“If you’d like me to provide some proof, I will, ma’am.” Oliver said, sounding all too grouchy to be the real Oliver. “For example, Wood’s got a tiny cock.” He began to raise his hands to demonstrate.
Marcus gasped furiously, smacking Oliver in the shoulder. “You- you’ve seen my-”
“Would’ve looked worse if you wet yourself in class, arsehole, don’t get your knickers in a twist over it.” Oliver snapped.
“Flint, you pervert, I do not have a tiny- speaking of knickers, why does your mum send you so many tighty-whities-”
Pomfrey cleared her throat before Oliver lunged at Marcus, the downward curve of her mouth going much deeper than they thought was humanly possible. “I believe you. Not because of that lewd comment, Mr Flint, mind yourself please.” She directed this at Oliver.
He grinned, looking feral.
“It’s a simple fix- you will need to come into see me every day for as long as I see fit after I cast the spell on you, and you two will have to spend some quality time together. Theres’s a chance you two will pick up certain traits or habits from one another- they’ll go away with time, don’t make that face, Mr Fli- Wood.”
She pulled out her wand.
Oliver and Marcus shared a glance before quickly looking away.
--
People looked at Marcus funny the day he held the door open for people and openly smiled at everyone, even Oliver.
Whoever made fun of the fact that Oliver’s thick Scottish brogue had suddenly become a softer Welsh got hexed into the next week by Angelina.
--
Whoever poked fun at the pair sitting across from one another on a sickly-white hospital bed, scowling as Pomfrey put them through more icebreakers, got beat on by Adrian Pucey.
When Marcus cried after winning a quidditch match and Oliver scowled and swore at his own teammates, people began to stop batting an eyelash.
--
When people found the two snogging in the locker rooms, three months after the incident, nobody even bothered questioning it.
pairings: marcus flint/oliver wood, draco malfoy/harry potter, terence higgs/adrian pucey
summary: as a part of a house unity exercise, oliver is put in slytherin.
this doesn't fare well for his nerves; after all, he's been denying he's liked marcus for years
note: ez ( @rlversongs ) proofed this for me thank u love u, also in case u can’t tell by the summary which u cant because its super short, harry, hermione and fred were also moved to slytherin!! read to find out what happens ;)))
-
When practice was over, Oliver overheard the girls talking.
"Well, you know, Malfoy and Harry probably like each other, with all their pigtail pulling. Boys don't know any other way, really." Katie whispered.
"I mean, probably, they're obsessed. Harry's always raving about how much he despises Malfoy, how he's so arrogant and cocky and his stupid hair is always slicked back-" They broke into a fit of giggles.
"They remind me a bit of Ollie and Flint." Angelina said, and Oliver froze. "Ever since they started playing against each other they're always bumping each other in the corridors and saying adorably rude things on the pitch, trying to get each other's attention. Makes me wonder-"
Oliver chose to turn away at this point, to make his way back to the Slytherin dorms with Harry and Fred.
He and Marcus were so not like Harry and Malfoy.
What he and Marcus had was not obsessive, nor was it romantic. It was a rivalry. Those were natural, and it came with the sport they played.
