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No one ever called Bole by his first name without explicit permission. Marcus did, once, and ended up pinned against the wall by a snarling Bole. Sometimes he's almost tempted to do it again, just to have it happen again. Almost.
He doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows what he doesn’t want. He doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to watch his friends die, doesn’t want to realise he’ll never play Quidditch again, even if they war would be over now, and most of all, he doesn’t want to be in love with Marcus Flint.
Marcus remembers a time when facing Oliver Wood meant trying to get the Quaffle past him. Now, standing here with their wands drawn on each other, he has to make a choice between the Dark Lord and the man he’s loved since he was thirteen.
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Squeee. God, I'm pathetic, but textslash? The best thing in the world.
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