lucre_noin: Arthurian death (08)
[personal profile] lucre_noin
Titles: The war is over
Author: me (link)/(link)
Beta Reader: ShadowShini, the wonderful founder of Marcus/Oliver DA
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Warnings: Mentions of non descriptive torture and non-con; angsty; post-War
Summary: The war is over and sadness is still with us.
You can read it also on livejournal.

The first thing that the Auror asked him was: "Are you a Death Eater?"

And Marcus Flint wanted to scream. The room was cold and the blanket was removed by an overzealous doctor because stained with blood.

"No," said Marcus, who was still feeling the blood falling down his own nose and starting to drip onto his shirt.

As had happened many times, the Auror didn’t trust him and abruptly took his left wrist to control a non-existent brand or Dark Mark.

Marcus Flint knew that he was stupid (his mother had reminded him and nauseated him), but, thanks to Merlin's beard, his stupidity hadn’t reached the point of crawling and kneeling in front of the old Dark Lord.

"Flint. Marcus Flint, right?"

"Yes," he snapped. He began to feel pain and hear- no, there was no need to think about it now.

"Was Sean Flint your father?"


"Was he a Death Eater?"

"Yes, he was locked up in Azkaban when Vol-Voldemort fell." His voice was slightly nasal and he had to open his mouth to breathe better.

"Did you see the person who attacked you?"

"No. There were three, I think. I don’t remember."

The Auror raised an eyebrow. "Did you have your wand?"

"Yes, I had my wand," Marcus growled. Or maybe he wasn’t growling, maybe he was shivering. It was very cold. "But I didn’t expect, I-"

"What were you doing in Nocturne Alley, Mr. Flint?"

"I was selling the things in my uncle's shop. He’s dead now and I want to close it."

The Auror scribbled something in her notebook.

"Was your uncle a Death Eater?"

Marcus Flint didn’t need great imagination to guess what was going on behind the thick dark hair of the woman.
Surely she had lost a loved one under the cruel wand of a Death Eater or maybe something like this had happened to her in the war. And she was now forced to defend people like Marcus Flint, likely Eaters missed only because they didn’t have enough time to join the ranks of Lord Voldemort. Death Eater's children. Bad blood.

"Are you a pure blood?" continued the Auror and Marcus winced.

He began to feel tired. He wanted to sleep.

"What does it matter?" he managed to grumble.

"Answer the question, please. I'm just doing my work."


"Did you say something to your attackers before-"

"No - go away, I don't want to denounce anyone."

"Very well," the Auror replied, coldly closing her booklet and leaving without a second word.


Two days after the incident, Oliver sent him five owls.

Flint, you’re two hours late.
Flint, where are you?
Marcus, are you okay?
Answer me.
Marcus Flint, answer me or I'll come get you out of your house physically.
Marcus Flint wanted to answer, really, but he was too tired.


Three days after the incident, Oliver did as he promised and knocked on his door.

"Marcus, why didn’t you come to watch the match?" he asked as soon as Marcus opened the door.

Oliver always asked the best questions.

"I don’t know, I didn’t want to go out."

He didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to open the windows. (Because out there were shadows and he was tired of them).

"Are you sure you're okay?"



The first week after the accident, Marcus blamed Harry Potter.

It was that silly boy’s fault if ordinary people were going in the streets with tunics decorated with phoenixes to attack possible ex-Slytherin or ex-Death Eaters.

But anger quickly disappeared. Being angry was something that consumed a lot of energy.
So Marcus resigned from his team to not have to see the city surrounded with the posters of the famous Harry Potter with the lovely slogan about his victory against the dark forces.

(In any case, his team wouldn’t have felt much because of Marcus, he was just one of many reserves).


Three weeks after the accident, Oliver found out that something actually happened.

Wood had always been a clever guy and probably had only put together the broken parts of the stories that Marcus had begun to tell. Or maybe one of his Auror friends had warned him of something.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

Dear Oliver, I'm sorry I didn’t answer your owls, but I didn’t want to bother you just two days before your game against the Bulgarians. I hope you’re well and, yes, today I was assaulted by three unknown Death Eater-haters. I don’t know why.
Yes, that's me, Marcus Flint, I let my wand slip from my hand like an idiot.

I probably won’t come to see your next game because every time I close my eyes I see... I don’t want to talk about it.

"I don’t know."

Oliver knelt before him and Marcus, sitting on the sofa with his head bowed, couldn’t help but look him in the face.

"Are you okay?"


Oliver's hands were cold on his forehead and while he kissed him Marcus forced himself to keep his eyes open to be sure that Oliver was still there.


Four weeks after the incident, Oliver found out that Marcus was lying again.

"You're taking a dreamless potion?"


Oliver threw the potion into a basket and sat down in front of him.

"Let’s go out to dinner," he said, unexpectedly.

"I don’t want to leave."

"I’m with you."

And Marcus decided that Oliver was a nuisance, but he didn’t feel like insulting him at that moment and went out to have dinner with him.


Five weeks after the incident, Marcus invited Oliver to stay the night.

Marcus looked uncertain and kissed him, because he was Marcus Flint, tall as a troll and able to scare anyone with a grin.
But when they were in bed and Oliver stopped him and told him that they were going to sleep because it had been a long day, Marcus didn’t protest and that night they dreamed of shadows.


Twelve weeks and six days after the incident, Marcus told Oliver everything that had happened.
He told him about his uncle's shop and the three men with red tunics. The symbol of the phoenix.
Death Eater, pureblood, words used as injuries and insults, a follower of the devil, the son of Azkaban, rotten blood, where is your dark mark? Were you able to take it off?
He told him everything. The broken nose, the tattered clothes, their hands on his shoulders and a splintered wand.

He told him about that Auror and her questions.

And finally, when Oliver threatened to go throw a fireball in the ministry, Marcus stopped him, put his hand on his shoulder, and told him he was a stupid Gryffindor.


Seventeen weeks after the incident, Marcus went out with his Firebolt Reload and flew to Oliver's house.

Oliver lived in a small apartment in the center of the magical part of London. A house that looked a little dull on the outside with the gray facade, but once inside, it expanded with a huge garden and a small fountain.

When he knocked on the door and it opened, Marcus didn’t wait for Oliver to greet him or kiss him.

"Come on, I returned to training. So I can finally whip your ass when I play the Tornadoes."

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