#also i'm sorry oliver unable to play quidditch made me sad too

[nevillelongsbottom]

4 with flintwood, jily, wolfstar, and Charlie/Draco (is this me being greedy) (yes it is)

It ain’t greedy if it’s got Charlie/Draco in there! And I like all these ships anyway. Problem is, Jily and Wolfstar are taking me a small eternity to do, so I’m just going to post the two I’ve done now since I feel like I’m making you wait forever and then post the other two as they get finished (if you want to send them again, that’s cool and I can answer it when they’re done)! I’m sorry it’s taking me a while, I just don’t want to disappoint so I’ve already trashed 2 Wolfstars (I’ll get there eventually!).

But here we are: Charlie/Draco and Flintwood (with a snowball fight)!

Charlie/Draco + In The Moment KissDraco develops a habit of drinking.

Charlie Weasley finds this out when, still a month or twoaway from when he’s expected to return to Romania, he starts volunteering aspart of the Ministry’s veterans support service; he works a night shift so thathe doesn’t have to hear George and Percy wake up screaming or get up in themiddle of the night to find Ron having gripped a mug of tea so hard he’sshattered it, and he sits just outside the special ward at St Mungo’s, in aplastic chair, waiting for people who need his help. His usual fare are peoplestill inconsolable with loss and grief, or people so depressed just being inthe same room as them drains his energy; he lucks out and avoids the drinkerson his shifts until Draco arrives one night, alive like a thunderstorm,Theodore Nott clinging uncomfortably to his arm.

He becomes a frequent visitor; Charlie files permission tomake house calls every now and then, and though he’s denied the right to dothem himself, the Ministry change their minds when three support workers arerebuffed, the doors slammed in their face and the wards around Malfoy Manorstrengthened each time. When Charlie arrives, Draco opens the door, looks himup and down, and steps aside before he even announces his business. 

“I haven’t had anything to drink, before you ask,” he sayssourly. A house-elf moves to make Charlie tea; he dismisses it lightly and doesit himself, manually, like a Muggle. Draco would scoff if he didn’t have to doit himself, something to keep him grounded and all there, no matter how simple. 

“I wasn’t going to accuse you,” Charlie answers, only usingmagic to pour the milk because he can only ever get it right that way. “I justcame to see how you were doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” he snaps. Charlie blows on histea and doesn’t answer, his gaze steady, inquisitive. “I should’ve shut thedoor on you, too. I’m upset, alright? Is that what you want to hear?

”“I just want you to tell me how you really feel,” Charliesays patiently. “Like shit. Don’t you?”

Charlie cracks a smile. “Every day.”

-

He visits sporadically during the week, trying to keepthings interesting, trying to catch Draco out, in a moment of weakness. Henever does. Nott had explained that he was a night drinker - the dark scaredDraco, a physical manifestation of his mental fears - but Charlie hadn’texpected it to be so rigidly true. 

He almost looks forward to their visits, sometimes.

He’s on a night shift again when it happens; he’s sitting inthat plastic chair of his and wondering if anyone would mind if he Transfiguredit into something nicer when Neville Longbottom arrives by Apparition, Dracofalling in beside him and trying to lunge at him once they’ve recovered fromtheir materialisation (Charlie wants to complement Neville on a well-done pieceof advanced magic under pressure). Charlie shoves himself in the way, pushingDraco back and barking at him like he’s a badly behaved dragon to stop fightingas Neville wipes some of the blood from his cheek.

“Did he pick a fight with you?” Charlie asks, having heardtoo many a story of Longbottom’s disasters and shyness to suspect anywrongdoing on his part. Neville nods. “Alright. You head on home; I’ll takecare of him.” Without even waiting to watch Neville go, Charlie spins around,seething. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He can tell that Draco isn’t even that drunk, and that’swhat makes him so angry as the Slytherin shrugs. “Fancied giving Longbottom arun for his money.”

Charlie pulls at his hair and groans, trying to keep himselftogether. It doesn’t work. “You can’t do that, Draco! You can’t ask for andwish for redemption and then beat up the real war heroes, because that’s asurefire way to show that you’re not sorry at all and reconfirm yourself asevil! Don’t pretend to me that you’ve had it worse, either, because your familyare all alive. I lost a brother, a precious brother, and I have to live in themess left behind every day and while I know your problems are different from mine,you can’t use them as excuses! Do you see George punching people because theother half of his soul is dead? Because I don’t! And you don’t get to do this!”He’s so angry he feels like he’s about to see spots when he hears Draco shiftand suddenly there’s a mouth enveloping his. 

He knows sensibly that he shouldn’t be doing this, butCharlie is hardly the poster boy for sensible, and he grips at Draco, pushinghard into the kiss, fierce like his dragons, channeling everything into thisone moment, this one crush of lips on lips and twisted tangle of tongues,strong and hot and everything and like the release of all of his frustrationsat once and he wonders if he might explode in this moment, fingers dug intoDraco’s shoulders and Draco’s hands making waves on Charlie’s back beneath hisshirt.

He’s still angry when he draws back the kiss, figuring thatDraco might never. “You’re not off the hook,” he says.

“Yeah,” nods Draco. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Then go home and get some sleep. I’ll be over tomorrow.” 

The taste of Charlie’s lips and of his frustration is stillthere on Draco’s lips when he steps out into the street, calling for the KnightBus. Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas, to kiss a fuming Dragonologist, but asDraco reaches up to aimlessly touch his bottom lip, he thinks that he’d love tobe in that line of fire again. 

Flintwood + In The Moment Kiss“Okay, get on over to your next class. Don’t forget yourhomework – next Thursday, you’ve got more than a week, and unless you’re beingtreated by Madam Pomfrey for the next week there’s no excuse good enough.”Oliver watches the group of first years file out of the classroom and he yawns,snapping shut his personal copy of QuidditchThrough The Ages, the spine worn by many a reread. Though his FlyingLessons certainly never included actually studying Quidditch and the history offlight and the game, the curriculum has been updated since his first year, andhe’s certainly kept busy with all the new work.

“Mr Wood,” McGonagall says; he starts, not having even heardher enter. Though she should be calling him Oliver, as they’re now equals,breaking the habit proves difficult; he can still barely get past calling herMinerva. “We’ve hired an assistant for you – I have noted that it is ratherdifficult to keep an eye on an entire class of first years in the sky – and I’dlike you to meet him.”

Oliver remembers her mentioning this; he still thinks thatit’s a good idea.

Until Marcus Flint walks in.

Merlin’s hairy balls.Oliver hasn’t seen Marcus since seventh year, and really, he’d hoped to neversee Marcus again. He doesn’t have a vendetta, but Marcus had always caused anuncomfortable swell of feelings in his belly, and Oliver has never been one foraddressing his feelings. Marcus mighthave a vendetta, though, especially considering their track record together.“Wood,” he says, looking as predatory as ever.

“Flint,” Oliver says, quirking an eyebrow.

“I know your history, you two, and if there’s any whiff of you two fighting, you’ll be outof here like a flash – is that understood?” McGonagall says sharply; Olivernods. He hopes he can keep his patience – his Quidditch career had been endedearly by too many incidents of injuries causing irreparable damage, and helikes this job. He can’t imagine being anywhere else. “Good. I expect the bestfrom the two of you.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves. Marcusglares. “Didn’t think it would be you.”

“All the other Quidditch players are coaching or playing.I’m the only one with free time for this.” 

“How come?” Marcus asks, sitting on top of one of the desks. 

“Magic can’t fix everything,” Oliver shrugs. 

Marcus notices that, when Oliver strides between the deskslater that day to take in homework, he walks with a limp. He’s not a Quidditchcaptain anymore; he walks with that straightness, and still has the strength inhis arms, but he’s not the Keeper anymore.

Marcus finds him handsome anyway.

-

“Sir, I was in the infirmary all week because I took a bludgerto the head last Quidditch match.”

“Alright, okay, that’s a reasonable excuse. I’d like it insometime next week, though, yeah? And watch out for those bludgers. They hithard.” Oliver pats the student on the back and smiles. “Now hurry up, McGonagall’llkill me if you’re late and it’s my fault.”

“Thanks, Professor Wood!”

“No problem.” 

Marcus watches the flare of Gryffindor robes as the studentskips away to Transfiguration. He had been refereeing that match, a trial ofhis skill in refereeing, whilst Oliver had been sitting in the stands, watchingintently. It had been in the slightest way nerve-wracking, but he had enjoyedthe feeling of Oliver watching him, studying him, even though he hadn’t knownthat Oliver might’ve been studying him in a different way.

He’s a Slytherin, and the hearts of Slytherins never brokewhile he was at school, but his heart breaks sometimes when he sees Oliver flynow, so reserved, none of that daring he had in school. 

But he’s kind, tempered, a good Professor. Marcus would loveto be on the receiving end of those smiles, those pats on the backs, thosegrins and that praise. 

“Was he really?” Marcus asks. “Not the whole week,” Oliver replies, “but I reckon we canlet him off, just this once.”

-

Marcus can’t sleep for dreams of Oliver Wood on a goddamnbroom, and, thrilled by the novelty of actually being able to leave his room,goes to the Quidditch pitch, taking ten points from a wandering Ravenclawstudent on the way. 

It doesn’t surprise him much that Oliver is already there,balancing rather precariously as he sits inside one of the goalposts. It wouldbe normal to just stand or sit on the pitch, but of course, Oliver is a fuckingmaniac and has to be back at his post, even though it’s no longer his, and shit, Marcus thinks, he’s gorgeous.

He’s kind and he’s gorgeous and that smile of his is goingto kill somebody one day.

Marcus wants to make a move. Instead, he goes back inside.

-

He’s forgotten how much he enjoyed the winters at Hogwarts –it snows and it’s up to his calves and the building is always comfortablyheated so that when he comes in from helping Oliver with lessons it’s nice andhe doesn’t have to bury himself in layers of clothes. And he gets to watchsnowball fights out the window, cackling with glee as a Slytherin pelts aGryffindor in the face.

“Please stop laughing where the students can see you,Flint,” McGonagall advises as she passes him by, so he steps away from thewindow and ventures into his classroom; Oliver is marking essays, his cup ofcoffee stirring itself. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Marcus asks; Oliver hasseemingly been marking these for an eternity. 

“These students have terrible handwriting,” Oliver grumbles.

“Snowball fight.”

“What?”

“You can’t play Quidditch. We should have a snowball fight.It’s boring here.”

“That’s true.” Oliver gets up and takes a last-minute sip ofhis coffee, pulling a sweater on before his coat and scarf. “You know I’ll win,though.”

“In your dreams.” 

Many of the students stop to admire two of their teachers,absorbed completely in a brutal snowball fight, wands and all – they’re theyoungest on the team, and Oliver is popular, having a whole fanclub to himself,but neither of them care: they’re busy having a snowball fight, eager to beatthe other, years of rivalry still strong. Oliver loves it: his life withoutQuidditch has been horrible, and the idea that he can still have fun, stillcompete – it’s perfect.

And he’s beating Marcus Flint.

“Suck it, Flint!”he bellows, narrowly avoiding a snowball aimed at his head and flicking hiswand, sending three snowballs in a triangle, two of which hit their target. 

“You watch it, Wood!”A student starts betting on which one of them will win. A snowballhits Oliver in the face: hard, brick ice, Scottish snow. “You bastard! I’mgetting you for that!” He moves from behind the snow tower he’s created (he’sScottish; it pays off) and sprints for Marcus, snowball in hand, whacking himfull-force in the face, a beautiful coup d’état. Marcus glares at him, pawinghis glove into the snow for another go, when, still elated by his perceivedvictory, Oliver leans in and kisses him, wrapping his arms around Marcus’sgiant down jacket and pulling him in with that Keeper strength.

Marcus kisses back, unwavering; this has been what he’swanted long before he even left Hogwarts, and Oliver’s mouth is hot incomparison to the cold of the snow seeping through their gloves and layers,moving ferociously as if kissing were just the next stage in their eternalcompetition that Marcus is keen not to lose, pushing back, their mouths justbecoming a clattering of tongue and teeth until they fall from pushing eachother so hard into the snow, Oliver rolling over.

Marcus takes the opportunity to dump a snowball down theback of his neck. He does not earn a kiss for that move; instead, he makes arun across the grounds, Oliver following closely behind him, yelling about howhe’s definitely going to kill him for that, and thinks that this is probablythe best time he’s ever had. 

#i feel like the flintwood one is terrible but hey it's a snowball fight! #love a snowball fight #and some edge from draco #charlie's just worried tbh #he just wants draco to stop drinking cus he's alright #and for him to be ok #also i'm sorry oliver unable to play quidditch made me sad too #but i liked him being able to find solace in something else #especially snowball fights #and teaching #i write shit #flintwood #marcus flint #oliver wood #charlie weasley #draco malfoy #prompt fill