Author's Notes: It's been a LONG time since I've published anything I've written for the HP world. I more or less fell out of the fandom after Deathly Hallows came out, despite every attempt not to. But with the movies coming out and the new Lego game grabbing my attention, my love for everything HP came roaring back-especially for my OTP, Marcus/Oliver. Just a small short story post-DH to help me get back in the groove of things. Please let me know what you think in a review :) I would love to hear what your take on it was!


Marcus wakes up when he feels the bed rocking. At first he can't see anything, but he doesn't need his eyes to know what's going on. Oliver's up for the third time this week, going Salazar knows where. And like always, because he cares for the dolt, Marcus rolls out of bed, slips on his briefs, rubs his eyes and prepares to follow him.

Oliver had started to sleepwalk just shortly after the fall of Voldemort nearly three months ago. Marcus knew this nighttime phenomenon had everything to do with the traumatic things he'd seen and experienced, but Oliver refused any help in dealing with it. His constant reassurance that he was all right only made it that much more obvious that he wasn't. The sleepwalking, of course, was also a dead give away…

The sound of creaking stairs lets Marcus know that Oliver is heading to the ground floor. Each step resounds with a thud. Oliver's usual agility is lost when he's not conscious enough to walk with it.

By the time Marcus reaches the landing Oliver has already gone into the kitchen and has his hand on the refrigerator handle. He stands there for ages, staring blankly at the cream colored door. Marcus is absolutely sure now that his partner is sleepwalking—Oliver never wastes time being idle. It's one of the things he fell in love with about the man.

Eventually Oliver opens the refrigerator. Marcus observes him from the kitchen's entrance, feeling a twinge of worry stir within him. He can't begin to claim understanding Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but he wishes he did, at least for Oliver's sake. There's something painful about watching him move around the kitchen like an Inferius, void of emotion and spirit. He shouldn't be sleepwalking. He should be lying in bed, with Marcus' arm draped around his waist, holding him close.

The once Slytherin furrows his brow as Oliver begins to put together a sloppy ham and cheese sandwich. Again, he stares at nothing in particular for what seems like ever. In a surprise move, he steps away from the sandwich and drags himself toward the doorway where Marcus is. The larger man straightens himself up, realizing Oliver is looking right at him.

"Not really hungry," he murmurs.

Marcus isn't sure if he should talk back. After all, Oliver's never spoken directly to him before while sleepwalking. That's unsafe, isn't it? He think so.

So he just nods, which placates the other, and off Oliver goes back up the stairs, thud thud thudding his way into their bedroom. Moments later, Marcus hears the door shut and the bed creak.

He sighs.

The one thing Marcus hates? Feeling powerless to help the one he loves.

Tonight only made things worse.