Disclaimer: All Characters are property of JK Rowling... The Plot however is mine :)

How It Began

It was Flint's last year at Hogwarts. His last hurrah, so to speak, and he was ready to kill that little Malfoy sod and his cronies. Little fucker couldn't leave well enough alone, especially where it concerned a person Flint wanted.

He hadn't meant to fall for a Gryff, he really hadn't, but the boy, that boy, had always been so vulnerable, so breakable, that sometime in the last two months, with all the hype of the Tri-Wizard tournament, Flint had felt some... stirrings... some softer feelings for the one boy he knew he couldn't touch.


He watched him from across the Great Hall, wishing he could go over, grab him up and just snog the bloody tension right out of him. His mind's eye clouded with a vision of the smaller boy as Marcus wanted to see him, splayed across Marcus' bed in the Slytherin dorms, legs wide, cock diamond hard, waiting impatiently for Flint to enter him. Flint, in his daydream could see Potter stroking his cock, not too thin, not too long, empurpled with the need Flint would have him in. Marcus could almost smell the sharp tang of the boy's flesh, he could almost hear the fap-fapping sound Potter would make as he wanked himself. Marcus would gather the boy in his arms, ease the tension out of his body as he kissed him from scar to toe.

He would make Potter feel needed, wanted like he had never been before, like Flint wanted for himself... and not for some stupid shit that happened when he was in nappies. Flint wanted to kiss every inch of his body lovingly, wanted to taste Potter's skin. He had eyes, he could see that the boy was neglected. Flint knew more about healing those kinds of hurts than most. Potter would come undone with just a kiss, would spill on Flint's belly as he stroked him to a fiery culmination...

Shite! First bell had rung! How was he going to get through the throngs in the Great Hall with his cock playing havoc in his pants?

Flint gulped down some tepid tea, tried to think of anything but the image he had superimposed on his morning routine, tried not to feel the snug pull of his Y-fronts against his stiffy. It was embarrassing that he, a bloke of seventeen, couldn't control his body a bit better than that.

By the end of the day, Marcus was in a foul mood. Not just foul, but black, a Snape mood. Fucking little Malfoy wanker. He had caught him talking to that reporter bitch, Skeeter, making Potter out to be a whore and with that Mudblood that always hung on Potter's coattails. Not bloody likely, not the way Potter was always looking at the blokes around him, kind of half-shy, half turned on, head cocked to the side, a little sad for some reason. Marcus knew that Potter would be up for it with a bloke. At least, that's what he told himself when he fantasized about him. He didn't want to even consider why a bloke he wanted to fuck made him feel so protective.

Flint threw his books down in his room and kicked his trunk, cursing as he barked his shin against the lid. He bit his lip to keep the sounds of his pain. His father had taught him well and early that a man didn't show when he was hurt. His father had taught his lessons at the end of a belt, and they had sunk in, too well.

As he bounced around on one foot, holding his shin, he heard the little Malfoy shit sneer just down the hallway, "And then Potty cried like a girl and ran away. You should have seen him... 'Waaaaa-aaah! Don't talk about my dead Mummy! Waaah!' The last thing I saw was him running towards the Astronomy tower. I hope he throws himself off."

The ugly snigger that accompanied the story let Marcus know that one of the goons that Malfoy called friends accompanied him.

Flint hastily pulled his wand out of his bag, a half-formed idea in his head and dread in his gut. He blew past Malfoy and Goyle or maybe Crabbe, he could never tell those two apart, and made his way through the common room and finally up the stairs out of the dungeons. He was aware of the odd looks he drew as he raced up several flights of stairs. By the time he reached the Astronomy tower, he felt sick. He bent, hands on his knees, gulping for air as he tried to slow his heartbeat. Once everything was under control, even as beads of sweat dripped down his neck, he said the words to the Point-me spell. A small thread of light flowed from the tip of his wand to the stairs leading directly to the tower. Potter was there, and maybe Flint could get his wish. It was always best to be a Knight in Shining Armour with a Gryff, even if his was kind of tarnished. They liked that type of stuff.

He mounted the steps, careful to keep his tread light, lest Potter really was suicidal. Flint knew that there were wards about the tower for that reason, but had found out the hard way that they hurt when a body bounced off them, especially if that body then hit a particularly rough patch of wall. His thoughts were ripped out of his mind as he mounted the last stair and saw Potter sitting in a notch of the crenulated wall, head down and shoulders slumped against the prevailing easterly wind. His messy hair flew in the wind blending into the dark colour of his cloak. His neck looked impossibly frail above his collar, and Flint was suddenly struck by how much he didn't know about the boy he'd been obsessed with for weeks.

He watched as the boy slowly stood, pulling himself on top of the parapet. He balanced on the tips of his toes, arms out, cloak billowing behind him. Even though Flint knew that he couldn't fall, he stepped forward, hand extended, aching to pull him back from whatever brink that Potter felt he was on.

"I never asked for any of this, you know." Potter's voice was pitched to overcome the whistling sough of the wind.

Flint shrugged uncomfortably, aware that Potter thought the worst of him. He was a Slytherin, after all, the Gryffindor's mortal enemy. "Never said you did, you know."

Potter whirled about on the narrow ledge, his balance still catlike and perfect, the same damnable grace he showed in the air. It was what he admired most about Potter. "I-i... I thought you were..." Potter took a step forward, his jaw jutting pugnaciously as he asked, "Did you come to finish what Malfoy started?"

Flint took a step forward, his blocky hand still outstretched and Potter shuffled backwards a half a step. "If you decide to jump, you won't fall, Potter. The wards won't let you, and it will hurt like hell."

Potter looked behind him and then back at Flint with suspiciously bright eyes. He shook his head as he snuffled once. "Why do you care? Won't your Slytherin mates think you were a hero if you let me die?"

That stung. Marcus should be used to it by now. No one actively liked Slytherins. It was just a fact of life like children hated liver, and dogs chased cats. He had come up here with the idea that... somehow, Potter, with his ragged clothes and his seedy air, would need a friend and hopefully more.

Flint lowered his hand. "We're not all Death Eaters, Potter, whatever shite the Weasel feeds you about us."

"If he was talking to me..." Potter's words carried as a gust of wind blew them Marcus' way. "So, do your worst, Flint. Tell me that I'm an orphan. Tell me that my family hates me, that I'm a sodding cheat. Do your worst."

Flint couldn't help it. He choked as the images from that morning rose to the fore of his brain even as all the blood rushed from the rest of his body to his todger. Fortunately, Potter wasn't focused on Marcus' bits so he didn't notice. Marcus flicked his student robes around his body as he moved closer to the boy. "I don't think you know what you're asking, Po... H-harry. "

Potter focused his entire attention on Marcus, and suddenly Marcus knew exactly what a mouse felt like when a hawk's shadow flow overhead. The sheer power coming off Potter made him shiver. Potter's voice sliced through the wind, "What did you call me?"

Flint stepped closer to the boy, now able to touch Potter if things went wonky. He slid his hand over the surface of the parapet towards Potter's foot. "I-I called you Harry. Do you have a problem with that?"

Potter looked down on Flint's upraised face, his expression going from one strong emotion to another before he said, "No."

"Now come on down here, Harry. I don't want to have to explain to Dumbledore why his golden boy fell off the astronomy tower, no matter how many wards are on it to protect him." Flint held his breath until Potter's arse was flat on the stone. It was then that Marcus saw the tear-streaks on the boy's cheeks. He damned Malfoy to the lowest hells even as he decided not to mention the sign of the boy's distress. As if of their own volition, Flint found his hands at the boy's cheeks, his fingers running over the smooth wetness. He ran his thumb over the tear tracks. "I know what it's like... to be different..."

Potter licked his lips as he raised his eyes expectantly to Flint's. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Flint lowered his head, capturing Harry's lips under his. The boy responded with a shy opening of his mouth under Flint's insistent probing, his hands roved over Flint's chest as he sought a greater intimacy. Marcus pulled away, breaking the bond slightly, searching Potter's features for any hesitancy. He wouldn't be the one to take advantage of a younger boy, no matter how much he desired him. What he saw in Potter's face was an answering desire. He said, "This isn't the place for us to... explore this. Meet me tonight at seven outside Potions. I know a place where... you know... we can have some privacy."

Potter nodded once and then pushed away from Flint. He fled the tower without a backwards glance.

The rest of the afternoon Marcus felt as if he were alternating between elation and abject terror. Who was he to want to be with Potter...Harry? Who was he to touch Dumbledore's golden boy. What if Potter reported him for the kiss? (Flint didn't know to whom, but was sure there was some student conduct fascist who would mark him down for his conduct.) Worse yet, what if Potter didn't report him to the as yet unnamed body, and wanted much more from Flint? What if Flint, for his scant years of experience couldn't 'deliver' so to speak or delivered too soon? It was all too horrifyingly embarrassing to contemplate so he growled at his dorm-mates, picked at his dinner, and drew a look of concern from his Head of House as he scrambled away from the table at the first possible moment. He showered, shaved and brushed his teeth. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and was overcome with a sudden case of jitters..

Why would Potter want someone who looked like... him?

Potter was waiting for Flint where he had been told. Marcus' hands fluttered nervously at his side as he directed the younger boy down the hall. To Potter's credit, he followed after an only momentary hesitation. Flint unwarded the room, used by generations of Slytherins for assignations and he opened the door.

Inside was a hodgepodge of discarded furnishings from bygone eras. Flint motioned Potter inside the room and ensured the wards were in place before he gave in to the desire to take the younger boy in his arms. Potter moaned as Flint kissed him hungrily and began shrugging out of his school robes. Flint did the same, pulling at his own neck-tie, losing a button in the process. Potter laughed nervously into Flint's mouth, a blast of mint-flavoured breath spilling over his face. Marcus growled, pushing Potter away from him. The boy stumbled against the divan that was situated in the room in front of some enchanted windows, sprawling as he did, his shirt open, his expression suddenly fearful.

Marcus knelt between the boy's legs, pulling his hips down the velvet surface, skewing his shirt up. Harry watched him with those solemn eyes, glittering like jewels. "I don't like to be laughed at."

Flint hid his face because his voice sounded so ugly, harsh with need and anger. He roughly pulled the boy's belt from it's buckle and then worked on the buttons on his trousers. Potter's hands fluttered ineffectually against his chest, found purchase in Marcus's hair. Harry stroked his fingers through the locks. "I wasn't laughing at you, Flin- Marcus. I was just happy... really happy that someone wanted me for something other than being... The Boy Who Lived."

Flint's gaze darted up to the boy's. "How do you know I'm not after getting your cherry and telling everyone I had you?"

"In Slytherin?" Potter scooted up on his elbows then stood to pull his trousers and pants down. "I don't think you'd live it down. Now, kiss me. I liked that... alot..."

Marcus complied as he began kissing the inside of Potter's thighs, around the sparsely haired groin, up the treasure trail to the boy's chest. He laved each nipple, biting first one, then the other with teasing force. Potter's knees buckled and Marcus caught him, drawing both of them onto the divan, continuing his deliberate path until he claimed Potter's lips again. When he did, the younger man tasted of mint and chocolate with a smoky underscore of peppery musk. Flint loosed his own clothes with a spell, let his turgid cock fall against Potter's belly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Potter squirmed under him, bringing a delicious friction to the mix before he dipped his hand between them and began wanking Marcus with practiced ease. "I'm not so innocent. I used to suck off one of my cousin's friends so he would leave me alone after school. Things got a little bit heavier one afternoon."

Marcus' desire flamed to incandescence along with a stab of fury that Harry- his Harry- could be had for the price of an afternoon free of bullying. He drew back, skewering the younger boy with his darkest gaze. "If we do this tonight, it's forever. No one will ever touch you again, no matter what. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe. You'll be mine, Harry, and I'll be yours. I play for keeps."

Potter nodded, the second time that day, as a swirl of magic skirled up around the two boys, sealing their bond. Both young men gasped and then Marcus crowed in triumph. He had found his true bond-mate. He lowered himself into Harry's body after hastily preparing the boy, hurrying the process so that he might seal his claim.

May 3, 1998

Marcus was sick, exhausted, and heart sore as he began fighting through the throngs in the Great Hall to see the one person above all who mattered. They had been separated since Harry had begun his mad quest for whatever it was that Dumbledore had wanted him to find, and Marcus had gone nearly out of his mind with grief and worry during that time, even if he knew that Harry had to do some things on his own. He stopped abruptly as he saw Harry.

Potter stood in amongst the Weasley horde, an odd blackbird amongst the showier ginger plumage. He had changed in the intervening years, had grown some, broadened in the chest and legs, his face was careworn, but to Flint, he was still the boy he took in the dungeons all those years ago. Harry's face was still the face of love.

He waited until the Weasley sea parted, until Harry turned to see him. When he did, Flint opened his arms and Potter seemed to fly into them. Harry said, "I thought you'd forgotten... Marcus... I thought..."

Flint kissed him, holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go. He felt Harry's tears on his neck and pulled himself out of the kiss. "I told you once, you daft bastard, that I played for keeps. Now lets find a place where I can take care of your hurts, and can give you a good tongue lashing for that stunt you pulled with... You Know Who."

"I could do with a good tongue-lashing," Harry answered with a throaty laugh. "And then perhaps I can do the same for you."

"Cheeky." Marcus growled, and then he pulled him to the room in the dungeon that had started it all, glad that he had taken the chance with Potter all those years ago.