Marcus bit his lip as he turned it over. He brought it to his nose, and inhaled, though he didn’t know what he expected. It smelt like parchment and ink.
Shrugging, he ripped it open the pristine envelope with abandon, not one to savor his mail. He couldn't detect any foul play, so it must be some random subscription or advertisement that he could discard.
As he read it, though, he found himself feeling a wide range of emotions.
At first it read like really elaborate mail written by a Quick-Quotes Quill, charmed to charm him into falling for some scam or another. But as it went on, he got the sense that it was written by a real person.
No matter how formal the wording, the emotions conveyed felt raw and Marcus was filled with gradually growing interest and excitement.
A love letter. For him. How nice.
"...that you'll never notice me. But I admire you deeply," he finished reading to himself. He read it to himself aloud in a funny voice, maybe as a barrier between himself and the emotions of the letter. It felt too real.
Ready to discard the letter, Marcus' eyes caught on the final markings on the parchment. At first having mistaken it for a random error or ink splatter, he realized that it was a signature.
His admirer had signed their initials: P. W.
His breath hitched, and his eyes widened in a halted gasp of surprise. Automatically, conclusions were made.
Formal writing? Perfect presentation? Beautiful penmanship save for the awful scribble of a signature at the end, presumably on purpose? P.W.?
Slowly, Marcus lowered the letter, a weird feeling in his chest. He glanced around the empty room as if somebody saw him and the contents of the letter, before hastily folding it back up and stuffing it in the drawer of his nightstand.
He needed a moment to think about this.
Marcus had never really considered Percy Weasley.
That is to say, sure he knew the guy, but he hadn't ever thought twice about him.
Curly red hair (like many Weasley kin), tall and thin, prim and proper. Those were the first things that came to mind when he thought about Percy.
On a deeper level... Marcus could suppose his eyes were a nice blue. His freckles added character to his body, and his glasses did the same to his face. But that was it.
A few passing reprimands, some disproving and apprehensive glares in a shared class — Marcus would have never suspected that Weasley was attracted to him.
He was never one to speculate or care, but Percy liking men only came as a mild surprise. It was more so the liking him part that was so confusing to Marcus.
They were like polar opposites. Everything the other stood against.
Marcus was a little brutish. He was obnoxious (but only loud when he wanted to be), he played rough, and he played dirty.
To Marcus, Weasley was delicate — like... a girl. A neat freak that clearly spent hours on his appearance, a strict disciplinary, and worst of all: an avid supporter of the Gryffindor quidditch team.
So, again. While it was flattering, Marcus still didn't understand what it was about him specifically that attracted Percy's fancy.
He stood in the mirror for a while, in his sharpest wear, contemplating his appearance. Even while trying to look good, he thought himself to be mediocre at best.
Lowering his arms to his side after flapping them awkwardly like a dolphin, he sighed and shook his head. He sucked at his teeth; it couldn't be that.
Personality, maybe? Doubtful, but...
"Do you think someone could find me charming?" He asked Adrian Pucey quietly as the rest of the quidditch team kicked off the ground around them. He’d told them to shoo so they could start practice, but Pucey was lacking behind and therefore was merely a victim of opportunity.
Adrian, having been startled when Marcus' heavy hand kept him on the ground, sagged under the weight.
"They'd have to be barmy," He wheezed before skittishly flying away.
Marcus' eyes darkened.
Even though Pucey was made to fly several laps that day, he now had his answer, which he'd already known.
Somebody could never find him charming, especially with such manners instilled in them like Percy. So just what was it...
Marcus couldn't help it. He started watching him.
In a shared classroom, his eyes always strayed from the front and to the shock of red hair, always hunched over a piece of parchment and taking notes.
And to think, that's probably what he looked like when he'd wrote that oddball letter confessing his feelings. Marcus shuddered.
He wanted to look away, but couldn't.
It's just that you want to figure him out, he told himself. Only after minutes did he tear his gaze away, and that was only because the urge to wipe the ink from the side of Percy’s mouth grew unbearable.
He seemed to think the darnedest things about that guy, finding comfort in the fact that behind closed doors, Percy was thinking the same (as stated in the letter).
Not only did he want to know why Percy liked him, he also wanted to like Percy. Just to see if he could.
And boy, could he.
In trying to catch himself being watched, it was often times him being caught watching Percy, and not only by the boy himself.
Many times he caught himself catching the bird from a few Gryffindor quidditch players (i.e. Wood and the Weasley twins), them obviously thinking he was plotting something sinister or what have you. He wasn't plotting on them, though.
No, his thoughts were far away from quidditch. He was plotting on Percy.
Marcus didn't know what he was so afraid of.
Percy was supposed to be the one in love with him, secretly yearning for his attention and affection. Yet somehow along the way... a similitude of the opposite developed?
By no means would he say he was in love with Percy. More like a crush.
But while he knew that he could grow to reciprocate Percy's feelings, he never expected to be so endeared with the other without ever having talked to him. Never having confronted him.
It was strange, the wizard brain.
Meanwhile, Percy had never approached him further about his feelings. Outside of the initial letter, Marcus had no clue of what was brewing below the surface. It was almost like occlumency was in use.
Percy would walk past without a second thought. He'd balk at any friendly expression Marcus made toward him (out of fear, maybe embarrassment?). He'd watch impartially from the stands over any conflicts with scheduling the pitch. Marcus didn't even want to get started on his weird affinity toward Wood, that brazen baboon.
If he didn't know any better...
But he tried not to think about that. Since he knew his feelings were reciprocated, he guessed it was just a matter about being the one to approach first.
Based on the letter, he was well aware of how shy Percy was with his feelings, but really, it's been months. What was the point in saying anything at all?
So then, it was to Marcus' understanding that if he wanted for something to happen, he'd have to put on his big boy pants for the both of them and fess up.
As soon as he got the idea, he'd scoffed to himself. Gryffindors couldn't even be brave right.
He chickened out. A letter was sent.
"Flint?" Somebody called from over his shoulder. It sounded like it hadn't been their first attempt at catching his attention.
Around him, a few of his housemates broke into snickers and taunts whilst some stared behind him in confusion.
Marcus mentally steeled himself, taking one last sip of his pumpkin juice, before slowly turning around and meeting the resolute eyes of Percy Weasley.
He put on his most welcoming face. "Yes?"
"A word, please?" Percy asked him, voice all strained and stilted. However, besides the slight waver that Marcus thought only he recognized, it was firm.
Again, some low whistles, and just like that, Percy's awkwardness transformed into his usual pomp as he stared down Graham Montague, who was poised to make a presumably inappropriate comment.
Immediately, the kid's mouth snapped shut, and Marcus couldn't help the small sense of pride that welled in his heart. Yes, he really did like Percy.
"Of course," he remembered to say after a moment, and he tried to keep up as Percy briskly walked away, probably leading them somewhere they could better hear each other. And for more privacy.
As he followed, his eyes caught on something clutched tightly in Percy's hand, and he nearly ran back to the Great Hall. He was too tired for this confrontation, now that he thought about. But it ended up being too late.
Without him realizing, they'd arrived in some dimly-lit alcove and Percy quickly turned on him so that they were face to face. Before his eyes could even adjust, a parchment was shoved in his face and Percy was demanding, "What is this?"
Obviously, Marcus knew what it was, even though he couldn't really see it in the dark.
"Oh, well I dunno, Weasley," he opted to say coolly. "What do you think it is?"
Percy struggled with his words. "I think it's..." He tried that same phrase several times before giving up. "Look, Flint," he tried instead.
"Marcus," Marcus corrected, taking a step closer.
He thought about Percy's letter, and how he'd addressed him by his first name like they'd known each other on a personal level. Like he was deeply interested in knowing him beyond normal conventions.
Percy inclined his head to account for the smaller distance between him, but he didn't step away, just as Marcus had hoped.
Swallowing, he tried, "Marcus." It was more pleasant than Marcus had imagined it would be. "I uh... guess I just never got the impression that you... I mean, we don't ever really—"
"It's okay," Marcus interrupted reassuringly. He ruffled around in his trousers for the letter, a now constant fixture in his pocket, before brandishing it with as much humility as he could muster. "Me neither."
Percy frowned, snatching the letter and scanning it like he didn't know what it was.
That confused Marcus deeply, but as an avid Percy watcher, he understood that sometimes he tended to do weird things.
As Percy reached the end of the letter, his mouth formed a silent 'o' and a sort of regret filled his eyes as he looked at the one Marcus had written, fisted in his other hand. "I see."
Marcus tried his hand at getting even closer. "What do you see?"
Whatever Percy saw, it evoked emotions in his eyes that Marcus hadn't wanted to see.
Percy opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it, seemingly thinking better of saying anything.
Apparently, that day he'd decided that the right thing to do was to flee without a word.
Again, that confused Marcus deeply.
Marcus really considered Percy Weasley. What was the matter with him?
First, he sends a heartfelt love letter declaring how much he wanted to be together and how he craved his attention.
Then, he goes and acts as if everything is normal, as if he'd never sent the letter, as if he secretly didn't want to "kiss until our lips turn raw," as per the letter.
So finally, when Marcus tried to put an end to all the pining, he acts all weird and avoids him like the plague for (2) months. And it's ironic, really, how Marcus felt like he was getting the most attention when Percy was actively trying to avoid him.
Because where at first he was treated with indifference, now he was treated with caution. When before he wasn't being looked at, now they played cat and mouse with their eyes in every shared class.
Probably the most satisfying...
"Oliver, can I talk to you for a second?" Percy asked as he walked up from his usual place in the stands. He spared Marcus a glance, eyes darting away when he realized he was already being watched.
Wood looked reluctant to follow, and his team, who stood dutifully behind him as the two captains argued, looked more awake than ever.
Still, when he stormed back on the pitch, this time without Percy, he announced to his team who had taken up arguing in his stead, that they'd have practice after lunch that day.
Some protested (Fred and George), others rejoiced (the girls and Harry), and Marcus couldn't help himself.
"I'll have to make sure to thank Percy later," he smirked, and then fists descended upon him immediately.
I didn't even say anything bad, he thought to himself later as he rubbed at his sore jaw.
"I didn't send you that letter."
Marcus looked up from washing his hands to see Percy standing behind him in the mirror. They both stiffened when their eyes met.
After a moment of staring at the running water, Marcus remembered himself. He shut it off and asked, "What?" as he pretended to be busy drying his hands on his robes.
Percy didn't reply until he'd finally turned around.
"I said, I didn't send you that letter. And I feel sorry for whoever did."
Marcus quickly glanced at all the stalls and urinals. Any closed doors, movement between the cracks, shuffling shoes. He even looked at the door, waiting for it to swing open. It never did. It was just them in there.
"You didn't send that letter?" He echoed. It was posed as a question, but it was more of a general statement to himself.
Weasley didn't send the letter. Percy never confessed his feelings to him. Ever. At all. Or so he claimed.
He'd gone and managed to fall head over heels for some bloke that acted like he'd never noticed him. Because apparently he actually hadn't.
He'd gone and confessed his feelings to someone who hadn't a clue what he was on about, or where any of it was coming from, much like himself when he received that first letter.
He'd gone and backed someone into the corner of that alcove with the intention to—
"Merlin, strike me dead," he groaned.
All at once, he experienced the seven stages of grief: shock, denial, anger... mostly anger.
He banged his fist on the sink so hard it'd partially chipped off. "The hell do you mean you didn't send the letter?"
Percy raised his arms. He'd jumped slightly when Marcus broke the sink, but otherwise remained stationary in the same spot he was in when Marcus had seen him through the mirror. Like a ghost. Like a figment of his imagination.
"Calm down."
Marcus laughed hysterically. "What do you mean calm d—"
"I mean calm down," Percy snapped, already anticipating Marcus' response.
"Weasley," Marcus began, but was once again interrupted.
"Percy," Percy corrected, and Marcus caught onto the reference to their first confrontation immediately, clenching his fists at his sides.
Not funny.
"Percy," he gritted out. "I know you Gryffindors often have a hard time grasping the concept of humility, but I, however, feel it intensely. Especially in situations such as these."
"Mistakenly confess your feelings to a lot of people, do you?" Percy joked, coming steadily closer.
Marcus let him. He had no where to go but further into the sink.
Realizing Marcus wasn't going to offer anything, he continued, "It could be worse."
"How?"
"I could… not like you?" He proposed, all shy but leaving an expectant pause at the end, waiting for Marcus' reaction.
Marcus felt his brain short circuit. What?
"What?"
Percy sighed. "Don't make me say it again, please."
"Well, maybe you won't say it again because you don't mean it and you're only lying to protect my feelings and save me the embarrassment," Marcus challenged, folding his arms. He knew he was being petulant, but he felt like lightning couldn't strike twice; He might've been able to trick himself into liking Percy after thinking that Percy liked him, but that didn't mean Percy could do the same.
Percy paused, a foot separating them at that point. He folded his arms, just like Marcus, and asked, "And just why would I do that?"
Marcus couldn't help holding his breath. The proximity was frying his brain, and he couldn't think straight with Percy so close. Smatterings of freckles and piercing blue eyes clouded his vision. What a dream and a nightmare.
"Because, you're that kind of person. I know it," Marcus asserted, even though his confidence wavered significantly. He wasn't even mad anymore. Just confused, again. And maybe a bit nervous.
"And I guess you know all about me, then? As one would expect to happen, especially if you watch someone 24/7 without ever saying a word to them."
"Pretty much," Marcus murmured, unable to articulate his racing thoughts.
"You don't—"
"Oh, you've got to be shitting me," Marcus heard someone say from the door.
His and Percy's heads whipped around at the same time to see Oliver Wood staring at them, and specifically the (rather minimal) space between them. He looked rather betrayed.
"Oliver," Percy started, but the idiot was already out the door.
Percy quickly followed, leaving Marcus to breathe a sigh of relief and disappointment.
Who knew liking someone could be so difficult?
Marcus,
We should talk.
Sincerely,
Percy Ignatius Weasley
P.S. I figured you ought to know how I'd sign my name on anything, love letter or else.
Marcus knew what he was afraid of.
"I dinnae ken, Perce. Just give up on him," Wood declared loudly as he passed by them one day.
He could swear he heard Percy scoff and some eyes follow him pointedly, but he tried not to think about how much he wanted to punch the Scottish out of that arsehole.
He didn't want to be given up on. He didn't want to give up.
So what if he embarrassed himself so terribly that he'd think about it every night he slept for the next year? That didn't mean Percy was any less genuine of a person.
And this time, if it turned out that Percy didn't like him, it would be because he was lied to by the boy himself, which was... marginally better.
"Are you sure you didn't send the letter?" Marcus grumbled as soon as Percy arrived at their rendezvous point: the alcove.
"I'm quite sure. But I liked yours," he offered with a small smile.
The visceral knot in his stomach loosened ever so slightly. Maybe...
"Really?"
In lieu of an answer, Percy pulled out a folded up piece of parchment from his robe and handed it to Marcus. "Really."
Marcus generally lacked self-restraint, but more so when it came to Percy. Was it the letter that he sent? Was it a new one? He had to know. As soon as he began to unfold it, though:
"Don't open it. Yet," Percy instructed, covering Marcus' hands with his own pointedly.
Marcus looked up sharply, and then down at their hands again. He couldn't believe they were touching.
"O-okay," he rushed out, shoving the letter in his pocket for later. It burned a hole, but not as much as his hands which were still on fire. And his face, he could imagine.
"I wondered how you could like someone like me," Percy spoke. His words mirrored Marcus' sentiments to the tee, to the point where for a moment he thought he'd accidentally said it out loud.
"And you, me," he agreed quietly.
"Do you know now?"
Marcus paused, then admitted, "No." He worried his lip. "But you, you're likable. Nice to people. Attractive. I find you charming. I wanted to see if I could like you, y'know, because... and I could."
"Me too," Percy replied hastily, face turning a little red. "I mean, you're not extremely nice. But I think you're agreeable. You can be charming."
Marcus licked his lips. "You'd have to be barmy to find me charming."
"Do you think I'm 'barmy?'" Percy tittered, making air quotes.
That laugh.
The knot was gone completely, replaced with a fuzzier version that spread in his stomach like a virus. Marcus wanted, so he went for it.
"Well, Gred. That wasn't supposed to happen," George choked out as he and his twin stood frozen, watching Marcus Flint with his hands all over their elder brother's face, keeping him tightly embraced in their searing kiss.
One might call it bruising.
"Right you are, Forge," Fred whispered before steering them both away from the scene. From the way Flint’s hands started straying, he sure didn’t want to stick around.
Percy just had to ruin all their pranks. If not sooner, then later. But this?
They simultaneously shuddered.