Happy Springsmut, kaellite! Author:chaeldub Recipient:kaellite Title: My Brother's Keeper Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): Oliver/Dennis, past Oliver/other Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: The war is long since over but old wounds can stop even the strongest people from moving on. A loss for two people, both healing from different kinds of hurt, can eventually be the thing that brings them together.
Colin…
It was funny how he both hated and loved that name. The images it conjured in his head. The way it made him feel - the way it made his heart race and a warmth spread inside him, followed by a cold sweat and intense rage. It was probably a good thing, or it might be bad. Yeah, it was probably bad.
At least it meant he felt something, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.
His fingers traced over the carved letters in the cool marble. Other people had come here on the anniversary of the battle, flowers and mementos were placed around the base. He didn’t like that day, it held a memory that even now caused his finger nails to dig into his palm. It made him doubt his reason, his choices, his life.
Still, Colin would have preferred that he was here on his birthday. He sat down on the step, brushing away a few leaves and leaned back against the monument to the fallen. The school was quiet, all the students were either in class or avoiding this place and what it meant.
"I don’t suppose you want half of this?"
Dennis held up the foot long bread roll.
"Didn’t think so."
He tore a piece off, placing the rest on a napkin on his lap. He studied it momentarily then took a bite, it should have been tentative but he bit into it like he’d seen Colin do. There was a moment where the food registered with his taste buds, which had obviously forgotten, and then he coughed and spluttered and tossed the sandwich as far from as he could.
"Bloody hell, Col!" Dennis coughed, "that gets worse every time I taste it."
Dennis’s hand shot out and he quickly brought the pumpkin juice to his mouth. Relief, sweet relief. Where had Colin gotten the idea for a roll that consisted of hot salami, habaneros, peri-peri sauce, chilli sauce, black pepper and blue cheese?
That’s when he remembered the vodka and Worcestershire sauce that were mixed with the pumpkin juice and he began spluttering all over again. Through his wheezing and wet eyes, he failed to notice the approaching figure. A strong hand closed around his, taking the glass from it. He heard the contents splash onto the grass near by.
"Aguamenti!"
The glass was placed back in his hand and guided to his mouth.
"Drink."
He took a sip then, feeling the coolness sluice over his lips, he gulped the rest of the water down. Brushing the tears from his eyes he looked at the person who was squatting down beside him. The young man looked like someone that he should or did know, and the voice had a Scottish lilt that had a familiar sound to it.
"Not a big vodka drinker?" The man asked.
"Not so much, but I think it was the Worcestershire."
The man let out a laugh that startled Dennis, he hadn’t heard any one laugh in a long time. It had been hard since…
Colin.
He hadn’t gone back when Hogwarts reopened like the rest of his class mates. He couldn’t. There was no way that he could be faced with the enormity of that every day. How could he walk through the place where his brother had died? It had taken all his strength to come here to the Memorial with all the names and his brother's amongst them.
He hated that he loved this place.
Dennis pushed his back against the monument and slid up its smooth surface, getting to his feet. He eyed the young man, still unsure of who he was or what he wanted. There was something about him that was oddly familiar; maybe the man had been a few years ahead of him in school or maybe he was a war hero that he'd read about in the Prophet.
"I should be going. Thanks for the water," Dennis said, scooping up the remains of his lunch and putting them in his bag.
The walk back to Hogsmeade would take some time and then…
"Do you need to go somewhere? I could take you?"
The young man had fallen in step beside him.
"I’m sorry, but do I know you?" Dennis asked.
A cheeky grin crossed the man's lips as he summoned his broom. He mounted the broom and flew a few circles around Dennis, finally coming to a stop a few feet in front of him.
"Puddlemere we don’t play Quidditch - we are Quidditch!"
Dennis remembered the logo from the poster that Colin had tacked above his bed . He’d thought it strange at the time because Colin didn’t really follow Quidditch, just Gryffindor games at school.
He could hear Colin, as he stood there pointing at the newly unfurled poster. - "That’s Oliver Wood. You probably don’t remember him, but he was one of Gryffindor’s best players."
"Oliver?" Dennis proffered.
"Yeah."
"I‘m sorry. I didn‘t recognise you." Dennis felt a bit stupid, this was after all a famous Quidditch player and he was from his House. "You‘re the Keeper for Puddlemere, aren‘t you?"
"Puddlemere Keeper and newly appointed vice-captain, if you don’t mind," Oliver replied, dismounting and giving his broom a tap on the ground, which caused it to shoot fifteen feet into the air and then drop back down into his hand.
"My brother, he had a poster of you in his room…"
Oliver's cheeks began to redden and he turned away, looking out toward the Quidditch pitch, but Dennis could see his shoulders slump.
"We should go, it‘s going to rain any minute," Oliver said.
Dennis began walking once more, passing Oliver and heading toward the track that led to Hogsmeade. A few moments later he was scooped up and placed on the broom in from of Oliver.
"I don’t do magic anymore," Dennis said, struggling to get off and then realising that were he to do that he would fall at least thirty feet to the ground.
"You’re not doing any. I am," Oliver grinned.
Dennis raised an eyebrow to protest, but he knew Oliver wouldn’t be swayed so he slid his arms around his waist and held on for dear life. Like his brother he could just never get the hang of riding a broom. The first spats of rain started to come down as they zoomed toward the gate.
~*~
"Dennis! There’s another owl here for you."
The pillow that he dragged over his head did little to drown out his mother's voice. After he’d agree to be Apparated to the train station, Oliver had asked if he’d like to come to a game. He had tried fobbing him off but Oliver would have none of it. Grudgingly Dennis had agreed to come and watch him play, but only because Colin had once barracked for his team.
"DENNIS!"
Sighing, Dennis slid out from under the warm cocoon of his blankets and told his mother he would be down soon. He'd rather just get back into bed, but he knew that the owl had another reminder from Oliver. He’d missed the first game accidentally on purpose. He’d replied to the owl telling him that he’d some how become lost in trying to find Puddlemere’s ground and that with him not doing magic it had been rather hard.
Oliver had been unimpressed, and had also suggested to Dennis that if he wasn’t there by ten o’clock that he would Apparate in and take him to the game whether he liked it or not. Not wanting to look too out of place, once he dressed, he went searching for something Puddlemere in Colin’s room.
This took him longer than expected as he hadn’t been in here since…
An hour later he heard the door creak open and his mother looked in at him. He was sitting on the end of the bed, a Puddlemere scarf on his lap and a photo of Colin and him in his hands.
"You don’t have to go if you don’t want. I’m sure that young Mister Wood will understand."
His mother was right, he could stay here and mope. Somehow he didn’t think that Oliver would take 'no' for an answer.
"It’s okay, I was just…"
"Come on, I’ve made you breakfast; eggs and bacon. I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to eat pumpkin pie or whatever it is that they serve at this game you're going to."
Dennis grinned. Actually he quite liked pumpkin pie, that was something he missed about Hogwarts. The house-elves made a rather delicious pie, maybe he could get something like that at the match. He was just about to follow his mum downstairs when he spotted Colin’s camera. He had no idea how to use it, but it couldn’t be that hard and after all, if Colin had been going to the game he most certainly would have taken it. Slipping the camera into his pocket he bounded downstairs to eat breakfast.
~*~
It was strange being up in the stands, alone. As long as he could remember whenever he watched a Quidditch match Colin had been at his side. At first holding his hand because he was so small, Colin had been worried that Dennis might fall into the stands. Then as they got older they would conjure up some sign for Gryffindor or wave their scarves madly together chanting "Go Go Gryffindor!" or "Weasley is our King."
Oliver had given him a quick tour of the team room where they did all the strategising, the locker room and a quick look out the walkway onto the pitch. The ground seemed so large and the crowd very daunting. Dennis had never been on ground level at a professional stadium before. Then Oliver left him to go and get ready, first handing him a pass and pointing Dennis in the direction of the team's private box. Dennis had managed to score himself some Pumpkin pie on the way and had settled into the game even though he seemed to have gotten lost and ended up in the stands.
He was in total awe of the spectacle. It was so intense. From the cheering of the crowd, to the way the Beater's swung their bats. Even the Bludgers seemed to fly with more aggression, buzzing around trying to dislodged the players from their brooms. Watching Oliver swooping around the goals swatting the Quaffle away with ease Dennis wished that he could be up there with him. It just looked like so much fun.
Then it looked like Oliver had fallen from his broom and there was an almighty roar from the crowd. Dennis jumped from his seat, knowing that a fall from that height could send you to St Mungo's. Except Oliver hadn't fallen, he was holding onto the broom with one hand and the Quaffle was between his feet. The Keeper let it go and the dimpled ball began to drop slowly, but before it got too far Oliver laid into it with his boot sending it hurtling back across the stadium.
The roar was deafening as blue and gold banners, scarves and hats were waved in the air.
Dennis found out from a young boy sitting next to him that this was one of Oliver's signature moves. Then Puddlemere's Seeker, Even Sørenson - who according to the boy had been traded from the Karasjok Kites in a bit of a coup, had managed to find the Snitch. Dennis would have been more excited about this if he had actually been watching Sørenson, as he found out later on that he had caught the Snitch using something called the Wronski Feint. His gaze, as it had been for most of the match, had been on Oliver and it was only his and the crowds reaction that alerted Dennis to the fact that the match was over. In the excitement that followed he was bustled down into the corridors and hallways below the stands and his pass enabled him to get into the Puddlemere inner sanctum.
~*~
Dennis had absolutely no idea how long he had been standing there. Everything, and he meant everything, seemed to have just faded away. All the sounds, all the smells, all the people and players.
Everything.
He remembered the match, vaguely. It had been very exciting, more exciting than he'd thought Quidditch could possibly be. Professional players seemed to take the game quite a bit more seriously than his school mates, and that was saying a lot. There had also been some rather overzealous fans on both sides, and for a moment Dennis had thought he might get stuck in the middle of it. It was just like him to be wearing a Puddlemere scarf an end up sitting in the middle of the Montrose Supporters Club. A scuffle had broken out as some of his fellow Puddlemere supporters had rescued him from the midst of the black and white army. After the match he'd somehow found himself down near the entrance to the locker rooms wanting to congratulate Oliver and had been dragged inside.
There had been whooping and hollering and the passing around of some fizzy alcoholic liquid that made his head feel fuzzy. Apparently, with that win, the team had made it into the finals. He had even managed to join in with the team anthem - "Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here" during the third of many renditions that night.
Still, he felt like he hadn't moved in forever.
It wasn't like he was being held in check by some weird spell or anything. That didn't stop him from being rooted to the spot.
No, what was making his legs shake, and his palms sweat, and his throat stick, was the semi-naked man that was leaning, eyes closed on the bench in front of him. The towel, that was barely keeping anything hidden as it was, had begun to slide inextricably off those taut, muscular thighs. The crowd had thinned over time as showers were taken and the players, friends and hangers-on left for the pub because "When we've won and raised the cup, We'll drink until the sun comes up.". Dennis had lost Oliver over the course of time, and had only caught sight of him disappearing into the back of the locker rooms when the last group of revellers had pushed past him.
Unsure of whether it was alright or not, he had made his way into the inner sanctum of the Puddlemere locker room. Steam filled the room and blurred his vision momentarily then he saw him.
That was probably when he became stuck.
He'd never seen a naked man before, well, not a real one. A little while after the Battle, after it was all over, after the Memorial, Dennis had found himself in Colin's room. It was only now that he thought back on it that he remembered the Oliver in the poster above the bed had seemed rather dejected, slumped down against the edge of the poster with his head in his hands. He had looked through a few photo albums. They started with an inordinate amount of Harry Potter. Over time they changed, catching other stolen moments at the school and of places that he hadn't seen and a few of Quidditch matches and players in locker rooms.
Semi-naked players.
Dismissing it as artistic, he had rummaged through Colin's trunk, making sure there was nothing in there that he didn't want anyone else to see. Nothing. He'd shoved the blue trunk into the wardrobe, but as he did something was dislodged from above and banged him on the head.
Playwitch Monthly.
A small gasp escaped him, but as he could hear footsteps coming he'd shoved the magazine up his jumper. Dennis was shocked, well, a little shocked. Did that mean…? But if Colin was gay, then he most certainly couldn't be. Even though for sometime he had suspected that he had feelings towards boys rather than girls. Unsure of whether his parents knew, Dennis pretended that the magazine that he had stolen from Colin's wardrobe, that he hid in his sock drawer, with the naked men in all sorts of sexual positions, wasn't really there.
Quidditch had become a no-go subject, as there was every chance that he would become infatuated with some player and plaster his walls with posters and start writing their name on his hand or something just as stupid.
Instead he kept to himself - easy. Tried looking at girls - not so easy. Telling himself that it was just a phase when it quite clearly wasn't - beyond hard.
Yes, from the bulge that would be very apparent should anyone look at the front of his trousers, this was not a phase.
His eyes had not left Oliver since he had made his way into the shower area. The water sluicing down his muscular back, over his quite nice-looking arse and down his legs. Oliver was oblivious to his presence for most of the duration, busying himself with soap and shampoo, sudsing and cleaning. This was probably due to Dennis looking like he'd been hit with a petrifying spell.
It was certainly hot in here.
Then Oliver exited the hot spray and things just got hotter as he scooped his towel from the hook by the shower and began drying himself off.
How could Oliver not see him standing there, staring like some sex starved loon?
He watched as the first slowly the calves were dried and then the thighs, Oliver bending at an angle that left nothing to the imagination. Finally Oliver sat back on the bench, leaning against the cool tile wall and raising an eyebrow to acknowledged Dennis's presence.
"So did you enjoy it?"
There was no way that Oliver could have understood the stammer, half-gurgled reply that came out of Dennis's mouth.
"Whu… Wha… joy what?"
Oliver swivelled around on the bench, the towel slipping further and further.
"Did. You. Enjoy. It?" Oliver asked, his expression turning serious.
"I didn't mean to… You were just there and you were naked and I didn't… I mean it's not that… You're good-looking and handsome and… I didn't look."
Oliver stood up, wrapped the towel around his waist tightly and picked up a glove from the wet floor.
"Dennis."
Dennis felt trapped. And hot. Trapped hot and extremely small and vulnerable.
And hard.
He also felt extremely hard.
"Yes?'
"I was talking about the match." Oliver grinned, tossing the glove toward Dennis.
"Oh!" he said, catching it and catching on. "Great, fantastic, better than that even."
Whilst Oliver dressed, Dennis became his old self, talking at a million miles an hour, running around the locker room re-enacting key plays and moments in the crowd and generally behaving like he once did.
~*~
Dennis grabbed his wand from his desk, threw the navy and gold-stripped scarf around his neck and took off down the stairs. This was becoming a habit.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
His mum looked out from the kitchen.
"I'm going to Quidditch practice."
"Again?" His mum asked, "That's the third time this week."
"Oliver said he might let me fly on the Pitch, and y'know what I'm like on a broom," Dennis smiled.
His mother raised an eyebrow.
"Just don't get hurt, alright. I don't want to get an owl from St. Mungo's."
"Mum! I'll be fine. Oliver's the best Gryffindor player ever, maybe the best Quidditch player ever."
There was a chuckle of laughter as he headed out the door, looked left and right and used the Portkey Oliver had given him to whisk him to the Quidditch grounds.
~*~
Oliver looked him at with a mix of fear and pride.
"Are you sure you want to go up?" Oliver asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Dennis looked out onto the rain-soaked pitch. How often did someone get the opportunity to fly on the home ground of Puddlemere United? Even if that someone flew around on their broom like it was chained to the ground.
"Course I want to. Anyway, you're going to be up there too, aren't you?"
Oliver swung his leg over his broom, and with the end pointing straight up, shot into the sky.
"I take it that's a 'yes' then?" Dennis said to the empty space where Oliver had been.
The broom that Oliver had leant him was far superior to his own, but that was back at Hogwarts gathering dust in the broom closet. There was a non-verbal spell, one that would make the broom shoot up into his hand and prepare itself for flight, but for the life him he couldn't remember what it was. Merlin help him; he felt like he was standing in front of Madam Hooch and everyone else had their broom in their hand but him.
"Up!"
The broom lifted shakily off the ground about six inches, hovered unsteadily for a moment then collapsed back onto the wet grass. Cursing at anything and everything, Dennis bent over and snatched the broom up. It had been quite some time since he had ridden a broom, not as a passenger but as the person actually flying. He remembered something about balance, focus and possibly wind speed or it could have been ambient air temperature. Mumbling to himself that this was not such a good idea, he kicked the thatch between the legs, grasped the handle tightly and wobbled up over the pitch. The rain was coming down in torrents, soaking him to the bone, but being up there was still amazing. Why he'd never got the hang of broom riding was beyond him. All he knew was that up here, right now, he felt free. He made his way slowly towards the goals where Oliver was doing circles and loops. Like his brother he had never felt comfortable on a broom. Maybe it was all that pent up energy, he'd never been able to sit still in class far less on a broom.
"Not too wet for you?" Oliver asked, coming along side and startling Dennis so much that he lost his grip and felt himself falling sideways.
A hand shot out and grabbed him, at first it just had hold of his jumper then it circled his waist and pulled him in close. Dennis tightened his hands around the shaft of his broom, looking to Oliver for reassurance.
"It's alright. I've got you."
Oliver, floating alongside, intertwined his leg with Dennis's and steadied them both. It suddenly became very warm and Dennis slid his arm around Oliver's neck for fear of falling from dizziness. Then he realised that it was Oliver's touch, the close contact, that was making him feel light headed. Only he wasn't the only one that was shivering. As the rain matted his hair to his forehead, Dennis looked at Oliver for some sort of sign. He hadn't let go of Dennis's waist and their legs were still wrapped around each other.
"Oliver?" Dennis whispered through the gloom and rain.
Oliver looked at him, his eyes blinking the rain away causing it trickle down his cheek like tears.
He could see the pulse in Oliver's neck quicken, his eyes doing their best to avoiding looking directly at Dennis. He wanted to say Oliver's name again, wanted to know if what he felt like doing was in any inappropriate. Oliver's gaze shifted, his hand which was still on Dennis's hip slid a little higher, and he looked Dennis in the eye. Throwing caution to the wind, Dennis leaned the few inches he needed to close the gap between them. What he knew about kissing could be written on a Chocolate Frog card and it would be brief. Very, very brief. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to close your eyes at this height, so he kept focus on the light stubble above Oliver's top lip and kept going.
At the last moment, Oliver broke free, dropping toward the ground at breakneck speed.
Dennis felt the world drop out from under him and his broom dipped forward.
"Stupid bloody broom!" He shouted, fighting to keep the thing level.
He realised that he had probably misinterpreted the signs that he had seen. There was no way that Oliver would like him, not like that at least, and his sudden departure proved that. What's more he was floating at an insane height above the ground in the middle of a rain storm, and he wasn't entirely sure that he could get this broom back down. Shoulders slumped, he looked at the goal posts where he had watched Oliver save point after point. So strong and handsome and smart and…
"You coming?" Oliver asked, reappearing in front of him.
Dennis was confused; hadn't Oliver just rejected his advances? Maybe he just didn't want to leave him floating up there until the next match.
"We should get changed. I don't want your mum blaming me if you catch your death."
Oliver swooped around so he was once again along side Dennis, then held out a hand. He felt stuck between a floating broom and a hard place. He didn't want to let go of his handle, not in the slightest. The offer of Oliver's hand was also a double edged sword, taking it meant letting go of the broom, meant putting his trust in the Oliver. Tentatively, Dennis took hold of the gloved hand and let Oliver guide him back down to the ground.
~*~
Dennis hadn't even waited for Oliver to hand him a towel. He just plucked one from the stack by the doorway and headed down to the far end of the room. He rubbed his hair, drying it a little and hung the towel around his shoulders. Dropping onto the wooden bench he stared at the tile floor wondering how he could explain away his stupidity. Dennis supposed that Oliver got all sorts of unwanted attention as the Keeper for a professional team. He was probably swatting away love sick fans all the time.
Except he wasn't a love sick fan. he was just a lonely boy with a crush who needed someone to hold onto, someone who knew, someone who…
"You going to tell me what that was all about?" Oliver asked, sitting down beside him.
Dennis pulled the towel over his eyes and leaned back.
"I'd rather not."
A chuckle.
"Suit yourself."
Dennis sighed, dragging the towel from off his head.
"I… Fuck, I don't know…"
"Dennis," Oliver placed a hand on his thigh, "I understand, I do. It's just that I can't. It wouldn't be fair."
Now it was Dennis turn to laugh.
"Fair! What's fair about getting horny over some random bloke in a Quidditch uniform? What's fair about same said bloke not even knowing you're there? What's fair about that then?"
Oliver stood and, for a moment Dennis wasn't sure what was going to happen. Anything or nothing were both vying for the possible outcome.
"It's not you…" Oliver began.
"It's me," Dennis finished. "I'm too young, I know. I'm always too young. No Dennis, you can't go to Hogwarts yet, you're too young. No, you can't go on the train. Can't go to the ball. Can't Apparate. Can't join in the battle. Can't help Col… Can't…"
Suddenly he was on his feet, Oliver having grabbed him by the shoulders and yanking him upward. There was no room to move because those big, strong hands had him, and they were pulling him forward and -
Merlin, he's going to…
With rain still dripping down his face, and clothes still wet through, Oliver kissed him. Chapped, rough lips pressed against his own, softly at first then with an urgency that Dennis had thought had been all his. Unsure if he was overstepping any boundary, he slid his hand onto Oliver's chest, feeling the warmth through the damp t-shirt. Fingers gripped the damp material, knotting it in his hands. His senses were assaulted on all sides, the smell of after shave, the taste of someone else on his tongue, the hint of stubble Oliver was growing on his chin. He was sure that his feet were not touching the ground, and there was a good chance that was true considering their difference in height.
This can't be happening, he thought.
"This can't happen." Oliver said, pushing him backward a little.
"But you kissed me," Dennis said, his fingers tracing over his lips remembering where they had just been.
"I can't go through this again, Dennis. Why don't we just go back to my place. I'll cook us up something to eat and we'll talk, okay?" Oliver slung an arm around his shoulder, ruffled his hair and started walking them toward the door.
Dennis didn't protest. The words Oliver had just said - 'I can't go through this again' - kept echoing in his head. Oliver was gay, he really was and that meant there was a chance, however slim, there was still a chance.
A few moments later, Dennis was standing in Oliver's flat, his stomach feeling like it had just been pushed through the eye of a needle. He'd never taken Apparition lessons as he was too young and this was only the second time he'd done it. He much preferred the Portkey, strange as that experience was, over the sudden jolt of Apparating.
"Never really done that with anyone but you." Dennis said, rubbing his chest.
Oliver made a coughing sound as they went into the kitchen.
"So, I'm your first then," Oliver grinned, giving him a playful shove.
Dennis knew he was too old to sulk but Oliver making light of the situation wasn't helping any.
"I know you don't like vodka," Oliver said, looking at the half empty bottles in the corner of the bench , "maybe some cocoa?"
"Then I suppose you'll want to tuck me into bed? I'm not a child, Oliver. I'll drink whatever you make me," Dennis dared, then opened the fridge and found the bachelor's choice of food was Spartan to say the least.
A bunch of assorted condiments, sauces, chillies, half a salami, a block of mouldy blue cheese and a bottle of pumpkin juice. It seemed oddly familiar, like they were all something that he would eat - but glancing over the food he knew that it wasn't really to his taste.
"How did you get so big eating all this?" Dennis stared into the emptiness of the refrigerator.
"Must be my Scottish metabolism. That or all the haggis my gran sends me," Oliver said, sliding a glass into Dennis hand.
A little later they were warming themselves in front of the fire. Dennis chewed on some cheesy toast that he wasn't entirely sure was safe and Oliver sat on a comfy looking seat eyeing him in the half light. There had been an uncomfortable silence since they had entered the room, one that Dennis wasn't willing to break for fear of saying something syrupy or stupid or some weird combination of the two. Oliver had made him the vodka drink he had promised and somehow the combination of pumpkin juice and Worcestershire was sitting just right. Trying to pretend like he didn't care, he brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and looked at a picture of Oliver and Victor Krum taken at the Quidditch World Cup.
"You look just like him y'know."
"Krum?" Dennis asked, incredulously.
"Your brother."
Putting the photograph back on the mantle, Dennis slumped down in the chair opposite Oliver. He hoped that he would be swallowed by the cushions and tartan blanket and not have to go down this line of questioning.
"Don't need to hear this right now." Dennis mumbled
"Dennis, I was there. I held him."
"I know!" Dennis exclaimed, "You don't think I know that? I know how he left me at home, sneaking back to Hogwarts and leaving me… Leaving me…"
The words stuck in his throat.
"I know you were there, Oliver. I also know that I wasn't and I just can't forget that."
The flames in the fire seemed to blur and fuse and dance.
There was movement in the dark and Dennis found Oliver kneeling before him, his hand falling on Dennis lap.
"Can you forgive me?" Oliver whispered.
"What?"
"Can you? Dennis, I want - need to know." Oliver's voice wavered and he looked into Dennis's eyes.
"It wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done."
Oliver stood up, taking him by the hands and hauling him to his feet.
"I know that now. You've just got to believe that as well."
Dennis tried looking around Oliver, he wanted to lose himself in those flames. They burned like the guilt inside him and the desire that was making him feel the way he did. Oliver would have none of it, his finger tilted Dennis's chin upward, so that he looked into his tear filled eyes.
Dennis would have none of it. He just couldn't be here.
"I want… I want you to take me home," Dennis said, wiping his eyes and trying his best not to just fall completely apart right there in Oliver's flat.
~*~
Over the following few weeks Dennis ignored all the owls that Oliver sent. He'd read the first note, but the rest lay unopened on his desk. He hated him. He hated Oliver for kissing him. He hated him for telling him that Colin's death wasn't his fault. Most of all he hated him because it was true. So he really didn't hate Oliver at all. He just hated the way he felt. The feelings he had for Oliver were obvious, even if they weren't going to be reciprocated but trying to hide them was stupid. That Colin died, that he wasn't there to do anything about that, was not his fault. If he had been at The Battle of Hogwarts there was a good chance that his parents would be mourning two lost sons.
Lying on his bed, hands laced behind his head looking at the ceiling, he knew that things were they way they were for a reason. It didn't matter that he didn’t know what that reason was, he just had to accept it. This didn't make anything easier, just a little clearer.
There was a tapping on his window that drew him out of his thoughts and back to the now. An owl, Oliver's apparently as it was the same one that arrived almost every day, sat on the ledge.
"I don't have anything for you," he said, opening the window and letting the bird hop inside.
Deciding that he wasn't going back to school, he knew that he had no need for an Owl and had sent his and his brother's back to the Owlery at Hogwarts. The owl gave him the same stern look he always received whenever he opened his mouth. Perhaps the bird didn't like him very much and Dennis wondered if a bribe of food from the fridge might help.
The owl dropped the note it held in his beak, and flew up to perch on top of his wardrobe as if this time saying - I'm not leaving without an answer.
Dennis unfurled the note, it was only five words - Go into your brother's room.
Curious, Dennis slipped out of his room, checked that no one else was upstairs and stepped into his brothers room. Oliver was not there. In fact nothing looked out of place. Dennis had even put Colin's camera back where he had found it - he was yet to have the film developed. It was only when he was about to leave that he noticed there seemed to be a breeze, as the Quidditch robe that Oliver was wearing in the poster above the bed was flapping. In fact the poster seemed to have changed completely, but as Dennis noted the poster had always seemed different every time he looked at it. Maybe it was a special Puddlemere Supporters poster or something that Colin had cooked up in conjunction with his photography. The robe flapped a little higher.
That didn't make any sense, posters don't have breezes in them unless they are made that way, he thought
He leaned in closer; there had to be something wrong with the picture.
It was only then that he became aware that the Oliver in the poster wasn't wearing any pants.
That wasn't right, not in the slightest.
Not that it was bad either. He found that he couldn't tear his eyes away. On further inspection he found that Oliver was probably wearing nothing except for his Quidditch robe, gloves and boots.
The silken robe had slipped from his shoulder revealing a muscular chest with a light dusting of hair. Taut, well-exercised thighs flexed and it seemed like Oliver was showing off just for him.
Dennis found that his hand had a mind of its own, it had slid down inside his trousers and was greedily massaging his hardening cock. If he couldn't be with Oliver then this was certainly the next best thing.
As if on cue the Oliver in the poster pulled its robe tightly closed and turned away.
"Oi!" He exclaimed, "I was just getting into that."
The poster Oliver ignored him but Dennis realised there was a good reason. Written on the back of his robe it said - Meet me after practice.
"How exactly do I do that then? Dorset is a bit far for me to catch a cab."
Dennis remembered he was talking to a poster, a very sexy poster, but clearly it couldn't respond.
With his back still turned to him, Oliver stretched out his hand and a broom zoomed into view and plonked itself snugly in his palm.
"I am not flying a broom to Dorset!"
There was a squawk from the door. He'd left the door open! He turned to see the owl standing in the open doorway. It looked from him back towards his own room, then hopped out of sight. Following the insistent feathered pest it led him back to the window where a broom was floating outside his window.
Another note was hanging from the handle.
Give me a ride. Cause I want to ride you!
Dennis's feet were moving before he was. He banged his knee on the beside table, bumped into the bed, tripped over the pile of clothes that he'd left strewn on the floor and stumbled out onto the upstairs hall. Trying to compose himself so that he didn't look a complete prat, he stopped for a moment, took a breath and then stepped into the bathroom.
"Where's my bloody aftershave?" He cursed, ignoring his Dad's half empty bottle of Old Spice.
Remembering it was back on his bedside table, he swigged a mouthful of mouthwash and ran his hand through his hair.
It would have to do.
His feet were still a few steps ahead of him, so the trip back into his bedroom was just as hazardous. His shoulder slammed into the door frame as he hurried out the bathroom, spun him around so that he banged his head on the wall and then as he walked back into his room he tripped over the pile of clothes again and ended up face down on his bed.
The owl gave a hoot.
"You didn't just see that," Dennis said.
He grabbed a jacket from his closet just in case it was cold, and threw the Puddlemere scarf around his neck. He splashed on a bit of the cologne, but not too much as it stung like all hell.
"Alright then, I suppose you're going to show me the way?" He asked the owl, who gave him a hoot that sounded for all the world like a Muggle swear word and flew out the window.
~*~
The locker room was dark, darker than he had ever seen it before. Normally it was full of steam and life and sounds. Now it was almost quiet.
Almost.
The sound of a shower in the far recesses of the room, splashing onto tiled floor was what alerted him to the fact hat he was not alone.
"Oliver?"
Nothing.
It was still rather warm, the rest of the team must have only just left. He took his jacket and scarf off, hanging them on one of the many hooks that littered the walls.
Dennis felt his temperature rise, his pulse quicken a fine sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip. Was Oliver down there, under the showerhead, soaping up?
"Oliver?" His voice quivered.
It was only when it was too late that Dennis realised that the shower was a ruse. His attention was diverted to the back of the room and he only felt the hands sliding around him at the last moment. The smell of leather, liniment and sweat assaulted him, as a gloved hand slipped over his mouth. Calloused fingertips tugged at his bottom lip and hot breath played over his neck.
Teeth nibbled at his ear as rough hands played up over his chest and, without warning, ripped his shirt open. The small protest that formed in his head was quietened when Oliver, at least he assumed it was Oliver pushed him forward against the wall. The cool tiles, moist and wet, pressed hard on his face and chest. A hand between his shoulders stopped him from turning around.
"Oliver, is it you?" Dennis whispered, hoping that he hadn't walked in on some sex fiend that somehow preyed on innocent boys in Quidditch locker rooms.
His shirt was pulled from his shoulders, Dennis acquiesced, wriggling free of the now useless garment. There was a wetness on his back, a tongue - it had to be, slid from the small of his back upward.
Dennis swallowed, it felt - Merlin , he didn't know how it felt as he had nothing to compare it too. All he knew was he didn't want it to stop.
"Dennis."
The voice was so full of longing and want that Dennis's knees felt week. It sounded cracked, broken and lost, but each time his name was repeated it became more…
Substantial.
Permanent.
There.
Then Oliver was. Lips pressed tight, teeth nipping, grabbing and pawing and just so fucking close that it almost hurt. Dennis felt short of breath, like it was being sucked from him and the only thing keeping him alive was the air from Oliver as his mouth clamped down over his.
His fingers roamed over Oliver's hairy chest, found his nipples and unsure what to do with them, he ventured down further. His actions were obviously having the desired effect, for when he crossed over Oliver's belt he found a throbbing mound in his trousers that was unmistakeable.
"Fuck!" Oliver groaned, as he cupped the hardness.
Well he certainly didn't know how to do that, he thought, but he was more than willing to learn.
"Yes."
Barely above a whisper, lest he sound too eager, Dennis replied to a question that wasn't.
Oliver's hand came from his, fingers trailing along his jaw and turned his chin upward.
"You want to… You want me to…" Oliver's eyes looked huge in the dark, pupils dilated taking in what they could in the gloom, searching Dennis's face for some sign of uncertainty.
I should say yes, he thought, but recently he'd learned a new thing.
Actions speak louder than words.
His fingers hurriedly tore at the buckle holding Oliver's belt together, tripped as they popped buttons on his fly and rapidly returned to his own trousers to replicate the feat. They were stumbling along the wall, trying to find something, somewhere.
A clothesbasket fell over as they bumped into it and clean towels, robes and uniforms spilled onto the floor.
His hand stuck out, tripping a switch on the wall. The lamps that, til then had been dark, burst back into life bathing the room in a warm glow.
He caught Oliver's eye as they wrestled their trousers down and he grinned like he hadn't in ages. They fell down in a bundle of limbs, the pile of clothes cushioning their landing, laughing and kissing as they went. The next few moments passed in a blur, a wand shot from out of Oliver's locker, words were murmured and something cool was in his arse. A finger pressed slowly, but forcefully, up inside him and then was joined soon after by another.
His mouth opened but no sound came out, as the electric thrill of what they were doing finally hit home. Oliver's fingers scissored in and out, preparing him for what was to come. Soft kisses peppered his neck and shoulders as Oliver whispered the most carnal of thoughts in his ear, that until now had only been damp sheet dreams.
Then it was there, that hardness, poking at his frightfully small hole.
"Relax, just let it go in."
Dennis's breath quickened, it felt huge.
He reached back taking the thick cock in his hand, and Oliver's fingers closed over his and guide it forward. With an insistent pushing he felt his tight ring of flesh open, stretch and surrender to the Oliver's movement. Muscled arms slid around him, holding him tight, he felt safe and totally within Oliver's power. Biting down on his lip, he felt Oliver's cock move slowly deeper into him.
"Tell me when you're ready," Oliver whispered, laying gentle kisses on the nape of his neck.
Dennis had never, never, felt so alive.
"R-ready," Dennis stammered, hoping his hesitation would not be taken as a form of rebuke.
He felt Oliver pull back a little and he was suddenly a little less full, then it returned as he pushed forward - each stroke gaining a little momentum. They fed off each other's excitement, so Dennis began pushing back a little each time with Oliver's thrusts. He could feel Oliver all the way in him. His mouth opened in silent, little screams and his eyes clamped shut. Oliver's hand brushed accidentally against Dennis's cock and he became painfully aware of how hard it had become. Rigid with frustrated need, he knew that if he didn't come soon something inside him might explode.
Oliver was thrusting into him with abandon and Dennis was loosing all sense of reality as the smell of fresh laundry and the sweat from their bodies mingled. The sound of flesh on flesh, frantic and hard, pulsing and heaving became louder.
"Merlin! I'm-so-fucking-close," Oliver groaned.
Something inside Dennis's mind took control, that voice that tells one to take the last bit of cake or that peeking into the Prefect's bathroom is okay when it's only another boy in there. With one hand guiding Oliver's cock in and out of his clenching arse, he took the other and wrapped it around his chest.
Their voices seemed to melt into one, each saying what the other was thinking.
"This is the best thing I've ever felt in my life!" Dennis exclaimed, as Oliver pushed in deep one last time, his hand crushing around his chest, fingernails digging in.
Dennis cried out as the sharp sensation of Oliver biting down on his neck brought him back to earth. Fuck, he was going to come so hard. His hand hadn't even touched his cock and any second now he knew it was going to come all over the fluffy white towels and tiled floor
There was an explosion inside him, as if something had been ticking away, waiting to be released. Oliver came with a moan that reverberated around the room. Then, as Dennis felt the warmth seep inside him, the orgasm that's been threatening to burst from him does just that. His voice came to him then, crying out in utter relief. They collapsed, spent and exhausted. Oliver's arms still wrapped around him pulled him close, so that his damp chest pressed against Dennis's back. In the pile of clean robes they had made love on he spied the golden bulrushes. Always two - never one. There for support to stop the other breaking in the storm. Oliver whispered in his ear and Dennis felt hot tears on his cheek, he had never been this happy.