Work Text:
It was 2.30pm on a cold Thursday afternoon when Angelina Johnson arrived on the thick stone doorstep. The sun had barely risen through the November haze and rain was pounding against the window panes meaning that much of the remote Highland village was firmly settled indoors with roaring fires on the go. She pulled her navy raincoat tighter and hammered on the door with her fist, competing with the torrential downpour.
Inside, Marcus Flint had a local radio station on full blast, some upbeat pop song brightening his afternoon. Music was his new love; he’d managed to scavenge a box full of cassettes from a hole in the wall record shop in the middle of town and they had become some of his most prized possessions. If his father could see him now, he’d likely die on the spot of shame. Living with a man, without magic, with a muggle job and muggle hobbies. Somehow that would be even worse than the unsightly final grades he’d walked away from school with.
He carefully heated a strip of solder to close the gap in a twisting silver ring and nodded his head to the beat emitting from the radio. It took him a good few minutes to realise that something was trying to compete with the pounding drums on the track and, huffing in annoyance, he roughly pulled off his glasses and set down the smoking soldering iron to head through to the kitchen. He’d quickly glanced through the spyhole, grabbed a knife out of the kitchen block and edged open the door to a drenched Angelina inside.
“How did you first find out about me and Oliver being together?” He asked quickly without letting go of her coat, knife grasped forcefully in his left hand.
“George and his damn mouth,” she glanced fearfully at the knife, though he held it far enough away from her, “I’d never seen him so shocked.”
“Nice to see you Johnson,” Marcus smiled thinly and let go before retreating into another room, “better be a fucking good reason for interrupting my afternoon.”.
“Nice to see you too Marcus,” she’d muttered back and shook off her coat which was dripping onto the slate tiles and set her muddy boots by the door.
He came back into the room with a fluffy mustard towel which he promptly threw at her and asked, “whisky?”
“Just tea please.”
“Of course,” he flicked on the kettle before grabbing a bottle of Jura from the shelf, “I’m going to need some whisky though”. He set down the bottle alongside a glass on the wooden countertop and continued to stare at the forest green kettle. “Sorry about the knife, no wands I’m afraid.”
“I understand,” she nodded and took a seat at the small round table to towel at her hair.
“Your lord and captain will be home from work soon so you can settle in and we can talk over dinner.”
“You don’t want to know why I’m here?” she asked curiously.
“Well I can only imagine it’s important and involves us both so there’s no point in rushing you,” he sloshed some amber liquid in the glass, drained it and poured some boiling water into the cup, “but yes, eventually you’ll probably need to tell me.”
She could see the tension in his broad shoulders. Angelina had never known him to be a particularly gentle and understanding person but she needed to trust Oliver’s judgement right now. She really wished her friend had opened the door instead.
“Look Marcus, I know you’re not happy to see me-”
“We are in hiding,” he snapped, staring into the slowly diffusing tea, “we have been living in this back end of nowhere for nine months now because my dad is hellbent on killing me on sight,” he jabbed a spoon aggressively into the mug, “Oliver’s family has no idea where he is and honestly, they probably think he’s dead. Don’t you think it’s killing him that we are literally hours away from Glasgow and he can’t see them?”
“I know Marcus, I’m sorry” she picked at the skin on her thumb, “it was a last resort, I promise.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his blonde hair that had grown out past his buzzcut and had started to curl on the ends. She wouldn’t have come to find them if it wasn’t important, he told himself, she was a good person and she loved Oliver enough not to put him in danger if it wasn’t completely necessary. The practical and, frankly, Slytherin side of himself was screaming at him to ask her to leave and not tell Oliver she’d even arrived. Unfortunately, that part of him had been beaten down by the soft heart of his scruffy Scottish lover.
It was only a matter of time before they’d have to go back anyway.
“Do you take milk?”
“Just a splash, please.”
He went to the fridge and flicked the aluminium lid off the bottle with his thumb, “you’ll get however much I put in it,” he said only half joking. He poured in a small amount before setting it down on a coaster in front of her.
She found his hand before he could take it away from the hand-made ceramic mug, “thank you.”
He nodded, refilled his glass and sat down in the chair opposite her.
“So,” he breathed in heavily and took a sip, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I won’t mess you around Marcus, I know you’re a straightforward person,” Angelina straightened her back and held her head high, “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes snapped up from the glass, “fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” she nodded, “I needed to get out of London and McGonagall thought you were the best choice.”
He nodded thoughtfully, “surprised she trusts me really.”
“I think it was more Oliver she trusted but she did mention that you were loyal to a tee.”
“Yeah, she’s right on that count at least. Well done on the baby I guess, could've picked a better time,” he said, sarcasm dripping as he drained yet another glass.
Angelina chose not to take offence to the barb. She had, afterall, destroyed their bubble of safety and he could have thrown her out immediately but chose not to. She also knew that Marucs was particularly defensive and often said things he didn’t mean; Oliver had hammered this fact into them when he had officially introduced him to their group. Instead she decided to change the conversation and hope that they could resolve the situation when Oliver finally arrived, “whisky must be decent up here?”
“Oli gets paid in it sometimes,” he laughed and smiled fondly at the bottle, “he does odd jobs for the old dears in the village.”
“Sounds like Oliver,” Angelina felt warm inside, “bet they all love him.”
“They do. I think they were a bit wary of me and my slightly offbeat look at first but I’ve infiltrated the knitting circle.”
She nodded thoughtfully at his still messily bleached hair and tattoos which seemed to have multiplied since she last saw him. She sipped at her tea as she looked round the small cottage; the space painted a tasteful navy and was relatively tidy apart from Oliver’s signature pile of clothes in the corner. The wood burning fire was emitting a soft glow, a pile of wood at the side ready to be added to the flames should the need arise. There were photos in frames scattered around the room and her eyes fell on one of herself, Alicia and Oliver in tangle of limbs taken one evening after a win over Slytherin.
“We had to enchant them not to move before we left,” Marcus commented, “he grabbed a few from school and the rest are just normal old fashioned muggle ones taken up here.”
“I’m glad he has them,” she smiled sadly, “I guess you two can’t play up here?”
“Sadly not,” he poured another small glass, “strictly no magic I’m afraid, it’s been a bit of a learning curve but hey, I can wash dishes by hand now.”
“Fuck off,” she laughed.
“It’s true,” he held his hands up in mock protest and then motioned towards two heavily scratched sticks in the corner, “we’ve also discovered shinty so that’s helped.”
“Shinty?”
“It’s Scottish and pretty bloody brutal. Not as fun as flying unfortunately but it’s good to beat him at something again; you should come watch on Sunday. The locals have taken to us so it’s pretty safe.”
Her face softened, “I can stay?”
“Course you can stay, I’m not my dad,” he looked sadly into his whisky and played with the cuff of his forest green jumper.
“That’s not what I-”
“I know that’s not what you meant but sometimes it’s what people still think,” he sighed, “I’ll move my work stuff out of the spare room and we can go into town tomorrow to get anything you need.”
She leapt out of her chair and threw her arms round him as he awkwardly moved in his chair, “thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” he nodded and shifted so she didn’t crush his neck.
Angelina kissed his head and poured more whisky into the glass.
“So, what do you do?”
He swirled the drink thoughtfully, “erm, I actually make jewellery.”
“No way!”
“Yeah, metalwork mostly, the Islands are a good inspiration.”
“That’s great Marcus, will you show me?”
“Yeah, why not” he stood up and gestured for her to follow him into the spare room.
They spent the next hour sharing stories until they could hear Oliver’s key in the door. Marcus had since abandoned his glass and took another swig straight from the bottle as they took their seats back at the table.
“Fucking rain honestly,” Oliver stamped his boots on the mat to get rid of some mud, “I swear it’s getting worse.”
He’d somehow become more Scottish than she remembered.
“I’m going to get another bottle,” Marcus announced quickly as Angelina drained the last of her second cup of tea.
“Angelina?”
Oliver had shed his coat and stood in the doorway staring at them both.
“Nice beard.”
“It is right,” Marcus cackled, “he grew it because the other guys on the farm have them and he felt left out, but honestly I’m never letting him get rid of it.”
“My beard isn’t really the main talking point here,” he took the bottle Marcus handed him, pulled out the cork with his teeth and took a long swig, “why are you here Ange? Not that it isn’t lovely to see you but we were supposed to be in hiding.”
“And a good hiding place at that,” she agreed, “McGonagall let me apparate to Glasgow and then I had to take public transport here, I can’t say I enjoyed the ferry.”
“Did you see any dolphins?” Marcus asked.
“Marc, not helping,” snapped Oliver, “are you drunk?”
He nodded, “a little yeah, it was either that or a breakdown really.”
“Fair,” Oliver replied uneasily, “seriously though Ange, are you ok?”
“I’m so sorry for intruding Oli, really I am, but we didn’t know what else to do,” she had started to play with her mug nervously.
“Ange,” he knelt down on the floor next to her chair and put his hand over hers to pull her attention back to him, “I need to know, I need to make sure that Marcus is still safe.”
“Oli, it’s fine honestly, please don’t stress,” Marcus chipped in, trying to soothe him. Oliver looked at him quizzically before turning back to Angelina.
“I’ve not said a word to anyone honestly,” she held her hands up, “I’ve told anyone who asked along the way that I’m just backpacking. George went straight to McGonagall and we didn’t even mention it to his family.”
“She didn’t tell George where we are?”
“No,” she admitted sadly, “just me, I promise you. He doesn’t even know that she sent me to you.”
“I believe you, it’s ok,” Oliver swigged more of the whisky and began to think that Marcus’ coping mechanism had actually been fairly measured, “so you were with George? Why aren’t you now?”
“He needed me to leave, our living situation was getting riskier by the day and I know I’m half-blood but I’m a known associate of a blood traitor now and it wasn’t safe for me there,” her hand ran slightly over her stomach as she began to cry.
“Oh fuck Ange,” Oliver looked over to Marcus who was watching Angelina with worry, “I mean congratulations though, it’s nice to have some good news for once.”
“Thank you,” she took his hand, “damn, I wish I could have some of that whisky.”
“I can make more tea,” Marcus offered helplessly.
Oliver laughed softly and brought Angelina into a tight hug, “yeah, more tea would be great love.”
Marcus pushed out of his chair and took his place back at the kitchen counter. Realistically, more tea was not the answer, but he couldn’t really think of what else he could offer. Oliver was much better at being comforting and he naturally exuded an air of ‘it’ll all be ok’ which was on full display as he held the crying girl whereas Marcus felt that he brought a ‘dark cloud’ energy that wasn’t really useful in this situation.
“You know you can stay here as long as you need right,” he heard Oliver say into her hair.
She laughed lightly through the tears, “oh I know, Marcus has already started clearing out the spare room.”
The smile Marcus received from the man he considered to be the best thing to ever happen to him, well, it was worth everything.