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The Great Hall was already entirely decorated by the time Marcus walked inside on a fine Monday morning. The whole castle was decorated. Yesterday, everything had been... normal, but today was a different matter.
Marcus hated everything about Christmas (now, that's a lie. He didn't hate everything.). He hated the red and green colour theme that seemed to have taken over the castle - as if someone out there was trying to ship rival Houses. And no! Marcus wasn't still mad about that popular 'fanfiction' he had accidentally found out during one of his detentions, something about the sexual tension between him and Wood. Ha! If there had ever been sexual tension between him and Wood, he would have fucked it out of the guy during that Halloween night two years ago, but no. There wasn't anything like that between them. They just couldn't stand each other. See, even being blacked out drunk together couldn't make them shag, so that fanfiction would have to stay a sexual fantasy or whatever of the author.
But to get back to our Hippogriffs, Marcus hated Christmas. He hated the cheerful atmosphere that emanated from absolutely everything. Even his fellow Slytherins were chipper now. Terence and Jason had even tried to force an elf hat on him the other day! Crazy, the lot of them. It had contaminated their House. That was probably the worst of it.
Ever since December had started, the whole castle had gotten into a frenzy. The other day, he caught Miles trying to wrap a present he intended to gift Terence for bloody Christmas! Not Yule. Christmas.
Marcus might actually lose his mind this year, and it will be all the fault of those bloody Muggles. He could even say that out loud because Terence would pout and scold him if he did. Out of all of his friends, Terence was the one who had a... very open-minded family and his childhood was spent in both the Muggle and Magical world. Terence might as well be the most Muggle-accepting Pureblood of Slytherin. It was never really talked about with his friend, but some silver tongues had things to say about it. Terence never minded the whisper,s though, even when it cut deep. He always shrugged off the mean comments, occasionally even snapping back, all smiles and cutting edges. There was a reason the former Seeker was a Slytherin after all, and it wasn't because of his ambition.
Noticing that none of his friends were up, Marcus sighed and chugged down the steaming coffee he had poured into a cup. The hot drink burned his throat, but he ignored it and grabbed a viennoiserie before standing up. He wasn't going to waste time in the Great Hall when none of his Housemates were up.
“Flint!” a cheerful, if slightly unfamiliar voice exclaimed when he was about to get out for some early practice. “Could you help me, please?”
Marcus blinked, stopped walking and turned around.
It was Potter – because, of course, it had to be Pretty Boy. Why was Potter asking him (of all people) for help? How did he even know his name? Then again, Wood probably cursed his name enough that, added with Jordan's commentary during games, he probably recognised him. Then why in Merlin's name was he asking for his help? Surely he must have expected some aggressive reactions, right?
But, no. The younger boy smiled brightly when Marcus slowed down and walked back to him. When he stopped in front of the Gryffindor, he noticed a few boxes overfilled with, urgh, Christmas decorations.
“How am I supposed to help?”
“Decorate with me,” Potter said, although that sounded almost like a question.
“Can't you do that yourself?” Marcus asked, looking him up and down.
The boy pouted – actually pouted.
“I could, if I wanted to risk Madam Pomfrey's outrage.”
Right. Potter had been one of the quarantined students who had gotten the magical flu lately. He wasn't supposed to use magic until he was a hundred per cent healed. It's not like he necessarily needed to use magic, but considering the boy's height, he would either need to use magic or have some external help to hang the highestgarlandss.
Marcus sighed but followed him, grabbing the biggest box from the ground before the youngest teen could.
“What are you even doing with this?”
“Professor Flitwick offered to let students help him decorate the book club room.”
The book club room... Right. A book club was going to open starting in January. It couldn't be held in the library because Madame Pince was a believer in 'working in absolute silence' and would not tolerate hearing students whispering or talking. So the book club would be held somewhere close by. It would only officially open in January, but the students staying here for the Yule Break were permitted to go there. That might be why Flitwick wanted it to be decorated. Marcus refused to admit that he had paid attention to that. He wasn't even that interested in the book club. Just because he enjoyed some kind of Muggle novels didn't mean that he wanted to join the club. Can you imagine him, Marcus Flint, joining a Book Club? The Hogwarts rumour mill would never let him live this down.
Marcus made the mistake of looking in the boy's direction and was thrown off by the puppy dog eyes he was staring at.
“Fine. I'll help.”
Really, Marcus? Really?! He didn't even ask what he would get in return! Some Slytherin he was...
Grumbling, the Quidditch Captain followed the Gryffindor along the deserted corridors. They didn't talk much. Rather, Marcus didn't talk much. He was content to let the younger boy ramble about the Christmas spirit that had taken over the castle.
They carried on like this even when they took out the decorations and put them on the table to see what they would be working with.
.
“Why do you like Christmas so much?” he asked when he was trying to unknot that damn lights garland.
They were standing on opposite sides of the room, turning their back to each other. Potter was hanging balls from a lamp.
Marcus turned slightly to watch Potter's profile when the younger boy hummed but didn't immediately reply.
“My relatives don't like me very much.”
Marcus didn't outwardly react, but it was a close thing.
“They don't like magic,” Potter continued as if he hadn't just dropped an Erumpent on him.
The Slytherin wanted to ask where he was going with this... disturbing revelation, but he had a feeling that he knew.
“Growing up, I never got to celebrate Christmas with them, but... Ever since coming to Hogwarts, I got to do just that.”
The Gryffindor's voice had started barely above a whisper, Marcus absently leaning towards his voice to hear him better. By the end of it, though, his tone had gained a cheerful tilt to it, and his voice had risen slightly.
Harry continued, grabbing a Christmas sock almost half his size from the box.
“I like Christmas. I like how much more cheerful everyone seems to be.”
The boy ducked his head, and Marcus found himself feeling strangely flustered.
He knew exactly why, but refused to acknowledge it.
Finally, the boy turned around to look Marcus in the eye.
“I know you don't think much of Muggle celebrations.”
“I-”
“It's okay. You don't have to explain. I'm just grateful you accepted to help me out.”
That damn smile, Marcus thought, fighting back the flush that was trying to overtake his face.
He was not about to blush like a goddamn virgin in front of their crush.
Marcus looked away and spelled the garland he was holding to float it to the lanterns.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, turning away to focus on his task.
He heard the other boy giggle and resolutely refused to look back at him.
They took way longer than Marcus expected, but it turned out that the room was bigger than he thought, and there were way more decorations in the boxes than he had thought. Of course, they didn't put everything that was in there, but by the end of it, even the most critical would have to admit that it looked like a damn Christmas-themed room.
Marcus was nothing if not hard-working, and when he accepted to help Potter, that meant that he wasn't going to half-ass it.
He left the room half a step behind Potter, feeling oddly satisfied. He was in such a good mood (a miracle, really) that he didn't want to go separate ways, yet.
Instead, he looked at the corridor they were in before glancing at the other boy.
“Wanna booby-trap Snape's office?” he asked.
Harry gave him an impish grin.
“You don't even have to ask.”
The castle almost glowed upon hearing a bright laugh. Further away down the Great Hall, students shivered. They had the terrible impression that someone was going to give the Weasley twins a run for their money.
By the time the day had reached an end and the sun was setting down, Marcus felt like the day had very... productive, he mused, a smirk adorning his lips.
Beside him, half a step ahead of him, stood Harry. Unlike him, the Gryffindor didn't look like he had successfully hidden a body and gotten away with it (not that they had done anything like that, no, but he could already hear the rumours). It made him wonder what had happened in the previous years for the students to accuse the boy of nefarious plans when the boy managed to look innocent after spending an hour and a half in his company, setting up prank products to target his Head of House.
He wasn't stupid, he knew that not half of their traps would be triggered – Snape was good like that- but even he would be fooled by some of the traps they put. He would be very disappointed if none of the prank products they used got him.
“You're smiling,” Adrian told him the second he sat down at the Slytherin table for dinner.
Marcus scowled and made a point to ignore him. He reached for the salad, but Adrian wouldn't let him do as he pleased.
“You look happy. You never look happy around Yule.”
“They call it Christmas,” Miles mumbled from his right.
Marcus twitched but didn't speak up. He glanced at the Gryffindor table. Harry (because the kid told him to call him by his first name, like the naive, trusting, pretty little thing that he was) was animatedly speaking with Finnigan and Thomas about something, using his hands to converse. The Gryffindor didn't usually look so lively when speaking with his fellow lions, so the subject must have been interesting.
“Hm? You look a bit red, there, Marcus.”
Marcus abruptly looked away from Harry to focus on the dumbasses he called friends.
“Don't be stupid. I don't blush.”
“I never said you were blushing. I could have been saying you looked flushed and sick,” Adrian said, but the teasing tone wasn't even hidden.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. The other boy sounded way too entertained to let go of their current one-sided conversation. Marcus really didn't want to talk right now, because Adrian could pull every bit of information from someone when he was determined to.
“Did someone manage to make you enjoy Christmas?” the other Slytherin asked, a sly smirk on his face.
His scowl grew deeper.
“What are you talking about?”
Adrian chuckled and put his hand on his shoulder, seemingly grabbing something before showing it to him.
It was a discarded bit of garland that had somehow fallen on his uniform.
Shit.
“You know, it's funny. I think I saw Potter struggling with boxes filled with decoration this morning.”
Alarms rang in his head. Marcus had to go now. Forget dinner, he wasn't about to set himself up for interrogation. Adrian would never let him live this down if he knew he had been nice. Worse. If he knew he had helped someone with something involving that blasted Muggle celebration.
Thankfully, Terence inadvertently intervened when he gasped and glared at Adrian:
“You saw him struggle and you didn't help?”
Adrian didn't roll his eyes, but it was a close thing.
“Well, I would have, but Potter chose someone else to help him.”
Shit. He saw that, Marcus thought, eyebrow twitching. He didn't remember seeing anyone in the Hall at the time, but he hadn't been really paying attention.
Adrian was looking at him. It didn't take the others long to understand what was not being said.
They gaped at him as he avoided their eyes.
The Quidditch captain turned his head to give Adrian a deadpan look.
“I hate you.”
Adrian grinned.
“That's for leaving me with the girls last Friday.”
Marcus twitched.
“I should have let them dress you up.”
True, he might have left his friends with Gemma and co the other day, but at least he intervened when they tried to put a drunk Adrian in a wedding dress. He should have just let them do as they pleased.