Warnings: Slash, Lime/Lemon, Dark – so, don't like, don't read!

A/N: There are so few Marcus/Harry stories out there I thought I'd give it a try myself… this is a GoF-AU, Harry will be sixteen, though – no underage stuff here! Thus, all characters will be two years older than in the books and the age restriction for the tournament will be 19, accordingly, but otherwise everything is pretty much the same.

I probably should mention that English is not my mother tongue, so I hope there are not too many mistakes – feel free to point out any mistakes you can find so I can correct them and will know better next time!

Anyway, enough talking, on with the story! Enjoy – I hope you like it!

Chapter 1

As far as he could remember, Harry had always been aware of people watching him. At the Dursleys it had been out of necessity: whenever he was watched, he had to pay attention not to make the slightest mistake while not showing that he knew he was being watched, because otherwise he would be accused of only working properly under supervision.

At Hogwarts, he mostly tried to ignore people watching him (except when it was Snape), but there was no way he could continue to ignore Marcus Flint's stares. Flint had been watching him for weeks, staring at him during lunch and dinner (not during breakfast, though, but that was because Flint never bothered to show up for breakfast), staring at him in the hallways, staring at him when he walked from class to class and when he sat in the library, studying.

Today was the day after his name had been pulled out of the Goblet and Harry was in a really, really bad mood because he didn't want to participate in the Tournament; because Ron was a stuck-up dumbass; because people didn't even bother anymore to lower their voices when they gossiped about him and he walked by. So, when he saw Flint leaning against a window sill in the Entrance Hall after dinner and watching him with those dark, piercing eyes, Harry marched up to him and snapped at him: "What do you want from me, Flint?" He couldn't remember ever having talked to him voluntarily, because who would be so mad as to walk up to Flint and disturb him with a conversation? But Harry was mad today, was in one of his suicidal walk-into-any-danger-with-your-eyes-wide-open moods and therefore didn't care.

Flint raised his eyebrows slightly, obviously taken aback by the fact that someone had dared to speak to him. "What d'you mean, Potter?" His face held a pointedly bored expression, his dark, almost black eyes piercing Harry. He was a lot taller than Harry (he surely stood at 6'3") and probably weighed twice as much him (though that was pure muscle); but it needed more than sheer body size to impress Harry. After all, he had known Dudley, a whale pretending to be a human, for all his life and had never been truly impressed by him even once.

"I want to know why you stare at me all the time," Harry said shortly, his voice trembling with suppressed fury that was not directed at anyone in particular, but Flint seemed like a passable victim. "What. Do. You. Want from me?"

Flint grinned at him. "Maybe I just enjoy looking at your pretty face?" With that, he picked up his bag and strolled off nonchalantly. Now it was Harry who was staring after his tall, bulky silhouette disappearing in the hallway to the dungeons. What on earth was that supposed to mean? Harry shook his head and decided to ignore him. It might be a nice change to ignoring the Gryffindors, who tried to cheer for him every time he showed up, as opposed to ignoring the Hufflepuffs, who obviously loathed him for taking away Cedric's possible triumph, as opposed to ignoring the Ravenclaws, who had sided with the Hufflepuffs and gave him dark looks and whispered mean remarks, as opposed to ignoring the rest of Slytherin who were just a bit meaner and crueller than their normal selves.

With a sigh, he started walking to Gryffindor tower as his Potions essay wouldn't be writing itself and there was no way Snape would accept "I couldn't write my essay because I was in a really crappy mood" as an apology.

xXx

During the next days that were filled with hissed rumours, a five-foot-long essay for Charms, detention for not doing his Herbology homework, three cauldrons exploding into his face during Potions, even more detention for that (because it was always his fault, no matter, how much Malfoy was snickering behind his cauldron and blinking at Snape innocently) and endless rain pouring down the windows, Harry hardly had time to think about anything but school and his sorry life. On top of this, however, he had to force himself to ignore Flint's looks (he wasn't sure whether he was seeing things or whether Flint actually looked at him hungrily), his winks and his meaningful grins with raised eyebrows.

On Friday night he sat in the library, eyes closed, his face placed on an old, dusty tome about Goblin wars and tried to calm down. Carefully, he touched his face; the skin felt raw and itchy because the unfinished Cleaning Potion (for removing particularly persistent stains, thank you, Malfoy) had only exploded about four hours ago, but it already felt a lot better than directly after the impact. His skin had pelt away, blisters blooming on raw flesh, accompanied by Hermione's high-pitched screams. Without further comment, Snape had sent him to the Infirmary and Neville had informed him during dinner that he had received yet another week of detention. Harry grimaced when he thought of the snickers that had accompanied him during dinner; he would have liked to see Pansy Parkinson's face while it was drowned in Cleaning Potion for removing particularly persistent stains, surely she wouldn't be laughing then.

Someone slumped into the seat next to him. "Not now, Hermione," he mumbled without opening his eyes; these days no one sat next to him willingly except Hermione.

"I'm not your little know-it-all," a dark voice said and Harry snapped his eyes open, raising his head hastily and hissing at the pain spreading in his cheeks.

"Flint," he groaned. Hadn't he tried to ignore him? Wasn't that enough to make him leave alone? "What do you want?"

"Wash your face with cold water for at least fifteen minutes," Flint advised him shortly. "Then, go to bed, you look like you need a lot of beauty sleep."

"Huh?" Harry said drowsily.

"It certainly wouldn't diminish your mental capacities either," Flint added and then left the table without further ado.

How strange, Harry thought, but he supposed that he could not be all that wrong – he was truly in a need of sleep. In the bathroom in their dorms, he pointedly ignored Ron who was brushing his teeth and watching him sceptically while Harry washed his face with icy water for what seemed like ages.

He hadn't expected that, but it actually did help and his skin didn't even hurt anymore when he carefully poked his cheeks afterwards. "Weird," he murmured to himself, went to bed and slept for eight hours straight.

xXx

During the next Potions lesson he sat as far as possible away from Malfoy and even raised a shield around his cauldron so no unexpected ingredients could be added to his potion. His potion was far from perfect, but at least it hadn't exploded so far. Busy grounding griffin teeth for the next step, he didn't even look up when someone knocked on the door.

"Potter is supposed to come to Bagman," a bored voice said – Harry knew that voice and tried to spy its owner through the red fumes rising from Neville's cauldron at an alarming speed.

"Why?" Snape asked, frowning and scowling at Harry as though the interruption were his fault – which it was, technically speaking.

"Didn't ask," Flint said, still sounding bored.

"Well, Potter, what are you waiting for? Gather your things and hurry to do your important tournament business. You will start again with this potion next lesson."

"Yes, Sir," Harry said, glad he had managed to escape from Snape's wrath at least once.

Outside the classroom, however, he wasn't that glad anymore – again, Flint was staring at him.

"Uhm, thank you for picking me up," Harry said nervously and immediately wanted to kick himself – why was he trying to be grateful towards Flint?

Flint seemed to wonder the same thing; he just grunted and hurried along the hall. Harry almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides – to his dismay, Flint was more than a head taller than him. "Didn't think you'd lower yourself so far as to go and pick up Gryffindors for their appointments," Harry added in order to seem less grateful.

"Might play for the Wimbourne Wasps after I graduate, gotta get into good graces with Bagman," he said shortly. Oh, Harry thought, he had never even once thought about making connections – but then again, he would probably not face any problems finding a job after his graduation (assuming he would survive until then). For a moment, he felt absurdly guilty about the fact that any Quidditch team would probably immediately take him – though probably only so they could multiply their merchandise income.

"Do you know what they're going to do?" he asked and wanted to kick himself again; Flint had already said he didn't know. His brain seemed to be seriously malfunctioning today.

However, the Slytherin just shrugged. "Bagman was all excited, almost thought he was high. Why do they let you participate anyway?"

"I didn't put my name into the Goblet!" Harry said immediately. He didn't know how often he had said this sentence already – probably you could wake him in the middle of the night and he'd instantly shout it into the face of whoever had woken him.

Flint rolled his eyes. "I know, you said so. But you're too young."

"Apparently it's a magically binding contract," Harry replied. "But… do you believe me?" That would make three people in the school who believed him – Hermione, Dumbledore and Flint. What a cheerful group they made.

"'Course. Not even you would be stupid enough to actually think you'd stand a chance."

"Well… uhm… thank you?"

Flint barked a laugh. "It wasn't a compliment, Potter. There are other things I'd compliment you on."

"Really," Harry said, doubtfully. This conversation got stranger with the minute.

"You have a rather nice arse. Should wear your cloak over it less often." Flint leered at him. "Here we are."

Without saying anything else, he strode off and Harry stared after him, dumbfounded. Alright, so obviously Flint – fucking Marcus Flint, of all people! – was hitting on him. Or at least pretending to because he wanted to… get through with some kind of Slytherin plot. But, fact was, he was obviously hitting on him. So, Harry might be a bit slow concerning things like that (it had taken him until last summer to realize Ginny had been crushing on him since the first time they had met), but he wasn't that slow. Mostly.

Harry decided to dwell on anything concerning Marcus Flint later and strode into the room which was already packed with people. Immediately, a blonde woman with too much make-up and too long fingernails grabbed his arm and dragged him towards a broom closet. "Harry, it's so great you are here – may I call you Harry? – what do you think of a private interview?"

"Um… oh, hello there Professor Dumbledore!" The woman instantly let go of his arm and scowled into Dumbledore's direction.

The Headmaster smiled at Harry congenially. "It seems everyone is here. Let's begin. Mr. Ollivander, if you would?"

"Of course, of course." Harry hadn't even seen Ollivander so far who had spoken with Mr. Crouch in a corner of the classroom. "Welcome to the Wand Weighing Ceremony. Champions, I will verify the quality of your wands today. Ladies first, please. Miss Delacour?"

Harry didn't pay a lot of attention to the ceremony; instead he looked out of the window and thought about the Flint-situation as he had dubbed it. Was Flint genuinely interested in him – Harry didn't have any delusions about Flint crushing on him, his interest was obviously of a more sexual nature – and if so, why? He couldn't even remember having talked to him (not even during the Quidditch games), but he clearly remembered a violent shove from Flint in his third year that had almost made Harry fall from his broom and would have solved most of Voldemort's problems in one single stroke.

His train of thought was interrupted by Cedric, who proudly told Ollivander that he polished his wand every day – polishing the wand, indeed. Harry snickered quietly to himself. Then, his thoughts returned to Flint and Harry dreaded the next, inevitable question coming up, but logic must (at least according to Hermione). He didn't ponder about Flint's character for more than a few seconds – he was an arsehole, there was no doubt about it. But, did he, Harry, think Flint was handsome? Obviously, the answer was no. There was no way Flint could ever win the Most-Charming-Smile Award of Witch Weekly. But he wasn't that ugly – compared to Crabbe and Goyle, at least – as he was rather tall and really muscular. As in twice as much muscle mass Harry might ever have. Alright, his teeth were rather crooked and he really didn't have a pretty face (his face had obviously taken a few Bludgers too many in his life and his nose looked like it might have been broken several times), but his dark, almost black eyes were somehow fascinating. On top of that, he seemed actually capable of forming complete phrases – which was quite astounding as his preferred method of conversation seemed to consist of grunts and snorts mostly.

"Mr. Potter, it's your turn. Mr. Potter?"

"Harry? Harry, are you with us?" he heard Dumbledore ask.

"Huh?" Harry was torn from his musings about Flint's physical merits and realized that Ollivander was obviously waiting for his wand. "Sorry," he said and Fleur rolled her eyes and sneered at him. Harry couldn't care less.

"Ah yes, I remember very well." Ollivander turned Harry's wand in his hands. He said no more and closely inspected a tiny fault on the lower part of Harry's wand.

"That happened during the fight in the Chamber of Secrets," he said, feeling as though he should explain. "I, um, fell." In fact, a violent slash of the Basilisk's tail had crashed him into a wall, but he didn't want to be a show-off and talk about fighting Basilisks. Nevertheless, he heard Cedric gasp and stare at him incredulously.

"I see," Mr. Ollivander said. "Well, it seems to be in order. Aqua!" He nodded when a fountain of water sprayed out of Harry's wand. "But in order to see whether the fault has any influence on the wand you should perform a piece of Advanced Magic."

What? Harry didn't even know any Advanced Magic and he really didn't want to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

"How about you show Mr. Ollivander your Patronus?" Dumbledore suggested with a smile.

"Oh yeah, riiight…" Harry blushed. He was really slow today, he mused, this better shouldn't happen during the Tournament. "Expecto Patronum!"

Several people in the room gasped when a silver stag appeared and pranced about the room. Mr. Ollivander smiled. "It looks faultless to me. Mr. Potter, I think your wand is perfectly in order and will work very well for the Tournament." Harry gave the stag a pet with his hand and made it disappear with a poke of his wand. Hopefully, he turned towards the door, it seemed like everything was finished.

"Photos!" the blonde woman cried and clapped her hands excitedly. "Let's start with a group shoot!"

xXx

When Harry stepped out of the room, he still had tiny flashes of lightning dancing before his eyes and he was hungry because he had skipped breakfast to finish his Charms essay and because of the ceremony he had missed lunch, too. "That was quite impressive," Cedric said, looking down at him. "Corporeal Patroni are really hard; most Seventh Years can't even produce a mist."

"Professor Lupin taught me," Harry said dismissively. "You just need a good teacher. Anyway, gotta go to dinner, I'm starving." He wanted to dash off, but Cedric grabbed his shoulder.

"I'll walk you." Harry suppressed a sigh; Cedric was really nice and everything, but Harry didn't feel like talking to him right now – he felt more like having dinner, to be honest. "So, what was that about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Surprised, Harry looked up at him. "You know it was opened two years ago, right? Ron and I went down to get Ginny back."

"You make it sound like shopping in Diagon Alley."

Harry snorted. "It wasn't, I assure you." Hadn't Dumbledore informed the students of what had happened? Obviously not; Harry thought it might rather ruin a school's reputation if anyone found out what had truly happened.

"So… where is it? And what was in there?"

"It's under the school and there was a Basilisk in there, but luckily Fawkes and the Sorting Hat helped me kill it. Well, maybe you shouldn't tell everyone… even better, don't tell anyone."

"What do you mean, you killed a Basilisk? And who's Fawkes?"

"He's Dumbledore's phoenix, don't you know him? Oh right, probably not." Harry remembered that most students probably had never even seen Dumbledore's office from the inside – and most certainly not when they were model students like Cedric.

The Hufflepuff shook his head. "You really are mad, you know that?"

Harry had to laugh. "Yeah, I guess that's what being chased by a Dark Lord does to you." They had arrived at the Great Hall which was already buzzing with students. "See you 'round."

"See you soon," Cedric said with a smile and went to his cluster of his fans assembled around the Hufflepuff table whereas Harry seated himself next to Hermione who just shoved the last sausage she had obviously saved for him onto his plate, without even looking up from her thick tome about Ancient Runes.

"Hi," Harry said. "What happened in Potions after I left?"

"Neville's cauldron exploded," she informed him, "he's still in the Hospital wing. Gryffindor lost sixty points – twenty thanks to you because you forgot to give your essay about Calming Potions to Snape."

"Huh? We had an essay on that?"

Finally, Hermione looked up and rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly, Harry, what is it with you? You are so confused these days… it's even worse than normally."

Harry scowled at her. "Well, thank you… not?"

"You really should work on your discipline," she reprimanded him, "especially with the Tournament going on. You will need all of your strength for that and you should really try to learn as much as possible so you'll at least stand a chance to pass all of the Tasks."

"Why is it that everyone thinks I'm completely incompetent?" Harry grumbled into his mashed potatoes. "I'm not that stupid."

"Of course I don't think so," Hermione said and squeezed his hand reassuringly, "it's just that it will be a lot harder for you than for the others – they have had three more years for learning, after all."

Harry sighed. Naturally, Hermione was right, as always. He really had to get his act together and start learning serious, advanced magic. Luckily, he had Hermione by his side – she would help him, he knew.

xXx

A/N: I hope you liked it... not too much Harry/Flint-action, I know, but that will change soon enough! Please review and tell me what you think :)