Walk the mile in my shoes

002

He was woken up abruptly by a melodic but awfully loud, electronic ringing sound. Marcus, unhappy his dream about winning the quidditch league cup was cut short, found the source of the noise on the bedside table. A small, angular device in a dark grey colour sat on the piece of furniture, ringing and vibrating ominously.
'Maurice' it read on the small display just above the numbered keys. Not that Marcus cared – he didn't know what the funny-looking little device was – all he wanted was for the damned noise to stop. Clueless, he pressed some buttons in a row, but the device kept ringing, now even louder than before as if it meant to mock him.
"What even are you?", he groaned, hitting another row of buttons as the melody began its crescendo a new from the beginning.
When the sound and the buzzing stopped and he wanted to go back to bed, he heard something else.

"Hullo? You there?"

His brows furrowed. What kind of magic was he dealing with?

"Oliver?"

"Yes, I am Oliver."
Marcus cursed under his breath. He wasn't prepared for any social interaction, nor was he in the mood for any, even less so if it was an unknown device he was talking to.

"I'm aware," it replied with a hint of amusement, "What took you so long to pick up?"

"Err, just ... was busy."

"Sleeping again, aren't you?", Maurice questioned, "How's your day?"

"Great, thanks," he lied and then, after some seconds, added: "And yours?"
Not that he cared, he really did not, but it was good etiquette to ask anyway. Among the people he and his parents engaged with at least. He never understood why because a) no one was interested and b) the answer usually did not correspond to the truth anyway. But etiquette, though he wasn't too fond of it, came in handy when he had to socialise, something he avoided doing at most times; successfully so.
Unfortunately, Maurice didn't notice the silent message behind Marcus's short answer and went into an — in Marcus's opinion — unnecessary long and utmost boring description of his day. It didn't take long for the attention of the ex-Slytherin to dive off and into his thoughts.
How long was he asleep? It felt to him as if no more than five minutes passed since he first entered the flat.

"How was your little wizard game? Did you win?" Marcus turned his attention back to the thing. Little wizard game? How offensive. Quidditch, which he assumed the other was referring to, was anything but little. It was the sport in the wizarding world, there was nothing like it. It was probably the only thing he could have a rational discussion over and, hopefully, the only thing he and Oliver had in common.

"It was just training, not a match. No winning or losing," he answered, trying to sound engaged, "but I scored a few times."

"Scored? I thought you agreed to be the goalkeeper?", Maurice interrupted him.
Marcus sighed. For a moment he forgot about his new position. It was a lie, anyway, but Marcus was not keen on telling this stranger that he had the great 'honour' of cleaning the cabin and all the brooms.
　
"Oliver, did you play any other position than the one we agreed on?" Marcus shook his head no, only realising after a few seconds that the other probably couldn't see him. He could not suppress the defiance in his voice when he asked: "Why do you care anyway?"
It felt like a small victory to Marcus. He couldn't say what he thought nor act on these thoughts, but he had just shown this muggle that he wouldn't let him take control over his decisions or actions. His smugness faded when he heard the others answer.
"I care because you are my boyfriend and you promised to only play as the keeper. Remember last time-"

The words did not fully reach Marcus.
His mind was stuck on one thing; one particular word.
Boyfriend.
"Are you listening? What's the matter with you today?" Marcus didn't answer. Instead, he fled the room with large steps and disapparated as soon as he was out the door.
　
Oliver, Flint Manor
　
Oliver couldn't remember the last time he felt as uncomfortable as he did now. He didn't like his new body nor did he like the person this body belonged to, he did not like his new home and he could not find any comfort in his new family either.
He did not belong here and for some odd reason, his new mother seemed to know that exactly
'How does she know?', he questioned, not the first time today.