Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     "—all the makings of three fine Gryffindors!" Jisung's mother coos, wiping lint from the shoulders of his robes.

     "Mum, please." Jisung groans, cringing. Chan and Changbin snicker, grinning behind their hands. 

     "Well, you better get on the train." She says, waving them forward with one hand. "Be good, study hard, write whenever you can. I love you, Jisungie!"

     "I love you too, mum." Jisung calls over his shoulder, eagerly pushing his trolley after his friends. 

     They clumsily wheel their smaller luggage on with them and pile inside the first empty compartment they find, chatting loudly as the train departs. It heaves down the tracks with heavy, rumbling complaints, and in the lulls of conversation, Jisung watches the scenery coast by. It changes from rolling hills to wide, stretching planes, and even further to tall, jagged mountains. At some point, a Filibuster firework whizzes through the gap below their door, and when the trolley witch comes by, Jisung buys a single pumpkin pasty. Chan and Changbin split some Bertie Botts and Chocolate Frogs, fighting over the wizard cards like they're still five. 

     "Come on, I swear you've got twenty of Andromeda." Chan complains. "Lucas loves Andromeda."

     "Haven't you got one of your own?? I paid for it!" Changbin says, his voice loud and passionate as always. 

     "Knock knock." A deeper voice prompts from the door. The trio turns, surprised to see a dazzling little faerie of a boy peeking his head in, looking at them like they're three very interesting bugs he's found on the sidewalk. There's something incredible about his presence, like an invisible glow that draws Jisung in, makes his jaw go slack.

     "Veela." Changbin blurts, his face turning red a second later once he realizes his outburst. 

     "Nice to meet you too." The boy quips cheekily, his smile bewitching and full of light. "Felix Lee. Don't look at me like that, I'm only half."

     Jisung forces his mouth to close, averting his eyes with mild embarrassment.

     "I just happened to overhear—oops, that's mine!" Felix interrupts himself, crouching down to pick up the fizzled remains of the firework. "I just happened to hear as I was passing by, sorry to butt in." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wizard card, Andromeda currently missing from her portrait. He offers it to Chan, contained between two small, thin fingers. His nails are painted an endless black, contrasting gorgeously with the rest of his soft beauty. Jisung has to shake himself out of staring again, and Chan blankly accepts the card. 

     "You're Australian." He says, his attention switching between Felix and the card.

     "So are you!" Felix observes brightly. "And your name…?"

     "Christopher," Chan says, prompting Jisung and Changbin to make confused eye contact, "Christopher Bang. But you can call me Chris if you'd like." 

     "I would like that." Felix says, giggling. The sound is like a drug, and Jisung wonders if he can even turn off this crazy Veela magic, or if it's just something he deals with on a daily basis. "Who are you two, then?"

     They relinquish their names one after the other, plain and uninspired. Felix beams.

     "Wonderful! I suppose we'll see each other at school then." He says, running one hand through his platinum blonde hair, mussing it up in such a perfect fashion that it betrays the inhumanness of his being. "It was great meeting you. Sorry again about the firework."

     They each dismiss the apology in a variety of indistinguishable gorilla grunts, and then Felix leaves, releasing them from the trance. Jisung properly comes to first, blinking fuzzy spots from his eyes. He's left with a floaty sense of unease, like his skin isn't quite his own. Chan turns over the wizard card, and Jisung can spy something written on the back in red ink. 

     Changbin snatches it out of his hands, Chan still too thick in the head to object, and dully reads it aloud. "Thought I heard an Aussie a few doors down, looks like I was right. Let's talk, XOXO. I can't believe it. We've not even gotten to school and Chan's already got an admirer."

     "And half-veela, at that." Jisung mutters. 

     By the time they get to the platform, pretty much everyone has seen Felix, and whispers of him circulate as they trudge up to the school in groves. He's easily spotted in the crowd, striking blonde hair like a beacon amidst the black robes. 

     "Did you get a whiff of him?" Changbin says reverently, already smitten. "Like daisies."

     "Alright, Bin, you gotta calm down. No one else was sniffing him." Chan says with a fond eye roll.

     "I wasn't making an effort to!" Changbin defends himself. "It just wafted over. Like some kinda perfume."  

     “He got closer to me than he did to you and I didn’t smell anything.” Chan says wryly. “It was nice of him to give me that card, though.”

     "I bet you he was giving valentines all the way down the line." Changbin says, with a touch of nastiness, in Jisung's opinion. 

     Chan, being such a good sport, takes it in stride. "Well, it made me happy nonetheless."

     "Doesn't change the fact that Chan got the note and not you." Jisung points out.

     Changbin's face goes flat in irritation, and Jisung holds back the urge to laugh(it's not Changbin’s fault his reactions are hilarious). "I already had the Andromeda card. It wouldn't have made sense to give it to me."

     "Of course, of course." Jisung says, clapping him on the shoulder with a smug smile. 

     Teasing Changbin is easy and fun, but they all fall quiet as them and the rest of the first years cross the lake, drinking up the sight of the school on its glorious mountain. The lit windows are so tiny from their position that they don't look real, more so like little pinpricks of LED light from a dollhouse. As they gather in front of the doors to the Great Hall, Jisung's nerves are bubbling under his skin, and Chan seems to sense that, because he gives his hand a squeeze. 

     “There are four houses.” Professor Flitwick says, having taken over the sorting duties due to Headmistress McGonagall’s promotion. Jisung’s heard enough about all of them to practically tell their life stories, and finally seeing them feels like fairytale characters come to life. “Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. In one moment, you will step through these doors and be sorted into your house, which will serve as your family throughout your schooling. Mingling between houses is heavily encouraged, but all students should be in their allocated dorm rooms before ten o’clock. Your prefects will inform you of further rules once you meet them. Shall we?”

     The huge double doors part ways without any input from Flitwick, and they’re all bathed in the magically amplified torch light of the Great Hall. As the first years shuffle inside, Jisung cranes his neck, lips parted in awe as he takes in the enchanted ceiling. Long tables frame them on either side, students in robes with crests of all houses sat at each one. They’re so miss-matched that it would be practically impossible to tell which table is for which house if not for the jeweled goblets, utensils, and colored cloth napkins. At the head of the hall is a tiny stool, and atop it is a ruddy old hat. Jisung, Chan, and Changbin exchange skeptical glances. 

     Flitwick picks up a long scroll and clears his throat. “Abernathy, Laila.”

     A dark-skinned girl of moderate height weaves her way to the front. She cautiously takes a seat on the stool, and Flitwick places the hat on her head. After a moment, it comes to life, and Jisung’s eyes widen. 

     “Hmm, interesting…” The hat drawls, the folds of the fabric twitching to form a pensive expression. “I’ll say… GRYFFINDOR!”

     Cheers erupt from the red-napkined table, directly to Jisung’s right. Laila Abernathy grins, hopping off the stool and slotting between two older boys at the table, who move to make room. 

     “So it’s the hat that does it.” Changbin muses under his breath. “Why the hell wouldn’t anyone tell us?”

     “Bang, Christopher.” 

     It’s Jisung’s turn to squeeze Chan’s hand, and he takes a deep breath before walking up and taking a seat on the stool. 

     “Ooh, what a head.” The Sorting Hat hums, raising one fabric brow. “Kind, very kind. And caring, too, but so strong-willed. Better be… GRYFFINDOR!”

     More cheers, and Chan visibly relaxes, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table. Jisung is really getting nervous, now, as more names continue to be read, more houses called out one by one. 

     “Han, Jisung.”

     Jisung feels like he’s going to faint, teeth attacking his bottom lip as he sits on the stool. 

     “Oh my…what a difficult subject…” The hat says, wiggling about on Jisung’s head. “Plenty of courage, yes, and a great mind…lots of empathy, but then again, endless ambition…how very very difficult.”

     Jisung wets his lips, praying silently. Please, please, please.

     “Please what?” The hat huffs. “Indecisive as well, I can see it all. The best place for you…got to go with…SLYTHERIN!”

     Jisung pales, meeting Chan’s eyes just in time to see his face fall. The Slytherin table cheers, but it’s practically white noise, and he isn’t quite aware of Hirai, Momo taking his place on the stool as he shuffles to the far right side of the hall. Slytherin? Jisung tries his hardest not to freak out, not to let his prejudices about Slytherins invade his mind. Another first year, already sorted(one of the Choi’s, Jisung thinks) scoots over on the bench to give him room, and Jisung shakes cobwebs out of his head to watch the remainder of the sorting.

     There’s a horribly long wait before Lee, Felix steps up to the stool, and the whole room seems to hold its breath. He looks radiant, somehow, under the tattered old hat, but they don’t get to enjoy the sight for long, cause the brim hardly touches his hair before screaming, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

     The yellow-napkined table explodes with cheers, and Felix’s pride burns brighter than the candles floating above them. All eyes follow him as he takes his seat, next to the aforementioned Hirai, Momo, who’d been sorted just after Jisung. 

     Park, Seonghwa is sorted into Ravenclaw, and then finally, Seo, Changbin, is called up. It couldn’t be more different than Chan—Changbin hardly even sits down before his sorting is complete, yet still, the hat yells, “GRYFFINDOR!”

     He joins Chan with a wide grin, and after they’re both done celebrating, they make sad eye contact with Jisung. Chan waves weakly, his eyebrows turned up, and Changbin looks mad at the world, like fate has purposefully twisted against them. Jisung can’t help feeling like it’s his fault. Like he’s done something wrong, something fundamental in his childhood that’s permanently stained his spirit. 

     Three fine Gryffindors. That’s what they were supposed to be. And now Jisung’s gone and screwed it up.

-

     “Again?” Yeonjun sighs, adjusting his hold on his broomstick. It’s a Lightning, the latest model, obviously. The sleek, spiraled branches look at home next to Yeonjun's confident posture. 

     Jisung grips his school loaner broomstick, nodding with faux-confidence in his tight-lipped smile. “Afraid so.”

     “Jisung, you…” Yeonjun cuts himself off, sighing again, fingers pressed to his temple. “You just don’t have a Seeker’s build. I’m sorry. I have to say no.”

     “I haven’t even tried out yet!” Jisung says, offended. “You can’t kick me out without giving me a chance. Please, Yeonjun, come on. It’s been a year, I’ve practiced so much.”

     “What, with Chan and Changbin, in your backyards?”

     Jisung wets his dry lips and looks away, unable to prove him wrong.

     “I don’t wanna be harsh, Jisung, but you’re wasting my time.” Yeonjun says curtly. “You just don’t have the touch. Some people aren’t meant to play Quidditch, alright? Stick to Potions, buddy.”

     With that, he walks away, approaching the larger group of Slytherins who had come to tryouts. Jisung feels like he’s had his heart ripped out, but there’s not much else he can do but trudge off the pitch, defeated. He tosses the school equipment in the Slytherin changing room, wrapping his cloak tightly around his body and climbing the hill up to the school; the walk of shame, the route of which Jisung has memorized from traversing it five years in a row. He has no idea what he’s going to tell Chan and Changbin. When he left them in the Great Hall, he’d promised he’d come back a Seeker. Obviously, they hadn’t believed him, but it’ll still crush him to have to admit they were right not to have faith in him.

     Instead of meeting them in the library like he said he would, Jisung climbs the Astronomy Tower, which is abandoned during the day. For the students, it’s beloved for make-outs and hookups, but now—four o’clock on a Thursday—it should be totally deserted. Keyword: should be. 

     “…trust you’ll be okay, catching up with schoolwork you’ve missed until now.”

     Jisung freezes on the stairwell upon hearing Headmistress McGonagall’s voice, and ducks into a divot in the wall to listen.

     “I can always assign you a student guide, should you need extra help.” She continues. “With finding your way or with schoolwork.”

     “That won’t be necessary.” Another, young, male voice says politely. 

     “Are you sure? The castle is bigger than many think.” Headmistress says with a mild chuckle.

     “I should be fine. Beauxbatons was more than enough practice.” The boy says. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

     “Very well. I’ll show you to your common room, your luggage should already be there.”

     Jisung doesn’t have enough wits about him to realize his position is in jeopardy, so as Headmistress McGonagall is coming down the stairs, she meets his eyes directly, raising one suspicious brow.

     “Mr. Han. Shouldn’t you be at Quidditch tryouts?” She says, a little exasperated. 

     Jisung cringes, chewing on his lip. He really needs to learn how to control the volume of his voice. “Erm, no, not according to Captain Choi, Headmistress.” He says, with a bite of sarcasm.

     McGonagall huffs. “Well, isn’t that a shame. Pardon us.” As she continues down the stairs, Jisung makes eye contact with the boy behind her, and his heart catches in his throat. His hair is a bright, vibrant purple, falling just below his eyebrows and perfectly accentuating the dark intensity of his eyes. It’s the eyes that really get him, his pupils deep and unforgiving. After meeting his, the boy’s eyes drop to Jisung’s shoes and travel all the way back up again, making him feel oddly exposed, in danger. 

     “Excuse me,” Is all he says before following the Headmistress. Jisung watches him descend the stairwell before he finishes his own journey upwards, leaning on the railing to gaze, listless, at the spectacular view. 

     There's no denying that the exterior of Hogwarts is everything he'd dreamed of, but the life inside its walls…not so much. It had been foolish of him to assume all of his problems and insecurities would be solved the moment he stepped inside, but even hoping to have some solace in his comfort zone had been a bad idea. Life tends to throw him in the dark without warning—likes to watch him fumble around in the desolate void, arms outstretched and desperate for some indication of what to do next. As it stands right now, Jisung hasn't even found a wall yet, hasn't reached a milestone or a marker that he can follow blindly, wacking every nearby inch for a torch. 

     It's even more frightening because Jisung’s running out of time. He likes Potions a lot and he's pretty damn good at it, but he's not totally sure whether he wants to pursue it as a career. He loves Quidditch, but he's clearly not good enough to keep up with his classmates. That alone is enough of a gut punch. 

     “You’re wasting my time. Some people aren’t meant to play Quidditch, alright?”

     Fuck Yeonjun. Perfect, star student, pretty boy. It’s just like people like him to yank opportunities away from people like Jisung. People who don’t have the mental fortitude to spend every minute of every day training to be flawless, people who are just trying their best to catch up, to keep up, to shine in the background. But people like Yeonjun have to keep moving the damn finish line, raising the standards, so that nothing, ever, is enough. Jisung will never be enough. 

     He sinks to the floor, hands still gripping the railing above him, and takes a shaky, stuttered breath. 

     “Stick to potions, buddy.” 

     “I’m sorry. I have to say no.”

     “You just don’t have the touch.”

     Jisung told himself he wasn’t coming up here to cry, but it seems that this tower is determined to get him to shed a few tears every time he climbs it. The droplets smack the stone between his sneakers as they fall, a little sound, basically mute in the grand scheme of things. It serves its purpose, though: reminds Jisung that he’s too weak, too sensitive for this world. He should write to his mum. Her words always make him feel better. 

     “Jisung?”

     Jisung scrubs his eyes before turning around, and standing behind him is fucking Felix Lee. The world really does hate him. Felix’s head is tilted just so with concern, and he’s still got his bag over his shoulder, adorned with all sorts of patches, pins, and jingly keychains(how did Jisung not hear him coming?). 

     “Erm, hi.” Jisung says pathetically.

     “Is something wrong?” Felix says, his deep voice like a comforting lullaby. He walks over and sits next to Jisung with the grace of a falling feather, settling on the floor just right, like fate has dictated this moment years in advance. Jisung does not want to talk to him right now. They don’t talk at all really, and in Jisung's mind, he’s a part of Yeonjun’s crowd, effortlessly perfect in every way. There’s no chance that anything he says will be able to cheer him up.

     “S’nothing.” Jisung mumbles. “Did you need the tower? I can go.” He moves to stand, but Felix catches his wrist, gently bringing him back.

     “Please,” He says, like he’s asking for a big favor, “you can tell me. It’s not good to bottle things up.”

     “You wouldn’t understand.”

     “I can try.” Felix says, giving such a serene smile that Jisung’s whole body relaxes. Damn Veelas.

     “It’s really nothing.” Jisung mutters under his breath. “Yeonjun wouldn’t let me try out for the team.”

     “Oh,” Felix says softly, as if realizing he’s out of his depth. “Really?”

     “Sorry, I’m wasting your time—“ Jisung tries to stand again, but Felix quickly stops him, looking apologetic. 

     “No, no, you’re not.” He says, determined. “Here, you know what? You need a distraction. Come with me, Quidditch isn’t all that.”

     Felix rises to his feet and takes Jisung back down the tower, not giving him any time to object. Jisung is curious but still sullen, and can’t help thinking, yeah, of course you would say that, in response to Felix’s words. Still, he follows behind with nothing more said. 

     Felix leads him down several flights of stairs and through warm-lit passageways before turning the corner past the kitchen, and Jisung realizes where they’re going. He’s never been in the Hufflepuff common room, only ever visiting Chan and Changbin in the Gryffindor Tower. It’s nothing like either of the common rooms he’s familiar with, low ceilings and rounded corners, with plants on every surface and earthy-toned murals along every wall. All the people they pass greet Felix with bright smiles, and it takes Jisung a second to realize that they’re smiling at him too, with gentle waves and enthusiastic hellos. 

     “Oh, Lixie, did you find your quill?” A tall, lithe boy says, looking up from the scroll of parchment he’d presumably been pouring over. He does a double take upon seeing Jisung, and his expression morphs into surprise. 

     “This is—“

     “Jisung Han.” He finishes for Felix. “From Charms class, yeah.”

     “I found him looking glum in the Astronomy Tower, so I figured he might need a distraction. Jisung, this is Hyunjin.” Felix says cheerfully.

     “Oh, yeah, I remember you.” Jisung says. 

     Hyunjin grins. “I’ve got just the thing. Come here, sit down.”

     Jisung spends the rest of the evening sipping firewhiskey and playing exploding snap with Hyunjin and Felix. Other Hufflepuffs come and go, along with a couple younger Gryffindors and a few Ravenclaws as well. One Ravenclaw in particular takes a seat next to Hyunjin, sighing heavily. 

     “What’s up, Minnie?” Hyunjin says, giggling. "Where have you been?"

     “Studying for the NEWTS. Have you heard about the transfer student?” The boy says, and after a second, Jisung recognizes him as Seungmin Kim, from his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. “From Beauxbatons?”

     “Oh yeah, I heard about him.” Hyunjin says, with an odd smirk.

     “I thought Beauxbatons was an all-girls school.” Felix says, fishing through their stash to offer Seungmin a bottle of firewhiskey.

     “No thanks. And yeah, that’s what most people think. They switched to co-Ed a few years after the war, to encourage more applicants.” Seungmin explains. “Anyway, the transfer’s been sorted into Ravenclaw. Everyone’s talking about him, but I think he’s kinda weird.”

     “Wait,” Jisung says, sluggishly retracing his memory. “Purple hair?”

     “Yeah, how’d you know?”

     “I saw him just before,” Jisung says, “in the Astronomy Tower with Headmistress McGonagall. She must have been giving him a tour.”

     “Is he as hot as everyone’s saying?” Hyunjin asks. 

     Jisung chokes on his firewhiskey, his face heating even further than the baseline created by the alcohol. “Wh—“

     “Well?” Felix prompts eagerly. 

     “Erm—y-yeah, I’d say so.” Jisung manages to get out. “He’s got really intense eyes. Like some kind of predator.”

     “Really?” Seungmin huffs. “To me, he just looked bored. Typical, with pretty boys. Get everything handed to them, so life becomes dull.”

     “Hey,” Felix whines, pretending to be upset, “what the hell?”

     “Sorry, Lix. It’s true, though.”

     “You say that like you don’t have a certain Gryffindor Beater wrapped around your little finger.” Felix teases. 

     Seungmin blushes, without any aid from alcohol. “Shut up. He doesn’t even know I exist.”

     “Gryffindor Beater?” Jisung says, raising a brow. He knows most of the Gryffindors their age, and there’s only two Beaters. But they couldn’t mean—?

     “The one and only Changbin Seo.” Hyunjin says sweetly. “Our Minnie is head-over-heels for him.”

     “Hyunjin, shut up!” Seungmin snaps. “Jisung is his best friend!”

     Hyunjin’s eyes widen, darting guiltily between Seungmin and Jisung. “Really? Erm—my bad.”

     “I wouldn’t say best friend.” Jisung says dejectedly. “That’s Chan. I’m just their plus one.”

     “You mean Chris?” Hyunjin says, getting a blush from Felix this time.

     “Shush, Jinnie.” Felix says. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Jisung. No one’s just an extra when it comes to friendships.”

     Jisung simply shrugs, eyes downcast. 

     “If you feel that way, you’re more than welcome to hang with us.” Seungmin says. When Jisung meets his eyes, they’re blunt, honest, upfront. He knows Seungmin from class: another star student overachiever. He’s incredibly sharp, and probably hasn’t gotten anything below an Outstanding on his tests. Jisung still feels like an outlier among them, unworthy of their attention. 

     But unlike with Chan and Changbin, he doesn’t feel like an obligation. A childhood friend they can’t seem to cut ties with, a little brother they can’t seem to ditch. These people are inviting him to hang out, rather than simply expecting his presence. That’s a nice feeling, especially considering they’re leagues above him in every way. Jisung sort of feels like he’s been let into the cool kids club. 

     “Alright.” He says shakily, a little unsure of himself. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

     “Jisung!”

     Jisung winces as he steps foot in the Great Hall, and turns to see Changbin raising one strong hand from the Gryffindor table. Jisung reluctantly walks over, and Chan is sipping pumpkin juice beside him, already looking sympathetic.

     “So, how’s our Seeker doing?” Changbin teases. 

     “Bin, come on.” Chan says, clapping one hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry, Jisung. It's not your fault that Yeonjun's the way he is. We missed you at the library, where were you?”

     “Jisung!!”

     Jisung turns again, blinking confusedly. Felix is waving his whole arm from the far end of the Hufflepuff table, Hyunjin and Seungmin sitting across from him. Jisung glances at Chan and Changbin, both looking heavily surprised, likely from hearing Jisung’s name out of that particularly pretty mouth. 

     “I—“

     “Jisung, come here!” Hyunjin yells, a whiny tone to his voice. 

     “I’ll be back.” Jisung says, slapping Changbin’s shoulder before making his way over. “What is it?”

     “Sit.” Felix says, patting the spot beside him. “I didn’t like that smug look on Changbin’s face. Minnie, control your man, please.”

     Jisung feels like he’s glowing as he sits down, and Seungmin lets out an incredulous huff. “Please. I have no control over him. You, however? You know he’s nuts for you.” 

     “Everyone is nuts for Felix.” Jisung says honestly. 

     “Pff, stop.” Felix giggles, batting Jisung’s arm. “And you’re wrong, Minnie.”

     “I’m not!” Seungmin says, with an undisguisable(not for lack of trying) dash of jealousy. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

     “He’s wasting his time.” Hyunjin says, patting Seungmin’s hand. 

     “I can’t believe there’s been a love triangle with my friends happening right under my nose.” Jisung muses. “Or maybe it’s more of a square.”

     “It’s neither.” Seungmin scoffs. “At least I sure hope Chan isn’t in love with me.”

     “He isn’t.” Jisung reassures him. 

     “Does…does Changbin know me?” Seungmin asks carefully.

     “Yeah, he does.” Jisung says lightly, choosing to omit the story of Changbin referring to Seungmin as an ‘uptight smartass.’ “Not well, but he knows you.”

     “I guess that’s a start.” Seungmin mutters sadly. 

     “Jisungie,” Felix says, filling Jisung with a startling warmth at the nickname, “you should join us during lunch today. We’re having a picnic by the Black Lake, it’s a Friday tradition.”

     “I’d love to.” Jisung says, unable to suppress a smile. “Should I bring something?”

     “Oh, no no, don’t worry. Me and Jinnie do all the cooking.”

     “The house elves are used to us by now.” Hyunjin says. 

     Seungmin pushes Jisung a goblet of juice, sticking his half-eaten slice of toast in a napkin as he gathers up his belongings. "Come on, Jisung. We've got Defense." 

     Jisung blinks a few times, his brain still groggy. "Oh, right." He downs the juice in ten seconds flat, temporarily stowing a pancake in his mouth. Again, the glowy feeling is back. He's never had someone to walk to class with before, or at least, never to any classes he doesn’t share with his Gryffindor buddies(which, this year, is technically one and a half).

     It still feels kind of surreal, the fact that they all had been totally honest in their extensions of friendship. Jisung sort of assumed that it was the firewhiskey talking, and that they’d go back to being strangers the very next day. But they hadn’t. It makes Jisung so happy he feels like he could ward off a hundred dementors. And, speaking of which—

     “Did you do the homework?” Seungmin asks, finishing his toast and taking a pocket-sized bottle of hand-sanitizer out of his robes. 

     “I did the reading if that’s what you’re talking about.”

     “And the questions?”

     “Yeah, those too.”

     “Good, good.” Seungmin hums, satisfied. “Glad that I don’t have to put up with another Hyunjin. He always leaves everything off to the last minute and ends up begging me for answers.”

     “Oh, I couldn’t.” Jisung says with mild embarrassment. He can’t imagine asking such a new friend for his work, especially one who so clearly values his academics.

     “I can’t even be mad at him.” Seungmin sighs, but it’s a sound made from long-cultivated fondness. “That face, you know? I let them both walk all over me. Pretty boys get everything they want.”

     Jisung would like to point out the fact that Seungmin himself is quite a pretty boy, but he doesn’t get the chance, cause they arrive at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in record time. Seungmin is a fast walker, but not so much that Jisung can’t keep his pace. It’s nice, carries a certain professionalism, like they have somewhere very important they need to be and an unforgiving times table to fit it into.

     There are only a few students sitting already—mostly Ravenclaws—and Seungmin leads Jisung to a desk at the very front, making no effort to act against his house stereotype. They chat about the assigned reading as everyone else files in, and Professor Potter is the last one there—nearly late, actually. 

     “Hello, good morning everyone.” He says, adjusting his glasses, which had been knocked askew from his hurry. “If you could all take out your homework, please.”

     Seungmin already has his out, but Jisung has to lean over to excavate it from his bag, the parchment crumpled and dark in the corners from his shaky, ink-stained fingers. 

     “Really, Han?” Potter sighs, raising one disapproving brow. “I thought I told you to get a folder.”

     “You did, Professor.” Jisung says, with a sheepish grin. “I forgot.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, producing an extra from his bag like magic. For all Jisung knows, it could be, but it seems just as likely that Seungmin comes prepared for every occasion.

     “Right, well as you might have guessed from the reading, we’re going to be learning the Patronus Charm, likely over the course of a week. I don’t expect any of you to produce one today, but hopefully with—oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we have a new student.”

     Jisung turns, mirroring the rest of the class, to observe the same, purple-haired boy from the day before, now clad in Ravenclaw robes at the back of the classroom. 

     “I’m Professor Potter, what’s your name?” He asks kindly. 

     “Minho Lee,” The boy says, “Nice to meet you. I’ve already done the reading, there’s no need to pause for me.”

     Potter blinks, surprised. “Er, alright then. Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Lee. Shall we get started?”

     They begin without wands, simply practicing the incantation, and Professor Potter instructs them to think of a powerful, happy memory. Seungmin's brows knit together in concentration, and Jisung can't help noticing he looks kind of like an angry puppy. 

     "What memory are you going with?" Jisung asks, curious. "One with Binnie?"

     "Binnie? Oh, you mean—no, asshole." Seungmin huffs. "I don't like him that much. I hardly know him."

     Jisung raises his hands in vague surrender, unable to suppress a smirk. Seungmin is actually kinda similar to Changbin—at the very least, they're both fun to tease. "Sorry, just a guess."

     "No, I've got a good one." Seungmin says, determined. "When I got my letter."

     "Aw, that's sweet."

     "Sure." Seungmin says, his expression laced with an odd kind of spite. "It's powerful, that's what matters. What about you?"

     "Erm, I'm not sure." Jisung says, wracking his brain. "Maybe something with Chan and Changbin. They've always looked out for me, made me feel safe, y'know?"

     "Really?" Seungmin hums, interested. "You guys have been friends for a while, huh?"

     "Since we were babies." Jisung says, grinning. "Changbin joined when we were like eight. But yeah. It's a little more difficult now, though. Separate houses and everything." His voice drops to a mutter, a little embarrassed he let himself ramble.

     "I get what you mean." Seungmin nods. "Hyunjin’s got a friend a year younger, and they used to hang out all the time, apparently. He got put into Slytherin, though. That plus the age gap, they don’t get many chances to talk."

     "Alright class, if you've got your memory, you can try with your wands!"

-

     “Seeya!” Jisung waves, splitting off from Seungmin at the door to the grounds. He trudges clumsily down the hill to the greenhouses, where a large collection of Gryffindors are flocked around Professor Longbottom, badgering him about something or another. 

     “There he is now,” Chan says, pointing over Changbin’s shoulder. 

     “Oh, hello.” Changbin scoffs unwelcomingly. “Finally ‘back’ then, are you?”

     “Oh.” Jisung says blankly. “Sorry about that.”

     “Don’t be sorry.” Chan says with a smile. “It was nice, seeing you with other friends.”

     Jisung wilts, dropping his bag beside them. “Don’t say it like that. You make me sound so pathetic.”

     “Sorry, sorry.” Chan says, with his trademark awkward smile. 

     “Don’t be happy about this!” Changbin says sourly. “Your secret admirer has made a liar out of Jisung.”

     “He’s hardly secret.” Chan says, with a mild sigh. 

     “Then why don’t you do something about it?” Changbin hisses. 

     “Why don’t you?” Chan says, avoiding the subject. “Wouldn’t you rather take your shot instead of waiting for me?”

     “I just don’t understand why you’re waiting.” Changbin says with honest gusto. “You look forward to Hufflepuff matches more than any other and he’s clearly into you. He's been chasing you since fucking first year. For Dumbledore’s sake, Chan, he’s the only one who calls you Chris.”

     “Why don’t you ask him out then?” Jisung says, reading Chan’s face and supporting his efforts to change the subject. “Or better yet, get over him entirely.”

     “Cause he’s not into me.” Changbin says, and it looks like it causes him great physical pain to admit it. “And you know it, since apparently you’ve been talking to him. Don’t even try to lie.”

     Jisung pulls a face, somewhere between guilt and sympathy. “Sorry, Bin.”

     “Jisung’s right.” Chan agrees. “You should get over him. That Ravenclaw from Charms is pretty cute, isn’t he? I always catch him looking at you.”

     “Seungmin Kim?” Changbin scowls, crossing his arms. “Yeah, right. If he’s looking at me, it’s to decide how to best one-up me. Have you heard he’s taking Alchemy? Professor Vector set up the class just for him. Isn’t that infuriating??”

     “How do you know this?” Chan asks, raising a brow. “Sounds to me that you’re paying an awful lot of attention to him.”

     “I just heard about it!” Changbin objects, offended. “And it's hard not to in the first place. He's not just in Charms with us, but in Potions, History of Magic, and Astronomy. You'd think that a goody-two-shoes like him would be in so many advanced classes that we'd never have to deal with him, but of course we're not that lucky. Merlin's beard. I’d sooner swim in the Black Lake then ask out that prick.”

     “Yeah? You’re on.” Chan says with a mischievous grin. “If you ask him out, I’ll jump in the Black Lake.”

     “Tell you what, if you ask out Felix, I’ll jump in the Black Lake.” Jisung adds. “Do ‘em both, and you’ll have two sopping best friends.”

     “What a deal.” Chan laughs. “You can’t possibly pass this up.” 

     “I can and I will.” Changbin mutters. 

     “Booo, pussy!” Jisung says with a frown. “Some Gryffindor you are, huh?”

     “You’re one to talk!”

     Jisung fights so that his face doesn’t match as his heart sinks, and Chan slaps Changbin’s arm, his face twisting with concern. “Bin, easy.”

     “No, no, it’s fine.” Jisung says, waving Chan off. “I had that coming.”

     “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ask someone out.” Changbin adds begrudgingly. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

     “Yeah, cause everyone's out of my league.” Jisung chuckles.

     “That’s not true.” Chan says emphatically. “See, Bin? He doesn’t need—“ 

     “Chan, I’m not made of glass.” Jisung huffs. “You don’t have to baby me.”

     Chan’s shoulders fall, as if only just realizing his behavior. “Oh, erm. Right. Sorry, Jisung.”

     Next period, however, Jisung finds himself wishing Chan was still with him, to provide that paternal sort of comfort that comes to him so naturally, that he can’t get anywhere else. He’s early to Care of Magical Creatures, the class full of a mis-match of all houses depending on where it fits into their schedules. There are a few younger students as well, those who had been so interested in the subject that Professor Hagrid chose to move them up a level. 

     One of those younger students is making his entrance as a nearby Slytherin throws an acorn at his head, as hard as she can muster. The boy's hand shoots up to catch it, a bit frantic, before it hits his face. The acorn-wielding girl whistles in appreciation. 

     “Yeonjun was right about you. Congrats on making the team.”

     The boy tosses the acorn back, a great deal gentler, with a sheepish smile. “Thanks.” 

     Jisung blinks a few times, processing the sight, and leans over to speak to the girl once the boy turns his head. “Wha—who is that?”

     “Jeongin Yang.” She says. “Sixth year. The new Seeker.”

     Oh. Jeongin Yang. Sixth year. Seeker. All Jisung’s brain can do is repeat the information given to him, some sort of coping mechanism to prevent all the other thoughts from crashing into him. Sixth year. Seeker. Younger than Jisung, by a whole year, and still better than him at something he’s loved his whole life. Still better enough to meet Yeonjun’s expectations, to make the team, to catch acorns just in time. 

     Dear god. Jisung's never going to be enough, is he? He's falling behind, so quickly that he can see the generations improving right in front of his eyes. He's becoming obsolete, unnecessary, unsatisfactory. Holy goddamn fucking shit.

     Somehow, he keeps himself together for long enough to survive class, although he retains none of what Hagrid explains to them. He's pulled through with the motivation of the picnic, and finds Hyunjin and Felix setting up below a large tree right next to the lake.

     “Hey!” Felix smiles. “How was class?”

     “Good.” Jisung says emptily. 

     Felix frowns, not fooled for a second. “What happened? Was Minnie rude to you?”

     “What? No, no.” Jisung waves off. “It’s nothing.”

     “Feeling watched, maybe?” Seungmin suggests as he approaches from the castle. 

     “What do you mean?”

     “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Seungmin says. “All throughout Defense, I felt like I was being looked at, but I was soaking it up from you, I think. Mr. Beauxbatons couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

     “What? That’s bullshit.”

     “Is not. Every time I turned around to check, I saw him look away.” Seungmin says, pointing at his eyes. “And I’ve got twenty-twenty vision.”

     “Ooo, Jisungie’s got an admirer!” Hyunjin grins. “What’s his name?”

     “Lee.” Jisung mutters.

     “Minho Lee.” Seungmin specifies. “But it looked like he plans on changing his surname in the near future.” 

     Jisung can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and certainly can’t allow the nonsensical teasing to continue. Luckily, Hyunjin’s words revive his memory from Herbology, and he’s provided with the perfect subject change. “W-well, you guys should expect a visit from Changbin soon, if me and Chan can convince him.”

     “What? Why?” Seungmin says, falling for the bait immediately.

     “We’ve dared him to ask out you and Felix.” Jisung says. 

     “Both of us?” Felix says, raising a confused brow. “Why?”

     “Well, I didn’t wanna make Seungmin’s crush that obvious.” Jisung says. “They know we’re talking, so I figured it might help to throw him off the track.” It's half true: the other half being that Jisung would like one of the two possibilities to work out, and given Changbin’s fervor while complaining about Seungmin, he had a pretty good guess where to put his money. 

     “Good, good.” Seungmin mutters, looking far too deep in thought for such a silly subject. 

     “Forget Changbin.” Hyunjin says, mildly irritated. “What about Lee? What’s he like?”

     “Pretty studious.” Seungmin says. “I had the whole morning with him. He’s in my advanced Arithmancy class along with my cores, obviously. But he’s still weird.”

     “How so?”

     “I can’t explain it.” Seungmin says with a shrug. “The staring, for one. If he isn’t interested in Jisung, then he’s got some explaining to do.”

     “He’s not interested in me.” Jisung says firmly. “Like you said, he’s probably just an oddball. I bet he was looking over our heads.”

     “He was not.” Seungmin doubles down. “I know what I saw, Jisung, he was looking straight at you.” 

     “Enough talk,” Felix cuts in excitedly. “Look what me and Jinnie made!”

     Lunch passes with more cheery conversation and a plethora of food. Felix and Hyunjin blow Jisung’s expectations out of the water, having made up cute platters of snacks and sandwiches of both the savory and sweet variety. Jisung had never laid eyes on a strawberry and cucumber sandwich, but there it is, right in front of his face, like it’s been waiting years to meet him. Everything is delicious and incredibly fresh, despite their confession that they had prepared it all the night before. The kicker is the brownies—Felix’s specialty, apparently—and Jisung is so stuffed he never wants to get up, nearly ready to skip his afternoon classes so that he can laze about in the sun while it lasts. 

     “Come on, up.” Felix sighs fondly, offering his hand. “What do you have next?”

     “Ancient Runes, with Chan.” Jisung groans, letting himself be dragged to his feet.

     “Oh, well you better not keep him waiting.” Felix says, with a slight blush. 

     “We’ll see you in Charms.” Hyunjin says with a wave, pulling Felix behind him and Seungmin towards the greenhouses. 

     Jisung waves back, starting the long, grueling climb up to the Ancient Runes classroom, which is tucked in a corridor beside the Ravenclaw tower—the opposite side of the castle from the rest of Jisung’s classes, but he’d rather take the journey every time than switch it out for Divination. 

     Chan’s already there, taking his homework out, as Jisung arrives, barely on time. Chan smiles as he sits, having been saving their usual table by the window. 

     “Where were you during lunch?” He asks curiously. 

     “With Felix and the others outside.” Jisung says. “They invited me to this Friday picnic tradition.”

     “That’s sweet.” Chan says, smiling even bigger. Jisung returns it, flushing a little under Chan’s approval. There’s something about the way he looks at him, like a proud dad or a big brother. It makes Jisung feel golden. 

     Halfway through class, once their Professor has released them to do some translations on their own, Jisung turns to Chan, lowering his voice. “Hey, erm, I meant to ask.”

     “Yeah?”

     “You seemed dismissive before, during Herbology. About you and Felix. What’s up with that?”

     Chan stiffens slightly, doing a horrible job trying to conceal his discomfort. “Erm, it’s nothing.”

     “Chan, come on.” Jisung says insistently. “You can’t lie to me.”

     Chan sighs, flipping through his runic dictionary. “I can’t—ugh, I don’t know, Jisung, I just don’t wanna talk about it.” Jisung raises one brow, not buying it. Chan's the type of person who enjoys the more subtle forms of attention, like being asked questions or seeing others make an effort to keep up a conversation that Chan himself isn't contributing much to. If Chan really doesn't want to talk about something, his voice becomes stern, curt, and serious. Right now, it seems like Chan is open to being prodded, and Jisung is nothing if not receptive to what Chan is open to.

     “Are you—what, are you not into him?” Jisung whispers, with a light scoff.

     There’s a slight pause, and it looks like it causes Chan great physical pain to eventually say, “So what if I’m not?”

     Jisung blinks several times in a row. He’d never even fathomed such a thing. “Wh—you're serious?”

     “Is it really that hard to believe?” Chan huffs. “He’s not my type.”

     “You have a type?”

     “Okay, no, I don’t. You got me there.”

     “If that’s not it, then why?”

     “Wh—I don’t see why it’s such a problem.” Chan says, his face getting redder by the moment. “Have you considered maybe I like someone else?”

     “Who??”

     “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

     Jisung’s jaw drops, shocked and enthralled by the secrecy. “You can’t keep a secret Chan, come on. Fess up.”

     “I’ve kept it this long.”

     “So it’s been a long time?”

     Chan groans, flipping the pages of his dictionary a great deal louder and brandishing his quill. “Just keep your little squirrel nose out of it.”

     Jisung can’t help grinning, a surprised, open-mouthed one. He’s never known Chan to be so private about something. It’s incredibly entertaining, probing him for details, and he’s hanging by a thread, desperate for more. “Changbin mentioned the Hufflepuff games, is it one of them? Hongjoong? He’s pretty hot.”

     Chan scribbles away at his parchment. 

     Jisung taps his foot against the floor, studying Chan’s face. “Just Hufflepuffs in general, maybe? What about that prefect, from your Transfiguration class? What was his name, Soobin?”

     Chan releases a puff of air from his nose, dipping his quill back into the ink pot. 

     “You just like the Hufflepuff games cause they’re easy to beat, don’t you?” Jisung says, discouraged by his silence. 

     A small smile grows on Chan’s face, one with particularly cheeky undertones. 

     “Oh, you little shit.”

-

     “I’m not giving up on this!” Jisung calls at Chan’s back, separating from him on the way to the dungeons.

     “You’d be better off if you did!” Chan yells back.

     Jisung’s scowl fades into a smile, a small one, just to himself, as he descends a dizzying amount of staircases. He doesn’t know why he’d said that, the other day, about not being Chan and Changbin’s best friend. It must have been his insecurity talking, perhaps brought out further by the firewhiskey and the recent rejection from Yeonjun. Just thinking about it is making Jisung feel sour, so he puts it out of his head. 

     The dungeons are familiarly dank and dark, with the mossy smell that always lingers in the Slytherin common room until someone gets fed up with it and sprays some(arguably worse) perfume. Jisung is one of the first people in the classroom, taking his usual seat at the front, rightmost table. There's a leak in the ceiling above it, the mysterious liquid dripping onto the chair neighboring his own: a perfect deterrent to any who might try to sit next to him. 

     "Good afternoon, Jisung." Slughorn greets warmly.

     "Good afternoon, Professor." Jisung smiles. He wastes no time, wiping down his cauldron and fetching his special red notebook from his bag—the only thing in there that remains in good condition. Slughorn leans over his shoulder, chatting amiably as he gets started and to fill the silence before everyone else files in. 

     By the time class starts, Jisung is already working, and Slughorn explains something to the rest of the class—those who actually require instruction. 

     "Ah, Mr. Lee, there's a free spot over here." Slughorn says, one finger pointing directly next to Jisung. 

     He looks up, startled. Sure enough, Slughorn is referring to the one and only Minho Lee, who’s making his way over from the entrance to the classroom. "Wh—no, Professor, that's the chair with the leak." 

     "Well, I'm afraid we've got no others, Jisung." Slughorn says, and under his breath, adds, "If he bites, I claim full responsibility." 

     Jisung presses his lips into a thin line of distaste, and Slughorn merely chortles at him as Minho takes a seat. Jisung spares him a single glance, mildly irritated, before returning to his work.

     "What's this you're whipping up?" Slughorn asks kindly.

     "I've been developing it for a few weeks," Jisung explains eagerly, "an insomnia cure, if I can get it working. For—"

     "Mr. Bang, yes." Slughorn says knowingly. "So thoughtful of you." 

     There's a grating screech, and Jisung’s expression flattens out once he realizes Minho had scooted his chair a few inches towards him. They make eye contact—excruciatingly awkward eye contact, in Jisung's opinion—and Slughorn is conveniently called away by another student.

     "Sorry," Minho says, "the leak." He scoots closer still, and the drip starts to fall on the floor instead of his shoulder. 

     Jisung swallows with difficulty. He's cursing his choice of table, now, cause his own chair is pressed as far against the wall as it can go. There's a measly two inches of space between his chair and Minho's, and their elbows would likely touch if he extended his own. He's trapped between cold stone and a cold pair of eyes, with no escape in sight. 

     "Erm, right." Jisung mumbles, busying himself with stirring. He watches Minho out of the corner of his vision, and judging by his movements and unconfident posture, he likely only just made it into this class. Got lucky, and then further boosted into it by his other good grades. Minho follows those around him like a robot, eyes locked on hands and his ears tuned into every word Professor Slughorn says. The sight agitates Jisung, makes him feel patronized to be sitting next to someone so clearly out of his depth. 

     "You know this is Advanced Potions, right?" He blurts out, eyebrows furrowed, once he spies Minho incorrectly chopping his mandrake root.

     Minho looks up, surprised. "Yes."

     Jisung bristles, sliding the knife out of his hand and pushing the mandrake closer to himself. "You're—you've got to cut it diagonally," He says, doing it for him, "or you'll go against the grain. This way, it won’t fall apart on you." 

     Minho watches intently, blinking a few times more than what Jisung considers normal. "Oh." 

     Jisung returns the mandrake, fully sliced, and gives his attention back to his own potion so that he doesn't have to look at Minho's face. He's glad it's so chilly in the dungeons, otherwise he might have broken out in a sweat from having Minho's gaze on him for so long. 

     Jisung’s brain is still buzzing afterwards, thinking about his insomnia cure, so much so that his leg falls through a trick stair on the way to Charms. A familiar Gryffindor—Wooyoung, Changbin’s friend—is luckily nearby to pull him out, and only laughs a little at his misfortune. Because of the incident, however, he's two minutes late, and Flitwick sends him a raised brow as he stumbles into a chair next to Hyunjin.

     "What happened to you?" He murmurs bemusedly, sliding a candle in front of Jisung so that he matches the rest of them.

     Jisung repeats the story, in a collection of short breaths that earn himself another pointed look from Flitwick. 

     "This one has been blushing since last period." Hyunjin says quietly, jabbing a thumb in Felix's direction.

     "He saved me." Felix whispers, his long eyelashes fluttering as he likely relives the memory. 

     "Hardly." Hyunjin rolls his eyes, leaning close to explain. "Changbin accidentally turned his pincushion into a scorpion, and Chan stomped on it before it could sting Lix." 

     Jisung hums in understanding, his mind straying back to their conversation during Ancient Runes. Strange, how Chan's chivalrous acts always seemed to be because of his and Felix's interest in each other, when in fact they're simply evidence of Chan being the selfless person he is.

     "That was how our class went, what about yours?" Hyunjin asks, vaguely waving his wand as Flitwick instructs. 

     "I had Potions with Lee." Jisung says, glancing down the table at Felix(who had been paying greater attention) for the correct wand movement. "I felt like turning my wand around and practicing Bombarda."

     Hyunjin snorts, accidentally putting out his candle. "How come?"

     "He doesn't belong in the class." Jisung says with venom. "It's like they just let him in cause they thought he'd do well or something. Cause fuck me and my two O's, right?"

     "Wait, he's bad at it?"

     "Horrible." Jisung huffs. "He would've added his manticore hair at the wrong time if it wasn't for me. It felt like I was babysitting him."

     "That's a surprise." Hyunjin says. "I thought he was a smart guy. Isn't he in Advanced Arithmancy?"

     "That's what Seungmin said." Jisung nods. "I swear, this always happens. It happened last year, too. Some overconfident know-it-all signs up for Advanced Potions as if potion-making isn't a completely different skill-set. Cause they're just so sure they're good at everything." 

     Hyunjin grins, tilting his head to presumably enjoy Jisung’s frustration. "You're passionate about this, I'm guessing?"

     "Yes. I don't know what I expected, but it looks like Lee is just another prick with a pretty face and a big head." Jisung fumes. "Christ, we don't need any more of those. Yeonjun is enough." 

     "I thought Yeonjun was pretty nice." Hyunjin says, taken aback. 

     "Yeah, to your face, maybe. Or—wait, you're in Bin's Muggle Studies class, aren't you?"

     "Ohhh, I see." Hyunjin realizes. "I didn't think he was that type of person." 

     "Yeah, well he is. I'll bet you anything Lee is too."

     "I'll see on Wednesday." Hyunjin says. "That's when we next meet. If he's there, I'll let you know."

-

     That weekend, Jisung spends most of his time in the air. After school Friday is Hufflepuff quidditch tryouts, and he sits in the stands with Seungmin to cheer as Hyunjin and Felix inevitably make the team for the fifth year in a row. Once tryouts wrap up, the four of them play their own mini game, with Seungmin as Keeper and Jisung, Chaser, while Felix practices launching bludgers as high as he can get them. It's pretty sad—Seungmin is no match for even Jisung with a quaffle, but Hyunjin is on another level. Seungmin might as well be guarding the spaces between the hoops. 

     On Saturday, Chan and Changbin have practice, so Jisung watches in the stands, with Seungmin tagging along. Felix wanted to come as well, but feared that his being there would come off as a threat, like he was sneaking in to see their tactics. Jisung isn't particularly in the mood to talk, but he doesn't have to, because Seungmin spends the whole time with his eyes glued to Changbin's arms, knocking bludgers away as Chan explains whatever maneuvers he's cooked up to the team. 

     Once Jisung points this out, Seungmin flees, spitting some excuse about being behind his NEWT study schedule("For christ's sake, Seungmin, we have all year!"). It just so happens that the Gryffindor practice ends about two minutes later, and Seungmin escapes having to make eye contact with a sweaty, determined Changbin. Chan invites Jisung to join them afterwards, releasing the snitch again just for him. 

     It feels so right as Jisung dives after it, the wind whipping through his hair and his hands tensing around the rickety school broomstick. He pulls up just in time, his toes nearly skimming the grass as his fingers close around the cool gold, to the whoops and hollers of Chan and Changbin above him. 

     "How was that?" He says, his cheeks hurting from the wide grin across his face.

     "That was awesome!" Changbin yells. 

     "You're awesome, Jisung!" Chan adds. 

     "Er, sorry to interrupt." 

     Jisung turns, surprised to see Seonghwa—who is both Head Boy and the Ravenclaw captain—with the rest of the team behind him. Jisung doesn't know him that well, but he and Chan are friendly from the inherent camaraderie involved with being captains. 

     "We've got practice." He says, a tad apologetically. 

     "What, right now?" Chan calls, flying down to meet him, Changbin following after. "We just finished." 

     "Yeah, that's on me." He says. "We've got to break in our new Seeker."

     "New Seeker?" Chan repeats, raising a brow. "But you…what happened to Sunghoon?"

     "Outperformed, unfortunately." Seonghwa says.

     Jisung's attention is snagged by a certain head of purple hair, standing in the middle of the group. No fucking way.

     "By Lee."

     "Lee?" Chan says, blinking. "Which Lee?"

     "Transfer student." Seonghwa says, Mina and Jisoo parting ways so that he can come to the front. "Surely you've heard of him."

     "Never." Chan says flatly, and his eyes follow Minho's line of sight, landing on Jisung. Because—yeah, he's staring again, apparently. 

     "I hope you're not as good on that broom as you are at Potions, Lee." Jisung says, unable to contain a hint of nastiness. Changbin snickers, having heard the story twice as they walked to meet Chan at the pitch that morning. 

     "Minho." He says, as if to correct Jisung. "Stick around and find out." 

     "I'm good, thanks." Jisung says, dismounting his broom alongside Chan and Changbin. He keeps his eyelids lowered lazily as he takes Minho’s hand, turning his palm upwards to drop the snitch inside. "Don't wanna distract you." 

     Changbin provides a whistle, and Jisung walks off the pitch without checking Minho's reaction. He'd meant the remark in a mocking fashion, but his spine tingles as he retreats, like he can feel Minho's gaze calling him back.

Chapter Text

     "You were definitely right about one thing," Hyunjin says, as Jisung joins them in Charms. "He is pureblood." 

     "I knew it." Jisung says, with a huff of victory.

     "What? What are you talking about?" Felix says, raising a brow.

     "Lee is in my Muggle Studies class." Hyunjin says.

     "So?"

     "Nobody takes that class." Jisung deadpans. "Unless it's required. Therefore, only purebloods, and only seventh-years."

     “That’s bullshit.” Felix scoffs. “I swear I just saw some fifth-years in the Muggle Studies classroom.”

     “Are you sure that’s not the spillover from Ancient Runes?” Jisung says.

     “Er—“

     “No, you’re not sure.” Jisung interrupts with gusto. “I rest my case.”

     Felix rolls his eyes, but his skepticism about Minho’s true nature won’t deter Jisung from disliking him. The past three days have been thick with tension, and it keeps getting worse the more Jisung learns about him. 

     On Sunday, he remembered that Ravenclaw quidditch tryouts had taken place several days before Minho arrived, and the story of Minho personally approaching Seonghwa and asking to tryout after the fact circles like wildfire. Seonghwa had cautiously allowed it, and like the perfect, plot-armored main character that he is, Minho Lee had knocked all their socks off, simultaneously knocking poor Sunghoon off the team after he’d earned the spot fair and square—by showing up, just like everyone else. But Minho was just so good that the rules didn’t apply to him, apparently. 

     On Monday, Minho spoke out of turn in Advanced Arithmancy, and his answer was correct, but unlike Seungmin—who had done the same thing several times in the past—Minho received no point penalty. The Professor was just so impressed that Minho could keep up with their coursework regardless of joining two weeks into the term. 

     On Tuesday, Hyunjin spotted Minho using Felix’s favorite quill, which had gone missing since he left it in one of his classrooms last Wednesday. When Felix asked for it back, Minho raised a brow, and had the gall to say, as Hyunjin quotes: 

     “Don’t you think I deserve to keep it since you went and left it there?”

     He did give it back, but the shocked silence after that question was probably the only thing prompting him to do so. Jisung connects the dots, and realizes that the dirty thief must have swiped it at some point before Jisung first saw him, and it only makes him angrier knowing that the possession was likely stowed in Minho’s bag as he’d given Jisung that strange look. 

     And today, too. Potions had been a nightmare, and Jisung had shot him the worst glare in his arsenal as Minho pulled his chair close to Jisung’s side yet again.

     “Can’t you sit on the other side of the leak?” Jisung had asked, his brows furrowed.

     “Are you not glad to finally have a desk-mate?”

     The fucking audacity, Jisung had thought to himself, his blood already starting to broil. “No, I’m not, actually. I liked my personal space and my personal desk and my own personality to keep me company.”

     “That sounds sad.”

     “The only sad thing is how desperately you’re holding onto the assumption that you’ll do well in this class cause you’re so witty and brilliant.” Jisung had snapped. 

     “You seem very well informed of my assumptions.” Minho had said carefully, his face turned away as if the conversation wasn’t something he could be bothered with giving his full attention. 

     “You seem very well informed of my assumptions.” Jisung echoed mockingly. 

     “Very mature.”

     “Very pretentious.” 

     “What is your problem with me?” Minho had huffed, finally spinning to level a complicated expression at Jisung. 

     “What, are you upset that I won’t bow down and lick your shoes like everyone else at this school?”

     “I’m upset cause you seem to have invented a hostile rivalry between us and I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

     “Rivalry??” Jisung had scoffed, offended. “We are not rivals. I dislike you, that’s all there is to it.”

     “Why?”

     “Do people need reasons to dislike others?”

     “I guess not, but—“

     “Boys? Are we working over here?” Slughorn had intervened cautiously. They had both mumbled a pathetic ‘yes,’ and hadn’t spoken for the rest of the period. 

     Hyunjin’s Muggle Studies class requires such a specific group of students that they only meet during lunch on every 2-day of their rotating schedule. It was worth the wait, though, to learn if Minho truly was the privileged, entitled asshat Jisung had theorized he would be. And as it turns out, Jisung had been completely right.

     “That doesn’t prove anything.” Felix says. “So what if he’s pureblood?”

     "So what? Lix, look at everything else we know about him." Jisung says, making large hand movements to convey his point. "It's all lining up. One: S. Seungmin doesn’t like him, and he is my official reference for bad people."

     "Seungmin is notoriously judgemental—!"

     "Two," Jisung continues loudly, "You had your belongings taken. You are my official reference for good people, and Lee did not pass the test."

     "He gave it back, Jisung."

     "Three: See-ing him makes me want to throw up. Ever heard of having too much of a good thing? Well, Lee does not apply. His face makes my skin crawl, and his personality is worse.”

     “Merlin, you’re more dramatic than Jinnie.”

     “Hey!”

     “And four, erm…” Jisung hesitates, thinking. “K. Got an innocent bystander Kicked off the quidditch team. S-U-C-K. Suck. He sucks.”

     “That is probably the least eloquent way you could have gone about that.”

     “Am I wrong, though?”

     “That’s just the thing, we don’t know!” Felix insists, loud enough that Flitwick chooses to end their little chat time and start the lesson. 

     After Charms, though, Felix picks up right where he left off. The three of them have a free, since Astronomy is meeting later that night, so they head to the library to get a head start on the homework that Flitwick had given them.

     "In first year, a lot of people hated me." Felix says with a pout, scanning the spines on a nearby shelf. "For no other reason than because of the person they thought I was. Isn't that unfair?"

     "That's different." Jisung says lightly, although he has to admit that Felix has a bit of a point. "They were jealous of you."

     "And you're not jealous of Minho?" 

     Jisung stops, a book half-pulled out of its spot. "What?"

     "Lix…" Hyunjin warns, reading Jisung’s face like he's some kind of wild animal.

     "You—you think I'm jealous?" Jisung says, with an incredulous scoff. 

     "Jisungie, don't take this the wrong way…" Felix says quietly, placing one hand atop Jisung's on the book. "But…well, I was thinking about it, and you know, Minho being a Seeker and everything…"

     Jisung snatches his hand away, and Felix takes the book for him, gently sliding it into his arms.

     "Don't lash out." He says softly, and Jisung really wants to, but his voice and endearing accent(and probably a bit of Veela magic, too) are smothering his anger. "I'm just saying. Not trying to provoke you." 

     Jisung huffs, gripping the book. His words come out less confident than he'd like. "I'm not jealous, I'm frustrated. Some people get everything they want and there's nothing you can do about it, you know?"

     "That sounds like jealousy." Hyunjin says flatly.

     "A little jealousy is healthy!" Jisung says, switching tracks with gusto. "I'm jealous of everyone." 

     "That is not healthy."

     "Well, I'm pretty healthy, aren't I?" Jisung says, spreading his arms as if to show off his glowing, well-nourished aura. Felix and Hyunjin stare, totally silent. "Guys. Come on." 

     "You have issues." Hyunjin says, rolling his eyes. 

     "Don't we all?" Jisung supplies a wink, earning himself two unimpressed sighs.

     On Thursday, Jisung and Seungmin are back in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Jisung is glancing at Minho in his periphery, muttering ‘Expecto Patronum’ under his breath and waving his wand like everyone else.

     “He’s kind of a classic beauty, isn’t he?” Seungmin says, having caught him looking. Jisung would normally make a big show of offense at being asked such a positive question regarding Minho, but Seungmin’s voice is so neutral and honest that Jisung is helpless to do anything but match his energy.

     “Yeah,” he says, a tad dejectedly, “he is.” 

     Seungmin hums in a disinterested fashion. “Not my thing, personally. Classics are very…baseline. Like a face you could've done more with. Hyunjin and Felix, though—now that's stunning. They have very modern faces, don’t they? There’s something so refreshing about them.”

     “I like classics.” Jisung shrugs. “You’re classic, I’d say.”

     “Yeah.” Seungmin says, lips pressed into a thin line. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

     Jisung grins, amused by his expression. “It’s not a bad thing! I just said I liked them, didn’t I?”

     “I guess you did say that.” Seungmin huffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re harder to place. You’re not really classic, but you’re not super modern either.”

     “Oh yeah?” Jisung says, propping his chin in his palm. “What about Bin?”

     Another eye roll, this time paired with a slight blush. “Modern. Ruggedly modern.”

     “Ruggedly handsome, you mean?” Jisung teases, poking his arm. 

     “Oh, shut up.”

     Flitwick has apparently fallen ill, so Seungmin meets Jisung at Care of Magical Creatures, and his eyes brighten upon seeing someone lingering behind other slytherins.

     "Oh—Jeongin, is that you?"

     Jeongin jumps, and a rip in his bag springs loose, spilling parchment and ink onto the grass. "Seungmin!! Erm—hi!"

     “You guys know each other?” Jisung says, blinking.

     "This is Hyunjin’s friend, remember? The one I was telling you about? I guess I never did say his name. You're still a little clutz, huh, Innie?" Seungmin chuckles, and with two waves of his wand, mends the bag and slots his belongings inside. "Still need a big brother to clean up after you?"

     “Er, maybe.” Jeongin mutters, and as his cheeks flare up, Jisung starts to get an idea of what’s happening. 

     “You guys seem close.” Jisung says carefully.

     “Sort of.” Seungmin shrugs. “We talked a lot in second year—or er, our second year, not his, obviously. It’s been ages, though.”

     Jeongin nods, and his eyes never leave Seungmin’s face. Jeez, Jisung can’t help thinking, my friends have pretty complex love-lives, huh?  

     “If Bin is modern, what would you say Jeongin is?” Jisung prompts with interest and a hint of mischief. 

     Seungmin contemplates for a moment before saying, “Classic. No—modern. Wait…I don’t know. He’s kind of like you, I guess. Hard to place.”

     “What?” 

     “Faces.” Jisung answers, finally catching Jeongin’s attention. “We were talking about types of faces. Minnie’s very classic, isn’t he?”

     “Erm, yeah.” Jeongin says, eyes darting back to Seungmin. “Very.”

     Later that class, though, Jisung and Seungmin are discussing their progress with the Patronus Charm, and Seungmin makes a comment about how Jeongin’s Patronus would be something small and cute, just like him. Jeongin promptly fumbles his baby Quintaped, which immediately wakes up and rips off his entire right forearm. The class panics, blood goes everywhere, and Professor Hagrid has to hurry him to the hospital wing. 

     Jisung has no idea how they’re going to fix that, but at least the Quintaped is happy. It settles down once the commotion has cleared up, licking its lips and spitting out the two rings Jeongin had been wearing. Seungmin pockets them to return later, pale and shaky from guilt. 

-

     On Friday, Jisung is on his way to their picnic tree when he feels a hand catch his shoulder. It’s Yeonjun, and he looks out of breath. 

     “Jisung,” He exhales, his face soft with relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

     “Er, why?”

     “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I need you.” Yeonjun says, with a short, business-like chuckle. “We’ve got one session before, thank Merlin. Hopefully that’ll be enough to get you up to date, and I’m counting on you to improvise a little regardless. We don’t really have an idea what we’re up against anyway, so it could be better, using you to break him in a little, should he—“

     “Yeonjun.” Jisung says, cutting him off. “What the hell are you talking about?”

     Yeonjun looks at him like he’s stupid, like it should be obvious. “Quidditch, Jisung. We’ve got the first match against Ravenclaw tomorrow, and my Seeker’s fucking arm is regenerating.”

     Jisung stretches his head forwards in shock, as if he didn’t hear Yeonjun right. But no—he definitely heard him crystal clear. Jisung. Seeker. “I—are you serious?”

     “Yes, I’m serious." Yeonjun says. "I would've asked someone else, but Wooyoung reminded me of your little perk."

     "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Jisung says with a scowl. He'd been waiting for the back-handed compliment. "I hate to disappoint more than already possible, but I don't have a perk."

     "Yes, you do." Yeonjun says firmly, with a nasty smirk. "Wooyoung and I got to talking with our opposing Seeker during Muggle Studies, and you're on his mind quite often."

     "What? You mean Lee?" 

     "There's only one Ravenclaw Seeker, Jisung." Yeonjun says, exasperated. 

     "Technically no, there isn't, since Sunghoon should still be on the team." Jisung says with a faux smile.

     Yeonjun considers him bemusedly, thumbnail caught between his teeth in a picturesque thinking pose. Jisung hates him for it. "So it is true. 'Han hates me,' 'he can't bear to sit next to me,' 'he glares at me from across the classroom.'"

     Jisung feels his face heat, for some reason. Maybe it's shame—the subconscious knowledge of his jealousy catching up to him in the brutality of Yeonjun's words(Or Minho's, technically). "...He said that?"

     "Yup. It's not all complaining, though." Yeonjun says with a mischievous glint in his eye, which Jisung doesn't like one bit. "He's drooling for you, Jisung. And we're gonna use that to win."

     "What the fuck—no, he is not drooling for me." Jisung insists, his face twisting. "Was Bin with you during this conversation?"

     "Yeah, 'course he was." Yeonjun huffs. "He agrees, you know. He just doesn't say it to your face." 

     His words carry that gossipy tone that Jisung despises. He makes it sound like Changbin was actively hiding information, and that the act of doing so is purposefully snarky or untrustworthy. Jisung has to remind himself that Changbin isn't like that—he'd never said anything because he knew Jisung would throw a fit, and he probably didn't feel like provoking him. He definitely would've brought it up at some point to aggravate Jisung for his own enjoyment. 

     "Well, then he's wrong too." Jisung says, bristling. "What are you even expecting from me? Cause I'm not going to flirt with him for you." 

     "Not necessary." Yeonjun says, lifting his hands in surrender. "Just be there. Your presence is enough."

     "Fine." Jisung says, but his attempt to leave is halted. 

     "Don't forget, practice straight after classes today."

     "Right."

     Once he finally makes it to the picnic, he recites the story of his interruption to the others. Felix's eyes slowly widen with excitement, and he's the first to speak. 

     "That's amazing, I'm so happy for you, Jisungie!" He says, pulling Jisung into a hug. 

     "Jesus christ, he has to regenerate his whole arm?" Seungmin says, looking a bit nauseous.

     "He'll be fine." Hyunjin waves it off. "He's had worse accidents. He's accident-prone, really, it was bound to happen. But this is exciting for you! Maybe you can finally prove yourself!"

     "That's the goal." Jisung says firmly. "I've got to keep up with them first, though." 

-

     "Aaaaand joining us on the pitch today is Ravenclaw and Slytherin, for the first match of the year!"

     The stands cheer, and Jisung wipes his clammy palms on his pants as he surveys the crowd. The new commentator's voice is familiar, a Gryffindor one year his junior—Beomgyu Choi, Jisung thinks.

     “Leading Ravenclaw we’ve got Seonghwa Park, Keeper, and leading Slytherin is Yeonjun Choi, Chaser, dashingly handsome as always. Owl me, if you’d like—ouch!” Beomgyu receives a slap from a Ravenclaw sitting next to him, and Jisung realizes he’s Heeseung Lee, who Seungmin mentioned got moved up to his Charms class. 

     Heeseung gives him a pointed, venomous stare which screams 'don’t be biased,' and Beomgyu sighs. “Alright, alright. On Ravenclaw, look forward to your new seeker and classmate, mythical transfer student Minho Lee! Today, he’ll be facing off against Jisung Han, who is subbing for your actual Seeker—and my poor, incapacitated friend—Jeongin Yang. Don’t get attached, ladies and gentleworms, cause that gorgeous face isn’t here to stay!”

     Jisung balks, and turns to the nearest team member, who happens to be Jay, one of their Beaters. “Do you know him? Is he always like this?”

     “I know him, but not well.” Jay says. “Heeseung told me he was like this, though, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

     "Remember what we talked about, okay?" Yeonjun leans over to whisper. "End this quick. Don't let the others see how Lee plays." 

     Jisung nods, nerves churning in his stomach.

     “Let’s keep this game clean, alright?” Madam Hooch says. She gives each of them a piercing look before her heel knocks against the side of the chest she'd brought with her, releasing the balls.

     “The balls are out…and the game begins!”

     Jennie swoops in to be the first with the quaffle, and Jisung’s heart hammers as he takes to the sky. He’s been avoiding looking at Minho, but now that the game’s begun, he’s obligated to keep an eye on him. A few minutes pass, and then Minho meets him in the air fourty feet up, looking unfairly attractive in his quidditch uniform. 

     “Seonghwa panicked a bit when he learned you were subbing.” He says simply, leaving the tone of the conversation in Jisung’s hands. 

     “Yh—he did?” Jisung says, blinking. “I was the second choice.”

     “Really?” Minho tilts his head with interest. “We saw you at the pitch on Saturday. You’re good.”

     “Are you trying to flatter me? Cause it's not gonna work.”

     “I’m trying to be honest.” Minho says. “He knows that Chan taught you. That’s dangerous.”

     “According to Yeonjun, I’m dangerous to you.” Jisung says, taking his eyes off Minho to scan the sky. “You should really watch what you say around him. Half the school probably knows by now.”

     “Knows what?” 

     Jisung glances at him, weighing his expression. He looks sincere, though, and Jisung sighs in relief. “Christ, thank god. He’s convinced you have a crush on me or something.”

     The wind whips between them, the noises of the crowd cushioning their conversation, and Jisung ignores how close their brooms are. “Funny,” He finally says, his voice flat, “he told me the same thing about you.”

     Jisung groans, and he sees Minho turn to face him in his periphery. “Fucking asshole. Of course he’d say that.”

     “It’s not true, then?”

     “No, it’s not true!” Jisung says, offended. “I don’t even like you, forget have a crush on you.”

     “Why is that?”

     “You’re pretentious.”

     “No, I meant why not have a crush on me?” Minho says, and Jisung nearly chokes on his own spit. His voice comes out teasingly, and it sounds alien to Jisung’s ears. “Aren’t I pretty? Classic?”

     Jisung’s fidgeting ceases, like a statue on his broom.

     “Yeah. You suck at whispering.” Minho says, in a cocky whisper of his own.

     “It’s—I was just being objective.” Jisung manages to say, his face heating slightly.

     “Aw, cute.” Minho says, syrupy and patronizing. “You’re blushing. You should do that more often.”

     “What??”

     “I’d like to have something cute to look at in Potions.”

     There's a small pause before Jisung tears away from Minho, abruptly enough that he doesn’t follow, surprised by the departure. It’s not because of his words, though—Jisung had seen a glint of gold fluttering above the Gryffindor stands, and he wasn’t going to let it get away. 

     Minho notices too late, and even with his superior broom, Jisung gets there first, nearly kicking a sixth-year in the face as he catches the snitch, the wings stubbornly flapping a few times before retracting into the circular body. 

     “Im intercepts Myoui, passes Choi the quaffle, heading—oh. Oh my god, Han’s got the snitch!” Beomgyu shouts, a little delayed. 

     The stadium explodes with cheers, and because he’s right above the Gryffindor stands, he gets an amazing view of Chan and Changbin’s pride, their faces glowing as they scream their throats raw. 

     Jisung is mobbed in the air by the Slytherin team, Mingi and San getting there first and crushing his bones. He doesn’t even feel it, numb inside and out. 

     "—fastest caught since Professor Potter, and not even close, with Lee almost ten meters behind even on a Lightning, just incredible—"

     "JI-SUNG! JI-SUNG! JI-SUNG!"

     Jisung feels like he's bubbling, like he'll explode with happiness. Him, Seeker. Winning the game for them. 

     The team pulls him down to the ground, where Yeonjun shakes hands with Seonghwa. Chan and Changbin are the first running onto the grass, and Jisung runs to meet them, receiving the best bear hug from Chan, who lifts him right off his feet from pure excitement. Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin are next, grinning from ear to ear. Seungmin tries to keep up a sour charade, but gives up somewhere amidst the noise.

     "You were fucking fantastic!!" Chan yells, squeezing him hard enough that—if Mingi and San hadn't gotten to them—the rest of his bones must surely be broken. 

     "You looked like a damn rockstar!" Changbin agrees. 

     "The fastest since Professor Potter, did you hear that, Jisung??" Chan repeats excitedly. "Yeonjun, mind if we host at Gryffindor?"

     "Huh? Oh, go ahead." 

     Chan drags all of them up to Gryffindor Tower, and it's just like all of the post-match parties that Jisung went to from Chan and Changbin's victories. Except this time, the glory is his. Firewhiskey is plentiful, and Jisung has so many hands on him that he doesn't know who they belong to. Slaps on the back, handshakes, encouraging jostling. It's practically groping, but Jisung is tipsy and elated, so he hardly feels it. Seungmin didn't come(not one for parties) but Felix and Hyunjin did, although he loses them in the crowd. At some point, he finds himself next to Beomgyu, who flirts shamelessly before Wooyoung and Heeseung steer him away. 

     Speaking of Heeseung, there are even a few Ravenclaws, and Jisung literally stumbles into Sunghoon, who gives him a small smile and a quiet 'thank you' for beating Minho. It's the first time since the pitch that he's heard his name, and being reminded that he beat him feels amazing. Jisung clasps both of Sunghoon's hands in his own and gives them a passionate kiss, slurring "M'so happy," before he weaves around him to get to the stairs, too drunk to witness his cheeks turn pink. 

     When he reaches the seventh-year dormitories, Chan is already up there, nursing his own bottle of firewhiskey by the window. He brightens when he sees Jisung, opening his arms so that he can collapse into them. 

     "My champion." He says with a grin, like a proud father. "How was the party?"

     "S'mazing." Jisung exhales, dropping his head onto Chan's shoulder.

     "Yeah? Sounds like it." Chan chuckles. "Have you seen Bin?"

     "Nah." Jisung says. "Disappeared 'round the same time Lixie did."

     "Oh, I see." Chan muses. "Someone might have to jump in the lake tomorrow."

     "It'll be worth it." Jisung mumbles. "S'that he stops complaining."

     "True, true." 

     Jisung stays there in Chan's lap, his limbs sluggish and his brain foggy, for an indeterminate amount of time. He's safe there, always has been—it's actually tradition by now, to come to Chan after these parties. Jisung drifts about and drinks like there's no tomorrow, making a sufficient danger of himself, and then retires with Chan, who wouldn't even talk if Jisung didn't want him to. Chan's body is wrought with muscle, but he’s somehow still comfier to lay on than Jisung's own bed. 

     "Should win more often." Jisung mutters, his eyelids drooping. 

     Chan chuckles and says something else, but Jisung doesn't quite catch it, cause he's already falling unconscious.

Chapter Text

     “Christ, my head hurts.” Jisung groans, him and Chan finally joining Changbin at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. “Feels like I didn’t sleep at all.”

     “I always sleep better when you stay over.” Chan says fondly. “You were right, last night, when you said we should do this more often.”

     “Did I say that? I can’t even remember. Where the hell were you?”

     “Me?” Changbin repeats, his inflection tipping up slightly—a dead giveaway that he’s about to lie. “I was with Wooyoung.”

     “No you weren’t.” Jisung says immediately. “Wooyoung was with Beomgyu.”

     “Yeah, I was with both of them.” Changbin says, irritated. “Ever heard of joining a conversation?” The words aren’t quite the right ones, and he’s clearly whipping them up on the spot, but Jisung decides to let it go. 

     “That was such a good party.” Chan says, satisfied. “Thanks for winning for us, Jisung.”

     “Oh, it was nothing.” He sighs with faux-ego. “Just another day of being me, y’know?”

     “Jisung…” Changbin says slowly, not quite looking at Jisung's face.

     “What?” Jisung falters, a cold feeling creeping into his chest. “Am I not allowed to be a shithead after winning?”

     “No, I didn't—look.” He’s pointing behind Jisung and Chan, so they turn in unison. Minho is entering the Great Hall, and tucked under one arm is a notebook that looks oddly familiar. A notebook with a red cotton cover and a thin ribbon bookmark that jingles from the charm Hannah made. Minho takes a seat at the Slytherin table and opens the notebook right there, propping it up in such a way that Jisung can’t miss the front—in Chan’s handwriting, the letters fuzzy from bleeding into the fabric, is their friendship emblem: 3RACHA. It used to symbolize their fiery Gryffindor spirit, but the meaning has evolved due to certain past events.

     That’s Jisung’s fucking potions notebook. His prized, experimental, personal journal. And it’s in Minho’s hands right now, Minho’s stupid, gorgeous fingers turning the pages like he’s perfectly entitled to read them. 

     Jisung swings his legs over the bench and stalks over, furious. He means to snatch it out of his hands, but Minho tightens his grip, and Jisung’s efforts just pull them close. 

     “The fuck is wrong with you?” He spits. “Where did you get this?”

     “Your dorm.” Minho says, his eyes narrowing in challenge. “Where else? It was conveniently empty last night, even at four in the morning. You gave me an easy time about it.”

     “What is this, some kinda prank? Truth or dare?”

     “Maybe.”

     “Well, you’ve done your little dare now, so give it back.” Jisung says, tugging on the notebook. Minho’s strong, though, and it hardly budges.

     “I dunno, I was thinking I might keep it. If you’re surpassing me in Quidditch I can’t let you keep being better than me at Potions. Then this rivalry will actually have some substance.”

     “We are not rivals.” Jisung insists. “Give me my goddamn notebook, Lee, right now.”

     Minho pulls hard, yanking Jisung’s torso over the table. Jisung hits his knee on the bench, hissing in pain, and tries to right himself, but Minho is unrelenting.

     “How does it feel to be a cocky little shit to me for no reason, and still win?” Minho murmurs. “Does it feel good?”

     Jisung meets his eyes, which send a shiver down his spine from their darkness. His voice doesn’t waver, though. “Yeah. It feels amazing. How does it feel to be a perfect, privileged prince and lose to me?”

     “Pretty good, actually.” Minho says, and although he sounds sincere, Jisung doesn’t believe him. “I like the challenge. Feels better when I crush it later.”

     Jisung chuckles dryly, and makes another vain attempt to retrieve his notebook. “You’re so confident it’s nauseating.”

     “It’s a skill of mine.” Minho quips. “Comes from experience. I’ve never failed with brats like you.”

     Jisung's jaw drops. “Excuse me??”

     One muscled hand meets the table, the other settling warmly on Jisung’s shoulder. “Everything okay over here?” It’s Chan, wearing that de-escalation smile of his. His presence carries a subtle threat, and most people would retreat immediately. But not Minho.

     “Fine.” He gets out, his eyes never leaving Jisung’s face. “We’re doing just fine.” He pulls the notebook again, and Jisung grits his teeth as he’s pulled with it. 

     “Alright,” Chan says gently, “let’s calm down a bit, okay?” He moves to put one hand over Jisung’s and one over Minho’s, but the attempt to make contact finally forces Minho to withdraw. Jisung clutches the notebook close to his chest, flipping through a few pages to make sure none are damaged. Thankfully, it looks okay, so he tucks it under his elbow. 

     Chan slings an arm over Jisung's shoulder and says, "Maybe don't take things that don't belong to you, yeah?" Somehow, it doesn't sound patronizing. Chan is excellent at that, treating people like they're kids and getting away with it from his overwhelming paternal energy.

     "Yeah," Minho says darkly, "same goes for you." He stands, switching to the Ravenclaw table with too much resolve for such an early hour. Jisung has no idea what he means by that if not the Quidditch win, but the idea that it supposedly ‘belonged’ to Minho is so infuriating and entitled that he easily believes it came from his mouth.

     "Who the hell dared him to do that?" Jisung thinks aloud, scanning those around him. He can't find any guilty faces though, so he accepts Chan's arm gently guiding him back to the Gryffindor table. 

     "No use worrying about it." Chan says with a shrug. "Some petty Ravenclaw, probably. It's a temporary theft for a Quidditch win though, who's coming out on top here?"

     "You're right." Jisung says, reaching up to pat the hand that's dangling off his shoulder. "Thanks Chris."

     Chan recoils, giving Jisung the funniest look of shock mixed with disgust. "What?? Ew, don't call me that." 

     "Sorry, sorry." Jisung laughs. "I wanted to see how you'd react. Why'd you have Lix call you that anyway?"

     "Erm, to create some formality. A degree of separation. My legal name, y'know?"

     "Oh," Jisung says, his eyes widening, "so you've really never liked him."

     "No, I haven't." Chan sighs. "I thought I told you to drop it." 

     "I thought I told you I wouldn't." Jisung teases. "I don't understand why you're being so suspicious about it. It's just a crush, Chan."

     "No, it's not."

     Jisung blinks, and they slide back into their seats at the Gryffindor table, Changbin flipping listlessly through a copy of The Daily Prophet that his owl had just delivered. "Oh. Wow, so it's more than that?"

     "What's more than what?" Changbin says, glancing up at them. 

     "Nothing." Chan says, growing more exasperated by the minute.

     It's the wrong thing to say—although Chan hadn't been purposefully excluding him, Changbin's face morphs into betrayal, his previous tiredness and unaffected air disappearing. “You’re hiding something from me?? Does Jisung know?”

     Chan glances at Jisung, a silent request to shut up.

     “Chan’s got—!”

     Chan claps a hand over his mouth, resorting to force now that Jisung has proved he won’t cooperate. Jisung licks his palm, and Chan is unbothered. “It’s nothing.” When Changbin’s betrayal melts into hurt, though, Chan acquiesces a tad. “Bin…ugh, I don’t wanna tell you because you’re gonna throw a fit about it.”

     “I won’t.” Changbin says immediately, eager to be let in on the secret. “I promise I won’t.”

     "You really love promises, don't you?" 

     Jisung turns again(Chan's hand falling off his mouth), and there's Felix standing behind them, looking messy in the same way a supermodel would after receiving their 'just woke up' concept. Hyunjin isn't far, tidying Seungmin’s hair at the Hufflepuff table and pointing at something in his lap that they're both very absorbed in.

     "Oh, good morning Lix." Jisung says with a smile. "Did you and Hyunjin enjoy the party? Sorry I lost you so quick."

     "Nah, don't worry about it," Felix waves off, and Jisung doesn't miss the way he avoids the question. "Sorry to steal him away from you, but could you come with me, Jisung?”

     “Oh—er, okay.”

     When they approach the other two, Seungmin looks up and scowls. “Finally done talking to that pig?”

     “Whoa,” Jisung says, lifting both hands to create a barrier between himself and agitated Seungmin, “what happened? Who’s the pig?”

     “Binnie asked me out last night.” Felix says, the nickname laid on thick and sarcastic. 

     “Really?” Jisung glances backwards, and Changbin looks away immediately. “He didn’t tell me.”

     “Yeah, I figured he wouldn’t.” Felix says with distaste. 

     “What’d he say?”

     “He promised he’d make him cum.” Hyunjin says, providing a dramatic gag. “I was there. It was awful.”

     “He didn’t wait for you to leave??” Jisung says in disbelief.

     “Well, he was pretty drunk.” Felix says flatly. “So I told him I wasn’t that kinda guy, and he said—“

     “‘Of course you are,’” Hyunjin quotes, putting on a gruff voice that sounds nothing like Changbin. “‘You’re half-Veela.’”

     Jisung’s eyes widen, and he turns again to look at Changbin, who’s leaning close to speak to Chan, hopefully explaining himself. Jisung will have to wait and hear what he has to say about it.

     “Oh, it gets worse.” Hyunjin laughs humorlessly. “So I told him to go fuck himself, and Felix said—“

     “‘I think you’d be better off with a boyfriend who could teach you not to say that shit.’” Felix says, eyes up to the ceiling like he’s recalling the moment. “And I brought up Seungminnie, which—now that I’m in my right mind, I wouldn’t want anywhere near him.”

     “Cause guess what?” Hyunjin says, planting both hands on the table for impact. “He called Seungmin—“

     “A dirty mutt.” Seungmin says, quiet and firm. In the shocked silence that follows, he specifies, “I wasn’t there, obviously. Lix and Jinnie told me.”

     “Wh—I can’t—he’s not like that.” Jisung says breathlessly. “I know he isn’t. Why would he even say something like that?”

     “Cause he’s a jealous, bigoted prick.” Seungmin says roughly. “And I’m a mudblood who does better than him in all his classes.”

     Jisung is shocked still, mulling everything over. He had no idea Seungmin was Muggle-born, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense. Just like himself(raised by his Muggle mother), Seungmin has only ever used religious expletives as opposed to ‘Merlin’ or ‘Dumbledore’ like those from magic-centered households. And in his lap—what he and Hyunjin had been looking at before—is a white Motorola RAZR, probably given to him by his parents, unaccustomed to owl-post. Jisung can only wonder if he actually gets service.

     “I had no idea.” Jisung says honestly.

     “Yeah, well I bet he sniffed me out immediately.” Seungmin says. “They always know, somehow, those types.”

     “I never thought he was one of those. Are you sure…I mean, he’s always—“

     “Jisung. You never thought this hard about Yeonjun.” Hyunjin interrupts. “Have you ever thought that maybe he was just putting up a front?”

     “First off, that is not a fair comparison, you don’t even know the half of it. And second off, he’s not that kind of person.” Jisung says, growing distressed by the internal turmoil that the conversation is stirring up. “He’s never had any problem with my mum. And my dad’s dead, I’m really not that much ‘purer’ at my core than you are, Min. That’s a part of why Yeonjun doesn’t like me.”

     “Well, you’re his friend. He can see past that because he knows you, but he can’t do the same with strangers.” Seungmin suggests. 

     “Hold on,” Jisung says, tapping the table as if to tag himself out of the conversation, “I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

     Felix and the others watch him go, but when Changbin sees him approaching, he starts to get up, looking exasperated.

     “Bin—Bin, tell me it’s not true.” Jisung says, following him along the other side of the table. “Tell me—“

     “Fine, it’s not true. Happy?” Changbin says shortly, not meeting his eyes. "I don't wanna talk about it."

     “No, I’m not happy. Give me your side of the story, try to make me understand.”

     “I was drunk, alright?”

     “That’s not an excuse and you know it.” Jisung says, stretching an arm in front of him once he reaches the end of the table, preventing his escape. “Chan’s never said fucking slurs when he was drunk.”

     “It wasn’t a slur, and Chan’s a saint, isn’t he?” Changbin says sarcastically. “You’re being stupid, Jisung. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him running his hands over you after you passed out?”

     “What?? You’re fucking lying to me.” Jisung says, his eyebrows furrowing with a wave of anger. “Chan would never. You’re deflecting—Bin!”

     Changbin ducks around him and out of the Great Hall, but Jisung is hot on his heels. “Okay, so maybe I am. Felix called him a puppy, I called him a mutt. I don’t like him, Jisung, it was just the path Felix led me down, okay? I didn’t know he was Muggle-born. We used to call Chan a dog all the time.”

     “Cause Chan is our best friend.” Jisung says with a scoff. “You can’t say that shit about people you don’t know.”

     “That’s my bad. I was drunk, remember? I don’t say fucking slurs when I’m drunk, but I do think less. That’s scientifically proven.”

     “Okay, but that doesn’t explain the Veela comment??”

     Changbin stops, letting out a short breath. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll admit, that one was bad.”

     “Why'd you say it?”

     “What can I even say?” Changbin sighs, throwing up his arms in defeat. “I was angry, I was drunk, I’d just been rejected. There were a lot of reasons, none of them valid excuses, but ‘meaning it’ was also not one of them. I was just being a fucking idiot like always, okay?”

     Jisung crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes heavy with something like disappointment. Changbin sighs again, harder.

     “I was lying about Chan, by the way, you were right.” He says, his voice softer. “He just pets your hair, that’s all. I’m sorry.” 

     “I know.” Jisung says flatly. “But it’s not me you should be apologizing to.” 

     “Erm, yeah. Not now.” Changbin says, leaning a tad around him to glance into the Great Hall. “I was gonna let them be angry at me for a bit. They deserve it, y’know?”

     “Well—well don’t wait too long.” Jisung says. Changbin nods, and continues on his way now that Jisung isn’t blocking it. 

     But Changbin does wait too long. As the days go by, dislike of him only festers in Felix’s gang(which is just what Jisung calls them at this point, despite them having no concrete leader), and by the time he finally owns up to his mistakes, he’s left a sour taste in all their mouths. 

     “I don’t know why you’re friends with him.” Seungmin huffs that Saturday, his attitude having completely changed. “I don’t know why I even liked him. I should’ve known a big oaf type wouldn’t suit me.”

     “He’s not a big oaf.” Jisung sighs. “He’s brash, that’s all. He was being stupid, and that’s what he told you, right? He’s not a ‘type’ either, he’s much more complex when you get to know him.”

     “You know what you are?” Seungmin says abruptly, stopping in front of the big double doors to the hospital wing. “You’re a hypocrite. The biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met, I think.”

     “Elaborate.” Jisung says, clasping his hands behind his back, patiently awaiting psychoanalysis.

     “You go on and on about types of people until it’s someone you know.” Seungmin says bluntly. “Don’t think I miss the way you ‘type’ us, too. It’s in your jokes, your little self-deprecating comments, that’s where all your honesty is. You’ve got to stop putting us all on pedestals, Jisung. It’s stressing Jin out.”

     Jisung blinks a few times, taking the information in.

     “Everyone says I’m judgemental and maybe it’s true, but you’re the same way.” Seungmin says, putting one hand on the door handle in preparation. “It’s just that I’m honest about it, and you hide behind irony. You’re just as stubborn as I am, just as quick to judge. I obviously don’t know Yeonjun as well as you do, but I think you’re being unfair about Lee.”

     "Wasn't it just last week you told me you didn't like him?" Jisung says, raising a brow.

     "Well, yes, that was my first assessment. I've changed opinions." Seungmin says.

     "Why??"

     "Personal reasons," is all Seungmin says before pushing open the infirmary doors, leaving little room for Jisung to argue. So he doesn’t, simply clamping his mouth shut and following Seungmin’s uncharacteristically nervous shuffle up to Madam Pomfrey. “Erm, excuse me? Is Jeongin awake?”

     “Just over on that bed, dear.” She says, pointing to a bed behind a curtain partition. 

     Seungmin carefully peeks behind the curtain, and his posture tightens up immediately. Jisung leans around him, frozen for a moment by the sight. From the neck up, he looks totally normal—jet black hair falling in natural waves over his brows, sweet eyes widening in surprise at their arrival. But as Jisung looks lower, he almost thinks his eyes are tricking him, because—

     “Wh—your arm.” Seungmin whispers, and his voice wavers with what sounds like the promise of tears. “I’m so sorry, Innie, I—“

     “Oh, no no, don’t feel guilty! It works just fine!” Jeongin says, raising his now completely skeletal forearm and waving his fingers. “Skele-grow doesn’t work for skin, obviously, but it’s…I mean, it works.”

     “How is that possible?” Seungmin says, blinking a few too many times.

     “Magic.” Jisung says flatly. Seungmin shoots him a glare. 

     “I dunno what they did when I was out, but it works, so I’m not upset.” Jeongin says with a shrug. “Madam Pomfrey is just monitoring me, I should be out of here by tonight.”

     “Innie, erm—“ Seungmin mutters, stepping closer. “I’m really sorry.”

     Jeongin’s face heats, and he fiddles with his fingers to avoid making eye contact. “It was my fault, d-don’t apologize. It’s embarrassing, really, so I’d rather you didn’t mention it.”

     “Well, if you say so.” Seungmin says anxiously. “I got your rings. It coughed them up after a bit.”

     Jeongin brightens, lifting his head. “Really?”

     Seungmin fishes them out of his pocket, extending his palm to Jeongin. He smiles, and returns them to their places on his now-bone fingers. 

     “That’s metal as hell.” Jisung says with an impressed hum. 

     Jeongin smiles bashfully. “Thanks, I guess. Yeonjun told me you subbed for me, how was the game?”

     “Oh, it was good! We won!” Jisung says, although envy stabs him, reminded that Jeongin’s good health means he’s kicked off the team.

     “That’s great!” Jeongin grins.

     “I still feel awful.” Seungmin blurts. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

     “Oh, erm…” Jeongin stalls, and somehow Jisung manages to make eye contact. He tilts his head in Seungmin’s direction, raising his eyebrows encouragingly. “It’s really nothing, but if it would make you feel better, we could go for a Butterbeer or something?"

-

     "Shit." Jisung mutters under his breath, scrunching up a handful of his robes to stick his nicked finger into. He simultaneously elbows Minho in the chest, causing him to drop his stirring rod into his Disintegration potion, which swallows it immediately. It was doomed from the start—most students only come equipped with rods made of glass, but such a potion requires something sturdier, like pewter. The classroom has plenty of the pewter versions for public use, but Jisung figured he’d skip right past the glass to save himself the trouble later.

     "Cut yourself?" Minho says, peering over to get a look. 

     "I'm fine." Jisung says, gripping his robes tight to suppress the wound. 

     "I know a spell. I could—"

     "I said I'm fine." Jisung hisses. 

     "For Merlin's sake, you use those robes to wipe your cauldron every day." Minho says with distaste. "They're not sanitary. I still can't understand why you don't just use a rag." 

     "Why don't you mind your own business?" Jisung huffs, handing Minho his own stirring rod. "Here. Sorry I bumped you."

     "If you're gonna be stubborn about it…" Minho takes the rod and puts it back down on the table, snatching Jisung’s hand instead. He wraps Jisung’s finger in a corner of his own robes, holding him there with his other hand for pressure.

     Jisung is too shocked to speak, brain tied into knots from the warmth of Minho's hand through the cloth. It's just a little cut, he has no idea why he's being so dramatic about it. Still, Jisung can't object, so they sit like that for a minute, both pairs of eyes locked on their tangle of hands and fabric.

     "I like when you're quiet." Minho finally says, a touch of smugness audible in his voice. "Means I've pushed the right buttons."

     "Is that all I am to you?" Jisung scoffs. "A bunch of buttons to press?"

     "What, you want to be more?"

     Jisung pulls his hand away, face heating as he realizes the unintended double meaning. "No."

     "Aw, such a good boy." Minho teases. "Does as he's told, too." 

     Jisung hates that he remembers Minho's request during the game, but he hates his patronizing tone even more. "Shut up."

     "You haven't found my 'shut up' button yet." Minho says cheekily. "You've got to earn that." 

     "How 'bout you open wide and test some of this potion for me?" Jisung says nastily, gesturing to Minho's cauldron. "I'm not a button-presser."

     "So you're the type to smash a lock rather than finding the key?"

     "I guess I am."

     "I thought you were smarter than that." Minho tuts.

     "Well, when you don't know where the fucking key is, why would you waste time looking for it?" Jisung says, exasperated. He tosses a sprig of cinnamon into his own potion, taking the stirring rod back to incorporate it. "Or a button, or whatever analogy you're using."

     "Maybe it's a pretty lock." Minho says, propping his elbow against the table to consider him. "Maybe you'd rather sort the right buttons from the wrong ones until your lock opens all on its own. Don't you enjoy playing around? It's a lot more fun than ruining a pretty little thing right off the bat cause you're frustrated." 

     Jisung hesitates, and the words cause a little tingle to dance over the skin of his lower back. “Yeah, well that’s you. And I’m me.”

     “Clearly.”

     A few minutes go by, Jisung fruitlessly trying to shake Minho's sly voice out of his head. He keeps to himself, focuses on his own potion—his tenth or so draft—which is still thickening despite how slow he's stirring it. He should know by now that it's a bad idea to stop paying attention to Minho during Potions, but somehow, he only looks up once it's too late.

     The entire bottom of his cauldron drops onto the table with a hiss, the edges of the hole bubbling and smacking loudly like chewing gum. Minho and Jisung stare at it, dumbfounded, and the potion starts gnawing through the table next.

     "These cauldrons are made to withstand this stuff." Jisung says incredulously. "How the fuck did you do that?"

     "No idea."

     "Oh dear. Oh no no no." Slughorn mutters as he hurries over, examining the damage. "However did you manage that?"

     "I've got no idea." Minho repeats, lightly agitated. 

     "Well… Oh dear." The potion is swallowing the table with great efficiency, and Jisung quickly sweeps his tools into his bag to protect them from falling. He's too late, however, to save his cauldron, which he would've gone for first if he had half a brain. It tips into the gaping, bubbling hole just as Jisung attempts to grab it, and weeks of hard work slosh onto his robes. Fellow students who had looked up from their work supply a sympathetic 'ooooo,' and it takes all of his willpower not to cry right then and there. The potion is colder than ice and had been stuck in a rather gruesome shade of red for several days, so Jisung figures he should kill Minho to add to the spectacular look. 

     "Han…" Minho says, his normal flat expression switched out for one of pure horror, "I'm so sorry. I didn't…"

     Jisung shivers violently, a steady drip-drip-drip serenading the silence. When he finally gathers his voice, it’s strong enough for only three words.

     “I hate you.”

Chapter Text

     "—made an absolute fucking fool of himself, like always." Jisung rattles off to Hyunjin and Felix, carelessly waving his wand in Charms. His movements are sharp and jittery, and he’s still cold from his damp robes that he can’t be bothered to change out of. The whole classroom has been avoiding his gaze since he stepped in looking like bloody murder, but it’s not like Jisung wants to talk to them. "My table's gone thanks to him. I swear I've never seen a Disintegration Potion work that fast."

     “It was an accident though, wasn’t it?” Felix says, pouting slightly.

     “Lix, don’t even with me right now.” Jisung says, pushing his palm out in Felix’s direction. “I’m furious and I’m not gonna put up with you defending him.”

     Hyunjin notices his hand is shaking, and carefully wraps both of his own around it to pull it into his lap. “Are you alright, Jisung? I mean, outside of the furious thing. You seem kinda…off.”

     “Jesus,” Jisung shivers, “Erm, yeah, I’m okay.”

     Technically, he’s right. There’s nothing about him that’s wrong, so he only realizes the problem later when the clock tower chimes once and he looks up from his homework, confused. The Slytherin common room is deserted and the black lake outside contains none of the usual rays of sunshine that creep through the water. Jisung has flown through all of his homework from that day and quite a bit of his long-term Transfiguration essay, which isn’t due for another three weeks. 

     He instantly knows what’s happened: the peppermint and honeywater he added to his potion in the beginning stages may have sidetracked it completely, transforming it into some hyper-effective Invigoration Draught rather than the insomnia cure he’s been looking for. In fact, it’s having the opposite desired effect, considering it’s already one in the morning. Jisung is so riled up that he can’t imagine getting to sleep, and at the same time, feels like he would have failed if he were to do so, for some reason.

     Jisung scrambles for his notebook, scratching notes into the margins of his recipe and moving to the next page to log his side effects. 

     Dangerous productivity. Hand tremors or other erratic movements. An unshakable chill all over. Feelings of restlessness and inadequacy. 

     Jisung hesitates, crossing off that last one. That might just be him. Instead, he replaces it with “heightened insecurity?” 

     This is monumental for his potion. All of these effects essentially prove that his mix had been so powerful that he took it in through his skin rather than drinking it. Either that, or a small drop had gotten into his mouth, and was enough to produce such a reaction. Jisung flips the page again and starts to brainstorm a different base, one certainly without peppermint, as a realization hits him.

     Minho had helped. Unintentionally, yes, and after a great catastrophe, but Minho had helped him so much that he can’t possibly be mad at him for it anymore.

     Goddammit. 

-

     “Er—no, absolutely not.” Chan says the second Jisung sits down for breakfast. “You look ill. Go back to bed.”

     “I’m fine.” Jisung says, but truthfully, he knows Chan is right. He’d checked his appearance before he left and it wasn’t pretty: deep eyebags, still-shaking hands, a subtle pallor to his skin. He hadn’t slept a wink, instead spending his time whipping up a new, more promising draft for his potion. 

     “What happened to you?” Changbin asks, a little delayed, over his goblet of pumpkin juice.

     “Hit by a bus.” Jisung says offhandedly, piling his plate with eggs and toast. “Should’ve seen it. Came careening through the Slytherin common room.”

     “Jisung,” Chan says firmly, his eyes narrowly unamused, “seriously.”

     “Lee spilled—well, because of Lee, I got a potion spilled all over me.” Jisung says with a sigh.

     “Because of Lee?” Changbin muses, tilting his head. “Are you specifying that something wasn’t directly his fault? Wow. Wooyoung was right.”

     Jisung doesn’t have the energy to prod him for details on what that means, his fingers struggling to grip the toast that he takes a large bite out of. He stops short once it’s in his mouth, though, because it doesn’t taste like toast or even bread at all. He swallows with difficulty and fishes his notebook out of his bag, squeezing “warped sense of taste” onto the bottom of the page in tiny print.

     “You’re worrying me, Jisung.” Chan says, and his hand connects with Jisung’s wrist to steady it, his eyes widening. “Merlin, you’re freezing!”

     “I said I’m fine, Chan. It’s just a potion. It’ll go away soon.” Jisung insists, but he lets Chan pull him into a side-hug, and the warmth is so relieving he melts into it. 

     "Can't you take a sick day, or something?" Chan murmurs. "You never get sick anyway.”

     "I'll take one with you." Changbin says immediately. "I don't wanna sit for that Charms quiz. You can stay with me in Gryffindor Tower, by the fireplace."

     The offer is tantalizing, and Chan rubs his back encouragingly. "That's a great idea. Don't you wanna sit by the fire with Bin? You can use your blanket." Now he's really hooked him. Chan's referring to a thick quilt that his mum made him, one that Jisung uses every time he gets the opportunity. It's especially useful when he sleeps over at Gryffindor, so that he and Chan don't have to fight over one blanket. 

     "Alright, alright." Jisung huffs with a small smile. "You've convinced me." 

     He follows Changbin up to Gryffindor Tower, not that he needs a guide. He’s walked there so many times that he nearly knows the way better than to his own common room. They set up in front of the fireplace like they said, with Jisung curled up on the closest armchair, swaddled in Chan's quilt. Thankfully, Chan had already promised he'd notify McGonagall about their joint illness, so neither of them have to get up to send an owl. They laze about, with Jisung fighting the insistent chills, and Changbin half-studying for the quiz that he's postponing by being here. 

     "Little guy to 4E." Changbin says distractedly, turning over a scroll of his old Charms homework. "Shit. Do you remember the wand movement for the Impervius charm?" 

     "It's E4, and that's a pawn." Jisung sighs. The piece listens to him regardless, and Jisung sits up straighter to see the board over his mound of blanket. "Isn't that the big arch? Start on the left and arch over?"

     "You might be right." Changbin mutters. "But is it an arch down or up?"

     "I think it's up, cause down wouldn't be called an arch. That's like, a scoop, or something. Pawn to D6." 

     "Never took you for much of a wizard's chess guy, Bin." Wooyoung says, entering the common room with the large energy that such a person requires. "Are you both skipping class?"

     "Nah. Sick." Changbin says, holding up two crossed fingers. "Well, Jisung actually is. Hey, what’s the wand movement for Impervius?"

     "No idea." Wooyoung says, striding across the room to lean over Jisung’s armchair. "So, how's it going with Lee?" 

     Jisung huffs, adjusting his position under the blanket. "Bin, it's your turn." 

     "You should've heard him!" Changbin says with a grin. "He said that something wasn't Lee's fault." 

     "Oh really?" Wooyoung hums, further breaching Jisung’s personal space.

     "Can't you have mercy on the poor dying waif?" He groans, throwing himself against one arm of the chair. "And I did not say that, for the record."

     "Okay, well, you still went out of your way to let us know it wasn't directly his fault." Changbin says.

     "I didn't go out of my way, I just mentioned it. It was a passing sentence, Bin." 

     "It sounds like you're warming up to him." Wooyoung teases. "San's about to owe me ten sickles."

     "You're betting on me?!" Jisung exclaims, twisting to fix him with an incredulous glare. 

     "It’s not just me,” Wooyoung says, raising his arms in surrender, “a bunch of people are. You can’t just flirt with him during a quidditch game, start a rivalry, and expect people not to get interested.”

     “I was not flirting with him, and we are not rivals.” Jisung fumes, and his efforts to tug his blanket into place accidentally knock over half of his chess pieces. 

     “Jisung, come on. You guys hate each other and play the same quidditch position. It’s like Professor Potter and Malfoy all over again.”

     “Yeah, well they still dislike each other, don’t they?”

     “That’s where the difference comes in.” Wooyoung says, pretending to push up imaginary glasses. “As a resident expert on homosexual behavior, you guys are gay. Like, super fucking mega gay.”

     “You’re an idiot.”

     “Oh—what’s that?” Wooyoung says suddenly, holding a finger above his head like an antennae. “Wow, the ratings are off the chart! Scanning, scanning…faggot detected. The gaydar is going nuts Jisung, you can’t beat these numbers.”

     Jisung gives him a shove, unable to suppress an amused smile. “Go fuck yourself. Or your stupid boyfriend, I don’t care.”

     “He’s busy.” Wooyoung says with an exaggerated frown. “In class, like a damn square.”

     “Why are you here anyway?”

     “Free period.” Wooyoung shrugs. “Perks of taking Muggle Studies.”

     “As if we had a choice.” Changbin says, eyes locked on his own moving wand. “Shit. I’m fucking screwed, aren’t I?”

     “You’re not denying that you’re gay, right?” Wooyoung says, ignoring Changbin. 

     “No, I’m not. Everyone knows this.” Jisung says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you can’t say that Lee is with such certainty—not that it matters, cause there is no interest here.”

     “No interest?” Wooyoung says, raising a brow. “Absolutely none? So you’re saying that he’s ugly?”

     “Yup.”

     “Completely repulsive?”

     “Uh huh.”

     “Can’t bear the sight of him?”

     “That’s right.”

     “If he was standing where I am right now, you could sit like this without looking at him?”

     Jisung is about to spit out an answer right away, but then his imagination kicks into action, like a film reel crackling to life. He can nearly feel Minho’s presence behind him, lingering, with that cool, intimidating aura that he carries everywhere he goes. Taller than Jisung, not by much, but exaggerated by Jisung’s position in the chair—and just like Wooyoung, leaning into Jisung’s space. It echoes Potions class, their seats pushed together, energies clashing from the close proximity like sparking, exposed wires. Could he really not look at him in a situation like that? 

     “Well—well that’s different.” Jisung says, his face burning at his stutter. “That’s creepy. That’s like if you saw a shadow creature at the end of the hallway and turned your back on it.”

     "He's blushing!" Wooyoung says, pointing like an obnoxious, tattling child. 

     Changbin looks up for a moment to smirk, and then his eyes return to his parchment. "Would you look at that, he is." 

     "I said it's creepy, you assholes!" Jisung says, but his face only heats more, humiliated. "I'm gonna tell Chan you're not letting me rest."

     "You're such a papa's boy." Wooyoung huffs, rolling his eyes. "Jeez, how would Chan feel about this? His little boy, leaving the nest so soon, fraternizing with mysterious boys in his Potions class." He pretends to faint, and Changbin supplies a dry laugh.

     "He'd never allow it. You should see him during the summer, Woo. He's so protective. Like he's his…oh shit. What is this??" Changbin cuts himself off, having just unrolled another scroll of parchment. "Is this from last week? Wooyoung." 

     "You're hopeless, Bin." Wooyoung says. "Just fail it like a man." 

     "I barely got an Acceptable on my last one, I need this." Changbin complains. 

     "Well, you know what I think?" Wooyoung says, turning back to Jisung. 

     "What?" He replies, his eyes narrow and skeptical. 

     "I think you should come with us after school today." Wooyoung says with a smirk. "We're doing some seventh-year only Rapid on the pitch before practice. Lee's gonna be there."

     "And you want me to come because…?"

     "You can prove you're better than him again. Some more juicy rival action, amiright?" Wooyoung says, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. He jogs up the boy’s dorm staircase and returns with a fresh pot of ink, presumably what he came for in the first place. "Anyway, I should go, gotta meet Junie at the library. You better be on that pitch, Jisung!" 

     He and Changbin do their usual handshake(a generic ensemble of front-hand back-hand slaps that ends in a fist bump) before he leaves, and Jisung glares at his receding back. Changbin sighs heavily, falling back against the couch. "It's a shame you spilled all that potion. I could use some of that focus right now." 

     "No way. That mix was dangerous." Jisung says, hit with a particularly bad shiver at that very moment. "I'm kinda worried, actually, but don't tell Chan. I feel like my symptoms are getting worse."

     "Isn't that how all sicknesses work? Gotta get worse before you get better."

     "Well, maybe, but I'm not sick. It's a potion. Side effects don't sporadically ramp up in intensity, they just taper off. I can't believe I screwed up this bad and didn't notice." Jisung says dejectedly. 

     "Well, like you said, it'll go away eventually." Changbin says.

     "Yeah." Jisung mutters, but his mind still races wondering what could’ve gone wrong. It’s starting to give him a headache.

-

     "You're here!" Wooyoung grins, handing Jisung a loaner broomstick.

     "Yep." Jisung says with a shiver, feeling even worse now that he's away from the fire and Chan's blanket.

     "What—Jisung, what are you doing?" Chan flies down, dismounting his own broom. He cups his cheek and then presses the back of his hand against Jisung's forehead. "You're burning up."

     "I'm fine." Jisung says, practically on autopilot. 

     "I invited him." Wooyoung shrugs, but wilts a little when Chan turns to give him a look. "Hey, he didn't have to come." 

     "Your hands are still cold." Chan frets, rubbing them between his own. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey, Sung. This is not normal."

     "I'll be okay, Chan, it's just a potion." 

     "Han." Minho says, flying lower down. His expression is complicated, but above all, he looks interested. "Yeonjun said you'd be here."

     "Did he?" Jisung scowls, searching the sky. Yeonjun is floating near the left goalposts, chatting with someone sitting in the stands. "Wooyoung told me the same thing about you."

     "You came for each other?" Chan says, raising a doubtful brow. 

     "Rethink that sentence, please." Jisung winces, ducking closer to Chan's body as a draft of wind whips past their heels. 

     "Jisung, hi!" Felix calls, waving. Hyunjin waves as well, flying a meter or so above him.

     "Is everyone ready?" Seonghwa asks, the quaffle tucked under his arm. 

     "Almost." Jisung shouts, mounting his broom. 

     "Jisung—you know I love you, but you really shouldn't play." Chan says, grabbing the front of his handle. "What if you fall off?" 

     "I won't fall off, Chan." Jisung flushes, embarrassed from all the attention. "I said I'm fine." 

     "You say a lot of things."

     "For Dumbledore's sake, Chan, let him play." Changbin scoffs. "You’re not his mum."

     "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." Chan says, backing off with a regretful shimmer in his eyes. 

     "Try not to be too distracted by Felix, alright, Chan?" Wooyoung teases, kicking off the ground. 

     Chan sighs, following after a moment. "Yeah. I won't."

     Jisung flies after the both of them, gathering in the middle of the pitch with the others. He's only ever played Rapid with Changbin, Chan, Hannah, and Lucas, which operates differently because of the small scale. Jisung is pretty out of his element already, considering there's no Seeker during Rapid, so he just has to hope his smaller resume of Chaser practice pays off. 

     Chan, Seonghwa, Yeonjun, and Hongjoong float at the center of them all, doing rock-paper-scissors to decide the two captains. No one objects to their assumptions of leadership—they're the best at what they do anyway. Chan and Hongjoong end up winning, and one more match decides who gets to pick first. 

     "Jisung." Hongjoong says, with no hesitation. Jisung startles, flying up to meet him, and Chan wears an expression of betrayal. "You're with me."

     "Uh, why?" 

     "So that Chan doesn't keep you out of the action." He says with a grin. "And cause you're fantastic on a broom." Jisung grins back, something inside him fluttering at a compliment from someone he hardly knows. 

     "Changbin." Chan chooses first, although he probably would've gone to his side even if he hadn't been chosen.

     They go back and forth for the next minute or so—Mina, San, and Yeonjun with Hongjoong; Hyunjin, Wooyoung, and Mingi with Chan, and all the others. Eventually it's down to—shockingly enough, Felix and Minho. Jisung can reasonably assume Chan had been avoiding Felix to quell the rumors, but Minho? It's strange, unless his loss against Jisung has really shaped the opinions of him to this extent.

     "Lee." Chan says, and there's a small pause of confusion before he hastily specifies, "Minho Lee." Jisung doesn't miss the flash of hurt on Felix's face.

     “Then that puts you with me, Lix.” Hongjoong smiles. "Just another day for us." 

     They high-five, and Felix joins Jisung's side to whisper, "You know Jeongin is in the stands with Seungmin?"

     "Really? How'd their little butterbeer date go? I forgot to ask." 

     Felix shrugs with a tight-lipped smile. "He didn't seem to realize it was a date."

     "Dammit." Jisung mutters. "Jeongin's just gotta be more forward."

     "I don't think you'll have any luck convincing him to be." Felix chuckles. 

     The conversation stops there, cause Seonghwa—on Chan's team—flies forward with the quaffle. "Everyone's finally ready?"

     "Oh—one more thing." Yeonjun says, raising a hand. "I recruited some friends to keep score." He points to where Beomgyu sat during the last match, and he's still sitting nearby, but the main seat itself is occupied by a tall, kind looking boy who Jisung recognizes as Soobin Choi, a Hufflepuff prefect. He's surrounded by a few sixth-years with differing house-colored robes, and Jisung notices Jeongin sitting on Beomgyu's other side, with Seungmin neighboring him.

     "Oh, very fair." Changbin calls out, rolling his eyes. "You know he's biased, Jun." Yeonjun flushes wildly—a strange sight to behold—and fumbles for an excuse. 

     "How about Seungmin?" Hyunjin suggests. "He can ref. He's sitting up there too." Changbin's face immediately falls, looking like he regrets objecting at all.

     "Can he follow the game?" Chan asks, not unkindly.

     "'Course he can." Felix says, drifting up to meet Yeonjun. "Here, I'll talk to him." 

     Jisung idly uses his thumb to push his bottom lip within reach of his teeth(to more accurately chew on its chapped sections), watching Felix and Yeonjun’s silent conversation with Seungmin and Soobin. There are actually quite a few others in the stands, seventh-years and underclassmen alike. Poor Jake Sim—a Gryffindor Chaser and one of two sixth-years on the team—is sitting with Jungwon Yang, the fifth-year Hufflepuff Seeker, who Jisung sort-of knows through Hannah. Jisung feels a sick kind of glee at being granted the honor of playing instead of those actually on the team because of his age. Jake’s case is especially tragic since Wooyoung had mentioned the Gryffindors were practicing after Rapid, so Jake is essentially forced to wait and watch. Jongho, however, (Gryffindor’s sixth-year Beater) is nowhere to be found. 

     A row behind Jake is a sixth-year Hufflepuff with a sweet looking face, along with Sunghoon, whose eyes widen when Jisung makes contact with them. He hesitantly waves, and the sweet one obnoxiously elbows Sunghoon in the side, causing a chain reaction in Jake and Jungwon, who turn to see what all the fuss is about. 

     “I think he likes you.” A voice says to Jisung’s left. It’s Lisa Manoban, another Gryffindor Chaser, who regards the situation with a smirk.

     “Yeah, I think he does.” Jisung chuckles. “He’s cute, but I wouldn’t go for an underclassman.”

     “So if he was our age, you’d go for him?”

     “Sure, if he’d have me.” Jisung says with a shrug.

     “That’s funny.” Lisa says, too smugly. “I was just thinking he kinda looks like Lee.”

     Jisung turns to fix her with a look of incredulous betrayal, mixed with a touch of the audacity. “No he doesn’t.” 

     Lisa shrugs, grinning. “Maybe just from far away. Maybe I haven’t looked at him enough. You’re the expert.”

     Jisung blinks several times, his lips parting in shock. It’s just then that Felix returns, and Seungmin has taken Soobin’s place by the score markers. Both Soobin and Yeonjun are looking flustered, and Yeonjun avoids looking back at the stands at all costs. 

     “Can we finally start?” Wooyoung complains loudly.

     “Yes, yes, we can.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. 

     “Erm, sorry,” Minho interrupts, raising his hand to call attention, “but what are the rules? Yeonjun didn’t tell me.”

     “It’s like a mix of basketball and dodgeball.” Yunho Jeong says, from Hongjoong’s side. “But on brooms, and with three hoops.”

     Minho stares blankly at him, lost. “What’s basketball?”

     “Er—“

     “It’s just Quidditch but only Chasers, obviously with a lot more people.” Chan explains. “And if you get hit with the ball instead of catching it, you’re out.” 

     Without any(more) further ado, Seonghwa tosses the Quaffle into the air, and Rosé Park is the first to grab it. All ten of the actual Chasers swarm after her, while the others hang back to either play unspoken defense or—in Felix’s case—mess around hiding behind other people.

     “Jinnie’s gonna get me, I know it for sure.” He giggles, ducking behind Jisung’s shoulders. 

     “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” Jisung says grandly, pulling another giggle from him with a pathetic attempt at flexing. 

     They both stay out of the action at the start, chatting like reluctant nerds at the back of the gym during P.E, despite Felix's obvious athleticism. At some point, though, the tides of the game change, and they're pulled into the thick of it. 

     Jisung ducks under Changbin’s violent attempt to knock him out of the game, and Lisa passes back the Quaffle so that he can enact his revenge. However, instead of hitting Changbin(slower to react and an otherwise broad-shouldered, easy target), he throws it at Minho, who barely manages to catch it before it hits his face. His eyes sharpen, locking on Jisung, and it feels like his stomach opens up from the dread his look inflicts. 

     Jisung dashes away and Minho gives chase, Quaffle held over his shoulder as if preparing to spike it. Jisung has to make a clumsy roll maneuver to avoid his attempt to hit him, quickly collecting the falling Quaffle to chuck it right back. 

     Mingi intercepts, and if it wasn't for him, Minho would've been out. Mingi's throw, however, isn't as good as his catch, and it lands in Yeonjun's hands instead of Wooyoung's. He passes to Nayeon like it's just a normal game, and Nayeon scores, with Chan grabbing the Quaffle after it passes through the hoops, looking frustrated from his inability to protect them more closely like he normally does. 

     Another ten points are added to Hongjoong's team, courtesy of Seungmin. They're winning by twenty, which isn't a surprise, since Yeonjun and Nayeon are such a power duo. 

     "Seo!" Seungmin suddenly yells, magnifying his voice with the tip of his wand. "That's a foul if you don't quit it!"

     Jisung directs his eyes to Changbin, who withdraws his elbow from Yeonjun's side, looking surprised that Seungmin was even aware of such a foul. 

     No one had been knocked out at this point, but that quickly changes, with Hyunjin taking out Momo and Jisoo eliminating Tzuyu. Felix goes soon after—Hyunjin's fault, as he predicted—and Chaeyoung follows due to a nicely aimed shot from Yunho. A few minutes later, Jisung actually does enact his revenge, hitting Changbin between his shoulder blades while he's distracted. 

     "Fuck you!" He yells with a grin, flying off to the left half of the stands, where the other eliminated players are sitting.

     "Nice one, Jisung!" Hongjoong cheers, swooping by to give him a high-five. Jisung glows from the praise, especially coming from Hongjoong, and after Rosé knocks out San, he finds himself with the Quaffle in his hands again. 

     "Jisung, over here!" Yeonjun shouts, floating by the goalposts. It's not a clear shot, though—Chan and Mingi are flying in the middle, and Jisung definitely doesn't trust his arm enough to throw that far. Instead, he attempts to pass to Lisa, but is quickly intercepted by Wooyoung, who scores for Chan's team. 

     "That's for you, baby!" Wooyoung calls to Changbin rather than his boyfriend, providing an obnoxious wink to both. San shakes his head knowingly, and Changbin blows a kiss. Seungmin adds ten points to Chan’s team, tightening the gap between their scores.

     "Hey, heads up!" Jisoo says, catching a startlingly accurate shot Minho had taken at Jisung. They meet eyes, and it looks as though Minho tries to wink, but his other eye follows, resulting in an odd, delayed sort of blink. Jisung accepts the Quaffle that Jisoo is offering to him, proceeding to chase Minho in a large circle around the pitch. When Jisung finally throws, he misses, and Minho does the same, until Chan finally flies between Jisung’s second attempt and takes the Quaffle for himself. 

     “Get a room!” Wooyoung says, receiving the Quaffle from Chan. “We actually have a game to play, y’know.”

     “Just get better aim.” Chan teases, bumping Jisung lightly with his shoulder. 

     “Oh, you’re one to talk.” Jisung says with a grin. “Me and Hannah whooped you over the summer.”

     “Yeah, it was easy with four Quaffles.” Chan says, chuckling at the memory. “Plus you two can escape easier.” He punctuates his point by jabbing a finger into Jisung’s ticklish side, like the evil asshole he is. Jisung yelps, batting at Chan’s hands before flying away to the soundtrack of his laughter. 

     The game continues for an indecipherable amount of time, until Yeonjun scores the final goal that brings them up to 100 points. Everyone—including the eliminated players—drifts back down to the ground to chat and pat one another on the back. Although he’d been distracted for the majority of the game, Jisung suddenly starts to feel woozy, and stumbles as he dismounts his broom. The vertigo only increases with his two feet being forced to keep himself upright, and he blinks several times to register something entering his personal space.

     It’s Minho’s hand, held out for him to shake. “Good game,” He says, his tone even and free of malice or pretentious undertones. “You nearly got me.”

     Something is seriously wrong. It’s like the oxygen is being cut off from his brain, slowing his movements and tipping his perception of the world, or—wait, no, that is the world tipping.

     “Erm, could you—Chan—“ Jisung barely manages to get out before his eyes fall shut, Minho’s hand the last thing in his vision.

Chapter Text

     When Jisung wakes up, he can smell Chan’s laundry detergent—a scent of soap and cotton so thick that it clings to his clothes months into the term, despite having been washed without the detergent since summer break. However, when he opens his eyes, it’s not Chan he sees, but Minho. 

     Minho’s eyes widen, his innocent concern alien on his face. “Are—how are you feeling?”

     Oh dear god. He’d fainted into him, hadn’t he? The memories are flooding back—the quidditch pitch, that splitting headache, cold and hot flashes lulling his brain into a stupor. Jisung can’t prevent the heat from creeping into his face, but he can avoid eye contact, and that’s exactly what he does. 

     “Erm, how much time has passed?”

     “An hour.” Minho says lightly. “Aren’t you gonna ask what happened?”

     “I remember what happened just fine, asshole. It’s not like I was in a coma.” Jisung scoffs, sitting up in bed, which turns out to be one from the hospital wing. He notices that there’s another chair besides the one that Minho is occupying, and over the back of it is Chan’s cloak, explaining his lingering aroma.

     “Madam Pomfrey said it was a kind of allergic reaction.” Minho says, partially ignoring him. “To some ingredient in your potion.”

     “What?”

     “Oh my god, Sung.” Chan rushes to his bed from the hospital wing doors, his face a mix of guilt, exasperation, and fondness. “I told you that you shouldn’t play.”

     “It’s not the playing part that was the issue.” Jisung says, rolling his eyes. “He’s the issue.” He points to Minho, who glances—rather contemptuously, to Jisung’s surprise—at Chan for a split second. 

     “It’s not my fault it spilled.” He says defensively. “Not exactly.”

     “Yeah, Sung told me.” Chan says, raising a brow. “You still share some responsibility. You’re a part of the reason why he’s here.”

     “I didn’t put him here, he put himself here. He shouldn’t have played.”

     “The playing wasn’t the issue!” Jisung repeats, agitated. “And just so you know, I’m not mad at you, about the potion. Not anymore.”

     “You’re not?” Minho says, at the same time Chan says, “Really?”

     “I got over it.” Jisung says with a stubborn, non-committal sort of shrug. 

     “I’m impressed.” Chan says, cracking a wry smile. “I was convinced you’d drag it out for the normal few days.”

     “You complain about me to your friends?” Minho says, amusement twisted into his disbelief.

     “I complain about you to anyone who’ll listen.” Jisung scowls. “It’s fun to complain. You make it easy.”

     "Well, are you feeling okay now?" Chan asks, pressing the back of his hand to Jisung’s forehead. "You're still a little warm."

     "I'm okay, I promise." Jisung says, and Chan makes firm eye contact, searching for confirmation of his honesty. 

     "Alright." Chan says, sitting in his chair once he's satisfied. "Bin's been chatting up a storm, you should've heard him. He said—" Chan stops, remembering Minho’s presence. They meet eyes, a strange tension between them, and Chan awkwardly clears his throat. "Erm, would you mind?"

     "Mind what?" 

     "...Leaving?" 

     There's a pause, just long enough to prevent one from denying its existence. "No. I don't mind." Minho stands, sparing one last glance at Jisung. "Thanks for the arm workout, by the way. I needed it." 

     Jisung watches him go, bewildered, before turning back to Chan. "What's he talking about?" 

     "Doesn't matter." Chan brushes off. "As I was saying, I think Bin is turning over a new leaf."

     "Really?" Jisung says, leaning forward with interest. "How so?"

     "He was very impressed with Seungmin’s reffing." Chan says, a tad smugly. 

     "You're serious? So now he likes Seungmin??"

     "I dunno, but he at least hates him less. What, does Seungmin have a long line of suitors or something?"

     "Huh? Oh, er, not really. I was just—it's nothing." Jisung fumbles, shaking his head. "That's crazy. I never thought he'd stop hating him. Hey, maybe we'll both actually have to jump in the lake like we said we would."

     "Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Chan chuckles. "Did you ever do that?"

     "No, I still owe him." Jisung says, grinning. "Maybe I'll save it so we can go at the same time." 

-

     That Friday, Muggle Studies overlaps with their usual picnic, so only Jisung, Felix, and Seungmin are sprawled under the tree. 

     "You know Jeongin wants to go to Hogsmeade over the weekend?" Seungmin says, serving himself some more pumpkin juice out of the jug Felix packed. "Do you guys wanna come with while we're down there?"

     "Ah, nah, I'm good." Jisung says in a way he hopes is nonchalant.

     "I've got…studying." Felix settles on, stuffing his face with a strawberry-cucumber sandwich. 

     "Alright, suit yourselves." Seungmin says. "I bet he misses you, Lix. It's been ages since we all hung out."

     "Ecanissme thamuch." Felix says with difficulty around his sandwich. He swallows, taking a swig of pumpkin juice to clear his throat. "I'm behind schedule anyway. I'll—erm, fail Transfiguration."

     "Yeah, you got that right." Seungmin huffs bemusedly. "Why don't you just ask Chan for help, huh?" 

     Felix flushes, avoiding eye contact. "I don't think he'd want to."

     "What makes you say that?" Seungmin says, sitting up straighter.

     "He picked Lee over me." Felix says, with a dejected little shrug. 

     "Well, that's just cause he's fueling the rivalry."

     "Excuse me??" Jisung says, raising a brow. "What are you talking about?"

     "'We're not rivals,' he says, yet responds to the term." Seungmin rolls his eyes, munching on his own sandwich.

     "No, come on, what are you talking about?"

     "Everyone was counting on you two being on separate teams." Seungmin says simply. "Why else do you think Hongjoong didn't choose him?"

     "Well, Chan's not like that." Jisung murmurs petulantly. "He's not all up in my face about it. And we’re not rivals, I only responded cause I know that’s what you think."

     "I'm just stating facts, Jisung, don't be that way. I dare you to find someone who disagrees." Seungmin says. 

     "Wait a second." Jisung says, a realization dawning on him. "It was you."

     "What was me?"

     "You bastard, you dared him to take my notebook, didn't you??"

     Seungmin takes a sip of his pumpkin juice, stoic. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

     "You weren't at the party!" Jisung says, a mixture of triumphant and betrayed. "You spoke to him, and something he said made you 'change opinions,' so you dared him to take my notebook!"

     Felix glances between them, surprised. "Is that true, Minnie?"

     "You caught me." Seungmin smirks, mainly to himself, his eyes on his cup. 

     "Well, what did he say??" Jisung demands.

     "Can't tell you." Seungmin says, business-like. "It's kind of a private matter. Ask him yourself." 

     "Oh my god, he's in love with you!" Felix squeals, jostling Jisung’s shoulder.

     "What?? No!" Jisung says, brushing Felix off. "Was it a dark secret or something?"

     "I wouldn't say dark or secret, no." 

     "Is it dirt?? Something I can use?"

     "'Something you can use?' Jesus, you sound like a supervillain. He carried you all the way to the hospital wing, Jisung, have a little compassion."

     "He what?"

     "Oh right, I forgot we didn't tell you."

     "It's true." Felix says, with a tiny giggle. "It was very dramatic. You fell into his arms and he carried you off the pitch bridal style."

     Jisung turns bright red, envisioning the scenario. Wooyoung must've been laughing his head off, along with Yeonjun and maybe even Hongjoong, if Seungmin's right about 'fueling the rivalry.' It's honestly a miracle that no one's made fun of him for it in the days that have passed since it happened. Chan must have done something to keep Wooyoung quiet, knowing all too well of Jisung’s exasperation with the subject. 

     As if reading his mind, Seungmin adds, "We really had to hound Hyunjin about not mentioning it. I figured someone would've told you by now, though." 

     "He could've fainted from how romantic it was." Felix says with a laugh. 

     "Did—who saw? How many people saw??"

     "Erm, everyone, Jisung." Felix says, wincing empathetically. "Everyone who was at the pitch, anyway."

     "God, I have a lot of people to kill." Jisung groans, dropping his face into his hands. Seungmin carefully retrieves the butter knife they'd been using for jam, placing it in a napkin on his opposite side. 

     "It's alright, really." Felix soothes, rubbing his arm. "No one's said anything so far, right?"

     Felix jinxes it. On the fourteenth, a whole week after the incident, Jisung can feel the stares on his back in Potions, and someone whistles when Jisung allows Minho to borrow his stirring rod again. They'd been graced with a fresh table after their last one ate itself, and Jisung puts the first dent in it just moments after, slamming the handle of his knife against it as a warning to whoever made the despicable noise. 

     "You okay?" Minho asks, seemingly unbothered by the whistler.

     "Fine." Jisung says through his teeth. They don't speak for the rest of the class. 

     At lunch the next day, Jisung is sitting with Chan and Changbin when Wooyoung leans over their shoulders. 

     "So, how is our damsel in distress doing?" He teases, pulling a groan from both Jisung and Chan.

     "Can't you leave Jisung alone?" Chan says, sounding exhausted. "You're tiring me out with all this prying."

     "Thank you." Jisung says, with a pointed hand movement in Chan's direction. 

     "You looked like an absolute princess in his arms, Jisungie." Wooyoung says in a sing-song voice, fluttering his eyelashes. "Just give it up and admit you're in love with him." 

     "I don't even like him, forget love him!" Jisung says scathingly. "Why are you all the way over here anyway? Where's your leash?"

     "He's over there." Wooyoung says, pointing to the Slytherin table. San waves. "I just came over to say hi, is that illegal?"

     "Well, now you've said it, so you can go."

     "You're pretty quiet." Wooyoung comments, referring to Changbin. 

     "Me? I'm just thinking." Changbin says, and he does look awfully preoccupied.

     "About Seaman, I'm guessing?"

     “No.” Changbin says, rolling his eyes.

     "Who??" Chan says, furrowing both of his brows.

     "Seaman." Wooyoung points rudely to Seungmin, who's sitting(for once) at his own house table, conversing with Yeosang Kang, who Jisung only knows as the prefect who caught him out of bed past curfew two years ago. "Y'know, cause his name starts with an 'S' and Seaman sounds like—"

     "That's enough out of you." Jisung cuts him off, his palm dismissively extended. 

     "Oh, while I’m here, I guess I can ask if you wanted to help Mingi with the HRR this year."

     "Mingi's running it?" Changbin says skeptically. 

     "Lost a bet." Wooyoung says sympathetically. "But technically no, he's not running it, he's just testing it. He needs someone's hand to hold, so here I am asking you."

     "Why me?" Jisung says, trying not to sound whiny. He's not good friends with Mingi, but sharing a dorm room for seven years means eventually getting to know people. Mingi is a gigantic scaredy cat, so being the official Haunted Room of Requirement tester is quite a nasty punishment. Jisung is also not in any rush to spend time with him, since—although not exactly a gossip—anything that goes in Mingi’s ears will come out of his mouth with a plethora of exaggerations. “Did he specifically ask for me?”

     “No. I’m just giving Lee some more time to stare at you by standing around.”

     Jisung turns around, and sure enough, Minho looks away, in a fashion that he probably thinks is inconspicuous. “You two have been talking, huh? Great. Just what I need.”

     “Just a bit, last Muggle Studies class.” Wooyoung shrugs. “Nothing to worry about.”

     “Well, if Mingi needs a partner, why don’t you ask Yunho?” Jisung suggests, eager to shoo him away.

     Wooyoung claps him on the back with a toothy smile. “My very next destination. Seeya, boys.” He and Changbin do their handshake before he leaves, and it’s so ingrained into both of their heads that they don’t even look at one another while it occurs. 

     “So,” Changbin says, his voice carrying a knowing tone, “how’s your mystery crush doing, Chan?”

     Chan sighs heavily, looking like he’s aged ten years from the mere utterance of the sentence. “I thought you two finally forgot about that.”

     “So you told Bin, then?” Jisung says, unable to suppress a smirk. “Any ideas who it might be?”

     “Not yet.” Changbin says, oddly cryptic himself. “I’ll keep you posted.”

     “We’ll figure this out together.” Jisung says mischievously, extending his hand so that he and Changbin can interlock. “Ey, Watson?”

     “Huh?”

     “You’re Watson.” Chan says, with a raised brow. “Honestly, you’re both Watson.”

     “What are we talking about?” Changbin says blankly. “I'm lost.”

     “Does that make you Sherlock?” Jisung says with a grin. 

     “Yep.” Chan nods. “Which is exactly why this case is hopeless.”

-

     That Saturday, Jisung sits in the stands to watch Gryffindor practice, with San by his side. Normally, they wouldn't allow an opposing team member in, but Gryffindor doesn't verse Slytherin until January, so Chan made a reluctant exception.      

     "I have no idea how he does it." San says reverently, watching Wooyoung throw the Quaffle through the center hoop from an impressive distance. "There's so much to keep track of." 

     "I don't know how you do it." Jisung says. "If I was a Beater, my arm would be the first to break."

     San chuckles, in that good-natured way of his that makes it clear why everyone likes him. "You know who I really admire? Chan. I wouldn't be able to sit there by the hoops until the Quaffle comes at me. I'm too restless." 

     Jisung hums in agreement, watching Chan make instructional hand gestures to Jake and Chaeyoung. 

     "If it wasn't for Felix I'd be shocked that he's stayed single all these years." San adds thoughtfully. "He's kind of a heartthrob." 

     Jisung hums again, seeing Chan sigh heavily as Wooyoung turns to blow San a kiss. San sends him one back, and Wooyoung pretends to be swept backwards from the force of it, clutching his heart. Wooyoung's preoccupation is affecting the whole team: Changbin and Jongho are hitting each other with their bats, Chaeyoung is trying and failing to put pigtails in Jake's hair, and Lisa is playing with the snitch, never letting it get more than a foot away. 

     "GUYS." Chan says, projecting his voice enough that Jisung can hear it loud and clear. Everyone looks up, degrees of guilt visible on their faces. "We've got a game in a week, and this is what we look like? Lemme see some focus, alright?"

     Bats are lowered, hair-ties return to wrists, and Lisa releases the snitch, letting it whizz out of reach. Jisung and San snicker, amused by their 'naughty child' aura.

     "San, I’m kicking you out!" Chan calls, looking exasperated.

     "What?" San says, smile dropping. 

     "No—Chan, come on, please?" Wooyoung begs, his hands clasped together. "I promise I'll focus, I promise." 

     Chan shakes his head, his face set. "I shouldn't have let him in at all. Sorry, San!"

     San sighs, standing up. "I'll seeya, Jisung."

     "Yeah, seeya." Jisung salutes him, putting his feet up where he was sitting, just to be a little shit. San pulls a face, and Jisung winks at him before he leaves. 

     "Jisung, don't make me kick you out too." Chan jokes, witnessing the interaction from afar.

     "What?? Who am I distracting?" Jisung says, feeling betrayed.

     "Me!" Changbin yells, blowing a kiss of his own.

     Jisung grins, pushing his face out to receive it on the cheek. "I love you, baby!"

     Chuckles make their way through the team and then Chan takes back the reins, easily leading the rest of practice.

-

     "We should go, right?" Hyunjin says, sliding into his seat at the Hufflepuff table. "It's our last one, we have to go."

     "You're not talking about the HRR again, are you?" Seungmin groans, irritably stabbing a piece of egg on his fork. "We went last year, it's the same thing."

     "It's not, actually." Jisung says, sitting down beside Hyunjin. "There's a different theme every year."

     "What is it this year?" Felix asks curiously. 

     "I dunno. But even if I did, I couldn't tell you." Jisung says, miming zipping his lips. "It's a Slytherin secret. I'd be stoned to death if I let it slip."

     "Well, we have to go." Hyunjin insists. "It'll be fun, right?"

     "No chance." Jisung laughs. "Mingi is the one testing it this year, and he's scared by everything. It'll be like a kiddie haunted house."

     "Exactly.” Seungmin says, gesturing to Jisung with his fork. 

     “Jisungie, come onnnn!” Hyunjin whines, clutching his arm. “Help me convince them.”

     “I won’t.” Jisung shakes his head. “I’m tired of people hounding us every year for details. Me and Changbin are gonna drop Dungbombs off the Astronomy Tower."

     “All night?” Hyunjin says, incredulous.

     “Probably. Someone’s gotta be the Shit Goblin.” 

     “What the hell is a shit goblin??”

     “Us.” Jisung says simply. “We’ve been telling first-years about the Shit Goblin since we were twelve. It’s practically a household name by now.”

     “So that’s who dropped that Dungbomb on my head.” Seungmin says, looking equal parts disgusted and impressed.

     “Will Chris be there?” Felix asks, doing a poor job concealing his ulterior motives.

     “Yeah, obviously. He doesn’t drop the bombs though, we get that pleasure.” Jisung says, grabbing himself a slice of pre-buttered toast.

     “…Are you allowed a plus-one?” Felix asks shyly.

     “No, Lixie, come on!” Hyunjin objects, upset. “Go to the HRR with me! You can’t possibly want to watch Jisung and Garbage Bin terrorize first-years.”

     “Garbage Bin??”

     “You’re right, I don’t.” Felix says firmly. “I want to watch Chris watch them.”

     “Tell you what,” Seungmin says, “if you can convince Lix and Jisung to go, I’ll come with.”

     “Fine.” Hyunjin says, furrowing his brows with determination. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

     At first, Jisung doesn’t believe this deal has much potential, but on wednesday, Hyunjin is smiling like an evil, mischievous ferret, humming to a non-existent song in Charms.

     “You look happy.” Jisung comments, taking his seat. It feels like he’s always the last of them to arrive, due to Potions being in the dungeons. 

     “I am happy.” Hyunjin says smugly. “My puzzle pieces are all falling into place, and you’re right at the center, Jisungie.”

     Jisung leans over to make eye contact with Felix, pointing wordlessly at Hyunjin to signify his concern. Felix sighs, and can’t provide much more than an honest shrug. He doesn’t have to wait long to find out what Hyunjin’s talking about, though. In classic Hyunjin fashion, he just can’t keep it to himself, and ends up spilling at that week’s picnic.

     “I talked to Yeonjun during Muggle Studies.” Hyunjin confesses, and Jisung raises an eyebrow, getting an inkling of where this is going. It’s become tradition that the eldest Slytherin prefects overlook the HRR(if not run it entirely), so as if to make up for his lax attitude regarding his prefect duties, Yeonjun had been pretty active helping out with the Halloween plans. 

     “About?” Felix prompts, taking a bite out of a pear. 

     “The HRR.” Hyunjin says with a restrained smile.

     “Spit it out, then.” Seungmin huffs, knowing Hyunjin’s antics too well. “What have you cooked up?”

     “He got Chan, Changbin, and Lee to agree to be scare actors!” Hyunjin squeals, clasping his hands together with excitement. Felix perks up, his eyes widening with interest, but Jisung’s posture droops, his chest filling with dread.

     “What? Seriously?” He groans, taking a dejected bite of a sandwich. “Who’ll be the Shit Goblin this year?”

     “Forget about the fucking Shit Goblin!” Hyunjin scoffs. “Admit it, I’ve won, you’re both coming!”

     "I'm coming!" Felix says enthusiastically.

     "Yep." Seungmin says, popping the p and making an obscene gesture with his hand that Felix slaps away. 

     "Why'd you have to get Lee? I want to go even less than when we started." Jisung grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. 

     "Package deal." Hyunjin shrugs, his smile giving him away. "Yeonjun's treat."

     "Trick." Jisung corrects sourly.

     "It'll be great!" Hyunjin says. "We go, get scared, get you two jostled around by your lovers, and then we leave! I'm satisfied, you're satisfied, Happy Halloween." 

     "And I tag along." Seungmin adds. "Because a deal's a deal."

     Hyunjin leans over to give him an emphatic high-five, his energy through the roof. "You take out the head of the snake and the whole thing goes down." He says proudly. 

     "I'm the snake, aren't I?" Jisung says dully. "Ha ha. "

     “Well, don’t get too distracted thinking about the HRR.” Seungmin reminds them. “You two have a game tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

     The wind is relentless, whipping erratically around their less-protected ankles as Jisung and Seungmin fight their way to the front of the Slytherin stands. San—leading the charge—makes it much easier, the crowd parting for him naturally as a result of his height and widely respected reputation. They're right by the Gryffindor hoops, so whenever Chan flies up to his position, he'll be easily in view. 

     San, looking disappointed, says, "Dammit, we'll hardly see him. He's gonna spend the whole game on the other end of the pitch."

     "Scoring, you mean?" Jisung says, amused by San's confidence. 

     "Obviously."

     "Well, the same goes for Jinnie, so I'm happy." Seungmin says, a little hesitant while attempting a humorous tone of voice. He doesn't know San at all, and confessed his mild intimidation before they walked down. Luckily, a head of deep black hair makes its way to the front, skeletal arm tapping people on the shoulder so that they move out of the way.

     "Oh, hey Jeongin." San says kindly. 

     "Hi." He says shortly, catching his breath. "So, who d'you think'll win?"

     "Gryffindor." San says, at the same time Seungmin says, "Hufflepuff." They lock eyes, and San gives Seungmin a competitive smile, narrowing his eyes. 

     "We might have a problem. We can't both cheer for our boyfriends right next to each other."

     Seungmin laughs, a little surprised, unaccustomed to being accused of having such a thing. "Yeah boyfriends, plural, in my case."

     "Which ones are yours?" San coos, switching the energy of the conversation on a dime, as if picking up on Seungmin's subtle body language.

     "Those two right there." Seungmin says fondly, pointing to Felix and Hyunjin, gathered in a huddle around Hongjoong, discussing last minute strategies before the game starts. "They grow up so fast." 

     "What about you?" San asks, turning to Jisung.

     Jisung presses himself against the barrier, extending his arm as far as it'll reach to point to Chan and Changbin. "Those are my husbands. They're the loves of my life." 

     "Husbands?" San laughs. "Wow, you move fast. What about you, Jeongin?"

     "Huh? Oh, um…" Jeongin trails off, scanning the tiny heads. "I guess Jake. He's Heeseung's friend. But I don't really know him."

     "Where is Heeseung, by the way?" Seungmin asks.

     "With Gyu." Jeongin says, gesturing to the commentator stand. "I—erm, it's too windy for me up there."

     "Well, if you don't care about Jake, choose a team—one of ours, I mean." Jisung says with a toothy smile. "Which polygamous relationship will you be joining today?"

     "Uh…" He scans each of their faces, a bit nervously. "I'll root for Hyunjin and Felix."

     "You have good taste." Seungmin nods approvingly. 

     "I don't wanna share him anyway." San shrugs smugly. "Besides, you're for Gryffindor, right, Jisung?"

     "I'm for both." Jisung says. "But Hyunjin's recently been a pain in my ass, so yeah, Gryffindor better win."

     "You're such a sore loser." Seungmin rolls his eyes. "Jin outplayed you, you just gotta accept it. So what if the Shit Goblin takes a vacation?"

     "It is?" Jeongin says, looking equal amounts fearful and hopeful. 

     Jisung manages a guilty smile. "It looks like it, yeah. And I'm not salty cause he beat me or whatever, I'm salty cause of Lee."

     "You know he agreed to be a scare actor?" San says, a bit behind. "I'm gonna teach him all my tips."

     "Yes, I know." Jisung says flatly, dread creeping into his stomach. San is a seasoned veteran of scaring students, known for his particularly hands-on approach. He doesn't want to imagine the types of 'tips' San's going to give him. "I'm not looking forward to it."

     "Oh, so you guys are going! Good, good." San says happily. "I'll look out for you."

     "I think we should be the ones looking out for you." Seungmin jokes. 

     "Llllladies and gentlewenches, today's match will be between our sweet Hufflepuffs and mighty Gryffindors!" Beomgyu announces, cutting off their conversation. "Our captains today are Hongjoong Kim, Beater, and Christopher 'Chan' Bang, Keeper. Don't be fooled by Hufflepuff's cute faces, cause they'll give you a scare fit for Halloween if you underestimate them!" 

     Madam Hooch says something to them before letting the balls out, and Hyunjin swoops in to grab the Quaffle first, causing a flurry of motion from the other Chasers. Chan quickly takes his post by the hoops, right hand shooting out to catch Hyunjin's bold attempt at an early goal. Jisung cheers and Seungmin groans, with San whistling as Chan throws the Quaffle to Wooyoung. 

     Wooyoung passes to Chaeyoung who then passes to Jake, and Momo just barely saves it, causing a ripple of excitement and disappointment from the stands.

     Jisung's eyes flit between the players, his blood buzzing from all the stimulus. Changbin and Hongjoong play a small, accidental game of catch with a bludger, laughing once they realize why it keeps coming back. Jungwon and Lisa are on opposite sides of the pitch, patrolling the air higher-up and checking on one another every few minutes. If it wasn't for Beomgyu, it would be extremely difficult to follow the play-by-play, but even he loses track—sometimes intentionally. 

     "Ooo, Jake Sim is hit by a nasty bludger from Felix, that oughta be a foul, Madam Hooch. No? Well, it was worth a shot."

     "Park with the Quaffle." Heeseung reminds him, narrowing his eyes.

     "Yes, yes, Rosé Park has the Quaffle, heading down the pitch, passes to Jeong—ten points to Hufflepuff! Madam Hooch, how about that foul? Ouch!" Beomgyu pouts, rubbing his arm where Heeseung had whacked him. 

     “Merlin’s beard.” 

     Jisung jumps a little, turning to see that Yeonjun had pushed his way to the front, now standing between Jisung and San. 

     “Did you see that?” He points to Yunho, in possession of the Quaffle again. “That’s the smoothest check I’ve seen since Jackson Wang.”

     “No, I missed it.” San says. “Was it really?”

     “He’s Muggle-born, you know.” Seungmin says out of the blue.

     “Jackson? No he’s not.” Yeonjun scoffs.

     “No, Yunho.” Seungmin says, producing his white RAZR from his pocket. He flips it open and finds Yunho’s contact, tapping on the screen for smug emphasis. “He’s pretty great, isn’t he?”

     “Yeah.” Yeonjun says, his tone of voice too even.

     Jisung gives him a narrowed side eye, swallowing a curt remark before it has time to escape his mouth. “This is cute, where’d it come from?” He asks, referring to a charm dangling from the phone’s hinges. It has tiny silver stars, with blue beads of various shades to provide a pop of color—shockingly girly, for Seungmin. 

     “Jeongin got it for me!” He says, smiling cheerfully. “I have no idea where he bought it, though. You won’t find a single place selling phone charms in Hogsmeade.”

     Jeongin forces a sheepish, embarrassed smile, and Jisung can tell he probably went through a lot more effort to get it than he admitted. Seungmin, none the wiser, types out a message to Yunho, that he’ll likely receive later. Shamelessly curious, Jisung looks over his shoulder.

omfg yjs fce b4 n aftr i sd ur mb…mb != uslss istg

ur dng 1drfl!! hfp ftw! njoy the prty l8r ;p

     “What the fuck does that say?” Jisung says, baffled. “Can you even read that?”

     Seungmin flips his phone closed, giving Jisung a disapproving look. “I can read it just fine.”

     “Min, the only coherent word I read was ‘the.’”

     “Well, they’re not your messages to read, so it doesn’t matter.” Seungmin huffs.

     “I didn’t know you and Yunho were friends.” San says with interest, leaning behind Yeonjun to join the conversation.

     “Loose friends.” Seungmin shrugs. “Mudbloods gotta stick together, right?”

     Jisung snorts, and then Jeongin gasps, pointing at Chan, drawing his attention back to the game. He looks in time to see the tail end of an excellent twirl, which Chan performs to avoid being hit by Hongjoong’s bludger. Almost immediately after, he stops Rosé from scoring in the furthest hoop, and the crowd goes wild, Jisung included.

     The match is intense, and Jisung has no idea why Chan considers Hufflepuff ‘easy to beat,’ because they put up an excellent, nail-biting fight. However, Gryffindor does win in the end, so who is Jisung to judge? All of them(minus Jeongin, who gets lost somewhere on the way) hurry onto the grass to congratulate them, and there isn’t much sadness in the air since Hufflepuffs are predictably graceful losers.

     Changbin and Wooyoung do an appropriately high-energy version of their handshake, and since Yeonjun is around, he joins in, expertly double snail-ing their final fist bump. The sight is actually kind of adorable, and Jisung forgets that he hates Yeonjun’s guts for a wonderful moment. 

     He pulls Chan and Changbin in for a hug, yelling about how good they did before Chan finally has the wits to suggest they change so that they can head back up to the castle for the party. Everyone is invited as always, even the opposing team if they feel like it, so Jisung climbs up the hill with all of his friends, like one big happy family—if not for Changbin standing as far away from Felix’s gang as possible. 

     Jisung acts as the bridge between, one arm on Chan’s shoulder and the other on Felix’s, talking loudly and in great spirits. He only gets louder once they reach the Gryffindor common room, bringing his normal, explosive amount of energy to the party, aided by the firewhiskey being popped open. Someone always brings several cases, and Jisung doesn’t know or care how they get them. 

     This time, he manages to stick close to everyone, dancing with Hyunjin and Chan and all the others until Yeonjun smacks his empty firewhiskey on the table and demands they play spin the bottle. This may or may not be because of Soobin, who is lingering behind him like a lost puppy. Yeonjun is a renowned expert at spin the bottle, and can kiss just about anyone he likes with a simple, calculated flick of his finger. 

     Regardless, “I’m in!” Jisung yells, vaulting over the couch. The rest of his friends eventually follow suit, along with several outsiders and underclassmen, all gathering in a giant, chaotic circle around the table.

     “Wooyoung, you coming?” Changbin calls over his shoulder.

     “Nah. Got some post-game strategies to practice!” He says with a wink, pulling a smiling, swollen-lipped San towards the staircase. Changbin sticks his tongue out at him, immaturity showing from the alcohol, and Chan just sighs. 

     “Chan, you go first.” Yeonjun says, pushing the bottle towards him. “Winning captain’s pleasure.”

     Chan hesitates, looking a little uncomfortable, but spins it anyway, under pressure from all the observers. It lands—to everyone’s surprise—on Seungmin, who is attending his first-ever party as they speak. In addition to this, he’s also characteristically sober, so he irritably points to his cheek.

     “Right here, if you must.”

     They’re both jostled and jeered at until Chan finally gives him a peck, Felix watching and withholding his despair with a tight-lipped smile. The rounds go on—Yeonjun gets his kiss with Soobin, Felix is kissed by Mingi, and Changbin ends up getting a kiss from Lisa, which they do with a lot of laughing. 

     As Hongjoong approaches the bottle, he side-eyes Changbin, a mischievous smile growing on his face. “I may have lost, but if I kiss a Gryffindor, it’s a peace treaty, right?” Changbin laughs, and Hongjoong’s tongue peeks out as he attempts to mimic Yeonjun’s skills, aiming and putting a specific amount of force into the spin. Everyone watches it go, around and around and eventually, just a tad too far. It lands on Jisung, the next person over, and the obligatory chorus of ‘Ooo’s traverse the onlookers.

     Hongjoong shrugs good naturedly. “Close enough.”

     Jisung grins, excited to finally have been picked, and leans over the table to grab Hongjoong’s collar, serving the dual purpose of pulling him in and keeping himself steady. Everyone cheers as they lock lips, and Jisung kisses him hard, sucking on his bottom lip and letting his tongue dart out between them. 

     When he pulls away, Hongjoong looks dazed, reaching backwards for the nearby Seonghwa's support. “Holy shit, you’re a good kisser.”

     “Comes with practice.” Jisung says with a wink, talking completely out of his ass. 

     This announcement, however, sparks curiosity from those around them, and Jisung sits back smugly to watch an increasing amount of people attempt to land on him. Many of them go too far, resulting in Hyunjin getting a lot more than he expected. But Jisung also gives out plenty of kisses himself, to faces he doesn’t recognize and even to ones he does, including Jeongyeon, Beomgyu, and—as if by fate—Sunghoon himself, who accepts it shyly and with a pink face. 

     Once Wooyoung and San finally reappear(looking tousled and satisfied), they join the crowd, with Wooyoung providing his own obnoxious sort of commentary. Hongjoong actually ends up coming back for seconds, and just as Hongjoong’s giving him that sort of ‘let’s get out of here’ look, Changbin taps him on the shoulder. 

     “I have something to tell you.” He says, tilting his head in the opposite direction. Jisung glances between the two of them, fighting with himself, and Hongjoong chuckles.

     “Bested by Gryffindor yet again. Talk to you later, Jisung?”

     “Yeah, for sure.” Jisung smiles, giving him a grateful nod before allowing Changbin to pull him away from the raucous noise of the circle.

     “I have a theory.” Changbin says, lowering his voice for the first time in his life. “Well, me and Yeonjun have a theory.”

     “You told Yeonjun about this?” Jisung says, incredulous, immediately picking up on what he’s talking about. “Why the hell would you do that?”

     “Who’s he gonna tell?”

     “Everyone??”

     “It’s whatever.” Changbin waves off. “That’s not important, the point is that it’s a solid theory.”

     “Then spit it out.”

     “Wooyoung.” Changbin says emphatically. There’s silence for a moment as Jisung considers it, his thick, alcohol-ridden brain chugging to make sense of the idea. 

     “…Really?”

     “Yeah. Doesn’t it make sense? Why else would he keep it so secret? Something ‘more than a crush’ on a guy who’s been taken for years?”

     Well, when he phrases it like that, it does make sense. “Holy fuck, you’re right.”

     “I know.” Changbin says with a grin. “And that thing I said before, about the Hufflepuff games? It’s because of these parties, I think. Hufflepuff is easy to beat, so then he gets to party with Wooyoung after. At least, when San isn’t around.”

     “That makes sense.” Jisung says, blown away by the sheer truth of it. Kicking San out of practice, sighing and rolling his eyes whenever he was mentioned. Chan’s in love with Wooyoung. Has been, for years, probably, and couldn’t do anything about it. That’s… “That’s so sad.” He says out loud, his shoulders drooping. 

     “Yeah.” Changbin sighs. “I know. So let’s not say anything about it, okay? I feel kinda bad, now, for bothering him so much. Let’s just pretend we forgot about it.”

     “Yeah, yeah. Good idea.” Jisung nods, frowning. “Where’d he go, anyway?”

     “Upstairs, I think, since they left.” Changbin says, referring to Wooyoung and San. Jisung’s heart aches for him, so he grabs an extra bottle of firewhiskey and follows him up the staircase. 

     “Chan!” He says, tripping against the doorway. “It’s so early.”

     Chan, sitting on his usual spot of floor by the window, looks up with surprise. “Yeah, it is, what’re you doing here already?”

     “Looking for you.” Jisung says, dropping onto the floor next to him with a small ‘hup!’ “You did—you did really good today.”

     “So you keep telling me.” Chan chuckles. “Did you see Yunho make that check? That was incredible.”

     “No, I missed it.” Jisung says. “But Yeonjun noticed. He was pretty impressed before Minnie told him he’s Muggle born.”

     Chan huffs, propping his arm on his knee and gazing out the window with all the despair of a star-crossed lover. Jisung can sense an odd kind of separation between them, a loneliness in his dimples and the strands of hair across his forehead. Jisung feels a strange need to fill the silence, one that he isn’t accustomed to experiencing around Chan.

     “I heard you’re gonna be a scare actor.” He finally says.

     “Yeah.” Chan says, with a preoccupied nod. “Yeonjun asked me to.”

     “Did you hear he got Lee?” Jisung says, irritably opening the extra bottle of firewhiskey on the edge of a misaligned floorboard. “Jinnie’s making us go. It’s gonna be the worst Halloween of my life.”

     “I really don’t like him.” Chan says, a sudden conviction to his voice. 

     “What?”

     “Lee. I don’t like him.” Chan repeats.

     “Cheers to that.” Jisung says, raising the bottle and taking a sip. Chan takes it when offered, downing a hearty sip of his own. “What’s your reason?”

     “He gives me the creeps.” Chan says firmly. “We didn’t work well together during Rapid. And I hate the way he stares.”

     “S’got some eyes.” Jisung says agreeably. “And that’s all they seem to do.” Chan makes a noise of concurrence, and Jisung adds, “I wish we could just do Halloween like we always do.”

     “Yeah, me too.” Chan sighs. “But I owe him.”

     “Who?”

     “Yeonjun.”

     “What for?”

     “This thing, a few years back, it doesn’t really matter.” Chan waves off. “It matters even less now. I just know he’ll bring it up if I try to back out.”

     Jisung hums, taking another swig of firewhiskey and dropping his head onto Chan's shoulder. "Are you—are y'ever…scared?" Jisung asks, his brows furrowing as he watches the stars twinkle outside. "Of what's out there?"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Life." Jisung says, frowning deeply. "Outside Hogwarts. What happens when we're done."

     "Of course I'm scared." Chan says softly. "I'm terrified."

     "But you're like, a superstar." Jisung says with a pout. "You'll be scouted the second the guys come at the end of the year."

     "Don't say that so certainly." Chan sighs. "I don't wanna get my hopes up."

     Jisung scoffs, hitting Chan's shoulder with his free hand. "You have nothin’ to worry about. You're gonna be fine. Me, though? I’ve no idea what I'm gonna do. I don’ even know how to function without you guys."

     "Sure you do. You function just fine with Felix's crew."

     "That's—well, I guess. But still. We're all splitting up. We have to."

     Chan is silent for a while, the two of them looking out the window but not really seeing the sky outside. Eventually, he says, "...We don't have to split up. We could get an apartment together, if you wanted."

     "You n’ me?"

     "Yeah. And Bin, too, if he wanted. 3RACHA forever." Chan says, with a little smile. 

     “That would be nice.” Jisung says, taking another large gulp of firewhiskey. For some reason, though, he has this concrete feeling it won’t happen. A thick dread covers his stomach the longer he thinks about it, so he sips from the firewhiskey again, spilling it on his hoodie in the process.

     “I think that’s enough.” Chan says, bemused, easily prying the bottle from Jisung’s slack fingers. 

     Jisung groans, swiping for it weakly, but Chan makes sure to place it far out of his reach. “Come on, Channie.”

     “Channie?” Chan echoes, shocked. “Wow, you’re really drunk, aren’t you?”

     “Not thamuch. I’ve drank more. Last time, I drank way more.” Jisung says, spreading his arms to create a unit of measurement between them. “Way more.”

     “Uh huh.” Chan says, patting Jisung on the back. “Sure, buddy. You haven’t called me Channie since, like, second year.”

     “Maybe I jus’ rilly want the firewhiskey.” Jisung argues, slumping further against Chan’s side. 

     “Maybe you need to go to bed.” Chan says fondly. “Come on, up.” He stands and leans over to hook his arms under Jisung’s shoulders, hoisting him up with ease. Jisung stumbles, grabbing Chan’s arm for support. It’s hardened with muscle, enough so that Jisung would probably need both hands to wrap around its width. He tests his theory right then and there, proving correct, and Chan snorts at him.

     “What?”

     “You rilly are a Keeper.” Jisung says, a tad dejectedly. 

     “So my mum says.”

     Jisung wacks him, right on the bicep. “Not what I meant.”

     “I know, I know.” Chan chuckles, and as if reading his mind, says, “you shouldn’t take what Yeonjun says to heart. You have a great Seeker’s build.”

     Jisung glows under the praise, smiling lazily. “Y’think so?”

     “I know so. I’ve seen the worst of it.” Chan teases. 

     Jisung strips off his hoodie to whip Chan with it, getting a shriek from him. The two collapse onto Chan’s bed, poking and prodding one another, and Chan scrunches up his nose.

     “Ugh, it smells like sweat over there.” He says, tilting his head in the direction of Wooyoung’s bed. He grabs Jisung’s hoodie—no longer a weapon—and bunches it up under his nose. “Those two are animals."

     Jisung hesitates, his cloudy brain doing its best to prevent him from regurgitating Changbin’s theory right into Chan's lap. Instead of dancing around it, he changes the subject completely, saying, "Y'know I love you, right?"

     Chan blinks at him, surprised. "Er, yeah. You're not gonna do anything drastic, are you?"

     "No, no. Jus' wanted you to hear it."

Chapter Text

     Jisung yawns widely as he and Chan enter The Great Hall the next morning, met with the most peculiar sight. Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin are all sitting together at the Gryffindor table, chatting animatedly about something or another. Jisung and Chan share a look, and all eyes turn to them as they approach.

     "You guys take forever to wake up." Changbin complains, spearing a breakfast sausage with his fork.

     "What's happening here? You guys became friends without me?" Jisung jokes, sliding onto the bench next to Felix. 

     "We kissed." Felix says happily, gesturing between himself and Changbin. "And everything got so much less awkward."

     Jisung and Chan share another look, this time of disbelief.

     "I just needed it out of my system." Changbin says with a shrug. "We're good now."

     "Jisung, I'm gonna kill you." Hyunjin says, leaning over the table from Changbin's side. "Where were you?? Why'd you leave so early?"

     "I was with Chan." Jisung says defensively, pointing at him with his thumb. "Why, what'd I miss?"

     "Changbin and Felix had their little kiss, and I took your seat since you left." He explains, fuming. "And then Lee appeared out of nowhere and landed on me!"

     "So you kissed him?" Chan says, raising a brow.

     "I had to!" Hyunjin says, wiping at his mouth like he can still feel the remnants. "I feel violated."

     "What, does he suck?" Jisung chuckles, glad that he narrowly escaped the situation.

     "No, actually, he was pretty good." Hyunjin says, his voice dipping into pleasant for a short moment. "But it's Lee! I feel like…ugh, Dumbledore, it's just disgusting."

     Jisung cackles at him, serving himself some French toast. “This is pretty weird, having you all together. But it's nice. We're just missing Jeongin, now, aren't we?"

     "The Seeker, Jeongin?" Changbin clarifies. 

     "Yeah. He's our friend, kind of." Seungmin says, a little cautiously. He's been giving Changbin little glances throughout the conversation, like he's monitoring a wild animal. "We don't hang out all that often, though." 

     "We should rope him in somehow." Felix says.

     "I dunno. This many seventh-years might scare him off." Hyunjin says. "Jisung makes him nervous."

     "I do??" Jisung stops mid-bite, French toast hovering in midair in front of his mouth. "Why?"

     "Cause you're friends with Changbin and Chan." Hyunjin says. "And you have a big personality. And cause you want his spot.”

     “It’s not like I’m in any danger of getting it.” Jisung scoffs. “I can’t believe he’s been nervous around me this whole time and I never knew.”

     “We all know how intimidating our Jisungie is.” Changbin teases, leaning over the table to pinch Jisung’s cheek. “You’re the scariest squirrel I’ve ever seen.”

     Jisung hits his hand away, forcing a malevolent smile that says ‘very funny’ without words. He notes that at some point last night, Changbin must have picked up the ‘Jisungie’ nickname from Hyunjin or Felix—not that it’s particularly unique, it’s just that it’s never been their nickname of choice.

     “Squirrel? How’s he a squirrel?” Felix asks with interest. 

     “It’s the cheeks.” Chan says evenly, poking Jisung’s right one with his index finger. “Lots of space.”

     Jisung, exasperated, takes a large breath, storing the air in his cheeks to demonstrate. 

     “Cute.”

     Everyone swivels to face Hongjoong, where the comment had come from. He’s with Seonghwa, and behind them, Jisung can see Minho approaching. 

     “Oh, hey.” Jisung says, a little shy from the morning light and their joint sobriety. 

     “No need to be embarrassed.” Hongjoong smiles, one hand idly playing with a strand of Jisung’s hair. “We should hang out sometime and talk—or not, if you want.”

     Jisung flushes, and Felix elbows him obnoxiously in the side, making him wince. “Erm—sure! I mean, yeah.”

     “Seonghwa.” Minho says awkwardly, butting into the conversation. “Do you know how many rolls the Transfiguration essay is supposed to be?”

     “Two,” Seonghwa says, “but the max is four.”

     “Lee, you really missed out.” Hongjoong says cheekily, his hand dropping to Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung can feel each of his movements with hypersensitivity, the heat in his face increasing. “If Jisung had stuck around, you would’ve gotten a taste.”

     “Hm.” Minho says, eyes darting between Jisung and Hongjoong’s hand. 

     “Sung would rather kiss the giant squid.” Chan scoffs, getting a snicker from Changbin and Hyunjin.

     “True.” Minho says flatly, his trademark stare landing on Chan. 

     “San told me you guys are gonna be scare actors.” Seonghwa says with interest. “Should we come?”

     “If you wanna be scared, yeah.” Changbin says, grinning pridefully. “I’m kind of a natural.”

     “That’s because you’re naturally horrifying.” Seungmin says, seemingly on autopilot. His eyes widen once he realizes what he’s said, but Changbin cracks a sheepish smile.

     “What makes you say that?”

     Seungmin forces his face into a deadpan, doubling down on his statement as he slices into a pancake. “You have this overwhelming Frankenstein's monster aura.”

     “What’s that?”

     Seungmin lowers his utensils, stunned. “You’ve never heard of Frankenstein’s monster??”

     “He’s pureblood.” Felix reminds him. 

     “Of course you would make that distinction.” Jisung says, rolling his eyes. “Just say Frankenstein, Min.”

     “I won’t.” Seungmin insists, bristling. 

     “Woah, what’s this party we have going on over here?” Wooyoung says, entering the conversation with San in tow. “Bin and Seaman are flirting?”

     “Seaman?” Hyunjin repeats, confused. 

     “Flirting??” Seungmin exclaims, quick enough to realize Wooyoung meant him. 

     “And some Lee-Jisung action to the left?” Wooyoung hums approvingly, extending an arm over Seonghwa’s shoulder. “A little Leesung? Today’s a good day.”

     “I’m starting to get real tired of you.” Jisung says loudly, glaring at him. 

     “Actually, it’s Hongsung.” Felix corrects him. 

     Wooyoung tilts his head, an intrigued grin forming on his face. “A new contender enters the ring. Whoever will win Princess Jisung’s heart?”

     “Go sit down.” Hongjoong says, exasperation visible in his narrowed eyes. Wooyoung giggles to himself, but surprisingly enough, obeys immediately, with San supplying a weak shrug before following. 

     “He listens to you?” Chan says, his face blank with surprise. 

     “He likes it when I order him around.” Hongjoong scowls, rolling his eyes.

     “I’m a little jealous.” Chan says, with a single, half-hearted chuckle. Jisung and Changbin make eye contact, a silent, one-second communication. 

     "Well, me and Hwa were thinking of taking a walk by the lake, if you guys wanted to come.” Hongjoong says cheerfully. “Er, Lee, you can come too, I guess.”

     “No, it’s alright.” Minho says. “I won’t intrude.”

     “You’re not intruding.” Seonghwa says honestly. “We can talk about the essay.”

     Jisung heavily disagrees with him, but decides to keep his mouth shut. Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin—making obnoxious lovey-dovey faces as they leave—go to find Jeongin, so it ends up just being the six of them. Jisung and Hongjoong lead the pack, chatting amiably as their socks soak up dew from the grass. Seonghwa and Minho walk in the back, speaking in lower tones, presumably about the essay, while Chan and Changbin hang in the middle, joining Jisung and Hongjoong’s conversation whenever the moment seems fit. 

     “Yeah, good luck with that.” Chan chuckles. “Yeonjun’ll body Yunho.” 

     “I just don’t see any other way.” Hongjoong says. “Yeonjun always goes on the offensive.”

     “If Hufflepuff’s gonna be known for something, it’s gonna be defense anyway.” Jisung jokes, getting an amused huff from Hongjoong.

     “The game’s not for ages.” Changbin reminds him. “Isn’t it further away than normal because of the way the weeks worked out?”

     “Yeah,” Hongjoong sighs, “but I might as well start strategizing now.” 

     Jisung kicks nearby pebbles to the side, the tops sparkling from the lake. The air is still pleasant, cold but not yet biting at their skin like he knows it will once they get into the later months. As they turn around the edge of the water, the land takes them higher above it, rising to a small hill by the forest, overlooking the glassy surface.

     "I always regretted never taking swimming lessons." Hongjoong murmurs, watching the black ripples. 

     "I never learned either." Jisung says. "Not officially. But you can just paddle, y'know? That's good enough."

     "Wanna bet?" Changbin interrupts. Jisung’s just about to open his mouth to answer as Changbin shoves him—hard—enough to knock him off the hill and into the lake. 

     Unlike the temperature outside, the water is freezing, so much so that Jisung feels like he's being burned. He thrashes wildly, gasping for air as he reaches the surface, where Chan is scolding a cackling Changbin. 

     "You should've seen your face!" Changbin says, pointing in his general direction as his body pitches back and forth. 

     "Fuck, it's so cold!" Jisung yells, his whole body shaking. Hongjoong squats down to offer his hand, which Jisung clasps as tight as his weak hands allow. Hongjoong has to grip his whole arm to haul him up properly, and Chan grabs his other hand to assist him, sighing in disbelief. 

     Seonghwa and Minho were a little behind, only just catching up as Jisung is being rescued. 

     "What happened?" Seonghwa asks, confused. 

     "I just cashed my check is all." Changbin says smugly, overly cryptic, as a form of explanation for Seonghwa.

     "You fucking bastard!" Jisung grins, giving him a shove in the opposite direction of the lake. Changbin laughs and catches him by the shoulders, wrestling with him until Jisung’s back crashes into a tree, where they both take big gulps of air to calm themselves down. 

     Jisung's just brushing his wet hair out of his eyes as they make contact with Minho, whose face is painted with so much startled interest that he looks kind of like a doe. His lips are parted, exposing two, bunny-like front teeth, and his eyes have this strange, dazed blanket over top. 

     "You look hot like this." Hongjoong says, unconsciously blocking Jisung’s line of vision to Minho. He ruffles Jisung’s wet locks, and Jisung smirks. 

     "Yeah? You like this?" He says, shaking his head out like a dog. Hongjoong huffs, shielding his face. 

     "Bad boy." He reprimands, following Jisung’s lead.

     Changbin pretends to retch, and Jisung and Hongjoong separate, rolling their eyes. The lack of distraction reminds Jisung that he's freezing, though, so he violently shivers, rubbing his hands together. Hongjoong and Chan both take off their cloaks, draping them over Jisung’s shoulders in a vain attempt to help. 

     "You suck, Bin." Jisung says, his teeth chattering. 

     "Hey, I'm just following through on our bet!" Changbin says, holding up his hands in defense. "You didn't have to offer up the lake." 

     "I'm gonna get hypothermia and die." Jisung groans. Changbin scoffs, removing his cloak and draping it over Jisung as well. 

     They resume walking around the lake, Jisung continuing to tremble, and along the way, Seonghwa and Minho's cloaks disappear off their bodies, at some point added to the pile on Jisung’s back. Towards the end of the walk, there's a mess of garments being reclaimed, and then Hongjoong quickly whisks Jisung away. They hurry (for no real reason) to an empty classroom on the second floor, where a fireplace is still smoldering from the remains of a log. 

     Hongjoong pulls him in for a kiss, their cheeks still bitten red from the chill. He has a firm kiss, like he wants it to last, whereas Jisung has always been eager: wanting, pleading. As Hongjoong makes to wrap a hand around Jisung’s neck, he falters, shocked by the temperature.

     “Merlin, you really are all wet.” Hongjoong chuckles. “I didn’t notice how bad it was for a second cause your cloak’s dry.”

     “That’s not possible.” Jisung says, blinking. But as he runs his hands over the fabric, it’s true: totally dry. As he moves one of the folds, though, he discovers a blue and silver crest—Ravenclaw. “Ah, shit. This better be fucking Seonghwa’s.”

     “If it’s his, you better find him quick.” Hongjoong says, a realization dawning on his face. “He always holes himself up in his room to study on Sundays.”

     “Dammit. Erm—a pause, on this?” Jisung says, giving him a sheepish smile.

     “Not like we’re going anywhere.” Hongjoong shrugs kindly. “I’ll be in Hufflepuff.”

     “I’ll seeya!” Jisung calls, already running out the door. He knows where the Ravenclaw Tower is, but he’s never been inside. Before now, whenever he got together with the Felix crew, it would normally be in the Hufflepuff common room. Jisung has no idea how he’s going to get past the stupid riddle password, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

     He tries to be smart, mentally calculate the best route Seonghwa could’ve taken from the point that him and Hongjoong split off from them, but he gives up thinking about it halfway. Instead, he takes the most direct path from the classroom he just left, and—like a miracle—nearly runs headlong into Seungmin.

     “Jesus—what’s up with you??” Seungmin exclaims, arms drawn in front of his body as protection. 

     “Oh, thank god I found you!” Jisung says. “I need to find Seonghwa. We accidentally switched cloaks.” 

     Seungmin raises a brow, attention falling on the Ravenclaw crest embroidered on the aforementioned piece of clothing. “Really? I thought you and Hongjoong were the thing.” Jisung hits him in the shoulder, scowling, and the two of them walk to Ravenclaw Tower, where Seungmin solves the riddle with ease. 

     The Ravenclaw common room is packed full of bookshelves, custom-made to fit against the circular walls. Down a short staircase is the common area itself, with plenty of tables and chairs where students are gathered in small groups. On the right side sits Sunghoon and the same round-faced Hufflepuff boy Jisung saw in the stands during Rapid, engaged in a heated debate with Jake. Jay dozes in an armchair nearby, and Jungwon holds a quill, looking like he’s contemplating drawing on his face. 

     Seungmin leads Jisung to the back of the room, where the three dorm staircases branch off. Jisung descends the boys’ one on the right, but as he reaches the seventh year dorms, he stops, Seungmin bumping into his back from his abrupt halt. 

     “Wh—?”

     Jisung makes a shushing motion with his finger, leaning close to the door and straining his ears.

     “…frustrating, I guess.” Seonghwa sighs. “He doesn’t notice. And like I said, Jisung’s a great guy, but…”

     “He’s not you.” Minho’s voice says, even and understanding. 

     “Yeah.” Seonghwa says quietly. “That’s the problem.”

     “Well, if you want Hongjoong to notice you, do something. Dye your hair, or…” 

     “Suck at Potions?”

     “Very funny.” Minho huffs. “Just…act out of the ordinary. If he’s known you for so long, he’ll notice when something changes.”

     “I guess you’re right. But now, he’s interested in Jisung. I can’t distract him from that.”

     “You have stiff competition, but it’s not impossible.”

     Jisung nearly yelps as Seungmin pulls him behind himself, making lots of noise as he takes the final steps to enter the room first, Jisung tailing behind.

     “Hello.” Seungmin says, in a distracted tone of voice. “Have either of you seen my phone?”

     “No.” Seonghwa says flatly, watching his every move like the intruder he is.

     “Seonghwa.” Jisung says, announcing his presence as he walks in with as much natural charisma as he can manage. “I think we switched cloaks.”

     Seonghwa turns to him, his head tilted in confusion, before glancing down at his chest. On the front, however, is its proper blue and silver crest. Which means—

     “Oh.” Minho says blankly, examining his own cloak, which he’d tossed over the back of his bed. “That’s mine.” 

     Jisung’s too late to hold back a small groan of dread, his shoulders drooping just a tad. “Ugh—erm, I mean—sorry. Here.” He awkwardly shrugs it off and hands it over, taking the cloak Minho had wrongly been in possession of. But—no, this one is dry too. He turns it over, and on the front is a Gryffindor crest instead, which leads Jisung to come to the conclusion that—of course—Changbin is the only one out of them who could grab a sopping wet cloak and not realize.

     “You look like a wet napkin.” Seungmin jokes, emerging from his bag with his phone, which he immediately flips open and begins typing on. 

     “Huh?”

     “Your shirt.” Seungmin says, in that same, preoccupied voice. 

     Jisung looks down, finding the white fabric of it clinging to his skin in places, producing a nearly see-through effect, much like a wet napkin as Seungmin suggested. Jisung self-consciously dons Changbin’s cloak, pulling it closed over his chest.

     “Did you just come here for your cell phone?” Jisung asks, leaning over Seungmin to read the strange language of his texts yet again.

hh

2 the HRR w/ hj js n fl wbu

ihni

mayb cnvnc th 2 go

bc he h8s prties smh

ffs yolo (u_u)

     “Talking to Yunho again?” Jisung asks curiously.

     “Quit reading over my shoulder.” Seungmin pouts, turning his phone screen away. “And no, this is Kai.”

     “Kai Huening? The 6th year?”

     “Yeah. Come on, let’s go to the library. Lix, Jinnie, and Jeongin are waiting for us.”

     “I have to return this to Bin.” Jisung complains, following Seungmin out of the room.

     “You can do that later.”

     They ascend the staircase together, and once they’re confident that they’re out of earshot, they exchange a glance.

     “This is so complicated.” Seungmin sighs, flipping his phone closed and dropping it into his pocket. 

     “Two captains?? Fuck, they would be such a good couple.” Jisung says, wracking his brain. “I can’t keep them from each other.”

     “Hongjoong doesn’t like him like that, or at least that’s what it sounds like. You’re not keeping them from each other.” Seungmin says. They exit the common room together, starting off in the direction of the library, and Jisung shivers.

     “Would it kill them to modernize this place? Seal up some of the drafts?”

     “Er, here.” Seungmin says, waving his wand and uttering a spell that instantly dries his clothes. “Sorry, I forgot.”

     “Seonghwa’s known Hongjoong way longer than I have.” Jisung continues, chewing on his lip. “He was there first.”

     “Cause Hongjoong’s a toy to be passed around? Come on, Jisung. You have every right to spend time with him if you want."

     "But it doesn't feel right." Jisung insists. "If I was Seonghwa, I'd tell me to back off."

     "Seonghwa would never do that, not so rudely."

     “Okay, but if I was Seonghwa.”

     Seungmin rolls his eyes, letting him think in silence for the rest of the trip to the library.

     “Seonghwa has a crush on Hongjoong.” Jisung says the second they arrive, spreading his hands out on Felix and Hyunjin’s table like he’s strategizing for war.

     “What?” Hyunjin says, looking up from The Oracle’s Guide to Divination.  

     “I knew it!” Felix says immediately, pumping his fist in the air victoriously.

     “You did?” Seungmin raises a brow, taking a seat next to Hyunjin.

     “I could feel it.” Felix says, getting a scoff from everyone. “No, I could!”

     “Uh huh, sure.” Jisung says, sitting beside Seungmin.

     “It’s true! Veela are very sensitive to love.” Felix insists petulantly. 

     “Not to mention territorial.” Seungmin jokes. “Being marked by a Veela is basically the death of your love life.”

     “Or the start of a beautiful new one.” Felix says pointedly. “It’s not like I’m territorial about Chris anyway.”

     Seungmin shrugs, his neck twisting as he looks around. “Where’d Jeongin go?”

     Hyunjin points behind him, where Jeongin, Beomgyu, and Heeseung are sifting through the Herbology section. “His buddies showed up.” Hyunjin says. 

     Jisung props his elbow on the table, uninterested in doing work like the rest of them. His brain still swims thinking about what to do with his current situation, digesting each piece of the puzzle as if the answer will fall in his lap just from mulling it over. 

     To Seungmin's disdain, Hyunjin rolls his star chart out across their table, leaving him with nowhere to put his books. Hyunjin's brow furrows, and he closes his eyes, dropping a palm-full of colorful stones in the center and allowing them to scatter across the illustrated constellations. As he opens his eyes, he scrutinizes their positions, tracing the air above with his finger. Felix watches with silent awe, and Seungmin rolls his eyes.

     "You have a secret admirer, Jisung." Hyunjin says frankly, pointing to a pink stone. "And he's madly in love with you."

     "I wonder who that could be." Seungmin says dryly, opting to select one book from his bag at a time. "Thank god you read his future, otherwise we'd have no idea."

     "Shush!" Felix snaps, chewing on his lip. "What else, Jinnie?"

     "Lix, there's something…" Hyunjin flattens his lips into a thin line, struggling to interpret a small blue stone. "Danger. On the right side."

     "Of what?" Felix asks, his eyes sparkling.

     "I don't know. I can't tell." Hyunjin says honestly. "Seungmin, you've got good things in store as long as you set aside your pride."

     "You sound like my mum." Seungmin huffs.

     "What is this?" Jisung finally asks, having difficulty understanding the odd procedure. "Is this for class?"

     "I'm practicing for our Lithomancy quiz." Hyunjin says. "Telling the future with stones."

     "He's really good at this stuff." Felix encourages. "I'm in Divination with him but I'm just awful at it." 

     "Divination is bullshit." Seungmin insists. "If it wasn't for Trelawney, the subject wouldn't even be taught at Hogwarts."

     "Jin predicted Jisungie joining us!" Felix says defensively, seemingly more invested in Hyunjin's talent than Hyunjin himself.

     "He did?" Jisung says.

     "Yeah! He saw—"

     "A 'new ally' in the smoke." Seungmin says, with lazy air quotes. "Which could have been anyone, by the way. 'Ally' is such a vague word." 

     "He's incredible, Jisung, don't listen to Minnie." Felix says, determined.

     "I'm alright." Hyunjin shrugs sheepishly. "I do my best."

     "Well, what else do you see for me, rock-master?" Jisung says, lightly sarcastic. 

     Hyunjin squints at the stones, his eyes landing on a flat gray one in the top left corner. "Something cramped and cold. Actually, a lot of things look cramped."

     "What d'you mean, cramped?"

     "I'm not sure." Hyunjin says. "Is something stressing you out? Have you been thinking too much about something?"

     "Yeah, like just before. That's not in the future, though."

     "Um…" Hyunjin lightly taps a round green one, leaning over the table to see its constellation better. "Look out for closets, that ties in with the cramped bit…"

     "Closets? That little rock told you specifically closets?" Seungmin says with disbelief, before Jisung can make a gay joke.

     "Quiet!" Felix says. 

     "And er…the new year's gonna be big for you. Like, big big. Lots of new and exciting things."

     "Please. You sound like some batty woman in a psychic shop, fumbling with tarot cards." Seungmin rolls his eyes even heavier.

     "I can do tarot cards." Hyunjin says, pulling a tattered, school-issued set from his bag.

     Felix perks up. "Do me, do me!"

     Jisung sighs, watching Hyunjin shuffle the deck and have Felix select three cards. Not even the future can tell him what to do.

Chapter Text

     "Happy Halloween!" Felix trills, wrapping his arms around Jisung's shoulders. He's attached spindly branches to his fingers via Spell-O-Tape, and he's wearing a set of several-years-old robes that he'd tarnished with holes and burn marks. “Guess who I am?”

     “Wizard Freddy Krueger?” Seungmin says, lifting his head from his breakfast.

     “No.” Felix frowns, like it should be obvious. “I’m Death! From The Tale of the Three Brothers?”

     “Huh? Oh, right.” 

     “And I’m The Warlock.” Hyunjin says proudly, his robes charmed to be a deep blue and a pillowcase tied around his shoulders. "Young, handsome, and skilled, I fit the part perfectly."

     "And deluded." Seungmin jokes, sipping his pumpkin juice. 

     "I think we should reconsider the HRR." Jisung says diplomatically, like he doesn’t have an obvious ulterior motive.

     “Fat chance.” Hyunjin says, taking a seat beside Felix. “I earned this, we’re not backing out now.”

     “But it’s a 3-day!” Jisung whines. “I’m guaranteed a totally Lee-less day if we don’t go! That’s like an early Christmas present.”

     “Nothing’s a guarantee.” Seungmin says. “And you’re wrong, also. You’ll still see him in Defense and Transfiguration.”

     “It’s different there, cause I don’t have to talk to him.” Jisung says. “My point is that I don’t have Potions today.”

     “We’re going.” Hyunjin says firmly. “That’s final.”

     “You two should’ve dressed up.” Felix says with a pout. “We’re gonna look silly, now.”

     Jisung flips up the hood of his cloak, waggling his fingers sarcastically. “Look, I’m a dementor.”

     “Lame!” Hyunjin boos, snatching a slice of cauldron-shaped toast. “You gotta put some effort in.” 

     Seungmin lowers Jisung’s hood for him, rolling his eyes. “Which is exactly why I didn’t bother.”

     “You guys suck.” Felix says with a huff. “It’s, like, our last year to dress up. Why waste the opportunity?”

     “Sorry, I already peaked when me and the boys went as Wednesday, Pugsley, and Joel in first year.” Jisung says smugly.

     “Oh yeah, I remember that.” Seungmin says. “You were Wednesday, right?”

     “How could I not be? Main character over here.” Jisung says, pointing both thumbs at himself.

     “How could you dress up as a day of the week?” Hyunjin asks, bewildered. 

     “It’s a Muggle movie.” Felix waves off. “Where are Changbin and Chris anyway?”

     “I guess still sleeping.” Jisung says, looking around the Great Hall, before he remembers correctly. “Wait—no, they’re getting ready. HRR participants skip classes to prepare. Oh my god—Jin, please, that means I really won’t have to deal with him all day!”

     “Absolutely not!!”

-

     The morning classes are predictably dull, even with the teachers trying to put a spooky spin on their lessons. The most notable is Defense, in which Professor Potter had wrangled a boggart from a sixth floor corridor for all of his classes to play around with. 

     “I bet you wished Lee was there, huh?” Hyunjin teases at lunch after the fact, brandishing his spoon. Even though it's a Friday, they had decided to eat in the Great Hall to take advantage of all the themed food.

     Jisung rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his jack-o-lantern grilled cheese. “No way, I cherished my classes without him. I wouldn’t dream of sacrificing them just to see what he’s afraid of.”

     “What do you think a guy like him would be scared of?” Felix says, tilting his head curiously. “He’s so…”

     “Stupid? Pretentious?” Jisung suggests.

     “Scary.” Hyunjin says honestly. “Intimidating. I can’t imagine him being scared of anything.”

     "Well, he's gotta be scared of something." Seungmin says. Jisung spares him a glance, recalling that when faced with Seungmin, the boggart had turned into an older man who looked remarkably like him. He decides not to mention it.

     "I bet he's the type to say he's not afraid of anything." Jisung scoffs. "Too pretty to have a weakness or something ridiculous like that."

     "You said it, not me." Seungmin says, with a touch of smugness. Jisung hits him on the shoulder. 

-

     After classes finish, the four of them meet out on the lawn, where a plethora of activities have been set up. There's a sea of robes and variably shoddy costumes covering the grass, and the first people they run into are Yunho and Wooyoung. They're dressed up as male versions of the twins from The Shining, with frilly blue pants and pink ribbon-ed shirts showing from underneath their cloaks. 

     "Ey, nice costumes!" Wooyoung says with a smile. "Look at this shit Yunho made me do."

     "I didn't make you!" Yunho says with a laugh. 

     "It's a muggle thing." Wooyoung says to Hyunjin, one hand on the side of his mouth like he's pretending to whisper. "I hope you guys are going to the HRR. Sannie told me to keep an eye out for you." He turns his gaze to Jisung, winking obnoxiously. 

     "Yeah, we're going later." Hyunjin says happily. "Have you done it yet?"

     "Not yet, no. But I'll be there." Wooyoung says, throwing an arm around Yunho’s shoulders. "This guy's gotta see Mingi."

     "Mingi's in it?" Jisung says, raising a brow.

     "Not scare-acting. He said he's just helping." Yunho says with a shrug.

     The two groups split soon after—Yunho and Wooyoung headed to the HRR—and Jisung wastes enough of their time as physically possible, dragging them to games and food stalls and praying that the sun will set faster so that curfew will hit and force them to scatter. Hyunjin puts a stop to that just as he thinks it might actually work, and pulls them all the way to the Room of Requirement.

     "Welcome, welcome." Yeonjun greets them, the collar of his shirt folded up to give him a lazy attempt at a vampiric look. He looks tired and bored, saddled with the unfortunate task of standing outside the whole night, mentally repeating the prompt so that the door doesn't disappear. The sight brings Jisung a mild, sick sort of glee. 

     "You’ll be touched." He warns in a flat tone, likely speaking from some pre-prepared dialogue. "Just some pushing and pulling, nothing crazy. Enjoy." 

     "You too." Jisung says cheekily. Yeonjun forces a tight-lipped smile and narrows his eyes as if to say 'real clever.'

     The four of them hesitantly step inside, met with an extremely dark hallway and a sign that says 'Welcome to the Blood Moon Maze.'

     "Ohh, so they're like…Vampire Werewolves?" Hyunjin guesses, tilting his head. “Were-Vampires?”

     "I guess so." Seungmin shrugs. 

     "Well, let's go!" Felix says, taking Jisung and Seungmin's hands. "I wanna see Chris!"

     Seungmin rolls his eyes but allows himself to be pulled, Hyunjin following close behind. It's pretty standard as they walk through: cardboard cutouts that flick out at them, slimy-looking props, etcetera. Jisung would think that with magic, one could get more creative, but clearly not. There's a loose sort of plot that they're supposed to be following as they solve little puzzles along the way, but Seungmin completes them so quickly that they plow through without reading any of the informational cards. 

     Eventually, there's a three-way fork, and a sign telling them to split up in order to collect three items so that they can leave.

     "Me and Minnie will go together." Hyunjin decides, clapping Seungmin on the shoulder. "Hopefully you two will get some alone time with the scare actors." 

     Felix giggles, and Jisung flips him a middle finger, choosing the path on the left before anyone can think of something else ridiculous to say.

     He walks with his hand skimming the right wall, since the meager lighting dims even more as he traverses down the hallway. Halfway through, he finds a basket full of paper keys, and upon further inspection, they all look to be the same, likely intended for each party to take one in order to ‘escape’ or whatever. Naturally, he takes the whole basket, snickering to himself.

     As he continues down the hallway, Jisung jumps from a far-off scream, carrying that strained kind of squeak that Felix's voice adopts when reaching outside his normal vocal range. It’s followed by cackles and monster-like noises, along with the sounds of pounding footsteps. Jisung notices something on the floor, and kneels down to pick up an informational card, but realizes that it must have come from someone who went through before them, since it talks about a puzzle they'd already done. At the bottom, though, there's smaller text, and Jisung has to squint to read it.

     On the right is only strife, not for the faint of heart. In the middle waits a bargain, for pain or gain. On the left is neither if you are wiser, and all essential to pass, as long as one isn’t a jackass.

     Clearly, Felix must have taken the path on the right. He glances between the basket of keys in his left hand and the paper in his right before eventually scoffing and tossing the card back on the floor. They hadn’t been reading them before, so they certainly wouldn’t need them now. He continues on his way, but as he turns the corner, a hand emerges from a black curtain and pulls him behind it, with such force that he yelps, dropping the basket behind him like a cartoon character. 

     “Greedy, are we?” 

     The hand turns out to belong to Minho fucking Lee, who has been totally transformed with gothic eyeliner, wardrobe, and all four cuspids charmed into sharp points. His neck is adorned with silver jewelry, and some dark gray powder has been applied just under his cheekbones to make him look ghostly and unfairly attractive. Jisung is speechless, powerless to do anything but be immersed in Minho’s acting.

     “Those aren’t all for you, you know.” He nearly purrs , his grip on Jisung’s wrist intense and cold. “Can’t you read? Or do you get off on being an asshole?”

     Jisung wordlessly shakes his head, unsure which statement he’s denying. His eyes catch on Minho’s mouth, lips plump and stained red from fake blood. Noticing his attention, Minho runs his tongue over his new fangs, his eyes narrowed with interest. 

     “Wanna see what they can do, little mortal?”

     He tilts his head, and before Jisung can stop him, sinks his teeth right into his neck, just like a vampire. Jisung's gasp only incentivizes him further, clamping down harder, and Jisung lets out a high-pitched, embarrassing noise as Minho breaks skin. His hot breath is in the crook of Jisung's neck, and something wet and silky laves at the bite to taste the blood rapidly beading on his skin, and holy shit, Jisung is weak in the knees. He feels like he's throbbing everywhere—wanting, needing—and Jesus, fuck, it scares him more than any of the other cheap tricks littered through the maze. 

     He struggles to push Minho off of him, colliding with the back wall of the small, dark cubicle Minho had been hiding in. His face feels like it’s boiling, white-hot from shock and something else lingering in his pelvis.

     “You know, vampires have pretty small stomachs.” Minho says slyly, expertly blocking the curtain that Jisung had come through. “If I wanted to really make use of you, drain you entirely, I’d have to keep you for a few hours. Digest everything you give me.”

     He’s just acting, he’s just acting, Jisung reminds himself, feeling like a cornered animal. 

     “Would you like that, mortal? To spend the last hours of your puny life with me?”

     Holy fuck.

     “Answer me.” Minho demands darkly.

     “I—L-lee…” Jisung stammers, his brain incapable of stringing together the words Minho’s looking for.

     Minho tuts, stepping closer. “You really can’t read. That’s alright. I like my snacks stupid and pretty.” Jisung can’t suppress a shudder as Minho runs his finger over the bite marks he made, his eyes screaming hungry, like he actually needs Jisung’s blood to survive. 

     “Wh—“

     “I already bit you.” Minho cuts him off, moving even closer. “What’s the point if I can’t have a little more?”

     He lowers his head much more slowly, giving Jisung enough time to react. But he doesn’t. Against his better judgment, his brain, his fight-or-flight instincts—Jisung is frozen there, shivering as Minho slots his fangs into the pre-existing marks. He applies a little pressure, breaking up the clots that had begun to form, and this time, he sucks, actively drawing the blood out with additional swipes of his tongue. 

     Jisung’s eyelids flutter, and as Minho places a hand on his upper arm to keep him still, his touch is like fire. He wants to stay here forever, Minho’s breath on his skin, draining him completely like he said he would. But—oh god. This is Minho fucking Lee he’s dealing with, not this ridiculous vampire character that he’s playing. Jisung hates him, or at the very least, strongly dislikes him. It’s frankly disturbing, that he’s feeling this way, but now that it’s happening, he—

     “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Minho says, his voice a low murmur and his lips brushing against Jisung’s neck with every word. “You could die like this, and you wouldn’t care. Couldn’t, probably, not with that little head of yours.”

     It’s true. Every word. 

     “Tell me, are you dumb all the time, or is it just me who makes you this way?” Minho says, right by Jisung’s ear.

     “Lee—“

     Both of them stop, as if turned to stone. Minho lifts his head, his eyes wide and lips parted slightly in shock. Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, that was a moan. Jisung just moaned his name, just moaned Minho fucking Lee’s name. Obviously, this is the natural progression of such a scenario, but Minho had been acting. Filling the role. Following instructions from Yeonjun or some other coordinator. Whether or not he intended to have this effect on Jisung is impossible to prove. 

     Sure, he said Jisung was enjoying it. And Jisung had been. But such involuntary, enthusiastic confirmation of that fact was both unexpected and out of character, the ‘character’ being Jisung himself, since he can’t hide behind pretending. 

     Jisung, now bright red, throws Minho off of him, darting out of the curtain and nearly tripping over the basket he’d dropped. He frantically grabs a paper key from inside and continues his desperate sprint, unwilling to have to backtrack for it later. He keeps running despite the lack of Minho following him, turning corner after corner until—

     “OW!” Hyunjin exclaims, nearly bowled over by Jisung’s urgency. “What the hell??”

     “Oh, there you are.” Seungmin says. When Jisung looks up, all of them have gathered in this small room that he’s just arrived in, where the three paths intersect.

     “Thank god someone’s scared.” Felix says viciously, clutching Seungmin’s arm. His twig finger extensions have almost completely snapped off. “These two got to have a friendly chat with Chris, while I was chased up and down the hallway by San and Changbin!”

     “Woah…” Hyunjin trails off, his eyes on Jisung’s neck. “By process of elimination…”

     Jisung shoves his hands into his pockets, wishing the heat in his face would dissipate. “Let’s just get out of here, okay? I got this stupid key.” 

     “Oh, so did we.” Felix says. They proceed down the final hallway, and Jisung ignores their snickers, his eyes glued on the floor.

     “You have your keys?” Mingi’s voice asks, his hand outstretched. “Wh—Jisung, what happened to you?”

     “I got fucking bitten, what does it look like?” Jisung snaps, his face still pink. 

     “By who??”

     “Lee!”

     Mingi’s eyes widen, darting to the side as a silent ‘wow.’ “I thought Sana told them not to bite anyone.”

     “Well clearly, someone didn’t listen.” Seungmin says flatly, getting a giggle from Felix. 

     Jisung slaps his paper key into Mingi’s hand, glaring at all of them. “Can we go, please?”

     “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Mingi steps aside after they all give him their keys, and the path leads them right back to the door, emerging to see that Yeonjun had gained a stick of bubblegum. 

     “Oh shit, what happened to you?” He parrots, blowing a big black bubble.

     Jisung could have punched him in the face, but somehow he keeps it together, shooting Yeonjun the nastiest look in his arsenal instead. “The fuck does it look like? You do the math.”

     Yeonjun lifts his hands in surrender, looking at Jisung as if he was crazy. “Merlin, relax.”

     As if trapped in some horrific nightmare, the door opens again, and out comes Mingi, Chan, Changbin, San, and Minho himself. The others look equally dashing in gothic attire, their fangs barely peeking through their mouths. 

     “It’s nine-fifty.” San says with a smile, showing his off with pride. “Last HRR done! We should celebrate.”

     “What happened to you?” Changbin says, one brow raised.

     “The next person to ask me that dies.” Jisung warns, his hands curling into fists. 

     Chan furrows his brows, stepping up to rub the marks on his neck. “Did someone do this to you? San.”

     “Huh? I didn’t do it.” San says.

     Jisung bats his hand away, the flush quickly returning to his cheeks. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Chan, it doesn’t matter.”

     As Hyunjin had done, though, Chan runs through the process of elimination, and turns to give Minho a look of shock mixed with disgust. “You bit him??”

     “We’re vampires.” Minho says simply, like he’s done nothing wrong. “And he did the exact thing he wasn’t supposed to. Should I have just let him go on his merry way?”

     “Sana specifically told us not to bite anyone.” Changbin says, giving Minho a judgemental look of his own. “You just couldn’t resist?”

     “He’s fine. Look at him.” Minho says, gesturing to Jisung. “You don’t care, do you, Han?”

     His tone is flat, exasperated, like the conversation is ridiculous. But Jisung can feel the threat to his words, the subtle reminder that Minho knows he liked it. Jisung swallows, and his voice comes out wobbly. “I don’t.”

     “Sung,” Chan says, immediately clocking him, “you don’t have to lie.” 

     “I’m not lying.” Jisung insists, tired of the topic. “Can we please just let it go? And never talk about it again?”

     “Alright.” Chan says, his shoulders drooping. “Sure.”

     “Party at Slytherin?” San suggests, breaking the tension. Yeonjun and Changbin readily agree, and the rest of them follow behind, with Jisung shuffling miserably at the back of the pack with Felix and the others.

     “I’m done for. Everyone’ll know before midnight.” He groans, leaning heavily on Hyunjin. “Of course the two worst people to tell things are the ones to see it.”

     “Maybe Mingi won’t tell.” Felix says optimistically. 

     “Are you kidding? It’s gonna slip out, whether he means it to or not.” Jisung says, voice full of despair. “And the more people ask, the worse it gets. First, he bit me, next, he’ll say that Lee fucking…I don’t know.”

     “Sucked you dry?” Seungmin says, receiving a slap from Felix.

     “No point worrying about it.” Hyunjin sighs, and Jisung knows he’s right. “There’s nothing you can do.”

     Seungmin—despite having joined the last one—splits from them before they get to the Slytherin common room, uninterested in the party. Jisung wishes he would take Minho with him, but he doesn’t, so the nine of them enter the common room together, where a vibrant Halloween party is already in full motion. Jisung makes a beeline for a bowl of orange punch, begging to whatever gods are out there that it’s alcoholic—and strong, too. 

     Yeonjun finds Soobin waiting by the bowl, who perks up upon seeing him. His eyes land briefly on Jisung’s neck, and he’s just opening his mouth to speak before Yeonjun drags him away, likely preferring him alive. 

     “Han, can I talk to you?”

     Jisung tips back his cup of punch, swiveling to face—Seonghwa. Right. Since Minho calls him that, it’s only natural that Seonghwa would too. He blinks a few times to dissipate the venom in his eyes and nods, following Seonghwa to a more secluded corner of the common room.

     “Erm, I just wanted to ask…” Seonghwa says, fiddling with his own hands. “Are you, erm, interested? In Hongjoong?”

     “Er, he’s cute.” Jisung says honestly. “He’s a good kisser. We haven’t talked that much, really.”

     “Ugh, this is so stupid, I’m never asking him for advice again.” Seonghwa mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

     “You want me to step away.” Jisung says, not a question. 

     “I—I don’t have any claim over him or anything, and I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but I like him, a lot. Like, more than for his kissing. I don’t mean to say you don’t deserve him, but—“

     “No, no. You deserve him. He deserves you.” Jisung says with a light smile, raising both hands and backing up two steps. “He’s all yours.”

     Seonghwa gives him an appreciative smile, and Jisung turns back to the party, scanning heads for Felix’s platinum mullet and Hyunjin’s—woah. He finds Felix, but standing beside him…

     “Wow, that color is crazy.” Jisung marvels, approaching the newly-red Hyunjin. 

     “Isn’t it? I was getting tired of black, so I think I’ll charm it properly once this wears off.” Hyunjin says happily. “Here, try one.” He offers Jisung a Weasley-branded candy bag, which he takes cautiously, turning it over in his fingers.

     “It’s Color-Changing Candy Corn.” Felix says. “Don’t worry, it’s safe.”

     Trusting Felix more than he does Hyunjin, Jisung tears the bag open. It’s almost uncanny, seeing different color schemes on candy corn, but Jisung dives in and shoves several in his mouth at once. Both Hyunjin and Felix object in unison, watching helplessly as his hair presumably turns several colors at once.

     “How do I look?” Jisung says cheekily.

     “Like a unicorn threw up on you.” Hyunjin says, taking the bag back and rifling through it for a color of his choice. “Here, try this.” 

     Jisung's just about to take the candy when he feels an odd prickling on the back of his neck, turning to identify the source. It's Minho, his eyes on him from across the room—narrowed, insistent. It's not a glare, exactly. He's just looking, watching, intensely. 

     "Erm," Jisung says, returning the candy corn to the bag, "I feel kinda sick."

     With little explanation, he weaves between people and down the dorm staircase, splashing his face with water and avoiding looking at the bite in the mirror. 

     He's totally fucked.

Chapter Text

     "I don't understand." Hyunjin says dryly, making no attempts to hide Jisung from the professor like Jisung told him to. "I thought you loved Potions."

     "I do." Jisung whispers, moving to slouch behind Chan instead, who gives his hair a fond ruffle. He's crashing the joint Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Transfiguration class because he can't bear to sit next to Minho in Potions, but for obvious reasons, he's hesitant to admit that to Hyunjin. He'd buttoned his shirt all the way up to the top to ensure the hideous bite was covered, but he'd caught enough curious glances in the hall to know his fate had been sealed. Yesterday, Yunho confessed to Seungmin that Mingi may have mentioned it in conversation, which meant that Wooyoung definitely heard it, which basically means the whole school knows.

     "You can't avoid him forever." Felix says knowingly. 

     "I sure as hell can try." Jisung mutters. 

     Felix is right though. Jisung can't skip every Potions class for the rest of the year, so the very next day, he finds himself dropping into his seat in the dungeons, Minho joining him soon after.

     "Nice of you to join us, Jisung!" Slughorn jokes jovially. "What kept you up last time, hm?"

     "Nothing." Jisung murmurs, unable to resist the urge to glance at Minho, who's preoccupied rooting through his bag.

     "Oh ho!" Slughorn says, picking up on the sourness of his voice. "I guess he does bite then, hm?"

     Jisung jumps in his seat, momentarily stunned (the professors keep up on gossip now??) before he remembers Minho's initial arrival to the classroom. The leak in the ceiling, the only chair available…

     "If he bites, I claim full responsibility."

     Right. Joking. He's just joking—and what a cruelly coincidental one, too.

     "That'll be on me, then." Slughorn chuckles. "Perhaps I'll excuse your absence, then, as an apology." 

     "Mm." Jisung says distractedly, busying himself with his cauldron. Even though out of the corner of his eye, he can see Minho making mistakes, he doesn't make a snarky quip as he normally would. He keeps his head down, stays silent, and packs up without so much as an acknowledgment of Minho's presence. It's almost suffocating, compared to their normal way of passing the minutes: insults and eye rolls from Jisung, sighs and pretentious comments from Minho. Jisung doesn't let himself think about how he prefers that over the quiet, how he can't believe these crickets were the norm for his Potions periods, how he desperately wishes Minho would just say something—

     "Jisung!" 

     He looks up from packing away his stirring rod to see Hongjoong waiting by the doorway, all smiles. Jisung returns it, relieved by the noise, but nerves settle into the crevices of his brain, remembering Seonghwa's gentle request from four days ago. 

     "Hey." He exhales, meeting Hongjoong just outside the classroom. "Erm, I have to be honest with you."

     Hongjoong blinks, taken aback by the sudden confessional tone. "Er, okay."

     "I…like someone else." Jisung says, twisting his hands. "And I didn't think it would be fair to you if we kept on doing what we were doing. I'm sorry." 

     Hongjoong’s face softens, and he manages an oddly guilty sort of smile. "Ah. I had a feeling. It was fun while it lasted, though."

     Jisung grins, encouraged by his excellent reaction. "Yeah, it was."

     "If you don't mind my asking, who is it?" 

     Jisung internally panics, searching through his bank of names for one that makes at least a shard of sense. As evenly as he can muster, Jisung says, "Felix." 

     "Oh, wow. That must be hard." Hongjoong says, surprised. "With Chan and all."

     "Erm, yeah." Jisung says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It's tough."

     "Han, can I please go?" Minho's voice suddenly cuts through him, silky smooth and irritated. 

     Jisung had been blocking the door, unbeknownst to him, and he jumps out of the way as if he'd been shocked. He opens his mouth to try and come up with something to say, an apology, maybe, but Minho's already moving past him—their arms brushing—and stalking down the hall, his robes billowing out behind him like raven’s wings. His purple hair is as vibrant as ever; a firefly making itself known in the sea of pitch-black night that is his cloak. 

     Hongjoong makes a quiet sound with his mouth that sounds a bit like "Prick." Jisung can't make his own mouth work, rendered stationary like a robot waiting for instructions.

     "I don't know why Hwa's friends with him." Hongjoong says with distaste. "He's so stuck up."

     "Yeah." Jisung says flatly, his eyes not leaving him until he turns the corner. "He is."

-

     Over the next few days, things between them seem to change. It's weird, but despite all of Jisung's rudeness, Minho had—for the most part—not provoked him in any way. He remained calm, neutral, never initiating a spat, but giving about half of whatever Jisung gave back to him. He never completely stooped to Jisung's level, which only contributed to Jisung's agitation with him. 

     After that Tuesday, this flips on its head.

     "Did you crawl through a basilisk carcass to get here?" Minho says, arching a brow at Jisung as he takes his seat in Potions. He's uncommonly late, having stayed after in Ancient Runes to work on the homework with Chan. His hair is slightly tousled from tugging on it in his frustration, but he's otherwise unchanged, Minho’s words harsh and exaggerated. 

     "Did you charm your eyes crossed?" Jisung scoffs. "I look fine." 

     "You sound deluded."

     "Well, you sound like a mandrake." 

     "You smell like one."

     Disregarding the childish nature of the insult, he's unable to clap back, since the only senses left to pick from have Jisung's mind wandering into territory he'd rather not revisit. His mouth clamps shut, self consciously running a hand through his hair to right it. 

     On Friday, Minho compares him to a goldfish, which is basically just a slightly veiled way of calling him stupid. It makes Jisung’s stomach lurch, reminded of how Minho had called him such on Halloween. 

     The next Monday, however, is the kicker. Jisung notices Minho's poor knife technique in his periphery, and makes some snide remark about it—the remark itself gets lost in Jisung's memory banks, foggy and ultimately unimportant. All he knows is that it's something about Quidditch, and Minho's inadequacy, and—

     The knife's blade sinks into the narrow slice of table between Jisung's fingers, a precise, skilled shot. Although his chopping is sloppy, it looks like Minho has other, more practiced uses for his knife.

     "Shut up." Minho punches the words out, his eyes murderous. The closest Jisung had ever seen him like this would have been in The Great Hall, red notebook between them. That time, his anger had a touch of restraint. Now it's clear that both times, he had struck a nerve, and that this time, Minho had chosen not to let it slide. 

     Jisung freezes, shocked by the reaction and his heart beating rapidly from the threat of the sharp end right by his fingers. Minho retrieves the knife after a moment with one last glare in Jisung's direction, and neither of them speak for the rest of the period. 

     That night, though, he has a dream. A nightmare, really. The two of them are back in the HRR, but instead, Jisung is holding his potions notebook. Minho jumps out at him, forcing him against the wall and drawing that same knife from class, this time against his neck. The bite is mysteriously missing from his skin, and Minho presses the blade right where it would have been, drawing a light trail of blood. 

     “Maybe don’t take things that don’t belong to you, yeah?” Chan’s voice says, disembodied. 

     Disobeying the order, Minho takes the notebook right out of Jisung’s hands, his face painted with disgust. He echoes himself, but the new expression makes the words take on new meaning: he’s disgusted with Jisung. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

     Jisung can’t speak, can’t move, can’t confirm or deny in any way coherent. The words are sitting right at the base of his throat, writhing and screaming and clawing for escape. Minho’s knife-wielding arm tenses, as if to strike—

     “NO!”

     Jisung startles awake by the sound of his own voice, hoarse and desperate. He’s drenched in sweat, his covers nearly entirely tossed off, his hands clutching the sheets. San is leaning over him, concerned. 

     “You okay?” He says, his voice quiet and gentle.

     “I’m—I’m okay.” Jisung says, sitting up and wiping his forehead, embarrassed. San stays with him while he catches his breath, a comforting, consistent company in the early hours of the morning. It’s honestly a miracle he didn’t wake anyone else—Yeonjun would’ve killed him had he disrupted his beauty sleep.

     “Bad dream?” San finally asks, the silence contentedly retiring.

     “Do—do you ever feel like things are out of your control?” Jisung exhales, short and loaded. “Like, one minute, you’re making decisions, and the next, life just starts happening to you, barreling down a hill you didn’t even know was there?”

     There’s a pause, San considering him. “Sort of, yeah. I think I know what you’re talking about.”

     It’s not the answer Jisung was looking for. He wants Chan—needs Chan, like a child lost in the grocery store. He knows San is trying to help, though, so he changes the subject, putting him at ease with more assurances of how okay he is and a bit of small talk. Then, he clumsily pulls on his clothes and sneakers and stumbles into the Great Hall, feeling—again—like a child, but this time, like one asking to sleep with their parents for the rest of the night.

     Chan is predictably up already, at the tail end of some novel, surprisingly enough. He looks up as Jisung approaches the table, his eyebrows already tipping with worry. 

     “Hey, what’re you doing up so early?” He says tenderly, patting the spot next to him. The action is unnecessary—Jisung would’ve sat there anyway—but it’s something sweet Chan does when he can tell he needs it: a formal request for his company, the affirmation that he wants Jisung to join him, that he wants him around, in general. It’s the kinda thing that makes Jisung feel soft and melty inside.

     He cuts right to the chase, draping his arms over the table to pillow his head. “Do you ever feel like what you want and what fate wants are two different things?”

     The silence is heavy enough to determine his response, but Chan gives him a verbal one anyway. “Every second of every day.”

     His voice is so pained that Jisung has to look at him, has to search his sad smile for precise meaning. As it hits him, his heart aches for Chan. Wooyoung. Jisung returns his attention to the table, chewing on his thoughts and trying not to let his revelation show.

     “…Do you wanna talk about it?” Chan asks. 

     “I don’t know.”

     Another pause, this time lighter. 

     “You don’t.” Chan answers for him. He’s right, of course. How did he know, and Jisung didn’t? 

     “I don’t.” Jisung repeats. 

     Chan taps the cover of his book twice, and like a spell, releases them both from the haze that Jisung had been floating in since he woke up. “Y’know Seungmin recommended this to me?”

     Jisung peeks at the novel, elegantly titled The Secret History. “Did he?”

     “Mm hm.” Chan smiles, like he’s proud of himself. “I’m getting along pretty well with your friends, don’t you think?”

     Jisung huffs bemusedly, oddly flattered that Chan is so happy over something as simple as getting acquainted with his friends. “Is it any good?”

     “Well, I asked for something to read when I can’t sleep, but it’s a little heavy for me most of the time.” Chan chuckles. “Gives me a bit of a headache. But there are insomniac characters, so I feel represented.”

     “Are you gonna discuss it with him? Have your own little book club?”

     “That would be nice, yeah. Maybe you should get a copy and we can all talk about it.”

     “Why’s everyone up already?” Changbin interrupts, sliding into his seat across from them and glancing at the book. “What’s that?”

     “Book Seungmin recommended to me.” Chan repeats, holding it up so that Changbin can see the title. “It’s about a group of American classicists who kill their classmate.”

     “Spoilers!” Jisung objects, at the same time Changbin asks, “What’s a classy cist?”

     “It’s not a spoiler, the book tells you that the guy dies within the first few pages.” Chan says, rolling his eyes. “A classicist is someone who studies the classics. It’s mainly Greek in the book.”

     “Sounds like something Hyunjin would like.” Jisung says, his head pounding just thinking about it. “But I bet he’s already read it.”

     “You should try it.” Chan says, and his words are directed only at Changbin. He taps the cover again, and Jisung might actually start believing it’s enchanted, cause Changbin genuinely looks like he’s considering it. “You can talk about it with me and Seungmin. By Donna Tartt.” 

     “Maybe.” Changbin shrugs noncommittally, eyeing the book in a way he probably thinks is inconspicuous.

     “I’m almost done.” Chan says in an easy tone of voice, like he’s pretending he doesn’t know what Changbin will choose. “It’s Seungmin’s copy, I doubt he’d mind if you borrowed it.”

     “Mm.” Changbin says, feigning distraction. “Y’know Felix invited us to their little picnic this Friday?”

     “Oh, he did?” Chan blinks. 

     “Yeah. Jeongin Yang’s gonna be there too, so we can finally meet him.”

     “Dunno why it took him so long to invite you guys.” Jisung says cheekily, knowing full well that they hadn’t had one since Felix and Changbin officially made up. “D’you think it’s cause you smell?”

     Changbin aims to whack him on the arm, but Jisung dodges, snickering. “Asshole. You know, Felix isn’t the only one who can extend invitations, he’s not your ring leader!”

     To Jisung, yeah, he is. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “What, you think I was gonna invite you guys when I’m their newest member? That’d be impolite.”

     “And I’m sure you had to keep up your polite reputation.” A new voice says sarcastically. Jisung’s chest feels thick all of a sudden, like taffy has been strung up between his ribs. 

     “Lee.” He manages to say, short and dismissive. He’s appeared behind them, so quietly that none of them had noticed.

     “Han.” Minho replies, equally venomous. “You know, you left your little diary in the classroom yesterday.” He pulls Jisung’s notebook from his bag, waggling it in the air a few paces away. When Jisung swipes for it, he pulls it further out of reach.

     “Give it here.” Jisung demands, his heart seeming to trip down a flight of stairs upon recalling his apparently prophetic dream the night before. 

     “You don’t need it.” Minho says, sickly sweet and patronizing. “We’ve already established you can’t read.”

     Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

     “Yeah, that shuts you right up, doesn’t it?” Minho smirks, lightly tapping the top of Jisung’s head with the notebook, like he’s petting a well-behaved puppy. A follow-up attempt to grab the notebook fails again, and Minho slots it back into his bag. “Nuh uh. It’s mine now.”

     “Fucking—give it to me, Lee, quit playing around.”

     “How about this? A notebook for my silence.”

     The color drains from Jisung’s face, and—Jesus, goddamn it. He never thought Minho would blackmail him, but here he is. “You don’t mean that.” 

     “Oh, but I do.” Minho purrs, the corners of his lips turned up in a sickening smile. “I keep the notebook and I won’t tell. Unless you want your buddy there to know, hm?” He tilts his head in Chan’s direction, who—like Changbin—is completely slack-jawed, struck dumb from the shock of Minho’s hostility. Jisung doesn’t know why he’s targeting Chan specifically, but can’t bring himself to care.

     “That’s not funny, asshole.”

     “I’m not laughing, dipshit.” Minho says forcefully, his smile dropping to make way for a threatening glare. 

     “You can’t be fucking serious.”

     “That’s right, I’m not. I’m fucking you over.” Minho says, the comment coming without hesitation, like always. Even if Minho is less of an obvious nerd like Seungmin is, his true house colors ring out clearly in little, more malicious instances like now. “So what’ll it be, Han?” There’s a moment of tense silence as Jisung thinks. Then, his hand tightening around his wand, Minho adds, “Or, a counter-offer.”

     “What?”

     “We duel.”

     “That’s—!” Chan starts, but Jisung lifts a hand, which miraculously gets him to fall silent.

     “I’ll do it.” Jisung says, his words strained.

     “When?”

     “When are you free?”

     “This weekend?”

     “Can’t.” Jisung says, recalling Seungmin’s invitation to Hogsmeade from the day before.

     “Next weekend?”

     “Fine with me.”

     “Saturday at eight. Room of Requirement.”

     Somewhere in the recesses of Jisung’s brain, he realizes this sounds remarkably like they’re scheduling a date. He viciously ignores the thought. “Sounds good.”

     Minho returns the notebook with a small bang against the table, and his hand lingers on it even as Jisung grabs one side. “Winner gets to hold the cards. No seconds. If you bail, he’ll be the first to know.”

     Jisung has no idea who he’s talking about, but that only serves to frighten him more. “Deal.”

     Minho leaves as quickly as he arrived, moving like a breeze or a ghost that lightly flutters Jisung’s robes as he passes. Jisung takes his notebook and holds it close to his chest, having left his bag in his common room. A cold, heavy dread has sunk over his heart, threatening to pop it. The table is quiet for a few loaded seconds, and then Changbin finds his voice.

     “What the fuck was that?” He says, bewildered. “What’s he talking about? What does he know?”

     Jisung’s throat is tight and dry. He feigns distraction, flipping through his notebook to verify its condition. 

     “Jisung.” Changbin says, with a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re seriously not gonna tell us?”

     Somehow, they’re the exact right words to get Jisung’s defenses to splinter. Changbin’s right, surprisingly enough. These are his best friends, why shouldn’t he tell them? Yet—Jisung takes a breath and swallows, raising his head to meet both of their confused expressions—for some reason, it’s difficult. Changbin means no harm, but he tends to speak without thinking, and has the school’s most insidious gossips for friends. Chan is safe, always has been, but Jisung finds himself letting Minho get under his skin. Why did he specify that Chan shouldn’t know? Is Chan the ‘he’ that he threatened to tell first? What about Chan knowing is so bad? 

     Although he’s been friends with them for a decade, the seeds of doubt have been hatefully sown, sprouting and twisting into a wild monster of distrust. What the hell does Minho know about Chan that he doesn’t? The obvious answer is nothing—he’s bluffing, or misinformed, or something like that. But god—Jisung has been parading his dislike of Minho for nearly two months now. He’d be a laughingstock if people found out that some sultry words and magically elongated fangs had him crumbling underneath him—moaning his name, even. 

     Jisung shifts in his seat, his face flaring a damning red against his will. "S'nothing."

     Changbin's jaw almost literally drops, brows drawing close together with disbelief. "You're seriously not telling us. Jisung—what the fuck did you do? Kill someone? I'll hide the body, I don't care."

     That punches a laugh out of him, but he divulges nothing more. "No, I didn't kill anyone."

     "Then what??"

     Chan is noticeably quiet, watching the two of them argue. Jisung is relying on him to do what he always does—take his side, tell Changbin to leave it alone, change the subject. But he doesn't. He sits, not saying a word, taking neither side.

     "I'm telling you, it's nothing." Jisung says, but even he knows how stupid that sounds.

     "It's clearly something, otherwise you would have told us." 

     "Told you what?" 

     Like angels, Felix and the others have descended on the conversation, their curiosity much lower and ripe for a subject change. 

     "Seungmin, did we have defense homework?" Jisung asks innocently, quick to take advantage of the golden opportunity. As long as he can stop them from getting to—

     "Hyunjin." Changbin says immediately. "Jisung's keeping a secret and Lee is the only one who knows."

     Hyunjin's eyes widen, his pupils sparkling, and—well, shit. He's done for. "What??" He exclaims, dropping onto the bench and leaning into Jisung’s personal space. "Did you fuck?"

     "What?! No!" Jisung says, groaning. "Bin, you're a bastard."

     "A smart bastard." Changbin corrects smugly. 

     "Oh, I know!" Hyunjin says excitedly. "Is it something to do with Halloween?" Jisung tenses, and Hyunjin's eyes get impossibly bigger, knowing he's struck gold. "I knew it! You were acting so weird that night, slipping off early!"

     "Get out the tea leaves, why don't you?" Seungmin says dully, sliding onto the bench beside Changbin, who blinks a few times to process the action. "Then he won't even have to tell you."

     "Good idea!" Felix says, purposefully ignoring Seungmin's sarcasm. He sits next to Hyunjin, peering over his shoulder with interest. 

     Jisung props both elbows on the table, shading his face with his hands in a vain attempt to hide his warm cheeks. He's only making it worse by letting Changbin make a big deal out of it, but now he's in too far to back out.

     "You started acting pretty strange after the HRR." Hyunjin deduces, comically stroking his chin.

     "Well, he'd just been bitten." Seungmin says tiredly. "You can't blame him for that."

     Oh, but Hyunjin can. Judging by the cogs visibly turning on his face, he's about to. "Merlin. Was that it?"

     "What??" Felix prompts eagerly. 

     "You came running from Lee." Hyunjin says triumphantly. "You ran right into me. What happened before then, huh?"

     "He bit me, you all saw!" Jisung says with a touch of anger. "It's nothing to do with Halloween!"

     "Your body says otherwise, Jisungie." Hyunjin teases, unfazed. 

     “Lee mentioned something about him not being able to read.” Changbin says helpfully. “Does that give you any sort of clue?”

     "You're almost done?" Seungmin says suddenly, his face lighting up as he spots the book by Chan. 

     "Yeah!" Chan says cheerfully. 

     "What part are you up to?"

     "They just had the funeral." 

     "Oh, you're in for it." Seungmin giggles—actually giggles—eyes bright with anticipation. "What'd you think about Henry and the dirt? Remorseful?"

     "I honestly don't know." Chan says. "That's what Richard seemed to think, right? I feel like it could just be a kind of payment, y'know? To the universe, rather than Bunny.”

     "You can't possibly be talking about that book again." Hyunjin says flatly. 

     Seungmin shoots him a glare. "Yeah, we are. Chan actually appreciates it, unlike you." 

     Changbin watches, reserved interest evident. "Is it any good?"

     Seungmin turns to him, surprised. "It's fantastic. You should read it. Well—I mean, maybe not—"

     "I'll read it." Changbin shrugs. "Once Chan's done." 

     Seungmin cracks a small, cautious smile. "You won't be disappointed, I couldn't put it down when I first read it." 

     Jisung takes a look at the thick title under Chan's hand, skeptically lifting his brow. Changbin being willing to pick it up at all is a miracle. 

     "Who cares about that stupid book?" Hyunjin huffs. "Jisung, fess up."

     "I'm not telling you, and no amount of poking is gonna change that." Jisung says firmly. "Me and Lee are gonna duel, and then you'll never hear of the thing again."

     "What?? Duel?" Felix says, alarmed. "Jisung, you can't. That’s against school rules."

     "Since when do I care about school rules? I'm a Gryffindor at heart." Jisung says, rolling his eyes. 

     "One of you could get hurt. Really hurt." Seungmin says warily. 

     "I've heard Minho's parents used to be Death Eaters, Jisung." Hyunjin adds worriedly. 

     "That's bullshit, Jin." Seungmin says sharply. "Don't spread that."

     Hyunjin shrinks a little in his seat, feebly mumbling, "sorry." 

     Although he reminds himself not to take it seriously, Jisung can actually imagine that. Minho's cold entitlement, shrewd eyes, ruthless words. The way his cloak streams out behind him like a villainous cape. The only missing puzzle piece is his house—and his dismal Potions skills, and the way his teeth poke out when he doesn't know what to say, kind of like a rabbit, and—no. Jisung shakes his head, fervently clearing the thoughts.

     “I’ll be fine.” He says. “I’m going to the grave with this either way, so if an early death is waiting for me, I’ll still be getting what I want.”

     “That’s not funny, Jisung.” Chan says with a frown. He’s always been touchy about those kinds of jokes, in a way that reminds Jisung so much of his mum that it’s endlessly endearing, if not annoying, since he should know by now that he’s just messing around. 

     “I’m joking.” Jisung reminds him.

     “I’m not laughing.” Chan says firmly, a warmer echo of Minho’s words. “Your life happens to mean a lot to me.”

     “I—sorry, Chan.” Jisung sighs. “But really, I’ll be fine. What could he possibly do to me?”

     His friends—old and new alike—pass each other loaded glances. He knows all of them well enough by now to know what they mean.

     What the hell has he gotten himself into?

-

     On Saturday, the lot of them meet outside the Great Hall, thoroughly bundled up for the walk to Hogsmeade. Chan and Changbin had met Jeongin the day before at the Friday picnic, and although their banter is light and impersonal, Jisung considers it a win. 

     The atmosphere is snug and jovial, all seven of them walking close together to ward off the chill and talking loudly to be heard over the wind. They arrive at The Three Broomsticks fairly quickly and grab a large table at the very back, adjusting their volume for the setting and chatting about classes while Seungmin and Jeongin approach the counter to order for everyone. 

     “You know he called me Lee the other day? I’m still not sure whether he was mixing us up or if he forgot my first name.” Felix says, his cheeks slightly pink from Chan’s eyes on him. “I have no idea what’s gotten into him. And all this homework, too.”

     “I know!” Chan agrees. “You’d think that since we’re seventh-years, Binns would have a little mercy on us.”

     “Three rolls is ridiculous.” Hyunjin says with distaste. “I wasn’t even gonna do them. Maybe he won’t notice.”

     “He probably won’t.” Changbin says. “I didn’t do that essay on the Merpeople Riots and he gave me an E.”

     “Really?? Ugh, that makes me so mad.” Hyunjin fumes. “I spent three hours on mine!”

     “Two and a half.” Felix corrects. “Seungmin did the last thirty minutes.”

     “Okay, but the stupid thing collectively took three.”

     Jisung wants to say something, but his attention has been consistently captured by Seungmin and Jeongin, talking pleasantly by the bar, waiting for Madam Rosmerta to prepare their butterbeers. Their faraway, silent conversation has just turned in a different direction: Jeongin fidgeting and flushing, avoiding eye contact. Seungmin just blinks at him, his face expressionless. 

     “Sung, you’re being quiet. Is something up?” Chan asks quietly, the others still complaining about Professor Binns. 

     All of a sudden, Jeongin stops talking, and Seungmin bites his lip, eyebrows tipping upwards. Eventually, he responds, eyes downcast and wringing his hands. Jeongin freezes, blushes harder, even turns away in the effort to hide his face. After a moment, Jeongin says one last thing and flees, Seungmin extending a hand in vain to stop him.

     “Oh no.” Jisung says, his heart sinking. “I think Jeongin just confessed.”

Chapter Text

     Seungmin returns to the table looking shell shocked. Chan and Changbin are only made more confused by the knowing, pained looks on the rest of their faces. 

     “So he did it then?” Felix says morosely. 

     “You knew?” Seungmin says, his voice high and quiet, almost a whisper.

     “Yeah, we knew. Everyone knew, except for you.” Jisung says with a small huff. 

     “Er, I didn’t know.” Changbin says pointedly. “Me and Chan didn’t.”

     Everyone ignores him. “For how long?” Seungmin asks.

     “Since he met you, really.” Hyunjin says with a wince. “But it got stronger when you reconnected, obviously.”

     “I can’t believe it.” Seungmin says, flopping onto an open chair. “I thought I knew him so well.”

     “He’ll recover.” Hyunjin says gently. “He’s not the type to stay upset for long.”

     “I just never thought I’d be the one to break his heart.” Seungmin says, eyes glassy. 

     The rest of the Hogsmeade trip slogs by, quiet, sad, and—in Chan and Changbin’s case—mildly puzzling. Jisung has both arms flung over Felix and Chan’s shoulders, shuffling along, when he hears someone call his name. He stops, turns. 

     “Hey!” Hongjoong says, jogging away from the door to Honeydukes, where Seonghwa’s standing. He’s rosy-cheeked, ebullient, like a glass of fresh air. Wait—no, Jisung’s getting his wires crossed. “How are you?”

     Jisung reads his face, his little furtive glances at Chan and Felix, and knows what he’s talking about. “Good, good.”

     “Everything’s holding up? Staying out of trouble?”

     Seonghwa kicks at the ground, a poor attempt to look busy. Jisung wonders how much he told him. “For the most part.”

     “He’s gotten nasty, hasn’t he?” Hongjoong says, a tad secretively. “You must have really hit a nerve.”

     “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve wronged him any more than normal.” Jisung says. “He just started taking it personally all of a sudden.”

     “Isn’t it personal?” Hongjoong says, raising a brow.

     “Well, yes.” Jisung says with a chuckle. “It’s more so that he stopped being above it.”

     “Is that good?”

     “I guess I’ll see next Saturday.” Jisung says, and Hongjoong’s lack of surprise betrays him. 

     He presses his mouth into a thin line, pretty lips smothered by worry. “Be careful, Jisung.” 

     “I will be.” He says, beginning to back up to meet Chan, who’s waiting a few paces behind the others. Stepping away like this, Hongjoong in his entirety seems to snap into place, as if he’d only been a few poorly rendered polygons beforehand. Big doe eyes, smooth expanses of skin, straight nose, his natural, alluring charisma that Chan had informed Jisung he shares. 

     It had happened so quickly, that little glimpse into each other’s lives—each other’s lips—and although Jisung had never considered what might’ve happened if they managed to stretch further than that, he’s struck with a sudden, strong sense of loss. They were nothing but fireworks, a popping, fantastical whimsy, insubstantial as ripples in a puddle but gorgeous in hindsight. Jisung is almost convinced that if he kissed him now, he’d recognize the sweet, sharp crackle on his tongue; a match struck—heat, friction—and finally, fire.

     Jisung gave that up pretty quickly, didn’t he?

     Looking behind him, though(as difficult as he realizes that is in the moment), he sees Seonghwa again, those diligent brows, gentle eyes—safety, security, a bond so tight and natural that it seems almost obvious they’re a forever kind of relationship. Wherever that takes them.

     Jisung hesitates and Hongjoong tilts his head, provides a single, attractive chuckle, as if to say, anything else?

     “…I’ll see you around, alright?” Jisung settles on, raising two fingers in salute. “Make sure to protect him from Lee.”

     “For sure.” Hongjoong smiles, understanding without needing to be told who he means. Seonghwa gives them a polite wave, and the two of them depart.

     Jisung walks at Chan’s side for a few minutes, their arms pressed together to conserve body heat. There’s no pressure to fill the silence, but eventually, Chan speaks.

     “You two seem less involved.” He observes, his voice light and neutral.

     “Oh, I forgot you don’t know.” Jisung says easily, his reflection reducing to a syrupy kind of memory as he further speaks it into the past. “Seonghwa likes him, so I backed off. Finders keepers, y’know?”

     “I hope you didn’t hurt his feelings.”

     “Nah, of course not. I told him I like Felix. Lee was there, so it was kinda awkward, but Hongjoong took it pretty well.”

     Chan stops, and Jisung turns a foot or so ahead, unprepared for his sudden halt. His face is totally blank, which Jisung knows means that he’s thinking, putting some puzzle together in his head. Jisung is dying to know what’s going on up there, but he bites his tongue, waits for Chan to come out and say it.

     Finally, Chan says, “What??”

     “I told him I like Felix. Y’know, like my heart was taken, or whatever.” Jisung explains. “Is that weird? Felix said he doesn’t mind.”

     “N-no, it’s not weird, I just…” Chan trails off, his eyes empty and a tad bewildered. “Nothing. I’m over—I’m thinking of something else.”

     As much as he wants to, he doesn’t push Chan, instead turning his words over in his brain. He lands briefly on jealousy, but quickly after, abandons the thought. Jisung—despite his lack of personal experience—can understand that odd sort of envy or alarm, of someone who likes you being sought after and scooped up by a third party. It’s most definitely selfish, yet understandable nonetheless. 

     But Chan isn’t that kind of person. Not in a million years. He wants the best for everyone, his admirers included, and is secure enough in himself that the lack of one person’s attention isn’t detrimental to his mental health, unlike the way Jisung operates.

     He must have just been thinking about something else, like he said.

-

     Seungmin spends the rest of the weekend thoroughly depressed, thumbing droopily through Arithmancy for the Erudite on Hyunjin’s bed, eyebrows permanently furrowed. On Monday morning, he looks guiltily at the Slytherin table, searching fruitlessly for Jeongin’s face.

     “He skips breakfast, Minnie.” Hyunjin says once he joins them at the Gryffindor table, Felix right behind. “He’s not gonna show up.”

     “What would you even say to him?” Jisung asks, getting a pointed look from Chan, who can always tell when someone’s said the wrong thing.

     “I don’t know.” Seungmin says, taking a sad drink of his pumpkin juice. “But I wanna say something.”

     Care of Magical Creatures the next day is awkward. Jisung and Jeongin hadn’t really had time to get close, but they had started pairing up for activities after they formally met. Still, they gravitate together—mostly because they know each other the best out of everyone else—but the air is tense and consistently silent.

     As for other matters, Potions has become a nightmare. Every second in the classroom, Jisung and Minho are simmering cauldrons, and the slightest thing can set the other off, temperatures rising, threatening to boil over. At one point, Minho actually scoots his chair to sit on the other side of the drip, the distance between them comical and forcing Jisung to stand up in order to stop another disaster.

     Minho finds ways to keep making sly references to Halloween, dropping hints about “dark secrets,” and raising his voice just a tad while he does so. The curious glances from other tables are driving Jisung insane, making him wish Slughorn wasn’t in the room so that he could punch Minho in the mouth. 

     He doesn’t even get a reprieve while he’s sleeping. All week, his dreams are plagued by faceless crowds laughing, the glint of cutting knives, and Minho’s eyes peering at him from the dark. 

     God. Why the hell did he agree to this stupid duel? It’s not like he has a plan. What could he even do? Jinx him? Tickle him until he surrenders? Magically steal his vocal chords so that he doesn’t run around telling people his secrets? Minho’s a Ravenclaw. He probably has a million ideas, a million nasty spells up his sleeve, and a million more strategies. Why the fuck did Jisung think this was a good idea?

     Still, Jisung’s no coward. He won’t back out or even try to renegotiate. He created this problem, and he’ll fix it.

     Or at least, he’ll shut it up.

-

     When Jisung leaves the Slytherin common room at 7:50, he can sense the presence waiting by the side, and he sighs heavily.

     “Chan, go back to your common room.” 

     “This is a terrible idea and you know it.” Chan says firmly, arms crossed over his chest. “Whatever you’re hiding isn’t worth all this trouble.”

     “You don’t know that.”

     “Jisung, seriously.” Chan says, his voice dipping into pained. “Look, I’m trying not to be hurt by this whole thing, but I thought we told each other everything. Don’t you trust me?”

     “I’m not the only one keeping secrets.” Jisung snaps, and doesn’t look to watch Chan’s face inevitably fall. “Obviously I trust you. There are just some things that I don’t want anyone to know. It’s the same as you.”

     Thankfully, Chan doesn’t waste time trying to convince Jisung that this is ‘different.’ Instead, he approaches, threading fingers through Jisung’s hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—no, you’re right. You don’t have to tell me everything. You don’t even have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to.”

     “I wanna tell you things, don’t be ridiculous.”

     “No, I mean it. I’m not entitled to be a part of your life just because we’ve known each other for ages.” Chan insists. “I’m lucky to be this close to you, so I shouldn’t get greedy. Thank you for letting me into your life.”

     For some reason, this greatly embarrasses Jisung. He flushes, wincing slightly, and turns away to avoid eye contact. “Chan, come on.”

     Chan giggles, drags him into a hug. Knows, in that way of his, “Am I embarrassing you, Sung?” 

     “Yes,” Jisung mumbles pathetically, helpless to do much else. “You are. And you’re gonna make me late.” 

     Chan is frowning when he pulls away. “This is still a really stupid idea.”

     “What’s he gonna do? Kill me?”

     Chan gives him that unimpressed look of his. “He could hurt you really bad.”

     Jisung sighs again, pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll recover. The human body is really good at that, y’know. And we’re also, like, wizards. Magic helps.”

     Chan glares as he recedes. “I won’t be there to piece you back together!”

     “I know you will!” Jisung calls cheekily, rounding the corner. He can hear a whispered ‘dammit’ echo off the castle walls, and chuckles quietly to himself. He was being serious before, though—he’s gonna be late if he doesn’t pick up the pace. So he does, a jog that cascades similarly on the sloped ceilings and likely attracts patrolling prefects, not that he cares. 

     Minho had slipped him a note before Potions ended, containing a single sentence: a place to duel in secret. Jisung—putting his minimal brain cells to use—deduced that this is the prompt he’s meant to mentally feed the Room of Requirement, which he does diligently on arrival. An unassuming wooden door appears on the wall, startling contrast to the grand black double doors from Halloween night.

     It strikes him then, the poetic justice of it. Returning to the same—but different—place to put those frankly traumatizing events behind him. Regardless, he brushes those thoughts to the back of his head and steps inside, closing the door behind him to ensure no one can follow. 

     The room is oblong and dark, meager torches lining the two longest walls in increments. On the floor there’s a pattern of lines and evenly spaced inset stones, marching away from a center oval. As Jisung steps on them, they light up, and he realizes what they are: pace markers, to ensure both parties take the appropriate three steps before casting their spell of choice. 

     Minho’s already there, leaning impatiently against the right wall, his feet facing the center-most stone. He straightens as he hears the door shut, wand drawn and sitting comfortably in his left hand. 

     “Han.” He says diplomatically.

     “Lee.” Jisung responds in kind, fishing his own wand from his back pocket and approaching him. There’s a substantial, silent pause before he adds, “So, how are we going about this?”

     “You’ve never dueled before?”

     “No.”

     Minho huffs, an incredulous sound from his nose. “You people. There’d be a duel a week at Beauxbatons.”

     It’s an odd surprise, being reminded of Minho’s origins. He lacks the accent, so it’s not hard to forget he spent most of his schooling in France. 

     “Is there a lot of pent-up aggression in French boys?” Jisung asks, lightly mocking. 

     “A lot of emotions in general. No one smothers them like they do here.”

     “That's just a stereotype, most of us aren't like that. I’m not like that.”

     “No. You’re not.” Minho says, irritably clicking his tongue, like he’s a snarky employee who wants to get out of here at a reasonable hour. Jisung is struck with an overwhelming self-consciousness, the silliness of it all just starting to sink in. 

     Is he really going to do this? What is he going to do? He has no plan, no backup plan, no one to rescue him should things go south. What if Hyunjin was right? What if Minho does have a rotten family, and knows spells Jisung can only dream of? 

     No, relax, forget that. 

     “You’re one to talk, anyway.” Jisung says. “You’re not the most expressive person I’ve ever seen.” 

     “That doesn’t mean I’m not experiencing emotions.” Minho says, raising one brow. 

     They stand there, quiet, measuring each other up. Minho’s wand is curved and capped with silver, unruly, thorn-like details at the core. Jisung can piece together some sort of metaphor—streamline and sturdy where he grasps it, but wild and unpredictable where magic flows. Jisung’s own wand is nearly the opposite: handle full of pre-existing fissures, the base a gnarled bramble, but the shaft as straight as an arrow, if not for the crook in the tip.

     Jisung resists the urge to flush at the phallic undertones of the subject, tearing his eyes away from both wands and begging his brain to stop its comparisons there. Enough. He came here to beat him, take back the cards, make him…ugh, Jesus Christ. This sounds like the plot of a porno.

     “A-are you just gonna stand there, or are we gonna fight?” He finally says, swearing internally at his stutter. 

     Minho raises his wand, arm extended so that the tip grazes Jisung’s chin—languid, indifferent. “I guess so, unless you wanna talk about what happened that night.”

     “Nothing happened.” Jisung says through his teeth, batting his wand away with the back of his hand. 

     “It’s just us, Han. No need to perform.”

     The sheer truth of it—the fact that this is something he can only talk to Minho about—infuriates him. He makes it sound so intimate, so personal, like Jisung trusted him with a secret, rather than it falling into his lap and immediately being used as currency.

     “I’m not performing. Nothing happened.” Jisung insists, face tightening with anger. “Nothing that matters, anyway."

     "What does that mean?"

     "It was with you, so it means nothing to me." Jisung says venomously, grip tightening on his wand. "Now are we gonna duel, or what?"

     Minho's brows knit with agitation, and he takes his spot on one end of the oval, Jisung following. He bows, and upon rising, positions his wand in front of his face, aligned with his nose, lips parted just so to reveal those bunny teeth of his. 

     Jisung copies the pose, purposefully omitting the bow, and Minho huffs.

     "It's your first duel and you're already a terrible sport." He says, disapproving. 

     "Blackmail isn't particularly sportsmanlike in the first place." Jisung tosses back, eyes narrow. 

     Minho lowers his wand, and Jisung echoes him. "Fair," He says, mouth twitching into the threat of a coy smile. "But you have to play along to some extent." 

     "Like?"

     "Countdown from three." Minho says, turning his back on him. "Three…"

     Jisung's foot touches the first stone, which glows green under his shoe. For some funny reason, he'd been expecting red.

     "Two…"

     Oh god. Wait a second, he was supposed to be coming up with an idea all this time. He advances onto the next stone, mind totally blank but running a million miles an hour from panic. Chan was right, this is not worth it, but then again, it is, so why can't he think of—

     "One." 

     Jisung swivels around to face him again, arm raising on autopilot and the incantation falling from his mouth faster than he can stop it—faster than Minho can defend, as well.

     "Lapifors!" Jisung yells, in the middle of Minho's longer spell, his wand pointed directly at his face. There's a pop and a puff of air, and Minho stops short, blinking rapidly from shock. The spell went wrong, obviously. Instead of transfiguring him entirely, a fantastic set of whiskers and bunny ears have erupted from his head, the tip of his nose blushed pink. 

     This is what Jisung gets for allowing his subconscious brain to take over. 

     After a moment of disbelief from both parties, Minho regains his composure, pointing his wand between Jisung’s eyes with new fury. "Flipendo!"

     Jisung is knocked backwards, losing his balance and toppling onto the floor. He has to scramble to right himself, uttering a sloppy "Silencio," as Minho conjures a shield, causing the spell to bounce back. 

     He smirks, walking several paces closer to lean over Jisung in a way that may have been intimidating if not for the big purple ears flopping around on his equally purple head. "Thinking about surrendering? It'd be in your best interests." 

     With his lips sealed, Jisung can't answer or fight back—at least not verbally, and nonverbal spells have never been his strong suit. He glares at Minho, victory written all over his face, carelessly examining his nails. 

     "I'm not sure what I'll do with the power." Minho continues egotistically. "Tell the whole school? Tell no one, but know I can? Hold it over your head for the rest of the year? I doubt that would technically count as torture, but the intention is th—"

     Jisung can’t help it. Yes, he's aware it probably isn't allowed during a wizard duel, but with no other way to defend himself, what’s he supposed to do? He stands, punching Minho in the face as hard as he can muster. Minho stumbles back and nearly falls, dazed and shocked. 

     They hold eye contact for a moment, and as Jisung shakes his fist out, he notices a glimmer of fear in Minho's eyes. Jisung's heart skips, wild with power, and swings at him again, this time landing a hit in his nose. Minho exclaims in pain, clutching the appendage, which blushes redder than before and even starts to bleed. 

     It occurs to Jisung that he’s a rich, pretentious, pureblood asshole—that maybe he doesn’t even know how to punch people. It’s a plausible but additionally puzzling idea. His hands—observed in passing as he dumped ingredients into his cauldron—are soft and slender, unblemished by scrapes from wrestling in the dirt with Changbin or calluses from playing guitar with Chan.

     Jisung points to his mouth, and Minho wordlessly flicks his wand, releasing him from the jinx. Rapid and angry, Jisung spits, “I don’t care about your stupid rules or your stupid duel, I’ll give you a black eye if you tell anyone.”

     Minho clenches his teeth. "You're just as barbaric as I thought."

     Whatever self control was holding Jisung together up until that point snaps. He had been perfectly clear with Minho about why he dislikes him, but he'd never known why Minho felt the same. He should've been expecting the answer regardless: bigoted and soaked with superiority. 

     He grabs Minho's shirt and punches him in the jaw, pulling another yelp of pain from him. They struggle, Jisung’s back crashing against the wall, both wands clattering on the floor, abandoned. Minho makes a valiant effort at reciprocating, but he's not nearly as angry and doesn't hit hard enough. There's a blur of clumsy fists and meagar attempts at defense, skin slapping against skin with pathetic sounds that do nothing to satiate Jisung's fury. He manages to land his promised punch to the eye before Minho catches his arms just above the elbows and forces them flush with the wall, prohibiting his movement.

     “Get your fucking hands off me!” Jisung says, thrashing against him. 

     “Why don’t you control yourself, for one second!” Minho yells, holding him there like he’s a collapsing floodgate. 

     “You’re one to talk!” Jisung says viciously. “You can’t keep your mouth off me even when you were specifically told to!” He means to hurt Minho’s pride with this, an attempt to turn the lamp back on him, but heat rises in his own cheeks, and his words don’t land the way he intends them. “Yeonjun was right, you—you are drooling for me.”

     Minho’s face twists, a cruel mix of triumphant and something else, a subtle humiliation hidden in the twitch of his brow. He leans closer, newly-sprouted whiskers barely tickling Jisung’s cheek. “If me doing my job constitutes as drooling, you must be beating one out to me every night.”

     Jisung gasps, shocked to hear something so vulgar from Minho’s prim, well-mannered mouth. 

     “Can you hear my voice still?" Minho whispers, tilting his head so that his mouth is right by Jisung’s ear. "Stupid little brat. You're enjoying this, aren't you?" His voice drips with sarcasm, self-deprecating, like the idea is ridiculous. 

     Jisung pushes against him as hard as he can, but his muscles are becoming weak, blood directed to his face instead. How does he know? How does he choose the exact right words every time?

     "Am I a good stand-in? Should I talk lower, make it easier on your imagination?" Minho says, almost a growl, dropping an octave. "I wonder what fantasies you'll spin from this, you sick fuck. You know it's bad manners to think of someone else on our little date." 

     "What?" Jisung breathes, still recovering from the sound of 'fuck' rolling off his tongue. 

     Minho pulls him a fraction off the wall to slam him harder against it, Jisung's head knocking against stone and making him even dizzier than he already is. Minho's eyes are darker than he thought possible, brows tangled horribly in anger. 

     "Don't be an idiot." He snaps. "You know, you kept me up at night with that fucking trick. You, with that head full of air, managed to make me look stupid."

     "I dunno what you're talking about!" Jisung insists, frustration feeding his previously waning flame. "Let me go, Lee, come on!"

     "Don't gimme that shit!" Minho says, grip tightening on Jisung’s arms. "Merlin, I hate how you call me that!"

     This shocks him, but he's too angry to use the information for anything other than provocation. "What shall I call you then?" Jisung says hatefully, bowing his head in faux submission. "Sir?"  

     "No." Minho says heavily, disgust swallowing his features. "Don't call me anything. Don't talk to me, don't think of me, don't perceive me. I wish I never met you."

     "I wish you never came here!" Jisung shoots back.

     Minho wipes at his previously ignored nosebleed, smearing crimson across his knuckles, and Jisung despises that it’s attractive. Jisung’s the one who did that to him, and still, Minho comes out on top. They both stare at the blood on his hand, motionless, stunned by the vibrance of it. 

     “I—“ Minho releases Jisung, as if yanked from a trance. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” He grabs his wand where it lays a few feet away and leaves, just like that. Jisung’s brain chugs, fights to keep up. What just happened? Was that a draw?

     Although, thinking back to the punches thrown—bruises-to-be—and the new furry additions Minho had left with, it would seem to outside observers that Jisung had won.

     So why does he feel so empty?

Chapter Text

     Somehow, everyone had known about the duel. 

     The next day, Jisung is hounded for details as he enters The Great Hall for breakfast, mostly by first and second-years, giddy from the rumors of violence. 

     “Did he use the cruciatus curse??”

     “Someone said he stabbed you, where’s your big gash?”

     “Were you scared?”

     Jisung brushes them away, easy from their heads below his shoulders, and continues on his way to the Gryffindor table, where all five of his friends are pretending not to be waiting for him.

     “Sung.” Chan says first, relieved as his instant, visual check-up proves him to be unharmed. “How was it? What happened?”

     Jisung takes a breath to speak, but just then, Felix gasps, a restrained little sound that has the rest of them looking back at the open doors of the hall. Jisung turns as well, making direct eye contact with Minho, who somehow manages to get the whole room’s attention without saying a word. His rabbit ears remain, although he looks to have plucked out all the whiskers. He’s holding a wadded-up towel to his eye, and Jisung can only assume an ice pack is stored inside, because as his hand falters, he can see a dark violet smudge absorbing his eyelid. Other bruises mottle his face, little splotches of purple, blue, and yellow. His skin is puffy, features downturned and defeated.

     He could’ve gone to the hospital wing, Jisung thinks, alarmed. But—a second after—realizes that this is on purpose. He’s not just showing Jisung his hand, he’s giving him the card he had up his sleeve, too. It’s surrender: total, complete surrender. Jisung must have thoroughly beat him, both physically and apparently mentally, for him to give up like this.

     As Minho breaks their line of sight, shuffling to the Ravenclaw table to sit beside Seonghwa, Jisung can’t possibly feel happy about it.

     “Holy shit.” Changbin says, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. “You mopped the floor with him.”

     “And then wrung him out and hung him up to dry.” Felix adds, aghast. 

     “How the fuck did you do that??” Hyunjin demands, planting both hands on the table. “I was so sure he’d wreck you!”

     “I thought you weren’t supposed to hit each other during a wizard’s duel.” Seungmin says, brow raised.

     “You’re not.” Jisung groans, grabbing the nearest goblet of pumpkin juice to press its chilled side to his temple. “It just happened.”

     “It just happened??” Hyunjin repeats, incredulous. “What, you just started brawling out of nowhere?”

     “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

     “Oh great, another thing he won’t talk about!” Hyunjin says, throwing his hands up in the air. 

     “But—but you’re okay, Jisung?” Chan clarifies, gentle concern in his voice rather than disbelief.

     “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Jisung sighs, taking a swig of the goblet. 

     “So you beat him up and he surrendered?” Changbin says, leaning closer over the table. 

     “Well, there was some magic at the beginning.” Jisung says. “He sorta provoked me, we fought—actually, he said some really weird, cryptic stuff that I didn’t understand.”

     “Like what?” Felix says, eyes sparkling with interest. 

     “He kept insisting I tricked him somehow.” Jisung says, sparing a glance back at Minho and Seonghwa. “But I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

     “Silly rabbit.” Seungmin muses, getting a grin from everyone but Hyunjin and Changbin. No one has him finish the quote. 

     “That’s such a weird word,” Hyunjin says, “tricked. Like, purposefully malicious. I don’t understand how you can’t remember whether you tricked him or not.”

     “Well if I can’t remember, then clearly I didn’t.” Jisung says with a scoff. “He must be misinformed or something.”

     “Do you think—?” Chan stops, reconsiders. “Nevermind.”

     “What?” Hyunjin says. 

     “You can’t start a sentence and not finish it around Hyunjin.” Seungmin says dryly. 

     “Nothing, it’s just…” Chan scans their faces, his own set with bewilderment. “If he’s misinformed, who gave him the misinformation?”

     The others hum in agreement with the question, throwing out potential candidates, but Jisung presses his lips together, skeptical. He can tell that’s not what Chan was originally going to say.

-

     Word travels fast for such a big castle. Pretty much everyone is surprised that Jisung won—a small hit to his ego—but the overwhelming mutual decision is, as teens do, to turn to ridicule.

     Poor Minho is referred to as ‘Leebit’ in private and in company, regardless of the fact that Madam Pomfrey was able to remove the ears by Tuesday. The narrative before(told to Jisung by San during Transfiguration on Monday) was that Minho was the big scary mystery boy—death eater parents behind him—while Jisung was Chan’s innocent little friend, splayed open and helpless just being in the same room as Minho. 

     Now they’ve become a classic David versus Goliath tale, Minho all bark and no bite, shriveled pride from being knocked off his high pedestal. His mysterious charm has worn off, many hopping on Jisung’s hateful bandwagon, full steam ahead, for no reason other than kind-of sort-of losing to him. They pick up on the unfairness of him stealing Sunghoon's spot on the team, all while ignoring the blatant breakage of rules that Jisung accomplished in order to win the duel in the first place. All of a sudden, it seems Minho had a hundred enemies who ‘never liked him,’ and they keep crawling out of the woodwork to personally congratulate Jisung for showing him his place.

     To put it simply, Minho’s image has been completely transfigured—from raven to rabbit—basically overnight. 

     The first version of reality makes Jisung scoff from its ridiculousness, but the second just makes him feel heavy, weighed down with guilt and imposter syndrome, unable to play the hero that the student body has collectively cast him as. 

     “It’s a shame, cause I campaigned for Leeny.” Wooyoung sighs during Herbology on Tuesday, idly plucking one petal from his asphodel flower. “Y’know, ‘Lee’ and ‘Bunny?’ It’s got a nice ring to it, I think.”

     “That’s stupid.” Changbin says with a huff. 

     “It sounds like he’s wearing two shoes of differing heights.” Chan snorts. “Constantly at an angle.”

     Despite his heaviness, Chan’s joke makes him feel lighter. “It sounds like he has a penchant for cough syrup.” Jisung says dryly. Only Chan laughs, but it's not like he can blame them. 

     During Transfiguration, Jisung keeps his eyes glued to his desk, since Minho sits at the front of the classroom. He can't avoid looking at him forever, though, because he has Potions after lunch. He parts from his friends in the Great Hall like a sloth, oozing out of his seat and exchanging goodbyes with each of them individually until Changbin finally shoves him away.

     A part of Jisung is worried that Minho might have arrived before him—bishop making a subtle check—but he doesn't. Another advantage, dropped right into Jisung’s hands. He sits, taking out his notebook, wiping down his cauldron—tick, tick, tick: clockwork. Students file in after, easy chattering, none as wound up as Jisung is.

     A soft thump: Minho's bag meeting the floor beside his chair. The drip is muted as it hits his shoulder instead of the stool. Jisung holds his breath, waits for his ears to be graced by the screeches of metal across stone, Minho scooting himself out of danger's path. Nothing comes.

     He looks up, and Minho is simply letting it fall on him, murky droplets collecting on his cloak. Giving up. Minho doesn't even turn to meet his obvious attention, just wipes down his cauldron and takes out his textbook, chin tipping up to wait for Slughorn's instruction. 

     Jisung averts his eyes, does his best to keep to himself, checking on Minho every once in a while in his peripherals. He’s not doing so bad, which would usually be good, but Jisung kind of wants an excuse to say something to him, so it’s less than ideal today. Eventually, he gives in, tearing a sheet from his notebook and scribbling a message to him. 

i want you to know that i didn’t come up with any of this leebit stuff

     He folds the paper and pushes it in Minho’s direction without looking, thoroughly busying himself with his potion so that he isn’t tempted to watch Minho’s reaction. He doesn’t have to wait long before there’s the telltale crinkle of the note being passed back, also without eye contact.

Okay.

     This response doesn’t satisfy him. It’s so passive, defenseless, unbearably so. Jisung scratches a new message below it, passing it again.

i didn’t mean for any of this to happen. i feel kinda shitty about it so i wanted to say sorry

     Moments later, it returns.

Okay.

     Jisung’s posture droops, not feeling a shred better than before he apologized. Did Minho really mean what he said? Don’t talk to him, think of him, perceive him. Is this it? Silence for the rest of the year? He’s not sure he can stand that. 

     Minho’s just about to tip a vial into his cauldron, but Jisung realizes it’s the wrong color, and his hand shoots out to grab his wrist. The room takes notice, a unanimous falter, holding their breath, as if another fight would break out right there. Minho finally looks at him, and—oh god. He still has a black eye, fading now, but unmistakably there. He hadn’t let Madam Pomfrey heal it, like he did the ears and the rest of his bruises. 

     The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Jisung says, almost reaching whisper territory.

     Minho blinks at him, tilts his head in the direction of the vial. “Which one is it, then?”

     “No, that’s—“

     Minho peers down at his textbook, discovering his error. Muttering a quiet, “ah,” he pulls his wrist out of Jisung’s grip and grabs the correct vial, adding it to his potion. With that, he turns away, and the conversation is over.

     At dinner, Seungmin arrives late, panting from having run from the library. "Sorry." He exhales, sliding onto the bench beside Jisung. "Lost track of time." He dumps a few thick books onto the open spot next to him and then reaches for the serving utensils to pile food onto his plate.

     "No need to apologize." Chan says warmly.

     "Hey, um…" Changbin says, leaning over the table slightly. "I have a question for you."

     "Me?" Seungmin clarifies, one brow raised. 

     "Yeah." Changbin says, and then produces a torn scrap of parchment from his pocket. "What do these words mean?"

     He passes it over the table, and Jisung curiously reads his clumsy scrawl over Seungmin’s shoulder. 

dissolute

Tolkien

Disney/Disneyland

capricious

magnanimous

Clemson

football

     The list goes on, Seungmin's eyes scanning it, perplexed, until they land on Alfred Douglas and The Comte de Montesquiou, where his face lights up. "You—you're actually reading it?"

     "Sort of." Changbin says, embarrassed. "I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time."

     “Sorry, I didn’t even—it’s a very referential book, I had to look things up too.” Seungmin says, quick and apologetic. A look of helplessness passes across Changbin’s face, and Jisung can tell he doesn’t know what ‘referential’ means either. Seungmin doesn’t notice his distress, continuing, “What do you think of it so far?”

     “It’s really…pretty.” Changbin says, and Jisung is shocked by the honesty in his words. Him and Seungmin launch into further discussion, and the rest of the group swivels their attention away, as if to give them faux privacy.

     “Are you guys ready for Saturday?” Chan asks.

     “For sure.” Hyunjin says confidently. “We’ve been practicing loads to prepare for Yeonjun’s bullshit.”

     “You better win.” Chan warns. “Otherwise they’ll be up a lot.”

     “Trust me, we know.” Felix says with a chuckle. “It’s all Joong talks about.”

     “He’s gone into his state.” Hyunjin says. “Pacing, muttering to himself. Me, Yunho, and Rosé have been staying after the past few practices.”

     “Well, I doubt that’s the only reason he's stressed.” Chan says. Hyunjin and Felix both tilt their heads, and Jisung opens his mouth to ask what he means, but Chan is already speaking. “November twenty-sixth?”

     It’s the twenty-fifth. Jisung joins the other two in tilting his head.

     “Wooyoung’s birthday.” Chan sighs, like it’s ridiculous they didn’t remember. Jisung’s heart softens—Chan never forgets birthdays, especially the ones belonging to those close to him. 

     “What’s so special about Wooyoung’s birthday?” Felix asks.

     “Oh right, I forgot you don’t really know him. It’s kind of a big deal.” Chan says.

     Despite Jisung’s deficient memory, his connection to Changbin has put him in the immediate splash zone each year once the date rolled around. Birthdays at Hogwarts aren’t usually fanciful affairs, reduced to gifts from parents by owl, smiles and well-wishes from friends, and a special slice of cake appearing on their plate after dinner was magically cleared away. 

     Chan especially disregards his own birthdays, which is cruel considering how special he always makes Jisung and Changbin’s. A mere four days before Minho arrived(what a carefree time that was!), Jisung had woken up to cards from him, his siblings, and his parents, along with a particularly good hug. When Jisung realized he hadn’t done his Ancient Runes translations due the following day, Chan had done them for him, spectacularly, with no corners cut like Jisung normally does on his own work. The Professor probably sniffed him out immediately, but Jisung got the grade, so who is he to complain?

     Chan’s enthusiasm doesn’t carry over to himself. This year, he had the audacity to try and shoo Jisung away, providing the excuse of the Friday picnics, which at the time he had not been invited to. Obviously, Jisung wasn’t deterred. Chan may prefer nothing grandiose, but Jisung knows him well enough to be certain he really does want his company.

     Wooyoung though? His birthdays are always a spectacle, much like himself. He parades about for the entire week, requesting ‘birthday favors’ and playing especially devious pranks that he knows he wouldn’t get away with normally. The majority of the student body is safe from his chaos, but even knowing him through someone else puts one within a precarious proximity. 

     “He had Changbin oink at him the entire day in third year.” Jisung says after explaining this to Felix and Hyunjin. “And in fourth-year, Hongjoong—“

     “Found a big spider in his robes!” Felix finishes, mouth agape. “That was for Wooyoung’s birthday??”

     “Yep.” Chan chuckles. “It’s like his own little muck-up day, except every year. In fifth year, he had me and Changbin wear these ridiculous hats.” 

     “Oh, are we talking about Woo’s birthday?” Changbin asks, him and Seungmin finally tuning back into the main conversation. “You know, he’s got his eyes on you, Jisung.”

     “Yeah, I was afraid of that.” Jisung says morosely. All these years and somehow, he’s consistently eluded harm, which has become a sort of bit that Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to resist prodding. It would be so on-brand if Jisung got the full force of his wrath for his final Hogwarts birthday. How could he possibly have forgotten he was in such danger?

     Seungmin, for once in his life, is a little slow. “Wait, what’s so bad about Wooyoung’s birthday?”

-

     On the day itself, Wooyoung swaggers into The Great Hall with a paper party hat and a dirty little smile. Jisung, Changbin, and Chan are already sitting, and when Wooyoung slides onto the bench between Jisung and Chan, he doesn't look up, sighing heavily at the table. 

     "Oh, Jisungieee." Wooyoung sings, leaning into his personal space. 

     "If you don't move he won't sting." Changbin fake-whispers, a grin spreading across his face. "They don't attack unless they feel threatened."

     Wooyoung cackles, drumming his hands on the table. "You can't escape, Jisung. This has been seven years coming."

     Jisung groans, dropping his head onto his folded arms, defeated. 

     "And the funny thing is he doesn't even know!" Wooyoung says, snickering. "I have the greatest scheme of my career cooked up for you, little guy." 

     "What is it??" Changbin says eagerly. 

     "Chan." Wooyoung says, suddenly turning the other way. "I have a birthday favor to ask you."

     Chan blinks, surprised. "Me?"

     "Mm hm." Wooyoung nods, a sly, restrained smile on his face. "Sorry gents, I have to steal him for now." He stands, staring at Chan's confused face until he follows. 

     Jisung and Changbin take turns looking at the receding pair and then each other. San is waiting by the entrance and joins them on the way out. "Holy shit." Changbin finally says. "Are they gonna have a threesome?"

     His deadpan delivery makes Jisung burst out laughing. "God, I hope so! Wouldn't that be great?"

     “What?” Felix asks as Hyunjin, Seungmin, and him approach the table.

     “Wooyoung took Chan. Changbin said—well, me and him have this theory that Chan—“ Jisung is about to explain, but he had just taken a bite of toast, and is attacked by a violent coughing fit, having to grab frantically for his goblet of pumpkin juice. Seungmin chuckles, patting him on the back.

     Changbin sifts through his bag, speaking distractedly. “He had some favor to ask of him. I said that maybe…wait. Oh fuck.” He pulls out a scroll and unrolls it, a substantial portion of it incomplete. “Seungmin, is this due today?”

     Seungmin levels an unimpressed look at him. “Yeah. He gave us a week.”

     “Fuck, shit, I forgot.” Changbin shoves it back in his bag and throws it over his shoulder, smacking the table in farewell. “I gotta get this done. I’ll see you in Herbology, Jisung.”

     Despite his initial disapproval, Seungmin moves to fall into step with him. “I’ll help you.”

     Changbin blinks. “You don’t have to.”

     “I want to.” Seungmin says, with a little half-shrug Jisung’s never seen from him before. 

     Changbin gives him a soft, shy smile, a poor attempt to smother his appreciation. “Thanks.” They hurry off together, likely to the library, and Hyunjin shares a conspiratorial grin with Jisung, who is just beginning to recover from his fit.

     “Well well well.” Hyunjin says, taking a seat on the bench. “They’re certainly getting along.”

     Felix sits beside him, looking mildly bewildered. “Wait, but what…?”

     “Has he said anything to you?” Hyunjin asks eagerly.

     “No, nothing like that.” Jisung says. “Not directly, I mean. He’s definitely crushing, though. Crazy that they could’ve happened if he wasn’t such an ass earlier in the year.”

     “Who says they can’t happen now?” Hyunjin says, maniacally wiggling his fingers. 

     "Uh, Seungmin?" Jisung says. "They used to hate each other. How could they possibly get over that hurdle?"

     "Of course you would say that." Hyunjin says, with an eye roll that lands on the Ravenclaw table. 

     Jisung scowls, his heart clenching as he shoots Minho a glance. As always, he’s sitting with Seonghwa, chatting calmly about something or another. Even all the way across the room, he can still see his bruised eye. 

     “I wonder what’s going through his head.” Felix says with a frown. 

     “Don’t we all?” Jisung sighs, feeling defeated.

     Seungmin arrives late to Defense, throwing himself into his chair with a heavy breath. He’s got ink all over his hands, and a suspicious set of fingerprints stamped onto one wrist. 

     “What’s up with those?” Jisung asks, doing a poor job concealing his smugness. 

     “We knocked over a bottle.” Seungmin says, rifling through his bag for his homework. This already is unusual, since Seungmin is normally very careful about not making messes of any kind. This chain of events—helping voluntarily, disregarding a spill, not taking a break to wash his hands, and being late to class on top of it all—is extremely telling. 

     “No, I mean on your wrist.”

     Seungmin gives a careless look to his wrist and continues to busy himself. “What about it? He was getting my attention.”

     Jisung huffs bemusedly. “Okay Min. Whatever you say.” 

     Chan doesn’t show up for Herbology, lunch, or Ancient Runes. It makes Jisung uneasy, trying to come up with a reason why Wooyoung would keep him for this long, and he’s additionally strung up anticipating when it’ll be his turn. The greatest scheme of his career, he says. It makes Jisung queasy just thinking about it. 

     And what are him, San, and Chan doing? What could they possibly do all day? Jisung repeats the same questions over and over as he sits through another strained, silent Potions class. He’s taken to correcting Minho nonverbally, pointing to ingredients and slapping his hand before he overmixes. It’s like they’re not even in the same room, like the other doesn’t exist. It sucks. It really really sucks, and Jisung hates the way he’d rather have to listen to Minho’s insults or unsolicited pretentious comments. 

     He had taken a break from his insomnia cure—instead brewing complex cures for Madam Pomfrey to have in stock on Slughorn’s request—and it’s mindless work to him. He floats through the class in a fog, takes the shoddiest Charms quiz of his life, and then the day is over. 

     Everyone meets up at the Hufflepuff common room—it’s either there or Gryffindor that they usually hang out—and complains about the quiz, since Changbin and Seungmin had also taken it in the morning. After about ten minutes, Chan walks in, looking tired and irritated. 

     “And so he returns.” Seungmin says with a sly smile. “Where have you been all day?”

     “Outside, by the lake.” Chan says, dropping beside Jisung on the couch with a thump. “Wooyoung and San employed me to carry their picnic basket. It must’ve been like fifty pounds, I swear.”

     “So you had a picnic while the rest of us failed Charms?” Changbin says, outraged.

     “Yeah.” Chan shrugs. “Wooyoung kept grilling me about you, Sung, it wasn’t fun.”

     “What? What about me?” Jisung says, straightening.

     “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Chan says, in that firm, grave tone that means he’s serious. 

     The conversation drops off, everyone processing the mildly underwhelming news. “I copied my translation for you.” Jisung says, unearthing the parchment from his bag. 

     “You’re a lifesaver.” Chan says gratefully. 

     The clock above the fireplace chimes four times, and Hyunjin and Felix groan in unison. “We gotta go.” Hyunjin grumbles.

     “We’ll see you at dinner, I guess.” Felix says, stretching his arms high over his head. “Unless Hongjoong keeps us longer.”

     “At least it’s for a good cause.” Chan says dryly.

     “Beating Slytherin?” Changbin says.

     “Beating Yeonjun.” Jisung specifies. 

     Hyunjin sighs, grabbing his cloak from the back of his armchair. “If this isn’t the best damn game of my life I’ll kill myself.”

     “Hey!” Chan objects with an angry frown. 

     “Sorry. Kidding.”

     As the two of them file out, Jisung flops into Chan’s side, flipping through the crazed revisions in his potions notebook. They look like a completely different language, and he doesn’t even bother trying to read them, simply listening to the pages turn as Chan plays with his hair. 

     It’s going to be dark soon, and he knows from Changbin and Chan that Wooyoung tends to go to bed pretty early. Does that mean he’s in the clear? He’s hesitant to let his guard down, especially since he’d made such a point of subverting his expectations in the morning. But if the day is over, that should be the end of it.

     Right?

Chapter Text

     By the time Seungmin gets to The Great Hall, everyone is already eating breakfast. Jisung is scanning the room relentlessly, waiting for Wooyoung to jump out from behind someone and yell 'boo!' He was wound up for the entire day yesterday, and it seems to have spilled over into today. 

     "Morning, Minnie." Felix greets.

     "Morning." Seungmin says, sitting next to him at the table. Chan is sitting on the other side, predictably beside Jisung, writing on a spare bit of parchment. An owl is perched on his shoulder, nibbling Jisung's hair. 

     "Does this sound right?" Chan asks the air, squinting one eye. "Damn it, there's no way he'll excuse it."

     Oh, the quiz, Seungmin realizes. "You're writing to Flitwick?"

     "Yeah." Chan says with a sigh. "I couldn't hand in my essay either."

     "It looks good to me." Jisung says, reading the note over his shoulder. 

     "You're fucked." Changbin says, brutally honest. "Flitwick especially has had enough of Woo's bullshit." 

     "You're right," Chan says, voice full of despair, "I know you're right." 

     "Well there's no harm in trying." Hyunjin shrugs.

     "I know, but I…"

     "Hey." 

     Seungmin turns, Changbin's hand tapping the top of his. "Hm?"

     "I never properly thanked you for yesterday." He says, a bit sheepishly. 

     "Oh, it was nothing." Seungmin waves off. "You did the work. I just helped you in the right direction." 

     "Well, still. It was fun, actually. I've never had fun when I was doing work." Changbin says honestly. "We should do it again sometime."

     "Cram? I'd rather you did your shit on time."

     "No no, just like—study. Do work together." Changbin says with a chuckle. 

     Changbin Seo—Gryffindor's best beater, Yeonjun's close friend—wants to do work with him. Voluntarily. No group-project-strings attached. The question rises from Seungmin’s throat like nervous bile. "...Just the two of us?"

     "I mean—I—it doesn't have to be." Changbin back-pedals, ears turning red. "I just thought—well, I dunno, I just—"

     "No no, that's okay." Seungmin shakes his head quickly. "That's fine. I'm fine with that. We can do that." 

     "Great!" Changbin says with a lopsided, awkward smile. "If you want, I have a free after Potions."

     "I don't." Seungmin says. "That's a Muggle Studies thing." 

     "Oh."

     "We could meet at the library during lunch." Seungmin suggests instead. 

     "Sure." The smile he gives him then threatens to snap something in Seungmin’s mind—like rope prohibiting a drawbridge from opening. For a moment, it's September again, Changbin's dark brows and thick arm muscles asking to borrow his star chart. Their conversations then had been clipped, impersonal, but even those few words sent a flock of butterflies through his stomach. 

     Seungmin doesn't crush easily. He normally doesn't at all, instead slowly realizing a close friendship is about to bloom into something more. He needs a baseline: admiration, care, or a cultivated skill that earns his respect. 

     This was the case when he fell for Hyunjin in second year. They weren't friends before then, just shared some classes and introduced themselves properly through Felix. It took a while, too, as they hung out more often and got comfortable around one another. Then, he saw how Hyunjin flew, how easily he controlled a broom and how deftly he could manage a quaffle on top of that. The respect came quickly, matched by adoration, and then Seungmin fell: hard, on his face like an idiot. 

     Felix knew. He always knows when people have crushes. But he and Seungmin both knew it would never happen, and therefore, neither of them said anything about it until it had long since waned. It hurt for a while, hearing Hyunjin talk about other guys that he found attractive, but eventually, Seungmin thoroughly trained his brain back into the friendzone. A year after that, he had recovered enough to come out with it, and the memory of that night is fond: a sleepover at Hufflepuff, Felix's giggles, the buzz of the large bag of Fizzing Whizbees in Hyunjin's shocked lap. Hyunjin had teased him for it after, but Seungmin had become immune to his hugs and cooing and gorgeous puckered lips ages ago. 

     Hyunjin was his last major crush. His only one, technically, since primary school doesn't count. The fact that, at seventeen years of age, Seungmin's traitorous heart had hiccuped for the second time ever in the presence of some jock who he barely knew—it was humiliating. 

     Seungmin was like a schoolgirl, spinning tales of a deeper side to Changbin Seo that he wasn’t privy to, a softness or an intelligence that he didn’t let show in front of Felix’s airhead lover for fear of judgment(he was pretty cruel about Chan back then, wasn’t he?). Seungmin had scraped each of their limited interactions for clues to this secret half, had embellished Changbin into a whole different person to justify his attraction.

     Imagine how he felt when he learned this charming jock hated his guts. That he thought he was an uptight show-off. That he thought he was a dirty mutt. Changbin Seo hadn’t even tried to tolerate him. He had looked at Seungmin once and made up his mind.

     Obviously, Jisung didn’t understand why Seungmin hated his friend so vehemently, even after he apologized. But it wasn’t about what he said—he didn’t really think Changbin was a bigot. If he was, Jisung wouldn’t be friends with him. It was deeper than that, a shake of his pride, a shattering of the notion that maybe Seungmin could be a silly schoolgirl, could crush harmlessly and receive no repercussion. Something he did made this stranger hate him. Or—no, it wasn’t his fault. 

     Changbin was at fault. For judging so quickly, so harshly, and then using it as venom to hurt his friends after being rejected. That’s why he’d pulled his drawbridge back up, closed off entry to his heart for the foreseeable future. That’s why he hated him.

     So why, now—Changbin’s goofy, over-grateful smile sitting on his face—are the fibers of the rope starting to fray? 

     “Are you ready for defense?” Felix asks, sliding a roll of parchment into his bag.

     Changbin turns. “We didn’t have homework, did we?”

     “Nah. But Professor Potter said we’re reviewing concealment charms so he’ll probably give us one of his conclusion rolls.” Chan says. 

     “Ugh, I hate those things.” Hyunjin groans. 

     Two periods later, as Seungmin heads to Advanced Arithmancy, he struggles to keep his mind tethered, his thoughts wandering repeatedly to old conversations. The clack of his shoes on the stone brings him back down once he arrives to class, sitting next to Soobin as always. They don't talk much, in or out of class, but that's the way they both prefer it. Their joint existence is peaceful, neither bothered to fill the silence.

     Minho and Seonghwa sit one row behind them, and Seonghwa taps on Soobin’s shoulder the second he gets there. 

     "What?"

     "We're meeting during lunch today." Seonghwa says.

     "Who, seventh-years?"

     "Everyone." 

     Soobin frowns. "Why?"

     "Because Headmistress McGonagall said so." 

     "What did Jihyo say?" 

     "To make sure no one skips." Seonghwa says, with a pointed look that Soobin narrows his eyes at.

     "I'm not a Yeonjun magnet, so don’t get your hopes up."

     "Prefect stuff?" Seungmin says curiously. Professor Vector is still milling about at the front, organizing parchment paper.

     "Yeah." Soobin says with a sigh. “You know, I had things to do during lunch.”

     “Like what?” Seonghwa asks, humoring him. 

     “Studying, with Kai and Taehyun.”

     “Well, duty calls.” Seonghwa says, his tone bemused but final. “We’re meeting in McGonagall’s office.”

     Soobin huffs, turning back around. Seungmin swivels as well, but his ears latch onto the whispers behind them.

     “So you’re abandoning me?” Minho jokes quietly.

     “I’d invite you, but—“

     “No no. That’s against the rules. Can’t have our Head Boy setting a bad example.”

     “Don’t smirk at me like that.”

     “How should I smirk at you, then?”

     “You’re a little prick.” Seonghwa chuckles, barely audible. “You should’ve been in Slytherin.”

     “You should be more careful.”

     “I said I was sorry.” 

     “Hongjoong didn’t.”

     “That’s cause he’s not sorry.”

     “I know.” Minho’s inflection tips up just so, teasing. “I’m just being a little prick.”

     “I am sorry, though. Especially about him not liking you.”

     “It’s fine. I'm used to it.”

     Seungmin is almost grasped by the desire to say something, but just then, Professor Vector faces them, waving her wand to shut the door and start the lesson.

-

     Seungmin gets to the library first, gravitating to the same table he and Changbin had occupied the last time they were here. With a bit of a jolt, he realizes that this second session will essentially cement it as their table, an idea that causes something to flip in his stomach. It’s too late to switch though, because Changbin is walking over to him and putting his bag down.

     “Hey.” He grins. “How was your morning?”

     “Good. How was yours?”

     “Mine was good.”

     “Are you going to work on the conclusion for defense?” Seungmin asks, pulling a fresh roll of parchment from his bag.

     "Probably, yeah." Changbin mirrors his actions, his ink bottle clunking against the wood of the table as he sets it down. It's noticeably emptier due to the spill from yesterday, caused by a rogue sleeve and quill left upright inside. “Fidelity still trips me up.”

     “You mean Fidelius.” Seungmin says, a small puff of air escaping his nose. 

     “Yeah, that one.” Changbin says with a sheepish smile. “He barely spent any time on it, how am I supposed to remember?”

     “I get it. What are you having trouble with?”

     “It’s like—okay, so I don’t understand the distinction.” Changbin explains, his eyes locked on the texture of the table like he needs it to think. “It can hide things just like disillusionment can, so what’s the point of the different names?”

     “Disillusionment charms can only hide physical things.” Seungmin says, clicking his pen to begin writing his own conclusion. “Fidelius can hide non-physical things. Secrets, I mean. You’re pureblood, don’t you know the story about Professor Potter’s parents? How they were discovered?”

     Changbin doesn’t respond for a beat too long, and Seungmin looks up to find his attention on Seungmin’s hand. No—not his hand. His pen. Changbin points at it, raising one interested brow.

     “Jisung has one of those pens at home.” He says, and his tone of voice sounds a little proud, like he’s happy he recognized it.

     “It’s just a BIC.” Seungmin shrugs, retrieving his pencil case from his bag and plopping it on the table. “Take a look. There’s some pretentious bullshit my step-dad got for me in there. It might not have ink.”

     Changbin cautiously unzips it, calloused fingers pulling out the sleek fountain pen that had been Seungmin’s birthday gift last year. He turns it over in his hands and distractedly asks, “What d’you mean?”

     “It needs ink.” Seungmin says, carefully writing so that each word is legible. “You have to buy cartridges for it, I don’t have any other than the one that’s in there. It might be dried up, I don’t know if I’ve ever used it.”

     “No, I meant to ask why it’s pretentious.”

     “Well, fountain pens are typically pricier, and my step-dad has expensive taste on top of that.” Seungmin says, unable to withhold the inevitable bite to his voice. 

     “…He sounds like a dick.”

     “You have work to do, Seo.” Seungmin reminds him, tapping his untouched scroll of parchment with the end of his pen. 

     “You haven’t called me that since Rapid.” Changbin muses, setting the fountain pen down on the table and unscrewing the lid of his ink bottle. 

     “It’s reserved for when you irritate me.”

     “Should I call you Kim when you irritate me?”

     “No.” Seungmin says with a huff. “We’ll sound like Jisung and Lee.” 

     Changbin chuckles, unrolling his parchment. “I wonder who Lee’ll root for on Saturday.”

     Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Is that all you think about? Quidditch?”

     “No.” Changbin says defensively. “I’m thinking about this conclusion, food, and your fancy pen all at the same time right now.” The statement makes Seungmin realize that neither of them have had lunch yet, and he’s about to suggest they find something to eat, but—

     “Never thought I’d catch you here, Bin.” Yeonjun grins, leaning around a bookshelf. 

     “Oh, er—yeah.” Changbin says, looking a little uncomfortable from being discovered.

     Seungmin tucks his head down, resisting the urge to scowl, only listening to half of their conversation as he continues his conclusion. Can be used for good or evil…Fidelius trumps disillusionment in every way, especially power…

     “—‘s why I’m hiding. What’s this?” Yeonjun asks, grabbing the fountain pen and curiously uncapping it.

     “It’s Seungmin’s pen.” Changbin says carefully. “Don’t break it, it’s expensive.”

     “I wasn’t gonna break it.” Yeonjun says, with a nasty smile that Seungmin can’t decipher. “How expensive could a little thing like this be?”

     There’s a pause as Changbin turns to Seungmin, waiting for a response. He almost wants to be stubborn and say nothing, but decides the best thing to do would just be to answer the damn question to get the interaction over with. 

     “Hundred pounds.” He says dully, and then elaborates, “That’s about twenty galleons.”

     Yeonjun whistles, impressed. “You’ve actually got some money on you. I didn’t expect that.”

     “The ink is already in there.” Changbin says hastily, clearly disliking where the conversation is headed. “It’s kinda like a quill cause you have to buy more when it runs out. That’s why it’s pricey. I think.” 

     “Hm.” Yeonjun says, and that evil smirk comes back, this time worse. “So it’s like a little half-breed.”

     The silence that follows is like a slap to the face. A seemingly harmless comment, but vile between the lines, if one looks just under the surface. Seungmin nearly stands and walks out right there, face blank as he simply refuses to grace him with any emotion.

     “Yeonjun, what the fuck.” Changbin says, horrified, and the fact that he didn’t try to just awkwardly laugh it off provides mild, restrained relief. 

     “What?” Yeonjun scoffs. “It was just a joke, relax, Bin.”

     “It wasn’t funny.” Changbin says hotly.

     “You would’ve laughed if he wasn’t here.” Yeonjun says judgmentally, jabbing a thumb in Seungmin’s direction. “Y’know, it’s kinda lame how hard you’re trying to impress him. Everyone can see it. If you want Ravenclaw dick, just go for Lee, he’s open.” 

     “Has anyone ever told you you’re a fucking asshole?” Changbin says, brows furrowing. “Cause I thought we were supposed to be friends.”

     “Aren’t we?”

     “Not if you’re gonna be bitchy about who I hang out with.” Changbin says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You know, you’ve always had a problem with possessiveness. Should I warn Soobin?”

     “No.” Yeonjun grits out.

     “Prove it and fuck off.” Changbin says angrily. 

     “Gentlemen, please keep it down.” Madam Pince interrupts from around the bookshelf, voice sibilant and agitated. 

     Yeonjun spares one dirty glance at Seungmin before he leaves, like it’s his fault. Seungmin returns his attention to his paper, and only then does he realize the half-furious, half-humiliated heat gathered in his cheeks. Fuck him. God, what's wrong with him? Similar curses repeat in his head until he’s almost literally fuming from his ears, pen aggressively scratching parchment, the only suitable vessel for his anger. 

     “I’m—“

     “Don’t apologize for him.” Seungmin cuts him off shortly, struggling to reel himself in. “Don’t be sorry. Just be better.”

     Another silence, this time strangled by Seungmin’s fury. He can’t even dwell on what Yeonjun said about Changbin wanting to ‘impress’ him, apparently. He's too focused on the terribly cruel world they live in, how he can’t escape bigotry no matter where he goes, and how shitty Yeonjun’s parents must be if he turned out like this. 

     Because life hates him, his stupid fucking Hello Moto ringtone that Hyunjin had chosen for him goes off. Seungmin scrambles, nearly dropping his phone as he snatches it from his pocket. 

     “Sorry, gotta—“ Seungmin blurts, making a mad dash for the door. He passes Yeonjun on the way out, talking to some underclassman, and he glares as Seungmin flips his phone open and slips outside. “Hey Pops.”

     “Seungmin,” He says, pronouncing it slightly wrong as always. “Your mother would like to know if you’ll finally join us for Christmas this year.”

     Seungmin purses his lips. “Pops, I told you not to call me during school.”

     “You’re in school all year. When am I supposed to call you?”

     “At a reasonable time.” Seungmin says, fighting to keep his voice even. “It’s—I get out of class at three-fifty.” 

     “Well, you’re on the phone now, so why don’t you answer my question?”

     “Is Baekhyeon going to be home?” Seungmin asks through his teeth.

     There’s shifting on the other side of the line. His step-dad sighs. “Yes. Baekhyeon will be home.” He pronounces his name perfectly fine.

     “Then no, like always.” Seungmin says diplomatically. 

     “Surely Hyu—surely your friend’s parents get tired of having you over every year.” 

     “We’re going to Felix’s place this time.” Seungmin says, leaning against the wall, prepared to argue with him. There’s a small creak, and Changbin peeks his head out. Seungmin waves a dismissive hand, but Changbin approaches anyway, leaning beside him. 

     “The Australian?”

     “Yes, Pops.” Seungmin’s voice stretches into a slight whine. He’s known about Felix for years and still needs to be reminded of that fact every time he comes up in conversation. “The Australian.”

     “You’re going all the way down there?”

     “He lives in Britain, has since he was ten, we’ve been over this.” Seungmin repeats, rolling his eyes for Changbin, who cracks an amused smile. 

     “So you’ll be close to home.”

     Seungmin says nothing for a moment. “Well, if you put it like that, then no.” 

     “Seungmin, your mother wants to see you.” He says firmly, edging into that dreaded sternness of his. 

     “And she’ll see me over the summer.” Seungmin says, and he’s only half-lying. Felix does live in Britain, but he’d invited Hyunjin and Seungmin to come with him to Australia over the summer to meet his cousins and maybe even get a job. Seungmin doesn’t intend on being home any longer than it takes to pack his bags.

     “She would love to see your face soon.” 

     “You want a picture?”

     “Seungmin…”

     “No, hold on.” Seungmin pulls his phone away from his ear and switches to the camera, pulling Changbin close to the nearest torch and taking a photo of them both. Changbin’s expression is surprised and he isn’t looking exactly at the camera, but he doesn’t care. He sends it, and then switches back to the call. “There you go.”

     “Who is that?” He predictably asks.

     Seungmin hesitates for a second. “My—my boyfriend. Go ahead and show that to mum and Baekhyeon. Happy Christmas.” He snaps his phone closed with one hand, already preparing himself for the slew of text messages he’ll get from his mum after his step-dad complains about him. 

     He exhales heavily, sweeping his bangs out of the way to press one chilly hand to his forehead. What a headache. “Sorry about that.”

     “About what?” Changbin says, tilting his head.

     “I said you were my boyfriend.” Seungmin says, guilt creeping in. “I probably should’ve—well, my family’s really touchy about that sorta thing. I knew it would make them angry.”

     “Oh.” Changbin says, recognition flashing across his face. “I heard about those kinda people. Homophobes, right?”

     Seungmin blinks at him. He’d noticed the extreme percentage of queer people when he first got to Hogwarts and the amount it was accepted, but—no. That’s crazy, right? “Are you telling me you’ve never met a homophobe before?”

     “No, I haven’t.” Changbin says with a shrug. “No offense, but muggles are really weird for that.”

     “None taken.” Seungmin says flatly. He really thought Hyunjin was the only one like this, but apparently not. 

     "I don't mind being your fake boyfriend." Changbin shrugs. "If you need me to say something—"

     "No no, that's not—" Seungmin trips over his words, embarrassed. "This isn't, like, a commitment. You don't have to do anything else." 

     "I'm just saying." Changbin says quickly. "Like if they call again. If they wanna talk to me. It's no problem." 

     Seungmin mumbles something incomprehensible, a mash of sounds that mean nothing outside his awkward fumbling. 

     "Speaking of homophobes," Changbin says, snapping in time with the sparkle of remembrance in his eyes. "Bunny. Wow. He's actually, like, evil."

     Seungmin perks up, unable to hold back a smile. "Don't you love him, though?" 

     "He's so…yeah. I do." Changbin admits. 

     "He's like a cartoon character." Seungmin says with a grin. "When Richard brought up Francis—not to mention—ugh, you're not at that part yet." 

     "When?"

     "No no, it's way later. I shouldn't say." Seungmin says, pressing hard on his lips with his knuckles. "Ah, it's so good. You're liking it?"

     "I am, I am. Judy's really funny."

     "Oh my god," Seungmin laughs, about to launch into a whole conversation he'd recently had with Chan, but the telltale 'tong' of the bell sounds. They both blink, surprised at how quickly time had passed, and hurry back into the library to get their stuff and clean up their table.

     “Hey, erm—I really am sorry.” Changbin says quietly. “I know you told me not to apologize, but I’m not doing it for him, I’m doing it for me. He’s my friend after all.”

     “He doesn’t have to be.” Seungmin says lightly, slotting his pencil case back in his bag. “Which isn’t—I mean…I trust you. I know you’re not like him. It’s just when you’re with him—“

     “I know. I get it.” He says, wincing. “We really don’t hang out that often, it’s normally just me and Wooyoung. But I know he’s a dick, and erm—well, I’d rather be friends with you, so. Yeah. Fuck him.”

     Seungmin smiles, a small one that Changbin only barely gets to see as they make brief eye contact over the table. They talk more about The Secret History on the way to Potions, and once they get there, Chan joins in. It’s sort of surreal, talking about books with two star quidditch players, one of which he was severely infatuated with just two months ago. 

     September-Seungmin would be having a mental crisis right now. He’d be hanging onto every word, noticing Changbin’s every movement, especially the ones that close the gap between them. He’d lose track of time, forget which ingredient goes in next, tune out the professor. He’d feel his ears going red as Changbin laughs, heart hiccuping in his chest. 

     So why is November-Seungmin doing the same?

Chapter Text

     The Great Hall is lively on Saturday morning, good lucks hollered over tables and color-changing face paint smeared onto cheeks—For When You Can't Choose a Team!

     "I can't, I'm not hungry." Hyunjin shakes his head, pale. He's always like this before games, twitchy and strung-up, unable to eat. 

     "You gotta have something, Jinnie." Felix says pressingly, even though he knows Hyunjin will make up for the missed meal plenty afterwards. 

     "Can't. Won't stay down." 

     "As much as it won't help to say, you're going to be okay." Chan says soothingly, rubbing his arm. "I heard from San that their practices recently have been sloppy. You'll wipe the floor with them. Take a deep breath, yeah? Try not to think about it."

     Hyunjin listens, eyes falling shut as his chest rises and falls. Jisung suddenly realizes how lucky they are to have Chan and Felix. He can imagine that if they weren't here, Changbin would crack some mediocre joke, and Seungmin would roll his eyes with a huff of 'so dramatic.' Which isn't to say they don't care—just that their toolboxes for dealing with other people's emotions are mostly filled by things that aren't the right size.

     Eventually, Hongjoong appears to collect them both, and even later, the rest of them start to make their way down to the pitch. The crowd is thick and buzzing like a giant beetle, but Chan and Changbin are efficient battering rams to get to the front railing. A few Slytherin third years give Jisung dirty looks at the tiny Hufflepuff flag in his hand, but he can't really bring himself to care, besides—

     "Jisung, there you are." It's Wooyoung, slipping between people like an eel navigating seaweed. He clasps Jisung’s hand and grins as bright as the sun. "I have a birthday favor to ask of you."

     Jisung's chest fills with dread. "Wh—but it's—"

     "Saturday." Wooyoung reminds him cheekily. "Last day of my birthday week. It counts." 

     Jisung groans, and the others shoot him a sympathetic glance before Wooyoung pulls him back through the crowd towards the stairs, and then all the way down. Jisung internally scowls, wishing he could've at least grabbed him before he did all this work getting up to the stands. 

     "Where are we going?" Jisung asks reluctantly. Wooyoung doesn't respond, which only sets Jisung on edge, but it's not like he can resist. Wooyoung has a strong arm from his Chaser career and longer legs than Jisung, so he's helpless to do much other than follow.

     "Will this take long?" He says skeptically. "I don't wanna miss the game." 

     There's a pause before Wooyoung speaks, and by this point, they've arrived—surprisingly enough—at the Slytherin changing room. It's already empty, players having filed out a few minutes prior to warm up on the field. "It might, unfortunately."

     Wooyoung stops, scanning Jisung’s person, and then plucks his wand out of his back pocket. Before he can ask why, Wooyoung taps his own wand on the knob of one of the individual broom closets(San's, identifiable from the number painted on the front), and without another word, shoves Jisung inside. 

     "HEY!" Jisung yells, colliding with something squishy and breathing. The door closes behind him, and he can hear the miniscule click of it locking. "Wooyoung, what the fuck, let me out!"

     "Have fun!" Wooyoung cackles, his voice tapering off as he abandons him there. "I'll tell you about the game after, I promise!"

     Jisung trips over something as he moves to pound against the door, which doesn't budge. "Fucking asshole—WOOYOUNG!"

     "I had a feeling it would be something like this." Another voice says right by his ear, far too calm for the situation.

     Jisung says nothing for a moment, processing. "...Lee?"

     "Who else would Wooyoung lock you in a closet with?"

     Fair point. Jisung slumps against the wall, likely opposite to him from the position of his legs. It would be pitch black if not for the edge of the door, a sliver of light crawling across Minho's face, just barely illuminating his right cheekbone and a slice of his eye. 

     There's really only room for one person in the cupboard, and Jisung's feet bookend Minho's in the dark, their bodies unbearably close. Each soft exhale from Minho's nose hits Jisung's face, and after a moment, it occurs to him that he smells like something clear and fresh, maybe cucumber. It makes him a little self conscious wondering what he must smell like: teenage boy, probably, with an extra layer of moss from his time in the Slytherin dormitory. 

     "What a nightmare." He mutters, hearing a muted cheer from the game presumably just beginning. 

     A thick silence stretches between them. Jisung has no idea what Wooyoung expected them to do—well, that's a lie. He knows exactly what Wooyoung expected from them, he just doesn't understand how he could think it's even a possibility. His and Minho's relationship—for lack of a better word—is the worst it's ever been. Their joint silent treatment has been horrible: steady, threatening, like the morbid rumblings of an incoming storm. An hour or so in a closet isn't going to turn them into the horny desperate monsters of Wooyoung’s imagination.

     "It's just another game." Minho says, a tad snippy. "There'll be more of them."

     "Jeongin's seeking for the first time." Jisung responds, voice tight with distaste. "I wanted to see him play."

     "To measure him up?” 

     "Don't put words into my mouth." Jisung snaps.

     "Isn't that what you've been doing to me these past few months?" 

     Jisung can't come up with an answer to that. Instead, he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. After a minute or so, something finally occurs to him, and he says, "I’m not just making this up. You said I was barbaric."

     "You planted that seed."

     "What are you talking about??"

     "I was just trying to keep up." Minho says shortly. "I was matching your energy. Stereotyping, labeling, judging based off assumptions." 

     Jisung has a fleeting desire to punch him again. "You—don't tell me you're pulling that card. Cause I'm punching up, you can punch down?"

     "I'm not saying it was the right thing to do, I'm just saying it was the most logical." Minho says, and if he's not mistaken, there's a twinge of guilt in his voice. 

     "You're an asshole." Jisung huffs in disbelief. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

     "I thought Potions already proved I'm not." 

     Another good point—Minho is two for two. All of a sudden he's started to make sense, like he's dropped some kind of veil, stopped shrouding his words in riddles. His mysterious, alluring air has disapparated, leaving a perfectly ordinary student behind.

     "I'm sorry." Minho says, not particularly suddenly, but not quite measured either.

     "Huh?"

     "I'm sorry, for everything. Invading your space, stealing your things, biting you, blackmailing you." Minho says, and his shame is audible. "And just generally being horrible."

     Jisung blinks. "When did you invade my space?"

     "Potions?" Minho says, incredulous. 

     "Oh," Jisung says, feeling silly, "well it's not like you had a choice there."

     There's another silence, this one a bit more constricted than the first. 

     "Why—" Jisung starts, stops, and then starts again. "Why apologize now?"

     Minho's single lit eye sweeps the floor, but without the rest of his face, it's difficult to decipher his expression. "Look, I—I've made a lot of mistakes with you. I'm pretty sure everything I've done has been wrong, or at the very least egotistical." Jisung exhales bemusedly from his nose, and Minho rolls his eyes. "The point is that I feel bad."

     "Only just now?"

     "No, not just now." Minho huffs. "But there's nothing to do in here but talk, so I figured it was a good time to mention it."

     His delivery of the line makes Jisung laugh, a tired, breathy sort. The idea that being locked in a closet with someone is a 'good time' for anything is comical. Still, though, he's right. 

     "I'm sorry too." Jisung says, adjusting his position. "Lix warned me about this actually, but I didn't listen."

     "About what?"

     Jisung hesitates. If he says what he has preloaded, it'll destroy his way of life, prove he has no real reason to carry on like this. Things will be different; they'll have to be. Does he really—?

     "About hating you for the person I thought you were." Jisung blurts, before he can change his mind. 

     The tone in the closet indeed shifts. It's an open door, and Minho immediately grabs the knob. "So you know that I'm not the villain you've built me up to be?"

     Jisung hangs his head, his turn for shame. "Deep down. Somewhere, I knew, yeah. I know." 

     "What gave it away?" Minho says sarcastically. 

     Jisung scoffs lightly, then softens with guilt. "I really—I really am sorry. This is all my fault."

     "No it's not. I was astronomically stupid about everything." 

     "Okay, but you shouldn't have had to defend yourself to some prick you just met." Jisung says scathingly. "It was insane of me to act like that."

     "...Why did you decide to hate me so quick?"

     "It's—ugh, this is so embarrassing." Jisung hides his face with his arm, despite Minho likely not being able to see him. Under his breath, he mumbles, "I was jealous."

     "Jealous?" 

     "You just got here and you're already a Seeker." Jisung says dejectedly. He can feel it catching up to him, a heavy weight settling on his heart. 

     "Well, if you tried out, you'd be one too."

     Jisung's eyelids fall into a flat glare. "I did. Five times."

     "You did?" Minho sounds genuinely shocked.

     "What, you thought I just didn't wanna play?"

     "That's what Yeonjun told me." Minho says. “After you beat me, I asked him why you weren’t on the team. He told me you didn’t try out because you don’t like him.” 

     Jisung’s mouth hangs open. The fucking audacity. “Well, he lied. I’ve been trying out for five years in a row. Three of those failures are because of him.”

     “Why??”

     “Because he hates me.” Jisung says venomously. “To be fair, the feeling is mutual, it’s just that I don’t have the power to get back at him.”

     “How can he possibly refuse you?”

     “Says I don’t have the build.” Jisung says shortly, glancing self-consciously at his arms. “That I don’t have the touch.”

     “Bullshit.” Minho says, so firmly it shocks him. “You’re fantastic. Better than me, and the whole reason I transferred here was to play Quidditch.”

     Jisung’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

     “Quidditch is terrible at Beauxbatons.” Minho says, with a rustle that sounds like he’s shrugging. “Everyone seemed to think I was pretty good, so they encouraged me to go here for my last year to try and get recruited.”

     So that’s why Seonghwa had been so lenient with him. Jisung trusts his judgment, so Minho probably is a pretty good player, but he likely wouldn’t have let him try out or even make the team if it hadn’t been his last and only chance. 

     “Now I’m not sure.” Minho says. “I lost to you so quickly. So maybe I should find something else to do with my life.”

     “S’probably just beginners luck.” Jisung dismisses, a bit embarrassed for some reason. He had been indirectly responsible for cracking Minho’s identity, his plans for the future. He hadn’t even known he did such a thing. 

     Minho narrows his eye, not buying it. “I saw you before practice with Chan and Changbin. You’re good.”

     “Not like it matters. I’m not on the team.” Jisung says spitefully. 

     “Why doesn’t Yeonjun like you?”

     “Cause—well, it’s kind of a long story.” Jisung says, hesitating. “The full version is, anyway.”

     “This is quite literally the best time for a long story.”

     "Alright, that's true." Jisung says with a laugh. "Well, it started in first-year. Funnily enough, me and Yeonjun had been talking a bit since we were put into the same house. That's what everyone does at first, I guess, before finding the people they actually wanna hangout with. When I introduced him to Chan and Changbin, though, he changed. He started ignoring me, trying to push me out of the conversations. When Chan asked him about it, he said that him and Changbin should ditch me."

     "Why?" He asks, picturesque crack of light glimmering over his skin. Jisung avoids looking at it so that he doesn’t stutter.

     “Cause of my mum.” Jisung says, anger bubbling up at the memory. “She’s a muggle. He asked me about my parents, and of course I didn’t think he was gonna fucking evaluate me based off my answer, so I told him. My dad died before I was born, so to his little brain, I was basically muggle-born. But he was eleven and also an idiot, so he didn’t realize that I’ve known Chan and Changbin for years, and that they already knew that.”

     “So what did they say?”

     “Chan was furious.” Jisung says with a small, fond chuckle. “He was bite-sized and had a squeaky little voice, but when he yelled at Yeonjun it was the scariest I’d seen him. It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him, actually. He doesn’t get mad often.”

     “And Changbin?”

     “Well, he didn’t really get it.” Jisung says with a bittersweet grimace. “He liked Yeonjun and he liked me, so he didn’t understand why we couldn’t all be friends. He stuck with me and Chan, obviously, but never really walled himself off from Yeonjun like we did. But it’s alright. Bin’s just that kinda guy who gets along with everyone.”

     “Because he’s not impacted by their ignorance.” Minho fills in the blanks, startlingly perceptive. 

     “…You could say that.” Jisung says with a shrug. “But yeah. Yeonjun and Chan had both made their quidditch teams in first year so they were kind of a big deal, and the captains at the time got wind of the whole thing. Yeonjun was kicked off for bad sportsmanship, told to clean up his attitude. He made the team again the year after, totally unchanged, this time smarter about how he conducts himself. He’s always blamed me for it.”

     “Asshole.” Minho scowls. “So he’s been turning you away for years because he was a dick to you when you were eleven?”

     “Pretty much, yeah. Changbin said he was jealous, too. Chan got popular right away, both from being on the team and from defending me. Yeonjun sorta became this dark, cruel version of him, both superstars, but Chan the one destined to succeed. He was upset, but he liked Chan, so he couldn’t take it out on him of course. He’s gotten rid of that reputation over time just by being quiet, but I never got a reprieve.” Jisung says spitefully. “All he does is win. God, I hate him. Rich, perfect, star student, pretty boy. Everyone likes him, too. You know, that played a part in why I was so unfair about you. When you got here, you made the team immediately, and everyone was so—"

     Jisung stops, realizing how his next words are going to sound. He does his best to rephrase them, to cut the revealing ties he'd accidentally set up. "You—you seemed like Yeonjun two-point-o." 

     "I'm not like him." Minho says, and there's a surprising layer of desperation to his voice. "I promise I'm not. I would never do something like that to you." 

     Jisung doesn't say anything for a moment. "...How so?"

     "I know I've made a really bad case for myself." Minho admits. "But I'm not stupid and I'm not ignorant. I have no problems with muggles or anyone with half-blood or muggle-blood or anything."

     Jisung raises a skeptical brow, but continues to hear him out.

     "Obviously I'm not a perfect star student. I study a lot cause I like the work, but you know firsthand that I'm dead awful at Potions. I grew up with a lot of money, I'll be transparent about that. But I hate my parents, so any attempts to indoctrinate me have failed." Minho says flatly. "Not everyone likes me—no one really does, to be honest. Seonghwa and I hang out, but Hongjoong has been keeping him busy lately." 

     Jisung chuckles and then feels a delayed pang of guilt, remembering his request to Hongjoong when they spoke in Hogsmeade.

     "But," Minho says, visible eye narrowing in what must be a wry smile, "I am a pretty boy. A classic one, frankly. So I guess you'll have to live with that similarity."

     Jisung kicks at him in the dark, missing once but connecting with his shin on the second try. "You suck."

     “You’re smiling.” Minho points out, sounding smug. Jisung smothers it immediately, his eyes darting around self-consciously.

     “I thought you couldn’t see me.” Jisung says, with an attempt at an indifferent scoff. 

     There’s a brush of fabric leaving wood, and a shadowed object approaches Jisung’s face. He must have miscalculated the distance, though, because the tip of Minho’s index finger wobbles before landing on Jisung’s bottom lip, pressing lightly into the flesh. Jisung glances down, and it turns out he has his own sliver of light just across his mouth, emitted from a weathered crack in the center of the door. He’s so shocked he can’t move, can’t even think of something to say.

     “Just here.” Minho’s voice comes out as a whisper, perfectly audible from their close proximity. 

     The cupboard seems awfully warm, all of a sudden. Jisung swallows, hoping that the heat quickly rising in his face isn’t visible through that same strand of light. His mouth feels dry, and on nervous autopilot, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. It catches—obviously—on Minho’s finger, and Jisung tastes the flesh, slightly chilled from poor circulation. 

     The stimulus is enough to shock them both to their senses, and Minho pulls his finger away, curtly clearing his throat as his one visible eye scans the ground. "You—you and your friends. You said you’re close.” He says, changing the subject. 

     “Yeah, very. Me and Chan live on the same street, so we’d go over to each other’s houses all the time to play.” Jisung says, smiling at the memories. “Changbin is a bit further away cause he’s not, like, integrated with muggle society like me and Chan’s mums have to be. His and Chan’s dads are coworkers in the Ministry, so they introduced us. It’s—heh—it’s kinda funny cause he didn’t go to primary school like we did, so whenever he stayed over at Chan’s house for a few days he’d complain and wait by the window for us to get back.”

     Minho chuckles, a soft, mournful kind. “I never had friends like that, my house is tucked away. It was just me, my parents, and the tutors for ten years.”

     “God, that sucks.” Jisung says with a frown.

     “What about your other friends?” Minho asks. “How long have you known them?”

     “Oh, not long. I mean, we knew of each other, but we weren’t that friendly until this year. Right after I met you, actually."

     "What do you count as meeting me? Defense or Potions?" Minho says.

     "The Astronomy Tower." Jisung says simply, and his mind drifts back to that moment: the split-second look, eyes full of danger, an odd anticipation. "Strange," He thinks out loud, "how that was the start of this all. Whatever this is."

     "A rivalry?" Minho suggests.

     "We are not rivals." Jisung scowls, for about the millionth time.

     "Why do you keep saying that?"

     "Cause you being my rival is like, an important role in my life." Jisung says venomously, without thinking. "Like you motivate me or something, as if I care. I'm not giving you that title."

     There's a heavy, dreadful silence before Minho finally speaks, his voice full of shocking dejection. "You really really hate me, huh?"

     This embarrasses Jisung to a surprising degree. "Er—I mean, I don't hate you."

     "You've said that you do."

     Jisung hesitates, a thickness in his chest. "I—I say a lot of things. Most of them stupid, most of them…can I ask you a question?"

     Minho blinks, adjusting to the lack of segue. "You just did, but go ahead."

     "Why were you so determined to like me?" Jisung asks painfully. "You were so nice before Halloween, and I was nothing but rude to you."

     Minho's answer comes without hesitation or tone, leaving Jisung feeling flayed and raw. "Have you considered the fact that you're interesting, and I want to be your friend?"

     "Wh—" Jisung chokes on nothing, struggling to pick up the pieces of his composure. "What about me is interesting?"

     "Nope." Minho says, shaking his head. "That's level three. You and I aren't even level one yet, why would I tell you that?"

     "Huh?"

     "You have to earn that knowledge." Minho says slyly. "If we aren't friends, I'd never consider divulging such vulnerable info. Level one is class friends, two is outside-of-class friends, and at level three you get to know why I find you interesting." 

     Jisung is silent for a moment, utterly bewildered. "What kind of friends are we at level three?"

     "Close ones."

     "Is that the last level?"

     Another pause. "I guess we'll see."

     Jisung finally understands why Seungmin thought Minho was weird when he first met him. This is one of the strangest, most diplomatic discussions of friendship he’s ever had in his life. Just how curious is he about Minho’s opinion of him? Their entire quarrel had been based on assumptions to begin with. But is that really enough to suffer the whistles and the prying of everyone around him? Enough to sacrifice his stubborn reputation, to break what’s become convention?

     "...Okay," Jisung finally says. 

     "Okay?"

     "You wanna be friends?"

     "Yes, I do." 

     "Then we're friends." Jisung decides. He can feel the storm fizzling out, clouds slipping into hiding, the promise of sun.

     Minho extends his hand, and his grip is firm when Jisung takes it. “Minho Lee. Please call me Minho.”

     “Jisung Han.” Jisung says apprehensively. “I don’t care what you call me.”

     “How about Hannie?”

     In truth, the suggestion shocks him. It just sounds so…cute. Affectionate. Jisung wasn’t expecting that kind of thing from Minho, and if he’s going by Minho’s odd level system, it sounds like something more fitting for level two, or even three. But this new openness is intriguing, if not a bit oddly embarrassing, so he says, “Sure, whatever makes you happy.”

     Jisung can hear the smile in Minho’s voice as he smugly says, “So you care about what makes me happy.”

     Jisung releases his hand so that he can cross his arms over his chest, scoffing with weak disbelief. “Relax, buddy, we’re still level one.”

     "You're right. Now tell me, how'd you get so good at Potions?"

     After a bit of rearranging to stretch their legs—backs now occupying the previously unused wall and door—they carry an easy conversation, learning more about one another along the way.

     Minho is an only child, which Jisung should have been able to guess from the moment he first spoke to him. At Beauxbatons he had two close friends—Elias and Henri—who are both bisexual and send him long, whiny letters every month about how much they miss him. Obviously, he speaks French, a fact that twists something in Jisung’s stomach as he switches accents flawlessly.

     "Dormiras tu avec moi?" Minho purrs, and although Jisung's blocking the light from the door, he imagines him fluttering his lashes. 

     "What does that mean?" Jisung says.

     "It means you need to learn French." Minho quips, leaving all to the imagination. 

     Because he asks, Jisung tells him more stories of his childhood, the little house he and his mum treasure. He tells him about weekend trips to Changbin's house, playing an exhausting amount of Rapid in his backyard with Chan and his siblings. He tells him about dinners at Chan's, that seemingly magic broccoli preluding guitar practice and dancing together in his living room, collapsing on the couch and curling up under the moon. He tells him about how being friends with the Bang household is akin to being adopted, how one is taken in with open arms, smothered in their trademark laundry detergent and tucked snugly into bed. 

     "Soap and cotton?" Minho repeats with interest. "That's their thing?"

     "Yeah, why?" 

     "It's all over you." Minho says with a small, quiet laugh. "I thought you carried around a bar of soap or something."

     "Ah, no. I mean, it checks out. Adopted." Jisung chuckles.

     "Mm," Minho says wistfully, "I've never been that close with someone. Elias and Henri lived too far away, so we could never see each other over the summer." He pushes off the wall to stretch, closing the limited distance between them even more. A minor malfunction goes off in Jisung's chest, and his mouth releases an idea before his brain can check that it’s okay to put out into the world.

     "Maybe level four is where we're like that." Jisung says. "Or something close to it."

     "...You think?"

     As Jisung takes a breath to respond, he recognizes the uptick in volume of the crowd, and then it occurs to him that he can pluck out individual voices, and then someone’s rattling the knob. Jisung’s heart leaps out of his ribcage, but before he can properly react, the door has already been unlocked and is swinging open. Jisung falls backwards, grabbing frantically at Minho’s shirt in an attempt to save himself, but only succeeding in pulling him out as well and landing them both in a heap on the floor.

     “Merlin!” San yells, only barely sidestepping the human avalanche. “Wh—Jisung? Lee??”

     Jisung groans, his back throbbing. Minho props himself up on his elbows, and as Jisung takes stock of the situation, he also becomes horrifyingly aware that the entire Slytherin quidditch team is standing around them, a wide spectrum of gobsmacked. 

     “It’s not what it looks like!” Jisung says quickly, fire consuming his cheeks against his wishes. “It was Wooyoung, he locked us in!”

     “Do you need him to find your way out?” Yeonjun snaps, walking around Jennie’s frozen form. “We have to change.”

     Ah. So they lost. Jisung scrambles to his feet and starts to hurry out, but notices he isn’t being followed. “Minho?”

     Minho’s giving Yeonjun an expression Jisung’s never seen before: a base of indifference, seasoned with disgust and garnished with sass. “You know he’s better than you, right?”

     The room is silent, and Jisung sees Mingi perform a similar side-eye that he did on Halloween. Yeonjun clenches his teeth. “Excuse me?”

     “If he was on the team, you’d win.” Minho says, smooth as glass. “Just a reminder. Food for thought, if you can manage that.” Jay and Nayeon part so that he can join Jisung’s side, and he slings an arm around his shoulders, giving Jeongin a sympathetic glance. “No offense, Yang.”

     With that, he steers Jisung out of the changing room, walking with the same kind of confidence Jisung hadn’t seen from him since Halloween. Jisung is numb, still processing the feeling of Minho’s arm. 

     “You probably wanna party with your friends, don’t you?” Minho says, his voice neutral, as they approach the celebrating crowd surrounding the Hufflepuffs. 

     “You can join us.” Jisung says honestly.

     “No, I’m okay for now. I have work to do.” Minho says with a shrug, and then a small, personal smile inches onto his face. “Thank you, by the way. That was nice.”

     “What?”

     “Hearing you call me Minho.”

     All of a sudden, all at once, Jisung realizes that clear skies are temporary, and that there may be a new, different storm waiting for him down the road.

Chapter Text

     The Hufflepuff party is a new experience for Jisung since before this year, he'd only gone to afterparties from when Gryffindor won—which often meant Hufflepuff's loss. Felix spins Jisung around the room while Hyunjin appears here and there, periodically, each time with a new snack in his hand. 

     There's a lot more smoking than drinking, the sharp acrid scent of weed curling around bodies and steaming the room from the lack of windows. Jisung's never smoked before, but when Yunho offers his bowl, he accepts it with a smile. 

     The whole affair is way calmer than Gryffindor, where the alcohol nurtured arguments and physical fights. Jisung eventually finds himself on the squishy yellow couch, sprawled half in Chan's lap, half in Hyunjin's, laughing as Seungmin's rigid mannerisms attempt to mesh with his high brain. 

     "No no—listen, listen!" He says, slapping Changbin’s knee to try and pull him out of laughter. "I didn’t say that! This's mudblood phobic!"

     "What? What'd he say?" Hyunjin asks, out of the loop. 

     "Minnie said I have chocolate eyes." Changbin tattles, sloppy grin on his face. "N' I was like—you wanna eat them??"

     "I don't wanna eat them, that’s not what I said!" Seungmin whines. 

     "Lemme see lemme see." Felix says, crawling across the carpet and leaning close to squint at Changbin's eyes. 

     Jisung does the same with Chan, blinking when he sees they're perfectly clear. "R'you 'kay?"

     Chan smiles, ruffling Jisung’s hair. "I'm fine, Sung. I wanna make sure no one hurts themselves." 

     "Jisung, where were you the whole time?" Hyunjin complains, pulling Jisung by his shirt so that he falls back onto his legs. "Minnie said Wooyoung abducted you." 

     Changbin, Felix, and Seungmin erupt into giggles over whatever they'd decided about Changbin's eyes, and Jisung has to clap a few times to get their attention. “Guys, guys, this is important!” They turn, still smiling, and Jisung points to the ceiling, the reason unknown even to himself. “I was with Minho.”

     “Minho?” Chan picks up on immediately. “Since when do you call him Minho?”

     “Since I got locked ina closet with him.” He says. Felix gasps, and Jisung shakes his head too many times in response. “No no, not like that.”

     He tells them the story, messing up the chronological order and constantly forgetting what both of them had said. When he remembers what Minho said about quidditch, Seungmin snaps triumphantly.

     “There it is.” He says.

     “What?”

     “That was his little secret.” He clarifies. “The one’at made me change opinions. The truth or dare.”

     “Ohhh,” Jisung says, but his brain actually realizes what he’s talking about a few seconds after. “Oh!”

     “Yep.” Seungmin smirks, drooping into Changbin’s side. “Now you know.”

     “So you guys’re like, friends now?” Hyunjin says.

     “Kinda I guess.” Jisung says with a shrug. “We’ll see what happens.”

     Later that night, Changbin splits from them to escort Seungmin back to his dorm. Changbin isn’t much more sober than Seungmin is, but he insists, so the two of them giggle down the hallways, and Jisung and Chan wonder aloud whether they’ll get caught by prefects or if Changbin will even get back to Gryffindor at all(he does, making enough noise that he wakes almost everyone). 

     Chan doesn’t need much convincing for Jisung to get him to take him to Gryffindor as well—simple arguments of a convenient trip and a better night’s sleep and Chan is sold. As they collapse into bed, though, Jisung’s thoughts drift back to Minho, his confession of ‘interest’ in Jisung, whatever that means. What’ll it be like, being friends with him?

-

     Jisung’s Monday starts normal, Herbology with Chan and Changbin to Care of Magical Creatures with Jeongin—the latter sucking just a tad more since Jisung can’t shake feeling a little guilty about what Minho said on Saturday. 

     After that, he has Transfiguration, which would normally be his least favorite class since he's not great at it and neither is San(Seungmin is in the advanced class, so he isn't around to help). This time, as he makes his way to his seat, Minho catches his arm. 

     "Hannie," He says with a smile, and holy shit, that's a new feeling. "Sit with me." Seonghwa isn't here yet, so the chair next to him is empty. Jisung hesitates, and Minho pulls him in a tad, his smile turning a bit mischievous. "I won't bite again. That would be unoriginal." 

     Jisung scoffs, but it's light, and he takes the seat next to Minho, ignoring the bubbling excitement in his stomach. Not that many people are in the room yet, but those who are had been watching the interaction with interest. A mild thrill passes through him, like he's doing something he's not supposed to. 

     "We didn't have homework, right?" Jisung asks, moving close so that he can lower his voice.

     "No, we didn't. But you should've been practicing, cause last class I saw your tortoise still had a trumpet horn for a head." Minho teases.

     "From across the room you saw??" 

     "I may have been waiting for you to mess up."

     Jisung rolls his eyes. "You're really taking this rivalry seriously."

     Minho lights up. "Well, if you don't start taking it seriously, I'm gonna get bored."

     "Wow, so you weren't lying." Seonghwa says, impressed. San follows, grinning, and they take the desk behind them. "I thought you two would be wrestling when we got here."

     "No." Minho scowls. "Just talking. Why would I lie about something like that?"

     "I thought you were hate-fucking." San says bluntly. "And that you'd go back to hating each other regularly once it was over."

     "You're disgusting." Jisung says, warmth collecting in his cheeks. "In your broom closet?"

     "Me and Woo have fucked in worse places." 

     "Didn't ask. Horrible visual." Seonghwa shudders. 

     "Technically you did ask, and I'd argue that the visuals are top-tier." San says pointedly.

     "When given the legal opportunity, we should kill him." Minho leans over to loudly whisper. Jisung nods fervently, and San chuckles, propping his chin in his palm.

     "Merlin, this is really happening." He says. "We should go on a triple date."

     "Hey, me and Joong aren't dating." Seonghwa corrects, embarrassed.

     "You're one talk away." San says flatly. 

     "Yeah, well we're not dating either." Jisung says, donning that egotistical tone he uses whenever he wants to annoy Hyunjin and Seungmin. "We're still at the rivalry stage, so you'll have to try pretty hard to get me to stop hating you."

     "Can't. Too busy despising you." Minho quips, flicking Jisung’s wrist. He pulls a face and Minho pulls one back, and then the professor comes in to start the class, cutting their conversation short. 

     Jisung is unfocused for the whole lesson, his head spinning with the truth of this new reality he's living in. Minho has to pull him back to himself a few times, so he's met by bunny teeth and teasing brows each occurrence. It’s so strange and fresh and yet oddly comforting as they pack up and leave the room together, walking side-by-side, like their first two and a half months in each other’s company didn’t happen—or rather, don’t matter. 

     Now begins their real relationship—or friendship, since Jisung can finally call it something. They make their way to the Great Hall, but Minho pauses just outside the door. 

     “It’s a 2-day,” He says, “I have Muggle Studies.”

     “Oh, right.” Jisung says, and after a split-second hesitation, adds, “I’ll walk you.” He falls back into step with him, and as he’s realizing he’s never actually seen the Muggle Studies classroom, he’s interrupted by a chuckle.

     “You’ll walk me.” Minho repeats bemusedly.

     “Yeah. That’s what I’m doing right now.” Jisung says flatly.

     “You—you’re funny, you know that?”

     “What? What’s so funny?” Jisung says, a bit defensively. “If you didn’t want me to walk you, you could’ve just said so.”

     “No, I appreciate it. I’m just not used to this.” Minho says with a smile.

     “Being walked places?”

     “Your attention. Positive attention.” 

     Jisung has no idea how to respond to that. For some reason, it flusters him a little. “I mean—n-now that we’re friends, I’m gonna pay attention to you positively.”

     “Excellent comprehension skills.” Minho says with a sarcastic smirk. “You really are something special, Hannie.”

     Jisung scowls at him. “I should not have walked you.”

     “Well we’re not there yet, you still have time to change your mind.”

     Jisung rolls his eyes, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "It's already in motion. I can't undo it."

     "You did well today." Minho says, turning the corner. "It's a miracle, since you weren't paying attention." 

     "I was paying attention." Jisung lies, feigning offense. 

     "Your eyes were literally glazed over." Minho says with a huff. "I was wondering if they'd taste like donuts." 

     "You thought about licking my eyes??"

     "In between thinking about how to reprimand you for your lax attitude." Minho teases, and pokes Jisung’s cheek with his index finger. A flush blooms under the contact, and as they turn the next corner, they pass Chan, Felix, and Hyunjin, who perform a picture-perfect double take, nearly in unison.

     "Where are you going?" Felix asks, since the others are silent from shock.

     "I—I'll see you guys later, alright?" Jisung calls, and has to jog to catch back up with Minho, who hadn't stopped. "Y'know, we're still level one, aren't we? When did I say you had cheek-poking privileges?"

     Minho's face falls. "You're right. I'm sorry, I have to earn that." 

     The sadness in his eyes hits Jisung square in his heart. Dammit, dammit. How have all of his walls disappeared over a single weekend? So much has changed, but Jisung still manages to feel stupid for letting his guard down.

     "W-well, then earn it." Jisung says, extending an arm in front of Minho to stop him. "Let's skip to level two."

     "Skip?"

     "You confessed to wanting to lick my eyes." Jisung says frankly. "I think we're there already." 

     "This is a little fast, isn't it?" Minho says, raising a brow.

     "I'm gay," Jisung says with a slightly shy grin, "I move fast." 

     They're at an intersection, and Jisung inches toward the opposite hallway, tilting his head at Minho. "Level two is out-of-class friends, sooo…skip for me." 

     As Minho stares at him, Jisung's brain catches up with his words again, a shard of panic skipping across his heart. What the hell is he doing? But—no. They're friends now. He's allowed to enjoy being around him, to find his quips clever and his face pleasant to look at. Relax, Jisung.

     Minho drifts over to him, eyelids lowered smugly. "You're a terrible influence. Not to mention rather forward."

     "You're pretty responsive to my advances." Jisung shoots back, turning and walking down the hallway. "Come on, let's not waste all of lunch." 

     He leads Minho to the Astronomy Tower, correct in his assumption that it would be empty, taking a deep inhale of the frigid air. 

     "Do you skip up here often?" Minho asks curiously. 

     "Nah," Jisung says, leaning against the railing, "I don't skip. You do."

     Minho kicks his shin as he joins his side, surveying the view. "Kill yourself, you do skip. You skipped Potions that one time."

     His brash words make Jisung laugh out loud, totally unaccustomed to such language. He doesn’t dislike it. "Aw, you remember that? Did you miss me?" Jisung teases. 

     "Yeah, loads." Minho says sarcastically. 

     They both fall silent, icy breeze whipping their cloaks, and Jisung huffs quietly, dreading Astronomy later. It's finally December, and it's only going to get colder once the sun goes down. All the stories he'd told about his childhood are making him even more sentimental and excited for Christmas, anticipating their usual festivities. 

     "What were you coming up here for?" Minho asks, cutting through his thoughts. "When we first met."

     "Ah." Jisung says awkwardly, fiddling with his hands. "To cry. This is kinda my spot for that." 

     "Oh."

     "Most people hook up here, though. Says a lot about me, huh?" Jisung says, attempting self-deprecation. 

     "That you cry during sex?"

     Jisung sputters, face flaring up red. “No!”

     “Seems like you would.” Minho says with a smirk. “You look like the kinda person with a breaking point.”

     “Everyone has a breaking point.” Jisung grumbles. “It’s called death, asshole.”

     Minho tuts. "You drag me all the way from class and this is the treatment I get?"

     "It's just Muggle Studies." Jisung waves off. "I can fill you in on whatever you're missing."

     "We're still doing Magic-on-Muggle violence." Minho says, feigning innocence. "Go ahead, tell me about it."

     "This, right now." Jisung glares at him, completely clueless. "I only know muggle history." 

     Minho hums disapprovingly, delivering another harmless flick to Jisung's arm. 

     "I have a question," Jisung says, "since we're moving up to level two."

     "Go ahead."

     "Where's your accent? You said you've been going to Beauxbatons since you were eleven." 

     "I live here." Minho says simply. "Have my whole life. School was a really long commute. It was worth it, though. Gave me a good excuse not to go home for the holidays." 

     Jisung nods in understanding, turning the words over in his head. Seungmin talks in a similar way about going home, and Jisung’s not stupid, he knows what that means. He can see it in the relief when Felix invited him to his Christmas gathering, one that they apparently have every year, so he's not sure why Seungmin needs the repeated confirmation. 

     "They suck." Jisung says, forgetting the part where he phrases it as a question and the one where he specifies what he means. 

     Minho needs neither. "Yep," He says dully. 

     "...If you don't mind me asking—?"

     "Neglectful." Minho says, his voice flat and detached. "I'm like a trophy to them. The first few years, when I actually did go to Christmas, they’d prop me up in a chair and talk about me like I wasn’t even there. After all their guests left, they’d go right back to ignoring me.”

     Jisung frowns, imagining little Minho, alone in some big drafty house on Christmas. “I’m so sorry.”

     “Not your fault.” Minho shrugs. “I mean, I have both my parents, so it can’t be that bad. Er—sorry if that came out wrong.”

     Jisung huffs, amused. “Nah, I’m not touchy about it. To be honest, I bet one really good parent is better than two awful ones.”

     “We shouldn’t quantify hardship.” Minho says with a careless wave of his hand. “It’s whatever. I turned out fine.”

     “You did?”

     Minho shoves him, and Jisung laughs, the sound echoing off the high turrets of the castle.

-

     The next few days are like a fever dream. Jisung spends so much time with Minho that he nearly forgets that the rest of the world exists, save for classes with his other friends. 

     Other friends. The idea still enthralls him, Minho being one of them. He can't help feeling like some kind of fisherman, giant, rare fish in hand: I finally got it! The more they hang out, the more Jisung wishes they had been friends all along. 

     Minho is extremely easy to talk to. From the start, he didn't bother with pleasantries or anything surface level, nor did he put any kind of mask over his personality. Jisung had only ever seen its prickly side, so to have access to its sweet one feels like Eve's forbidden fruit. 

     Jesus, Minho really has him making fucking Bible references. 

     It's hard to explain what spending time with him is like. Light, fun; yet still pervaded by a good-natured competitive spirit. One quip is matched by the other, harmless slaps on the wrist, narrowed eyes and testing smiles. Jisung fights to get better at Transfiguration and Minho does the same with Potions, both of them challenging each other in such a way that they mutually improve. 

     Y'know, like rivals. And he's enjoying every second of it.

     Minho doesn't feel ready to breach his friend group yet, so Jisung sits with him during lunch, strange from the new view provided by the Ravenclaw table. Seonghwa would normally be there, but since Minho has a new 'lunch companion,' he's taken to sitting with Hongjoong at Hufflepuff instead. 

     It's frankly absurd that Jisung is getting addicted to their friendship so fast, but he can't deny reality, and he's receiving very little pushback. 

     "It's cause you're gay." Seungmin says, unknowingly echoing Jisung's words. It's Friday, and they're gathered by the lake for the picnic. Hyunjin and Changbin are missing since Muggle Studies happened to overlap again—which may or may not be why Jisung joined them. "We latch onto each other."

     "Min, almost everyone at this school is queer in some way." Jisung says, exasperated. "That shouldn't be a factor. Besides, we don't actually know if he's gay."

     Seungmin shrugs. "Gays gather. We become friends on instinct. All of my muggle friends ended up being queer, and we met in primary school, before we possibly could've known. I'm telling you, it's science."

     "It's definitely not." Felix says with a giggle. "At least, it's not friendship."

     Jisung throws his napkin at him. "Fuck you, we're only friends." 

     "They just started hanging out." Chan says, face twisting. 

     Felix gives a faux-innocent, performative shrug. "I know these things. My senses are tingling."

     "Well, tingle farther away." Jisung says with a scoff. "Your tingling is distracting me."

     "Come on, Jisungie." Felix pokes his side, smiling ear-to-ear. "I've never been wrong about crushes. It's either him or you."

     "We just started hanging out." Jisung repeats. 

     "I can feel one starting." Felix says matter-of-factly. "It's in its crucial developmental stage right now."

     "You're full of it." Jisung says, defensively crossing his arms over his chest.

     "You know, Veela senses have been historically biased." Seungmin says skeptically. "I did a project on it last year. If you're actively looking for something, you're gonna find it." 

     "I'm not biased." Felix frowns. "I can feel it." 

     "Okay, but do you feel it, or do you feel it?" Seungmin asks cryptically.

     "I feel it." Felix says petulantly. 

     Seungmin purses his lips. Jisung can't tell if that was the right answer or the wrong one. 

-

     On Saturday, the two of them are studying in the library—mainly preparing for a Transfiguration quiz the following Tuesday. 

     "I don't get it." Jisung groans, his head banging against the table. “It doesn’t make any sense, I was doing just fine in class!” He'd accidentally turned his textbook into a trumpet, so he's sharing with Minho, who does his best to coach him. 

     "Hannie…don't do that, you'll give yourself a concussion." Minho says, lifting Jisung's head off the wood. "You're just a little eager with your wand. It's less of a flick." 

     Jisung repeats the wand movement as instructed, and his trumpet-textbook grows legs. 

     "Okay—well, technically, this is good." Minho says lightly. 

     "I'm doomed. I'm gonna fail this stupid quiz." Jisung says, heart full of dread.

     "No, you're not." Minho says firmly. "You've been helping me with Potions this entire time. If you fail this quiz—well, you won't fail it. I'm going to make sure you don't."

     Jisung blinks at him. "You want me to cheat?"

     "What? No. I'm going to help you understand before we leave." Minho says, rolling his eyes. Jisung is about to object as Minho rises from his chair, but then he walks behind him and places his hand over Jisung's, directing his wand. "If you were too eager before, now you're too timid." 

     His hand is cold. Jisung has to stop himself from flinching, not wanting to give Minho the wrong impression. His pinky and ring finger wrap around Jisung's wrist, index acting as the leader, pressing authoritatively on the top of his hand. With quick self-assurance, he guides Jisung in the wand movement, and the legged trumpet-textbook turns into a full tortoise. 

     Jisung's eyes widen—he hadn't made a sound. He turns, fixing Minho with wonder. "Did you—?"

     "Cast through you, yes. It was an accident." Minho says sheepishly. "Sorry."

     "You're brilliant." 

     "What?"

     "You're brilliant," Jisung repeats, with more feeling. "You nonverbally—Jesus Christ. And with my wand!" 

     Minho lets go of his hand, and Jisung miraculously catches his ears getting rosy. "It's…well, it's not nothing, but—I practiced. With Henri. Forget about it, you need to work." Minho says hastily, directing his attention back to the tortoise on the table. 

-

     Minho is good at a lot of things, which shouldn't come as a surprise, but Jisung is impressed every time. His best subject is probably Defense, proved when he admits the next day that he's had his ears pierced this entire time. He'd hidden them with an extremely convincing concealment charm, the lobes of his ears looking perfectly smooth and unblemished. He was worried, apparently, of how they'd be perceived by Hogwarts students. 

     "Beauxbatons is mostly girls," He explains as he sheds the charm, revealing silver studs and a hoop around one helix. "But there's a fashionable little clique of gay guys. I got it into my head that it was a French thing, being forgiving. I've done research about the muggle consensus—"

     "You have nothing to worry about." Jisung says with a snort. "Trust me." In the back of his head, Jisung realizes that this implies Minho is gay. Not that it matters. 

     Minho retrieves his Charms textbook and Jisung leans back in the large green couch, eyes flicking over to the lake-filled window. The Slytherin common room has sort-of become their hub since Jisung can never figure out the Ravenclaw riddle on his own. It’s odd, because Jisung used to know it as the place he’d go and mope while Chan and Changbin were busy at practice. Minho’s presence refreshes it. 

     “We should get everyone together to play Rapid again.” Jisung thinks aloud. “Since there’s no game this month.”

     “It’ll be freezing.” Minho says, pulling a face.

     “It’ll still be freezing in January—and February, when you play next.” Jisung says pointedly.

     “That’s a problem for future me.” Minho says with a huff. “Have you been keeping track of my quidditch schedule?”

     “No, narcissist.” Jisung rolls his eyes. “Almost all my friends play quidditch, I know who’s playing when. Also, February is versus Gryffindor, so I extra-know.”

     Minho sighs. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

     “Why?”

     Minho’s fingers tense around his book. “The majority of Ravenclaw’s games are in the latter half of the year. I’m gonna be so out of practice, and I might not even have what it takes.”

     “Don’t say that.” Jisung says with a frown. “You made the team after all.”

     “Gryffindor is good.” Minho says dejectedly. “Really good. Plus, Chan doesn’t like me.”

     Jisung blinks at him. It’s usually pretty difficult for people to tell when Chan dislikes them, mostly because he doesn’t feel that way very often. Voice too high, Jisung says, “What makes you think that?”

     Minho glares at him. “Don’t gimme that shit. You know he hates me.”

     “Hate is a strong word.” Jisung says, and wow, he sounds like his mum. “I don’t think Chan is capable of hate.”

     “Well, he definitely doesn’t like me.”

     Jisung shrugs half-heartedly. "He's just a bit—erm, intimidated by you. And he doesn't really appreciate the staring."

     Minho scoffs. "The staring? Right, cause I'm not allowed to look. Cause he owns the view."

     "That's not what I meant!" Jisung says, quickly trying to mend the situation. "Just like—I dunno, try not to look so intense?"

     Minho's lids flatten. "You're fascinating, Jisung Han."

     "Huh?" Jisung falters, some unknown sensation prickling his skin from hearing Minho call him by his real name.

     "You fascinate me. The sorting hat did a good job with you." Minho says bemusedly, arrogantly kicking one leg to cross over the other.

     Ah. He's calling me stupid. Jisung throws a pillow at him, crinkling the pages of his textbook in the process. "Consider yourself lucky, asshole! If I was in Ravenclaw, we probably would've been at war by now." 

     "Why? Can't bear the thought of sharing a room with me?"

     Jisung makes a big show of shuddering. “Never in a million years.”

-

     On Tuesday, he ends up doing really well on the quiz. All he had to do was imagine Minho’s chilly hand over his own, recreate the movement and pretend he was over his shoulder, doing all the work. Minho’s congratulations last all the way through Defense, Seungmin rolling his eyes as Minho leans forward in his chair behind them.

     “You did such a good job.” He whispers cheekily. “Who taught you?”

     “Minho—”

     “Say it.”

     “You did.” Jisung hisses, unable to suppress a grin. 

     “Damn right I did.” Minho hums. “I told you I wouldn’t let you fail. Now we’re even.”

     “Even? After two months of me making sure you didn’t blow up the school?” Jisung says with a scoff. “We’re hardly even.”

     “How else should I make it up to you?” Minho pouts—what an image, god—but before Jisung can answer, Professor Potter is standing beside their desks, raising a brow.

     “You two wanna take this outside?”

     Seungmin smirks as they sheepishly return to their correct positions, refocusing on the work. 

     Herbology passes rapidly as always, Chan and Changbin excellent time wasters. When the three of them enter the Great Hall, Jisung's eyes sweep the Ravenclaw table, searching, and Chan puts a hand on his shoulder. He turns to tilt his head questioningly, but at the same time, he sees a swath of purple enter his peripheral vision. Seungmin somehow bullies Minho towards them without talking or touching him, and Jisung grins.

     "You're sitting with us then?"

     Minho shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Seungmin begged me."

     Seungmin rolls his eyes, walking past all of them to claim his seat beside Changbin. Hyunjin and Felix are already sitting, and they brighten at the sight of Minho, beckoning him over. Jisung throws an arm around his shoulder and steers him into sitting between Hyunjin and himself. Chan takes his spot beside him as well, leaving a comical imbalance on one side of the table. 

     Before Hyunjin can speak, Minho quickly says, "Just call me Minho." 

     "Well, Minho," Hyunjin says, obnoxiously testing how the name sounds in his mouth. He grins, apparently enjoying it. "What took you so long to join us? Was Jisungie hogging you?"

     "The opposite, actually." Jisung lies with gusto, helping himself to a sandwich from one of the platters on the table. "He's the most possessive rival I've ever had."

     "I don't want you bickering with anyone else." Minho says, sliding into his role in the bit with practiced ease. "You promised we were exclusive enemies. I have every right to keep my Hannie on a tight leash."

     Chan, who had just taken a sip from his goblet, chokes and sputters. "Hannie??” Jisung has to fight his body's natural urge to flush.

     "Well, certainly you can share each other while you're together, can't you?" Seungmin proposes smugly.

     "I'll manage." Minho shrugs.

     "Well good, because we want you to join us this Friday." Felix says cheerfully. "We have—"

     "A picnic, yes, Hannie told me." Minho finishes, providing a small, shy smile. "I'd love to join you." 

     Changbin tilts his head, intrigued but ultimately distrusting. "How much has he told you about us?"

     “All good things.” Minho assures him, making eye contact with Jisung. The look he gives him is—my god. Fond. Jisung smiles back, bashfulness leaking onto his features, weirdly flattered that Minho has such a high opinion of him. 

     The amount that things have changed really hits him—two weeks ago, him and Minho weren’t even speaking. Now, Minho has an exclusive nickname he calls him, and Jisung feels unsettled if they spend even a single lunch apart. Everything has seemed right with the world for the past twelve days, enough to make Jisung feel disoriented. The time has flown, but he still feels like him and Minho have been friends for ages.

     “Now that he’s sugar-coated you all, I’m prepared for disappointment.” Minho quips, a challenging glint in his eye. “So if you want to stay in my good graces, you better meet my expectations.” Amused huffs pass through each of his friends, easily picking up on his sense of humor and—

     “If we’re good enough for Sung, we’re definitely good enough for you.” Chan says, his voice as tight as his disingenuous smile.

     There’s something in the air, an awkward tautness. Jisung can’t even think of something to say, brain consumed by foggy surprise that Chan’s feelings surrounding Minho hadn’t seemed to change. He hadn’t considered the idea that Minho joining their group would go anything other than smoothly despite Jeongin’s messy half-failure. But that was different—feelings were involved, old, intense ones that had gone unchecked until that particular, unrequited moment. 

     Minho’s eyes narrow imperceptibly, and his smile morphs into something snarky, competitive. It looks just like the one Minho gave him right before they dueled.

     “I’ll be the judge of that, thanks, Chris.”

Chapter Text

     Okay, so Chan and Minho really don’t like each other.

     The situation is almost a perfect mirror of Jisung and Minho’s beginnings, with Chan approaching every interaction with hostility and Minho simply matching his energy, dislike festering in both of them as a result. 

     This time, though, there’s the additional fun ingredient of pressure, a unique kind, just for them. Although Jisung and Minho had been frequently prodded about whether or not they were going to fuck each other silly, for the most part, that had just been an annoyance. In Chan and Minho’s case, everyone around wants them to get along, but they just can’t manage it.

     It extra sucks because Minho meshes very well with the rest of the group: exchanging dry quips with Seungmin, messing with Hyunjin and Changbin, allowing Felix's frequent shows of affection with only an eye roll. But with Chan—

     “He’s toxic.” Chan says venomously during lunch on Thursday. The Muggle Studies attendees are dutifully absent, the rest of them sat at the Gryffindor table. 

     Jisung sighs heavily. This is technically his fault: him and Minho had gotten carried away and dropped their casual ‘kill yourself’s when they were all in the Gryffindor common room after school yesterday. Chan had been horrified, and he and Minho had gotten into an argument that lasted for ten straight minutes. 

     “He’s not toxic, Chan. I told you already, it’s just his sense of humor.” Jisung says tiredly. 

     “Well, his sense of humor is twisted.” Chan says firmly. “And doesn’t it freak you out when he knows exactly what you're thinking? I’m starting to think he’s a Legilimens.”

     “Impossible.” Seungmin interjects, much more invested in his lunch. “The Ministère des Affaires Magiques has strict regulations around Legilimency. Much stricter than Britain.”

     “He doesn’t live in France,” Jisung says, “he lives here.”

     “Well he certainly wouldn’t have had the resources to learn at school.” Seungmin says matter-of-factly.  

     “He’s not a Legilimens.” Felix agrees apprehensively, looking caught between his own light fondness of Minho and his obvious bias towards Chan. “Jisungie’s just easy to read.” 

     “Says you, with your alleged powers for reading people.” Chan points out with a hint of sarcasm. 

     “Okay, but Jisung is way easier to read than, like, Seungmin.” Felix says, blushing. “And my thing is only about love.” 

     “Obvious why I’m difficult then.” Seungmin says offhandedly.

     Felix smirks. “Difficult, but not impossible. You and Bin have been studying together a lot recently, haven’t you?” Seungmin glares at him. 

     “I like the company.” He grits out, avoiding eye contact. 

     “Minnie, come on. You don’t have to try and hide it from us, silly.” Felix says with a giggle. “It’s not just me who can tell something’s happening. You might be harder to read, but Bin’s already given you away.”

     Seungmin sighs, his excellent poker face betrayed by his bright red ears. “He’s pleasant to be around, okay? I’m not gonna fall for him again, that would be stupid.”

     “Again?” Chan says, blinking several times in a row.

     The color in his ears spreads to his entire face. “Ah. Erm—right. I forgot you didn’t know.” 

     Jisung snickers. “You’d probably be harder to read if you didn’t just give up information like that.”

     “You say that as Mr. Easiest To Read.” Seungmin says defensively. “Did you ever think that maybe Minho kept staring at you that first day because he could tell you were attracted to him?”

     Jisung scoffs, struggling to fight off a blush himself. “He’s—I’m not attracted to him. He’s just an attractive guy. There’s a difference.”

     “There really isn’t.”

     “Yeah there is. Besides, we only made eye contact once before then.” Jisung insists. 

     “Eye contact!” Chan says triumphantly. “Isn’t eye contact essential for Legilimency?”

     “Chan. Come on.”

     The day after that is Friday, Minho’s first time joining them for the picnic. As if that isn’t worrying enough, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have joint Charms right before lunch, so the four of them come down together, Jisung, Felix, and Hyunjin already waiting.

     “Welcome, welcome!” Felix says, enthusiastically patting the blanket. “Take a seat and grab whatever looks tasty.”

     There’s a hiccup as Minho cuts Chan off—whether or not he did so intentionally is impossible to prove—and sinks into the open spot next to Jisung, one arm linking with his. 

     “I like the look of this one.” He says, bunny teeth poking through his smirk. 

     Jisung rolls his eyes. “You suck.”

     “With any luck.”

     Changbin laughs, taking his seat beside Seungmin. Chan follows, looking disgruntled. “Merlin, you’re like Wooyoung.” 

     Minho raises a brow. “Hopefully only in the flirting aspect.” 

     Flirting. He really said—no. He’s just joking, Jisung insists upon himself, frantically ignoring the warmth that the thought inspires in his cheeks. 

     “Don’t worry, that’s where the similarities end.” Changbin says with a chuckle.

     “We’ve got sandwiches, a little charcuterie thing happening…” Hyunjin trails off, rifling through the picnic basket. 

     “Charcuterie.” Minho repeats flatly, mimicking Hyunjin’s pronunciation. “You mean charcuterie?”

     “Oh jeez.” Chan says, seemingly unable to control himself. “I forgot you’re French.” 

     “Si on doit continuer, j’ai besoin d’un verre.” Minho says dully, with a hint of sarcasm. “Do you have water?”

     “We also have pumpkin juice.” Felix says, a bit too cheerfully. 

     “Just water is fine, thank you.” 

     Felix passes the jug, and his eyes sparkle as he remembers something. "Oh, Jinnie—!"

     "No, not now." Hyunjin says quickly, out of character. 

     "What?" Changbin says, leaning over Seungmin to grab them both sandwiches. 

     Felix can't help himself. "Jinnie aced the Bibliomancy quiz we took today." He beams. 

     "What the hell is bibliomancy? You're just making this stuff up, aren't you?" Seungmin says judgmentfully. 

     "No I'm not!" Felix says petulantly. "It's telling the future with books. Flipping the pages and landing on certain words, you know?"

     "I think that's called being bored, not divination." Jisung says. 

     "Not when you use your inner eye." Felix says with a touch of haughty pride. "You should've seen it, he had the most coherent sentence out of the whole class. I got 'belong who going monotonously.' Then Jin went up and got 'friends against the odds.'"

     "Lixie…" Hyunjin groans, embarrassed.

     "It was really impressive, and obviously a sign." Felix says brightly, his eyes darting between Chan and Minho. 

     They've barely looked at each other the entire time. The atmosphere sags from their joint silence, and Felix clumsily attempts to revive the conversation with talk of the quidditch match they have to look forward to at the end of January. Minho still hasn't detached himself from Jisung, and each time he lifts his cup of water to drink, their arms brush. It's stupid, really fucking stupid, because the touch feels like it's glittering under his skin. 

     Minho tilts his chin so that their heads are closer together, lips subconsciously parted in that show of indifference that's become characteristic. It's almost like boredom, but Jisung can read the mischief in his eyes. 

     "Your guard dog is a little overzealous." He says, just loud enough for Jisung to hear. 

     "Guard dog?" Jisung repeats, bemused. 

     "I’m wondering if he can be trained at all. Did you walk into the forest and select the first wolf you came across?" He teases, and Chan looks away when he realizes they're paying attention to him. 

     Jisung flicks him with his left hand since his right is still occupied. Their shoulders are fully touching now that Minho has pressed closer, and the contact is surprisingly warm. Jisung vaguely registers reaching for Minho’s hand, inspecting his chilly fingers. 

     "You have really weird circulation." Jisung points out. "Only your hands are cold." Minho unhelpfully curls his fingers around Jisung's so that they're holding hands, stopping his investigative work in its tracks.

     "Hm, but you're so warm." He says, squeezing and rubbing Jisung's hand between his own like it's kindling. 

     "Is anyone else cold?" Chan says, wrapping his cloak tighter around his body. "Cause I'm freezing."

     "Honestly, I'm cold too." Seungmin confesses. 

     Hyunjin sighs. "Me too. I was hoping we could squeeze in one last picnic before the weather got bad." 

     "Well, this can be it." Changbin says, not-so-discreetly removing his cloak and draping it over Seungmin’s shoulders. "Might as well just finish up, enjoy it while we can." 

     They huddle closer together, and Minho finally unlinks their elbows to wrap his arm around Jisung's waist. Jisung prays that the bite of the air is enough of an excuse for his pink cheeks, and he keeps his expression as level as possible as his thoughts drift back to Hyunjin’s—wait a second.

     "...watch out for closets…"

     He was right. He had actually correctly predicted something—if only Jisung had listened. And hold on—Felix, too. Danger on the right side. Felix had taken the right path during the HRR and got spooked by San and Changbin. God, what else had he said about Jisung? He can hardly remember now, he'd basically thrown the memory away. 

     "You have a secret admirer, Jisung. And he's madly in love with you."

     Jisung’s eyes flit to Minho, face heating more. Surely…no. His heart skips a beat regardless, bubbling at the idea. Felix had said so too, that it was in its 'crucial developmental stage.' But then again, Seungmin said he could be biased. That Divination is just coincidence. Who should he believe? The Ravenclaw or the Hufflepuffs? The answer seems obvious.

     Minho glances over as Jisung bites into a strawberry-cucumber sandwich and his eyes crease happily, reaching over to thoroughly poke his puffed cheek. "Aw, cute."

     "Cute?" Jisung scoffs after swallowing. 

     "Oui, mon petit écureuil." Minho coos. He normally doesn't speak French this often, which leads Jisung to the conclusion that he's doing it to piss Chan off. 

     Chan takes an agitated sip of his juice. "Don't patronize him." 

     "Don't speak for him." Minho claps back instantly. 

     Jisung glares at them both. It stinks that their petty feud has centralized around him, but then again, it's only natural. He's the one who brought Minho into their group, and he really can't imagine spending time without him anymore. They both like everyone in the friend group and are both accustomed to Jisung’s attention(however recently in Minho's case). They can't have one without the other, which only makes tensions worse. 

     “I’m not cute.” Jisung says, exaggerating his voice in such a way that Seungmin rolls his eyes in anticipation. “I’m an eldritch horror.”

     “The giant squid in disguise.” Changbin adds with a grin. 

     “Out of both of us, I think I’m more squid-like.” Minho says thoughtfully, with a strange touch of smugness. “You have more of an octopus face.” 

     “You’re just calling my cheeks round again, aren’t you?”

-

     Jisung gets deja vu as he spends another Saturday at the quidditch pitch, joined by Seungmin. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have practices back to back again, both eager to stretch their muscles and review strategies before the break. 

     Jisung swears he can see actual hearts in Seungmin and Changbin’s eyes whenever they meet, accessorized by shy smiles and half-waves. Wooyoung is incredibly subtle about it of course, slapping Changbin on the back and whistling obnoxiously. They don’t seem to care though, enraptured by each other. Seungmin had brought his bag with him so that he could study during the lulls, but it spends the entire time slumped beside him, forgotten. 

     Once it’s over, Chan and Changbin fly over and chat with them in the air, Seungmin’s eyes helplessly drawn to the beads of sweat and Changbin’s wind-swept hair. Within five minutes however, the Ravenclaw team appears, so they’re forced to retreat to the changing rooms. Minho flies right up and takes their place, smiling.

     “I’m glad you’re here.” He says, his nose already stained pink from the cold. 

     “I know, I can finally ‘stick around and find out.’” Jisung says with a smirk. “I have high expectations for you.”

     “Actually, I meant because I’m nervous.”

     Jisung’s expression drops so suddenly that Minho laughs out loud. 

     “Kidding. Well, half-kidding.” Minho amends. “I don’t actually care, I mean. You can have high expectations. I’m just happy you’re here.”

     “That doesn’t make any sense.”

     “You help regardless. Your presence is enough.” Minho says warmly, and then Seonghwa yells something unintelligible, stealing his attention. “Gotta go. Hi Seungmin.”

     “Hi Minho.” Seungmin says smugly, watching him fly off. He gives Jisung a side-eye and—like magic—remembers the existence of his bag. He shoulders it, standing from the risers. “I’m cold, I’m going in.”

     “Pussy.” Jisung flings without venom. Seungmin doesn’t even bother giving him a middle finger, leaving without another word. Jisung leans back against the row behind him, feeling marginally self-conscious now that he’s alone. 

     Seonghwa blinks at him when he notices he’s there, and Jisung waves nervously. He’s still not sure how to act around him, feeling a bit awkward since he basically stole Minho from him. Not that Seonghwa complained about it or anything, but in classic Jisung fashion, he finds a way to feel guilty regardless. 

     The Ravenclaw practice has a much tighter structure than the way Chan conducts the Gryffindor team, but it’s still over in a flash. It’s handy that they happened right after each other, because Seungmin provided a pretty good example of what Jisung must have looked like while he spectated. 

     Minho guides his broom with a kind of skill that Jisung didn’t notice when he actually played against him. It’s almost lazy-looking, but Jisung realizes that he’s conserving energy, pumping all of his fine-tuned control and effort into sharp turns and abrupt dives. He looks at home in the air; at peace. After watching two practices in a row, Jisung’s fairly confident:

     “You could beat Lisa.” He blurts when he meets Minho on the field. 

     Minho tilts his head, features pointed forwards in an open intrigue that’s so rabbit-like that Jisung has to smother a smile. “You think?”

     “I just saw you both. Direct comparison.” Jisung says simply. “You’re really good.”

     Minho’s ears turn red. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

     “Oh, Jisung, hey!” 

     It’s Hongjoong, who lets go of Seonghwa’s hand for a moment so that he can wave. Jisung waves back, grinning, and walks over, Minho trailing a step behind. 

     “Not allowed in?” He teases, since he hadn’t seen Hongjoong anywhere in the stands. 

     “No, unfortunately. I’m sure he was brilliant.” Hongjoong says, threading his fingers through Seonghwa’s again. Their hands fit marvelously together. 

     “Wow, doesn’t let his own boyfriend into practice. You’re much stricter than Chan.” Jisung says cheekily. 

     Seonghwa flushes, but doesn’t correct him. “That would be terrible strategy on my part.” 

     “We’ll let you two lovebirds have the pitch, then.” Jisung says, already beginning to walk away. “Go ahead and join your own mile-high club.” 

     Hongjoong rolls his eyes at him. “Is a closet any better?”

     Jisung just laughs, and they leave the pitch since Minho had already changed. It’s getting darker and colder, so Jisung pulls his robes closer to his body, resisting the impulse to shiver. 

     “You don’t…you don’t mind that stuff, right?” Minho says suddenly.

     “Hm?”

     “How people think we’re dating.” Minho says, his voice stripped of anything Jisung might consider a clue to how he feels about the concept. 

     “I don’t mind.” Jisung says honestly. 

     “Really?”

     “Why would I mind?”

     Minho doesn’t speak for a moment, and Jisung can’t decide if it’s because he’s thinking of what to say or if he’s wondering how Jisung will react to what he already knows he’s going to say. “Well…I don’t want it to become this damaging thing at school. You know what people are like here.”

     “What, like gossiping? They’re always gonna gossip.” Jisung says. “It’s only damaging if we let it get to us, right? Easy. I’m impenetrable.” 

     “No—I mean like, what if they talk themselves into believing it?” Minho says, worry seeping into his tone. “To the point no one notices that we really aren’t dating.”

     “What d’you mean?”

     “Like with Felix and Chan.” 

     Jisung stops, his mouth hanging open. For some reason, hearing him say it out loud makes him feel oddly free. “You know about that??”

     “Of course I do,” Minho scoffs, “it’s obvious. But I guess everyone here has thought of them as the next big thing for years, so no one really looks anymore, or something. I don’t know. It kinda freaks me out, the way no one talks about it.”

     Jisung is tongue-tied. It makes perfect sense when Minho explains it like that, but he can’t get his brain to chug any more and work out why no one mentions it.

     “My point is,” Minho continues, “I don’t want that to happen to you. Chan doesn’t like Felix and he hates the way everyone keeps insisting he does. Hasn’t he been single for years? That’s pretty powerful gossip if Mr. Gryffindor Captain can’t get a date.” 

     Jisung gives him a look at his snide tone, but he’s not wrong. “I mean, it’s not like anyone’s jumping at the opportunity to ask me out or anything.” He says with a shrug. 

     “So you’re not worried about Felix?”

     “What about Felix?” Jisung says, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. 

     Minho blinks at him about ten times. “Felix. Felix Lee. The guy you dumped Hongjoong for.”

     Jisung’s jaw drops. “OH—! My god, I forgot about that! Ha—no, I’m not worried about Felix, jesus.”

     Minho stares at him. “So, he rejected you, or…?”

     “No, no,” Jisung says, “I lied. Seonghwa told me about his crush on Hongjoong, and it seemed pretty serious, y’know? So I figured our little fling wasn’t as important. I didn’t wanna just end it for no reason, so that’s what I told him. I’ve never had a crush on Felix.”

     His explanation sounded totally fine coming out of his mouth, but Minho’s expression morphs into one of horror.

     “Merlin—I’m so sorry.” He says, voice full of dread.

     “Huh?”

     “I’ve been a big fucking idiot.” Minho says, and his face is shifting through several emotions at once now. “I thought—cause you said—but then—“

     “What? Minho, what the hell are you talking about?” Jisung says, growing concerned.

     "Erm—it's kind of a long story." Minho says with a delirious, almost maniacal laugh. "This is going to sound really stupid, but when we first started talking, I had this feeling that you were attracted to me or something. Like, deep down, despite how much you said you hated me. Maybe it's because Yeonjun said something to me before the game."

     "That's…" Jisung trails off, stomach lurching at the memory of what Seungmin had said just yesterday.

     "Ridiculous, I know." Minho cuts him off. "But I thought it was a fact for so long, and I kept ignoring your rudeness cause I perceived it as some childish kind of crush thing that was happening. But when I overheard that you liked Felix, I realized that you don't like me and you never have. You made me feel stupid, so I started being mean to you right back." Minho explains, becoming breathless from saying it all in one go. "But you never liked Felix. You lied. And—wait a second, hold on—Halloween." 

     Jisung's face heats up. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had no idea Minho had misunderstood him this much. He didn't realize that confessing to something so innocuous would unravel this crazy web. Has he accidentally put himself in a horribly revealing position?

     "I thought that was your breaking point." Minho says, a triumphant expression dawning on his features. "I thought you’d finally come clean about your feelings for me. But just after that, you'd apparently had a crush on Felix the entire time, so I thought—"

     "—Lee." Jisung groans, devastated, dropping his head into his palms. "Felix fucking Lee. Jesus Christ."

     "I thought you meant him." Minho finishes, and Jisung can hear him smiling. "But you never did. You meant me."

     Jisung knows his ears are the color of cherries, and he'd place a fair bet that they'd inflict burns if Minho touched them. Can he ever come back from this? Should he go pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower and get it over with?

     Somehow, he pulls himself together enough to mumble, "That's what you were talking about during the duel. You said I tricked you." 

     "I thought you did. Or at the very least, I felt tricked, and wanted to believe you did it on purpose rather than me just being stupid." Minho says, and Jisung hates his sly tone of voice. "But you didn't. There was no way you could've possibly known I thought all this. You really did enjoy it."

     "Listen." Jisung attempts, and when he lifts his head he nearly buckles under the power of Minho's lidded eyes and intense smirk. "It was nothing personal, just a virgin realizing he likes biting, okay? This doesn't have to get weird." 

     Minho shoves him, face changing into a grin. "Jisung Han, into getting bitten by his archenemy. No wonder you dueled me to protect this knowledge."

     Jisung shoves him right back. "Kill yourself, you little prick." 

     Minho laughs again, that same evil one from moments before. Jisung is still extremely embarrassed and mildly terrified, but he seems to have saved the situation? At the very least, he's intact.

     “What a crazy discovery.” Minho hums. “That’s a part of the reason, actually.”

     “What reason?”

     “That I find you interesting.” Minho says. “Because I thought you were crushing on me for the longest time. And even when I learned you weren’t, I still wondered why you acted the way you did. Which I know now.”

     Jisung tilts his head, intrigued. “Does that mean we’re level three already?”

     “I guess so.” Minho smirks. “This calls for a celebration. A new nickname.”

     “Oh yeah?”

     “Hannie is excellent, but I want another.” Minho says, voice as syrupy as a spoiled child in a candy store. “Not even Christopher has two nicknames.”

     “Technically he does.” Jisung points out. “Sung and Jisungie. He never uses Jisungie though. But this isn’t a competition. You’re both my friends.”

     Minho snaps, choosing to ignore him. “Sungie. How about Sungie? That’s like taking from both of his and making them better.” 

     Jisung rolls his eyes. “It’s not a competition.” 

     “Yes it is.”

     “No it’s not, because there’s no way to win.” Jisung says. “Neither of you are kicking the other out of my life, you’re always going to have to coexist. Plus you balance each other perfectly in terms of friendship. I’ve known Chan my whole life, and even though we don’t have that many classes together, it would take like, one of us to be struck by lightning for our friendship to waver. You’re much newer, but we spend so much time together that you can compete with the closeness made over an entire lifetime.”

     Minho gives him a look. “I think I could win.” 

     Jisung groans, and Minho smirks in the corner of his eye. “There’s no winning! What the hell could you even win?”

     “Depends what we’re playing.” Minho says, and refuses to elaborate.

-

     On Sunday, they pull a few tables together at the library for a giant study session, all preparing for the Astronomy quiz they have before break. 

     “Why do we care about dark matter anyway?” Hyunjin complains. “We can’t even see it.”

     “It makes up most of the universe.” Seungmin says judgmentally. “Without it, galaxies would fall apart. It might even be responsible for the Big Bang.”

     “Prove it.” Hyunjin says smugly. Seungmin glares at him.

     “That’s the cold one, right?” Changbin specifies, frowning at his notes.

     “Dark matter is cold, yeah.” Minho says. “Cold and collisionless.” 

     “My head hurts.” Felix whines, emerging from where he’d had his face stuck in Astronomical Bodies, Vol. 7. “This is too much right before Christmas.” 

     Chan taps Seungmin’s stack of index cards against the table to align them and glances up at Jisung. “Could you quiz me?”

     Jisung takes them, no trouble reading Seungmin’s neat handwriting. “What’s the name of Jupiter’s largest moon?”

     “Ah, fuck. Callisto?”

     “Nope. Ganymede. GCIE, Gay Cats In Europe.” Jisung says. “Helps cause ‘Europe’ is so similar.”

     Chan laughs. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

     “Maybe.”

     “Sounds like my cats.” Minho says with a chuckle.

     “You have cats??” Jisung puts down the index cards, eyes wide. “Why do I not know this?”

     “How can your cats be gay?” Chan says, eyes narrowed and bewildered.  

     Minho ignores him. “It never came up, I guess. But yeah, I have two. Soonie and Doongie. They get along really well with my owl Dori.”

     “Aw, that’s so cute.” Jisung coos. 

     Seungmin looks like he’s about to tell them to get back to work, but his ringtone goes off, so he scowls and runs out to take the call. Not that he would’ve had much luck: with all seven of them there, distractions are plentiful, and Changbin and Felix have already descended into a conversation about something totally unrelated. 

     “Too much for your little head to handle?”

     Jisung blinks the glaze away from his eyes to meet Minho’s teasing smirk. “Huh?”

     “I’m just kidding.” Minho says warmly. “I know you don’t actually have a squirrel brain, but you gotta pay attention if you don’t want Seungmin to scold you.” 

     “I’m paying attention.” Jisung says, despite only feeling half-present.

     “I’ll be back.” Minho says, standing from his chair and passing behind Jisung to the shelves. 

     Jisung allows himself to zone out again, comforted by the textures of vellum and parchment in front of his eyes. He is not in the mood to work. His brain has already gone into winter vacation mode, ready to lounge on the thick couches at Chan’s house and run back and forth across the street fetching things from his place that he’d forgotten. 

     Something touches his neck, four pressure points that turn sharp as they press in, almost like—

     Jisung jolts to attention, whipping around to see Minho retracting his fingernails from Jisung’s neck. An embarrassed flush crawls up his face, holding a spiral of thoughts and images at bay.

     “Figured that would wake you up.” He smirks, his eyelids lowered halfway. He drops another Astronomy book onto the table, a slightly thicker one than the volume Felix has now abandoned. He leans over, breath right by Jisung’s ear, and whispers, “Try not to think of something else.”

     Jisung takes a stuttered breath, wide eyes floating over Minho’s form as he reclaims his seat. He should be thrown in Azkaban for that whisper, the way his voice naturally drops an octave, sending tingles up Jisung’s spine. 

     Chan is frowning—he’d been watching them—but Jisung doesn’t really have it in him to care. He can’t help it, the room seeming to get hotter as the words and sense memories come flooding back to him. The sound of his own voice moaning Minho’s name has long been etched into his mind—mostly out of humiliation, but now it serves a greater purpose. Minho did that to him, made him lose his composure, his self-control. He hates being called Lee, though. He’d probably prefer it if Jisung moaned his actual name…

     Seungmin returns to the table looking dejected, flopping into his seat loudly and shaking Jisung from his reverie. “Five days.”

     Hyunjin looks up. “Huh?”

     “He made me promise five days.” Seungmin says. “Over the break. I have to go home.”

     “Really?” Felix says with a frown. “Why?”

     “He seems to think it’s important.” Seungmin says, snippy. “I talked him out of Christmas, but I gotta spend New Years with them. I’ll take the train on the twenty-eight.”

     “Your step-dad?” Changbin asks lightly.

     “Yeah.” Seungmin says. “It’s whatever. It’s just five days.” Felix and Hyunjin pat his shoulder sympathetically, but then he looks up at them all, narrowing his eyes. “Are you guys working?”

     Everyone quickly picks something up, pretending to be absorbed, and Seungmin rolls his eyes with a sigh. Jisung makes eye contact with Minho again, and he delivers one of his failed winks, one eye following the other no matter how hard he tries. Still, the intention is there. Jisung sticks his tongue out at him, swallowing everything that had been on his mind before Seungmin’s return.

     He was definitely right to duel Minho. This new power he’s just realized he has is downright dangerous.

Chapter Text

     On Tuesday morning, a black and white owl descends on the Gryffindor table, and Hyunjin extends an arm for it to land on, beak clicking affectionately. 

     “Sweet baby, what brings you here?” He coos. 

     “That’s yours?” Chan asks with interest.

     “Kkami, meet Chan.” Hyunjin says, gesturing between the two. Around one of Kkami’s legs is a package that falls onto the table, distracting them from the introductions. Hyunjin picks it up, reading the writing on the front and snorting. “Merlin, I have no idea how Kkami found them. It’s for you, Minnie.”

     “Me?” Seungmin blinks, accepting the small bundle. Jisung looks over his shoulder to read the simple, slightly confused address, which is written in sweet, looping cursive.

Seungmin Kim

Hogwarts?

     There’s a stamp on it and everything. Seungmin huffs as he opens it, and Jisung’s eyes widen. It’s a phone, a silver and black Nokia N95. It looks brand new, which checks out since it’s such a new model. Seungmin turns it over and sees the note underneath, written in Korean. Jisung takes the opportunity to de-rust his skills, mentally translating as he shamelessly snoops. Here and there things have been crossed out, as if the author had made a mistake.

Seungmin:

Me and Phil have been talking. We know thins things between us—especially you and Baekhyeon—are tense, and that you would rather not spend Christmas at home. I’m We’re very glad to have you for New Years, and we decided to show our gratitude with this gift. It’s not for you, don’t worry. I know that we’d have to pry you away from your RAZR. It’s for your friend boyfriend, so you two can keep in touch over the break. Phil decided to go with the iPhone instead, and we weren’t sure if your boyfriend would have one. Perhaps you can get him on speaker while you’re with us and we can meet him in a proper capacity.

Consider this a bribe, if you’d like.

-Eomma

     Seungmin stares at the letter, blinking a few times, and if Jisung isn’t mistaken, there’s a thin layer of wetness in his eyes that wasn’t present before.

     “Who’s Baekhyeon?” Jisung asks curiously. 

     The moment is gone. “My older brother.” Seungmin says tightly. 

     “Is that a new phone?” Felix says, sipping from his goblet. 

     “Wait a sec, you have a boyfriend??” Jisung says, his brain only just catching up with what he had read. 

     “Erm—no, I don’t.” Seungmin says with a flush. “It’s—well, it’s kind of a fake relationship to piss off my parents, which I guess hasn’t worked? For the better?” Sheepishly, without making eye contact, Seungmin holds the phone out to Changbin. 

     Changbin looks at it blankly. “For me?”

     “Yes, for you, just take it.” Seungmin mumbles, embarrassed. 

     He does, holding it like it’s a bomb that may explode at any moment. “What do I do with it?”

     “Oh, for christ’s sake.” Seungmin scowls, taking the phone back and booting it up for him. “Here, I’ll show you.”

     By the following morning, Changbin is obsessed. He takes Jisung on a tour of everything Seungmin had set up for him, including their AIM chats, which has messages from long past curfew the previous night. He’s taken to absentmindedly sliding the keypad out and back in again, and when Seungmin shows him that it slides the other way as well for media controls, it looks as though a node fries somewhere in his brain. 

     Christmas has basically come early for him. It’s like a new toy, one he takes with him everywhere to show off to anyone who’ll listen.

     “Look, look.” Changbin says, phone snuck under the table in Herbology. “You can type anything into here and it just comes up.”

     Wooyoung’s jaw is on the floor. Changbin searches ‘puppy’ into the Nokia browser, and after a few seconds, images and websites of information pop up. 

     “Search quidditch!” He says enthusiastically.

     “That’s not gonna come up.” Jisung chuckles. “It’s a Muggle browser. They’re not gonna have anything on quidditch.” 

     Wooyoung frowns, disappointed, but Changbin brushes it off. “I can text Seungmin whenever I want, and he’ll get it immediately. It’s like he’s right next to me.” He opens AIM again and shakily types out a message, still getting used to the small keypad.

hi min

     A minute or so later, Seungmin responds.

rnt u in clss >:/

     Changbin grins. “Look, it’s a little face. He made a face with the symbol things. Isn’t that—“

     “Cute?” Wooyoung finishes for him, smirking. “You were gonna call him cute, weren’t you?”

     Changbin flushes. “No.” 

     “Doesn’t Yunho have a phone?” Chan asks. “I would’ve thought you knew all this already.”

     “He does, but it’s an older one, and he hardly uses it.” Wooyoung says with a pout. “It just collects dust on his nightstand.”

     Speaking of dust, after taking the Astronomy quiz that evening, Jisung’s head is flooded with it. Their classes are quickly declining in substance, the material trickling into filler as the break looms closer. 

     On Friday, a whole team of owls arrive with letters. Jisung smiles at the sight of snowy-white Bbama flying beside Berry, Kkami just behind them, followed by an adorable golden barn owl and a handsome tawny one. No points for guessing who they belong to.

     Berry has a letter for Chan, Jisung, and Changbin combined. It’s short and sweet, the usual train tickets for all five of them (including Lucas and Hannah) enclosed. Kkami has a cheery Christmas card for Hyunjin, since he’ll be spending his holiday at Felix’s place. Hyunjin lovingly allows Kkami to peck at the crumbs on his plate as a reward for the two trips back to back. 

     Felix’s owl has a letter that has been gorgeously decorated by his non-magic sister Olivia, who is eager to meet all of his fancy wizard friends. His parents are meeting them on the Hogwarts Express platform, so there’s no need to specify arrival times or schedules or anything that Chan’s dad had outlined in his letter. They’ll be apparating together, and Jisung can’t decide if he’s jealous or sympathetic.

     Bbama has a warm letter from Jisung’s mum. The last time he owled her he was complaining about Minho, so her response is a bit out-of-date and gets an involuntary chuckle from him.

Dear Jisungie,

If this Lee kid is as annoying as you say he is, I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly. Kidding. I know you won’t listen to me, but he’s just one person out of the hundreds of friends you have. Don’t let him take over your life—one he has no right to be in. 

Me and the Bangs have been missing you, Channie, and Binnie terribly. The Seos are arriving soon, so I’m sure we’ll all have a good cry about how our babies are growing up so fast. Don’t cause too much trouble on the train, and don’t you dare linger. There are Han cookies to be made.

Love, Mum

     Jisung smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He turns to Minho, expecting to find him reading along with him, but he’s busy shoving his own letter into his robes, his face blank. Jisung’s learned what it looks like when he’s trying not to let an emotion show, and right now, he’s the mirror image.

     “You okay?” Jisung asks.

     “I’m fine.” Minho says lightly. 

     “I guess I’ll hold onto these.” Chan interrupts, tucking the tickets back into the envelope and then into his pocket. “Otherwise someone will lose his.”

     Jisung rolls his eyes. “I didn’t lose mine, I forgot it. I knew exactly where it was.”

     “Either way, you were ticketless.” Changbin says with a snicker.

     “Which we fixed by buying another.” Jisung says pointedly. “It wasn’t the end of the world, if only you’d let me live it down.”

     “Never.” Chan teases, and holds up a few spare pounds his dad had attached to the bottom of the letter, in case that same complication occurs again.

     Later, at the picnic(made festive with colored napkins), Felix talks at length about everything his family has prepared. Apparently, they normally go to Hyunjin’s for Christmas, so the celebrations this year will be new. 

     “Olivia said she got gifts for you guys, but I dunno if that’s something to look forward to.” Felix says, pulling a face that’s seemingly obligatory for older brothers.

     “Well, too late.” Hyunjin says with a grin. “Now I’m expecting a whole production.” 

     As Minho reaches for the jug of water, his letter tumbles out of his pocket, landing in Jisung’s lap, conveniently oriented so that Jisung accidentally reads a part of the first line. 

     … on behalf of your parents that you are expected to come home, since remaining at …

     Jisung carefully folds the letter back down and offers it to him, who realizes mid-sip what’s happened. He takes it, dully returning it to its spot, and manages a tight smile—more of a grimace, really. 

     “You don’t wanna go.” Jisung says quietly, assuming that he’d rather not talk about it with the others.

     “Not at all.” Minho says dejectedly. “But y’know, duty calls. I’ve gotten away with not going for years. Karma, I guess.”

     “But…”

     “What am I supposed to do? Say no?” Minho says, a minuscule edge to his voice. “They’ll be furious. I’ll make them ‘look bad.’”

     Jisung chews on his lip. “Say you’re busy.”

     “With what?”

     “Me.” 

     Minho blinks at him, a flurry of them, bunny teeth visible through his confused, parted lips. 

     “I mean—“ Jisung quickly says, realizing how that sounds. “Say you’re going with a friend. You can give them my address and everything.”

     “What if they send an owl? You can’t forge my handwriting.” Minho says sadly.

     Jisung huffs in disbelief. “I’m inviting you to come with me, idiot, not just telling you to lie.”

     “Wh—really?” Minho is incredulous, blinking rapidly again, like he’s convinced he’s hallucinating.

     “Yes!” Jisung laughs. “I don’t want you to be tortured all break. Besides, I’d miss you.” 

     Ah shit. That came out a lot softer and more vulnerable than Jisung intended. Minho looks pleased though, so no harm done. “Are you sure? Because Chan—“

     “Don’t worry about it.” Jisung says. 

     This gets Chan’s attention. “What about me?” His brows are furrowed skeptically, but Jisung won’t be deterred.

     “Minho’s coming with us for Christmas.” He says firmly. 

     “What?!”

     “His parents are assholes and they don’t want him staying at the school.” Jisung says, narrowing his eyes to let Chan know he means business. “So he’s coming with us. End of story.”

     “Sung, we have traditions!” Chan whines. “He can’t just—“

     “What d’you think he’s gonna do?” Jisung says with a scoff. “Set fire to the place? He can join our traditions, Chan, none of them dictate how many people are allowed in.” 

     “The rooms in my house do.” Chan says with a raised eyebrow. “Everywhere’s full.”

     “Not my house.”

     “Which only has two beds.”

     “Then I guess me and Minho will have to share.” Jisung says, with a competitive sort of smile. 

     There’s a bewildered silence. Chan is stunned by the idea, for some reason. After a moment, he attempts, “It’s a small bed.” 

     “Then we’ll be cozy.” Jisung says, enunciating his words with determination. 

     Chan’s eyes dart to glare at Minho, who shrugs innocently. “If Sungie wants me, why not let him have me?”

     It’s a deadly sentence. Wants and let him have me and—

     “Sungie??” Chan repeats, astounded. Jisung turns bright red, taking a long drink of his pumpkin juice.

     Seungmin makes a popping noise with his mouth, breaking the tension. “Bin, I want hourly updates.”

     “You got it.” Changbin says, who Jisung notices has been snacking throughout their entire argument. 

     Jisung writes his mum back that same day explaining Minho’s situation and asking for permission to have him over. He has no doubt she’ll say yes, and probably wouldn’t even bat an eye if Minho just showed up, but he never wants to take advantage of his mum’s kindness. Besides, it’s more polite this way, and he wouldn’t want his mum to have a bad first impression of Minho. At least, he wouldn’t want it any worse than ‘this fucker is my nemesis and I hate his guts—but actually, scratch that.’

     Jesus, he’s worried about what his mum will think of Minho. What's gotten into him?

     As he’s handing the letter off to Bbama at the Owlery, he hears scuffling footsteps from the floor below that turn into an ambush from behind. He yelps (resulting in an indignant exiting squawk from Bbama) and nearly falls over before arms wrap around his torso, pulling him into a back hug. 

     “Thank you.” Minho says, and with his chin tucked over Jisung’s shoulder like this, he can hear the way his voice goes husky from being out of breath. He must have run up here, Jisung deduces brilliantly to distract himself from every other thought crashing into him. “For everything.”

     Jisung is speechless. Apparently, level three means they hug now. Back hugs, unexpected ones. Sincere, sexily delivered gratitude breaking the convention of their irony-laden death threats. He is not prepared for this. 

     “Thank you.” Jisung says on autopilot, his voice stripped in that way Minho knows means he’s spoken without thinking. 

     “For what?” He asks smugly, threading his own fingers together around Jisung’s waist to secure them in the position. Deep breaths. 

     “For giving me a second chance.” Jisung says honestly, although that hadn’t been what he was initially thinking of. “Despite all the rudeness.”

     “Oh, Sungie.” Minho hums. “You’re so silly. Rudeness means nothing to me.”

     Jisung frowns. “That’s—“

     “…From you.” Minho specifies. “I would have given you a second chance no matter what.”

     “Why is that?”

     Minho releases his hands so that he can pinch one of Jisung’s cheeks. “Because the other part of the reason why I tolerated you is cause you’re adorable.” 

     Jisung shoves him away, hoping he isn't too red. “Die." 

     “If I die I’m taking you with me.” Minho says pointedly.

     “Murder-suicide?”

     “Yes, but in the sense that you murder me and I haunt you until you can’t stand it anymore.” Minho says. “But this is in a reality where you could kill me, so highly improbable.”

     “You think I can’t kill you?”

     “You think you can?” Minho says, with so much teasing arrogance that Jisung is fully convinced he’s right. 

     “If you annoy me enough.” He says anyway. 

     Minho reaches out to prod and pinch his cheeks again. “Well, I’ll keep touching that line and see how long it takes for you to snap.” 

     Jisung lowers his eyelids in a show of irritation, knowing full well he doesn’t look as intimidating as he might want to sometimes. “You really have an unhealthy obsession with my cheeks. I shouldn’t have given you the privilege.” 

     “I want to bite them.” Minho confesses, clamping his teeth down in a toothy, threatening grin. “But I won’t. I don’t wanna accidentally turn you on.”

     “Oh, go fuck yourself!”

-

     On Sunday, they all go down to Hogsmeade together and then promptly scatter, getting gifts for family members and for each other. Later that same day, Felix presents them with the most beautiful cards Jisung has ever seen. Each is unique, and Jisung's depicts a snowy landscape with a large, iced-over lake, which reminds him of the festivities waiting for him at home. Decorating the image are layers of lace, ribbons, and dazzling linear glitter that floats just above the paper, swirling into mesmerizing patterns when the card is opened. 

Lovely Jisungie

It’s taken six years for us to become friends, but you make them worth it. You pull people in with your addicting charisma and make them feel so special. A room isn’t the same without you in it, and I’ll miss you so much over the break. Sure, it’s only nine days, but your energy is so potent that even a single one without you is noticeably dimmer. Eat a lot, sleep even more, and make sure Chris and Minho don’t kill each other. So much love, and Happy Christmas!

-Felix ♡

     “Lix…” Changbin says breathlessly, stealing the words from Jisung’s mouth. “These are amazing, you didn’t have to do this.”

     "Yeah, this is incredible." Chan says, nodding excessively. 

     Seungmin and Hyunjin have wide smiles, but they’re not as dumbfounded as the rest of them, leading Jisung to the conclusion that this must be something Felix does every year. Felix grins, pleased by their expressions. 

     "I like doing it." He says happily. "I love doing that charm on the glitter."

     Jisung opens and closes his card again, watching it move. Charms has always been Felix's favorite subject, so it makes sense that he'd be pretty good at it. In classic Hufflepuff fashion, he's never flaunted it before. 

     Minho is particularly slack-jawed. "How'd you come up with so many nice things to say? We really only met two weeks ago."

     Felix lightly slaps his arm, tutting. "Don't be ridiculous. There are endless nice things to say about all of you." 

     "Feel like risking everything for him yet?" Hyunjin says with a chuckle.

     "Definitely." Jisung says. 

-

     On Monday, Bbama returns with a cheerful 'yes!' from Jisung’s mum, as expected. Minho wastes no time drafting a response to his parents on the back of the letter they (or more accurately, one of their servants) had sent him. 

     "They didn't even take the time to write to you?" Jisung says incredulously. 

     "Nope, never have. It's always a servant, usually Clara." Minho says, wrist moving quickly with the quill he borrowed from Jisung. 

     Jisung hesitates. "And—these servants, they're—?"

     "People, don't worry. Paid people." Minho says, knowing (as always) what Jisung had been thinking. "They gave in when I was a toddler. I kept freeing all the house elves with my mum's jewelry." 

     Jisung snorts, imagining lines of house elves marching out of a big manor, weighed down by necklaces and tiaras. For surprisingly the first time, it occurs to him that Minho is about to experience an extreme culture shock.

     "Er, Minho…you've never been to a muggle town before, have you?" 

     Minho glances up from his letter. "I'm guessing you don't count going to the Leaky Cauldron." 

     "No." Jisung says. "That's in London, not a town." 

     "Right. Well, I'm not gonna do anything stupid." Minho says firmly. "I won't gawk too much or anything if that's what you're worried about."

     "Erm, yeah, thanks," Jisung says, but he's more nervous about his house. Chan already mentioned there's only two beds, so surely Minho isn't expecting a place that looks like his, right? Jisung has never been embarrassed about how much money he has, even with the constant trips to Chan's bigger house—but that's different. Chan's family needs that space to raise three kids. Jisung has a strong hunch that Minho would probably run out of fingers while counting the rooms in his house that they never use. 

     Relax. Minho's not an idiot. He's not going to say something insensitive, especially not on purpose. Minho already expressed he's grateful for Jisung’s invitation, and he wouldn't want anything he says to indicate the contrary. It'll be fine.

     Stupidly, they still have class today, and it flies by with hardly anything to do but chat about winter and plans while their professors pretend to grade rolls of parchment. Afterwards, though, they’re all lounging in the Gryffindor common room when Beomgyu descends the boys’ dorm staircase, followed by Jeongin. They’re chatting about something, but Beomgyu elbows him before they pass the sofas.

     Seungmin looks up, and his voice comes out soft. “Innie, hi.”

     “Erm, hi.” Jeongin mumbles, flushing, but he looks more embarrassed than he does flustered. “My parents told me you guys aren’t going to Jinnie’s place this year.”

     “It’s nothing against you—!” Seungmin says quickly. 

     “No, I know.” Jeongin says. “I was just saying. Er, I hope you have fun. A good holiday. A Happy Christmas.”

     “You’re overcompensating.” Beomgyu points out teasingly. Jeongin glares at him.

     “No, it’s fine.” Felix says warmly. “You too, Innie.” 

     “We should talk again when we get back.” Hyunjin says with a pout. “I miss you.”

     “Erm, yeah, okay.” Jeongin says feebly. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”

     “Happy Christmas!” They all yell as he and Beomgyu leave, none of them quite syncing up enough to call it a chorus. Once they’re gone, they all look to Seungmin, who sighs in relief.

     “Thank god, it’s not permanently ruined.” He says. 

     “And we’ll fix it even more after break.” Felix says with determination.

     The clock above the fireplace chimes five times, and Hyunjin stretches his arms over his head, extending the lanky lines of his body. “I think I’m gonna go start packing.” He says. “I’ll be too tired after dinner.”

     Jisung stands, echoing his movements. “Good idea.”

     He returns to the Slytherin common room alone of course, attempting to pack all his things neatly in his suitcase. As always, he ends up with a chaotic mess, but it’s good enough, so he sets aside what he plans on wearing tomorrow and shuts his case, properly latching the clasps so that he doesn’t accidentally ruin all this work tomorrow morning—a problem he’s learned to avoid the hard way. 

     There’s still some time before dinner, so he hops back up the dorm staircase and discovers a scene clearly not intended for an audience. 

     “I’m fine, San, just leave me alone.” Yeonjun barks, his eyes dark and one hand clumsily gripping the neck of a bottle of firewhiskey. 

     San is standing beside where he’s sat on the couch, looking down at him in concern. There’s another bottle on the side table, empty, and the bottle he’s holding is nearly finished as well.

     “I just wanna know what happened.” San says gently. 

     “I fucked up, that’s what happened.” Yeonjun snaps. “Fucking big time, I fucked up.”

     “Okay, but—“

     “He broke up with me.” Yeonjun says, almost too quiet for Jisung to hear. “Said he was warned about me. That I’m horrible.”

     “Soobin said that?”

     “Yeah.” Yeonjun says darkly, taking another sip of his bottle. “An’e said I was disgusting.” 

     Jisung is just as surprised as San is. From afar, Soobin seems like the sweetest, most level-headed guy in existence, maybe other than Felix. He can’t imagine him saying something like that, even to Yeonjun. But then again, Jisung had no idea they were actually dating, so what does he know?

     “Merlin, what the hell did you say to him?” San says, aghast.

     Yeonjun gives San a quick glance, and for a tiny flicker, Jisung entertains the idea that there’s a shard of guilt in his eyes. “I met Kai.” 

     San blinks at him. “You’re kidding. What’d you say to him??”

     “Something bad, according to Soob.” 

     “According to Soobin?” San repeats, his face twisting with frustration. “Well fuck, Yeonjun, do you ever consider that maybe you are horrible?”

     Yeonjun takes another hearty swig. “Once or twice.” 

     “I have no idea why Woo is friends with you.” San says sharply, swiping the nearly-finished bottle from his hand. “Take a look around, Yeonjun. Everyone’s happy except you. Maybe you’re the problem.” 

     “Not everyone,” Yeonjun says drunkenly, and his eyes drift over to where Jisung is leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, obviously eavesdropping. “Someone’ll never get what he wants. As long as he’s still miserable, I can live with that.” 

     San scoffs, turning to Jisung to witness his confused shrug. Jisung tilts his head in the direction of the door, and San follows, tucking the bottle into his robe’s pocket.

     “He’s such an asshole.” San says once they’ve left. “I wish he’d actually learn something from that Muggle Studies class, but Woo said he never pays attention.”

     “Him and Soobin were together?” Jisung says, curious.

     “Yeah, they got together on Halloween.” San says. “Must’ve been the vampire costume that got him, cause it definitely wasn’t his personality.”

     Jisung huffs, mentally elbowing himself in the way he knows Felix would if he was here. He can’t hold back a smile, pushing both hands in his pockets as they walk towards the Great Hall.

     San raises an eyebrow. “Is this really something to be happy about?”

     “Are you kidding?” Jisung laughs. “It’s like Christmas!”

Chapter Text

     Minho’s pulse jumps as the disembodied voice from the roof of the train crackles out a few words, and Jisung leans over to whisper, “That’s our stop next.”

     Minho nods, hole-punched ticket still contained in one hand. They’d bought it at a kiosk using the extra money Chan’s parents had sent them, and Minho had been briefly worried that Chan would refuse to hand it over at the last minute. Of course, he didn’t, and Jisung had spoken to a man behind glass to obtain the slip of paper, which he instructed Minho not to lose. 

     He subconsciously fiddles with it as he glances around the train compartment, which is much more utilitarian than the Hogwarts Express. He’s been looking sparsely, not wanting to attract attention, so he only catches glimpses of it and the people inside: sheet metal and plastic, a man with an umbrella, and colorful posters crying out about a variety of products, most of which Minho doesn’t understand(what the hell is insurance, and why does that lizard think he needs it?). But to be honest, he’s not that interested in the scenery. It’s just Britain, dull and gray and familiar, no matter how Muggle. 

     In contrast, Jisung is practically glowing. He’s wearing a red jumper and jeans that look one or two sizes too big for him(apparently he thrifted them—whatever that means), and Minho can see from the imprint of scrunched waistband through the jumper that there’s a belt underneath there, fighting for its life. Somehow he makes it look good, but that might just be from the obvious happiness and comfort on his face. 

     He’s shifted back to look out the window, chin propped up in his palm. He’s got this soft, unfocused smile on his lips, his eyes glazed over and sweet with thoughts Minho can only speculate on. Maybe excited to be home, to not worry about assignments, to do all the special traditions Chan had hinted at during the picnic. 

     The idea is new to Minho. For him, ‘tradition’ means sleek, tight-fitting dress robes and being propped up in some high-backed chair like a doll, expected to pose elegantly as long as it took for his parents to make the rounds to guests he’s never heard of, gloating about his achievements. ‘Tradition’ is directly tied to feeling like an accessory. To being talked about, never with. 

     Everything about this trip is challenging his ideas. Tradition can be something to look forward to, Christmas can mean love and family instead of look what I got and look what I have, and Merlin, how the hell did muggles come up with all this shit without magic?? It seems like…or, no—it is fate that Jisung is the one who’s brought all of this to his attention.

     Minho hasn’t been totally honest about why he finds him so interesting, but for good reason. Jisung is typically team-Seungmin when it comes to the topic of divination, and Minho isn’t—but he hasn’t always thought this way. Back at Beauxbatons, he took the class with Elias, and he had a knack for it that Minho hasn’t seen replicated in anyone yet—except maybe Hyunjin, if Felix is to be believed. Minho was skeptical at first, but after four years of correct predictions adding up, using the word ‘coincidence’ basically became gaslighting.

     Elias is also an incredibly talented artist, and last year he had holed himself up in the tour-clocher and painted for hours, the room nearly pitch-black and choked by incense. The image is hilarious: stone-cold Elias with his rectangular framed glasses, lighting candles with all the precision and calculation of a wandsmith. When he eventually emerged—lenses slightly fogged—he presented Minho with a tiny painting of a face he’d apparently been seeing in his dreams for weeks. One that had the capacity to change Minho’s life.

     Minho was certain he was dreaming when he saw Jisung for the first time in the Astronomy tower. The three of them had a hunch that Minho would meet this life-altering person at Hogwarts since he looked their age, but he hadn’t been prepared for him to be the first student he laid eyes on. Henri had bothered both of them about how lucky Minho is, how adorable the boy in the painting looked, and other, more explicit variations of the like for the last few months Minho spent in their company. Even now, after months of knowing Jisung, Minho’s not sure they compare to seeing him in person.

     Once they arrive at their stop, Chan’s siblings are the first out(a friendly, older Hannah and more subdued, younger Lucas). Chan yells after them to slow down, warring with his luggage, and eventually they all make it onto the platform, where a set of parents are waiting for them.

     “Channie, Binnie, Jisungie! It’s so wonderful to see you.” The mother says, breaking away from her embrace with Hannah and Lucas. They each hug her with wide smiles, and then she turns to him. “Ah, and you must be Minho.”

     Minho hesitates for a split second before his nanny’s instructions about older women snap back to the forefront of his memory. He takes her outstretched hand and presses it lightly to his lips, saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’am.”

     Her eyes widen, blinking twice, and Minho internally panics, wondering what he’s done wrong. But then she chuckles, reclaiming her hand to bat at the air. “Please, sweetie, just call me Mrs. Bang. How polite! Channie, you could learn something from this young man.”

     Chan’s face contorts with pain. “Mum, come on.”

     “I’m Mr. Bang.” The man behind her says kindly, raising his hand as a distanced sort of hello, like he’s apprehensive that Minho will repeat his actions on him. “Jisung’s mother has told us lots about you.”

     “Oh god,” Jisung blurts, “how much?”

     Chan’s dad laughs. “Nothing bad. Why, is there something we should know?”

     “No, not at all!” Jisung says quickly, and Changbin snorts, enjoying his fumbling.

     “Did you rent the big car?” Hannah interrupts eagerly, tapping on her mum’s arm.

     “Yes, of course we did. Here, we got really lucky with the parking.” 

     All eight of them walk to what Jisung informs him is a minivan, where Hannah, Lucas, and Changbin squash into the very back. Jisung luckily takes the middle seat of the first row, turning himself into an efficient barrier between Minho and Chan.

     “So what are you, then?” Hannah asks a bit brashly as the car starts to move. “Some kinda prince?” 

     “Hannah!” Mrs. Bang berates with a sigh.

     “What?”

     After a moment, Minho realizes she’s talking about him. “What makes you think I’m a prince?”

     “The hand kiss, for one.” Hannah says. “The looks for another.”

     “Hannah.” Chan groans, pressing his fingers to the side of his temple. “Please, control yourself.”

     “What??”

     “I’m sorry, should I not have done that?” Minho says, feeling silly. “My nanny said—“

     “Nanny?” Lucas picks up on. 

     “He is a prince!” Hannah says excitedly. “Are you undercover or something?”

     “He’s not a prince.” Jisung says, the tips of his ears turning red. “He’s just wealthy, Hannah.”

     There’s a small period of silence, and Minho has a sinking feeling it’s his fault. Mr. Bang saves them from it.

     “I hate to pry, but what do your parents do for work, Minho?” He asks cordially.

     “They both work at the Ministry.” Minho says. “My father got transferred over from Le Bureau de la Justice Magique but my mother has always been with the Department of Mysteries.” 

     “Oh!” Mr. Bang says with a good natured chuckle. “Well, that explains it, then.” 

     Thankfully, the ride passes with no further questions from Hannah, and they arrive at a very suburban street, stopping outside a multi-leveled home straight out of some of the clippings he’d seen in Muggle Studies. 

     “Alright, we’re here.” Mrs. Bang says unnecessarily, everyone already clambering out. Hannah and Lucas seem to be in a perpetual rush, one that Chan and his parents struggle to wrangle. Changbin is at peace, the quietest Minho has ever seen him as he excavates his suitcase from the boot and walks across the lawn to greet another set of parents, presumably his own. They hug before starting a warm conversation, and Changbin points at Minho, his mum and dad waving cheerfully.

     Minho waves back as he pulls his own bag out of the car, Jisung at his side. He grabs Minho’s sleeve and lightly pulls him across the street, the potential contact raising a trickle of goosebumps on Minho’s skin. Jisung’s been doing that more often since Minho hugged him, the almost-touches: brushing past his leg under the table and ghosting over his body as he leans past to grab something. 

     “We’ll join them in a sec.” Jisung assures him, although Minho wouldn’t care if he took him away and locked him up somewhere, as long as Jisung was there too. He leads him a few houses down to a lawn better categorized as an explosion, bushes and ferns and other plants peeking up at erratic intervals. The grass is long enough to give Minho’s mum a heart attack.

     “You don’t cut your lawn?” Minho asks curiously.

     Jisung rolls his eyes. “It’s called biodiversity. It’s better for the environment this way.”

     A path of stones takes them to the yellow front door, which opens before they touch it. A woman steps out, unmistakably Jisung’s mum from her doe-like eyes and matching cheeks. 

     “My quokka,” She beams, spreading her arms for a hug that Jisung melts into, chin molding into the crook of her neck and his eyes falling closed. He looks like the pinnacle of happiness. Minho's heart turns to liquid in his chest. 

     “Happy Christmas, mum.” Jisung says when he finally pulls away.

     “Introduce me, then.” She says, gesturing between them.

     “Oh, er, this is my friend Minho.” Jisung says nervously— nervous! He’s nervous! “We got off to a rocky start but now I can’t live without him.”

     “How sweet.” She smiles, offering Minho her hand. “Just call me Miyeon, darling.” 

     Minho shakes it, not about to make the same mistake twice. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

     “And to you as well! Come in, come in.”

     Jisung shows him the house, full of colorfully painted walls, mismatched furniture, and textures galore. Minho notices (with delight) that in the cozy living room, two rugs have been stacked on top of each other, visible from the angle at which the bottom one is askew. 

     “We don’t have anywhere to put the old one.” Jisung says with a self conscious shrug when he catches Minho’s eyes lingering on them. “Didn’t occur to us when we went and got a new one.” 

     “It looked so pretty at the craft market.” Miyeon adds lovingly. “We weren’t really thinking beyond that.” 

     Jisung’s room is a muted shade of red, bed in one corner and—oh, right. A guitar case. He mentioned he plays when they were stuck in the broom cupboard. Seeing proof of it is a similar feeling to the one he gets when he looks at Jisung for the first time every morning in the Great Hall, like some kind of reminder: oh, you.

     “…not much, and it’s not fancy, but it’s where I grew up.” Jisung says, laying his suitcase out on the floor. He must have been rambling this whole time. “I know it's probably not what you’re—“

     “I love it.” Minho says, cutting him off. Jisung glances up, and his face is so open, like he’s just waiting for Minho to scoop up his thoughts. Worry that Minho will think less of him. Fear that he’ll be uncomfortable, that he won’t have fun, that Chan will say something. 

     “You do?” He says, his voice gentle, and Minho wants to smother it with a kiss. He doesn’t.

     “It’s amazing. All of it.” Minho says honestly. “There’s so much love. So much life.” 

     "Is that your way of calling it messy?" Jisung asks bemusedly.

     "No, really, I mean it. My house is like a ghost town. But yours…" He trails off, his hand hovering over a picture frame on his bookshelf that's been purposefully flipped down. He stands it upright, a grin splitting his face. "Is this you as a baby?" 

     "Wh—oh, yeah." Jisung says, trying to sound preoccupied while he paws meekly through his suitcase. Embarrassed. 

     "Look at me." Minho says, and Jisung reluctantly does. He holds the picture next to his face in the air, tilting his head with endearment. "Adorable. You haven't changed a bit."

     "I hope you're lying." Jisung scoffs, locating his potions notebook from below his other junk and setting it down on his night table. "We should get back to Chan's house."

     "Do we have to?" Minho says, putting on his best pout.

     Jisung levels a look at him. "Come on, Minho."

     "I'd rather stay here with you, not go be hit on by Chan's fifteen-year-old sister." Minho says dryly.

     "Er, yeah, sorry about that. She's kinda blunt." Jisung says sheepishly. “But I grew up in Chan’s house just as much as I did this one. It’s an essential part of my childhood, if that encourages you.”

     It does, but not enough. Minho makes a big show of sighing reluctantly, and Jisung pulls him back out of the house with an eye roll. 

     Music is playing from a round little device in Chan’s living room, which isn’t exactly brighter than Jisung’s color-wise, but it has the advantage of large windows, sunlight streaming into the room and across the furniture. Pushed against one wall is an old, toffee-colored upright piano, littered with photographs and other knickknacks. It’s a very cool-toned room, but it still manages to feel warmer than Minho’s house, every inch drenched in the inevitable history from raising a happy family inside. 

     Somehow, in the five minutes they’d been gone, Hannah and Lucas had already started some sort of card game, taking up a large portion of the floor despite the coffee table right beside them.

     Chan and Changbin are sitting nearby, watching as their hands dart from card to card, flipping and smacking them with ferocity. Jisung’s posture perks up and he drops onto crossed legs next to Chan, Minho following curiously. He observes the game with interest, but it’s nothing like Exploding Snap, so he’s pretty lost.

     Hannah and Lucas both have five short piles, and there are four thick piles in the middle of them. Eventually, Lucas empties all of his cards into both of the center-most piles and slaps the smaller, to which Hannah groans. 

     “You suck.” She complains, taking the larger pile next to it.

     “Keep up, then.” He shoots back with a grin.

     “What’s this?” Minho asks.

     “It’s a card game.” Jisung says, and Minho is about to roll his eyes when Jisung specifies, “It’s called Spit. D’you wanna learn how to play?”

     Chan glances at them, his eyes lighting up at the apparent opportunity. “Good idea. Lucas and Hannah can teach him while we go.”

     Changbin sends him a flat look. “You think he’s gonna learn anything while Lucas destroys him?”

     “He’s coming with us, Chan, you can’t worm your way out of it.” Jisung says firmly.

     “Where are we going?” Minho asks, feeling lost. 

     Chan irritably hands him the strangest pair of shoes he’s ever seen. “They’re my dad’s so they probably won’t fit right but they’re the only other ones we have.” 

     Minho takes them, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the blade for?”

     “You’ve never been ice skating?” Changbin says, grabbing his own pair from where they’d been unknowingly hiding behind his body. 

     “No,” Minho says, and Chan snorts, grabbing two more pairs from where they’d been lined up on the stairs. 

     Jisung takes the smaller one, giving Minho an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you. It’s not that difficult.”

     The four of them bundle up and then leave the house after shouting goodbyes to the parents, walking towards a destination unknown to Minho. Changbin makes a hazard of himself on the way, his attention buried in his phone, presumably texting Seungmin. 

     “Aw, he sent a photo.” Changbin coos. “Wow, Felix’s place looks nice. We should send one back.”

     “Well, wait just a second, we’re almost there.” Chan says with an exasperated sigh. 

     After another few minutes, they peel off the road and walk into a forest, trees decorated with leftover snowfall from a few days before. It’s not Christmas yet, but Felix had pouted plenty about missing the show while on the Hogwarts Express.

     Just as Minho’s wondering whether his hands will freeze through his gloves, the trees begin to yawn and lean back, exposing a wide open stretch of frozen lake. It’s framed by pine, oak, and alder, the sky almost Oxford blue and getting darker. 

     Changbin takes a brief break from his phone to squat next to the lake, the surface surprisingly clear, and squint intensely. “Seems about right to me. What d’you think, Chan? Something like…what, twenty-three centimeters?”

     Chan pulls a few jars from the bag he’d brought with him and fills them with Bluebell Flames, whispering a quick ‘wingardium leviosa’ on each one so that they hover above, illuminating the ice. “Yeah, looks like it.” 

     It’s entrancing and slightly haunting, and Minho doesn’t notice Jisung kneeling down and swapping his trainers for skates until he’s already done it, sliding onto the ice with practiced ease. It's almost alien to see him look so graceful, the sight a stark contrast from his casual slouch and excited gesticulations on normal days. The blue light looks magical on his face, glinting like shards of crystal in his eyes. Most importantly, it highlights the bitten-red chill of his cheeks, and dear Merlin, Minho has to figure out how to join him so he can warm them up. 

     Minho struggles getting the ice skates on, but Changbin is luckily nearby to help lace them up for him, and he gives a cheeky grin that makes Minho feel substantially less awkward about the whole ordeal. Unfortunately, this kindness is wasted, because the second Minho gets to his feet, he nearly topples back over again, arms flailing helplessly. Jisung laughs as he skates over to help, and Minho is caught between appreciating the sound and wanting to punch him in the throat(he never would, of course. He'd never forgive himself).

     “I’ll kill you.” He says, gritting his teeth.

     “Will you?” Jisung says slyly, guiding him onto the ice. “I might just have to let go and make my escape.”

     Minho clutches his arm tighter, earning himself another laugh, and close by, he hears an odd, crunchy clicking noise, accompanied by a flash of light. When he turns, it’s Changbin, snickering with his phone in hand. Ah. He must have taken a photo.

     “I’ll kill you too!” Minho threatens. “I know where you sleep, genius!”

     Changbin grins, his eyes widening. “Shit, you’re right. Chan, you better lock the doors tonight!”

     “For sure. Locked and bolted.” Chan tosses back, trying to sound unbothered. Minho can’t help wondering if maybe this neighborhood is cursed, because all three of them are infected by a plague that makes them horrible liars. To be fair, Chan is the best out of them, but the bar is below the ice. 

     However, Chan is like a Remembral or a Sneakoscope. It’s trivially easy to tell that he’s lying, but a whole different matter determining what he’s lying about. Jumping to conclusions is a nasty, dangerous business, and he’s only properly known this guy for two weeks. 

     Minho is aware this situation is very…delicate. He’s been following this thread for months, and he’s afraid that tugging on it at all will cause a horrible, irreparable unraveling. So he tries not to tug: he slinks carefully around it, observes, evaluates. Something is wrong with this fabric. Very wrong. How can it have been frayed this entire time, and no one noticed? No one even commented on it?

     At the end of the day, though, tugging is fun. Henri always did call Minho a cold son of a bitch. 

     Having gained something resembling his balance, Minho huffs, reaching his free hand to cup Jisung’s cheek. The surface is cold, but Minho can feel it heating under his thumb. He always gets so shy from the cheek touches. 

     “What?” Jisung says with a light scoff. 

     “You’re cold,” Minho says, and then adds in French, “My little squirrel should be underground.”  

     “Mon petit écureuil.” Jisung echoes with a raised brow, slightly butchering the pronunciation. Minho can't be mad at him for it. “You’ve said that before. 'My little' what?”

     “My little squirrel.” Minho says, punctuating with a pinch of his cheek. “I said you should be underground, staying warm.”

     “I’m plenty warm.” Jisung says with an eye roll. 

     “What’s up with the French, by the way?” Changbin asks, only half paying attention. Seungmin must be responding. “Do you throw it in just to be fancy?”

     “Gotta keep using it so I don’t lose it.” Minho shrugs. “What I’m curious about is why you guys never ask what it means.”

     “We don’t wanna give you the satisfaction.” Chan interjects indignantly. 

     Jisung glares at him, leading Minho into a wobbly glide farther away. “Speak for yourself. I dunno why I never ask, I guess…I dunno. I feel like I need to know the language to have the privilege of understanding it, I guess.”

     Minho smiles, feeling infinitely more fond. “You’re sweet. Has anyone ever told you that?”

     “No one’s ever licked me before.” Jisung jokes.

     Jisung shrieks as Minho leans forward, aiming for the patch of skin visible on his neck, and their momentum causes a flurry of pinwheeling limbs and ice shavings kicked up until they finally fall backwards into a heap on the ice. 

     It’s absolutely freezing, right through his clothes, and Jisung whines as he attempts to use Minho to give himself lift, his desperation directly translating to sloppiness and slipping right back where he started. 

     Minho smirks at him. “I thought you said you’ve done this before.”

     “Shut up, kill yourself.” Jisung fumes.

     “HEY!” Chan yells, which makes Changbin erupt into laughter.

-

     Dinner is hearty and full of cheer, all eleven of them somehow squeezing around Chan's dining room table. The food is amazing, a balanced mix of Korean and British, with a bit of Australian flair. Changbin’s parents ask Minho a plethora of questions about France and the Ministère, which Jisung eventually cuts off with an embarrassed request to 'quit interrogating him.'

     It feels like what Christmas should be, families getting together and enjoying each other’s company. Good food, warm conversation, happy faces. Jisung, looking radiant as he stuffs his cheeks and laughs at Changbin’s lame jokes. 

     Once everyone has finished, Hannah nearly rips Chan's arm off in the effort to pull him back into the living room, pointing bossily at the piano bench. 

     Chan raises an amused brow. "Is that an order?"

     She nods with a demanding smirk, crossing her arms. "Go on. I wanna show the prince what we've been practicing." 

     Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees Jisung cringe, but neither of them bother to correct her. 

     "Practicing?" Minho prompts instead.

     Hannah flips open the piano cover with a smile. "Music, of course. Him and Jisungie have been obsessed about this album that was released last summer, so they learned all the songs." 

     Minho turns to Jisung, who's quickly turning pink. "Well, I left my guitar at the house, so—"

     "I'll get it." Lucas volunteers. "I don't wanna hear Hannah sing that stupid love song again." 

     Hannah sticks her tongue out at him as he disappears, and then she returns her attention to Chan. "Ooo, you should sing Come Round Soon!"

     Chan's eyes dart to Minho, his expression guarded and sheepish. "No no, that's—I can't hit that note right now. It's better with more instruments anyway." 

     "But it's your song." Hannah says, voice reaching a whine. 

     "What about yours?" Chan deflects with a huff.

     "Oh, I know!" Hannah says, quickly moving on. "Jisung, Gravity."

     Jisung looks up, eyes wide. "Isn't—that's sort of Chan's song too, isn't it?"

     "Someone play something and quit stalling." Changbin pipes up from the couch, fingers flying over his keyboard. "Minho's not gonna rip you to shreds, for Merlin's sake." 

     "I'm not as good at piano." Jisung says nervously. 

     Chan slides over on the bench, patting the spot beside him. "That's alright. I'll help." 

     Jisung sighs and joins him, his hands wobbling anxiously through the first few notes. His voice is low and sweet just like him, and Minho drifts to lean against the side of the piano, enraptured. 

     Chan silently directs him from time to time, but his confidence grows with every second, the muscles in his face relaxing as he settles into the song. 

     The lyrics are sad and hopeless, but coming from Jisung’s lips, they sound like a lullaby. Minho knows his mouth is open, but he can't find the motor skills to change that, all of his brain capacity fixed on Jisung.

     The song starts to pick up, his voice climbing up in steps, and then he hits a high, drawn-out note, and Minho can't help the way his eyelids flutter, the hair on his arms raising with full-body goosebumps. Holy shit.

     Minho nearly feels numb, struck with the impossible truth that this boy really is changing his life. He's actually starting to feel a little inadequate just sharing a room with him, all of his charm and kindness and talent far surpassing what Minho deserves. Sure, Minho can cast a decent spell, but Jisung enchants people. What was that line from the song? Minho can hardly remember it, he was only half paying attention to the lyrics. 

I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity. 

     Jisung really does have a gravitational pull—he's the sun, bringing light to all in his solar system, and everyone is dying for a single ray. 

     It's highly unfortunate that Minho runs logically by default. If he didn't, he might have been able to get by with ages of denial, with swatting away his thoughts and feelings until he didn't have to examine them any further. Denial is a funny, convenient thing, because it provides a shield for the very real, very potent fear of rejection beginning to swirl in Minho’s stomach. 

     How could he say anything? How could Jisung ever feel the same? How is it possible that after so little time, Minho can already imagine spending every Christmas like this, him and Jisung and the decadent syrup of his singing voice. The others are just additional company, padding their happiness with some of their own, providing no obstacle—

     Jisung finishes the song and tries to smother a sheepish smile as his audience claps for him. Minho makes sure he's the loudest, but even still, his mind wanders. The theme of the song fits Jisung very well: the idea that he pulls people in, an irresistible force. But Minho can't relate to the finer details. He wants to fall into him, and he certainly doesn't feel the despair and longing laid over the whole song like a thick blanket. 

     "You were fantastic." Chan says, fondness and admiration etched into each of his words. "You have no reason to think you're not good at piano." 

     "I dunno, it's just—I don't play as often as you do." Jisung says with a shrug. 

     "You were perfect." Minho says, soft and honest, and then adds in French, “I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful you are.”

     Jisung waves him off, blush coloring his cheeks, and Chan's eyebrow twitches, one hand managing an agitated scale on the lower keys as if to create a segue. "Well, what next?"

     "What's Come Round Soon?" Minho asks, a purposeful lilt to his voice. 

     Chan glances at him, quick and cold. "It's a song."

     "It's Chan's favorite." Hannah says helpfully. "His song. I bet I could sing it from how often he belted it in his room over the summer."

     Chan opens his mouth to object, annoyed, but just then Lucas returns, armed with Jisung’s guitar. 

     "Did I miss Hannah's performance?" He asks hopefully. 

     "No." She teases. "I saved it just for you."

     Lucas groans, and when Jisung chuckles, Minho sees the way Chan looks back at him, his eyes soft with so many things it's insane he hasn't exploded yet. 

     "Alright, how about an us song?" Jisung says, accepting his guitar from Lucas. He spins his legs around the piano bench so that he faces out, getting quickly into another song with a few strums. 

     It's much happier but still tinged with yearning, Chan joining in on the piano and then with backing vocals. The layered sounds create a fullness that soaks the inside of his chest, and Minho has to admit (with a tug in his stomach) that Chan and Jisung's voices are fantastic together. They almost…complete one another, harmonizing in such a way that Minho can only assume comes from a lot of experience singing together. 

     Minho doesn't relate to Gravity, and he has a pretty strong hunch Jisung doesn't either, but just from looking at his face, he can tell he connects more with this song. Chan is mostly focused on his hands, but he sneaks glances at Jisung, smiling tenderly each time. This is what a decade with another person looks like.

     No matter the logistics of their feelings for each other.

Chapter Text

      Jisung brushes his teeth by Minho’s side, the two of them huddled around the small sink in the bathroom. They each have one hand braced against the ceramic, almost touching, and Jisung has to fight with himself to avoid looking at Minho in the mirror.

     He feels so strange being around him in his pajamas, which consist of one of Chan’s t-shirts and shorts that reach his mid-thigh. Minho also sports a t-shirt, but he (somehow) can sleep in pajama pants, which leaves Jisung feeling oddly small, exposing a net greater amount of skin. Don’t be ridiculous, he mentally scolds himself, why should that make a difference?

     His mum stops them in the hallway, offering to sleep on the couch, but Jisung and Minho hurriedly assure her that such a thing won’t be necessary and that they'll be perfectly comfortable. And they will be. Jisung’s bed isn’t really that small, Chan was just exaggerating—

     Minho slips under the covers next to him and their arms touch, warm, bare skin pressed together. Jisung blinks, eyes darting up to make eye contact with Minho.

     “I can sleep on the couch if you want.” He says, his tone even and open.

     “No no, it’s okay,” Jisung insists, “this is fine.”

     It is fine, totally fine, except for some stupid reason, it feels totally different from the countless times he’s shared a bed with Chan. Hell, he shares Chan’s dorm bed after every quidditch party, which is definitely smaller than this one and usually meant they’d have to be intertwined in order to not fall off. Jisung has never batted an eye at that. But this? Relax. Just relax. 

-

     He wakes once in the early morning after struggling to hike one knee up, throwing his leg blindly over something warm and squishy before falling back asleep.

     The next time consciousness returns to him, the warm and squishy object is gone, and Jisung’s limbs have naturally spread across the entire width of the bed. He groggily turns over, scrubbing the crust from his eyes, and lays there for what must be thirty minutes before he starts to care about the muted voices and kitchen clatter coming from beyond his walls.

     Eventually he pads out in his socks, blinking blearily, and finds Minho and his mum chatting while she prepares breakfast. 

     "That's wonderful." His mum says. "When they were little, I swear he'd ask me to go to Binnie's with Chan every day in the summer to practice. Of course, they're all pros now."

     Minho smiles, not looking tired at all. "They are. Sungie never stops impressing me."

     "Sungie?" His mum pauses, tilting her head with intrigue. 

     "Happy Christmas Eve," Jisung interrupts, stretching his arms high over his head. "You guys gossiping about me?"

     His mum tuts, gesturing to him with her spatula. "You still have that shirt? I thought I told you to give that back, young man." 

     "He's the one who left it here." Jisung says, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "Besides, he has a million black band shirts. He'll live without this one."

     "Chan?" Minho says, his tone politely even. 

     Jisung shoots him a look. "Don't start." 

     His mum raises an interested brow, grabbing a plate from the overhead cabinet and flipping two pancakes onto it. "What's this? A friendly feud?" 

     "Mum," Jisung groans, "It's nothing."

     "Chan is very possessive." Minho says lightly. "And so am I." 

     Jisung turns pink at that, stumbling over his words in the attempt to remedy the situation. “I—if you’d stop seeing each other as enemies, you’d save yourselves a lot of trouble. Chan isn’t possessive, he’s just competitive. You both are.”

     His mum scoffs, serving Jisung and then the two other chairs at the table before her and Minho join him. “Chan is very possessive.”

     “Mum,” Jisung complains hopelessly. 

     “What? He is.” She says simply. “He barely let other kids near you when you were in primary school. After he learned not to do that, the two of you were still like glue. Even nowadays, when you come back from Hogwarts for the summer, you rarely leave each other’s sides. You do everything together—flying, eating, sleeping. Christ, I thought you were dating for a while.”

     Minho’s eyes dart up from his plate in an instant, and Jisung chokes on his pancake. “What??”

     “Well don’t be silly, dear.” His mum says with a laugh. “We all did, all the parents. But then you told me about Taeyong Lee, and then there was that San guy you liked in third year…whatever happened to Taeyong?”

     “He graduated.” Jisung says, dropping his very red face into his palms. “Mum, me and Chan are just friends. We’ve never been anything but friends. Sure, yeah, he might be a little possessive. But that’s no reason for you guys to like—to keep up this stupid fight.” 

     Minho huffs, a tad amused, and swallows another bite of his pancake. “San, huh?”

     Jisung makes an aggravated clicking noise with his mouth. “Yeah, so what? Can you blame me?”

     “I guess not.” Minho says. “When did he and Wooyoung get together?”

     “Fourth year.” 

     “Oh, wow.”

     “I can’t believe you thought me and Chan were—were like—“ Jisung can’t even say it, the words stopping somewhere in his mouth. It’s the first time in a while that Chan and Wooyoung have both come up in conversation, which makes Jisung feel a little proud of himself. Him and Changbin had agreed to forget about it, after all. He doubted he’d actually be able to, but it turns out that Minho is an excellent distraction.

     His mum shrugs with a mischievous look in her eyes. “Your letters in first year didn’t help, talking about Channie defending your honor from that boy Yeonjun. Honestly, I thought they both liked you.”

     Jisung claps a hand over his mouth and pretends to gag, his face twisting with disgust. “Yeonjun?? You thought Yeonjun liked me? Mum, I’m seriously gonna hurl.”

     “Don’t, I made those with love.” His mum says, waving one finger at his pancakes. “Now eat up, before they get cold.”

-

     Later that day, his mum drops the recipe book into his hands and gestures elegantly to the kitchen.

     “Get to it, then.” She says cheekily.

     “You’re not gonna help me?” Jisung says, face morphing into betrayal. 

     “You have a new helper.” She tilts her head in the direction of Minho, who’s flipping through the photo album she had given him in the living room. “Don’t overwork him. I’ll be relaxing with the other parents!”

     Jisung sighs and kicks Minho in the side until he gets up and joins him. He’s bewildered as Jisung fetches ingredients, and he looks at the scale he’s handed like it’s a big slug. 

     “What’s this?” He asks, scrutinizing the tool.

     “It’s a scale.” Jisung says, unable to suppress a smirk. “Never seen one, your majesty?”

     Minho uses it to whack him on the arm, scowling. “No, I haven’t. What are we doing with it?”

     “We’re making shortbread cookies.” Jisung says simply. “You can mix the ingredients. That’s more fun.” He measures out the ingredients with the scale, and Minho watches, perplexed. Then he compiles everything into a single bowl, which he pushes in front of Minho. “Mix.”

     “How?”

     “With your hands, stupid.” Jisung says.

     “My hands?” Minho says, aghast. 

     “They’re clean, aren’t they?”

     “Well, yes, but—“

     “Then mix away, your highness.” Jisung says with a flourish, which Minho rolls his eyes at. He’s cautious as he sticks his hands into the bowl, but eventually he gets the hang of it, mashing the ingredients together until a kneadable dough forms.

     “So is this the new joke then?” Minho says wryly. “I’m a prince?”

     “I think it’s fitting.” Jisung says, giving him a nudge with his arm. “I’ve been needing something to hold over your head anyway.”

     “Well if I’m a prince, I guess level four would be our arranged marriage.”

     Jisung laughs, surprised by the reminder that they had already hit all of Minho’s pre-described levels. “Are you kidding? I’m like, the village boy who milks cows and doesn’t know how to curtsy. If we were gonna get married, we’d have to elope.” Jisung says with a grin. “You’d get in massive trouble with your parents, they’d send the guards to go find us, and then we’d be dragged back to the kingdom and separated forever. I’d probably be beheaded.”

     Minho sticks his tongue out at him. “Boo. You’re no fun. What happened to true love destroying all barriers or whatever?”

     “What happened to ‘don’t lose your head?’” Jisung says cheekily. “But fine. If I were a peasant boy I’d dress in my finest linens and sneak into the royal ball to have a dance with you.” 

     “You’d probably have to cross-dress depending on the time period.”

     Jisung raises a brow. “You wanna see me in a dress?”

     “You looked adorable when you were nine.” Minho says, with an equally endearing and punchable smirk, tilting his head pointedly towards the photo album, abandoned on the couch. 

     “That was a toga, not a dress, idiot.” Jisung sighs heavily. “I was Apollo for Halloween.”

     “Who’s that?”

     “He’s a Greek god.”

     “That does not help me.”

     Jisung rolls his eyes with a smile, tapping Minho’s wrist. “Alright, that should be enough. Lemme get the rolling pin.”

     Jisung rolls out the dough and hands Minho a cookie cutter, the two of them punching out the rings and flat bottoms for each cookie. Jisung almost feels compelled to make some lame joke about how they’re just homemade Jammie Dodgers, but then realizes it would probably go right over his head. 

     After they've all been laid out on baking sheets and sprinkled with sugar, he has Minho slide them into the oven and set the timer. 

     “That wasn’t so hard, right?” Jisung teases. Minho rolls his eyes at him again, and then Jisung gets an idea, swiveling around to turn on the radio and locate the station playing Christmas songs. Then he turns again and bows deeply, offering Minho his hand. “May I have this dance, your lordship?”

     Minho scoffs but takes his hand anyway. “Can you even dance?”

     “I can do a mean freestyle.” Jisung says, executing probably the lamest set of improvised dance moves ever performed. 

     “Well lucky for you, I know how to waltz. Follow my lead.” Minho says, grabbing Jisung’s right hand and settling his other on Jisung’s back. He obviously must have learned it from the perspective of a man dancing with a woman, because—

     “This makes me the girl, then.” Jisung points out smugly. “I’m starting to think you really do wanna see me in a dress.” 

     Minho narrows his eyes. “I’ll bite you.”

     “You won’t.” Jisung provokes. 

     Minho does, taking advantage of their interlocked hands to pull Jisung’s fingers in for a chomp. Jisung yelps, attempting to pull back, but Minho’s grip is firm, and he returns their hands to their place of origin. 

     “Now focus. I’m trying to teach you.” Minho says, determined.

     Jisung really does try, but half his brain is busy picking apart something else. Minho bit him, but it didn’t feel anything like Halloween. Was it the vampire teeth? The costume? The acting? What got him so riled up that isn’t present here?

     “You’re not focusing.” Minho says with an amused huff, snapping him out of his reverie in the middle of a clumsy box-step. “Come on, Sungie. You’ve done an excellent job convincing me you’re not stupid.” 

     The insult brings him right back to the memory, and Jisung blurts, “On Halloween, you kept saying I was stupid, and that I couldn’t read. Why is that?”

     Minho stops, processing the abrupt segue. “Er, on a bunch of the instructional cards, all of the scare actors got names for their characters, which were later linked with the direction we could be found in—left, center, right, y’know. Mine was Count Thesaurus or something, I dunno, I can’t remember. It’s just when I saw you took that whole basket and then called me Lee, I realized you hadn’t been reading the cards. So I called you stupid.”

     “Oh.” Jisung blinks.

     “Why do you ask?” Minho says curiously, but then his eyes drift to their joined hands, seeming to find the answer all by himself.

     Jisung doesn’t have it in him to be worried as Minho opens his mouth to presumably confront him about that, because he’s come to his own conclusion. His eyes dart to Minho’s lips, a flush beginning to sprout on his neck, climbing quickly to bloom on his cheeks. It wasn’t the bite that got him so bad. God, he really is an idiot. It was Minho’s lips. On his neck. Almost giving him a fucking hickey. 

     The rest of it was just dressing, enhancing the experience. The elegant jewelry, the makeup, Minho’s sultry, hungrily delivered lines. Vampires are sexy, go ahead and sue Jisung. 

     But without all that, at its core, it was Minho’s mouth on Jisung’s bare neck, and the sense memory is piquing interest in a very inconvenient location. Relax, god, fucking relax.

     Minho looks at Jisung, his expression terrifyingly blank. “You’re thinking about the bite.” It’s not a question. He knows. 

     Jisung swallows with difficulty, wracking his brain for some way to play this off. “Just reminiscing. The good old days, y’know?” He chuckles, trying to make some meek gesticulation, but they’re still holding hands. Minho’s had been cold before, but he’s sucked up some of Jisung’s warmth, evened out their temperatures.

     Jisung can see the exact millisecond Minho spares to glance at his neck, and he’s heavily ashamed of the wave of butterflies it elicits. “You didn’t get anything from this one, did you?” Minho says, his inflection tipping up just enough for it to qualify as a question.

     Okay, so he isn’t playing this off. Jisung shakes his head. 

     “…Want me to do it again?”

     Jisung is nodding before he even realizes he’s doing it, and Minho’s hand drops from his back to his waist, encouraging Jisung in. He can feel the sweat he’s rapidly producing between their intertwined palms, and Minho chuckles.

     “No reason to be nervous. I promise I won’t break skin this time.”

     Actually, Jisung wouldn’t mind that, which is something to unpack for later, because right now he needs all of his brain power to chug around the fact that Minho has paused where he’s leaning halfway in. Why’d he stop? It’s almost like he’s waiting for—oh.  

     After a moment of hesitation, Jisung tips his head towards his shoulder, literally baring his neck for Minho in the middle of his kitchen. His eyelashes flutter, already feeling a pulse in his gut that translates to a galloping heartbeat as Minho leans the rest of the way in. 

     His mouth latches around a patch of skin, and maybe he really can read minds, because it’s way less of a bite than it had been on Halloween. Jisung’s eyes slide closed, appreciating the heat of his mouth and—god— that must be his tongue, and then he sucks, and it’s like an itch has been scratched somewhere deep in Jisung’s brain. He feels complete, warm, wanted, and christ, if Minho sucks any harder he’s going to leave a—

     “Sung—erm.”

     Jisung’s eyes snap open and Minho moves away, both akin to deer in headlights at the sight of Chan leaning into the kitchen. He looks equally embarrassed and avoids making eye contact as Hannah comes barreling past him, her attention zeroing in on the timer on the oven.

     “Dammit, they’re not ready yet?” She complains, donning an impatient pout.

     “Your er—your mum told us you were making the cookies.” Chan mumbles. 

     “They’ll be done in a few minutes.” Jisung says hastily, busying himself with finding an oven mitt, jam from the fridge, and a way to possibly proceed with his life after whatever to call what just happened to him.

     The kitchen is unbearably silent.

-

     After dinner, almost everyone gathers around the Bang family tree to exchange presents. Lucas and Hannah are preoccupied with another game of spit in the kitchen, already having received their gifts. Their location also serves the double purpose of guarding the cookie platter, rationing them out with an iron fist and glaring at anyone who dares come for seconds.

     Changbin is happily snapping photos of everything in sight when he’s interrupted by a call from Seungmin, which he instantly picks up. His smile quickly changes to a confused frown, and then he holds the phone out to Jisung.

     “He says he wants to talk to you.” Changbin says, a bit ruffled.

     Jisung accepts the phone, walking out of the room and simply saying, “Hello?”

     “Jisung, I changed my mind.” Seungmin says briskly, and it’s unexpectedly pleasant to hear his voice, knowing they’re so far away from each other. “Don’t give him our present.” 

     “Your present.” Jisung corrects him. “You can’t change your mind, Min. You told me not to let you on Sunday.”

     “I wouldn’t say that.” Seungmin says, businesslike, mildly offended, and totally desperate. “I think you’re imagining the conversation.”

     “I’m giving it to him and you can’t stop me.”

     “No no—please, Jisung!” Seungmin begs, finally cracking. “I’m telling you I changed my mind! I—I’m not ready, I can’t do this!”

     “You don’t have to. I do.” Jisung says and promptly hangs up, all the more determined. Seungmin calls him again right after, so he takes a second to fumble through the Nokia settings and turn off the ringer before rejoining everyone by the tree. “Bin, you first.”

     “Don’t you wanna save the best for last?” Changbin says with a smirk and a thick layer of sarcasm, excavating his presents for them from under the tree. “Chan, here’s yours…Jisung, this is for you…and this is for Minho.”

     “For me?” Minho says, surprised. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

     “Don’t worry about it.” Changbin waves off.

     Minho is only more perplexed when he opens his medium-sized box and sees nothing inside. “Er—this is empty.” 

     “Can’t be.” Changbin says, shuffling over and taking the box from Minho’s hands. After a moment—Changbin tracing the edges of the box with his fingers—he grins and drops the present into Minho’s palm.

     “…What is this?” Minho asks, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

     “It’s a paperclip. Found it in Chan’s room.” Changbin says matter-of-factly. “Muggles use them all the time. I figured you'd like it.” 

     “Erm, thanks?”

     Jisung struggles to hold back his laughter, snickering into the back of his hand. Changbin is notoriously horrible at gift-giving, so instead, he usually resorts to absurd gag gifts. Nothing new for Jisung and Chan, but always entertaining to see new people witness. 

     “Chan, open yours.” Changbin says eagerly.

     Chan does, and he reels back with disgust. “Bin, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

     “It’s my favorite sock. I lost the other one years ago but this one’s brought me luck ever since. I want you to have it.” Changbin says, with such zealousness that Jisung can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

     “Bin, this is a nuclear weapon.”

     “And it’s your job to keep that power under control.” Changbin says, nodding gravely. “Jisung, your turn. I think you’ll really like it.” 

     Cautiously(as if he might unwrap a real nuclear weapon), Jisung opens his own present. Inside, however, is a beautiful glass flask, and Jisung’s mouth falls open in surprise. “This is…”

     “For potions.” Changbin says proudly. “Lix helped me put a sealing charm on it so that it wouldn’t leak.” 

     Jisung cocks his head to the side, concerned. “They already come with sealing charms.” 

     Changbin stares at it, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

     Jisung attempts to stick one finger inside, but it collides with an invisible barrier just past the lip of the flask. Sealed. Effectively useless. “I mean…it’s a nice paperweight.”

     “I can’t believe you gave Sung that gorgeous thing and me a smelly old sock.” Chan huffs, rolling his eyes.

     “It’s my favorite!” Changbin says defensively.

     Chan sighs and shakes his head, grabbing his own presents from the tree. “Well here’s yours.”

     It’s a new Beater’s bat, one he’d ogled over in Diagon Alley when they went school shopping in August. Changbin’s eyes light up. “You’re seriously the best person ever conceived. Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Bang.” 

     “You’re thanking them??” Chan says incredulously, his parents laughing from the couch. 

     Jisung opens the box Chan had handed to him, and there’s a single envelope inside. It contains a letter, written entirely in Ancient Runes, and Jisung’s heart melts. “Chan, this is so thoughtful.”

     Chan smiles, looking a bit embarrassed. “It really isn’t, I had no idea what to get you. Felix’s cards inspired me.”

     “But the runes! It’s just like third year.” Jisung says, grinning so hard his face hurts. “That brings me back.”

     When he and Chan had first started taking the class in third year, they had been so excited that they got a little ahead of themselves, inhaling material in their own time and getting way ahead of their peers. They promptly used this knowledge for evil, passing notes in other classes and delighting at the confusion on their professors’ faces upon seeing their scribbled runes. 

     Because of their head start, the class got a bit boring for the rest of the year, and their interest waned until they slowed down to the pace the subject was meant to be taught at. The notes stopped soon after, and Jisung honestly hadn’t thought about them until this moment. He peers eagerly at the parchment, picking up on the familiar quirks and sacrifices that had to be made in order to work around the stiffness and formality of the runic language.

Squirrel,

You are magic itself. You have been my best companion for over ten years, and I can not express myself properly to you. A gift was not satisfactory, and this message is not either. I only hope reading it brings you simple joy, as you do for me each day. My apologies for my behavior. I dislike the rabbit but it is only natural. I must repress my instincts.

-Wolf

     Jisung looks back up at Chan and grins. “By that logic, you should’ve eaten me years ago.”

     Minho and Changbin share a glance, like they’re checking that the other is just as confused about what in the letter could have prompted such a response. 

     Chan chuckles, his eyes creasing at the edges. “You’re different. My brain is like, confused from growing up with you. I think you’re one of me.”

     Jisung laughs in return and grabs his own presents from the tree, giving Chan his first. “Get ready to go right down memory lane with me.”

     Chan gasps softly at the handmade quidditch trophy, which is actually a recreation of a recreation of the first trophy he won in first year. “Sung, I’m gonna cry.”

     “Go ahead.” Jisung says, glowing inside and out from seeing Chan so touched. 

     Hogwarts recycles their non-final trophy to avoid the sheer amount they would be handing out otherwise, so when Chan won his first game, Jisung made him a crappy, keep-able version out of bits of rubbish he found around the castle. 

     It quickly fell apart from his poor construction, but he’s never forgotten what it looked like, so he fashioned him a new one in his free time alongside working on Minho’s gift. Speaking of, Jisung delivers his next, nerves thrumming under his skin.

     Minho unwraps it with a few stunned blinks, looking between Jisung and the notebook like he doesn’t quite believe it exists. 

     “I had Hyunjin’s help.” Jisung admits. “He made everything look nice.”

     It’s a fresh notebook—bound tightly and smelling like vellum—but Jisung’s transcribed everything from his potions journal, including all his notes and Spell-O-Taped flaps of parchment added in. It’s like his second brain in ink, each recipe exposing his soul to any who can read between the lines of his theories, ingredients, and instructions. It’s precious to him. It’s Minho’s.

     “I don’t know what to say.” Minho says reverently.

     “Maybe promise you won’t take mine again?” Jisung offers slyly.

     Minho smiles so bright it shocks him. “I promise.”

     Then, Jisung plucks the small envelope from his side and holds it out to Changbin. “For you. It’s actually not from me, I was just there when Seungmin bought it. My gift to you is just me handing it over.”

     Changbin raises an eyebrow, pulling the slim, faux dragonhide bookmark from inside the envelope.

     Chan laughs fondly. “That is such a Seungmin gift. I bet it’s a bribe to read more now that you've finished Secret History.”

     Finally, Changbin flips it over, and his other eyebrow raises to meet the first. “What’s…?”

     Scrawled on the back is a citation—a citation, Seungmin had told Jisung when they left the shop in Hogsmeade together. He said it was a combination of normal MLA format and Shakespearean. It means fuck-all to Jisung. 

     Chan peeks over his shoulder, tilting his head in interest. “Tartt, 554, 14?”

     Changbin rises to his feet very quickly and runs up the stairs, to the bewilderment of everyone in the room. After about two minutes, he comes rushing back down and scans the room. “Where’s my phone?”

     Jisung fishes it out of his pocket and tosses it over, and Changbin’s fingers shake as he calls Seungmin. He’s already through the back door of the house by the time Seungmin picks up, but they can still hear his elated, breathless greeting of “I love you too!” before the door closes behind him. 

     Lucas pokes his head in, curious, and Hannah’s right behind him. “What was that about?”

     “I think Bin has a boyfriend.” Chan says with a happy, knowing smile.

     “Really?” Hannah says, her eyes widening. “Bin?”

     “Don’t be mean, Hannah.” Mrs. Bang scolds. “Changbin is a lovely boy.”

     “Yeah yeah, whatever.” Hannah says, rolling her eyes with all the scorn of a real younger sister.

     Jisung chuckles, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho tracing patterns onto the cover of the notebook, seeming lost in thought. Jisung gives him a nudge, and his expression turns sheepish.

     “I’m gonna be honest, I also had no idea what to get you.” Minho admits quietly. “So I got you something really…”

     “It can’t be worse than Bin’s favorite sock.” Jisung says, lowering his voice to match. “What is it?”

     “Rope.” 

     A litany of unwanted images flash across Jisung’s eyes, aided by memories of Halloween and the kitchen and oh wow he has to unpack that later, because there’s no way—

     “Y’know,” Minho says, his voice dissolving into a wheezy mumble as he fights through a laugh, “to kill yourself with.” 

     Jisung claps a hand over his mouth as silent laughter wracks his body, his shoulders shaking in unison with Minho’s. In a way, the gag is thoughtful. The phrase could technically be considered an inside joke from how often and how exclusively it’s thrown at each other. 

     “So—so what, I have to supply my own chair to kick over?” Jisung finally pulls himself together enough to ask.

     “Don’t worry, that’s next Christmas.” Minho assures him, and they’re laughing all over again, Chan giving them a suspicious look that certainly doesn’t help.

-

     When New Year's Eve rolls around, Jisung feels like the world has been swirling around him, glittering like the colorful baubles on their trees. They’ve spent sleepy days indoors, days walking around town until their feet hurt, and days in between, all slotted away under a wonderful blossoming category in his memories. A category called Minho.

     Minho soaks up all of the unfamiliarity and adapts to it, almost as if being reprogrammed into some holiday spirit like in those horrible cheesy movies. Hell, Jisung might be getting reprogrammed, because if all those movies starred Minho, he’d watch them every year. Speaking of Minho, he hasn’t seen him in a hot second, where could he—?

     Minho droops onto Jisung’s shoulder like a melting candle, blinking up at him with a lazy smile. “You’re back. Where’d you go?”

     “Just to the bathroom.” Jisung says with an amused smile, confused but not displeased by this strange stroke of clinginess. “Sorry, were you looking for me?”

     “Nah,” Minho says, looping his arms around Jisung’s neck and leaning close enough that their noses nearly touch. “Just missed you.”

     Jisung’s cheeks turns pink. “Missed me? How could you…?”

     “M’getting hungry.” Minho says, one hand sliding down over the invisible spot he’d— what? kissed? sucked? bitten?—on Christmas Eve, the skin tingling under his touch. “Was wondering when you’d come back.”

     Jisung’s posture stiffens, his brain running a million miles an hour, heat emanating from his face. This is absolutely not normal. He was only in the bathroom for a few minutes, plus the extra time he got distracted talking with Lucas. There must be foul play happening. 

     Jisung carefully extracts himself from Minho, and that’s when he notices the glass of frothy white liquid in his left hand. “Minho, is this eggnog? Where’d you find this? How much have you had?”

     “Hannah.” Minho says, blinking, only answering one of his questions. Thankfully, it leads Jisung to reasonable assumptions about the others.

     Jisung sighs. “There’s rum in here. You’re drunk.”

     Minho’s eyes widen, blinking several more times. “No,” he says, in pure disbelief.

     “Yes,” Jisung counters with a light chuckle. “Stay here. I’ll get you some water.”

     He weaves around him to the kitchen and fills a glass, but when he turns back, he startles at the sight of Chan, giving him that half-concerned, half-firm sort of look.

     “Sung,” He says with difficulty, eyebrows tipping up, “is he…coming onto you? I—I really don’t like what I’m seeing here.”

     “What? No!” Jisung says instantly, both embarrassed and appalled by the idea.

     “It’s just—it all kinda looks like it’s adding up.” Chan says nervously. “Halloween, that study session, the kitchen, now this.”

     “He’s just a little drunk.” Jisung explains evenly. “He didn’t know there was alcohol in eggnog.”

     “He’s drunk now, but he wasn’t the other times.” Chan says, dropping his voice to a whisper as it pitches. “Weren’t those completely unprompted? Sung, that’s assault.”

     “No, it’s not.” Jisung insists. 

     “How?” Chan demands, his eyes wide with worry.

     Jisung takes a shaky breath, avoiding eye contact as the blush from before returns to his face. “Cause I enjoy it. I—I think I might—“

     Changbin slides into the kitchen, his phone in one hand, presumably with Seungmin on the other side. “Guys, the countdown!”

     Jisung and Chan exchange a loaded glance before following him into the living room, everyone gathered around the TV. Minho looks totally lost, and he eagerly accepts the glass of water as Jisung approaches, slinging his other arm over his shoulders. 

     “…NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN…”

     He’s running much warmer than normal from the alcohol, his cheeks slightly rosy, and his lidded eyes flick up to Jisung’s with a surprisingly lucid amount of gratitude.

     “You are amazing.” Minho says.

     “…SIX, FIVE, FOUR…”

     Jisung opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t think of anything to say, struck dumb by Minho’s words, spoken by his miraculously pretty mouth. As much as he’s joked about it these past few days, Hannah was right. He might as well be royalty.

     But—Jisung has to be vigilant in reminding himself—he’s not. He’s just Minho, which feels like a cruel statement since ‘just Minho’ is one of the most wonderful people Jisung has ever met. He’s kind and intelligent and yes, possessive, and so, so funny. He’s precious. He’s Jisung’s.

     “…THREE, TWO, ONE!”

     “Happy New Year!” They all shout in unison, glasses of eggnog and champagne raised between the parents. On the TV, they can see the fireworks going off over Big Ben, and Jisung can hear a neighbor down the street setting off some of their own. 

     “Happy New Year.” Jisung repeats, quieter, just for Minho.

     “Happy New Year.” Minho smiles.

     I think I might be falling in love with him.

Chapter Text

     When they all reunite in a train compartment, an onlooker would've thought they've been separated for a year. Loud hollers of recognition erupt when the two parties meet, and Felix insists he hugs everyone at least twice.

     Seungmin and Changbin shy away from making eye contact, both turning red as their spectators 'aw' them into oblivion. They seem dead set on maintaining this air of 'nothing has changed' despite their obvious desire to stay side by side. 

     They barely manage to fit in a single compartment, and Felix eventually has to sit on Hyunjin’s lap. The ride is boisterous, high energy consistent until being forced to split once they get to the castle. It looks like Jisung's the first slytherin back, and he's still grinning as he hops down the steps to the seventh year dorm room. 

     "Looks like you had fun."

     Jisung startles, twisting to see Yeonjun sprawled out on his bed, scribbling indifferently at a scroll of parchment. Since Jisung has all of his cores with him, he can make a reasonable prediction that it's the essay Binns had warned them about before break. Homework? Does that mean—

     "You didn't go home for the holidays?" Jisung asks cautiously, setting his luggage down next to his freshly made bed. Small talk with Yeonjun is dangerous, but he’s too curious not to engage. 

     "Plans fell through." Yeonjun says shortly, with an air of distraction, as if Jisung had been the one to initiate conversation and waste precious seconds of his valuable time. 

     Jisung makes an irritated noise with his mouth and unclips the latches of his suitcase, beginning to unpack. "Something with Soobin, I'm sure?"

     "And I'm sure Leebit was thrilled to sleep in your closet." Yeonjun snaps. Bingo. 

     "How did you…?" Jisung trails off, raising a brow. “Bin told you?”

     “Wooyoung.” Yeonjun corrects. “There’s a bucket brigade of information now, from you to me.”

     Jisung cracks a wry smile, flipping his suitcase closed and sliding it under the bed as he organizes his belongings. “So Changbin really isn’t speaking to you anymore.”

     “It doesn’t matter. Your business is still my business. It’s just a few extra steps.” Yeonjun’s tone is snarky, but his words unfortunately hold a lot of truth.

     Jisung’s hands hesitate over the thin box containing Minho’s present, electing to slide it under the bed as well. He took it with him so that his mum wouldn’t stumble across it, but it would raise warranted questions if he did anything other than hide it. “I don’t care about that,” Jisung says bluntly, “I’m just happy about it.”

     “And you call me heartless.”

     Jisung grabs his wand and straightens up, everything back where it should be. He turns, and Yeonjun makes dark eye contact with him, daring him to refute his claims. Instead, Jisung says, “Yeah, I do,” and promptly leaves the common room.

-

     The next day, he meets with the others in the Gryffindor common room, where they've somehow roped Jeongin into a conversation. Beomgyu and Heeseung are hunched over some assignment on a table nearby, but Jeongin is standing awkwardly to the side of the couch while Hyunjin talks his ear off, rooting him to the spot. Changbin has one arm around Seungmin, who is engaged in passionate conversation with Chan, a new, thick novel in one hand—probably a Christmas present.

     Jisung drops next to where Minho is sitting on the floor, and he gives a powerful yawn in greeting. His legs are sprawled out in front of him and crossed authoritatively at the ankle, his lazy smile working in tandem to conjure images of young, irresponsible kings. He’s told Jisung before that he doesn’t really care about fashion, which is why he’s often found in uniform on the weekends, but there’s so much grace in his plain state of being that he manages to look stylish anyway. 

     “How’d you sleep, my arranged husband?” He drawls, sounding like he could’ve used a few more hours. 

     “I thought we eloped.” Jisung says, flicking the inch of exposed skin above his sock. “I slept fine. I was a little worried Yeonjun would suffocate me with a pillow.”

     Minho’s smile drops. “What, did he say something?”

     “I don’t know.” Jisung says, hesitant. “Not really. Not yet.” 

     “Well, let me know if I should sic the royal guards on him.” Minho says, dropping his head sleepily onto Jisung’s shoulder. An embarrassing hiccup happens in his chest, followed by a bloom of warmth and fondness.

     “…ould join us on Friday!” Felix says brightly. “Beomgyu and Heeseung can come too, if you’d like.”

     Hyunjin nods encouragingly. “We have to relocate to the Hufflepuff common room since it’s so cold out, but it’s basically the same thing. It’s good you could at least experience…”

     “Your head is so bony,” Jisung says, so that he doesn’t blurt something more humiliating. “It’s digging into me.”

     “Glad to know it’s in working condition.” Minho quips, closing his eyes. “Your shoulder is bony too. You should invest in some padding.”

     “What, so you can keep using me as your personal headrest?” 

     “You owe me. I was basically your body pillow all through break.” Minho says, so nonchalant while utterly destroying Jisung. 

     “What??”

     “You can’t take it back, it’s already happened and you already owe me.” Minho says smugly. “It was fine, really. Almost died of heat stroke once or twice but it’s worth it for the favor.”

     “God,” Jisung groans, thankful Minho can’t see his pink cheeks, “I can’t believe I did that. If you told me, I could’ve slept on the couch.”

     “Like I said. Favor.”

     “You’re a dick, kill yourself.”

     “I’ll need my present back.”

     Jisung flicks him on the nose, and Minho finally lifts his head, flicking Jisung on the cheek in retaliation. Jisung has a suspicion his choice of location was premeditated.

-

     On Monday, Jisung and Seungmin arrive early to breakfast, and Seungmin pulls out the same book from before, presumably to try and sell it to him the way he did Chan. 

     "I'm not finished yet, but I will be soon." Seungmin assures him. "The pacing is phenomenal, I never wanna stop reading."

     "That's cause you love reading, Min." Jisung says with a fond eye roll. "It's just not for me. I can't sit still." 

     Seungmin levels an unimpressed look at him and opens his mouth to speak again, but they're interrupted as the book slides right out of his grasp. The thief turns out to be Yeonjun, who thumbs through the pages with feigned interest. 

     "What's this? A how-to on invading places you don't belong?"

     Jisung's muscles tense with anger, but Seungmin simply narrows his eyes and holds his hand out, nonverbally demanding he return it. "No, just review on common decency. Want to borrow it?" 

     Yeonjun’s grip tenses on the book. There's a weird look in his eye that Jisung really dislikes, but all Yeonjun does is pluck a sheet of paper from between the pages, examining it with malice. "Is this a receipt for Zonko's?" 

     "The hell's wrong with you??" Seungmin abruptly snaps, grabbing both the book and the slip of paper back from him. 

     Yeonjun holds up his hands with a nasty smile. "Merlin, relax."

     Before any of them can say anything more, Changbin and Chan enter the Great Hall, and Yeonjun sends them a sideways glance, taking his opportunity to slither away. 

     "You guys okay?" Chan says apprehensively. 

     Changbin glares at Yeonjun's back, placing a protective hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. "What'd he say to you?"

     "Nothing important." Seungmin mutters morosely. "But he took out my bookmark." 

     Jisung frowns at the book, which for some bizarre reason, doesn't have page numbers. "Damn. But—Min, since when do you go to Zonko's?"

     Seungmin huffs with a certain disappointment, like he can't believe Jisung would ask such a question. "I don't," he says, holding up his bookmark, which is only a spare bit of parchment. "I think it was Yeonjun’s way of calling me a clown. God, what an idiot." 

     Jisung has no reason to disagree, but uneasiness is curling in his stomach. Yeonjun's abuse was its worst in first year, but after that, it trickled off into small jabs, cruel, disguised jokes, whatever he could easily get away with. This seems like more than that. Like something has changed.

     Jisung decides to ask around—after all, Yeonjun is a popular guy, and other people would notice if his behavior really is different in the way he suspects. 

     "Of course I would know." Soobin says (surprisingly irritable) during Charms. "He only lied to me our entire relationship. Sorry, I just—I don't know. He's left me alone since break and that's all that matters to me." 

     During Herbology on Tuesday, Wooyoung is shockingly dismissive. 

     "Yeonjun?" He repeats, like the name is foreign to him. "I dunno. We haven't really spoken since Christmas. He sent me some weirdass letters over break. Y'know he was meant to go meet Soobin's parents? Yeah, it didn't work out. He was too proud to tell his own parents he'd come home instead."

     "Weird letters?" Jisung says casually, his leaf-pruning conspicuously paused. 

     "Just stuff about being holed up in the castle. It gets chilly when there's less people there, or something. I dunno. I can't remember." Wooyoung says with a shrug. "It's hard to feel bad for him." 

     "You're his best friend." Chan says flatly, raising an eyebrow. "Before break, you two were inseparable."

     "I love the guy, but he's just…" Wooyoung hesitates, like the thought causes him pain. "He's just going too far. Yunho is like blood to me, and—well, I finally had to make a choice." 

     "Welcome." Changbin says approvingly, giving him a wide grin and a slap on the back. "Great to see you with the good guys." 

     Jisung doesn't feel much like congratulating him. He can't put his finger on why. 

     Later, he hears from some underclassmen (who also stayed at the school over break) that his concern isn't unfounded. To them, Yeonjun seemed weirdly antisocial and prone to snapping, isolating himself in the otherwise empty seventh-year dorms and doing god knows what. 

     He can't help feeling like he's tip-toeing around a very dramatic turning point, and that any second, the divine hammer of Yeonjun's justice will come down on them all. 

     But it doesn't happen like that, of course. It builds steadily, a car gaining momentum and pulling them along. Jisung and Seungmin are forcibly latched onto the very end, their faces dragging against the pavement and spitting up sparks. 

     On Wednesday, during Transfiguration, Yeonjun’s wand just happens to malfunction in Jisung’s direction, and he’s forced to trudge through the rest of the day with one lime green eyebrow.

     On Thursday, as Jisung stands from the table in the Great Hall, he ends up smacking his face into the floor since his shoelaces had been magically tied together. 

     “What, are we in primary school?” Seungmin comments dryly. They can’t really prove it was Yeonjun who did it, but who else could it have been?

     On Friday, though, Felix (unnecessarily) proves his wonderful hospitality yet again, ‘hosting’ their first indoor picnic of the year with special sixth-year guests. Unfortunately, most of their normal party had been whisked away by Muggle Studies, but Beomgyu manages to fill their silence with pleasure. 

     Chan turns to Jisung and gives him that look of his. ‘We need to talk.’ Jisung gives him a similar one back, but for some reason, neither of them can open their mouths.

     “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Seungmin says, interrupting a story Felix had been telling about accidentally isolating his primary school crush with subconscious Veela magic. He had been reading(a pastime that stops for nothing and no one, not even picnics), and Jisung looks down at his open book to discover a page had been messily ripped out. “I’ll kill him. I’ll tell Bin to kill him.”

     “Who?” Jeongin says, tilting his head in confusion.

     “Yeonjun.” Seungmin says through his teeth, like he hates the taste of the name in his mouth. “He’s been fucking with me and Jisung since we got back from break. It could only have been him.”

     “Tell Headmistress McGonagall.” Heeseung suggests.

     “I can’t prove it.” Seungmin says, shaking his head. “He’ll say it ripped on accident, or something like that. God, I hate him.” 

     “Want me to insult him on the 31st?” Beomgyu says, helping himself to another strawberry and cucumber sandwich. He’s referring to the quidditch match of course, in which his loose-canon style commentary would provide an excellent excuse.

     “Don’t provoke him.” Chan says with a sigh. “He’s worse when he feels picked on.”

     Jisung nods in silent agreement, remembering how horrible he’d been right after he got kicked off the team in first year. He can only hope this time it doesn’t come to that.

-

     On Saturday, the Gryffindors have quidditch practice. 

     “Come watch.” Changbin says shyly, loitering by the exit to the common room, eyes longingly cast on Seungmin. “You can bring your book if you want.” 

     “Alright, fine.” Seungmin sighs, slotting his book into his bag and cleaning the remains of his homework from the floor.

     “Actually, why don’t we all go?” Hyunjin says, reading the look on Felix’s face. “We can make an event out of it. We already played Gryffindor anyway.” There’s an awkward pause as Chan glances at Minho, who’s stretching his arms high over his head. 

     “I’ll stay behind, then.” He says, despite not having made eye contact. “I wanna study anyway.” There’s a murmured acceptance as they all begin to rise and follow the Gryffindors, but Minho grabs the cuff of Jisung’s sleeve—his heart caught along with it. “Not you, silly. I need your help.”

     “My help? With studying?” Jisung scoffs, and the pure absurdity of the request summons horribly detailed little ideas of it meaning something else entirely. 

     “There’s a potions exam.” Minho reminds him, one corner of his mouth twisting upwards. “I know you’re the little class pet and you’d nail any potion even if impromptu but you really should know when you’re being graded.”

     Jisung blinks at him. To be perfectly honest, he has no idea what he’s been graded on and what he hasn’t this year. Most days Slughorn let him work on personal projects, and he only gleaned the basic overview of whatever the rest of the class was working on from Minho and the necessity to correct him. 

     “Sit and help me, potions master.” Minho says with a fond touch of mocking, giving a tug to his sleeve. 

     Jisung meets Chan’s eyes for a moment, thinking of the realistically more entertaining day watching the team with Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Felix. But here is Minho, the warmth of the fire, Minho, a subject he doesn’t feel so inept in, Minho, Minho, Minho—

     “I guess I’ll stay.” Jisung says with a shrug that makes him feel small and transparent. That look from yesterday is back again, resting on Chan’s features as he glances between Jisung and Minho, but there’s no time, and he’s being ushered out by everyone else.

     Minho stretches out on the couch, limbs draped languidly across the cushions like a cat. His top lip comes naturally unstuck from his bottom, and it’s almost sad to see them part, like two essential halves of a heart. But Jisung can’t be sad, because there’s a coy glimpse of his bunny teeth between them, and my god, why does one Minho Lee get to be the embodiment of every cute animal in existence?

     Jisung plunks into the nearby armchair, wishing his heart would stop thumping so erratically in his chest. Him and Minho have been alone together countless times. It’s what their friendship was built on. There’s no reason to get so nervous. 

     He almost starts to wish that he could go back to the time before he realized his feelings for Minho, but upon further reflection, not much has changed. Minho has had this impact on him for as long as he’s known him—maybe to a lesser extent, but it was always omnipresent. 

     “I have a list of vocab tucked in my textbook there.” Minho says, pointing vaguely in the direction of his bag.

     “Vocab? You want my help for vocab??” Jisung says, incredulous.

     Minho smiles slyly. “I wasn’t going to ask for Chan’s help.” 

     Jisung levels a look at him. “You know what I mean.”

     “Well I didn’t wanna be alone up here. I knew Christopher didn’t want me coming along, so in retaliation I took his best friend. I’m winning, Sungie.” 

     Jisung sighs heavily. “I really thought you dropped that over the break.” 

     “He seems to have.” Minho says with a shrug. “But I haven’t. I gotta make sure I win for sure in case he changes his mind. I hold grudges.”

     “You sure dropped the ball in my case.”

     “I never had a grudge against you, baby, only admiration.” Minho says sweetly, squinting one eye and pinching two fingers in the air, likely creating the illusion of squeezing Jisung’s cheek from a distance. Being addressed as ‘baby’ from Minho—however sarcastically—embarrasses him terribly. 

     “Well, do you wanna study, or what?” Jisung says, smothering the blush from his face. 

     Minho groans.

     “You’re not gonna keep me from quidditch just to lay around for a few hours.” Jisung says scoldingly.

     Minho groans again, more stubbornly this time. 

     “Come on, you’re not an animal.” Jisung rolls his eyes, sliding out of the armchair and onto the floor beside the coffee table. “Use your words, Princess.”

     Minho throws an abandoned roll of Spell-O-Tape at him in petulant objection. 

     It’s Jisung’s turn to groan, because even when confronted with this spoiled display(either ironic or deeply ingrained, only just surfacing, it doesn’t matter), he doesn’t feel any different towards Minho. In fact, he only feels more fond. Ridiculous. 

     His brain feeling mushy, he retrieves the tape that had ricocheted off his chest and rips himself a piece, attaching it to Minho’s forearm. Minho lifts his head slightly in confusion, but says nothing. Jisung repeats the action, glancing up at him, waiting for a reaction.

     Minho drops his head back onto the armrest of the couch, releasing an indifferent breath through his nose. The position should be unattractive with so much of his chin and neck taking priority over his face, but the sharp lines of his jaw and the jutting point of his nose cancel all of that out. Jisung forces his attention onto the tape, ripping another piece and placing it an inch above the other two. 

     After a second of hesitation, he sifts through his bag for the sleek pen Seungmin had given him for Christmas, drawing a smiley face onto another piece of tape and attaching it to Minho’s hand, which is folded over his chest. The next piece (between his collarbones) gets a flower, the next (on his shoulder) gets a star, and the one after that (on the opposite arm) gets a colon-capital-p. 

     “Hey.” Minho suddenly pipes up, nearly startling him. “You’re wasting tape.”

     “It’s not my tape.” Jisung shrugs, drawing a heart onto the next piece. He hesitates, but his impulsive thoughts win, and he sticks it onto Minho’s cheek. Adorable. He makes another heart for the other cheek, and they quickly multiply from there, migrating to his forehead, jaw, and one on his neck. Once Jisung gains a sense of self control, he halts, realizing that the scattered hearts in those places sort of makes it look like he’s been peppered with kisses. 

     Shakily, with one final piece still clinging to his finger, Jisung sticks another onto the tip of Minho’s nose, and wishes he could do the same with his mouth.

     “Are you trying to mummify me?” Minho says, accidentally knocking Jisung’s hand away as he finally sits up. He blinks as he notices the doodles on his arms, though, and then he sees the last heart piece on Jisung’s finger. He plucks it off, smirking. “Oh, I see. You’re vandalizing me.” 

     “Well—“ Jisung starts, but Minho snatches the roll of tape and pen from his hands. 

     “Only fair if I can too.” Minho says, ripping himself a longer piece and scribbling on top before joining it with the other one to spell ‘LOSER ♡.’ “Turn around.”

     “What?”

     “Turn around. Or bend over, I don’t care.” Minho says, with a careless wave of his hand. Jisung greatly prefers the first command, so he listens, and Minho applies pressure below the hood of his cloak, around the center of his back. “There. Hm—you know what? One more.” 

     The sound of ripping tape, a second of silence while Minho doodles whatever he had in mind, and then pressure underneath the previous spot. “Perfect.”

     “What’d you write?”

     “Why don’t we both see?” Minho says smugly, standing and walking over to the Gryffindor boy’s restroom. Jisung follows, and his face burns as Minho stops in front of the mirror, surprised. 

     Jisung tries to look unbothered as he turns around, attempting to crane his neck and read the second piece of tape on his back, but he can’t twist himself enough. “I can’t read it.” 

     Minho’s not listening. “You really did a number on me. Is this to make up for not wearing lipstick?”

     “Hm?” Jisung says, playing dumb. 

     Minho doesn’t let him, although the root of the comment is left unsaid. “If you wore lipstick you’d leave marks like this.”

     “You are really insistent on feminizing me.” Jisung jokes slyly, an attempt to divert the conversation. “First dresses, now makeup. Are you trying to tell me something?”

     “Says the vampire fucker.” Minho huffs, and peels off the giant cluster of hearts in almost one go, wincing as it clings to his skin. “Ah. I should’ve waited until tomorrow morning so I wouldn’t have to shave.”

     Jisung’s only half listening, his chest tightening. They had not talked about what happened in his kitchen. “Hm.” 

     Minho removes the other pieces of tape one by one, making a mini tape-ball on the side of the sink. He transfers the heart on his neck to Jisung’s with a pointed look, like—

     “You know exactly what I’m thinking, don’t you?” Jisung says, the words falling out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

     The tiniest smile captures Minho’s gorgeous lips, void of malice except for his eyes, those dark, endless pools that shook Jisung so thoroughly the first time they met. The last heart is the one on his nose, and Minho presses it to Jisung’s lips, his fingers lingering there for a second longer than necessary. 

     “Always.”

Chapter Text

     Jisung feels like he has a lot of talks to have with multiple people, but unfortunately, his priorities have shifted. Yeonjun has become his waking nightmare, moving from minor pranks to straight-up harassment. Jisung keeps finding little dead things anywhere his hands frequent: his bag, his pockets, underneath his pillow. 

     The worst was when he was walking to Care of Magical Creatures on Wednesday and a tiny corpse literally dropped from the sky, landing in front of his feet. It was a squirrel, eyes bulging out of their sockets and its tail at an odd angle, as if it had been swung around like a wooden ratchet either before or after it died. Its body was stiff and cold as ice, but its fur was still soft when Jisung petted it with trembling hands. 

     He still doesn’t know why he touched it, it could’ve had rabies or something. He had just been so shaken by the sight that the rational side of his brain turned off, and all he could think to do was bring this creature some impossible form of comfort. It’s okay, buddy. It’s over now.

     It’s a shame that can’t be said for himself.

     The reason for this disturbing behavior is due to a horrible sixth year named Sullivan Brick, which Yeonjun has begun hanging around since he’s the only person who will tolerate his new surly malice. He’s luridly pale (thanks to his Irish parents) and color comes to his skin easily, so whenever he gets angry his face and neck turn bright red. He has thin, sandy blonde hair that he almost always pulls back under a knit cap, a few wispy strands escaping to lie on his forehead. He’s an inch or so shorter than Yeonjun but is made of much beefier muscle, and he literally towers over Jisung whenever he passes, grinning wickedly, his white teeth and skin nearly glowing in the dark like one of those nightmarish fish at the bottom of the ocean.

     Despite these attributes, he could be considered attractive if not for his personality. Jisung has to ask about him, and Jeongin has plenty to say. He’s a Slytherin (why can’t their house catch a break?) and a renowned asshole, sleazy to boys and viciously, hideously mean to girls. Or, if you’re as lucky as Jisung, both! 

     “If you thought Yeonjun was pureblood scum,” Jeongin says during Care of Magical Creatures, “Van is the gross parasite that feeds off that scum.” 

     He goes by Van rather than Sully, which gives his full name either a hilarious or oddly Germanic tone. To defend against the slurs and abusive language the underclassmen receive, they have a plethora of nicknames to throw back at him, including Von Brick, Brickhead, or even the plain and simple ‘Psycho.’ The term would definitely explain the bugs, mice, and squirrel gifts, but it only leaves Jisung with more questions.

     Both him and Yeonjun can be found loafing in a variety of shadowy corners, but they prefer the Slytherin common room, which translates to Jisung spending every hour he possibly can outside of its walls. Yet still, somehow, he continues to find crushed beetles and ants and spiders in his robes, the lining in his pockets sticky with their guts. 

     As if that wasn’t bad enough, a rumor had circulated that Jisung was sleeping with Hongjoong behind Seonghwa’s back. This happened so quickly that it felt like someone had snapped, and then all of a sudden, people in the hallways were giving him shifty, dirty looks. Obviously, Seonghwa and everyone close to him knew this was bullshit, and assured him they didn’t believe it for a second. But despite this(and their very public, purposeful kindnesses towards him), the hostile environment didn’t cease. 

     Walking through the halls starts to set him on edge, his face cast down to the floor, avoiding eye contact with everyone for fear of the way people might look at him. It's almost like torture. Like he could peer around one of Hogwarts' cold, unforgiving corners and find another terror hand-picked for him. 

     No matter how many times Jisung reminds himself (and all of his friends) that technically, this is all just a practical joke, he's not comforted. Practical jokes aren't fueled by ignorance, pettiness, pride, or any of those other blinding, hateful things that make Yeonjun the lovely person he is. This is practically a declaration of war, poking at Jisung and waiting for him—or anyone around him—to do something about it. But they’re all holding onto this juvenile, primary school teacher methodology that if they don't give this toddler what he wants, eventually he'll stop crying. 

     Sadly, this toddler has years of experience getting what he wants, and he's formed a habit of not letting himself crack.

     “No,” Jisung whispers to himself, voice quivering, at breakfast on Thursday. He had been about to jot down a quick idea in his potions notebook, but as he stuck his hand blindly into his bag(a stupid idea, considering all the dead animals he’d been finding in there as of late), he had sunk wrist-deep into an unknown sludge.

     He widens the lip of his messenger bag, realizing with horror that someone had dumped about a quart of Giant Slug vomit inside, scrolls of parchment already warping from its moisture and the ink melting right off. Jisung quickly pulls his notebook onto the table—an exclamation of disgust from Hyunjin as it oozes—and practically rips it open, but there’s no use. It’s completely, utterly ruined.

     Jisung’s eyes heat up in an instant, the edges of his vision sparkling as tears threaten to spill over. “My god.”

     “Oh, Sung.” Chan says, one hand rubbing soothing circles onto Jisung’s back. “I’m so sorry.”

     Minho arrives at that very moment, and his neutral expression snaps into shock. “What?? Was it—?”

     “Who else?” Seungmin says hopelessly, a deep frown etched into his face. “God, I hate feeling lucky.”

     Changbin tilts his head in disbelief. “They verbally degrade you every day.”

     “That’s nothing.” Seungmin waves off, rolling his eyes. Jisung has no doubt that Seungmin would never take anything they say to heart, but even the strongest stones will wear down if you chip at them enough. He does a good job camouflaging it, but Jisung can see the subtle ways Seungmin has been making himself smaller, less noticeable. It breaks his heart, and he can see it breaks Changbin’s too.

     Jisung takes a big, deep breath and blinks several times, trying to calm the wave of despair in his heart, but a few teardrops manage to escape anyway, so he—

     “Fuck this.” Minho says, grabbing Jisung’s hand. “Come with me.”

     “Huh?” Jisung says, eyes blown wide with surprise.

     “Come with me,” He repeats, less aggressively but more persuasive. 

     “Right now?” Jisung says, glancing around at the other students finishing their food and getting ready for class. “Where?”

     “We’ll fix it.” Minho says, unnecessarily vague and overwhelmingly attractive because of it. Jisung reaches for his bag with his other, still slimey hand, but Minho shakes his head. “You don’t need it.”

     “Where are you guys going?” Felix asks, bewildered. 

     A little smile slips onto Jisung’s face without him knowing it, and he shrugs as Minho pulls him out of his seat. “No idea.”

     Minho leads him out of the Great Hall at a rapid pace, and Jisung’s heart stirs up a storm in his chest; the thunder of his heartbeat followed by lightning striking his ribcage and leaving him frazzled. Minho’s hand is cold and Jisung’s fingers tingle where they’re intertwined. He can tally the number of times they've held hands with exclusively parallel lines, which is absurd since Minho has bitten him and touched his lips twice. Jisung feels bubbly because of it and his mind races, trying not to construct a fantasy where Minho drags him into some silent corner of the castle and has his way with him. 

     Eventually, they end up running onto the lawn, the cold air instantly attacking Jisung's forearms, bare from when he'd pushed his sleeves above his elbows. He unconsciously squeezes Minho's hand, like an attempt to transfer his warmth, and Minho glances back at him, his purple hair swept up in the wind, of which there is plenty of. Their robes are flapping wildly around them, nearly tripping them up before billowing out behind them and providing no protection from the temperature. 

     But Jisung doesn't care, even as Minho pulls him into the Forbidden Forest, the dirt underneath them as solid as ice. 

     "Can I finally ask where we're going?" Jisung says, raising his voice over the wind. 

     "Just a minute!" Minho shouts back. 

     As per Minho's word, around a minute later, they stop, so deep into the forest Jisung can't even see the castle spires through the trees. The canopy is thick and dark, creating a pocket of night in the middle of the day. Minho surveys the area, brows furrowed skeptically. 

     "Should be…this way."

     They arrive at a sudden drop, the land plunging several feet at a near ninety degree angle, and thin beams of light manage to pass through from the uneven leaf cover. Minho's hand slips out of Jisung's so that he can brace it against the ground and jump down, his smooth palms getting pitted imprints from pebbles and the chilled, unforgiving earth. Minho turns back and holds out his hand again, head tilted expectantly. Jisung accepts it, hopping down after, stumbling slightly from the momentum. A few more paces, and Minho stops again, squeezing Jisung’s hand.

     "You've apparated before, right?" He says.

     "Yeah," Jisung says, about to ask lot more questions, but with a crack and a nauseating whirl, they're suddenly in Hogsmeade, the wind picking back up from the lack of trees. 

     "Jesus," Jisung says, blinking several times to suppress the dizziness. "How the hell did you do that? You're—"

     "Not supposed to be able to apparate on Hogwarts grounds." Minho finishes for him. "But the magic gets weaker the deeper into the forest you go. Post-war security is pretty lax." 

     Jisung gapes at him. "How'd you find that out?"

     Minho rolls his eyes. "What'd you think me and Seonghwa did all the time?"

     "Huh," Jisung says, impressed. "Two Ravenclaws, one Head Boy, and you're apparating to Hogsmeade whenever you please. What a bunch of delinquents."

     Minho waves the comment off. "Come on, let's get what we came for." He wraps an arm around Jisung's shoulders to steer him in the direction he wants, and Jisung pushes his sleeves back down to his wrists, shivering. 

     "What exactly are we here for?" He asks, wiping leftover goo onto his cloak before shoving both hands in his pockets. 

     "You and your questions." Minho huffs. "You try so hard to make me less mysterious." 

     Jisung rolls his eyes. He really is just keeping his silence for that fact alone. "Isn't it fair for me to know why I’ve been abducted?"

     “As if you wouldn’t enjoy that.” Minho says, which is actually a good thing, because the heat that rises in Jisung’s face provides temporary relief from the cold. 

     Minho ends up buying him a new messenger bag with a proper flap, so that it’s impossible to leave open and unattended without taking up more space. Then, he buys Jisung a sturdy, dragonhide-covered journal made specifically for mixers, charmed up the wazoo to repel water and other liquids. He has to bully Jisung away from the price tags.

     “I know it won’t be the same as the original,” Minho says as they’re walking out, bag in hand, “but we can copy over everything from the one you gave me and go from there. Have you made any major entries since break?”

     “Nothing too big.” Jisung says. The heavy loss of the original notebook is still weighing on his heart, but Minho by his side, showing so much concern and empathy, lightens the load. 

     Minho links their arms and then their fingers. “Ready to head back?”

     “Mhm,” Jisung nods, and with a snap they’re back in the forest. They’ve been gone for a while—how long, Jisung has no idea—but they’re in no rush to make it to class, the little rebellion of the Hogsmeade trip instilling laziness into their bones. They walk up to the castle in comfortable silence, fighting the wind, and Minho lightly catches Jisung’s sleeve as they enter the giant double doors, like he thinks he’ll walk away. Ridiculous. 

     “Come to Ravenclaw,” he says, “I’ll get my copy out for you.” 

     Jisung does, unabashedly soaking up his second-ever trip to the tower. It’s empty obviously, everyone in class, so he doesn’t feel weird about staring. The furniture is made in the same style as the other houses, but in Ravenclaw’s rich lapis blue. The wood stain on the bookshelves is a few shades lighter than the almost-black of Slytherin, but still stands out against the chestnut of Gryffindor and the honey of Hufflepuff. The downward motion of the tower allows for a higher ceiling than Gryffindor, and the two, loft-style floors of the common area make it look much more luxurious.

     Minho takes him down the same boy’s staircase Seungmin had led him down and produces Jisung’s gift from the drawer of his nightstand, its pages still in pristine condition. Jisung leans over to look out the gothic, triangular window next to the bed, his stomach flopping over from the immense drop visible.

     “Jesus.” He says, pulling away. Ravenclaw tower isn’t that much taller than Gryffindor’s, but they organize the years in the opposite fashion from Gryffindor, so the seventh-years are considerably higher up here.

     “I don’t even look.” Minho shakes his head, closing his eyes as if the mere thought makes him nauseous. 

     “You’re afraid of heights too?” Jisung says, his memory flicking back to Halloween, when he and Lix’s gang had wondered about his fears. 

     “Mhm,” Minho says, drifting to the stairs back up to the common room. “I’m jealous of you.”

     Jisung snorts, thinking of the horrible humidity in the warmer months and the frequent leaks, handled by Slytherin-branded buckets(which excellently displays the intense commitment behind the band-aid solution). “Don’t be.” 

     They settle by a table up in the common room, and Jisung spreads both notebooks out, beginning to copy all of his hard work and feeling better the further he gets along. Minho makes himself comfortable on a couch behind Jisung, arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed at the knee. Jisung always feels small and feminine when he assumes such a position, but Minho naturally sticks the heel of his foot much further out, which gives him a totally different look. Calm, casual, confident. Minho. 

     “It’s pretty funny,” Jisung thinks aloud during a lull in conversation, “how we’re both scared of heights, yet we love quidditch.”

     “Hm,” Minho says, his voice sounding deep and rich from behind him. “For some reason, I don’t notice it when I’m on a broom. I guess I tune it out.” 

     “Yeah.” Jisung says, flipping to the next page of both notebooks. “For me, it’s like a rollercoaster. The fun outweighs the fear.” 

     “Mm,” Minho says, and Jisung hates the way those little noises get to him. It’s like poking a smoldering log, a little flame jumping into the air for a moment, just long enough to make its presence clear. 

     “Mm?” Jisung mocks, to preserve his sanity. 

     “I don’t think it’s that simple, actually.” Minho says. “I think that being on a broom makes me feel in control. I need that sort of thing.” 

     Jisung nods in understanding. “To be honest—“

     “Please be honest with me.” Minho interrupts slyly.

     “To be honest,” Jisung continues, rolling his eyes, “the fun doesn’t really outweigh the fear. I think the fun is the fear.”

     “Mm.” Minho says, more concretely. “You like the danger.” 

     There’s a moment while Jisung is reading the next sentence he has to copy, and the room is totally silent. 

     “Yeah,” He finally says, and a small tingle rolls up his spine. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like they’re talking about quidditch anymore.

-

     “Oh, so that’s where you two were.” Hyunjin says during breakfast the following Monday. He had managed to catch a cold while they were gone and quarantined himself in the Hufflepuff dorm until it passed, with only Felix as his bedside nurse. 

     “I’m basically YeonVan-proof.” Jisung says with a faux-arrogant shrug. “Let ‘em at me, I can take it.”

     “Y’know Wooyoung is trying to get a Rapid game going tomorrow?” Changbin says, cutting into a pancake. “Seventh-years only again, to control the numbers. “I dunno if he’s inviting Yeonjun, but obviously all of you guys should come.”

     “Not me, surely.” Seungmin says, raising his brow.

     “You could if you wanted to.” Changbin says honestly, but Seungmin shakes his head.

     “I do not.” He says dryly. “I’ll stick to the scoreboard.”

     “You can’t, not now.” Felix points out smugly. “You’re biased. We’ll have to get Soobin to ref.” 

     “I doubt he’d want to.” Chan says with an empathetic frown. “Nobody wants to be in Yeonjun’s proximity these days, I can’t imagine how Soobin feels.”

     “Why not Jeongin?” Minho suggests. 

     Hyunjin snaps, beaming. “That’s a fantastic idea! I’ll tell Wooyoung during Defense.” 

     The word spreads around, and after class on Tuesday, large swaths of the student body flock to the stands. As Chan predicted, Soobin is nowhere to be found, and Jeongin finds his way to the commentator’s mic with Seungmin, Beomgyu, and Heeseung by his side. No one can figure out whether he’d been formally invited or not, but Yeonjun shows up anyway, Lightning clutched in one hand. Minho’s gleams similarly, but because of the person it’s next to, it has a significantly less evil aura. 

     “By rule of rotation, me and Seonghwa are captains, aren’t we?” He says roughly, glancing around everyone gathered on the field.

     No one is bold enough to say no, so him and Seonghwa do rock-paper-scissors to decide who picks first. Unfortunately, Yeonjun wins.

     “Wooyoung.” He says. 

     “Hongjoong.” Seonghwa says, the two exchanging a smile.

     “Changbin.” Yeonjun says, regarding him with all the malice of a mafioso from a bad romance novel, claiming something he erroneously considers his property. Reluctantly, Changbin joins his side. 

     “Nayeon.” Seonghwa says; a good decision, to separate her from Yeonjun.

     “Chan.” Yeonjun says, and what he’s doing seems to dawn on everyone at the same time, nervous glances shared. Jisung feels something cold sink in his stomach.

     “Minho.” Seonghwa says quickly. 

     “Hyunjin.” 

     “Felix.”

     “Jennie,” Yeonjun says, finally seeming to go for a strategy pick.

     “Mina.” Seonghwa says, matching him.

     “San.”

     “Mingi.”

     Chaeyoung, Rosé, and Tzuyu go to Yeonjun, and Jisoo, Lisa, and Yunho go to Seonghwa, probably the latest claim of Chasers in the history of Hogwarts Rapid.

     “Momo.” Yeonjun says finally. Which leaves, in pathetic isolation—

     “Jisung.” Seonghwa says warmly, sympathetic. In hindsight, it makes sense to leave him for last, considering he was guaranteed, but it doesn’t make Jisung feel that much better. 

     When the game starts, Jisung can tell it’s not going to be a good one. Everyone on Yeonjun’s team quite literally doesn’t want to be there, their movements slow and unmotivated. Yunho and Nayeon basically own the quaffle, passing to each other so quickly and smoothly that one could have assumed they belong to the same house team.

     Minho stays by Jisung’s side almost constantly, and Felix and Hongjoong float nearby as well, a giant shield against Yeonjun’s attempts to knock him out of the game. None of his team members even try to get other people out, instead focusing on passes they don’t intend on catching and goals they don’t intend on making. Seonghwa’s sympathy hadn’t been comforting, but the unanimous defiance of Yeonjun definitely is. 

     The game isn’t worth recounting. Honestly, Jisung feels bad for the spectators, because it’s extremely straightforward and boring to watch. Despite this, Sullivan can still be heard bellowing encouragingly whenever Yeonjun manages to get the quaffle, and booing equally as loud when he doesn’t. 

     Mina scores the goal that brings Seonghwa’s team up to a hundred points and it’s finally over. Everyone flies to the center to converse, but Jisung splits off from them to fly down to the Quaffle, which had fallen to the grass after Mina’s shot. Halfway there, though, something feels different. Something subtle, like a change in the wood grain of his broom handle.

     In midair, he stops, but not of his own volition. He urges the broom forward again—the school loaners are old and jittery anyway. But he barely makes it a foot before the broom stops again, and before he can even be nervous, it gives a giant thrash. 

     Jisung screams, his entire body bucked off of the back like a horse. The only reason he stays on is because of his naturally tighter grip on the handle, a habit Changbin had rolled his eyes at when they were younger. 

     The crowd gasps, enough people leaning forward at the same time to make the stands look like one giant organism. The broom shakes again, and Jisung holds on for dear life, his hands already starting to get sweaty from holding all of his weight. The ground is far enough that to fall would mean certain death, and tears quickly spring to Jisung’s eyes, internally cursing himself for the conversation he and Minho had had days before.

     The commotion draws the attention of the other seventh-years, and Minho is the first to reach him, thanks to his Lightning. He looks right into Jisung’s eyes, not even a sliver of fear on his face, and holds his arms out.

     “Let go,” he says, an absolutely insane request when they’re this high up. With his hands off his broom, catching Jisung could even put himself in danger. 

     Below, a swarm of the other seventh-years have gathered, frantically communicating to one another, likely trying to create some sort of plan to save him. His broom writhes erratically again, and his left hand slips off, causing shouts of alarm from the onlookers.

     “Sungie, let go.” Minho says, more firmly, a fierce look in his eyes. 

     Jisung swallows with difficulty, glancing between Minho and the grass.

     “Don’t even look.” Minho says. “Look at me, Sungie. Deep breath. I’m going to catch you.” 

     Jisung takes a shaky breath, ignoring the tear rolling down his cheek, and focuses his attention on Minho. 

     “Let go.” Minho repeats, his voice measured and even. 

     Slowly, Jisung lets his fingers slide over the side of the broom, peeling them off one by one before he can’t hold on any longer, and then he falls. 

     “I’ve got you.” Minho says, and when Jisung opens his eyes(when did he close them?), he does. He hadn’t slipped through Minho’s arms or caused them both to plummet or anything drastic like that. Minho had caught him. 

     The spectator organism cheers, but Jisung doesn’t care. He throws his arms around Minho and holds on, the terror still left in his body like adrenaline. He grips the back of Minho’s cloak as hard as he can, burying his face into his shoulder to hide the fact that he’s still crying. 

     “It’s alright, it’s alright.” Minho says, carefully lowering them to the ground. “I’ve got you.” 

     The rest of the day is a blur of people asking if he’s okay, asking what happened, why, and how. He can’t answer any of them in a satisfactory matter. He’s okay, yes, in the physical sense, but his entire nervous system is buzzing and he hasn’t disengaged himself from Minho since. 

     He has no idea where Yeonjun is. He doesn’t know if he was underneath him with everyone else while he hung onto the broom. He doesn’t know if he ever asked if Jisung was okay. 

     He doesn’t know if he was the one who did it.

Chapter Text

     “This is fucked up,” says Felix later that night. His expression is dark with rare anger, his nearly-white hair seeming to glow gold around his head. It reminds Jisung of full-Veela fury, and a shiver runs down his spine, imagining Felix’s nose elongating into a sharp beak and large, claw-knuckled wings bursting from his shoulders. He can’t imagine Felix being any kind of bird other than a baby chick.

     “Right?” Felix says, looking at each of them like they’re crazy. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

     No one says anything in response to him. There’s nothing to refute.

     They’re gathered on their usual couches in the Gryffindor common room, most people already having gone to bed. The fireplace crackles, bathing their faces in warm light and sending ghostly shadows crawling along the wall behind them. Jisung is almost in Minho’s lap from how closely he’s pressed against him, and Minho is gently threading his fingers through his hair, tracing soothing patterns into his scalp. He could fall asleep like this if he wasn’t so keyed up.

     They all are, really, other than Minho—who seems to have been dunked in a serene, near-narcotic calm, as if to balance them out. Seungmin and Felix are the ones who have been doing most of the speaking in the last two or three hours, assuring passersby that Jisung is fine with stiff, perfunctory smiles.

     “He could have died.” Felix continues furiously. “We have to do something!”

     “What do we do?” Seungmin says helplessly. “We can’t say if it was him or even Van.”

     “Who else could it have been??”

     “Well obviously it was one of them.” Seungmin says hastily. “But we can’t prove it.”

     “I’ll kill him.” Chan says, very suddenly, and full of grave, certain seriousness. “I’ll kill them both.”

     “Don’t,” Jeongin says, slumped in the nearby armchair, his head propped up on his skeletal knuckles. “Half of Van’s family is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They’ll get you thrown in Azkaban.” 

     “I don’t care.” 

     “Yes, you do.” Jeongin says, his words surprisingly cutting. To be fair though, Jeongin surprises Jisung at least once whenever he spends time with him. 

     “This is all my fault.” Chan says, hands curling into fists.

     “How is this possibly your fault?” Seungmin asks with a tired sigh. “Yeonjun and Van are merciless assholes. There’s nothing you could have done to change that.”

     “You don’t understand.” Chan says, almost a growl. “I’m going to bed.” 

     Jisung lifts his head from Minho’s ministrations to watch him go, chewing on his lip. He wants to call him back, but he can’t find the strength in his throat. 

     “Mm?” Minho hums, very quietly, so that only he can hear. Jisung shakes his head. 

     “We have to do something.” Felix repeats, more desperately.

     “There’s nothing to be done.” Hyunjin says miserably. “We just have to protect Jisungie the best we can.” 

     The four of them nod, in solemn agreement. Although he doesn’t speak or even acknowledge their presence, Jisung assumes Changbin agrees too.

     It comes in handy to have friends in every house, because all of Jisung’s classes are covered. The best ones, obviously, are completely void of Yeonjun, but the ones that aren’t have at least two friends ready to shield him from any prank attempts. Despite how traumatizing the Rapid experience had been, there is a plus, being that it seems to have mollified Yeonjun in part. The petty bullying has trickled away(even to Seungmin), replaced by threatening glares from far away. 

     Sullivan, however, has been emboldened. He’s taken to waiting around corners he knows Jisung will pass and letting himself be discovered, Jisung’s heart nearly leaping right out of his throat. And each time, Sullivan smiles that nasty, toothy smile of his. Occasionally, he’ll “warn” Jisung beforehand, revealing his location by whistling a little tune that Jeongin informs him is from an old wizard folktale about Muggles being lured into bogs by hinkypunks. After they were knee deep in sludgy water, they were pounced on by grindylows and their stomachs torn open, turning them into human bread bowls.

     “It’s a horrible story.” Hyunjin says during lunch one day, glancing fearfully at the Slytherin table out of the corner of his eye. “My dad used to tell it just to spook us.”

     “The worst part is that it’s framed with such…finality.” Jeongin explains. “Like this is the end they were destined to meet, for being foolish. For not knowing what a fucking hinkypunk is. The author was a scumbag.”

     That little whistle haunts him in his nightmares. It’s not a real warning either. Sullivan always positions himself so that Jisung has to pass him, so hearing that melody just fills him with dread, makes him loiter around and wonder at a seperate path. There’s never any that he can think of. 

     The last time Jisung walks to class by himself is Monday, during the transition from Care of Magical Creatures to Transfiguration. Sullivan is waiting for him by the little side entrance to the castle, blocking a good chunk of the doorway with his broad shoulders. 

     Jisung stops, his hand tightening around the strap of his messenger bag. His voice comes out through his teeth. “Excuse me.”

     Sullivan whistles the first few notes of his tune, but the smug expression on his face and their isolated position gives it a whole different atmosphere, and Jisung’s heart thumps wildly in his chest, panic rising on his spine.

     “I said move,” He says, as firm as he can muster. 

     “You should move,” Sullivan says, faux-thoughtfully, “away. And leave your boyfriend alone. He’d be better off without you.”

     Jisung’s brows furrow with anger. Who the hell is he talking about? Minho? Regardless, Jisung doesn’t wanna hear it. He shoves past him, and Sullivan just laughs, the sound echoing off stone. From that point on, Jisung is passed to his classes like a piece of china, his friends meeting each other at the halfway point and carefully handing him off to ensure he doesn’t crack in shipping.

-

     "This has been the longest and shortest January of my life." Jisung says depressingly at breakfast on the 31st. "I feel like I've been flayed, but on a timelapse."

     "He won't come out on top." Jeongin says with rare determination. 

     "He always does." Jisung says with a resigned sigh. "It's his thing. He abuses me, does a kickflip, and everyone claps." 

     "Not us," Felix says, grasping Jisung’s hand in both of his own.

     Jeongin blinks cluelessly. "What the hell is a kickflip?"

     Chan, Changbin, and Jeongin leave first, and as the rest of them make their way to the pitch, Minho links their fingers again. 

     "He can't hurt you during the match." Minho says gently. "And I'll be right here."

     The softness of his voice makes Jisung feel a little silly. "I—I know, yeah. It's nothing. Thank you."

     Minho just nods, knowing what he really means. 

     It's wickedly cold up in the stands, and the five of them huddle together, their hands already too frigid to wave their Gryffindor flags. News of Yeonjun's change in character (or magnification of character, more like) had dripped down into the lower years as well, and the sheer volume of red in the stadium is something to laugh at. Seungmin is borrowing Changbin's scarf, and he leans right up against the railing, the most interested he's been in a match yet. In fact, the general atmosphere is much more tense than usual, a unanimous chord thrumming in the air. 

     Madam Hooch releases the balls, and Wooyoung is the first to grab the quaffle, speeding off to the left side of the field. Jennie, Nayeon, and Yeonjun are hot on his tail, but Jake and Chaeyoung slip between them, breaking their rank and weakening their positions. Mingi is a hair too late and Wooyoung scores, a ripple of cheers spreading across the stands. 

     The game is tight. Jay nearly knocks Chaeyoung off her broom with a bludger, and San dodges one sent by Jongho. Chan is fantastic as always but he's not perfect, and well-executed goals slip past him. Seungmin screams his lungs raw as Changbin disrupts a goal from Jennie, the quaffle snatched by Jake and scored stealthily in Slytherin's lowest hoop. 

     Jisung gasps, noticing Jeongin zipping across the field, his eyes locked on something invisible to the untrained eye. But Jisung can see it, and Minho can too, because he yells, "Jeongin's going for the snitch!" 

     The people around them erupt in noise, all pressing forwards to try and get a better look. Jeongin is incredibly fast, probably from his lean build, and Lisa was late to notice. Jisung is caught between pride for Jeongin and a deeper sinking feeling, because this means Slytherin wins, and that means—

     "What's he doing?" Hyunjin yells. Jeongin is pulling out of his dive, a difficult maneuver from his sheer speed. 

     "Is that a feint?" Felix asks worriedly, likely thinking about Lisa's potential to crash. 

     "No," Jisung says breathlessly as Jeongin stops completely, watching as Lisa passes him. "The snitch was there, I saw it. He's—"

     "He's doing this on purpose." Seungmin realizes at the same moment. 

     "What the hell is happening out there?" Beomgyu's voice shouts from the commentator's stand. "Is Yang throwing??"

     Lisa catches the snitch and the audience cheers, drowning out Beomgyu's announcement of the final score. The five of them yell happily with everyone else, squeezing each other's fingers to reawaken their chilled blood vessels. All the players descend to the grass, but Yeonjun doesn't shake Chan's hand. He's yelling at Jeongin, whose hands are in his pockets, unfazed. 

     "Merlin, I pity him." Hyunjin says with a chuckle.

     "I can't believe he did that." Jisung says, since his thoughts can't stop repeating it. "Why would he do that?"

     "For the greater good." Minho says with a shrug. "So that Yeonjun doesn't win."

     "Don't be silly, he did it for you, Jisung." Felix says with a warm laugh. "Because we're all friends and he couldn't let Yeonjun have this while being so awful to you."

     "He did it for both reasons." Seungmin says evenly. Jisung thinks he’s probably right.

     Once all the players have changed and been thoroughly hugged and congratulated, Chan leads a boisterous charge to the Gryffindor common room for the afterparty. Most of the Slytherin team is swept up with them, equally happy, with Jeongin given about the same heroic fanfare as Lisa, if not more. He accepts this shyly, with plenty of embarrassed waving off and trying, hopelessly, to blend in with the crowd.

     The party is probably their loudest one yet, with the most alcohol dispersed. Even Seungmin drinks a little, though Jisung suspects it's to get used to the taste before he kisses it off Changbin's lips later. Beomgyu, Heeseung, and Jeongin clink their bottles together like they're forming the top of a teepee, the sight both ceremonial and oddly cultish from Jeongin’s skeleton arm in the warped party lights. 

     "Where's San?" Jisung sees Wooyoung asking around, pushing his way through the throbbing mass of dancing bodies. "Has anyone seen San?"

     "He went with Yeonjun!" Mingi yells, popping open some firewhiskey for Yunho. 

     "Where?" Wooyoung says.

     "No idea." Mingi says sourly, downing a big swig of his own bottle. "I left as soon as I could."

     Jisung makes his usual rounds, his head spinning from firewhiskey and noise and little motes of colored light. It feels like he's standing still, nudged through the dancing by impetus alone. It occurs to him (dimly, somewhere in the back of his brain) that he has no idea where the music is coming from. There's been music for every party he's been to, and he's never seen the source. Similar to the firewhiskey, it seems to magically appear, like an obscure god summoned by the mere spirit of the revelers, punished by Zeus to entertain drunken teenagers for the next millenia. 

     Eventually Jisung finds his friends again, and he's treated to his second sighting of a drunk Minho, who slinks immediately to his side and twines their arms together like a snake. There's a conversation happening but Jisung hears none of it, his brain seared by Minho’s red-hot touch. He pulls him a foot away, so close only Jisung can hear him, and cracks some sly joke. 

     Jisung laughs, his body buzzing from the alcohol, and Minho laughs too, his posture open and inviting. They look like the picture of extroverts—a much stranger sight for all who know Minho, since Jisung's become quite proficient in hiding his true nature over the years. 

     Minho's propped against the wall by his elbow and forearm, and he leans even closer, giving the illusion that he's much taller than Jisung as he looks down on him, a dazed, tipsy smile on his lips. His eyelids are lazy, lowered halfway, and when he dips his head to whisper, he's murmuring into Jisung's neck rather than his ear.

     “You’re cute when you’re drunk.” He says, breath fanning out across his skin.

     “Yeah?” Jisung says, his heart galloping as he imagines Minho closing the distance between his neck and mouth. “How so?”

     Minho abruptly straightens, his face hardening. “What are you doing here?”

     Jisung turns around, and standing behind him is Yeonjun, not looking so good. His hair is disheveled, his breathing heavy, and his cheeks tinted. Drunk, a lot more so than Jisung and Minho. The last time Jisung saw him like this, Soobin had just—

     BAM!

     Jisung is thrown backwards from the force of the punch, and Minho has to loop his hands under Jisung’s arms to catch him. Yeonjun hit him so hard he’s dizzy, and it takes him a moment to realize the chaos that’s ensued.

     Wooyoung is pulling Yeonjun away, holding him in the same way Jisung is being kept upright. Changbin is restraining Chan, who looks to have landed several nasty punches to Yeonjun’s face, and he struggles trying to give him more. Felix seems ready to start throwing fireballs, but Hyunjin has one arm crossed over his chest, and Seungmin and Jeongin are shouting at Chan and Yeonjun respectively. San is there too, having popped into existence. He must have been trying to stop Yeonjun before he got here. The spectator creature from Rapid is curled around the whole ordeal, yelling, writhing, faceless. 

     “Are you okay??” Minho asks, helping Jisung properly to his feet and smoothing his thumb over the area Yeonjun had punched. 

     “You’re a fucking psychopath!” Chan yells, and Jisung is distracted from answering by the look on his face. 

     It’s utterly terrifying: his features dark and twisted with rage. The lights sparkle madly off of Chan’s teeth, and in Jisung’s drunken state, makes them look like canine incisors. He looks like how he did in first year, before he matured and learned how to reel himself in. It’s as if he’s reverted to that untamed state, the one that earned him his Ancient Runes pen name: Wolf.  

     “Chan—“ Changbin starts, but Chan whips around, teeth bared, as if to snap at him. Changbin closes his mouth, but tightens his grip on Chan’s shoulders. 

     “It’s his fault.” Yeonjun mumbles, sounding delirious. “All’is fault.” 

     “That’s bullshit!” Felix yells. “Jisung never did anything to you!”

     “He’s not dead, if anyone cares.” Someone pipes up from beside the couch, where Jisung notices Sullivan’s passed out form. When did that happen? Was that Chan?

     “It's his fault." Yeonjun says, his voice steadier, as he stumbles to his feet. "All he's ever done is fuck up my life." 

     "Ji—"

     "It's not fucking about Jisung!" Yeonjun shouts, spearing a finger into Chan's chest. "It never was. And you know that. It's about you and me."

     "What are you talking about??" Changbin says. "You never stop pushing Sung around!"

     "Because it upsets him!" Yeonjun says, pointing aggressively at Chan. "I don't give a damn about Jisung. He's not worth my attention."

     "That's not true." Wooyoung says adamantly. "You're jealous of Jisung, you always have been."

     "It's not even about you and me anymore." Chan says angrily. "It's about you! You and your obsession with power, and holding over other people. Yes, over me, but also over Jisung, over Seungmin, hell, probably over Soobin, too."

     Yeonjun thrashes in Wooyoung's arms, but not strongly enough to break free. 

     "You're a horrible quidditch captain," Chan says scathingly, "you're a bad prefect, a bad boyfriend. You don't care about leadership or companionship or anything like that. You just want more excuses to order people around."

     "You know what your problem is?" Yeonjun cuts in. 

     "What?" Chan says, spitting the word out.

     "You think you're the main character." Yeonjun says hatefully. "You sit up on your ivory tower of Gryffindorness with your posse and your team and you think you're so moral. You think you've never been selfish or jealous before."

     "I never said that." Chan says, wounded. 

     "You think that just because you don't use magic, you can try to scare people away." Yeonjun plows on, and Jisung doesn't miss Chan's sharp little intake of breath. "Because after all these years, you still can't just fucking say something. Well I don't wanna keep your secret anymore."

     Somehow, amidst everything, Jisung and Changbin manage to make panicked eye contact. This explains so much. The 'favor' Chan had done the HRR for. The reason Yeonjun suggested Wooyoung in the first place. He knows. Like, for sure.

     Yeonjun opens his mouth to speak (spew, more like) but Chan slips out of Changbin's arms and punches him again, setting off another wave of chaos. So many people are yelling, and it's starting to hurt Jisung’s head. 

     "Yeonjun, that's enough!" Wooyoung shouts, wrestling with him. "You're in the wrong!" 

     Changbin pushes past Chan, both him and Wooyoung blocking Yeonjun's line of sight. "You have to fucking pull yourself together." He says roughly. "Me and Woo let this shit slide for too long and that's on us, but you need to have some sort of self-awareness. You are an asshole."

     There's silence for a good healthy moment. Being surrounded by people he used to call his best friends must have done it for him. 

     Changbin turns to Wooyoung. "We should see McGonagall. There has to be something we can do."

     "With a confession it'll be pretty easy." Wooyoung says, sending a piercing glance at Yeonjun.

     They both turn back to Chan. "Wanna help with Van?" Changbin says. 

     Chan jerks his head once in what must be a nod, because he walks over to the couch and starts attempting to get Sullivan in a position for travel. Jeongin goes to help, and Jisung is pulled back into his own body via Minho's fingers in his hair. 

     "Are you okay?" He asks again, worry all over his face. 

     "Yeah—erm, yeah. I'm fine." Jisung gets out, watching the two trios leave. It's pitch-black outside and he has no idea what they think they'll be able to do with the professors all asleep, but he doesn't care. All he wants to do right now is sleep. "Can—can I sleep with you?"

     Minho blinks twice. "Yeah. Sure." 

     The two of them slip between the crowd, unnoticed, and Minho leads him to Ravenclaw tower. It's nearly deserted, the younger students already asleep and most of the older ones likely at Gryffindor. Jisung flops onto Minho's bed in his clothes, uncaring, but Minho tosses him an extra pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

     They change and Minho pulls the covers over them both, their bodies pressed close. There’s no other way to sleep on such a narrow bed, and Jisung can feel their heartbeats syncing, still a little fast from the adrenaline of the night. 

     “I would normally be with Chan right now.” Jisung’s mouth says before his brain can catch up with the thought.

     Minho blinks at him. “You sleep with Chan regularly?”

     “Jus’wenwewin.” Jisung slurs. “After quiddish.” 

     “Hm,” Minho says, his chest rumbling under Jisung’s. “Well don’think about him right now. Think about me.” 

     “Okay.” Jisung says, the request unnecessary, and explains as much by saying, “I’m always thinking about you.”

     “Good.” Minho says. “Dream about me as well.”

     “I do a’lotta that also.”

     Minho brushes the hair out of Jisung’s eyes with one hand. “Good. Me too. Let’s dream about each other t’night, Sungie, and tell each other in the morning.”

     Jisung mumbles something else, but he’s not sure what, because consciousness drains from his form, his brain floating away to sleep.

Chapter Text

     The next morning, Jisung wakes up to a face-full of Minho. In the night, they had somehow swapped positions, with Minho now lying on top of Jisung. His lips are parted and he's drooling onto Jisung's (Minho's, technically) shirt, his purple hair all mussed up. Their legs are twined together—an unconscious safety mechanism to prevent each other from falling out of bed, most likely. Jisung never wants to get up. 

     Unfortunately, Minho rouses shortly after, rubbing the crust from his eyes and wiping the saliva from his chin. He looks beautiful, especially so in the morning light, which paints their blanket in little diamond patterns from his window. 

     "M'rning." Minho mumbles. "My head hurts."

     "Mm, me too." Jisung says, and then hastily corrects, "I mean, mine too."

     "You're dumb in the morning." Minho says, stretching his arms over his head. "Noted."

     "For what?" Jisung huffs. It's not like Minho hasn't woken up with him before. For some reason though, this feels different.

     Minho flops back down, his eyes still fogged with sleepiness, and runs both hands through Jisung's hair. The action could be excused as tidying it—he can only imagine how odd it must look—but his motions are slow and groggy, giving it a much more tender, affectionate air. 

     "Did you remember?" Minho asks instead of answering his question, gazing down at him with cat-like eyes. Holy fuck, this might be too much for him to take. 

     "Remember what?" Jisung says.

     "Clearly not." Minho rolls his eyes. "Your dream, Sungie. What did you dream about?"

     "Oh, er…" Jisung thinks hard, but he can't recall dreaming at all. "I don't know. I don't think I had one."

     Minho slaps him lightly on the thigh from under the blankets. "You forgot, silly." 

     "Well what did you dream about?" Jisung says accusingly, a defense from the tingles under the skin of his leg. 

     "I dreamt that you turned into a glazed donut," Minho says, "and I had to stop people from eating you."

     Jisung grins, conjuring his usual faux-ego. “I bet that was pretty hard. I’m so delicious-looking already.”

     “Hm,” Minho says, and he must have gotten tired holding up his head, because he drops it face-first into the crook of Jisung’s neck. “I can’t remember if I was successful.” 

     The words are muffled, his lips brushing against skin. Jisung might just pass away, his eyelids involuntarily stuttering in his effort to close them. His brain screams, begging every god out there for mercy—or for Minho to rip out his throat with his teeth. 

     “Sungie?” Minho whispers, his voice close to his ear. 

     “Yeah?” Jisung manages to croak. 

     “Your heart is beating really fast.” 

     Minho moves his hand to Jisung’s chest under the covers, accidentally lifting the hem of his shirt in the process. Neither of them can see the exposed skin but they know it’s there, and it certainly isn’t helping with Minho’s accusation. 

     “Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.” Minho says, syncing up with Jisung’s heartbeat. “Are you having a heart attack?”

     With his face obscured and his voice lazy, Jisung cannot for the life of him figure out the tone behind his words. He’s joking, right? Surely he’s joking. Yet the frankness in which the question was delivered could suggest something else, something scary. Jisung pretends that isn’t an option.

     “Sorry,” Jisung says dryly, “I’m suffering a mild case of heat stroke.”

     "Boohoo. Welcome to my life over break." Minho says with a huff, but he pushes the blanket off and sits up anyway, the heat (both literal and metaphorical) dissipating. "You want breakfast?"

     Jisung nods, so they dress and trudge down to the Great Hall, where the Hufflepuffs are already sipping juice and helping themselves to waffles. Felix notices them first, his face flicking through several emotions at once before he gets his reactions under control. Hyunjin doesn't bother trying.

     "You—" He blurts, jaw falling open. "Did you fuck??"

     "What?? No!" Jisung exclaims, his ears turning red. "We just…"

     "Slept together." Minho says, unable to stop himself from snickering. 

     "...Right." Hyunjin says, regarding them skeptically. They're saved by the arrival of Seungmin, who sighs heavily as he takes his seat.

     "Christ." He says. "Chan was…"

     "Yeah." Jisung agrees.

     "I've never seen him like that before." Hyunjin says with a shiver. "I was actually scared."

     "I always forget that most people didn't see him explode at Yeonjun." Jisung says.

     “You know what I'm thinking about?” Seungmin says, his eyes sweeping each of their faces and landing on Jisung. “What Yeonjun was talking about.” 

     Since he seems to be talking to Jisung, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Er, what did he say? I'm forgetting.”

     “Oh, you mean his little comeback to Chan?” Hyunjin picks up on. “The thing about scaring people away.”

     They all turn to Jisung(the Chan expert), but he shrugs. “I have no idea.”

     “Really?” Hyunjin says, disappointed. “I thought you never left Chan's side in first year.”

     Jisung scoffs. “Of course I did. I don't know everything about him, y'know. Him and Yeonjun would argue without me all the time.” 

     “Well, I have a theory anyway.” Seungmin says, switching his attention with a grin. “Felix.” 

     “Hm?” Felix blinks.

     “It's you, dummy.” Seungmin says. “You're the person he's been scaring people from.”

     Felix flushes a deep red and Hyunjin gasps, clutching his hand. “It makes so much sense!” He says excitedly. 

     “That's what I was thinking.” Seungmin says knowingly. “I mean, Felix is fucking half-veela, and no one's asked him out since first year. Isn't that crazy?”

     “N-no, it can't be.” Felix stammers, in numb disbelief. 

     “You say that like the whole school hasn't watched you pine for each other for seven years.” Seungmin says flatly. 

     Jisung can't make his mouth move. It's a weird sensation to hear Seungmin be so incredibly, confidently wrong. He wants to say something but he can't—and even if he could, what would he say? 

     Minho looks uncomfortable, like he's soaking it up from Jisung. “Are you sure?”

     “What else could he be talking about?” Hyunjin asks, tilting his head. No one can come up with anything to say to that.

-

     Yeonjun and Sullivan’s squad of escorts are missing for all of Sunday, and when they return, they have momentus news. Jisung has the pleasure of hearing everything first thing Monday morning during Herbology, the invisible talking stick passing from Chan to Changbin to Wooyoung over and over again until they all speak themselves hoarse.

     Yeonjun has been suspended for three months. His spot on the quidditch team and his good grades kept him latched on by just a fraction, many of his teachers sympathetic to his future. He was sent home at noon on Sunday, the earliest the Hogwarts express could arrive to pick him up. Jisung highly doubts that some time with his pureblood parents will whip him into shape, but Seungmin informs him of the much more devious, hidden evil.

     “Three whole months?” He says, amazed, at lunch on Monday. “That barely gives him a month to catch up, nevermind prepare for the NEWTs. I bet he’ll have to repeat the year.”

     Sullivan, however—upon drunken admission that he was the one who had cursed Jisung’s broom during Rapid—was promptly expelled. He took the train with Yeonjun, and Jisung realizes with marvel that they’ll probably never see him again.

     “He wasn’t really fit for the wizarding world anyway.” Jeongin says with well-deserved cockiness. “But when you’re that thick, I dunno how else you’d make a living.”

     “Maybe hauling rubbish?” Heeseung suggests, an arm wrapped around Jeongin in a lazy hug(a shock to Jisung, who’s seen him duck out of hugs from Hyunjin and Felix countless times). 

     “Sure, if he can find his way back to the truck.” Beomgyu snickers.

     Because of Jeongin’s little stunt, Slytherin is out of the running for the final, but San is appointed as a permanent replacement captain. He’s the only one surprised by this—honestly, Jisung thinks this is how it should’ve been from the start. 

     “I mean, what do I even do now?” San says, bewildered, during Transfiguration on Wednesday. “Host practice? Do more tryouts? We’re down a chaser.”

     “I bet the sixth years wouldn’t mind more practice.” Nayeon says from the next table over. “Forget about the empty chaser slot.”

     “We can more than cover for him.” Jennie says, rightfully smug. 

     Other than that story (which makes relentless rounds and results in fearfully impressed glances at Chan from the younger years) the school is buzzing with anticipation for Valentine’s Day. Personally, Jisung is dreading it, and his heart only sinks further when he spots the first booth set up to sell Self-Singing Grams. They're like Howlers but arguably worse: gaudy, bejeweled envelopes that fly with enchanted doilies for wings until they find their recipient at the predetermined time. Then, they caterwaul the sender's heartfelt message at a tune of the envelope's composition; most often pitchy, cheesy, and torturous. 

     “I’m gonna buy everyone one and send them at three in the morning.” Hyunjin threatens with a toothy smile.

     “We know where you sleep.” Minho threatens right back. “If you do that I’ll strangle you.”

     “Would you be mad if I sent you one?” Changbin asks Seungmin, sounding genuinely curious.

     “Yes. Extremely.” Seungmin says flatly. “Just kiss me like a normal person, I don’t like grand gestures.” Changbin promptly leans in and Seungmin has to block him with his forearm, turning pink. “Not now, you idiot!”

     The whole ordeal is only perpetuating the Felix situation. Apparently, he had seen Chan loitering around one of the booths, flipping through some of the cards before hastily deciding against it. 

     “D’you think he’s nervous?” Felix asks in a whisper during Charms on Thursday. “Why would he be nervous?”

     “You’re friends, silly.” Hyunjin says. “I bet he’s worried about destroying that bond.”

     “But with Valentine’s Day right there…” Felix trails off, self-affirming. “He’ll have to confess. It’s like protocol.”

     “My thoughts exactly.” Hyunjin nods. Jisung, yet again, can’t find the words to refute that.

     When he sits down in Potions on Friday, Minho makes loaded eye contact. “So, Felix, huh,” He says. Jisung just blinks at him, his eyes wide. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

     “I just don’t know what to do.” Jisung says, and it’s relieving to say it out loud. “I feel like I’m betraying him by not saying anything, but I just…can’t.”

     Minho nods with understanding. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings by saying anything in anyone’s stead, but this is getting a little…”

     “Yeah.” Jisung says gravely. “I’m worried. I’m really worried.”

     “I just hope he survives the rejection.” Minho sighs. “I do not want to be around for that. I feel like seeing him cry would break the whole school.”

     Jisung chuckles. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I bet that subconscious Veela magic or whatever he was talking about will make us all have a depressive episode.”

     Minho’s stirring rod comes to a stop inside of his cauldron. “What?”

     “Oh yeah, I forgot you were in Muggle Studies for that story.” 

-

     Sunday—Hyunjin informs them—is Jeongin’s birthday. Him, Felix, and Seungmin slip off to Hogsmeade on Saturday, pulling Jisung with them.

     “I still feel like I don't know him that well!” Jisung objects meekly, his hand firmly contained in Felix's fist. “Wouldn't it be awkward if I gave him a gift?”

     “You don't have to get him something if you don't want to.” Seungmin says, nonverbally communicating they just want his company, which warms his heart. 

     “Yeah.” Hyunjin says. “Besides, everyone feels that way about Innie. He keeps things close to his chest. But he likes you, I can tell.”

     “That's a relief.” Jisung says, still a little uneasy from his personal lack of this observation. 

     “Ooo, look in there!” Felix points, leading them inside a cozy shop. At the front, where he'd seen them through the window, are shelves of charmed cards for different occasions, which they all thumb through in interest. Seungmin is startled by a Valentine's Day card that explodes in rose petals when he opens it, and the lady behind the front desk grumbles, snatching a broom to clean up after him. 

     They all buy him cute birthday cards with a variety of special effects and then they change stores to hunt for gifts. Seungmin gets him the most gorgeous book Jisung has ever seen, complete with moving illustrations of the magical creatures that it discusses in detail. Felix gets him an armful of stuffed animals, magical and non-magical alike, shrugging when Seungmin raises a brow at him.

     “Who doesn't like stuffed animals?” He says, rather wisely, in Jisung's opinion.

     Hyunjin gets him some supplies to take care of his broom and a little gift card for The Three Broomsticks, figuring Jeongin would rather buy his own butterbeer instead of receiving a lukewarm one day-of. 

     When they return to the castle, Chan calls out from behind them in a random corridor, likely on his way to the library.

     “Hey!” He says, approaching with a smile that falters. “Er, Jisung, you have something on your back.”

     “I do?” Jisung attempts to twist his neck around to see it, but Chan stops him to look closer, going silent. “What?”

     “Someone left a message for you.” Chan says evenly, and with a ripping sound, he hands Jisung two pieces of tape. They spell:

LOSER ♡

(hands off)

     “Oh.” Jisung says weakly. Maybe Minho was right about him being stupid all along, because he’d never thought to remove the tape or even his cloak to look at what he’d said. He’s been walking around with a cheesy claim stuck to his back for just under a month. 

     “Where’d that come from, huh?” Hyunjin teases. 

     “Er, a while ago.” Jisung says.

     “Was it from Minho?” Felix says, smirking.

     “He did tell me you guys were fucking around with my Spell-O-Tape.” Seungmin adds, cornering him.

     “Yeah, okay, Jesus, it was from him.” Jisung says, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

     “I think Wooyoung has been collecting bets about which one of you will confess on Valentine’s day.” Hyunjin says, elbowing him in the side. “I overheard him in Muggle Studies.”

     “Jisung, can I talk to you?” Chan says abruptly. “Alone?”

     “Yeah, of course.” Jisung says automatically, eager to escape the conversation. 

     Seungmin rolls his eyes and Hyunjin sticks his tongue out, but Felix just waves, eyeing Chan up and down in a way he probably thinks is stealthy. “We’ll see you later, then.” He says, leading the others away.

     Chan gives him a tight smile once they’re out of earshot. “I’ve been meaning to apologize to you.”

     “You have?” Jisung says, not having expected this.

     “About Minho.” Chan elaborates, fiddling with his hands. “Over Christmas break—”

     “Oh, er—” Jisung stammers, thinking of the kitchen incident. “It’s okay, really—”

     “Just listen for a second.” Chan says, extending both hands in assurance. “I shouldn’t have said that about him. It was a horrible thing to say, and I was being paranoid.”

     Jisung blinks at him. “What?”

     “On New Years Eve.” Chan says, tilting his head. “Minho drank too much eggnog, and I was worried about you.”

     Oh, that kitchen incident. “Ah—that’s okay.” Jisung says, a little relieved. “I know you mean well, Chan. That’s like, guaranteed.” 

     “I felt bad about it.” Chan says, shifting from one foot to the other. “You guys are such good friends, there was really no reason for me to think that.”

     Jisung chuckles. “You say that like you and Minho aren’t also friends.”

     Chan makes a strange face. “We really aren’t.”

     “What d’you mean?”

     “Well, we hang out because we all do and we talk because we can’t ignore each other, but we’re not friends.” Chan says frankly. “We’d never spend time with each other separately. I’d bet a fair amount of money that everything we know about each other has been filtered through you. I don’t even particularly like him.”

     “You don’t?” Jisung says, aghast. “After all this time, you still don’t like him??”

     “It’s not only a me thing.” Chan says defensively. “He doesn’t like me either. It’s just the way we are.”

     “I don’t understand.” Jisung says, feeling weirdly hurt. He really thought he’d managed to bring them together.

     “I mean…take me and Wooyoung.” Chan says, and Jisung’s heart leaps into his chest. “I know him through Changbin, and I know a fair bit about him, but we’re not friends. I don’t know if I like him that much either. He’s kind of a pain in the ass. But I respect him as a teammate and I appreciate that he and Changbin have fun together.”

     “You don’t like Wooyoung???” Jisung says, slow and stunned, meaning it in both ways but only communicating half. 

     “Not particularly.” Chan says with a shrug. Jisung is struck with the reminder that (besides with Minho) Chan is shockingly good at hiding his dislike for people. 

     “I can’t believe this.” Jisung says, feeling hollow. 

     “I mean, he’s lovable and all, but he makes it hard to like him.” Chan says with a huff. “He’s a thorn in my side during practice and he’s a horrible gossip. He told Yeonjun so much shit about you just because he thought he was allowed to as Bin’s friend.”

     Jisung has no idea what to say.

     “You’re that surprised?” Chan says with a small chuckle. 

     “Yes.” He says emptily. 

     “Well, I can dislike people. Bombshell dropped.” Chan says. “But that doesn’t mean I can make stupid assumptions about them. So, I’m sorry.”

     “It’s fine, don’t worry.” Jisung waves off. “Like you said, you were just looking out for me. I didn’t think too much of it at the time.”

     “Well, that’s good. I’m happy to hear that.” Chan smiles. “You should come with me to the library, by the way. We have translations due on Monday.”

     “Oh fuck, you’re right.”

-

     Jeongin’s birthday is fun. Beomgyu and Heeseung coerce him into wearing a little party hat and they use Hyunjin as an excuse to drag the rest of them into celebrations. He’s embarrassed, incredibly so, but it reads as shyness rather than dread since the affair was brought on by his sixth-year buddies. Jisung is fascinated with how they interact, so the entire day is like an expedition for his brain: gathering data and observing his subjects in the wild. 

     “You guys didn’t have to do this,” He says, shocked, as Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin present their gifts.

     “We wanted to.” Hyunjin says with a shrug. “To make our baby happy.”

     “Baby??” Jeongin cringes. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

     “How can we not, when you’re so adorable?” Felix coos, going in to pinch his cheek and getting batted away. 

     “You really shouldn’t fight him on this.” Seungmin says.

     “He’ll go to the ends of the earth for skinship.” Chan agrees, and Felix doesn’t miss a beat, staring up at him hopefully.

     “Says you.” Jeongin says with a huff.

     Chan blinks, genuinely apprehensive. “You…know me too well.”

     Jeongin grins. “Does that scare you?”

     “No one’s scared of you.” Heeseung says with an eye roll.

     Later that day, while Beomgyu is being especially loud and everyone is distracted, Minho whispers into Jisung’s neck again, shivers running up his spine.

     “I just realized I don’t know when your birthday is.” He says.

     Jisung chuckles. “You missed it. September fourteenth.”

     “Damn.”

     “What about yours?”

     “October twenty-fifth.”

     Jisung wracks his brain, trying to recall what he’d done that day. “That was—“

     “The match.” Minho finishes for him. “Gryffindor verses Hufflepuff.”

     “Oh yeah.” Jisung says, the memory coming back to him. “Wow, that was a while ago. I don’t think I saw you at all that day.”

     “You almost did.” Minho says, oddly coy. 

     Jisung hesitates, thinking again and coming up with nothing. “What do you mean?”

     “Spin the bottle. Remember?”

     Jisung doesn’t respond until he does, although it was the day after that the near-incident was brought to his attention. “Oh. Yeah, you’re right.”

     “…I took your seat since you left. And then Lee appeared out of nowhere and landed on me!”

     “I’m always right.” Minho says smugly. Jisung gives him a side-eye and Minho chuckles, the air blowing over Jisung’s skin. “It’s a shame, that could’ve been my birthday present.”

     What?

     “I think we would have killed everyone in the room and then ourselves if that happened.” Jisung jokes to protect his sanity.

     “Hm, maybe you’re right.” Minho says, but despite his best efforts, Jisung can’t get that comment out of his head for the rest of the evening.

     Potions is his last class on Tuesday, and afterwards, Minho grabs his hand, smiling.

     “I have a surprise for you.” He says, and ignores all the questions Jisung throws as he drags him up the stairs and into an unused classroom, where all of the tables but one have been stacked up against the wall. 

     Jisung sits on the table as instructed, trying not to let his breathing run away from him.

     “Close your eyes.” Minho says, not helping. Jisung obeys, and hears the rustle of fabric and a few seconds of silence before Minho says, “Okay, open.”

     Minho’s holding a cupcake with the number eighteen spelled out in candles. Nestled in the purple icing are silver sprinkles shaped like stars that glitter in the sunlight, which streams through the windows behind him. Jisung is momentarily speechless.

     “Cute, right?” Minho prompts.

     “It’s—yeah.” Jisung says stupidly. “This is for me?”

     “For us. Since we missed each other’s eighteenth. I know red is your favorite color but I kinda prefer blue so I figured we’d compromise. Plus now it reminds us of something we both love.” Minho says, obnoxiously flicking a strand of his hair. “Me.”

     Jisung shoves him by the shoulder, grinning. “You’re a self-absorbed ass hat.”

     “Is that any way to speak to a prince?” Minho says, raising a brow.

     Jisung scowls. “You’re really milking this bit, huh?”

     “I like it better than the one where we pretend to be enemies.” Minho says simply, plucking the ‘eight’ candle from its sugary bed and blowing it out.

     Jisung huffs quietly. That was technically the first joke they made with good intentions, wasn’t it? Their longest running one has to be the ‘friendship levels,’ though, which they haven’t brought up in a while. 

     Jisung’s eyes land on where Minho licks a spot of icing off his thumb, heart pounding in his chest. What level would he call this, if Jisung asked?

     “Yeah. Me too.” Jisung says instead.

     “Well, go on.” Minho says, holding out the number one candle. “Make a wish. I already made mine.”

     Jisung panics for a second, trying to think of something good. Whenever the dandelions turn to fluff or he rubs his eyes hard enough to discover an eyelash, he usually wishes for everything to be okay. He’s not particularly faithful to fate or any other higher power, but something inside him says just in case. And in that case, he doesn’t want to be too greedy. Okay is open-ended, but implies contentment. No matter what happens, he doesn’t want to be miserable.

     But this occasion seems to warrant a greater ask than contentment. Minho is framed by the sun from the windows and he sort of looks like an angel. Maybe this is the world’s way of saying there is someone listening, and that this really does matter, and that Jisung better think of something damn good to ask for otherwise he’ll waste the wish.

     Minho goes cross-eyed from staring at the candle and Jisung laughs, accidentally putting out the flame.

     “Oh shit—“ He says immediately after, disappointed. “I forgot to wish for something.”

     “You forgot?” Minho says with an amused smile. 

     “You distracted me!” Jisung scolds.

     “Well don’t worry. I wished for both of us.” Minho says, beginning to unwrap the cupcake. “Do you want the left or the right half?”

     “…Why on earth would I have a preference?”

-

     Thursday night, Jisung has Astronomy, so he takes advantage of his last period free to catch up with a reading he’d been assigned for Herbology. It’s wicked cold out, so he bundles up tightly before ascending the Astronomy tower. 

     Hyunjin and Felix are already up there, whispering animatedly. 

     “Hey, what’s up?” Jisung says, pressing himself close to them to conserve body heat. “Sorry about leaving you guys after Charms.”

     Hyunjin grins at him, elbowing Felix. “Go on, show him.”

     “Stop, you’re making me more nervous!” Felix says shyly.

     “Show me what?”

     After a beat, Felix inconspicuously reaches into his bag, pulling out a copy of the same Valentine’s card Seungmin had made a mess of the shop’s floor with. Jisung’s heart sinks like a cold stone.

     “It’s official.” Felix says breathlessly. “I’m confessing on Valentine’s Day.”

Chapter Text

     Jisung spends Friday feeling like an Augurey, or maybe more like an animal in a horror movie. Only he can see the ghost hovering over everyone’s heads, threatening disaster, but he can’t properly warn them. 

     He tells Minho of course, the only person he can pry his mouth open enough to mention the subject around. Minho nods gravely, akin to a soldier receiving orders to complete a mission that will likely result in his death.

     “Do you know when?” He asks in a hushed breath, so that his bubbling cauldron can cover their conversation. 

     “No,” Jisung says with a frown. “But it would make the most sense to do it in the afternoon or at night, right?”

     “I’ll be in the library I guess.” Minho says with a huff. “You should come with me.”

     “I can't.” Jisung winces. “Gryffindor has quidditch practice. I told Chan I'd go.”

     Minho presses his lips together. “You've sealed your fate then.”

     Jisung hits him on the arm and Minho laughs in that pitchy, maniacal way of his. He's right, and he knows he is.

-

     Valentine’s Day isn’t as ‘exciting’ as it would be normally since it’s on a Saturday. Part of the cruel joy is in sending Self-Singing Grams during class, to both disturb the lesson and guarantee humiliation in front of peers. 

     Jisung is woken by one sent to San at eight in the morning, which is honestly a merciful hour for Wooyoung. The year prior, it was sent at five, and it was probably Mingi’s whining complaints that made Wooyoung change his mind this time around. 

     At breakfast, nearly everything is heart shaped or charmed to be cutesy shades of pink, red, and white. Jisung realizes he’s holding his breath when Chan sits down after Felix, and Minho pats his knee under the table. 

     “Practice today, right?” Changbin says, planting a kiss on top of Seungmin’s head before he sits. 

     “Yep.” Chan nods. “You guys can all come, if you want. Er, except—“

     “Yeah, I know.” Minho says evenly. “I have homework to do anyway.”

     It feels like they're reading off a script, leading up to the climax of some lame secondary school play. The plot points are checking themselves off, the predetermined timeline inching closer and closer. 

     Minho sets down his fork and stretches, standing from the bench. He glances at Jisung, one last attempt to save him. “You wanna come with?”

     Chan meets his eyes. Nope. “Nah, I'm good.” Jisung says, trying not to sound forced. 

     Minho pushes his shoulder in feigned mockery. “Lousy jock.” 

     “You're the one on the team.” Jisung quips.

     “Yeah yeah,” Minho says, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “Have fun.” He picks up his bag and raises a hand in farewell to the rest of them before walking off, safe. Jisung envies him.

     “You guys are practically boyfriends already.” Seungmin snorts. 

     “No we’re not.” Jisung says, his face heating slightly. 

     “You'd never let me mess up your hair like that.” Changbin says.

     “I mess up his hair all the time.” Chan says pointedly.

     “Well, you're Chan. That's different.” Changbin counters. 

     Chan sighs, finishing off an apple. “Should we head down, then?”

     “But it's so early!” Changbin complains.

     “It's nine thirty.”

     “That's early.”

     Chan ignores him, leading all of them down to the pitch. They run into Jeongin and Beomgyu on the way but they also have work to do, so they part with a wave. 

     The pitch is foggy and ominous, its circular walls reminding him of a giant mouth, ready to swallow them whole. Jisung follows the trio to the stands and Chan and Changbin disappear to change. 

     “Merlin, it's cold.” Hyunjin says, wrapping his cloak tighter around his body. His voice sounds too small in the enormity of the empty space. 

     “Fuck, I'm so nervous.” Felix says, mostly to himself. “What if I stutter?”

     “You're worried about stuttering?” Seungmin says with a chuckle. “He's crazy for you.” 

     Chan re-emerges, hauling the chest of balls into the center of the field. Jisung can remember how when he'd been appointed captain in fifth year, he needed an upperclassman's help carrying it. Crazy, how time just moves and moves and all of a sudden they're all grown up. 

     “Hey Lix,” Jisung says, interrupting whatever they'd been talking about, “d'you remember when we met on the train?”

     “In first year?” Felix says, blinking.

     “Yeah.” Jisung nods. “I always meant to ask. Were you wearing perfume?” 

     “Perfume?” Felix repeats, confused. “No. Why?” 

     “You smelled like flowers.” Jisung says. “I dunno why I just remembered that.” 

     “You think it's a Veela thing?” Hyunjin asks curiously. “Honestly, I kind of remember you smelling like flowers in first year too.” 

     “I never had any sort of scent on.” Felix says with a flattered chuckle. “So maybe, yeah.” 

     The other members of the team trickle down from the castle one by one, minus Wooyoung, who brings San along. He joins them in the stands, languid and easygoing, likely having much more colorful plans for the day. 

     Practice goes really well, with all players locked into Chan's instructions as a result of his promise to end early if they all behave. Since they're so deep into the school year they're in top form, executing maneuvers with swift grace and efficiency. Although he's seen Minho play, it's been a while, and he can't accurately predict who will win this month. All he knows is that it'll be tight.

     Chan does end early, just before lunch, so once he and Changbin change, they all head up to the castle to eat together again. Minho is nowhere to be found, likely immersed in his books. Jisung looks for him every few minutes anyway, his eyes lingering hopelessly on the giant double doors.

     “You are so smitten.” Hyunjin says with a tut. 

     “No I’m not.” Jisung mutters, basically on reflex. 

     After they've eaten, they nonverbally decide to head to the Gryffindor common room, their bodies working on autopilot. For a glorious moment, Jisung forgets, but then out of the corner of his vision he sees Felix fiddling with the strap of his bag, and then—

     “H-hey!” Felix says, his voice pitching. “Wait a second.” 

     They stop, right there in the middle of the hallway. 

     “What's up?” Changbin says, his head tilted questioningly. Seungmin smothers a smirk, patting his arm. ‘Not you, silly.’

     “Chris.” Felix says in an exhale, and how ironic it is that he still doesn't know the reason why Chan has him use that name. 

     Changbin seems to realize what's happening and he shoots big, panicked eyes at Jisung. He's thinking of Wooyoung and he's wrong, but Jisung can't correct him. He can't do anything. They're both horribly powerless, which makes his panic kind of funny. Of course this is happening. They could have tried to stop it months ago, but they didn't, and here are their consequences. 

     Felix steps forward so that they're face to face, chewing on his lip. “I think we've been expecting this for a while.”

     Chan's eyes are widened in a strange anticipation and he looks like he's holding his breath. “We?”

     Felix hadn't thought this through when he stopped them. People are filing out of the Great Hall and noticing them, stopping to watch with awe. He seems blind to them, his round eyes tunnel-visioned into Chan.

     “I know this has been a weird…dance, for a while. For seven years.” Felix says, chuckling dryly. “But I don't want to talk around it anymore.”

     The hallway is too quiet. The sloped stone walls invite echoes of every little movement but Jisung hears nothing other than his own beating heart.

     “I—I like you. A lot.” Felix says breathily, in disbelief of himself. “I think you're handsome and kind and caring and I want you to call me yours.” With shaking fingers, he produces the card from his bag and opens it in Chan's direction, showering him with petals.

     “So will you please—erm—go out with me?” Felix says, his lashes fluttering from nervous blinks. 

     Chan breathes in and out, and for some reason, Jisung feels the air leaving his lungs in tandem.

     “No.” 

     “I'm sorry, Felix, but no.”

     There's something weird in the air, a shift as sudden as a snap. It’s like a layer being peeled away, a subtle sugary warmth that dissolves. It's not that things have been overly fuzzy, but the atmosphere gets a noticeable shade sharper. Jisung blinks several times to right himself, and all around him, he can see others doing the same.

     "Oh." Felix says, his voice wavering. "Erm…why?"

     "Because I don't like you like that, and I never have." Chan says firmly, oddly robotic. 

     "What?" Hyunjin jumps in, quick to protect Felix's fracturing heart. "That's bullshit. Never?"

     "Don't tell me my feelings are bullshit." Chan snaps, his features twisting with anger. "I—you know what's bullshit? The fact that no one even entertains the idea of me with someone other than you. The fact that no one looks at me as anything other than your boyfriend. Did you know that I got ghosted by some people last year cause they thought I was cheating on you?? I just called another guy cute!"

     "I—I didn't…"

     "Not a single person has been able to suggest something more between me and another person when you’re around. Isn't that funny?" Chan says with a humorless laugh. "They trip over their words, interrupt themselves, and inevitably move on. And all with this foggy look in their eyes. Isn't that convenient?"

     Felix is bright red, his face a mixture of humiliation and—to Jisung’s surprise—a large serving of guilt.

     "Yeah." Chan says, dropping his voice to a whisper. "That's your fault, isn't it?"

     "C-chris, I'm so sorry, I wasn't trying—"

     "Of course. Of course you weren't trying to ruin my life." Chan says shortly, turning away from Felix, like he's something despicable that he can't bear to look at. "Now I can't be mad at you. But you know, this shit can't just be undone. People might realize that something's changed, but it's been going on for long enough that some things are fucking permanent. And all because you couldn't just suck it up and ask me out. What did you want me to do? Go out of my way to break your heart? Well, I couldn't. Cause your damn spell was controlling me too, for quite a while.”

     "Lix, what is he talking about?" Hyunjin says incredulously.

     "Veela 101." Seungmin recites, looking as if it's just dawned on him. "In the rare case of genuine Veela-on-human attraction, some may cast a protective haze around their object of attraction to ward off potential threats. For some, this is…subconscious.”

     Oh. Oh.

     “And—and I’m so sick of it. I was just trying to be nice, but every little fucking thing I did for you only made things worse.” Chan says, his muscles tensing with frustration. “It took me seven goddamn years to have the strength to admit I didn’t like you to—to my best friends!” He gestures to Changbin and Jisung, and Felix’s eyes widen with hurt.

     “You knew?” He says softly, with a touch of disbelief. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

     “I—I couldn’t.” Jisung stammers. God, everything makes sense. He had been under that spell too, hadn’t he? To be perfectly honest, Chan looks…different. Broader shoulders maybe, an even kinder, more charming face. Had Felix’s magic been making him look like less of a hunk, or something? Just how powerful is this stuff? It checks out, though. It would take a miracle to keep a catch like Chan single for all these years. 

     “It doesn’t matter.” Chan says shortly. “Am I finally free? Is it gone?”

     “Yeah, it’s gone.” Changbin says, glancing between Chan, Jisung, and Felix. “I can tell.”

     The bystanders are shocked speechless, as are Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin. Chan spins on his heel and starts walking, his hands shoved in his pockets. After a moment, Jisung pulls himself together enough to follow.

     “Chan, wait—!” He calls after, but Chan doesn’t, leading him all the way to the Gryffindor common room. “Chan—!”

     Chan huffs, finally stopping in the stairwell to the boys dormitory. He turns to face Jisung and tries to sound annoyed, but gives up somewhere halfway, sounding defeated instead. “What?”

     “Did—did you know that—the spell. How long have you known that was happening?” Jisung idiotically manages to get out. 

     Chan sighs. “A few years.”

     Years. He’s known this for years and couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t even talk about it.

     Jisung opens and closes his mouth a few times. He settles on, “I’m sorry.”

     “You’re sorry?” Chan says, frowning with confusion. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

     “I didn’t know.” Jisung says quietly. “I was a part of the problem. Instead of being a good friend—“

     “Sung, don’t be ridiculous.” Chan says with alarm. “You were under a spell. We all were.”

     He’s right, but Jisung still feels like a piece of shit. Chan has been there for him for so much: for everything. And Jisung couldn’t do the same.

     He bites down hard on his lip and pulls Chan into a hug, squeezing as tight as he can. He buries his head into Chan’s shoulder to hide the heat building in his eyes. He doesn’t want Chan to feel like he’s consoling him, because that would defeat the whole purpose. 

     “I’m sorry.” He repeats, his voice breaking.

     “Don’t be sorry, please.” Chan says painfully, like he doesn’t deserve it. He does. 

     Jisung holds him tighter. “Shut up.” 

-

     By Sunday, it’s as if Yeonjun never even existed with the amount of buzz about Felix’s atom-bomb of a confession. If reality were politics, Jisung would be convinced that the Felix situation was Yeonjun’s perfect cover-up. It’s prime news after all, the previously widely accepted couple shattered with the aggression of a bludger. There’s even a hearty, sickening debate about whether or not they both had it coming. Jisung catches the whispers as he walks down the halls, doing his best to ignore them.

     “Felix is out of his league.”

     “Chan’s too good for him.”

     “I can’t believe he would reject an angel like Felix. He must be a total shithead, thank god he’s never been able to find love.” 

     “Isn’t that, like, manipulation? Hardcore manipulation? It’s always the innocent ones who are toxic as fuck. I hope being turned down destroys him.”

     Felix himself is missing in action for three days, holed up in the Hufflepuff dormitory, wilting. Hyunjin reports to Seungmin who reports to the rest of them that Veelas don’t really take rejection all that well. Apparently, full-veelas are known to go into a long, flu-like sickness after their hearts are broken (already an extremely rare occurrence), spending weeks wandering around in a stupor and wailing. Thankfully, he’s only half, but Hyunjin (once again, told via game of telephone) informs them that he’s the human personification of a puddle, his platinum hair grayed out and splayed over his features where he lays in bed, nearly motionless. 

     On the topic of Hyunjin, he’s not really talking to them right now. ‘Them’ meaning Chan, Jisung, and Changbin. He avoids them during meals and talks in short fragments during class, shooting them all restrained glares when they enter the room. 

     “He’s being stupid.” Seungmin says scathingly duringing Defense on Monday. “He’s angry on Lix’s behalf and he wants someone to be at fault.” 

     Jisung’s stomach twists and Minho grips his shoulder from his seat behind them. “It’s not your fault.” He says.

     “I know it isn’t—“

     “It’s not your fault.” He repeats, firmer.

     Jisung sighs. Minho hasn't really gone out of his way to talk to Hyunjin despite being ‘innocent’ in his eyes, which he kind of appreciates. The whole thing makes him feel sick, though. He hates how they've split, especially since their group seemed weirdly complete after Jeongin joined. 

     Jeongin is also on the innocent side but he doesn't really give a damn, talking to everyone and giving both sides a light scolding for being so mopey.

     “You can't hang onto this forever.” Seungmin tells them he said to Felix and Hyunjin, in a quiet but firm tone. “He doesn't belong to you and it's not the end of the world. It's not anyone's fault.”

     During lunch, he says to Chan, “You're finally free. You can date whoever the fuck you want. There's no reason to brood about it.” 

     Jisung winces when he hears that, wishing he wasn't so harsh, but surprisingly enough, it seems to be the right thing to say. Chan had been quiet and subdued for Sunday and most of Monday, but when Jeongin told him that, he snapped halfway to his senses. 

     “You're right.” Chan says, putting down his sandwich. “Y'know, you're a smart guy.”

     Jeongin scoffs, trying to hide his sheepishness. “Don't act so surprised.”

     “Er—sorry.”

     “I hate the way everyone's acting right now.” Jeongin fumes, begrudgingly pushing his pasta around with his fork. “It's like a goddamn soap opera. Everyone needs to stop being so sorry for themselves.”

     “Speak for yourselves.” Changbin says, laying his arm over Seungmin’s shoulders. “I’m happy for myself.” Seungmin just sighs in fond disbelief. 

     Amidst all of this sulking, Jisung also detects a weird tension between him and Chan. He doesn’t reach out and ruffle his hair, pull him into random hugs, or even hold eye contact for longer than a second or so. It’s like his face has been dunked in a permanent layer of anxiety, each expression corrupted by its influence. 

     Jisung can’t help feeling like he’s done something wrong, something that would make it hard for Chan to look at him. He keeps lingering on Chan’s years of suffering in silence, turning his own guilt over and over in his brain in repetitive, torturous cycles. 

     For the first time in his life, Jisung is a little scared to just talk to Chan about it, not wanting to say the wrong thing or make it worse. Instead, he locks in, focusing his efforts on Potions. He’s come back to work on Chan’s special mix, and things are looking up, moving past the stages that used to give him so much trouble. Minho notices(of course), raising a skeptical brow at him in class on Wednesday. 

     “You’re working hard today.” He says judgmentally.

     Jisung glares at him. “Like I don’t normally?” 

     “Something’s on your mind.” Minho says, pointing above his eyes. “You have that crinkle between your eyebrows. Tell me about it.”

     Jisung sighs, helplessly flattered by his deep knowledge on his microexpressions. “I want to help Chan to feel better.”

     “You think sleep is gonna fix this?” Minho says, with a thinning of his mouth that suggests he knows what Jisung really means. “That’s…optimistic. Misguided, but optimistic.”

     “Why do you have to be so smart all the time?” Jisung grumbles, crushing his beetle shells with a little more force than necessary. 

     Minho chuckles. “Well, he’ll definitely appreciate it. It just won’t fix anything.”

     “You’re probably right.” Jisung says reluctantly. “I just…I dunno what to say to him. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

     “You won’t.” Minho says simply. “It’s Chan.”

     As sweet as that is, Jisung doesn’t really believe it. Everyone talks about Chan like he’s this unshakable, infinitely compassionate pillar of goodness. Which isn’t to say he’s not strong-willed or caring or good—he is, a million times over. But Chan can still have his feelings hurt. He can still dislike and mess up and even hurt others. 

     Being friends for pretty much their entire lives has been the best blessing anyone could ask for, but now Jisung worries he’s taken it for granted. That maybe before, he knew which words to avoid and which ones to touch on to navigate a conversation with him. It’s all become muscle memory, and he doesn’t know if he can trust it. So, like an idiot, Jisung continues to work on his silly potion, a childish and lame excuse to avoid using his brain and having a civilized conversation.

     He has Charms afterward, and like a slap across the face, he sees Felix sitting in his usual seat. Hyunjin is beside him, and he gives Jisung the dreaded look when he sits down.

     “Lix,” Jisung says, so soft it’s barely a word at all.

     “Hi Jisungie.” Felix says, forcing a smile. His hair lacks the golden glow that Jisung thought was default, and he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

     “How are you?” Jisung asks, feeling stupid.

     “Shit.” Felix says with a weak chuckle. “I’m sorry.”

     Jisung frowns deeply. “What for?”

     “Being a cunt.”

     “You weren’t.” Hyunjin quickly interjects, his face pinched and stubborn. 

     “I was.” Felix insists in resignation. “And don’t worry, I’ll apologize to Chris once I look a little less like death.”

     “I wasn’t worried.” Jisung says honestly.

     Felix cracks another smile, and this time, a glimmer of light reaches his eyes. By the end of class, Hyunjin’s coldness has already started to thaw, and Astronomy later that night is held in even better spirits. If anything, Jisung feels like he’s the one he deserves an apology from, but he’s not in any rush.

     “He’ll waddle up to you when he’s ready.” Seungmin says wisely at breakfast the next morning. Jisung had gotten up too early, so only him and Changbin are up—the latter of whom had been slowly trained into better sleeping habits so as to align their schedules better. 

     “Yeah, I figured as much.” Jisung agrees.

     “What I’m worried about is Chan.” Seungmin says frankly. “Have you noticed how weird he’s been?”

     “Yes.” Jisung says emphatically, relieved he isn’t the only one. “I have no idea why.”

     “And it’s only around you.” Seungmin adds, puzzled.

     Changbin glances between them. “You guys are kidding, right?”

     They both stare at him in confusion, very much not kidding.

     “Well it’s kinda obvious now, isn’t it?” Changbin presses further, as if attempting to jog their memory. “After that whole thing.”

     “What’s obvious?” Seungmin says, irritated to not be ‘in the know.’

     Changbin chuckles nervously. “Okay. Wow. Er, not my place, then. Shit.”

     No matter how many times they ask and how many different strategies they use to prod at him, Changbin doesn’t tell them what he was talking about. He has a strange flavor of dread in his face and his refusals, like he’s looking out at a rapidly approaching tornado. 

     As Chan himself approaches the table, Jisung asks again, more desperately, this time nonverbally, since he can’t gather the courage to say it aloud. What’s wrong? Why won’t you tell me?  

     … Is it my fault?

Chapter Text

     To say Jisung had been dreaming of this moment is admittedly an exaggeration, but to circumvent the danger of downplaying his feelings, he might as well round up. 

     The liquid in his cauldron is a clear, smooth plum, and he can see the reversed image of the craggeled stone ceiling on its surface. The mirror of Minho’s face slides over top, and Jisung looks up at the real him, his cheeks beginning to hurt from how widely he’s smiling. 

     Minho glances between him and the potion. “So this is good, I’m guessing?”

     “Well, I’ll have to test it first.” Jisung says, forcing his voice even. Don’t get overexcited. “I’ll take a little before bed tonight and see how quickly I knock out.” 

     “Are you crazy?” Minho says, almost in a laugh. “After last time’s fiasco? I’m testing it.”

     “Last time wasn’t my fault, in case you forgot.” Jisung pointedly reminds him.

     Minho shrugs, and since their shoulders are touching, Jisung feels the movement on his robes. “You survived, didn’t you?” 

     “Yeah, like two assassination attempts this year alone.” Jisung huffs, ladling a serving of the potion into a vial and pushing a stopper in it. 

     Minho easily slips the vial from his fingers, tucking it into his bag with a knowing smile. “Exactly. Allow me to check for poison, your grace.”

     “I thought you were the Prince,” Jisung says, but Minho shushes him with an extended palm. Jisung wants to object, mostly for childish reasons. He made sure to construct the mix in a wildly different fashion than a Draught of Living Death, so he’s not worried about any potentially dangerous similarities between their magical structures. It’s just that he’s been working towards this for so long, the idea of having to wait for Minho to tell him how it went seems like torture. 

     “So is your genius spent, now, or can you help me with this?” Minho asks, gesturing toward his own cauldron. 

     Jisung sighs, pulling Minho’s handbook closer to see what he’s attempting to brew. “You’d fail this class if it wasn’t for me.”

     “I’ll make it up to you.” Minho says hopefully. 

     “You kidding? You owe me for life.” Jisung smirks. 

     “Then I suppose I’ll make it up to you my whole life.” Minho says, his shoulders drooping. 

     The sentence makes Jisung feel warm, regardless of the resigned tone in which he said it. Minho, with him for life. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? He’d feel safe like that, with his quips and his fierce eyes. Him and Minho, together against the world. Him and Minho, together. 

     Together.

     Heat rises in his face, and Jisung keeps his eyes locked on the potion instructions, praying Minho doesn’t notice. He does.

     “Hey.” Minho snaps in front of his face. “Don’t enjoy the idea of bossing me around too much.”

     “I’m—not.” He lies horribly. 

     “You and Chan.” Minho sighs dramatically. “The two worst liars I’ve ever met. That’s probably why you get along so well.”

     Jisung shoves his shoulder. “Shut up. I was barely trying. And anyway, I really couldn’t boss you around even if I wanted to.”

     “Well I invite you to attempt it and give me an instruction. Any instruction.” Minho begs, his hand falling over Jisung’s wrist. His fingers are cold but the touch warms Jisung further. “Please.”

     Jisung chuckles, forcing himself to actually read the words on the page. “Fine, fine.”

     As they’re walking out of class, Minho breaks the comfortable silence to say, “You have Charms, right?”

     “Mm hm.”

     “I want you to meet me outside the Ravenclaw common room at eight o’ clock.”

     Jisung turns to stare at him, taken aback. “But you have Astronomy at eight thirty.” 

     “I know.” Minho says simply. 

     Jisung narrows his eyes at him for a few seconds, but it seems that that’s where he intends on finishing the sentence. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

     Minho snorts at him. “‘ Allowed.’  You’re funny.”

     “I’ve been told.” Jisung says, with equal amounts amusement and confusion. 

     Minho claps him on the back assuringly—or he tries to, at least. His hand lands closer to Jisung’s waist and the pats feel more condescending than anything else. “Don’t you trust me?”

     “Alone with me unawares, at night? Not particularly.”

     Minho clutches his heart. “You make me sound like some kind of predator.”

     “What happened last time?”

     “Last time,” Minho says with smug, testing eyes, “was not my fault.”

     Jisung cocks an eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask, how on earth was your decision to bite me my fault, but he’s too late. Minho has successfully walked him to Charms, and if he stays any longer to talk, he’ll be late. 

     Minho pulls open the door with a bow. “Go on, before I’m caught holding the door for a commoner.”

     Jisung glares at him without venom. “You think you’re so mysterious.”

     “And you think you have me all figured out.” Minho says tantalizingly. 

     Jisung is struck by a strong, almost overwhelming desire to kiss him. He could slide his fingers along the line of Minho’s jaw to pull him in, smashing their lips together for one fiery moment before bolting into his class where he wouldn’t have to face the consequences. He could drop his bag and loop his arms around Minho’s neck, wordlessly plead for them both to skip, or invite him to push Jisung against the nearest wall right then and there. 

     He could also wring his neck out for being a smartass little shit. 

     “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” Jisung decides to say, defying his better judgment.

     “You’re mad for me.” 

     “Uh huh,” Jisung tosses sarcastically on his way in, to avoid having to lie. Not that it matters. Minho would know either way.

     Felix looks about the same as he did yesterday, which is to say one step up from death. He smiles at Jisung and it almost reaches his eyes—an improvement. 

     “Was that Minho you were talking to outside?” Hyunjin asks knowingly. 

     “Don't start.” Jisung sighs dismissively. 

     For once, he had been narrowly on time, so Flitwick starts quickly after he sits down. Jisung sees the tip of Felix's wand wobbling in his peripheral vision and he can practically feel the fractures in his heart. He isn't as focused as he'd normally be either, taking longer to respond to instructions and staring off into space. 

     A pessimistic part of Jisung’s brain wonders if he'll ever fully recover from this. 

     When class lets out, Hyunjin catches his arm. 

     “Hey, erm—I meant to say.” He says, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry about…well, y’know.” He shrugs sheepishly, borrowing Felix’s words. “Being a cunt.”

     Jisung waves him off. “No worries, really. I didn’t take much offense to it. Emotions were high and all.”

     “That’s good.” Hyunjin says, palm flat against his chest.

     “You should really be apologizing to Chan.” Jisung says.

     Hyunjin looks at him with the very corners of his eyes. His words come out duller than Jisung expects. “I haven’t forgiven Chan yet.”

     “What? What d’you mean?” Jisung says, brows furrowing. 

     “I don’t like the way he talked to Lixie. He was careless and insensitive.” Hyunjin says frankly. “Like he was the only one being hurt by the whole thing.”

     “That’s—“ Jisung blurts, narrowly stopping himself from finishing with ‘ridiculous.’ Getting mad at Hyunjin for his feelings won’t help anything, so he clamps his mouth shut with a short exhale. “Fine. Sure.”

     Hyunjin frowns. “You think I’m being petty, don’t you?”

     “It doesn’t matter.” Jisung says, swishing his hand as if to wipe down a table. “You guys will figure it out amongst yourselves.”

     Hyunjin nods, businesslike, and they separate since Jisung has some homework he wants to get a jump start on. On the way to the library, he notices a swishing robe in his peripheral vision, ducking behind a statue of a hippogriff. He freezes, paranoia from Van’s torture still lingering in his system, before slowly and quietly approaching. As he cautiously peers behind it, though—

     “Sweet—!” Chan yelps, cutting himself off with a gasping breath. “Jeez—Sung, you scared the shit out of me!”

     A strange emotion crawls up Jisung’s spine. “…Why are you hiding?”

     “I’m not…hiding. I mean—I’m hiding, but I’m not…” Chan trails off into a mutter, staring at his hands. 

     “Why are you avoiding me?” Jisung manages to say, plain, direct, and a little dejected. “Is it something to do with Felix? Or Hyunjin?”

     “I—no. Yes and no.” Chan groans, mussing up his hair. “I’m avoiding everything right now. I’m doing a lot of thinking.” 

     “Okay…” Jisung says, unsure what to make of that. 

     “I know it sounds insane.” Chan says with a sigh. “I just—d’you ever wonder how things could’ve happened differently in first year? If I never tried to take Bin’s wizard card? If I was sorted into Slytherin?”

     “You never would have been sorted into Slytherin.” Jisung says, bewildered.

     “I don’t know.” Chan murmurs. “The sorting hat whispered some stuff in my ear I didn’t like.”

     Jisung’s lips come unstuck from one another in mild disbelief. “…What would change if you were a Slytherin?”

     “I could’ve protected you better from Yeonjun. I could’ve taken captain from him, let you on the team. I could’ve shaken off Felix—you know how Slytherins and Hufflepuffs are.” Chan lists off, glancing wistfully at the ceiling. 

     “I hope this isn’t why you’ve been dodging me.” Jisung says sternly. “Out of guilt? Over something that didn’t happen seven years ago?”

     Chan’s eyes skirt around, not quite meeting his.

     “Chan—Channie, come on.” Jisung says gently. “You know I love you. There’s no reason to tie yourself into knots about this.”

     Chan finally looks at him, and his eyes are soft. “You’re right.”

     Jisung smiles at him, and then he realizes an answer he wasn’t even looking for was sitting right in front of him the whole time. He enthusiastically claps Chan on the shoulder, heading back the way he came.

     “Where are you going?” Chan calls after, confused.

     “I have some work I gotta do!” Jisung responds.

     “But the library is this way!”

     Jisung just laughs, turning the corner to descend the stairs all the way down to the dungeons. Luckily, the room is empty, so Jisung waltzes right up to his and Minho’s desk and starts a low fire in the burner under his cauldron with a quiet incantation. Then, he checks the storerooms, following the alphabetized system along to F…G… ah ha.

     Hippogriff feather, plucked and crushed, five grams. For ego. 

     The individual fibers (if that’s the right word for it; Jisung should ask Jeongin) of the feather are surprisingly brittle from whatever preservative process it went through, so Jisung grinds it until uniformly fine and adds it to his potion. The plum turns powder blue, and Jisung huffs contentedly. 

     It was a great potion before, but it was lacking a certain je ne sais quoi, as Minho would say. A Jisung Han personal touch. Now, Chan can get the rest he requires along with a little extra boost when he wakes up—god knows he needs it. Jisung stoppers himself two portions and tucks them into his bag; what Minho doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

     Speaking of Minho, Jisung idles awkwardly outside of the Ravenclaw common room at seven fifty two, stumped by the riddle. He should’ve asked Minho for the answer earlier, but he hadn’t thought that far ahead, and it was his dumb idea to come early anyway. 

     “Oh, hey Jisung.” 

     Jisung swivels around to the sound of Seungmin’s voice, and Changbin is right behind him, sporting a contented smirk. He wants to ask him about Chan again, especially after their conversation, but Seungmin speaks once more before he has the chance.

     “You’re here early.” He says. 

     “Minho told you I was coming?” Jisung says, raising a brow.

     “Well, I asked—erm.” Seungmin hesitates, color intensifying in his ears. Diplomatically, he continues, “I was just asking, because Yeosang and Seonghwa are also out tonight.”

     “Ah,” Jisung says, poorly smothering his own expression as Changbin snorts into the back of his hand. “Right.” 

     Seungmin lets him in, and Minho, surprisingly, is standing next to one of the blue couches, talking to Jeongin, who hands him a cloth bag. 

     “Huh,” Changbin says, “I never thought I’d see you two hanging out.” 

     Jeongin mashes his lips into a petulant thin line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “I dunno, it’s just…unlikely.” 

     Jeongin sighs, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Are you guys ready for the match next week?”

     Changbin and Minho look at one another, gauging each other's reaction. “I guess, yeah.” Changbin says. 

     “What happens if Ravenclaw loses?” Seungmin asks curiously. “Would there be no final since Gryffindor won all their matches?”

     “No, we’d probably verse Hufflepuff since they have the most points.” Changbin says neutrally, like he has no skin in the game. “Depending on the results of their game, obviously. Even if Ravenclaw wins twice in a row, which is really unlikely, they’ll have a lot of points to make up because of that first match.”

     Jisung winces with guilt. Winning had felt great at the time, but now that he looks back, he just feels used. 

     Minho shrugs, but the edges of his eyes are tense. “We’ll see.”

     Jeongin glances at Jisung with a ghost of a smile and then turns back to Minho. “If that’s it, you guys can go on.”

     Minho tucks the cloth bag into his robes with a pleasant nod. “Shall we?”

     Jisung looks skeptically between the three others, trying to crack through their innocent shells. “Is he gonna murder me tonight or something?”

     Changbin laughs but Jeongin just shakes his head, this time with a real, fond smile. It’s a good look on him. 

     Minho slides his hand into Jisung’s and his heart stutters. “I would never. Now close your eyes, or I’ll jinx them closed.”

     Jisung obeys, and Minho leads him carefully through the corridors, warning him whenever they have to go down some stairs. Halfway through, the echo of his sneakers on the stone changes to the soft rustle of grass, and a cold breeze hits his face. Minho interlocks their fingers, and Jisung wonders anxiously if he can feel his heartbeat just through that.

     “Okay, open.” Minho finally says. 

     For a moment, all Jisung sees is black, but then his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he realizes they’re in the forbidden forest. The tree cover is thick, and he can just barely catch glimpses of the dark sky through the leaves. The effect is almost akin to being miles underwater. 

     “I was joking before,” he chuckles nervously, “about the whole ‘killing me’ thing.”

     “I’m not gonna kill you.” Minho scoffs. “If I did, I would’ve done it ages ago. We’ve slept together multiple times.”

     “Fair enough.” Jisung says, although the hair on his arms still stiffens upwards as he surveys his surroundings. The trunks seem to continue endlessly, their winding root limbs sprinting over hills and large rock formations that look more and more like the curled forms of beasts the farther away they sit. 

     Inexplicably, he recalls what Chan said before, about being sorted into Slytherin. If Jisung had been more argumentative with the sorting hat and landed himself in Gryffindor, would he be less unsettled right now?

     “Are you scared?” Minho asks gently, with only a sliver of good-natured teasing. 

     “Yeah,” Jisung admits. 

     “Don’t be.” Minho says, reaching into his robes for the cloth pouch. He drops it into Jisung’s palm, meeting his eyes. “Jeongin was telling me this story two days ago, about these pixies that would come out at night by him and Hyunjin’s place. They would go find them every Christmas, apparently.” 

     “That’s sweet.” Jisung says softly. 

     “Only problem is that they’re really well camouflaged in the dark.” Minho explains. “And they don’t come out during the day because the light disturbs their disguises.” He pulls on the drawstring of the pouch, revealing a small mound of subtly glowing powder.

     Jisung’s mouth opens, and Minho reaches inside before he can speak, tossing some into the air. Like fireflies, they pop into view, the powder sticking to their pea-sized wings and making each one glitter like shards of opal. They flutter around insouciantly, going about whatever pixie business, not noticing they’ve been discovered. 

     Jisung is speechless, and he limply scatters some powder of his own, watching more appear. They’re so small and bright from the glow it’s hard to discern their forms, like pulsing, graspable stars. He lifts his hand, and one stumbles over his fingers with a light buzzing sensation before drifting onwards, as if he were as insignificant as a crack in the sidewalk. 

     They’re sort of like Chan’s floating lanterns above the iced over lake, but so much more fantastical, like a secret wonder of the world they just happened to stumble across. 

     “Minho, this…” Jisung trails off, losing his train of thought. 

     Minho smiles with an easy shrug. Knowing what Jisung wants to ask, he responds, “The weather was nice today, so I figured we’d go and see something pretty.”

     Jisung makes eye contact with him, and he’s certain it’s all over his face. Do it. Kiss him. God, he looks gorgeous. 

     His arm reaches out and he takes Minho’s hand, his fingertips grazing along the length of Minho’s palm before finally joining their appendages. Both of their hands are cold this time from being outside, but the contact quickly begins to warm them. With the lightest pressure, he pulls Minho towards him, and his smile has melted away, his eyes wide and blank. 

     Jisung panics. 

     He throws his other arm around him for a hug instead, gripping him tightly in an attempt to squeeze out his own nerves and embarrassment. 

     “You’re…amazing.” He breathes into his shoulder, strangely winded. 

     Minho hugs him back, and the mild pressure of his hands on Jisung’s back—his hands, touching Jisung—threatens to drive him insane. He doesn’t answer, just holds him like that, like he’s comforting someone deep in grief. 

     Jisung wants to reach for some bit, some running joke to ease his own tension, but he can’t find one. His brain is scrambled, blissfully empty and at peace in Minho’s arms. 

     How could he ever have hated someone so thoughtful, so infinitely kind and attentive and caring? How could he have lived a life without him?

     Jisung leans back to look at him, nearly overcome with a thick emotion in his chest. I love you is right on the tip of his tongue and his heart thumps rapidly in his ribcage.

     Minho chuckles, and when the motion makes their foreheads touch, he doesn’t pull away. “This is like a dream I had.” He says. 

     “Which part?” Jisung whispers.

     “Toi, mon petit écureuil.” Minho says lightly. “Tu es un rêve devenu réalité.”

Chapter Text

     “What does that mean?” Jisung asks with a chuckle. “Other than the squirrel part, I know that.”

     Minho presses his lips together in an attempt to conceal a shy smile. It’s a new expression, and Jisung is enthralled by it. “It means I wanna tell you but I’m scared.”

     Jisung huffs bemusedly, their heads knocking together. “What on earth is there to be afraid of? This is me we’re talking about, right?”

     Minho pulls away, interlocking their fingers. “Come on. I have a potion to test.”

     Jisung allows himself to be led back to the castle, his heart pittering in his chest and his brain swirling in his skull. He almost just kissed him—but I wanted to. What would Minho have done if he did? Push him off? Reject politely?

     Reciprocate?

     Everyone and their mum seems to think Minho likes him, but the idea he actually could is daunting. It would mean that things would change—for their mutual benefit, yes, but who could predict how it would impact their friendship? Is Jisung ready for that?

     When he gets back to his dorm room, Jisung actually needs his potion to come down from the excitement of the night. It tastes like warm lemon and cinnamon, and as he swallows, drowsiness quickly settles over his mind like fresh powdered snow. He snuggles into bed thinking of Minho dancing around the sky like a pixie, and falls into a pleasant dreamless sleep. 

-

     “I slept amazing last night.” Minho says to him the next morning, over breakfast. “You’re a genius.”

     “Can I get that in writing?” Jisung says smugly.

     “Genius. Genius.” Minho repeats, and his lack of resistance to the bit makes Jisung flustered. “You’re not only smart, but practical with it too.”

     “Okay, okay, enough.” Jisung waves off sheepishly. 

     “Could you ever make something for me?” He asks earnestly.

     Seungmin’s teeth sink into his toast with an exasperated crunch. “Yeah, make him a love potion he can use against you.” 

     “As if he’d need it.” Changbin joins in, more maliciously. 

     Jisung and Minho give them matching scoffs, and Changbin looks like he wants to push the matter, but Seungmin just raises a hand and rolls his eyes—enough disbelief and snark for the both of them. 

     “Morning.” Jeongin says as he joins them, flopping beside Jisung with an air of exhaustion. “Where’s Felix?”

     “Not up yet.” Seungmin says. “He’s still been sleeping in a little.”

     “Is it too mean to wish he’d get over it? I think it’s too mean.” Jeongin says, as if thinking aloud. “I need his help.” 

     “What for?” Changbin asks curiously, biting into a piece of bacon like it’s a small enemy whose head he’s lopping off. 

     “Gyu’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks and I have no idea what to get him.” Jeongin says morosely, playing with the corner of his napkin. “Felix is the best with this stuff.” 

     “Isn’t Hyunjin’s birthday also coming up?” Jisung says, tilting his head at Seungmin.

     “You’re right.” Seungmin mutters, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the table. Hyunjin loves birthdays, and Jisung figures that if they were to give his any less enthusiasm, he would take it as a personal insult.

     “Hopefully all this weirdness clears up soon.” Jeongin says with a sigh. “I just want to live my damn life without someone falling in love or out of love or whatever bullshit.” 

     “February, huh?” Changbin says slyly. 

     “You shouldn’t say that.” Minho says, spreading jam on a pancake. “You know what Felix or Hyunjin would say: you’re putting bad energy into the world.”

     “Don’t tell me you believe that crap.” Jeongin says judgmentally. 

     Minho shrugs. “We study Divination for a reason, right? You’re gonna jinx it.”

     “You sound like my mum.” Jeongin flings, and Minho makes an immature face at him in retaliation. There’s a pleasant synergy between them, like bickering siblings—maybe being pureblood has something to do with it. 

     Seungmin glances up at the clock above the double doors. “I hope you studied for the Arithmancy quiz.” 

     “Of course I did.” Minho says flippantly. “But I wouldn’t say no to comparing notes.”

     Seungmin tuts, pulling out his notebook. “You really should have been a Slytherin.” 

     “I take offense to that,” Jisung says dramatically, pressing a palm to his chest. “Dumbasses of his caliber belong in Hufflepuff.”

     “It’s true.” Minho plays along.

     Changbin laughs. “Don’t let Jin hear you.” 

     “Or Chan.” Jeongin snorts, rather wisely.

     But naturally, they’re nowhere to be found. As casually as he said it, Jeongin was right. The weirdness was still infecting their friend group, vacant seats emanating an aura of unease the longer Jisung stared at them. It seemed impossible to have a conversation without talking about them or wishing they were there, which just made his chest ache for normalcy. It was hard to imagine peace at a school like Hogwarts, but was he silly to hope that things would simmer down? It was like being under a heat lamp, after everything that went down—sweating, baking, turning over again and again to avoid sunburn. Jisung supposes that it was a choice to be friends with so many attention-grabbers, but he never expected those eyes to fall on him, too.

     Professor Longbottom is away on some sort of family business, so Jisung doesn’t see Chan until lunch. He seems relatively normal: still avoiding eye contact, but normal. When Felix and Hyunjin arrive(Jeongin corralling them somewhat, by walking with purpose behind them), no one combusts, which Jisung takes to be a good sign. Few words are exchanged, but they don’t outright ignore one another. Good. This is good. 

     Jisung nearly falls asleep during History of Magic, and by the time Ancient Runes is finishing up, he realizes he forgot to give Chan the potion. 

     “Hey,” He says, remembering the extra portion stowed in his bedside table, “mind taking a little pitstop with me?”

     Chan blinks at him, shouldering his messenger bag. “Er, no, not at all.”

     Jisung takes him down the numerous staircases to the dungeons by the Slytherin common room, distinguishable from the ones by the Potions classrooms from how much wetter the air is. The halls are eerily empty in the middle of the day, and Jisung instructs him to wait outside as he pops in and grabs what he needs.

     As he exits, Chan doesn’t notice him for a moment, his eyes downcast and his face heavy with thoughts. Jisung makes a point to scuff his shoes on the floor to alert him of his presence, and Chan blinks again—an odd, restrained, hopeless look. 

     “Hey,” Jisung says again, softer. “You okay?”

     “I’m okay,” Chan replies, half convincing.

     “Has Hyunjin…you know. Said anything? Hopefully nothing mean?”

     “No, no.” Chan chuckles. “Nothing mean. Nothing much at all.”

     They were going to be late, but something in the atmosphere was different, and Jisung could tell (in the way maybe only he can) that Chan wanted to say something to him. It was that mood of his, his tongue twisted up and stored in his cheek, when all he wanted was to spit it out, if only someone would ask the right questions. 

     He offers the flask, and Chan meets his eyes.

     “What’s in there?” Chan asks, a hint of suspicion, something almost-normal, almost like how he might have teased Jisung in fourth year, when he found him trying to brew homemade firewhiskey under request from a (then) seventh year. 

     “Try it.” Jisung says cheekily, making no effort to appear less sinister. “Don’t you trust me? You’re dealing with the Potions Master here.”

     Chan tips his head with a ‘well, that’s about as good a reason as I’m gonna get’ face, and knocks back the vial as if it’s a shot. His eyes visibly brighten, and he peers apprehensively down the lip of the flask like it’s the barrel of a gun. “What did I just drink?”

     “Just something I’ve been cooking up.” Jisung says with pride. “It combats drowsiness and induces sleep at night. Turns out that Moondew and Billywig sting get along pretty well when they’ve got the right base. Oh—and I added a little bit of Hippogriff feather for confidence. I figured it would also soothe your natural resistance to insomnia treatments.” 

     Chan’s lips part in surprise, and for a moment he says nothing. Jisung grins harder, pleased by his speechlessness. 

     “You made this just for me?” He whispers. “You don’t think I’m confident?”

     “Well…” Jisung trails off, not wanting to sound harsh. “You’re not unconfident. But you need more faith in yourself. You’re a winner, Chan.” He pats Chan on the back and starts to walk, but when Chan doesn’t follow, he stops. “...Chan?”

     Chan gives Jisung such a heavy, complicated expression that he can hardly bear to decipher it. Something like bashfulness, mixed with a confusing amount of anguish. “Jisung.”

     “Those are our names.” Jisung attempts to joke, unsure of himself. “What? It’s true. I don’t wanna hear your self deprecating act. You’re good-looking, you’re smart, you’re kind. You’re the best damn quidditch captain out there. You have to realize your worth some day, y’know. Why d’you think Felix has liked you since he met you?”

     “Felix didn’t like me.” Chan says, shaking his head in a slightly strange, erratic fashion. “He didn’t even know me.”

     “You know how he is.” Jisung shrugs. “He gets these feelings—”

     “But I don’t know how he is.” Chan interrupts him. “We’ve only known them for a few months. They’re nice people, Sung, but they don’t know us the way we do.”

     They and us. It’s strange to think of everyone as two separate units, the way they operated in September. The concept leaves Minho out like some kind of unwelcome stranger, which Jisung doesn’t like at all. He wants to say, what are you talking about, but Chan’s cracked demeanor makes him tread more carefully. 

     “Is that really how you feel?” Jisung asks sadly. “Us and them? Like we’re going to war, or something?”

     “That’s not what I meant, I just…” Chan trails off with a quiet groan, one hand messing up his hair. With a sigh, he continues, “I’m trying not to think this way, or feel this way. I’m just…possessive. Over you, and Bin.”

     Jisung thinks of Christmas break, his mum and Minho in total agreement.

     “I don’t want to let other people in my life. I don’t want them to like the person they think I am.” He finishes. 

     Jisung gives him a little smile, tinged with regret. “You know, I think you and Felix would have been good together.”

     Chan pulls his eyes away, edging on exasperated. “Jisung…”

     “No, really.” Jisung presses, “I’m not gonna stew about it like Hyunjin, but you’re pretty compatible.”

     “Jisung—”

     “You're both so kind and friendly. You make people feel safe. Make me feel safe. I don't know who this mystery person is that you're so infatuated with, but I think if you gave Felix a chance, you might—”

     “Jisung, it's YOU." Chan blurts, his face knitted with tragedy. "It's you, for Merlin's sake, I'm fucking in love with you!”

     A beat.

     And Jisung felt like the floor was unraveling underneath his shoes, ribbons unfurling from his ribs to reveal his stuttering heart. Why does it feel like a lie, to realize that someone he loves, loves him differently? 

     Somehow, he spits out an idiotic, “...What?”

     Chan is bright red, his features twisting with despair, and it’s like he can’t even stop himself now that he’s gotten started. “I've been in love with you since we were kids. And—and I didn't reject Felix cause he was too pretty or manipulative or to rub it in anyone's face, I did it because it's just not the same and it never will be.” He takes a shaky breath, both hands curling and uncurling, so nervous around Jisung that it makes the situation even more alien. “When…when I think of people I like, it's never as much as you.”

     Jisung’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his heart thrums, thick and heavy with blood. He's flushed, shy, and so strange that it should be Chan making him feel this way. 

     “You're such a hypocrite.” Chan says, with a little laugh. “Cause you never see the good in yourself, either. You don't see what I see and it fucking destroys me. I'm madly in love with you and every day, I want to show you why, and how much, but because of Felix, you never noticed. Never. Merlin, I can't stand it. And I can’t stand to see—fucking Minho Lee just waltz in and play with your heart like it’s nothing.”

     “He’s not playing with my heart.” Jisung manages to say, weirdly light-headed. “If anything, he’s out of my league. And you are too, while we’re at it.”

     “No.” Chan says immediately, gripping both of Jisung’s arms. “I'm not, please Jisung, don't do this to me. You're—you're perfect, not because you're the captain of some stupid quidditch team or because you get straight A's or anything like that. You're perfect because you're funny, and charming, and attentive, and caring, and so, so pretty.”

     It's Jisung’s turn to go bright red, and his skin fizzles under his robes where Chan’s hands touch him. It's a familiar touch, strong and gentle at the same time; safe, comforting, Chan.

     “Because you know who I am and you like me that way, even when I’m grouchy or quiet or—or selfish. I’m so selfish when it comes to you. And you don’t even know—” Chan cuts himself off to take a breath, and it trembles in his throat. “You’re my first, forever. My first friend, my first crush, my first priority, and you make me feel like I’m number one.”

     “I will never like someone the way I like you.”

     Jisung's heart flutters, throbs. He feels heavy and poisonous, like the guilt souring the back of his mouth is a toxin he’s contaminating his best friend with. 

     “Chan, I…”

     “I know.” Chan grips his arms, his head drooping. “I know. It's okay.”

     “It's not—what you said before, it's not true.” Jisung stammers, his voice high and unforgivable. “There’ll be other people, and you deserve so much more than—”

     “Sung, please.” Chan says roughly, his hands falling to his sides. They leave a cool, impersonal echo behind, and Jisung wants to tell him to put his hands back, but he's suddenly met with the realization that such a request might give him the wrong impression. How strange. “Don’t make this difficult.”

     The hallway sags in shame, the torches seeming to arch away from Jisung in disgust. “Channie,” He says, barely audible, “You know I love you.” 

     “Of course I do.” Chan says, frail. “Of course I do, Sung.”

     “You mean the world to me.”

     “I know.”

     “And I could never imagine a life without you by my side.”

     “I know.”

     “I just—”

     “I gotta go, Sung.” Chan says, and his voice cracks on go, like he knows he could never go anywhere without Jisung for long. “I gotta go.”

     “Okay,” Jisung says, more of a sob than a word. “When will I see you?”

     “I don’t know. Around.” He says helplessly. 

     “When will I talk to you??”

     “When I say hello.” Chan whispers, like it’s as simple as that. 

     He looks Jisung up and down, puts his hands into the pockets of his robes, and walks away without turning back. Jisung is still for at least two minutes, staring down the hallway he walked along, listening to himself breathe. 

     He doesn’t go to Potions—he has no idea how late he is, anyway. He turns back into the Slytherin common room and lies on his bed, staring at the canopy. He cries, hard and bewildered, unable to distinguish the emotions he’s shedding with the tears. He lies on the bed some more, relives the conversation about a hundred times. He rehashes every interaction they’ve ever had, every sleepover, every note passed in class, every discordant chord strummed on the floor of Chan’s living room while they were learning. 

     He wonders how he could have been so stupid. 

     At this point, it’s borderline cruel that he’d never noticed, never picked up on all the affections and favoritisms and lovely little Chan-isms that he’d wrapped Jisung in throughout the years to cuddle him tightly. He never even said thank you. He’d taken him for granted; taken advantage of Chan, all to give him nothing in return.

     His chest is cold and dense, like lead. Never, never, never. 

     “He’s been laying there for like, forever. I tried saying hi but he wouldn’t respond.”

     The emerald canopy above him is suddenly obscured by dark eyes and a swath of purple hair. 

     “Sungie?” Minho says softly. “You there?”

     Jisung blinks at him, shocked.

     Minho turns worriedly to someone else in the room. “We might have to take him to the hospital wing.”

     “I—” Jisung says, sitting up so abruptly he gets head rush. “I’m fine.”

     “Merlin, Sungie, you scared the shit out of me.” Minho exhales. “You didn’t show up to class, and then Mingi came and found me—”

     Jisung takes notice of the man himself loitering apprehensively by his own bed, along with San, who is waving a curious sixth year away. “What time is it?” He asks thickly.

     “Almost seven o’clock.”

     “I have to talk to you,” Jisung says too quickly, the sentence running away from him. “Can we go to the Astronomy Tower?”

     Minho looks him over. “You feel alright? You can walk?”

     “Yes,” Jisung says, and means to insert some irritation into the word, but it doesn’t make its way out of his vocal chords. 

     “Alright. Let’s go then.” Minho agrees carefully, keeping an eye on him the entire way. 

     Jisung zones out as they climb the staircase, coming back to his senses as his hair is whipped by an icy breeze. It’s wicked cold out, and as Jisung pulls his robes closer to his body, Minho’s arms wrap around him as well. 

     “I’m really—I’m okay, Minho.” Jisung insists. “I’m just thinking.” 

     They settle by the railing, looking out over the tops of the thrashing pines. After a pause, Minho asks, “Did something happen?”

     When Jisung breathes, it feels like ice forming suitable crystals in his lungs. “Chan is in love with me.” 

     If they weren’t so closely pressed together, Jisung would have had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. Such an idea feels impossible, so for that alone he feels justified in welcoming Minho’s warmth against his. 

     A too-long silence passes, and Jisung looks to see Minho’s lips are closed just a smidge extra, enough to be intentional.

     Jisung sighs. “Say it.”

     “No, no. You’re upset.” Minho says evenly, and his delivery manages to get Jisung to chuckle. 

     “Fine, I will. You knew all along and I was so stupid for not catching up.” Jisung says, an attempt at smugness. 

     “I mean, there was kind of a gigantic magic barrier stopping you from seeing it.” Minho reasons. “I wouldn’t call you stupid for that.”

     Jisung sighs. “What do I do?”

     “I don’t know. Take a break from being so desirable?” Minho suggests. “That might help him get over you.”

     Jisung gives him a shove, no real force behind it. The humor really helps, as bad as he feels for finding any of this funny. It’s just that…when he thinks about it, it’s nothing short of ridiculous. ‘Common halfblood, Jisung Han, bewitches local hunk into near insanity.’ If Chan looked himself in the mirror, really looked, maybe he’d see how silly this all has been.

     Chan has everything a guy could ask for: brains, brawn, kindness. He’s liked by everyone and loved by his big, picture-book family. The most attractive (by orders of magical magnitude) guy in their year, who also happened to be an angel, has had a crush on him for their entire school career. It just doesn’t seem fair that with all of that, he still wants Jisung.

     It doesn’t seem fair that Jisung doesn’t want him back. 

     “I hope you’re not doing your ‘everything is my fault’ routine.” Minho says in a sing-song voice. “It’s overplayed, Sungie.”

     “I dunno.” Jisung says, burying his face into Minho’s arm. “I just feel so terrible.”

     “Hey.” Minho says suddenly, firmly. “Where are we right now?”

     Jisung hesitates, puzzled. “The Astronomy Tower?”

     “Look over there,” Minho says, pointing at the forest, “What’s the farthest thing you can see?”

     Jisung scans the horizon line, searching for something notable, but mostly it’s just a mass of leaves. “Er, I dunno. Trees?”

     “And it’s about…seven fifteen? Seven twenty?” Minho says thoughtfully. “And I’m hugging you, and it’s really, really cold out. You feel that, right?”

     “Obviously.”

     “Good. Focus on it.” Minho hums, and then perches his chin on Jisung’s shoulder, tucking their bodies closer. 

     Jisung does as he’s asked. The railing around the tower is so cold it’s sharp, so he avoids resting his hands on it. The forest waves at them, and the landscape beyond it is shrouded in fog. The sun is long gone but the moon hasn’t quite risen yet, which gives the sky a ginormous, yawning appearance. He can feel Minho’s chest shrinking and expanding behind him, a content rhythm. 

     Minho rubs at one reddened tip of Jisung’s frigid ears for a quick moment, as long as he dares to have his hand exposed to the chill. “Just stay outside your head, Sungie. You’re not a terrible person. It’s going to be okay.”

     Jisung turns in Minho’s embrace, cups one rosy cheek, and kisses him on the nose. He doesn’t know why—he wanted to, he supposes, and he was outside of his head, as Minho requested. He didn’t even give himself time to think about it.

     Minho’s breath stutters, lashes fanning over skin as he looks at Jisung’s lips. “Jisung—”

     “Sorry,” He squeaks quickly, “I wasn’t thinking.”

     “No, it’s—don’t apologize.” Minho says, half english and half wheeze. “Don’t think, if that’s what it takes.”

     Huh? Oh, I see.  

     Jisung wraps his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him for real, uncaring of their chapped lips. It warms the cavity of his chest, match struck against his ribs, slipping light into each other’s mouths as it deepens. Minho is a good kisser, all soft and velvet and urgent. They clutch each other, robes bunching between fingers, balloons of nervous desperation popping in the air like firecrackers. Jisung wants to grip him harder, to charm every clock so the hands won’t move, keep them under the illusion that they can stay in this moment forever.

     When they pull away, his heart pangs: guilt, and longing.

     “Do you regret that?” Minho asks, sliver of fear audible. At Jisung’s raised, exasperated brow, he huffs and insists, “Come on Sungie, I’m serious. You might not now, but you’re emotional. If there’s any doubt, if you could ever—”

     “Never,” Jisung says, and kisses him again.

     When he goes to bed that night, he wonders if Chan is sleeping okay.