#signed sealed spellbound

SWISHHH—!!

You hear a thick branch swipe against the wind and thump onto the ground, feeling the tremor of it under your feet. At once, you and Taesan spring apart, feeling more scorched than interrupted.

A deep flush creeps up your neck, ears hot as fire.

"I—"

"Um," he gulps, eyes darting away in awkwardness. "Just the wind."

"Yeah… Just the wind." You nod—slow at first, then more feverishly to emphasise the point. It does more to convince yourself than him.

"Oh, we're at the tree," Taesan changes course, nudging his chin towards the map in your limp hand, afraid to touch. "He should be somewhere close by. Check."

Your eyes begin to trace for Mr. Ribbit's name, but your mind is all smoke and heat, the imprinted memory of Taesan's half-lidded eyes and parted lips at the forefront.

You'd almost kissed.

Kissed!

Not even an hour ago, you'd been convinced he had kidnapped your beloved toad and here you were now, about to make the grave mistake of pressing your lips to his admidst the haze of fear and dread.

"He's underneath it," Taesan says suddenly, clearly less distracted than you are. His fingers point at a spot on the map. "Under the Whomping Willow… Oh…"

The wind whistles louder as if to punctuate the point. Your hand feels colder without Taesan's holding it, and the very thought of that makes you almost fumble over a crook in the dirt.

"Roots," he points out, steadying you by the robes and tapping down with his shoes. "We're close by, so we need to be careful not to fa—"

Whoooshhhh—!!!

"Fuck… Fall."

One of the aggravated branches had aimed for your heads, forcing Taesan to think on his feet and push you down with him, ending up with the both of you now crouching low. He heaves, catching his breath as you realise what's just happened.

"T-thanks," you murmur in reply, aware that your heart thundering has less to do with the the thought that you had almost perished by the hands of a violent tree and more to do with the fact that Taeaan is so so close. The heat of his palm is still fresh on your scalp.

Before another wave of shame can make you jump away from him, you feel a quiver against your eardrum, a low growl that grows into noisy barks. Something is here, and its about to attack—that's the only thing you know before you move.

"Wait, Y/N, no—"

Taesan doesn't finish his sentence before you've thrown yourself over his body in an attempt to cover him, shield him from the angry, bloodthirsty werewolf that was about to eat—

"Y/N?"

You blink your eyes open, fingers shaking where they've clutched his back, your entire frame attempting to cover him. When you come to it, Taesan's eyes are startled open, and the invisibility cloak has slipped off your heads.

And then the bark resounds again—too excited to be scary.

"Huh?" You twist your head to look, perplexed.

A dog stands there, greeting joyfully, tail wagging a mile a minute as it spots the two of you. Before you can turn to question Taesan, he's already speaking.

"You shouldn't be out without telling me." Except it isn't directed to you—it's for the dog.

The dog obediently hangs his head, whining as thought in apology. You remain clueless as to why Han Taesan seems to be talking to a dog…and why the dog seems to understand.

To make things even more bizarre, you hear low howls from within the willow, and a couple croaks follow.

What is going on??

"Taesan?"

"I can explain…"

Whether he actually means to or not is never made clear, because at that very moment, thick strands of curly roots of the tree begin to unravel, creating a slim opening—wide enough for Mr. Ribbit to leap out.

And out follows reddish mane accompanied by faded black paws.

"A… A fox!" The scream escapes your body as you crowd back into Taesan, instinctively trying to protect him from impending harm. "My wand—I need my wand, where is it!?"

"Wait don't—"

Too late because you've already managed to loosen it out of your robes, forehead creased in nervous terror, wand pointed straight at the fox. The hound takes several steps back too, coming to stand in front of the other animal. They look… confused, but not scared enough to back off entirely.

They could bite. They could hurt Mr. Ribbit—Or Taesan! You're about to throw the first thing you think of—a body binding spell—when you feel Taesan attempt to squirm out of your hold.

That idiot; if he moved, he could get seriously hurt!

You push back against him harder to hold him down, the words Petrificus Totalus almost out your tongue when the strangest, most absurd thing happens next.

Something pounces from behind you to shield the two animals in front, throwing itself in front of the wand instead. Two green orbs stare, prickles of black camouflaged by the night.

It's…

Mr. Meow..?

"Mr. Meow, what are you doing—"

Then it occurs to you that there's a missing weight underneath you; you're no longer touching Taesan. In fact… Taesan isn't there anymore.

"W-what? What's going on—Taesan?" You scramble backwards, feeling dirt under your fingernails, eyes blown wide in fear. "Who are you?"

Before you, the scene shifts, a slow morphing of limbs and hair—slower than it is in reality.

Instead of the familiar cat, Taesan stands there—breaths rugged, hair falling haphazardly into his face, sweaty palms on his knees as he slowly raises his head to meet your eyes.

"I can," he begins, voice gruff under wear, "explain."

It comes like a roll of film unravelling, memories and words coming back to you. The cat that had slunk into your dorm, that you had befriended and spilled your heart to. Taesan's sudden change. Him bringing you things, trying to be better, to be not himself…

An animagus is a witch or a wizard who can willingly transform into an animal. It's a learnt skill—not genetically passed on like metamorphmagi. You hear it in Taesan's own voice from the Defence class. The puzzle pieces itself together—it's unwelcoming and nauseating.

"You're an animagus," you say, a statement, not a question.

"I am," Taesan nods, a painful gulp travelling down his throat. He looks like he could choke on the truth. "I can explain."

When you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Just hot, slithering shame.

And the pricking feeling of betrayal.

"It's—they're—" Taesan helplessly motions to the animals; the fox quirks his head, and the dog continues to look like its owner had kicked it to the curb. Mr. Ribbit watches the scene, chowing down on something crunchy. "I didn't tell you earlier but they're both animagi. It was supposed to be a silly experiment, okay? They kept asking me how I'd done it in third year and I couldn't say no and… No, that's not the point. Uh…

They were…" He turns to the animals, wordlessly begging for some help.

Dutifully enough, they too transform back to their wizard forms.

Two boys stand in their place instead, both sporting Slytherin uniforms, one with innocent doe eyes and a pout, and the other with sharper features, bumping shoulders as they obediently murmur a sorry to Taesan.

Keonho and Seonghyeon.

"Taesan hyung didn't know," Seonghyeon says to you, not as abashed as the other boy. "He didn't hurt your frog. We didn't either, obviously."

"We're sorry," Keonho speaks through a sniffle. "Your toad, he's been hungry every time we see him and he came to us, not the other way around. Told us he feels sick from eating just Produce all day, and…"

"And we had to help. So we told him to sneak out and we'd find him some fresh bugs."

"We didn't mean to scare you."

Your mind reels from the sheer bulk of new information—from the surprise of their identities which should have been obvious to you, if you were just a little more observant, and from the terrible feeling of being made a fool of for so long.

Mr. Ribbit leaps into your arms, perhaps having sensed your inner turmoil, in his own way of comforting you. A pretty apathetic moral support—but you can't even feel thankful at the moment from everything else you have to process.

"I'm sor—" Taesan barely finishes before you've turned around, face hot and red, legs beginning to move at record speed and all you feel is the whip of air around your ears as you sprint.

Away from shame; away from Taesan.

It's all horrible: tears pool underneath your eyes when you recollect the past couple months, the cold of the night making every step harsher. Your jaw hurts from biting your teeth together too hard, your heart a breaking mess.

You remember reading out the pages of your diary to Mr. Meow—to Han Taesan—spilling your guts out to him. About your mom, about your worries, about your fears. All the while it had all been just a ploy for him to ruin your life again.

Had he laughed about it afterwards with his friends? Had he felt happy every time you vented about your qualms to him?

And after everything, you had almost kissed him.

How stupid you were for thinking he could change…. For cementing yourself as the biggest, most naive coward in all of the wizarding world. In all of Gryffindor.

How stupid you were for believing, just for a split second, that you could ever like Han Taesan.

And now, everything is ruined.

Hogwarts grounds - past midnight

Everything is ruined.

Taesan might be the biggest idiot in all of the wizarding world—in all of history, actually. He's had you for barely a night, maybe a couple days if he counts your slowly bridging trust in him, but here he goes—making a blunder and losing you the same night.

Fucking moron, he berates himself, forehead creased in stress, feet faster than it has ever been. Taesan is used to running away from things—from you; towards is new for him.

But he's gone and fucked up marvellously now. True that he could sit this one out and come back after the break, slowly try to worm his way back into your life again. But it doesn't feel like a temporary thing this time. It feels like you're thoroughly and eternally done with him.

Taesan doesn't think he can do it again—the period you had ignored him after he'd wrecked your Gobstones match… Worst fucking week of his life. Taesan refuses to suffer through that again.

It's all racing heart and burning soles when he skids through the grass, and then over the pavement of the open corridor, faster, faster, faster until he spots a silhouette in the middle of it and pushes harder until he's right in front of you.

Taesan almost collapses from the run.

"Wait, don't —" He panics. "Don't leave, please. Anything but that. Please, just—yell at me, or set my hair on fire, or..oh, you can punch me in the face if you like!"

…

You blink at him, lips a passive line. Then begin to curve around him without a single word or reaction.

Taesan's adrenaline courses again—pure, unadulterated fear.

He springs to clasp the hem of your robe's arm. You turn, eyes flicking slowly from his hands to his pathetic expression. Taesan gets the message and removes his hands at once, resorting to a more pitiful measure; he's at his wit's end, okay?

"I'm…so sorry." He falls to his knees, head bowed deeply, hands together as though in prayer, pleading. "It was my fault, all of it. I messed up—kept messing up, even when you gave me so many chances. I'm such an idiot. The biggest ever idiot to exist… Have been for six years. I'm sorry for the pranks, and for pissing you off and for ruining your days… For… For making you cry." His voice cracks around the edge of the word.

You just look at the sight, not saying anything.

Taesan attempts again, all his pride and resolve breaking into dust. "If you want to cuss me out, just do it. I won't mind."

"I—" you begin, squeezing your eyes shut, making Taesan look up with a dreg of hope. "I can't."

"Y/N," he sounds strained. "I just wanted to make things right… I just…"

"…"

"I just wanted to be closer to you, okay?" It comes out like it pains him to admit the truth, a deep red climbing up his cheeks and ears. "I didn't like how you were right. And you were—about everything. I am vile and despicable and I ruin good things. And you were right about me wanting your…." His jaw is tight, shame blatant. "Attention."

"So you lied to me."

Taesan's pulse raises again. He feels like he's sinking.

"None of it was a lie, okay? Please just believe me."

"How can I—" You stutter on the word, previous apathy now replaced by a gulp, everything you try to hide making its way past the surface. You look like you're about to break down crying; Taesan is scared stiff that you might. "How can I trust you."

"Let me make it up to you, okay?" He attempts again. "Anything you want—I'll feed your toad for you every day, I'll bring you candy before every patrol; I'll even quit pranking forever."

You just stare at him, lips quivering.

"Okay, maybe not forever."

"I'm going to bed." You make for the common room again, desperate to get out of his face. Taesan hates how it makes him feel, how there's an ugly, frothing monster clawing its way up his sternum. Fear.

"Wait," he makes one last attempt, betting his all into four not-so-simple words. "Come home with me."

It's shocking enough of a request to make you slowly turn around and meet his eyes, your brows furrowed. "What?"

"You said you were staying at school over the break because of your—" Mom. He's too scared to say it, knowing how it goes back to his time as Mr. Meow and you talking about her with him. "Leave with me tomorrow morning. My folks will be more than happy to have you and, and I can just convince Professor Jeon… Yeah…"

Taesan thinks you might agree. That you'd hate to be alone at Hogwarts enough for you to choose a warm house and some company—even if it is with him. He dearly hopes you have space for one more act of forgiveness left in you.

"I…" You wipe your runny nose, hugging the toad closer for comfort. Then you take a deep, ragged breath before saying, "Good night Taesan."

It's the last he gets from you before you're walking off, turning into nothing but a shadow under the high arch of the hallway, leaving Taesan on the freezing floor.

Nothing more happens. Taesan hears Keonho and Seonghyeon shuffling over on their paws from behind, evidently to check up on him. He ignores the concerned whimper and a bark that's an attempt to cheer him up in favour of curling up into a shameful ball and accepting the cold hard truth.

Everything is ruined.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Hogwarts - first day of winter break

It's a bright and sunny dawn—antithetical to Taesan's insides. He's all bleak in there.

He wishes he could blame the upset stomach he has when he wakes up on just nerves, on the prospect of going home and having to deal with his family's antics. Or the lack of appetite on how early it is. But Taesan knows he's not usually the scared type, and he knows he can eat through a breakfast no matter what the time is.

His world is off balance just because you exist.

It had started way before all of this. Six years ago to be precise. This magnetic hold you have on him—one that makes it impossible for him to resist teasing you. All those tiny reactions of his effect on you: the pout, the way you threaten to take points from Slytherin instead of just retaliating with brute force, the way your face skews into frustration and your eyes get glassy when you're on the verge on weeping… Taesan could never look away.

And yeah, it's kind of twisted, and messy, but it's not entirely his fault that you look so cute when you cry. He'd never lied about that. And it was you that had fastened your hook on him on that fateful day in September—the first ever time he had stepped foot into Hogwarts.

Ugh… He does not want to think about that. Thinking means remembering, which means feeling, and he's not the best in that department. So he shoves it aside and locks it up in his mental box to be reopened later when he has the time—probably when he's in the quiet of his childhood room, late into the night when regrets start making their presence known.

Not now, later.

He skips breakfast, throws in the basic necessities into his duffel bag, decides that if he needs anything more he'll just borrow (steal) from his younger siblings later. Trudging to the station isn't much of a task when his brain is floaty enough to forget the walk—but it's the letter in his pocket that weighs him down more than the luggage in his hand.

"Taesan hyung, please give this to Y/N," Keonho had stood their with his sparkly eyes, having ran to interject Taesan a minute ago. Seonghyeon was there too, slightly less impressed. "It's an apology for last night—for feeding her frog without asking first. There's a packet of dried crickets in there too… for Mr. Ribbit."

"He's a toad," Taesan corrects. "And she'll have a heart attack if she sees a bug." He pockets in any way, and the two third-years part for their ride with another sorry (and Seonghyeon's discreet "Good luck with Y/N, hyung. You need it.")

Taesan had just grumbled in response and let them leave.

The letter will stay and rot in there, he's sure of it. You did not look like you wanted to see any part of him last night; you're probably holed up in your room, pouring your heart out into your diary, making sure that Mr. Ribbit knew how much of a shitty person Taesan had really been. Or maybe you're burning your diary to crisp now that you know he's read its contents…

Either way, he's fucked up big time—

"Why are you spacing out in front of the train?"

Taesan thinks he's hallucinating when he hears your voice. Had he been that sleep deprived?

But one tilt is all it takes for his assumption to be disproven—because you're standing there, drowning in a giant padded jacket, judging the heck out of his state of reverie, Mr. Ribbit snoring away happily in his travel bag in one of your hands, and wheeling a suitcase in the other.

Huh..?

"You said I could stay with you," you say, looking him right in the eye. "Or was that an empty offer?"

Taesan wants to say something—anything—but he's two steps behind the conversation at hand. You're standing here, next to him, in the flesh. He only believes it's not a dream because you smell like your dorm room, and a whiff of the sachet he'd sewn together for you.

"Okay," is the dumb response his dumb brain comes up with. Nothing witty like his usual self.

You take it at face value, stepping into the Hogwarts Express as it gets ready for departure. Before you vanish behind a compartment door, you turn back with a flat voice.

"Don't think I've forgiven you by the way," you say, sparing him a single glance and walking off towards an empty cabin.

Taesan follows dumbly, only partly understanding this progression of events. He ends up shuffling into the seat opposite yours, afraid to offend you by sitting next to you. You don't look at him, just place your luggage under your seat and lean your head against the wall, staring out the frosty window as the wheels begin to move.

The journey itself isn't long—a little cold, a little shaky, but the trolley comes by an hour later carrying sweet-smelling delicacies and Taesan makes it a point to purchase two sugar quills, placing one by your side when you'd fallen asleep. Soon after, he too slips into slumber, and by the time he's woken up, the quill has disappeared from your vicinity. He assumes that's a good sign, that you haven't sworn off touching anything and everything that he offers.

Fields and mountains flurry by out the window, blanketed by heavy mist. When you finally arrive at the station, Taesan has entirely knocked out cold, only twitching slightly when he feels something soft prob at his shoulder.

"Wake up."

"Hmnn."

"We've arrived. Wake up."

"Ugh," he groans, rubbing at his eyes. "Oh—Y/N?"

"You're drooling."

Your face materialises like smoke, but its gone just as fast with you turning around to gather your luggage. Taesan shamefully wipes his mouth, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck in favour of getting his own stuff.

Not ten minutes later, the two of you are standing side by side at a quaint little bus stop. You've got your snow cap pulled low, hair falling around your face, and Taesan is trying very hard not to stare. He sends a thankful prayer up to the heavens when the bus eventually arrives and he is spared of that excruciating task.

"Letter," he manages to slip in between a blow of the horn, half hoping you don't hear it, for the sake of his dwindling shame. "From the boys."

It seems that you do hear after all because you take it from his hand without protest.

Taesan only remembers the unfortunate packet of crickets after.

"Wait—I—" he scrambles to retrieve it, but you've already pocketed the thing, shooting him with a questioning look.

"What?"

"Uh…" He's scared to ask for it back. What if you consider it impolite? Or that he's playing a trick on you again. He doubts he'd even be through the word 'cricket' before you panic and pull out your wand, or worse yet, start bawling. Taesan only knows what to predict because he's done his fair share of tormenting you with bugs already.

Looking back, he isn't sure why he was so proud of himself for doing all that. Dumb, dumb brain, he chastises younger him.

"Nothing," he mumbles, saving the consequences for a day where he's better equipped.

Taesan has enough embarrassment to carry after the way he went on his knees last night, crying and pleading like a fucking idiot. He'd said sorry, for god's sake—he does not say sorry. You probably think he's a pathetic coward too, not someone worth an ounce of respect.

There's a big hole in his chest where his pride should be.

The bus screeches to a halt as he's deep in his overthinking, making him almost smash his face into the railing in front. Thankfully, you manage to brace your elbow and jolt him back into place before he can. Taesan doesn't even get to thank you before you're standing up, ushering him out.

Right…the stop.

His stop.

The roads are familiar as his own face: long trails of tire-tracks on snow, the morning sun making her mark on it, streets aligned with little cafes and stores that were just opening up for business, their wooden beams framed with Christmas decoration. The town had always been early and eager in getting into the festive season.

Taesan doesn't even realise his feet has taken the two of you to his place until the house comes into view, his body having moved on autopilot from years of practice.

"Oh, we're here," he announces awkwardly, motioning you to follow.

He hesitatingly walks up to the front door, takes a deep breath, and brings his fist to knock—

"San-ah! You're here!" The door is barely open before his mom takes both his cheeks in her hand, cooing at him and rambling about how sallow his face have gotten from school.

Taesan grumbles out a, "Mommmm." but lets himself be pet into oblivion anyway. She doesn't let him get many more words in as she goes on and on about needing to feed him and how he's gotten too tall for her to reach without hurting her back now. It isn't until a second or two later when her eyes flicker to the figure behind him.

"Oh…" Her initial surprise soon turns into bright excitement, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. "You brought a friend!"

Taesan looks at you, trying to figure out how he was going to lay down this whole situation, but you make the first move by bowing respectfully and greeting his mom. "Hi Mrs. Han… I'm Y/N."

"Y/N…" She blinks as the name registers. "Oh My God! You're L/N Y/N! Our Sannie has told us all about you—what a pretty girl you are! Come in, come in; you must be freezing!"

Taesan wants to combust right then and there; he's thankful for the commotion that erupts as soon as you're both ushered past the door and into the house.

"Sannieeee!!" comes a squeal from the staircase, and a pair of ecstatic feet barrel down and right into Taesan's unready arms; he still somehow manages to catch her somehow.

"Taeri! How has my munchkin been!? Wow, you've gotten so tall, I can't even carry you anymore." Taesan pretends to drop the giggling girl, catching her right before she can fall and making her laugh even louder.

"She hasn't slept all night waiting up for you," his mother says, addressing you more than she does him.

"Is that your sister?" you ask in a polite voice, but your eyes betray the curiosity beneath them.

Taesan nods, offering a small smile. "This one—" He pokes his baby sister's cheek to make her give you a mostly toothless smile. "—is Han Taeri. She's the youngest."

"There's…more?" You sound almost like you'd never imagined a house with more than a single sibling. It makes Taesan chuckle fondly despite himself.

"Loads more. You'll see," he promises. And on cue, comes Taesan's father and brother and several other intermixed voices through the living room doorway.

"My boy," his father approaches with a hearty laughter. "Uncle Kang and I were just talking about you. We'll need a third hand to help with moving the dining table—oh," he stops when he notices you in the corner, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. "Who is the girl?"

"This is Y/N," Taesan's mom says brightly, placing an encouraging hand at your shoulder. "You know…that Y/N."

She raises her brow like she's attempting to send a secret message and it takes many pointed blinks for his father to receive it.

"Oh!" he says when he finally gets it. "The Y/N. Taesan doesn't shut up about you."

"He's right," says Taesan's brother. And another few teeny heads gather around his knees, attentping to sneak a peak at you.

Taesan wants to die. Right there. In front of his entire family and you, because it has to be better than the absolute mortification of his business being aired out for you to hear.

"Mom!" he whines, his shame amplified by Taeri's amused giggles.

"Oh now, shush." His mom remains unfazed, simply helping you take off your cap and jacket, dusting the snow off of it, to hang it on the coat rack. "Now go help this poor girl up to the guest bedroom—I'm so sorry that we didn't have enough of a notice to clean it before you came." She sends Taesan a scolding glare, making him gulp. "This guy didn't even carry your suitcase?"

"I'm…I could manage it myself," you answer sheepishly, but she's quick with handing it into Taesan's free arm.

"That is not how we raised you. Her room better be spotless by the time we're up." His mother chides him and Taesan is forced to drag the bag up the stairs, all the while making sure Taeri doesn't slip out of his hold when she's trying very hard to clamber onto his head instead.

When he's back down after have a wrestling match with the bedsheet and his sister's rendition of 'Three little monkeys jumping on the bed', Taesan regrets ever having left you alone with his nosy family.

"You're a Gryffindor? Wow! Our Taeri wants to be one—the rest of us have always been Hufflepuffs. Taeho wants to follow his hyung into Slytherin next year when he goes to school though—"

"Always been so fascinated with muggle customs… You call through a pheletone, was it?"

"Taesan isn't too shy is he? That boy used to hang by my sleeves when he was as small as a pea—

You're practically being interrogated on the couch, squeezed between his mother and aunt, a cup of cocoa in your hand and your eyes wide as saucers as you struggle to answer one person at a time. Taesan needs to intervene before his mom says something that could ruin his finely constructed reputation.

"Mom, the bed is done," Taesan announces, clearing his throat, promptly avoiding your eyes. "Can I borrow Y/N for a bit?"

He doesn't miss the coy look exchanged between the older women, nor the way Taesan's dad passes by with an encouraging pat on his back, nor the way his uncle mouths a "Keep the door unlocked." His sister is having a one-sided staring contest with Mr. Ribbit on the windowsill, and his little cousins keep running around, chasing each other with paper swords.

Taesan lets out the loudest sigh of relief once their teasing giggles die down and he's alone inside the guest bedroom.

Well…not alone, he realises eventually.

"Umm…" You stand at the curb, awkwardly looking around.

"Bed." He points at the corner of the room, where the ajar window lets in a cold breeze. "It's yours."

"Thanks."

"You should—" Taesan clears his throat, moving aside to let you in, fiddling with his fingers behind his back the whole time he speaks. "You should rest up for now. I'll call you down for lunch… Is that… Is that okay?"

You give a small nod and he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Once Taesan is outside, he uses the newfound privacy to take in a deep inhale, leaning his head back against the wooden door, almost sliding down to the carpet in agony.

He wonders if he'd made a mistake by asking you to come along, after all.

Han household - Mid-December

You wonder if you've made a mistake by coming along.

It took you almost an hour to slip into slumber, washing up and changing out of your clothes, making sure Mr. Ribbit was comfortably snoring away in his favourite bundle of blankets, and then spending the next ten minutes staring out your window.

Taesan's house has an apple tree planted right outside it—bulbs of red against snow-dusted branches, sparse specks of green in-between them. It makes sense that he smells like it, that Mr. Meow used to too. You almost regret making yourself remember.

It was an impulsive decision, made out of a night of unforgiving sleeplessness and lingering resentment. Well… not resentment. Something closer to hurt. Taesan had known your innermost thoughts all along, without you ever having meant for it to be for him. He knew about your friends, your family, you fears. And you… You had barely known him.

It's unfair and it's humiliating.

You thought of just rotting in bed until spring would break in and drag you out for classes, eventually. But even that didn't sound like a promising plan.

Then it happened—an idea. Something that made more sense than all the other possible paths you could take.

Take Taesan's offer, figure out why the heck he is the way he is, get on equal terms by peeling back his family dynamics, make him feel sorry for ever thinking you'd be so easily manipulated.

Because why should you be the only one who's scared of being known? He should fear the same.

He should.

Except, his house has nothing to hide at all. His mom and dad are warm, his aunt smells like roses and kindness, and his little sister makes your heart melt with her innocent grin. You should feel miserable and jealous that Han Taesan comes from a loving family, but… But you don't. You just feel out of place here—like you're the only feeble thing in this house full of life.

Thoughts pile up on top of one another, your brain collapses from the exhaustion of it all, and the sunlight is spilling over your face when you finally feel the world slowly blear back into vision.

"She talks in her sleep," comes a girl's voice.

The a boy chimes in after, "Better than hyung's drooling. Or dad's snoring—"

The another. "Sannie said not to disturb her. What if he gets mad at us…"

"He can't get mad at you. You're his favourite."

"Sannie," babbles a smaller child's voice when he catches the familiar name in the conversation.

You blink several times to adjust your sight, and the first clear look almost makes you faint onto the pillow.

Instead of the ceiling that you swear seeing right before knocking out an hour back, there are instead six pairs of curious eyes staring down at you. And you're surrounded—trapped—on both sides too.

You have nowhere to escape to.

"Where—What the heck are you guys doing in here!? You're going to freak her out," Taesan's voice comes like a saviour.

He's balancing a tray of food in one hand, the other on his hip like a scolding mother. The kids scatter at once, giving you space to sit up.

"We were just making sure she hadn't died," Taeho says easily; Taesan remains unimpressed by the jest.

"I wanted to show Jiwoo unnie your girlfriend," says Taeri, and this makes Taesan's face turn as red as an apple.

"She's not my girlfriend." he protests, almost dropping the metal tray on the floor.

"But she's a girl, and mom said she was your friend," the younger girl bats her innocent eyes.

Taesan just sighs in defeat and places the tray on the bedside table.

"They're." He waves to the crowd of six around him, a small bunch that on average barely reaches past his knees. "These are my siblings and cousins," he tells you, hoping you're not offended by their behaviour.

"Hi," you greet them with a small wave, still awkward, maybe shy.

"I'm Han Taeho!" Taesan brother extends a hand and you shake it amicably. His sister attempts to do the same, giggling as you entertain her whims.

"This one," Taesan ruffles the hair of a slightly taller girl. She has short black hair like Chaewon's and a polite smile, "is Jiwoo. She's ten like Taeho. They'll both be heading to Hogwarts next year—if they behave and the Grinch doesn't steal them away this Christmas, that is."

Taeho shoots him a grumpy frown and Taesan matches it by sticking out his tongue to tease him.

"Well, I've been perfectly good," Jiwoo announces to you. "I helped Dad and Uncle Han clean the chimney."

"Is that why you have soot on your cheek?" you ask, and she nods with a bright grin. The sight is so adorable; it kind of reminds you of Eunchae when you met her for the first time.

"These—" Taesan motions towards the three almost identical toddlers blinking like curious kittens up at you, hanging off the mattress. "—Are the Kang triplets. Jiwoo's younger brothers—Jaemin, Jaeha, and Jongin. Don't worry about getting the names right, even I mess it up at times, but they'll also answer to duckling one, two, and three." He counts by softly mussing up each of their bowlcuts.

"They're…" Adorable. You want to squish them, but you're too scared to hurt them; you've never even held a baby. "Cute."

"Only when you're new to meeting them. Once you get to know them—they're little rascals, trust me."

Taesan is met with a barrage of oppositions and, "He's lying!" at that, and he responds to every one of them by doubling down on the teasing. You find it ironic that he has the galls to call them rascals when he was never far off from the title himself.

"Oh wait, you've got me all distracted," he pauses in the middle of tackling one of the triplets—Jaeha, you think—onto the fluffy duvet, "I was supposed to tell you to eat your lunch. You slept through it so Mom send up a tray."

"Ah, thanks."

"And you guys," He turns to the kids. "Dad needs you to help him pick out a tree. Better run and get changed before he leaves without you."

Apparently that's all it takes for them to sprint out the door and leave you with some quiet.

Taesan turns to you once they've all vacated. "Sorry for that. They're nosy like the rest of my family."

"It's okay." You realise you mean it. "I—I don't mind. It was nice to see everyone."

He smiles, watching your expression for a second, a sense of relief evident on his face. Then he places the tray on your lap. "Stir fry and rice. Mom makes it a lot when I'm home—but there's no eggplant if you like those—"

"It's okay. This is…more than enough."

The bowl is warm between your hands, the right amount of spice and salt. You can already tell Mrs. Han is a wonderful cook—almost as good as your own mom.

"You've told her about me?" you ask before you take the first bite.

Taesan is too focused on making sure you're eating, waiting at the side of your bed. "Hm?"

"Your Mom. She knew about me."

His face turns beet red once more, lips forming a small 'o'. "Oh… Uh… That's…"

"Don't lie to me." Again, is implied.

Taesan sighs, perhaps knowing that this is entirely his fault. He takes a seat down at the edge of the bed, a significant distance between the two of you.

"I…Yeah, I talked about you," he admits. "Have for a long time, I think. Since first year."

"Oh."

"Are we going to talk about everything? …Now?"

It's a good day outside, he should be spending it talking about happy thinks—amongst family, eating together, going tree-shopping together. But there will never be another time as comfortable as now. Bite the bullet, as they say.

"If you want to." You stop playing around with the spoon, setting it down to look at the back of Taesan's head. "But I do. There's still things I don't understand."

"Right," he nods, but his face remains turned away from yours as he continues. You don't miss the red on his nape, however. "So the things I said that night—you remember right?"

You nod. Then remembering he can't see, you say, "Yeah. I remember."

"The gist is, yeah, I'm an animagus. Managed to transform back in third year on a whim. I just… I guess I wasn't fond of company all that much and it was a surefire way to get out of small-talks and stuff. No one else knows by the way—except for Keonho and Seonghyeon, and—you." He dips his head lower, rubbing rough circles into his palm. "Backfired on me when I started using it to get out of detention and Jeon signed me up for the Quidditch team for 'discipline building'."

"It didn't work," you say out loud without thinking of it—not that you regret it.

Taesan still for a second, then chuckles lightly. "Guess not."

"And then you changed… After Gobstones."

You remember the day as clear as glass: the fireworks, the dungbomb, your hands around his shoulders, the way you had finally snapped when you realised how far he'd gone. And you remember everything after as well: the patrols, the staring, the gifts. His attempts at fixing the mess he'd caused.

"Because I realised you might truly hate me for once."

Taesan whispers the admission so softly, like a secret he hates to believe. You've never seen him look so small. He was supposed to be all teasing cackles and mischief—now he's just…scared.

You don't hate him. Of course there's the annoyance of having been the victim of his pranks for an eternity, and the sting you feel when you think about how easy it is for him to get under your skin, because he knows you, in and out like something he's studied for so long.

Instead of voicing those thoughts out, you settle for, "You said you'd do anything to make up for it, no?"

"Huh?"

"No?"

Taesan braves a look at you, curious more than confused. "I…Yeah, I did. Do you want something?"

"Help me get over my fears. Can you do that?"

He takes a second, which then melts into a silent minute, and then he's asking, "Pardon?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, or change the entire topic and crawl into a hole now that your initial courage starts to wear off. Instead, you cough lightly, ignoring the heat of embarrassment to say, "Help me with my phobias… Like… Exposure therapy, y'know?"

"Did Professor Jeon finally get to you? You do know that guy has the worst methods, right?"

"It's not him!" you huff. "I wanted it. I've thought about for a long time, okay? When I get back to school after winter break, I want to be a better Gryffindor. It's stupid if I'm still crying about spiders once I'm a seventh year."

"It's not stupid," he replies, but you don't trust the guy's word one bit.

"Will you help me or not? I'm yet to forgive you for your…mistakes, by the way."

He grows sheepish at that, lowering his head obediently. You take that as a yes.

Before he heads out, Taesan offers to take you to the town if you needed to buy any necessities or send a post to your mom. There's a hesitant edge to his tread, when he stops at the door-frame, waiting like he wants to say something but his throat just won't let him get it out—like a hairball stuck in a cat's mouth, you think in morbid amusement.

"Lock the door if you don't want the kids to snoop through your things, by the way. My door is the one opposite yours… in case you need m—something." He coughs at the accidental slip of tongue. "And—"

"…"

It's plain as day that he has more to say. Maybe a missing piece in his revelations from earlier; you don't pry, and Taesan dismisses it with a grunt.

"Just—just come down when you're ready."

Then he's gone, his footsteps disappearing down the carpeted stairs, leaving you to mull over how exactly you were supposed to dissect into everything unsaid.

//

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF OVERCOMING YOUR FEARS

"Jiwoo, get me the batter—Jaemin, do not dip your fist into that bowl—!"

The house is at its noisiest on mornings, the welcome mat powdered with snow from the men having carried it in after a 5 AM fishing trip, an enchanted broom dusting away at the the wooden floorboards, the cuckoo taking a round around the room as the clock strikes the hour, tweeting away.

Everything seems to run on magic—including the lone whisk twirling around in the cookie batter. It's so different from your home.

"I can get it," you offer, gently removing the toddler off the high stool that has begun to wobble dangerously.

"Nonsense! We can't have a guest do work, that's Taesan's job. Sannie!" she calls him over as he's hanging his scarf by the door.

Taesan bounds over without complaint, the most obedient you've ever seen him. "What should I do?" he asks her.

"Lay the batter out on the tray and make sure the children don't get their hands on it before I've baked it." Suddenly she seems to get a bright idea—a lightbulb moment. "You know what, maybe Y/N should join in after all! You can help Sannie with the oven. His aunt and I wanted to pop by town to get some groceries for dinner; we'll take Jiwoo with us since she's been needing to get a new toothbrush."

You nod politely, missing the pointed look she shoots at her son, and the way Taesan mouths an indignant 'Mom!'. But she's already off with a smirk and a wave.

Taesan turns to you with a shameful smile. "Sorry for her. She's…uh…"

"She's sweet," you reply with genuine affection for the woman. She had been kind enough to give you her best quilt for the night, take your letter to the local Owlery since your phone kept dying every time you tried to call your mom (must be the buzzing magic in the air blocking the signal), and even got you a basketful of fresh apples the last day when you mentioned you'd never had one straight off the tree.

The rest of his family were of similar temperament: Mr. Han had taken to bringing you jam drops ever since he'd noticed you take an extra over tea, and one entire cabinet had now been dedicated to just that. And both his uncle and aunt got excited every time you mentioned anything remotely muggle-made. There's also Grandma Han who'd mostly just stayed in her room unless it was for calling over Taesan to come read to her, or chide him for not offering to take you around the town until told to.

The children though… You didn't know how to talk to them without the fear of them asking too many questions about you and Taesan, and your not-quite-friendship. And it's not like you had siblings to know what other scenarios may arise from just taking a chance.

"What are you thinking so hard about? About to pop a vein over there." Taesan points at your temple whole you're pouting at the empty oven.

"What we talked about before…remember?"

Taesan assesses your expression, making sense of it. "The deal?"

You nod.

"You've thought of something already?"

"I'm kinda scared of kids," you just bite the bullet—not like you haven't tarnished your reputation in front of him already. He might as well as know a little more; it can't hurt.

"Oh… Yeah, that was obvious."

"Wait, what do you mean obvious—"

"Jaemin-ie, up!" Taesan interrupts to gather one of the ball-sized triplet into his arm, balancing him on the hip. "You carry him now," he says to you.

You flail almost immediately.

"Carry!? I can't—Taesan, I haven't even seen a child since I was one myself. I'll drop him!"

"No you won't."

"I will! Can't we start with something simpler…like uh…"

"You had no issue putting him down from the stool, just do the opposite—see, down," he says as he places the giggling toddler back on the floor, then takes him back."—Aaaand up. Easy as pie."

"I might accidentally kill your cousin," you almost sob.

He seems amused by your overreaction, but any fondness he may have, he hides it beneath a roll of an eye. "It's fine—we've got two more of the same," he quips, and Jaemin, although too small to understand fully, giggles at how Taesan makes a funny face at him. "See, he says he's cool with it too."

"Taesan—"

"Just hold the damn baby, jeez." Before you can continue to protest, he shoves the kid into your unprepared arms. You immediately go rigid on contact.

There are a pair of big brown eyes blinking up at you. You feel as though put at gunpoint by a baby rabbit. He looks like he's waiting for you to do something, and you feel like you should be on the other end instead.

"Loosen up; he's confused because you're so stiff," Taesan supplies, adjusting your arms. "There. Now do a funny face."

"What!?"

"Like this." He demonstrates by pulling at the corner of his lips, teeth tight, and going cross-eyed on purpose. It makes Jaemin burst out into a fit of laughter, excitedly bouncing as he repeats, 'Again, again!'.

Taesan urges you to copy him, and braving a try, you squeeze your face together and stick out your tongue, hoping your dwindling shame is enough to coax a giggle out of the kid.

Thankfully, he gives you a bright reaction, even clapping his little hands together to ask for a replay. It makes your heart ease up. "You like that?" you ask hopefully and he nods.

Seems that your rendition reaches as far as the first floor bedrooms, because out comes barrelling Jaemin's brothers, along with a still yawning Taeri who goes straight into Taesan's arms.

By the time Mrs. Han arrives back, you've miserably failed your task of making sure to keep the batter out of the sneaky little hands. However, one good thing comes out of the whole ordeal—you find that you're no longer afraid of kids.

Who knew that all it would take were some silly expressions and Taesan's simple advice.

//

"Are you sure about this…what if they bite?"

"They're dead." Taesan's deadpans. "Even if not, I doubt crickets bite people."

You're crouched on your bedroom floor, gingerly pinching a spindly green bug between your fingers. Taeri is too busy having a staring contest with Mr. Ribbit again, and Jiwoo's off to the side reading her storybook.

Taesan had convinced you to finally let the poor thing let go of his diet of just greens and feed him some real food ("My toad is vegetarian", you had grumbled in excuse, but he had somehow found information on how toads needed the protein to thrive and how you'd be doing a huge disservice by ignoring his advice). In the end, you conceded wearily.

You squeeze your eyes shut and bring it to Mr. Ribbit's mouth, not looking when the insect disappears off your hand and right onto his tongue.

The crunching noise is disgusting, but the way Taesan and the girls clap for you is beyond satisfying. He even looks proud of you.

Another fear conquered, hooray!

Your winning streak doesn't end there—starting with the small stuff.

Jiwoo handles the task of spooking everyone out one night, with the entire family gathered around the fireplace, animatedly narrating a ghost story. It even makes Taeri cower behind Taesan's shoulder, and one of the triplets burst into tears. You find that its not as scary when you're too busy wiping his cheek and telling him that ghosts were just silly old people who liked to float between the Hogwarts walls and make small-talk with unwilling students. Turns out the more you calm him down, the more calm you become as well.

Spiders and snakes seem to be a bigger hurdle, but you somehow manage.

Taesan takes you out into the frosty garden and transforms a rock into a non-poisonous species (he swears on his dungbombs that it is). You almost squeal when it wraps around your wrist—almost—but Taesan says, "See, he likes you," and you look down at the creature tilting its head in curiosity.

"He's not hurting me," you whisper in awe.

"Duh," Taesan chuckles. "He's made of my magic, why would he hurt you?"

The casual statement does more than enough to ease your thundering heart.

The experiments keep coming: lighting a match, sleeping with the nightlight off (you almost pull out a Lumos until you remember Taesan's disapproving stare), even testing out the dusty old Boggart his mom had found in the shoe cabinet.

Things are still scary, but you have the courage to at least take a leap of faith and face them.

It gets colder outside, and warmer within the house. Christmas ticks closer and in tandem, the excitement buzzing through the place grows threefold.

"Brooms up!" commands Taesan from the middle of the snow-filled yard. "Cheaters have to shovel the entire driveway before sundown."

"But I'm too small for that!" whines Taeri, pouting behind her kid-sized broomstick. Taeho makes a face at her from the other side and she starts to complain louder.

You're watching the scene unfold from the front-steps of the house, cheeks in your hands as you bask under the orange sky. The kids are either on either teams of the impromptu Quidditch match, or rolling around in the snow, making teeny angels.

"Winner gets a life-time supply of dungbombs, how's that?"

Both of Taesan's siblings seem eager to acquire that prize, and you wonder if this affinity for joke-items was a family trait. As soon as he releases the flittering golden Snitch, they're both off zooming after it. The brooms don't lift them beyond just a few feet overhead, so it's still safe in case they fall and you have to shoot a slowing charm at them.

In the end, Taeri wins by cleverly pretending to have been injured, then using the distraction to snatch the ball (there is no way that girl isn't going to be in Slytherin, you think).

"Y/N," Taesan calls after, dangling his giggling little sister upside down by the legs for her entertainment. "Come fly with us!"

Your heart drops to your stomach.

No way you could fly.

"I'm good over here, thanks," you feign nonchalance, but Taesan has never been a stranger to your fear-induced ticks.

"You're scared of heights," he says knowingly, setting Taeri down. She runs off at once to go make her snowman.

"It's just comfortable over here. Plus, I can't keep a watch on everyone if I—Ack!"

Before you know it, he's hauled you upward by the elbow, having quickly made his way to you.

Curse his long limbs and abnormally large steps!

There's no protest left on your tongue before he's helped you over his broom, and you're somehow floating tens of feet up in the air with Taesan grinning in front of you.

"Isn't the sunset gorgeous?" he whoops, feeling the cold wind card through his hair. "Dontcha feel invincible? Accomplished??"

"I feel nauseous!"

Taesan just giggles, yes giggles, in response at your pain, and does a loop in the air before letting go off his grip from the broom.

"Look at me! I can do a feint with no hands!"

You lurch forward to grab his sweater, voice rising in pitch. "Taesan, please, fuck—please!! Oh god, we're so high up… Don't crash, oh my god—!!!"

Miraculously, you land just fine. Taesan is grinning ear to ear as he watches you stumble away, hair in windswept tangles, looking like you'd just lost a battle.

"Next time, we'll get you your own broomstick," he quips with a teasing smile, jogging to catch up to you. "One with training wheels," he says—whatever that means.

It turns out he hasn't changed all that much after all. There's still a lot of teasing left in him reserved just for you.

There are other things about Taesan that you make note of too—insignificant details that start to fill up a page in your diary:

1. He sleeps like a cat.

The first time you notice is when you're both too full on apples while trying to paint Christmas ornaments, and you wake up to Taesan curled up on the floor right under where the sunlight spills onto his cheeks. Like a flower bending towards the sun, he's nuzzling into the warmth instead of away from it.

Textbook feline behaviour. It's not that crazy given he was your—ahem—since he was Mr. Meow after all. You wonder if the trait came after he turned into an animagus or if it had been the other way round…

2. He seems to have the permanent itch to tease someone or something at all times.

It's in the way his fingers twitch at an opportunity, the way his grin grows more devious when his mom asks to pass her a tea towel and Taesan's entire hand comes off in the process, fake blood spurting from the sleeves.

Mrs. Han explodes at him in an instant, chasing him out the kitchen as he giggles and runs away like a three year old. You don't miss the fond smile she gives him once he's out of view though.

He'll come tickle Taeho when he least expects it, followed by another round of run and chase that grows into a whole game involving all the kids and you. The house is never quiet—always carrying the sound of laughs and petulant shrieks and sometimes toddler tantrums.

You find that you don't mind any of it.

3. He's easy as pie to piss off.

This one comes as a gift wrapped in a surprise.

"Y/N, pssss."

You've just woken up, getting yourself a cereal bowl when you hear someone beckon you over from behind the wall. You think its probably Taesan with one of his new exposure therapy item, so you trudge over, blinking leftover sleep from your eyes.

"What—Mrs. Han!?"

"Come here, and tiptoe," she whispers, holding a bucket in her hand for whatever reason. Taesan's younger brother is there too, wearing an evil smirk that gives you terrible deja vu.

Somehow, for some reason, the three of you end up cooped inside the upstairs bathroom.

"Mrs. Han, why do you have a rope and a bucket?" Your danger alarms begin to go off, wondering if she was secretly a serial killer or something. The grin she sends you in response does nothing but heighten your suspicions.

"You see, my son—" she says as she ties one end of the rope to the bucket and Taeho starts to get it filled with water. "—thinks he can get away with using fake blood to scare his poor mother."

"And his poor brother; don't forget me," Taeho pipes up.

"I blame his uncle for buying him that muggle magic book when he was younger—haven't had a day of peace since then, ugh." She doesn't sound as exasperated, more so just doting.

"Oh," you reply uselessly. It happens often these days when someone drops an anecdote or detail about about a version of Taesan you aren't familiar with yet. "Why am I here?"

"Surely you have something to get back at that boy for?" his mom chuckles as if that was obvious. "There isn't a single person he likes that he won't bother."

Oh…

OH!

"No! Uh, he doesn't like—" you begin to trip over your words, face burning at the word 'like'. "He isn't…"

His mom just smiles without prodding. "This will be the perfect opportunity for you to deflate his head a little, dontcha think so?"

In the end, you're helping them levitate the bucket over the door, setting up an elaborate mechanism at the crack of dawn. Then Mrs. Han brings over Taeri and asks her to go wake her big brother up, which she's more than happy to do—jumping on top of his groaning blanket-covered form until he begrudgingly opens his eyes.

Taesan is barely over the bathroom threshold before a bucket of freezing cold water plops right over his head.

"I—" He gapes, water drip drip dripping from his chin, and ears, and lips, and maybe out through his ears too. "Who the heck!?"

"Language," Taeri scolds, probably something she's heard her mom say once.

Taesan turns to see a bright flash go off, almost blinding him.

"Aw, Sannie, you look adorable," His mom coos, showing you Taesan's pathetic face on the magic camera. "We're definitely getting this framed for the living room."

"Mom!!" he groans in response. Then he seems to spot your amused chuckle from behind her, and at once, he suddenly grows bashful under the attention.

His neck is blooming pink, and his voice is shaky when he turns to Taeho instead to huff at. Taesan scowls, nose crinkling when he starts to complain.

He's obviously pissed off—it's kind of…cute.

Fuck.

No way did you just think that.

You're berating yourself for that insane lapse in judgement when the kids giggle and scatter away from Taesan's threat to tickle them all into oblivion; his mom also jogs away, eager to show her husband the picture of their son.

Which leaves the two of you alone in the bathroom.

"Uh—she made me," you supply without thinking.

"…Right," he gulps, too aware of the space between the two of you.

You think this is it, that you may have invited another wave of revenge from him. But soon, the edge in his voice turns…shy?

"Impressive… I didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh."

"I mean," he attempts to clear his throat, softer than he'd been a second ago with Taeho. "I'm proud of you for taking an interest in pranks. It's…unexpected. Good unexpected."

It's a little stupid how your heart swoops at that. And Taesan is right—it had been fun to be mischievous and let loose, not to mention how rewarding the look on his face had been when he'd fallen into the trap.

Cute, you think.

This time it doesn't feel as hard to accept.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

In two days, it'll be Christmas. In the days leading up to it, Taesan's family doubles their cookie baking endeavours and triples this little prank war they've got going on.

First, its Taesan putting Hiccough Sweet into his mom's morning coffee, which then his dad drinks on accident and causes him to burst into a fit of hiccups. It takes several mugs of water, and finally a curing spell to get him to stop. In retaliation, Mr. Han wages war against his son, and recruits the younger kids with him—spiralling into a two-sided prank war between Taesan and the rest of them. His uncle and aunt stay out of the mess unless its to make bets or aid with water-gun supply. Even his grandma chuckles at the sight of a drenched Taesan (fair; he looked like a wet cat, in your opinion).

Between everything, you also learn that Taesan is quite serious about his hobby.

"Why are we in your shed…?"

Taesan is rummaging around under a bunch of boxes, sunlight filtering through the crack in the wooden ceiling, spilling gold on his raven hair. He's wearing a white cable-knit, looking far too innocent for the no-good antics he seems to be up to.

"This is my work station," he says like it should be obvious. "I can't believe you teamed up with my mom over me, hmff"

His pout looks too cute to ignore.

You kneel down next to him. "Your mom tempted me with a very nice incentive."

"What was it?"

"She said it would deflate your head a little."

Taesan puffs out his cheeks indignantly and you wonder why you'd never tried teasing him before—the results are just so fun. Like how his ears flush hot when he found out you'd been the one to set a dungbomb under his bed as a wake-up alarm, albeit on request from Mr. Han. Its funny. And nice to have an effect of him for a change.

On the list of Han Taesan trivia in your diary, you end up adding a, 4. He's really fun to tease.

But he's also downright menacing when it comes to plotting warfare.

Taesan has an elaborate set-up of novelty items tucked away in the shed, often accompanied by pages and pages of notes of his experiments. You learn that the hole in the ceiling was product of a spell gone wrong some years back—instead of using an amplifying charm on his extendable ears, he'd ended up using a blasting one by accident.

Currently, he's crouched down on a stack of cushions, jinxing each of the snowballs he's asked you to mould and hand to him.

"Why are we doing this again?" you ask.

"Stupid question, next."

"You're not imbuing them with dungbombs or anything are you?"

Taesan stops his activity to look at you in mild awe. "Wait…why didn't I think of that? Y/N, you genius."

"Woah, you're actually going to?? Won't that scare the kids?"

He scoffs at your concern. "Kinda the point, no? They decided to betray me for my dad and mom. I'm their big brother—I practically raised those little rascals. Look at how they're repaying me," he shakes his head dramatically, then sighs. "What have I ever done to deserve such an ill fate?"

It's your turn to scoff now, staring at his audacity. "Really? You think you're such a saint huh?"

Taesan has the decency to look ashamed when he clears his throat "Lets leave the past behind for a second… We're friends after all."

"Friends?" You raise your brow.

"Well…" He contemplates how to put it. "We're…partners? All that patrolling together must have counted for something, I hope. And look at us now, building evil snowballs together—if this isn't friendship, then what is?"

You can't argue with that foolproof logic.

Turns out that you no longer fear touching a dungbomb, and they aren't all that scary unless you count the foul smell they released once set off. Otherwise, its just a silly stink bomb that could harm you no less than an ant count. Things are scarier when they remain unknown, you realise.

Taesan pokes his tongue out as he works with a devious level of concentration, only looking up whenever you're done with shaping out another snowball from the giant bucket of snow next to you. His hair falls perfectly to frame his face, eyes sparkling with the kind of quiet passion you have never seen from him.

And for a crazy moment, your first thought is, why is he so hot when he's scheming?

"Fuck no!" you snap out of it with a not-so-quiet yelp, accidentally crushing the snow in your hand.

Taesan jolts up in concern. "Y/N? You okay?"

You blink several times, hoping someone will barge in through the door and save you from this moment. Alas! No one arrives.

"Peachy. I just saw a mouse is all." you grumble out.

It seems to satisfy Taesan. "We should work on that next then. Good think the house has loads of them."

"What–!??"

"I'm kidding," he chuckles at how you jump out of your skin for real this time. "I'll just transform some rocks in the garden and you can try with those, yeah?"

"…Fine."

Not an hour later, you're hiding behind a stump of log, hurling merciless snowballs at the kids. They run around half giggling, half howling for their lives, pink-cheeked and foggy-breathed. Taesan is so in his element as he runs after them, making snow explode into smithereens in the air—it kind of looks like a crystal firework show. You aid him by covering for his blind spots, melting Jiwoo and Taeho's snowballs before it reaches Taesan's body.

Despite yourself, you find yourself enjoying every part of it. And when Taesan finds you in the middle of the game, he squats down next to you. "See, told you we make a good team. Don't you regret picking them over me before?"

You grin into your scarf. It feels right to entertain his quip. "Guess you're right," you say. "I should have picked you a long time ago."

At once, he turns into a blushing mess, sputtering for words. His eyes are wide as saucers, cheeks redder than the apples hanging on the trees nearby. A gulp makes its way down his throat. Before you can giggle at his reaction and ease the tension, Jiwoo decides to do you both a favour and sends a hard sphere of snow right into the back of his neck.

"FUCK!" he yelps, turning to the perpetrator. It ensues into him chasing after her, threatening to drop snow down her collar. They stomp around through yard, bright laughter filling the evening as you watch with a pleasant buzz in your chest.

Teasing Taesan is really, really fun. Flustering him is pure joy.

//

THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

It's possibly the busiest day of the year. You had taken a family trip to Hogsmeade in preparation for the following day—Mrs. Han counting heads until every one was accounted for. (Taeri was almost left behind because she'd been too busy finding a hat for Mr. Ribbit—until Taesan informed her you'd have to leave the toad behind for his own safety.)

The women split up to the fabric shop, and the men bounded off Honeydukes to placate the children. That left Taesan and you to wander about the cobblestone streets, conifers lining the storefronts, kids pressing their sticky hands to the windowpanes at delicacies. Carols drift out from the pubs, and Taesan hums along to it, drumming his wand on his thigh as you walk.

"Where to now?"

"Hmm… Ever been to Zonko's?"

You shake your head. The Joke shop had never been somewhere you braved to visit—too loud and crowded for your liking. You were also scared of said jokes; that was the main reason.

But once you're inside, the sight is a thing of dreams.

"It's…" Your voice comes out as a hush of awe. "Beautiful."

Taesan chuckles, nodding. "Have your pick; I specially recommend the Sneakoscopes—super helpful if you want to keep nosy losers out of your business."

"Would have been helpful a couple months back when you were terrorising me," you quip back. He has enough respect to agree with a shameful nod.

In the end, you take his suggestion, swinging a bag of trinkets that caught your eye. There had been a lot—rows and rows of silly potions and mystery cans, fake wands that were set up to burst feathers out of them, so many goofy tricks that made you giggle and Taesan to watch in fondness. After Zonko's, you head to the post office to pick up a package from your mom, sending a letter back to her. (you'd already sent a nice satin scarf a few days back, along with pastries for the nursing home inhabitants; it should have arrived in time for Christmas.)

The rest of the day is eventful with baking, cooking, and carol singing. Everyone starts to retire early for bed once Grandma Han starts to yawn, the kids ushered to their bedrooms despite their whines of protest.

"Santa doesn't like kids who don't sleep," Taesan spooks them, and they run off at once.

The house lulls into a soft silence. The fireplace crackles, the couch warm beneath your thick woollen clothes, and your tongue is sweet under the creamy hot chocolate. Taesan looks just as cosy next to you.

"Did you open the package yet?" he asks, stretching as he finally feels the rush of the day die down. He's been busy wrangling everyone together, making sure his mother didn't stress herself into fainting, and that his uncle didn't accidentally set the driveway on fire with a melting spell.

"Not yet; was waiting for you to get free." It's a slip of a tongue when you say it, but his softening features makes you not regret it one bit.

Honesty feels good. Not holding back feels good.

You take the rectangular package off the table and bring it back, untying the little string. Taesan peeks over in curiosity.

"It's—" you smile at the stack in your lap. "Movies."

"Huh?"

"DVDs… Mom and I used to watch a lot on Christmas eve. Oh… there's a letter too," you say, picking up the card from inside. "… She's bought a lot of new ones too! Apparently the Grandmas and Grandpas in her nursing home had a lot to recommend."

Taesan's eyes light up. "Woah! I've never watched a movie… Uncle bought a TV because he was nuts about muggle tech, but then the signal's so wonky, it won't show anything but static."

"Lets try this out… Maybe it'll work? Since you don't need reception to work a DVD, I'm pretty sure."

In no time are you and Taesan planted on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you, and your shoulders slinking into the material from sheer fear.

"Why did we pick this one again?" You peek from behind the gap between your fingers, jolting at the jump-scare on the screen. "Oh fuck! What the fuck!"

"Exposure therapy, duh," Taesan supplies easily, throwing a popcorn into his mouth, amusedly watching you more than the movie. "This is fun."

By the end of the movie, you're sobbing from having been scared one too many times, clinging onto a chuckling Taesan.

"That was. The worst hour of my life," you gasp, wiping your eyes on his sweater. He pokes your head in retaliation.

"Overdramatic as always. And here I thought you'd put all the crying behind you."

"It's a biological reaction and it's out of my control!"

"Excuses." Taesan grins around a cheekful of popcorn. He easily dodges when you try to wrangle the bowl from him, using his long arms as an advantage. "Wait—listen, what if we just fix it with a happy movie?"

"Huh?"

"So it cancels out," he says like it's a bright idea. "You can pick this time."

You narrow your gaze, thinking of how exactly you could get him back for torturing you with every trigger warning known to mankind playing out before you. Then a lightbulb sparks above your head, making you smile.

45 minutes in, and Taesan is the one sobbing now.

"Why would you—" he chokes, biting into his fist. "Why would you show me this, you wretched woman…"

You would respond with something clever—if you weren't also trying your hardest to bite down a whimper. "Because…cancels out the horror movie, right?"

"Right.."

His eyes are puffy and red, nose the same shade. The two of you have instinctively travelled closer, shoulders pressing into each other's warmth, your head resting against his chest, his hand around you. You can feel every tremor of his chest when he inhales a sharp breath.

It's nowhere as torturous as the movie playing out.

"Why would they separate them!?" Taesan is hysterical, cheeks all wet with tears. "They were best friends. Best friends, Y/N!"

"They'll always be friends," you sniffle, hiccuping. "Always."

The plan was to make fun of Taesan by putting on the most bittersweet movie you knew in the collection. It was your lapse in judgement for thinking that The Fox and the Hound was a good choice for you to not cry to.

Taesan wipes his nose, catches his breath, and then stutters. "They—they remind me of the boys."

You turn to him with glassy eyes. "Hm?"

"T-they look like Keonho and S-Seonghyeon… T-their animagus forms."

Your eyes soften through tears, and Taesan's begin to stream. He's more sensitive than you thought he would be—and you're far too empathetic than you hoped for. Seeing him cry just makes you wail harder.

"Do you miss them?"

"Nope," he lies, then cries again.

Its comical how you somehow manage to calm each other down and make it upstairs to your respective bedrooms. Taesan looks like he doesn't want to be alone at all, and you're still shivering from the horror movie from before.

But its too risky to sneak into rooms… What if someone came by and found out?

Found out what exactly? Another coy voice asks in your mind.

"Goodbye!" you squeak out before shutting your door in his face before he can respond.

Oh my god, Y/N, get a grip! you scold yourself.

Sneak into rooms!? Stop imagining weird things! You are going to sleep and wake up early and forget all about thinking of wanting company for a split second of fear.

You crawl into bed, banishing unsanitary thoughts out of your mind.

Now that you're comfortably under the blankets, you should be less flustered, less scared. But the room is far too dark for your liking. And you feel so exposed in here, alone.

The shadow on the wall looks like claws, the ticking of the clock sounds like a death march. A sharp wind causes the apple tree outside to shake, dragging its branches across the glass window and sounding all too like a shriek.

You are terrified.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you begin to try and expel your nightmares of monsters and ghouls. The door creaks, you shudder when it does, and bury yourself lower in your blanket, too scared to check. But then you feel it—something crawling over your legs, inching closer, and closer, and closer—

"AAAHHHHHHH—!!!" You let out a bloodcurdling scream, about to hyperventilate before you hear it—

"Meow."

….

Two green eyes stare up at you, glassy, and soft black paws pad at your arms for attention.

"Mr. Meow??" You rub your eyes. "Wh—Taesan!?"

He prods you to shove aside before transforming back to himself. Soon, its watery brown eyes gazing at you, one side of his face squished against half of your pillow.

"What are you doing here?" you question, letting him get comfortable until he's laying under the blanket as well.

"Making sure you aren't peeing yourself from nightmares, duh." His attempt at sounding mean is softened by the fact that he's rubbing at his eyes, still sniffling.

"I liked you better when you were a cat." You frown.

It's obvious that he needed company just as much as you did. You don't protest when having him at your side makes the otherwise eerie room so much easier to be in—more easy to breath in.

"Talk to me," he says after what feels like a long time of just gazing at each other.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Hmmmm…." You think; what could you say that would preserve the sanctity of this moment forever. "You're scared of feelings, aren't you?"

Taesan is immediately flustered at tactless declaration. "I am not scared of anything." He rolls his eyes, grumpy. "Just…bad at it."

"You gotta be scared of something. It's only human."

"Well…" He considers it, how much he wants to say, perhaps. "I don't love feelings I can't place, or act on without embarrassing myself. Or…"

"Control," you provide.

He pauses, then nods. "Yeah…control. It feels too complicated to make sense of, and too big to deal with…"

Maybe its the night-time that makes him so honest, or the drained ache of a busy day. Or maybe it's that it feels almost too familiar, like deja vu from when you would vent to Mr. Meow in the comfort of your dorm. When he'd listen attentively, chiming in with a purr or a mewl at appropriate intervals…and maybe it's time for you to do the same for him.

So you do.

"I wasn't exactly the easiest to handle as a kid. Mom always talks about it too," Taesan is saying. "Like, if I got too uncomfortable, I'd start to act out. She got the worst end of it…my tantrums, refusing to eat for days, crying until I was sick with a fever."

The thought of Taesan crying should warrant a tease, but his voice is so genuine, you feel a pinch of fondness there instead.

"And," he continues. "Every time she'd leave me alone, I'd just start to freak out."

"Freak out?"

"Ugh, I guess I was a little bit of a mama's boy," he chuckles, and his voice is raspy from crying. "I'd never left her side until school, and when I did find out I'd be living away from home for most part of the year, it just scared the living daylight out of me. I'm surprised you don't remember."

You knit your brows, slightly confused. "Remember what?"

Taesan assesses your expression, perhaps checking if you were feigning oblivion. "First year… The day we met."

That just makes you even more perplexed. First year? What had happened of significance in first year? The flying class incident when he set your robe on fire?

"I don't understand," you pout, burrowing out of the blanket to get closer to him.

"You taped your diary together—of course you don't remember," he sighs lightly. Taesan doesn't sound exasperated, there's only a vague sense of tired acceptance there. "Before the sorting ceremony. You found me in a broom cupboard."

Oh…

There is a blurry image where there used to be a hole in your memory, something far away and old. A small boy crouching against the tall shelf, curled up into a ball, bawling his eyes out.

"You were crying," you remember. Taesan nods.

"It was right after we'd arrived. Hogwarts was just so…big, and everyone seemed to know each other. Even if they didn't, they looked so excited and I felt like I was the only one scared to bits. Homesickness didn't help either.

"Then you came, out of nowhere, like some superhero," he confesses quietly, eyes crinkling as they meet yours. The moment is tender. "You came, and you told me that there was nothing to be scared of, then you offered to be my friend."

"I…did."

"Yeah. You wiped my tears with your tie and everything." Taesan smiles at the memory. "And then…then you kissed me."

Oh.

You remember now—how you'd reached over with your small hands and planted a soft peck to his tear-stained cheek, promising him that it would expel all his fears away like magic—something your mom had done for you to help you go to sleep without nightmares. You remember how he'd stopped crying at once, how pink his ears had gotten, how you'd told him that he was brave and cool and would totally get into the coolest house even when you yourself had been internally worrying about your own.

It might have been just you parroting things you heard at home, but somehow, you wonder if it had left that big of an impression on Taesan.

"You didn't forget," you say to him. Moonlight breaks through your window, and there is the urge to reach out and trace his cheeks.

Taesan's own finger twitches where it lay on his side.

"How could I? You were the bravest person I knew then. You were my first…friend." He hesitates on the word like he wishes he could replace it with another, if he were just slightly more brave.

You wish he would.

"Hey, Taesan?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember what you said to me after patrol," you say. "You said that a love potion was the last thing you'd try on me. What did you mean by that?"

It had been weighing down on your mind since back then. Initially you thought he had said that you'd be the last person he'd want to feel anything remotely romantic for.

But now… Somehow, you doubt that's it.

'I—" Taesan gulps, chest caught in a breath. "It was…"

Please say it, you hope, please say it meant something else. That there's something sweeter there, something kinder.

Before Taesan can spill the truth, he's rudely interrupted by the chime of the clock.

Midnight.

"Oh." He notices the time, how the snow has started to spiral even more faster now. "It's Christmas," he whispers.

It's a shame that the tender moment is broken, but the second you hear excited squeals from downstairs (evidently, the kids had not fallen asleep like they should have), your disappointment is replaced by gratitude.

You're happy that it's Taesan with you here—that he has a family that loves so loudly, that you get to be part of it.

"Thank you," you say instead of a Merry Christmas. "For asking me to come with."

Your hands lay a hair's breadth apart—you could reach out now, and he could too, but you don't need to touch to feel his warmth. It's in the way he holds your gaze.

"Thank you for staying," Taesan says back.

Christmas begins quietly, with the contentment of having braved ghosts of the past, and the longing to hold onto this feeling for a little longer.

//

Christmas day is eventful.

Taesan sneaks out before the sun's up, and you wake up to the younger kids jumping on your bed, eager to drag you down to open up presents. There's an entire feast laid out on the dining table when you arrive: roasted meat and vegetables, toffee pudding, gingerbread cookies, eggnog, and things you've never seen before that had been taken from Grandma Han's secret recipe book.

Gift exchange is a ruckus as expected. They sit around the tree and unwrap presents, squealing and hugging each other. Taesan gets you a little snow-globe with a frog inside it, and mini earmuffs for Mr. Ribbit (he croaks happily when you put it on him).

When the family retires to the living room to watch a two-woman play put on by the girls, you take the chance to get Taesan alone in the kitchen.

"Here," you say, thrusting a box into his hand. "Merry Christmas."

Taesan looks down curiously, deft fingers cracking the package open. His face lights up like a bulb when he sees its contents. "Pocket Dragon!?"

"For old times sake." You giggle at his reaction. Since when did Taesan get so cute? "And because I saw you looking at it when we were at Zonko's."

If he had been happy before, he's downright overjoyed now. "You noticed… I've been wanting to stock up, but… I thought maybe you'd be mad about it."

"As long as you don't keep using it on me," you warn.

He grins. "Promise I won't. Can I at least throw one into the first year dorm?"

"That's a ten point violation, so no."

Taesan pouts, then smiles again at his next bright idea. "How about Jeon's office?"

"…" You consider it for a second, then, "Sure. He doesn't count as student body, I guess."

"Yay! And since we're on that topic, can I keep selling my stuff at school or are you banning me from doing that again?"

The conversation should be silly, but you know for a fact that Taesan is dead serious when it comes to his buisness endeavours.

"Umm… What if we meet in the middle and you stop selling to anyone below fourth year?"

"Third," he attempts to negotiate.

"Fifth."

"Fourth it is!" He graces you with a salute, quick to concede as not to test your patience. "Thanks to you, I won't be left without a career."

"There are prospects for this career?"

"Hey, don't sound so doubtful," he pouts in feigned offense. "I'll have you know that the boys and I run a tight network. We get orders too now! The newspaper club is the biggest buyer of our extendable ears, by the way. They say it helps with eliciting information."

"Isn't that some sort of violation of privacy?" You lean over as the marble-sized dragon hops out of the box, blowing fake fire on the counter. It isn't even scary any more; it's just adorable.

"Yeah," he waves it away without a care. "But business is business, and our policy states that we do not pry."

"Right…"

"Also their head reporter is kind of scary… She won't stop talking once she starts, and I'm always worried she's about to somehow figure out all my secrets and put me on blast in a column or something."

"Wow, I didn't think there would be more things that scared the Han Taesan," you giggle. "Now there's more than one."

"Don't you dare tell anyone," he hushes you, leaning in across the counter. "I've got a rock-solid reputation going on, alright? It's a carefully built house of cards—one topple, and my entire position as the school jokester crumbles, and then my business."

"You've put a lot of thought about this. Can't believe your career rides on whether I keep my mouth shut now." You're far too smug for someone who used to be at the receiving end of his whims, but you just can't help teasing when he looks so nice when he pouts. "Who knew you'd be so easy to affect."

Taesan is so close now, your faces inches away, lips bare millimetres from each other. You've got an uncharacteristic glint of glee in your eye, and Taesan is the timid one for a change.

"Y/N," he whispers, eyes flickering down to lips on accident. But it stays there, lingering.

He's considering it, closing the distance and sealing this tension with a kiss. Closer, closer, closer, until—

"Sannie, Y/N-ie, we're can't start the play without you!" Taeri has barrelled over to stomp her feet, urging the two of you to hurry up.

Thankfully, she doesn't question why you've sprung apart so far that Taesan is now planted against the kitchen wall, and you're leaning against the fridge on the opposite side.

"Be there soon," he grumbles, coughing awkwardly.

"Nowwww," she whines, and you're forced to placate her by following after.

You send Taesan a apologetic look behind your shoulder, but the last you see is of him murmuring expletives into the wall for some reason.

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF CONFESSING YOUR FEELINGS

Spring Term

Taesan has been plagued with the strange feeling that he is a grade-A, textbook coward, as of late.

It may have something to do with how everything has somehow changed over December. You looked so at home with his family, the version of you he had never thought he'd get to see without stealing glances—when you're giggling away with your friends, or talking your toad's ears off.

But there you were, louder than he has ever seen you. Happy and bright.

When you eventually had to leave back to school, Taesan thinks his family misses you more than they'd miss him.

"Will you come back?" Jiwoo had been frowning, fat globes of tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. A sad Taeri stands holding her hand and nodding along.

"Promise I will," you say, linking your pinky with theirs.

It's Taesan that pockets the promise though, silently making one of his own that he would bring you back again.

But now that he's back at Hogwarts, the fear of it all comes rushing back. When you pass by him in the hallways between classes, his heart thunders out of his chest—so loud that he thinks he may pass out on the spot. When you giggle at his Pocket Dragon burning a hole through his necktie, he almost actually does faint. Watching you take points off rule-breakers makes him infatuated. Patrols are excruciating.

You're just so omnipresent in his life; before, he used to look for you in crowds, now it seems like he can't escape you if you tried.

"Knock it out with the staring," Yeonjun comes to wack him on the arm with his broomstick. The captain had come back with double the ferocity after the last defeat. "I will personally see to it that you never graduate if we lose against Hufflepuff."

Taesan huffs, physically shaking off the thoughts of your smile.

For now, he'll just chalk up the squirming feeling in his chest to match nerves.

January passes like that—easy and slow, with stolen glances and late night strolls and the feeling of something big blooming in his chest. It has been for years now, ever since the first kiss on the cheek on that fateful day in first year. But its obvious to Taesan now.

He's terrible at pining.

"And Mom said that I should send Mrs. Han some of her cheesecake as a thanks for having me over. I still don't know what Mr. Han would like…Maybe some muggle trinkets for your uncle though, that would be—are you listening?"

"Hm?" Taesan is too lost in your eyes to process the words.

You wave a hand in front of until he snaps out of it with a jolt.

"Oh–Ah," he stutters, suddenly abashed, scrambling for an excuse. "Sorry, I just…I was…dreaming about dungbombs."

Fuck you dumb brain, he curses inwardly.

"Dungbombs…" You aren't hesitant to judge him, but it soon settles into understanding. "Is it for Professor Jeon's office again?"

"Hm… Maybe Yeonjun hyung's dorm too. He's been overworking me."

"Maybe you shouldn't zone out between matches then."

"Ugh," he groans. "That was one time. And I was distracted."

"By what?" You blink curiously. For a second, Taesan thinks you're testing him, being coy about getting him to spill his heart. But he can never tell with you anymore… People think you're naive, but he knows there's more to you.

"By…"

He could say it now, get it over with. The hallway is practically empty, just trills of birds to keep company. Taesan sees the hope in your eyes. He takes a deep inhale, ready to be brave and just say it regardless of the outcome, opening his mouth to—

"Hyung–! Taesan hyung!" comes the ridiculous interruption in the form of two frantic figures.

Keonho and Seonghyeon run up to him from the back, looking like they'd been chased to hell and back, hair dishevelled, face smeared with soot.

"What the heck happened to the to of you?" Taesan questions.

"Professor—" Keonho coughs. "Professor Park got us. You need to help."

"What he means is," Seonghyeon clarifies, rubbing ash out of his eye sockets. "We were testing out firecrackers in the Potions classroom and sort of, kind of, accidentally, uh…. set it on fire." He grins right after to soothe the blow.

"Please cover for us," Keonho pleads.

It's pure impulse when Taesan responds with a, "Ten points from Slytherin. You guys should know better."

The world stops spinning then.

Keonho gasps; Seonghyeon gapes.

You look at Taesan in concern, a hand coming up to his temple. "You don't have a fever… Are you… Okay?"

It's as thought Taesan's soul has been switched with someone else's—someone who cared for rules and doled out punishments. Usually he'd be high-fiving them for their antics, so it's earth shattering when Han Taesan of all people starts to act like a model prefect.

Fuck, is he turning into a narc!?

He stays up all night suffering in the dilemma, tossing and turning and groaning into his pillow until he's sick of it. Then he just transforms into his cat form and chooses to sneak into your dorm to cuddle with you instead—and you're more than happy to accommodate for him, letting him take the space between your elbow and the pillow.

Taesan might be the weirdest wizard alive; he can nuzzle into your warmth without shame, embarrass himself by putting on magic shows to impress you during boring patrols, bring you sugar quills until you tell to stop lest you get a cavity—he can do everything but tell you the simple fact of what you make him feel.

The victory against Hufflepuff doesn't even feel good until you rush to him to congratulate him. (He had only stared at the stands for five seconds this time—a record breaking number.)

And he starts falling harder, faster than ever when you've figured out the singular surefire way to his heart.

Pranks.

"Say cheese!" You click the camera in your hand, grinning at a shell-shocked Taesan who had walked into your trap—a doorway webbed with Spellotape. "You look like a grumpy cat right now," you chuckle at the sight.

Except you're wrong.

Taesan isn't grumpy; he's beyond enamoured.

And it's starting to become a problem.

He melts every time you tease him unprompted, when you're no longer afraid of all the things that could render you immobile with fear in the past (Taesan won't lie that he kind of misses those days too), when you get enthusiastic about new Zonko's products that you will inevitably use against him later.

It's the greatest honour anyone could give a joke-lover. But Merlin's beard does is he terrified of this monster he's created on accident—because one misstep and he's done for—completely, absolutely, irrevocably in love.

Which he realises, may have already happened without him knowing.

"Hyung, are you sure you're not coming down with something? Madam Kang may have a cure for it, y'know," Keonho asks at the end of such a day.

Taesan lay flopped over the leather couch, rippling blue light spilling across his visage, courtesy of the Slytherin common's direct view into the bottom of the Great Lake. Any passerby would take him for a dead man, he is sure of that.

"Hyung is down with lovesickness. He's just dramatic about it," Seonghyeon supplies from where he's trying to forge Professor Park's signature, not even bothering to look up.

"Hyung likes someone!?" Keonho screeches, and Taesan has to shoot up from his comfortable position to press a palm to his loud mouth.

"Shush! People will hear!" Taesan hisses. "And you—" he turns to the other boy. "Stay out of my love life; I don't need to suffer any more than I already do."

"Then just confess to her, duh," Seonghyeon states the obvious.

Taesan frowns.

Seonghyeon sighs like he's being forced to explain Arithmancy to a five-year-old. "Clearly your attempts at wooing her with tricks aren't working, you just look like a bird trying to court during mating season. Or a clown. No offence."

"Wait, what—"

"I think Y/N's the type to prefer honesty anyways," he says seriously, gracing Taesan with a look this time. "She's probably going crazy with confusion the more roundabout you try to go about it. Just tell her straight up."

"Hyeon is right… She does seem like the type," Keonho adds innocently.

Their advice rings in Taesan's head for the days to come.

Just confess to her—easier said than done, he thinks.

Winter begins to wear off, only a few showers here and there. Patrols thin the closer he gets to semi-finals, thanks to Yeonjun's strict regimen he'd curated specially to guarantee a winning spot this year. But that also means Taesan gets to see less and less of you these days—barely an hour before he has to slink back to his dorm and retire for the night before Yeonjun comes to check on his players (he is insane, has Taesan mentioned?).

But it also gives him ample time to ponder. He thinks about it during lectures, he mulls it over during showers, he even contemplates as he's tens of feet high in the air and chasing after Quaffles.

Just confess to her. Right… He should do that.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, he'll lay it all down, and dearly hope you feel an ounce of what he feels for you.

It's a promise he means for himself.

//

Morning of Finals: Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Deep breaths. Count from one to ten, and be mindful.

One.

Two.

Thr—

Fuck it, he can't do this. The nerves are eating him alive, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he should be on a broomstick in less than an hour, and his performance in the game determines whether or not Choi Yeonjun will go to Azkaban for murdering him afterwards.

That's a minor inconvenience. But the more pressing matter at hand is that Taesan had woken up with the determination to split his heart right open and offer it to you. He grabbed onto it like a lifeline, hoping that the courage didn't die out before he could act on it.

But now, he realises that he's still scared shit of the possibilities.

What if you don't feel the same?

Maybe he just hallucinated the past few months, maybe he's being reckless thinking that's there is something between the two of you.

What if…

What if you still hate him, even just a little…

He knows he deserves it, for being immature and channelling his need for your attention in the worst ways possible. For staying eleven and stupid in his head without seeing how terrible of a person he was turning into.

He can only hope you see past it all, into his heart.

//

Taesan doesn't remember getting down the stairs—his feet moves on autopilot, the map in his hand tracing its way to you, his green Quidditch robes flying behind him. When he arrives, you're humming merrily, chattering on and on with your friends on either side of you.

He bites the bullet before he can regret it. "Hey, can I—can I borrow Y/N for a second."

Chaewon's eyes narrow, and Eunchae's dart between him and you. They look like they're about to throw themselves in front of you like your personal bodyguards. (Taesan would not blame them for that reaction.)

But you step in before they can. "It's fine guys. I can handle it myself." You give them a self assured smile.

It takes a bit of convincing from your part, but the two of them leave eventually, disappearing past the large wooden doors into the dining hall, Chaewon making sure to leave him with neck-slice motion just in case. (He does not blame that either.)

"You wanted to talk?" you ask now that you're finally alone.

Taesan gulps. The voice in his brain yells at him to just go for it.

"I have a match today," he says instead.

You chuckle, and it sounds like windchimes to his broken brain. "I know you do. I'll come down to watch. Don't tell anyone I'm rooting for you over my own house though."

He blushes at your easy confession. It might not mean much to you, but he feels like he's just won the lottery.

Yeah, he's capital D doomed.

"There's something else too, that I wanted to say."

"Oh," when you say it, the hope in your tone is unmistakable. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your brows earnest. "Yeah. Anything you want."

"I—"

Out with it—Taesan's head screams at him. Just tell her how you feel; it's simple. Say three easy words and deal with the rest later. A leap of faith—that's all it takes to lay this torturous affliction to rest.

Except, he starts to feel it—the acidic, putrid feeling of fear bubbling in his gut.

And it mixes with the regret of treating you like shit for so long, with the anger he feels at himself for being childish, for ever wanting to see you cry.

If he was better at regulating his emotions, this wouldn't have happened. You could have been friends for a long time now.

And maybe, maybe you're just better off without him after all. Taesan doesn't even know for sure if he's truly changed or not, if whether deep down he's still the insecure, cowardly eleven year old he'd always been.

"It's nothing," Taesan finally says, heart sinking at the admission.

"Taesan…"

"Just forget it alright? it's nothing serious." Taesan makes light of the situation, diffusing the tension with a weary smile. "I'm gonna get some food now."

He begins to move out of your way, ignoring how you call after him when he speedily walks into the Great Hall in the direction of his house table.

But he's barely two steps in when the door slams open behind him, rattling against the walls on either side. He doesn't dare to look.

"Taesan."

"Later, Y/N."

"HAN TAESAN, DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME RIGHT NOW!"

Taesan's eyes widen in surprise. When he turns back, he's beyond shocked to find you standing on top of some poor kid's seat, with your wand to your throat to amplify the volume.

"What are you—"

"I'm sorry but I've waited too long," you huff, taking a big swallow of air, psyching yourself up. "It's time for me to get over my stage fright anyways."

Students stop eating to look over. Someone definitely pulls out a camera to record the whole thing—it's the most interesting thing that has happened at breakfast in a long time. Chaewon and Eunchae, who was mid-meal, gapes at the sight of their supposedly cowardly friend willingly make a fool of herself in front of the entire breakfast hall.

But you continue, undeterred, "Han Taesan, you're insufferable."

Oh.

"You play games instead of saying words. You trick and you tease and you taunt and you make me cry until all I think about is you."

Your voice stutters. But you stare right ahead at him, ignoring the stares and gapes.

"I never understood it to be honest, why you would do any of that to get my attention. But then… But then you apologised. And you listened. And you keep trying to fix things, and the trying mattered to me more than the fixing did. A lot, actually," you're rambling now, earnest. Taesan's heart clenches. "I kissed you when I was eleven and I thought maybe that's the biggest mistake I made because you wouldn't have chased after me for this long if not, but guess what? I don't regret it one bit," you half laugh, half cry, like this is something you'd thought about for a long time.

"And I was a coward through it all. I-I was too scared to believe that you could be better, that you could ever feel anything more than spite for me."

Taesan can see your hand shiver where it holds the wand. This isn't easy for you—not by any means. You look like you could faint any second now actually, but you're pushing through on sheer adrenaline alone.

And for him, it's the fear that it might be the last chance her ever gets to tell you.

"L/N Y/N," he follows suit, scrambling up onto the nearest empty spot on the Slytherin desk as well. The two of your are practically screaming at each other from across the Great Hall now.

"You're wrong," he begins. "You're wrong about being a coward. Because that's me, not you—in fact, I think you're the bravest person I know."

Your eyes are glazed over, but they're warm on him.

"You may have been scared of snakes and spiders, but none of that stopped you from standing up for people. You do things despite it all. You even held my hand even when you were scared yourself, even when you were eleven yourself.

"And the kiss…" Taesan remembers the day like the back of his own hand. How it felt, how one act of kindness had entrapped him forever. "I'm glad it was you that found me in the broom cupboard. It can't be anyone but you."

He feels his heart thundering as the truth breaks past his lips. His palms are sweaty, his throat dry, but it's now or never.

"I hate it when you don't pay attention to me, and I hate it when you look away. It's childish but that's the truth," he admits. "I hate how I can't go a day without knowing I affect you some way or another. And I poked and proded instead of just being a decent person, because there wasn't a world where you'd be friends with me for real. Or that's…what I believed. Until now.

"When you threaten to take points from me, it's the best fucking part of my day." Taesan sounds absurd to himself. But his heart feels relieved. "When you called me out, I fell headfirst—and it terrified me. When you smile at me, I just want to explode a little," he says earnestly. "And your pranks…god, when you started to join in? I knew I was a goner since then. Maybe even before that. Maybe I knew when I was eleven but I was just too cowardly to admit it to myself."

Deep breath. Count one, two, three…

"I like you." A loud whisper. Someone's spoon falls to clang onto a plate. "No, that isn't it. I…I'm in love with you; I'm sure I am."

"Taesan," you begin but he's quick to swoop back in.

"You asked me what I meant back then. When I said a love potion was the last thing I'd try on you," he says. "I never thought you'd feel the same but I still… I wanted it to be real if it did ever happen. Not one of my tricks. Not a potion or a prank; I wanted you to like me for me."

"I do," you say, finally stepping down from the desk to inch closer. "I like every version of you—even the parts I used to be scared of."

Taesan feels your hand in his, coaxing him to step down and meet your eyes. You're standing at the dead centre of the hall now, all eyes on the pair of you, but nothing is scary when you've got his hand in yours, Taesan realises—not even public humiliation, apparently.

"You're brash and you're mean and a menace to boot," you smile sweetly, a little longingly. "But you're also soft, and fun to tease, and attentive and sweet. And you're so, so loved."

Taesan could almost cry from how earnest your words are; he wonders what he'd ever been so scared of. "I'm sorry for—" he begins but it seems that you're done with listening to apologies, because the words get stolen out of his mouth and right into yours.

You're kissing him.

It's messy and it's desperate and Taesan melts into it. There could be claps resounding around, but he isn't too sure—nor does he really care at the moment.

All that matters is that your palms are on his cheeks, and your lips taste like apples. They taste like him.

You whimper into his mouth and Taesan decides that's enough public service for the day; he parts, ignoring the desperation to attach himself back to you, and grabs your hand to lead you out of the hall and into the first empty alcove he finds.

"Taesan," your words cut off with a fierce kiss, years of pent up longing poured into it. Taesan can only hope it reaches you.

Now it's his turn to hold you between his palms, to litter kisses at the corner of your lips, and one on the side of your cheek—which elicits the sweetest giggle he's ever heard in his lifetime—and back on your lips until he's rudely interrupted by someone yelling at him from the back.

"Oi! Match in ten minutes, if you don't get your ass over here—" Yeonjun's loud mouth reaches his ears.

But Taesan does not give two shits right now. He continues to kiss, offering the captain a middle finger behind his shoulder. Yeonjun almost throws his broomstick at Taesan in annoyance, but Sakura drags him back by the scruff of his neck.

"Be there in five or I'm letting this guy lose," she deadpans, leaving once Taesan graces them with an agreeing wave of his hand.

He's too busy memorising you to care about silly things like Quidditch or his potential death. Too busy kissing you like this is the end of the world.

"You—" you gasp between one of those kisses. "You'll be late for the match."

"Hmmm… Don't care."

It pulls out a giggle from your mouth. "I care. I'm not about to lose my boyfriend before I've even gotten to go on a date with him."

"Oh?" He smirks, coy. "Look at you being all brave. Boyfriend, huh?"

You blush deep, but maintain your dignity without backing down. "Keep pushing and I'll go find another boyfriend."

"You would never. You like me too much."

Taesan is confident now, no longer afraid of possibilities and futures—you're it for him, and him for you.

"Guess I do," you whisper before landing a peck to his lips. You pull back before he can deepen it, and Taesan huffs grumpily. "After the match. Promise."

"What if I lose?" he asks.

"Even then. I promise."

It's only then he finally steps back, and he tries to hold onto your hand until the very last moment, pinkies interlinked. Taesan looks at you—your bright grin, the way you hold yourself higher now, more self assured, yet still unapologetically yourself. Still the same person he'd been taken with all those years back. The sun spills across just the two of you, and he can't help but drink in the sight.

"Don't stare too hard," you say before letting him go, a placeholder for good luck, Taesan knows.

"No promises," he replies, grinning.

ᗢ₊˚✧ . fin.

── .✦ for more hogwarts! aus, check out the signed, sealed, spellbound series!

── .✦ EXTRAS (series Q&A)

perm tl: @/pupillary @ilysungho @lovehakie @leehanaholic @ivehan @ramizluv @moesthinking @gentiliana @athenaisonlinee @wnouzi @amarecerasus @defnotsanni @cl4ir0l0v3r @knrejj @fayepz @nemoihan @ruuroom @woonbabie @i-am-not-dal @tenshi-sama @mwotgata @kazukazukiiii @qeeun-didi @izhypen @bee-the-loser @beomtomie @snoopymyung @dj-ami @itsmooniebaby @sycamoretree222 @yesongi @w3willris3 @nineooooo @nichozzystuffs @f-a-t-e-l-e-s-s @renvrr @mirouie @aer1z @velvetmae ── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. thank you for the support, ily ♡⸝⸝

div cred: @strangergraphics

Before you can retort in fury, your team captain bellows your name out from below, redirecting you back to your assigned spot. 

Tensions are high twenty feet up in the air—figures in blue and red whooshing by like ants from a distance. The crowd roars below you, cheering for either team as they attempt to outdo the other, both houses pumped with adrenaline—players and audience alike.

Your brain buzzes with the mantra you’ve been teaching yourself during the past two months of rigorous training: Do not mess up your first game, do not start on the wrong foot, and do not ruin everything.  

Bracing yourself, you swing your bat against the hard iron of the Bludger, sending it whizzing at Jaehyun’s back a couple of stories above. But he sees you from the corner of his eye, dodging easily with a lazy grin, hanging upside down on his broom. His hair flops down like a shaggy dog’s.

“You’re funny.” He’s all teeth and shiny eyes.

“You’re aggravating,” you seethe.

Jaehyun’s smile simply widens, finding amusement in your anger. In the midst of the heart-pounding game—at the dead centre of the mass of flying bodies, echoes of hollers and house chants beyond the boundary of what held just you and him—electricity crackles between your narrowed eyes. 

Then you see it—a glint of gold—the Snitch.

Unfortunately for you, he’s keenly observant of your line of sight, immediately launching himself at  it as it zooms away on fluttering wings. 

Your teammates are busy in their own plays, sticking to their chosen man—Keepers preventing Quaffles from crossing through your goal-post, the other Beater playing offence at the opposing Chasers, your own Seeker somewhere too far away to see what Jaehyun already has.

There’s no other option; you follow at his heel in record speed, chasing after him like you were a cat and he was your annoying mouse. He cackles through it all—when you fail to knock him off his broomstick, when he speeds up to further his distance from you until he’s all but a red spot in the mist. You hear the sound of your defeat before you see it.

The whistle breaks.

Everyone stops moving. 

A booming voice announces, “Gryffindor wins with 240 to 180!”

──

The first taste of failure is bitter on your tongue—it doesn’t wash away with the Cherryade you chug down that night with your team, or when you shove a mouthful of jello to distract yourself from the terrible day you’ve had. 

When you look down to see the swirling red at the bottom of your mug, your eyes flash with the memory of Myung Jaehyun’s overconfident grin as his fist curled around the Snitch, and the way he had thrown out a, “Good luck next time, sweetheart,” before sauntering off to be worshipped by the rest of his demonic team. 

You stab your fork into the wooden table, startling everyone else. 

Then with a newfound determination fuelled by your unbridled wrath, you announce—no, you promise—“I’m gonna beat that piece of jerk if it’s the last thing I do, or I die trying.”

There is no humour laced in your words. 

Doesn’t matter if it takes you years to get there, but Myung Jaehyun was going down before either of you graduated Hogwarts—that’s a vow you intend to keep.

── 𓇢𓆸 

Seventh year, Great Hall - Hallowe’en night 

“Y/N, get your head out of that book for once… it’s Halloween, for god’s sake.” Kazuha attempts to swipe your copy of Beating the Bludgers - A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch from underneath your palms. But you throw your body forward to stop her, not taking your eyes off the page for a second.

“Must… focus,” you breathe out, eyes burning red and the bags underneath ballooning from lack of sleep. 

There’s a feast of Halloween specialities laid out before you—orange pastries, gummies in the shapes of bats and skeletons, goblets filled with pumpkin juice. There are carved out, glowy pumpkins floating above you, the ceiling a midnight blue, while the respective house ghosts floated out of the walls to mingle with gossiping students.

The Hogwarts Frog Choir sings their rendition of Something Wicked This Way Comes, only being interrupted by some Slytherin underclassman transfiguring a Gryffindor girl’s frog into a rattlesnake, causing the students to shriek one after another, and ending with what looks like an interpretive dance but is most likely just the girl chasing after the grinning raven-haired boy.

“It’s like the hundred and twentieth time you’re reading that thing,” Kazuha remarks, rolling her eyes and spearing a piece of stewed apple to pop into your mouth, keeping you fed like a best friend should. “We can’t beat Gryffind—”

“Don’t say that name around me.”

“—those assholes, just by memorising textbooks front to back, Y/N-ie. What you need to do is relax.”

“I don’t want to relax, I want to win,” you hiss, like a cat in water, chewing aggressively. 

“That’s our Cap’n for you.” Liz joins the Ravenclaw table, taking the seat next to Kazuha’s. “Told you she’d be like this. The sooner you learn to leave her alone, the better it is for your sanity.”

“I’m her best friend—I think I’d know.” Kazuha retorts, opening a can of worms that triggers the onset of Liz’s insistence that no, she was your best friend. 

At some point in the conversation-turned-argument, you hear several other voices joining in, expanding your group.

“I’m her favourite,” Leeseo pipes up, humming along to the spooky music wafting from the front. 

“You just think that because you’re the youngest, everyone favours you.” Gunwook pokes her in the arm, earning a sharp slap to his skull.

“Deserved,” Ricky nods, with a feline smile. Gaeul flicks his head and shuts him up as well. 

They talk over one another, swarming around you like bothersome flies, throwing you off the line you’ve been rereading for the last ten minutes. How the heck were you supposed to memorise the most efficient trajectory for a Bludger to arc against air drag if your own team couldn’t keep their mouths shut?

 It’s Liz’s loud cackle at Gunwook securing Ricky in a headlock that has you intervening with a sonorous drop of your book on the wooden table.

“A five-hundred-word essay on the art of keeping silent.” You stand up, lips a dead straight line. “All of you. And I’m assigning a mandatory read of Quidditch Through the Ages due before the next practice.”

“Again?” Leeseo cries, knocking her head against the table like a madwoman. 

“Season starts in two weeks. You have plenty of time to improve.” You plant a palm underneath her forehead so she doesn’t try to break her skull. “You might be my favourite, but that pain in the ass is still a quicker Seeker than you.” 

Leeseo brightens visibly, ears zoning in on the first part of your sentence. However, she doesn’t get to reply because—

“Missed me? Heard you calling me, sweetheart.” 

You gag internally. 

You also gag externally, mimicking throwing up, while the rest of your team grumbled under their breaths.

“Ah, such a lady.” He winks mockingly.

“Myung.” You say it like an insult, but he ignores that.

“You’re still science-ifying Quidditch?” He gingerly picks up the books off your table, sneering down at them like it was a dead rat. “God, you mortify me.”

“First of all—that’s not a word.” You snatch your book back from his evil clutches.

“What, mortify?”

“No, you fool, science-ifying isn’t a word.” Your knuckles are white where they grip the book’s spine. “And second of all, can you leave before we vomit out our dinner?”

“How cruel. And here I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be welcoming.”

“Well, you’re mistaken because I used to think Gryffindors—” You gag once more at the word, for good measure. “—weren’t cowards. And yet, here you are—the guy that shrieked like a banshee when we had to touch spiders for hex demonstrations.”

Jaehyun’s voice goes up several pitches, “Hey, that was one time.”

Your team snickers without shame, reserving that kind of respect for more worthy targets. 

“I’ve seen you cry at the sight of a Mandrake,” Gunwook takes over.

“And at the sound of fireworks,” Ricky adds, and they high-five over a bowl of pudding.

“Listen, you—” Jaehyun is about to pounce on them at hearing their taunts, but he gets pulled back by the collar of his robes.

“Easy there, Captain.” Intak, the Vice for the house-that-shall-not-be-named, stops the shorter boy from embarrassing himself in front of the entire school body. 

With the addition of another of the red demons, you dread what comes next. Which is to say your assumption is right on the nose.

“Park,” greets Matthew, their Beater.

“Seok.” Gunwook narrows his eyes in scrutiny.

And then comes the rest of their testosterone-filled entourage: the three Chasers—Hanbin, Gyuvin, and Yujin, all sporting some version of blood-red like it was a cult symbol. And lastly, their Keeper, Kim Woonhak, who is possibly the only one still smiling idiotically while everyone else sent venomous looks at one another. 

“Hwang,” you greet Intak, debatably the least unbearable of the group. “Can you take your he-devil away? None of us want to get indigestion from having to look at his face.”

Jaehyun fails to wrangle out of his hold. “Excuse you, my face is perfectly fine—”

“Unlike you lot, we don’t have time to waste on prancing around the school like a bunch of peacocks. We actually do the work,” you smirk, shooing him away with an arm.

Of course, this gets on Jaehyun’s nerves, but any protests hanging on his tongue die when you hear the headmaster’s voice from the front boom through the air. 

“As you all know, the Quidditch season is set to begin on the second Saturday of November,” Headmaster Woo announces. “The first of which will be Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, followed by Ravenclaw versus Slytherin.

“For training information, House Captains must report to Professor Jeon, our flying instructor and Head of Gyriffindor House. Hope you have a healthy competition ahead, students… oh, and Happy All Hallows' Eve!” He drops his wand from his throat as his voice amplification spell wears off. 

The tension is just as taut as it is when you play against each other—onlooking Ravenclaws and Gryffindors exchange worried glances, some giggle at the comical staring contest you have—Captain vs. Captain, Gunwook poking daggers into Matthews skull, Hanbin and Ricky with their tight jaws and grinding teeth, the rest either stabbing into their plates passive aggressively or titling their eyes down in disgust. Thunder and lightning crackles from the enchanted ceiling above.

Leeseo and Woonhak are the only ones looking around anxiously like a pair of deers in the headlights.

Jaehyun lets out a  condescending scoff, and extends his hand to you for a shake. “May the best team win.”

You look down at it once, then slap it away.

“Oh.” You sneer distastefully. “We plan to.”

//

The Quidditch pitch at dawn is a beauty to behold. 

Three hoops stand high in the air on either side of the verdant grounds, the surrounding stands decorated with all four house colours, and you beam at it from its bullseye. 

When you die one day, this is where you want to be buried.

“Alright, Team!” You clap your hands together energetically, keeping your broom steady between an elbow. “Lets start with some basic drills and then do a 3 on 4 practice match so we can map out how much sloppier we’ve gotten since the last one.”

Liz yawns into her palm, leaning against Gaeul. “Why the heck would you reserve the pitch for five in the morning, ugh! I didn’t even get to brush my hair.”

“Like that would do any good.” Gunwook comments as Ricky’s head lolls onto his shoulder, falling asleep while standing. 

Liz angrily grabs for him in retaliation and Ricky almost topples over as Gunwook swerves out of her way. 

You narrow your eyes, voice dropping dangerously. “I wasn’t joking about that essay—”

“Please, anything but more homework,” Leeseo cries, pleading with her hands.

Kazuha comes to throw an arm around your shoulder, hugging you closer before you start to threaten them with more assignments if they don't get their act together. 

“Guys, c’mon… Y/N is right,” she says, “It’s been four years since we’ve won a House cup thanks to Gryff—”

You cough.

“—those idiots. This is mine and Y/N’s last year to prove to them that Ravenclaw isn’t just brains. We’re brilliant players too...  Plus, the Holyhead Harpies recruiter will be here to watch as well, and we’re gonna give them a game to remember, okay!?” 

Kazuha’s speech pumps the team up right away. She winks at you when you catch her eyes, silently letting you know she has your back. You’re glad you chose her as your Vice.

But the peace does not last long.

Right on cue, as though you’ve summoned an evil spirit by the mere utterance of its name, they walk into your field of view—a flock of red in triangular formation, their menace of a leader right up in the front.  

“Ah, who do we have here,” Jaehyun drawls in a sing-song voice, “you baby birds lost your way or something?”

If you had a galleon for every time you fantasised about sending a Bludger flying into the Gryffindor Captain’s face, you'd be a filthy rich woman. 

“I should be asking that to you, Myung,” You grab your broomstick like it’s a weapon. “I reserved the pitch for today.”

“That’s hilarious,” he guffaws in mock surprise, “because I did the exact same thing.”

Gyuvin and Woonhak nod from either side of him. 

You roll your eyes, pulling out your wand to Accio a piece of parchment from the bleachers. It lands deftly between your fingers. “A signed approval from Coach Jeon.”

Jaehyun holds out a hand behind him for Hanbin to slip a paper into it. He waves it in front of you. “As do I.”

You stare at the signature and the words above it. An almost exact replica of yours.

“That can't be…I,” you pull it out of his hands. “I reserved this over a month ago!”

“Maybe your memory’s getting slower, must be all the reading.”

“Reading must be a foreign concept to you.” You shove the letter of approval back against his chest. “No wonder you keep struggling in Charms.”

“You notice me?” Jaehyun lifts an eyebrow, completely ignoring the insult. “I mean—I figured I got on your nerves, but I didn’t know you’d want me to get under your skin as well.” He smirks to punctuate the double entendre. 

You see red—and it looks like the colour of his ugly robes.

One hand slips into your Quidditch uniform and you produce your wand, ready to set a fire-making spell on him. The word Incendio is halfway out your mouth when a loud shriek of whistle interrupts your fury.

“L/N! Myung!” Professor Jeon approaches speedily, his own wand at the ready to extinguish any damage you might have done. “What in the world are you two doing?”

“Myung is just being an idiot, I only wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“She’s being dramatic,” Jaehyun turns to the head of his house. “L/N here doesn’t know to respect an officially signed document from a faculty member.” 

“WHAT?” You move forward, making him flinch and hide behind Intak’s wide shoulders. “I wasn’t the one worming my way into another house’s practice!”

“Hypocrite.”

“Assho—”

“Office. Now!” The Quidditch instructor bellows.

//

“Two of my best and brightest,” Professor Jeon sighs behind the hand he holds to his temple, “brawling it out like a pair of street cats.”

Jaehyun sinks into his seat at the man’s disappointment. 

You jump at the injustice. “He started it!”

“Miss L/N, you had your wand out and pointed at his face.”

“That—” You regain a semblance of courtesy. “...my point is, he was the one who marched in on our practice session. Look, I have your sign right here.”

The instructor takes the paper from you and reads it over, nodding once he is done. “It seems you’re right. However, that does not give you the authority to punish fellow students.”

“I have a permission slip too,” Jaehyun slides in, taking out his own parchment. 

“Oh.” Professor Jeon goes over it, eyebrows lifting perplexedly. “Ah… seems I’ve made a mistake.”

…

“A…” Your mouth is slightly agape. “...Mistake?”

“I forgot I’d signed yours, it was months back so It must have slipped my mind when Mr. Myung brought this to me.”

The feeling coiling in your stomach in equal parts annoyance and anger, at the realisation that the Gryffindor team wasn’t going to be held accountable for ruining your morning practice.

“Anyways, I propose we take this as an opportunity to improve both teams, yes?”

You squint. Jaehyun looks at you in confusion.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“Joint practices.” Professor Jeon offers an amicable grin. “Both you Gryffindors and Ravenclaws need to learn to get along—competition is all about friendly rivalries and mutual betterment, not trying to rip each other’s heads off in the name of Quidditch. I suggest you start getting along now for the sake of your team.”

“Wait,” Your breathing has shallowed to a dangerous level. “You’re saying that you want me… and him,” You jab a furious thumb in Jaehyun’s direction. “To train together?”

“Precicely, glad you understand.”

“I understand that this is the worst idea you’ve had, Professor." You stand up suddenly, hand thudding against the desk. “How can I work with this… this moron!?” 

“I agree,” Jaehyun stands up too. “Not with the ‘moron’ part, but the rest. Professor, she and I will never mix. Plus, we’d be only giving them the leverage of eavesdropping on our team’s tactics.”

“Like any of us would want to use your strategies—you choose them by throwing darts at a wall.”

“...How do you know about the darts?” 

You roll your eyes as far back as it goes. “See what you’re asking me to work with?” You huff indignantly, addressing the teacher before you.

He takes in a sharp inhale of air, standing up too so that his presence is amplified threefold, making both you and Jaehyun feel intimidated all of a sudden.

“My word is final. Either you learn to fraternise, or I pull you both from the next game.” His tone cleaves the space between you.

“But—”

“What did I just say?”

You might cry from the current predicament, at the mere thought of having to talk to Myung Jaehyun more than you should, at the fear of him learning the game plans you’d spent hours poring over, writing and rewriting until it catered perfectly to the needs of each of your teammates. 

All your hardwork—shattered in a single hour, let alone a day.

“Now shake hands and start getting friendly,” Professor Jeon stretches with a sleepy yawn, gathering his things to head out of his office. “Or else this will be a very long game season.” 

Professor Jeon might be as big of an idiot as the rest of his house.

The first joint practice, as expected, goes as terribly as one can imagine. 

“Gryffindors, assemble!” Jaehyun hoots like he led some sort of superhero league. “Let’s show these bluebirds how we lions do things.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you groan, checking his outstretched arms with the foot of your broomstick as you pass by. “You’re like a sewer rat pretending to be a lion, if anything.”

“Explains the stench,” Gunwook chimes in. Gaeul laughs.

“You’re mixing that up with the smell of your imminent failure,” retorts Matthew.

Gunwook doesn’t let up, he only smirks. “Big words for a small man.”

“You little—”

“All right… everyone, chill out for a second.” Intak steps in to minimise casualties, blocking Liz from decking Gyuvin in the throat—if she managed to reach his height, that is. She might even succeed given the state of her temper. 

Gaeul attempts to hold her back, determined to keep at least a percentage of class intact within her team. 

“Professor Jeon is obviously kidding with us,” Kazuha takes the stand, turning everyone’s attention towards her. “He’ll forget all about his idea once we start the season, I doubt we need to worry.”

“So the part about Ravenclaws being smart was a rumour, huh?” Gyuvin has the audacity to say. “You don’t know him like we do—that man is crazy about his whims.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Kazuha replies easily. She doesn’t give him breathing room to respond before adding, “But I suppose Hwang’s right… we do need to chill out for a second and get practising. There are only two weeks until the games, and we can’t afford to waste time.”

Neither groups argue, understanding the gravity of the situation. The need to play Quidditch outweighs the itch to brawl. 

You mount your broom first, kicking up into the air, drawing an invisible line with your finger. “Our half of the pitch, and the other half is yours. Don’t bother us unless you’re dying,” you say, then add, “Only because I’d like to stay and watch you take your last breath, by the way.”

 “Don’t act cute.” Jaehyun follows with a huff, swerving around you to his assigned spot. 

Kazuha takes the charge to pry open the crate holding the practice balls, freeing the Quaffle, a pair of Bludgers, and a tiny, fluttering Snitch into the sky. 

You direct the Ravenclaws to spread out into formation, starting off with a basic passing drill to warm up. The Gryffindors, flashy and impatient, go right into laps around the oval pitch, circling around you and your team as though ready to pounce any second. 

It oddly feels like being trapped in a bird-cage, awaiting a wild cat to come and attack.

Cats and Birds… How fitting. The pressure in your temple builds.

While you opt for an optimal routine recommended by researchers, going through the training without missing a single step, Jaehyun skims through the whole ordeal in a hurry to get to the exciting bits. 

And just watching him alone gives you a headache.

How could someone so careless and brash be a prodigy—hailed as the school’s youngest and best Seeker to date? It’s despicable, in your opinion, to grant him such an honoured title when all he does is fly around like a kid on sugar, barely giving any intelligent thought to what his next move is going to be.

For him, it’s all natural instinct. Nothing like you.

You push down your envy, threatening to claw its way up, readying to end the day’s work with a final full-pitch match. 

“Tired?” Jaehyun grins as he faces you off at the centre of the ground.

“You wish,” you snarl.

Intak conducts the mandatory ‘Brooms up,’ and you’re off into the air in no time. 

You’ve played against Jaehyun for years, albeit only in official inter-house matches, but it’s miraculous how he keeps you on your toes even after all this time. When you chase after him, every line you’ve memorised from Quidditch Through the Ages swims right out of your ears. Every mind map you’ve made, all the hours you’ve spent holed up in the sports section of the library—gone to waste.

Your team does their best—Gaeul keeps guard of the post diligently, Leeseo tries her best to eye the Snitch, Gunwook has your back as the other Beater in the team, and all three Chasers carry their responsibilities wholeheartedly. 

Jaehyun is just quicker.  

For every chess piece you slide across the board, he has a magic spell at the ready to topple it over. He’s flighty and lithe—more so in air than he is on the ground. Unpredictable, and annoyingly so. 

When the match ends with a close win for Gryffindor, the vice captains exchange nods of acknowledgement, but you’re already stomping away before Jaehyun can come try to wheedle out a congrats from you.

You’d simply rather die than admit defeat.

//

“Why are you dressed like a sketchy dragon dealer?” Kazuha frowns as she looks up from her parchment. 

“It’s all I could find from Ricky’s wardrobe.” You spin around, pinching at the dark fabric of the trenchcoat, almost knocking off the fedora from your head. 

Kazuha, Liz, and Gaeul are sprawled out over the common room carpets. Leeseo sits crouched against the bookcase, dipping her quill into an ink bottle.

“Are you sure this is not to draw attention?” asks Liz doubtfully, “Cuz you’re sorta doing the opposite, dude.”

It’s the day of the long-awaited Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Needless to say, you were ready to investigate both teams’ weaknesses—but without giving Myung Jaehyun the satisfaction of knowing you would watch him. If he found out, you were never going to hear the end of it. 

Kazuha groans in embarrassment as you trudge past spectators clad in red and yellow, your form sticking out like a sore thumb in your head-to-toe black outfit that looks straight out of a spy flick.

Jaehyun is but an annoying little flea in the distance when he goes to greet the Hufflepuff Captain, Hao. Your notepad is flicked open, pen already scratching down furious notes. 

It’s a painful game to watch, even as someone who respects the intricacies of a match rather than rooting for a single side. But you’re conditioned to go haywire at any win that Gryffindor achieves—a bull seeing red.

Gryffindor beats Hufflepuff in their match on Saturday—and by an embarrassingly large margin—all thanks to Jaehyun catching the Snitch within the first twenty minutes. 

You groan as people begin to leave, earlier than they’d expected to. 

Does he have no respect for sportsmanship? It’s not like he couldn’t have held on a little longer—given the other Seeker a fighting chance for the sake of both teams, or at least for the crowd watching. But of course, Myung Jaehyun had no regard for a sport that was meant to be revered and appreciated, not just to be dived headfirst into without thought.

You’re deep in your own head, losing sight of your friends in front of you, when—

“Out for a stroll?”

Ugh. He’s found you.

“...How did you know it was me?” You lower the sunglasses on your face. 

“A hunch,” Jaehyun smirks, arms crossed as he leans against the bleacher railing. “Could pick out your red face from all the way there.” He points to nowhere in particular. 

“Please do not say the word ‘red’ in front of me.”

“Aw,” he giggles with no mirth. “Who knew our Dear Ol’ Captain knew to say please?”

The cold wind whips at your face, hair flying angrily behind you.

“Watch me… Please, go stick your wand up your—”

Tweeeeeeet

Professor Jeon eyes your figures from below, sporting his referee uniform. 

You sigh, letting your insults bleed into oblivion. Jaehyun smirks but turns to smile sheepishly at the head of his house.

“We’re just talking, Sir,” he chirps. “Y/N was congratulating me on the win.”

“Was not," you grumble under your breath.

The training instructor remains clueless, simply happy that his words of motivation have done some good. 

“Great to see you getting along already.” He grins. “Keep it up!” Then he leaves along with the other Heads of Houses, after waving a goodbye. 

You make for the exit as soon as he’s out of sight, but Jaehyun calls from behind.

“Good luck.” His tone is snarky, with something else laced underneath. “You’ll need it to beat the Snakes.”

You stomp off, waving a middle finger over your shoulder.

“Now, everyone lift their wands and try this… Arresto Momentum.” The Charms Professor demonstrates as she slows down a falling marble. 

The class scrambles to imitate her as told. But at the very back of the class, you sit with your wand abandoned in the crook of your disheveled hair bun—your notepad snapped open, scribbling away in frenzy until your quill catches on the paper’s edge. 

“Psss…”

….

“Y/N, pssss…”

….

“L/N Y/N…” 

You feel something round bounce off your nape. When you ignore it, another one comes at you. 

Anger boils in your throat; you whip around with every intention to obliterate the perpetrator to the depths of hell… 

Then you realise he probably crawled up from the same place.

Myung fucking Jaehyun.

“Pssss… you should be paying attention in class,” He leans in to whisper, ghosting his nasty breath all over your neck. “Is that for your match?”

He points at your writing, and you slam it close away from his prying eyes. 

“Ooooh, a secret!” He lilts, giving you that disgusting grin of his. “Want some tips?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a no.”

Whatever he has to say next gets interrupted by the sound of bells, and you take the chance to gather your things speedily and exit before he can come meddle in your business again.

You spend every waking hour of the next couple days trying to draft the perfect plan. 

There’re Quidditch guides propped open on every corner of your shared dorm, a blackboard sporting complicated diagrams and numbers, player sheets you’ve burned into the back of your mind until you start seeing it in your nightmares—and yet, it’s just not perfect. 

The Slytherins weren’t like the other two houses—they could play dirty if they wanted to—they have and gotten away with it before. And you’ve never played as Captain against Yeonjun, the infamous long-reigning Beater who could charm the pants off of any person off-field and wasted no pleasantries once he was in a game. 

Jaehyun, however, has.

….

No! No way you almost thought to ask him of all people for help. You could do this alone.

Except when Gaeul and Liz find you with your head in your palms, screaming unintelligibly at a distant bird out the common room window, they decide you really might not be able to do this alone.

“You need to drink water, Y/N,” Gaeul coaxes a glass into your limp arms. “And get a wink of sleep, maybe. They’re not going to let you play if you…you know…die.”

“I’d rather die than lo-”

“Lose, yeah we know.” Liz prompts you to drink a sip. 

It’s horrible: the losing sleep, the sore muscles from overexercising, the way the veins in your temple pop at every glimpse of the crimson-clad hellspawns. They continue to practice with you, clashing with every principle you’ve ever upheld. Woonhak sometimes tries to steer the arguments back to decent conversations, but you and Jaehyun somehow always manage to yell over his frantic interventions—you’re pretty sure he’s cried watching the two of you go at it once. 

But with each passing day, a step closer to the match, you don’t even have the energy to fight with Jaehyun.

“You’re getting rusty, you know,” he says, then gives a cheeky grin, trying to catch your eyes over your shoulder. “Or maybe you were just distracted… Is it my new cologne?”

“Goodbye, Myung,” you sigh tiredly. 

His brows raise in confusion. 

You didn’t fight back. You barely even say that his cologne smells like rat feces, so you must be sick. 

“Are you…” Jaehyun’s voice hints on concern, losing its snark. “Are you okay?”

You don’t bother to explain, dragging your broom across the field and heading back to your tower like a braindead zombie with no will to resurrect. 

//

Ravenclaw girls dormitory - Early December

You’ve all but given up.

Staring up at the Holyhead Harpies poster stuck to your ceiling, you draw in a breath that sounds like it could be your last. In one final attempt to knock some new ideas into your brain, you slam the notepad against your forehead.

Out slips a piece of parchment, right on top of your nose. 

“What the—”

You unfold it, looking down at the slightly smudgy but neat handwriting—’Yeonjun is weak on his left (practice injury), Taesan likes to waste time staring at the crowd.’

Huh…

You have a hunch who it came from—but your pride doesn’t let you linger on that thought too hard. It doesn’t matter. You’ll just discard the supposed ‘tip’ and go on your merry way.

At least that’s the initial plan.

When game day does arrive, your mind subconsciously swims its way to the stray parchment. Your mouth just happens to announce its contents to your fellow teammates (though you don’t linger on the details of how you know the inner workings of the Slytherin Quidditch team).

Inevitably, you win.

Yeonjun stalks off after the narrow defeat, massaging his hurt shoulder, while you get smothered by the happy Ravenclaws. Ricky and Gunwook lift you up into the air, while the girls cheer in unison and demand for a celebratory Hogsmeade trip.

Up in the stands, you spot him—looking smug as ever in his tightly wrapped scarlet scarf and fluffy black hair.

Ha! Take that, Myung Jaehyun, you smirk back.

Hogwarts - Winter Break

Winter arrives without hurry, taking what sleep you have left with it.  

It’s a dull drone of snail-paced lectures and lazy note-taking until Hogwarts breaks for Christmas. Unlike the year before, there was no Yule Ball to await, which meant you could look forward to a quiet, simple holiday season without students screaming about dates and gowns.

You decide to stay to get some more practice in before your next match due in a couple months, too stressed to go home and get distracted at the most crucial moments—every second counts. 

“You sure you’ll be fine alone?” Kazuha takes your cheeks in her gloved hands, patting you like you were a fluffy bunny and not in the seventh year and the captain of the Quidditch team. “You can always come stay over at mine.”

Liz, Gaeul, and Leeseo shove their belongings into their rucksacks, having procrastinated the night before when you got a bit too drunk on karaoke and butterbeer as a group. God knows where the boys are off to—probably passed out in their dorm until they start panicking about the train leaving. 

“I’m fine,” you wave her away, plopping down on your bed with your broomstick tucked beneath your arm. “It took me ages to convince Mom to let me stay here anyway; better make it worth all the yelling.”

“You’re seriously crazy,” Liz supplies, “but we love you all the same.”

They leave after several more pats and kisses to your cheeks—Kazuha reminding you again that her invitation still stood if you had a change of heart—then they head for the Hogwarts Express back home while you march to the Quidditch pitch with your regimen sheet between your fingers. Thankfully the groundskeeper had melted the snow off the ground, leaving it clear for use. 

You mount your Firebolt and practise hitting targets with a barrage of Bludgers charmed to shoot your way. They knock against the makeshift boards you’ve propped up mid-air, falling off one by one after you hit the bullseye each time.

Sweat beads at your brow, adrenaline coursing. You’re so immersed in your aiming that you don’t notice the figure approaching from the ground below.

“L/N?”

You miss the target. 

“Myung?” There’s venom in your voice when you look down.

“You’re staying over the break?” He isn’t really questioning, just smiling in glee. 

“Don’t tell me…”

“Yep. Me too!” He glides up to meet you at eye level, tipping his head in what he probably thinks is a charming gesture. “My parents are heading north for their second honeymoon or whatever.”

It’s a cute image, but you don’t tell him that.

Instead you say, “So… Are you going to get out of my way or?”

“Why would I? Coach said joint practice, remember? It still counts over the holidays.”

You grumble, wanting to protest, but some mature part of you just ignores him to turn the charm back on and continue your practice.

He doesn’t bother you at first, heading to the other side of the field to track and chase after an enchanted Snitch meant for training alone. It’s quick and sharp, and somehow he never runs out of energy.

It’s infuriating to watch out of the corner of your eye. 

“Toss some Bludgers at me,” he says once you run out of targets to tip over.

“...What?”

“I need to practise my swerves; speed alone isn’t enough.”

“Get someone else,” you scoff. “Ask one of your underlings.”

He rolls his eyes, as though you’ve said something dumb. “Do you see any of them here, hello? C’mon, it’ll help with your horrendous aim too.”

“My aim is not horrend—”

“Chop chop, L/N. Or are you too chicken to play a 1 v 1 with me?”

You narrow your eyes, fumes blowing out of your ears; you’ve never been good at controlling your pride—Gunwook once absently mentioned that you would have made a pretty good Gryffindor and then proceeded to get his soul knocked out of his body right after. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble. But you’re already grabbing for a Bludger and heading over to where he hangs in the air, awaiting your swing. 

And you do—with maximum force and unbridled rage. But he dodges easily. 

“Sweetheart, I know that’s not the best you can do,” Jaehyun smiles lazily, picking underneath his nails. You open your mouth to retort, but he beats you to the punch. “You’re all caught up in your mind, so you’re not looking at me.”

You huff, “Maybe I just hate looking at you.”

“Maybe if you started to, then you’ll finally knock me off my broom for once.” His tone holds no malice; instead, it’s softer than he intends for it to come out. 

Every cell in your body screams against it—you do not want to listen to the prick. The second you give in, you’ve already forfeited your ego. 

But today, it's just the two of you and the wintry sky above. 

There are sparse dots far off around the campus: students who’d decided to stay behind for Christmas over going home, some loitering outside the castle, some leaning over the bridge across the towers, and a couple of Hufflepuffs playing in the snow around the Great Lake—a girl and a boy, obviously best friends. 

For some reason, you suddenly remember that time in your fourth year when you pushed Jaehyun into the water and he started screaming when he saw the giant squid. It brings joy to your face, and you let out a small smile as you launch another Bludger at him.

This time, he fails to move away fast enough. 

“Ouch—” He fumbles as he tries to right himself. “You—”

“TAKE THAT, MYUNG!” You whoop in glee, doing a loop-de-loop to celebrate, grinning from ear to ear. 

“That was,” he begins, scoffing away his embarrassment, trying to hide the tomato-red flush to his ears, burning him on the spot. “I was just distracted for a second.”

“Excuses, excuses,” your voice lilts, mood skyrocketing, a complete 180 in comparison to earlier that day. 

He rolls his eyes, you keep grinning—and then you jump right back into your practice. 

It’s surprisingly useful when he throws his little commentaries at you, even if they’re laced with quips and snarky remarks. You learn not to roll your shoulders too hard when you fling, to lean forward even if you’re scared of it tipping you over, to take the smallest risks you can.

“You did fine,” is his praise when you’re ripping off your arm guards, wiping the sweat off your temples.

You look behind your shoulders, eyeing the way he fails to look at you while he speaks. “...You too, I guess,” you say. 

There are no official goodbyes when you part, heading back to your respective towers. But before you can disappear behind a stairwell up to the Ravenclaw dorms, Jaehyun inevitably finds himself turning back to look at your figure. 

He sighs. Then stomps to the Gryffindor entrance, with one final determined thought— 

There is no way—not in a million years, not even if the world topples over and Professor Jeon somehow manages to find himself a wife… Not even if Jaehyun’s pride crumbles down to nothing—he can never ever tell you that it was your smile that had distracted him… 

No way in hell.

//

It keeps happening—the private practices.

There are no plans made around it; he shows up at all the times you’re already setting up the pitch, you silently get right into drills, and it somehow always ends with a one-on-one match. Sometimes he wins, and sometimes you’re the one jeering at him, sticking your tongue out in victory.

“Harder, Myung.”

“This is as hard as I can go!”

“Jeez, put your entire arm into it… Don’t go easy just because I’m a girl now.”

“Y/N,” He rolls his eyes. “You know that I see you as nothing close to a girl, right?”

You almost strangle him with his own uniform. 

It’s a freezing cold morning. You’ve traded your head guard for earmuffs, a thick blue scarf over your neck, and woollen gloves wrapped around the handle of your broom. 

Today, for some reason you can’t exactly remember anymore, Jaehyun and you switch positions. He proposed the idea of wanting to train his arm muscles, and you let him take over the Beaters’ bat. You, in turn, await his launch as the temporary target for the day.

“C’mon, Myung,” you groan at his hesitation. “Don’t be a chicken.”

“Oh shush,” he manages between concentrating, his brows furrowing in a way that makes you want to giggle. 

Then he does it, hitting the ball into the air, letting it land on a spot a couple feet in front of you, then watching it drop straight down to the ground. 

You smile. “You’re terrible at this.”

“Hey, I’m a Seeker. I’m not used to hitting things.”

“You’re used to hitting on things,” you retort easily.

“If it’s of any interest to you,” He wiggles his eyebrows, flashing a greasy smile. “You’re the only thing I hit on.”

Your face burns immediately. 

Which is not because you’re flustered. You’re not.

It’s the…uh…the scarf probably. You were just overdressed for Quidditch. 

Shaking the feeling pooling into you, you puff out your cheeks in what you hope is intimidation. “I am not a thing.” You cross your arms. “And try swinging again!”

Jaehyun gets the hang of it soon enough. After several trials, he manages to throw one right past your elbows, then another next to your hips—all of which you dodge easily. 

But the last swing comes when you’re rolling your shoulder back, testing out an ache absentmindedly.

Before your body can let you swerve aside, Jaehyun’s bat makes contact with the ball, letting it curl through the biting wind and knock right into the spot above your elbow.

You wince.

Then you realise you aren’t where you’re supposed to be—no longer seated safely on your Firebolt. Instead, the sky hangs right above your eyes as you fall, fall, fall…

Jaehyun swoops without a second thought, his body engulfing yours, his broom left behind somewhere above—two figures, one red and the other blue, free falling like heavy snow. 

And instead of a safe landing, you crash into the ground below, your head cradled in his arms as he rolls to absorb the brunt of the impact. 

A sharp pain bites at your arm, something heavy digging into your legs. When you look up, Jaehyun’s entire body weighs you down, his hands still around your torso and head. 

You shake him from beneath. “Myung?” 

No response. 

“Jae—” Your breaths shallow down, anxiety spiking along with the sting in your body. Your voice breaks when you say, “Hey… Are you okay?” 

…

“Jaehyun?” 

Another shake, and no response. 

With a pang in your heart, you realise it …

He isn’t moving. 

── .✦ PART 2/2 [final]

── .✦ for more hogwarts! aus, check out the signed, sealed, spellbound series!

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“Huh… Hey,” Professor Jeon whines when his brain finally catches up to the offence. 

The two of you are stationed in his tiny office room, observed by your respective heads of houses. Professor Jeon scratches his head from his swivel chair, spinning round and round like a top, like he was physically unable to sit still for even a moment.

And Professor Park just keeps complaining about his chosen career path.

“It isn't the first time,” Professor Park sighs. “You kids haven't let me breathe since I was hired at Hogwarts.”

“He's your responsibility, Mr. Head of Slytherin,” Professor Jeon comments mid-spin. Park’s eyes narrow dangerously while the other man remains oblivious to the dagger shot his way.

“You're his Coach. It wasn't me that insisted that Quidditch was exactly what he needed to ‘channel his mischief into’.”

“I’ll have you know that Mr. Han’s shown exceptional improvement in his personality since he started playing Chaser. When's the last time he got in trouble?”

“Today.” Professor Park’s lips are a flat line when he states the obvious. “As in, right at this moment, Jeon.”

“He's still made progress, trust me. Isn't that right, Mr. Han?”

“Uh…not really,” Taesan is surprisingly honest. 

The Head of Slytherin looks two seconds away from strangling himself. With a deep sigh, and a string of incoherent curses under his breath, he gestures at Taesan, narrowing his glare at the Coach.

“This one's already a lost cause but I’m starting to see your influence on my Third years as well…”

“Keonho!?” Professor Jeon says brightly, but the venomous look that the other man shoots him has him school it into a morose line. “Ahem. Uh-yeah… Boy’s a good player but I don't think him putting out dungbombs in the staff room is that funny.”

“It's a little funny,” Taesan adds, unable to hide his smirk.

Professor Jeon is no better when he immediately matches it with a bunny-like grin. “Yeah, okay, it is a little funny."

If it weren't for Professor Park’s incredulous glare, you'd have bet they were about to exchange fist-bumps and trade prank ideas. The two teachers begin to bicker, sounding like a couple in custody of their son—blaming Taesan’s shortcomings on each other's incompetent parenting styles. 

Your forehead creases in irritation.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, a small sound in a room filled with nonsensical conversation.

“Ah, sorry Miss Y/N,” Professor Jeon apologizes sheepishly. “I suppose you're going to demand a punishment?”

“He set our club room on fire," you remind him. "There were wild animals inside Hogwarts, sir."

"You know anything about this?" the coach asks Professor Park, receiving a confused shake of the head in response. "Hmm… Taesan?"

Taesan remains light-lipped, but he has enough thought to at least avoid eye-contact. You aren't satisfied.

"He," you say, punctuating the word with a finger pointed at the seemingly apathetic boy next to you, "ruined the Gobstones finals. It was important to the club. To me. I know the school doesn't celebrate it as much as you do Quidditch, but it doesn't make it any less valuable." Your voice remains steady, but there's a lingering frustration beneath it—something that demands ears.

Professor Jeon's features soften at your passionate delivery. If there was anything to move the man, it would be sport. Even Professor Park loosens up now that the conversation has turned serious.

"I have a solution," the Head of Gryffindor says after thinking long and hard, fingers intertwined under his chin.

You're about to protest, expecting him to dole out a week or two of Detention, probably drag you into the whole ordeal as well for not having sorted the issue out on your own as a prefect should. But he speaks before you can, "Mr. Han will be appointed as an honorary prefect."

…

…

"I beg your fine pardon, what?" Taesan speaks finally, mouth twisting into disgust.

"You two," Professor Jeon begins again, much too chipper for such a sombre topic. "will be the model students to strengthen Gryffindor-Slytherin relations. Taesan will accompany Y/N on patrols, Y/N will show him the ropes. A symbiosis, basically."

Taesan is unimpressed, sneering as he crosses his arms. "This is the worst fucking—"

"Language," corrects his head of house.

"—The worst ever punishment in the history of punishments. Can't I just do a year of detention? I'll even clean your office for you."

"My office doesn't need cleaning," Professor Jeon shoots down his proposal.

But the other professor is quick to add a, "debatable."

"Professor," Taesan moves to appeal to the Slytherin head instead, seeing the other route fruitless. "Do you hear this nonsense? Me? A prefect!? Plus, I've got Quidditch to train for."

"You and I both know you skip half of your Quidditch practices to go bother Miss L/N. At least this way I won't have to take complaints from your captain about your poor worth ethic."

"Yeonjun is just playing dictator. He won't even let me take bathroom breaks…"

"Because the last bathroom break he gave, you ditched the team to go brew itching powder in the boys toilet," he sighs. "I'm still treating my neck for rashes by the way."

Taesan grumbles, but his lack of retort tells you that Professor Park has not exaggerated the story one bit.

"Professor Jeon—though rarely right—has a good point with this. It's not a conventional method, and honorary perfects aren't a traditional practice. However…the two of you need to learn to find common ground. Discipline will be good for you, boy."

"And leadership will be good for you, Y/N," Professor Jeon adds with a smile at you, then at Taesan. "We can go ahead with the plan. That is, as long as your head of house gives permission?" he glances carefully at Professor Park.

The other man gives a curt nod—meaning, if they mess this up, it's on you, not me.

"Great!" Professor Jeon exclaims, far too proud of himself. "You can start tomorrow!"

Taesan stares at him, evidently wishing this was all some magic-induced fever dream.

Alas! Nothing happens to change the verdict.

"Dismissed?" he grumbles, petty.

"Dismissed!" the professor agrees, grinning in success.

Taesan swerves around, brushing past you without even looking once. He's out the door before the clock's second-hand takes another step.

"Chin up, Y/N. This isn't just for Mr. Han's good, it's going to benefit you just as much, if not more."

Somehow, you doubt his words.

It's true that you did feel proud of standing up to Taesan for the first time ever. The adrenaline had rushed so forcefully through your body, made you feel braver than you actually were, made you feel like a true Gryffindor for once.

But that was a moment's impulse. Not something you could replicate on command.

At the end of the day, you're still the outsider. Still the scrawny eleven year old begging the sorting hat to put you somewhere harmless, somewhere nothing bad or scary could touch you.

You're still…you.

L/N Y/N—the cowardly lion.

"I know you've got the grit, Miss L/N; the potential is right there, it's why I made you prefect," your head of house says. "And this is an opportunity to overcome your fears, yes? Sort of like exposure therapy. Hmm… see it's like hitting a Bludger… or getting hit by a Bludger, yes! The more you keep doing it, the less scary it is to take a bruise twenty feet up in the air. And the more you avoid the possibility of ever getting hit, you miss out on the entire experience of flying."

You knit your brows together, the analogy flying right over your head.

"Jeon," Professor Park sighs, shutting the coach up with a single syllable. "Miss L/N, I'm aware it's a lot to ask of a person, given how….difficult…Taesan can be." He chooses the word with care. "But he seems to only make so much trouble when it comes to you. The other prefects barely have a word to speak about him, it's almost strange how tame that boy is on a regular day as opposed to when you're involved."

Somehow, you don't believe that.

"And that's why this could be the smartest way to keep an eye on him. He'll be forced to empathise with what you do on a daily basis. That responsibility will be the hardest punishment anyone can give him, right?"

Despite yourself, you nod.

But your stomach coils with anxiety. Taesan and you—together. Doing patrols, having to spend time close together…and right after you had called him attention-seeking and egotistical in a room full of spectators. There's no guarantee he won't be out for revenge.

You don't even want to imagine what kind of schemes he has up his sleeve that could outdo everything he has already done so far.

"I'll get the club fixed by the weekend, you can go back to your common room for now," Professor Jeon says. "Oh, and Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"Proud of you for not crying today. I won't lie that I don't keep a box of tissue in my drawer just for you."

You avert your eyes, a little pink from embarrassment, beelining for the door with a quick thank you.

Which leaves just the two professors together, to revert back into their petulant selves.

Professor Jeon leans back, stretching his arms over his head, teeth bright and wide. "First my genius plan to fix the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams' brawling, and now this. Man, I am on a roll today, whooo—!! Call me the best professor to exist in the history of wizardkind."

"Not happening," Professor Park rolls his eyes. "How long do you think they'll last?"

"Hey, have some faith in my methods. I'm about to single-handedly improve the Hogwarts inter-house fraternisation, and you have the audacity to doubt me. Hmff."

"If this ends up with Han Taesan blowing your office up into dust, I'm not blaming the kid."

The offended gasp in response follows all the way to the hallway where you stand slumped down, reevaluating whether it's too late for you to drop out of Hogwarts and switch into a public school in the Muggle world—preferably somewhere far enough for Taesan to not tag after you.

But it's doubtful there's anywhere you could go that he won't chase after.

After all, it's as Professor Jeon had said—he seems to only make so much trouble when it comes to you.

THE SUSPICIOUS CASE OF MR. MEOW

Paranoia is now your best friend.

He fails to show up on time the next day as told—until Professor Park himself hand-delivers the grumpy Slytherin boy by the scruffs, dropping him off where you're doing your nightly rounds.

You immediately take a few steps back, afraid of imposing on his space, but Taesan just fiddles with his wand the entire time.

The silence does nothing but spike your anxiety.

You just know it… He's waiting for the right moment to strike. Han Taesan is an opportunist; he doesn't just waste a golden moment to upturn your routine. You've got your breath in your throat, expecting your robes to catch fire, or your hair to change colour, or maybe, for you to trip on his foot and for him to walk away cackling like a madman.

Nothing comes.

As soon as the time is up, he looks down at his watch and makes a swift beeline for the dungeons, to the Slytherin common room.

And you stand there incredulously, wondering if this was just part of his elaborate plan to get your guard down until he swooped down with the worst revenge you're yet to be victim to.

//

Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch Match - November

"Dude, first match of the season and you're sitting it out? Where's the house pride!?" Eunchae waves her little gold and red flag in front of your face.

She's dressed top to down in scarlet, a swipe of paint across her cheek, and a behemoth of a lion's head over her hair. Truly the number one Gryffindor ambassador to ever walk the halls.

"My bones are creaky from writing essays all night. Professor Moon hasn't let us breathe ever since that Defence lesson."

"But—" Eunchae pouts. "The match, dude, the match! Don't you wanna see Myung Jaehyun obliterate Hao? Or Woonhak possibly get Jake's Bludger to the face. Either way, it's a win-win scenario."

"Manchae, let the poor girl rest," says Chaewon from where she's twirling around in front of the vanity, fixing her jacket. "Y/N hasn't sat this still for a week now; she's always waking up at cold sweat at 3 AM, screaming about Taesan setting her hair on fire or something."

"It's a real possibility," you pout.

The girl's dorm is cosy today—your palm warm under a mug of hot cocoa, the bay window slightly ajar, just enough to see the faint swirls of snowflakes from where you sit at the nook, a thin stack of parchment paper beside you. Thick woollen socks and sweater-paws keep your limbs toasty, Mr. Ribbit croaking in his sleep on your bent knee.

It's a rare, peaceful break from recent hellish events.

Patrols went quieter than usual lately. Not a lot of busting to do when Han Taesan had mysteriously up and disappeared since that first day. But you feel eyes—creeping, crawling, watching you from the courtyards when you passed by with a gait too quick to not be catalogued as scared. It's like the castle had sprouted eyeballs just to keep you extra distrustful.

You've been poking your head out the dorm window a lot this past week, trying to spy on the Slytherin Quidditch practice to see if Taesan had actually vanished. Sadly, they were all just blobs in air to put a face to the speedy blurs of green.

"Catch us after for a Butterbeer run?" Chaewon leans against the door, waiting for a struggling Eunchae to squeeze her head-piece through the width of it.

You nod, watching them leave, chattering away about Gryffindor's long-lasting winning streak and how today was going to be no different. It's just as boisterous out in the common room, until the door shuts behind them and the voices die down.

And you let the silence of the room blanket you for once.

You were going to write back home today, check up on your mother and see if she's been faring well—maybe cooking up one of her experimental recipes she saves for you to taste on holidays, or making visits to the nearby senior centre where she volunteered on the occasion. But the quill lay untouched next to you, your attention caught up in matters far off.

Now, it's just you, the snow, and Mr. Ribbit's softly billowing throat.

"Do you think I was too mean, hmm?" Your voice is a ripple in the water. Feather-light.

The toad is still deep in slumber, irresponsive to the question—probably dreaming of a fruit fly he saw on the grounds on one of his escapades. You trace a finger over his tiny head to pet him.

"He deserved it… It's not like he's a saint or anything. Taesan's been on my tail forever; I only…stood up to him."

"…"

"But," you hesitate, the drink in your hand boring into you, a gold kind of brown—reminding you of a pair of eyes that belonged to a certain someone. "It doesn't feel as good as it did at the time…"

Not guilt. Not regret. Something not too distant but different in capacity.

Something adjacent to fear.

"He won't even look me in the eyes anymore," you grumble. "It's so unsettling."

Meow.

Every muscle is your body spasms for a split second. Your eyes go wide as saucers, your palm begins to sweat cold, and the drink in your hand flies out before you can contain it.

Right onto the shiny black tail that had just entered through the open window.

It springs up on all fours as the scalding liquid licks over shallow fur, hissing in pain. You topple over onto the floor on your butt in your attempt to get as far away from the creature as possible; fortunately the cup is salvaged and so is the drink within. Mr. Ribbit croaks crankily as he hops off to continue his sleep on your pillow instead.

"I'm sorry; sorry!" you apologise, hoping the cat isn't out for your blood now.

It just meows grumpily in return, and you swear you see an eye-roll to match.

You want to reach out and make sure there's no major injury, but hypotheticals begin to shove past your worried thoughts.

No, Y/N, it's not going to bite you. It's just a cat, that's all it is.

But the narrowed green orbs for eyes and twitching whiskers feel much too judgemental for a mere animal to manage. Its fur sticks up as though electrocuted, looking more like an overgrown soot-monster than a black cat.

What if it's hurt? What if it burned really bad…?

Eventually, your sympathy overrides the fear. You rummage for your wand on your bed and pull out a thin sheet of napkin from the vanity after setting your cup down, hitting it with an Aguamenti—a cold cloth the perfect size for a feline tail.

Your hands are shaking as it approaches, gingerly holding and hoping to the heavens the cat doesn't decide to maul your face off while you're distracted.

Surprisingly, it stands still, waiting. Curious eyes blink up at you. And once the cool cloth meets the burn, it relaxes into your touch, curling around on the cushioned ledge of the window at once.

"Better?" you gulp, dabbing gently.

It meows as though to agree.

Now that you're close enough, it doesn't look as frightening anymore. If anything, it's too lazy to be intimidating—a raven ball of fluff, childlike in the way in yawns with blinking, bleary eyes.

"What are you sleepy for?" you find yourself letting out a small giggle at the sight, sitting down on the carpeted floor. "You're a cat. All you do is eat and slink around. I'm the one with exams to study for, hmmf."

Your head comes to rest against where its tail lay coiled, overtaking the space you last occupied—probably too comfortable in the warmth you left behind. Instead of frustration, you find it cute.

"You're the one always pissing Mr. Ribbit off, aren't you? Not much of a threat now that I see you up this close… You're kind of like a baby dragon," you chuckle when it gives you an annoyed meow. "Dragons are cute! Not the fire-breathing kind, duh—those are deadly. I'm talking about the teensy models you get from chocolate eggs. Put some wings on you over here and the resemblance is uncanny."

The cat automatically purrs into your touch as you hover over its back; it makes your heart warm.

"I should name you—since you're such a frequent visitor here," you say as it looks up at you, waiting for more pets. You comply with some strokes to the head. "Miss Meow. Yeah…such a good girl."

It hisses to disagree. You have to pull your hand away lest it does decide to bite.

"…Uh…so not Miss Meow then? Miss Dragon? N-no? Miss… Oh!" You check once. "You're a mister. Mr. Meow…?"

He meows again, pleased this time.

"Good boy." You grin at the funny little creature, watching how he narrows his gaze until you get back to giving him head-pats, then nuzzling into the touch affectionately. He smells good for a supposed vagabond—like clean fur and apples in snow. There's no collar or bell to indicate he belongs to anyone, but he feels like a home you haven't been to yet.

"Must be nice to be a cat," you muse, scratching behind his twitchy ear. "You can just run away when you get too scared. No one's gonna force you to defeat a Boggart to graduate the year or turn your toad into a snake… and if they did, you can use your claws, right?"

Mr. Meow peeks around at you, eyes darting down to your fingernails.

You laugh at his silly implication, "I can't exactly scratch anyone with these!"

He quirks his neck in a, why not?

"Because—" Mr. Meow remains unbothered, but his ears perk up. "I just can't fight back. I'm not…I don't fight people. It's hard."

Mr. Meow is relentless in his unblinking state; he's waiting for you to say something more honest.

"It's not like I love being picked on, alright?" you pout. "It's just…I don't like it when people get loud. Mom's always told me a home should be warm and happy—and that hurtful words ruin it. Even plants die when you're rude to them. Imagine what it does to humans."

The cat blinks, listening attentively.

You can't help but chuckle at his perceptiveness. He's almost like a little human-cat hybrid himself, bumping his nose against your knuckles now. "I'm not going to punch anyone either—not that some people don't deserve it—but it's just gonna land me in more trouble than I want to."

Mr. Meow looks bored of your answer; he must've been expecting you to cuss Taesan out again, maybe even looking forward to some gossip to relay to his cat friends.

His disappointed mewl has you roll your eyes.

What a demanding kitty…

"Fine, you can read my letter while I draft it. Would that be enough entertainment for the Sir?"

He meows more excitedly this time, pouncing to perch close to your shoulder as you pull down the parchment and quill, and place the ink bottle on the floor next to you. His presence doesn't deter you like it would have once upon a time. In fact, it warms you right up.

"Dear Mom…" you say as you scratch down the words, tongue poking out from the corner of your mouth. Mr. Meow makes himself comfortable, making biscuits with the cushion and peeking.

You start with reminding her that you're doing good, that she has nothing to fret about. She had the tendency to be a worry-wart; it didn't help that you always had something or the other to complain about—almost always to do with Han Taesan and his pranks. For a muggle, your mother had to run through hoops to wrap her mind around the idea of magical high-jinks as opposed to simpler jokes of the human world.

By the time you're done slashing down your anxiety of being paired with Taesan for prefect duty, your fingers are burning red around the frail stem of quill. You have to hold back from telling her how badly you wanted to quit this year and just come home.

It wouldn't be fair to her if you did. Not after how proud she'd been of you for securing a ticket to a world so entirely different from hers, to experiences she could only ever taste in her imagination if it weren't for you.

So you write your qualms off as just every-day shenanigans—silly happenings that you could totally handle.

A not so white lie.

Instead of delving into anxieties, you talk about the weather—how it was snowing now, and how cold it had been getting for night patrols. You finish off by signing your name at the end, and get up to seal the letter within an envelope and take it up to the Owlery for delivery.

But when you look back, there's no green eyes blinking up at you—just a wet napkin abandoned where he should have been.

Mr. Meow is just…gone.

"Strange cat," you muse, all alone once more but for the sporadic croaks coming from your bed.

//

"He said thirty meat pies, four rice puddings, and ten jam doughnuts—not ten pies and thirty rice puddings."

"I think I know what Park Sungho of all people said," you insist, grabbing more cups of pudding to stack onto the silver tray. "Stop meddling."

"Then why am I even here?" Taesan huffs, grimacing at the new emerald badge on his chest; he looks like he's waiting to just rip it off when given the chance. "Can't I go work on my love potions now?"

"No!" The audacity of this guy. Take your eyes off him for a split second and he's already preparing to dash off to make illegal concoctions—zero shame to his name. "You. Are. A. Prefect now. Do you know how bad of a name you'd bring the entire prefectorial cohort if you up and decide to join the other side again?"

Taesan remains unimpressed; he wordlessly returns half of the pudding cups you've grabbed back to their place in the kitchen cabinets.

"I never switched sides to begin with," he reminds you. "It's temporary, remember?"

You squint at him, unable to snatch away the food he's put back so high up. "Least you could do is commit to the bit while you're at it… Starting with your clothes…"

This offends him deeply; he furrows his brows, pinching at the hem of his shirt. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Taesan's clad in fitted jeans and a long-sleeved tee, frayed at the knee where he's cut out holes for each leg—evidently a work of amateur hands. With his leather-black combat boots with a wand sticking out from the insides, and his green necktie looped around his waistband instead, he looks less like a Hogwarts student and more like the member of a rowdy rock band from some unknown town.

Like a hooligan.

"N-nothing," you choose to say instead, afraid of what he'll do if you point out his resemblance to neighbourhood bullies, derailing the subject. "Let's get going; the head-girl was particular about getting this to the seminar ASAP. Professor Park gets cranky if he misses tea-time."

"Professor Park can suck it."

Despite his gripes, Taesan moves to follow behind you, letting you take the lead out the downstairs kitchens and up the spiral of staircases that led to the classrooms. The heads were supposed to brief a safety protocol for the prefects today—just a once-over before they would have to part for the holidays after the next Quidditch match.

Your arms begin to weigh you down, the heavy array of pastries beginning to take a toll. After the third time you almost trip over a stair and land face-first, you feel the tray being lifted off into the air above.

"Huh—"

"I'm leaving you behind unless you put those legs of yours to good use," Taesan chirps from in front, having taken the food from you, beckoning you to follow.

Just as you put one foot in front of the other, he tosses something behind his shoulder. It follows a clean trajectory into your palm.

"W-what's this?"

He sidesteps to turn around, then stares at you like it should be obvious.

You look down to see a puffy sachet, crunchy under your fingers. The aroma of something crisp like fruit reaches your nostrils.

Then it occurs to you that it could very well be a cursed object—when has Taesan ever gifted you something harmless?

"Did you jinx this!?" you shriek, dropping it on your feet. "Oh my god, did you poison it!!?? Is it a love potion?!"

"Jeez…ungrateful aren't you?" Taesan's face shows mild annoyance, but he still explains. "It's imbued with a warming spell. You can put it in your pocket if your fingers start to freeze."

"…"

He sighs at your distrust, then just turns back around to walk again. "Do whatever you like. Oh—also," his voice less tense now—a dilute reflection of his teasing self from before, softer, "a love potion is the last thing I'd try on you."

He doesn't wink as usual, but it still makes your skin crawl with unease.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin Quidditch Match - Early December

The sachet stares at you, and the paranoia begins to grow horns.

You have no clue why you picked it back up, or why you made the dangerous choice of bringing it to your bedroom of all places. You'd ruined the sanctity of this sacred space by contaminating it with something touched by Han Taesan of all people.

"You good there, Y/N-ie?" Chaewon finishes your braid with a bright red ribbon. "Zoning out a bit."

You nod. "Prefect…stuff," you answer with some honesty.

It's the second match of the season, and something in you couldn't manage a refusal to attend this time. Even though Gryffindor hadn't been playing, the house had split off into supporters for either of the other two teams.

You, on the other hand, were just…curious.

It's a cold, sunny December morning when the bleachers start to fill up, rows of reds, greens, blues, and yellows lining the seats. Several heads sport paper-mache hats in the shape of eagles, faces painted with slithering green serpents and moving posters of their hailed players. It's way less unruly than a Gryffindor match, but no less in terms of passion.

"Wasn't a single box enough?" Chaewon makes a reproachful face at Eunchae when she hands each of you a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

You wince, unlucky on your first try. "Rotten egg," you grimace.

"Candyfloss!" Eunchae beams. Chaewon shakes her head, resigning herself to a bean of her own. It turns out to be one of the worse flavours, if her sour expression is anything to go by. "Oooh, they're starting." Eunchae's words has you turn your attention back to the grounds, where the players have started to flitter in from either sides.

Ravenclaw is composed as ever, under the steady command on their captain. Gunwook and Ricky can be seen bumping shoulders as they follow behind the girls in blue.

And then, the snakes.

Regal—and pompous—as ever.

Their Captain, Yeonjun, commands the entire stadium with a single pump of his fist in the air—roars of fans silenced at the simple action, and then descending back into mayhem once he decided he'd done enough theatrics for now. The other team rolls their eyes as they mount for warm-ups.

Slytherin begins to take their ceremonial laps around the pitch, circling like blurry leaves on their broomsticks. You spot some of them from where you sit—Sakura, their lithe seeker, and Keonho, the newbie Chaser you were only familiar thanks to his unwavering loyalty to—

Taesan.

His eyes meet yours before you've even thought of him, sharp and slow.

Time moves at a snail's pace when you see him up in the air—the billowing green behind him, dark hair mussed up in the breeze, the curious curve of his lips parting—wind-borne and free.

And it's gone just as it came. Almost like you imagined the whole thing.

"Captains at the centre!" bellows Professor Jeon's voice. He commands both teams to the ground to take their opening stance, instructing them to mount their brooms as he blows his whistle and lets out the enchanted balls from their cage.

It's a tense match from the very start.

The Ravenclaws seemed to have honed their skills over the month, suddenly quicker and sharper than ever. Gunwook manages to knock off Keonho's balance so easily, and moves onto target Yeonjun soon after. Their own captain signals to him before zooming off to disrupt Sakura's search for the golden snitch.

"10 points to Slytherin," the commentator's voice booms as Haerin manages to get a Quaffle in past the Ravenclaw hoop.

You should be clapping for her along with a wild Eunchae next to you—but it's inevitable, the way your eyes abandon the game in favour of skimming for a bold, white Han emblazoned on the back of emerald robes.

And when you look, he's already looking at you—again.

Taesan hovers mid-air, much too far away from both the goal as well as his own team to even feign his interest in the game. He looks distracted, zoned out; unfortunately, it happens to be in your direction.

"Han!" Yeonjun barks loud enough for most of your section to hear. "Head in the game, NOW—!"

Taesan doesn't move an inch; he just stays like that—head tilted towards the stands, fingers loose over the handle of his broom, eyes glazed over—

"Hyung, watch out—" Keonho's yelp doesn't reach Taesan's broken ears before a Bludger strikes right into the flesh of his thigh, managing to elicit a hiss of pain from between his lips.

"Oops!" Gunwook shrugs with no guilt, brushing past before the Slytherins could get their revenge for hurting their Chaser.

Your heart squeezes without meaning to. A simple, unwelcome thought of if he was as hurt as he looked.

Taesan brushes it off as soon as he has the mind to, schooling his expression back into a line of thinly veiled venom, pushing his body forward to land the next goal on pure spite alone.

The game proceeds in similar fashion—a few purposeful shoves and feints, Yeonjun's left arm entirely obliterated once he takes a vile smack to it. The Ravenclaws don't hesitate to take advantage of the other team's flaws, milking Taesan's random spurts of daydreaming to their like.

The scores inch closer, and closer, and closer, until a deft hand closes around the gleaming gold ball.

"140-130; Ravenclaw wins!"

The match comes to a close, bringing several groans from one side of the stand, drowned out by the boisterous screams of support for Ravenclaw from the other.

Figures in blue crowd below on the plush ground, holding up the winning snitch like a trophy, red-cheeked and grinning.

And the losing team…

Haerin and the other boys attempt to calm down a seething Sakura as she storms off into the changing rooms, away from any sightseers. Keonho, the youngest of the roster, trails after—a deep pout marring his ordinarily bright face, resembling a sullen puppy dog.

Yeonjun is at the very back of the line, dragging a limping Taesan inside by the collar like a cat chiding her kitten. He's mumbling something that's sure to be a string of reprimands; it doesn't matter that he's out of earshot, Taesan's wince and the sour expression that follows is evidence enough.

Eunchae almost spills her bag of beans when she starts clapping and rambling, "What a match, oof! At first I was like, Slytherin's surely got it in the bag—I mean, they've got Choi Yeonjun of all people—but then, oh my god, Ravenclaw—! Their captain is so cool… If I wasn't a fan before, I definitely am now!"

"You dropped it all over my new skirt, Manchae!" Chaewon frowns, shaking the candy out of her lap. Eunchae offers a sheepish grin and a single yellow bean as compromise.

People begin to flitter out of the bleachers, either disappointed by the outcomes or with a newfound admiration for the Ravenclaw team. Below you, you spot the Gryffindor team stretch as they begin to vacate as well—Eunchae's friend scooting closer to his captain.

"They did better than we'd planned for… How did they know about Yeonjun hyung's injury?" Woonhak raises a brow as Myung Jaehyun throws an arm around his shoulder.

"A fluke, probably," the captain responds easily. "Some things you don't question, young Padawan. Some things—are athletic instinct."

You're ready to tune out of their conversation, deciding to focus on not tripping on a seat while you squeeze past, but Woonhak's voice distracts you again.

"Taesan hyung kept staring this way, did you notice?"

"I'm a seeker; I notice everything. "Jaehyun smirks. "And so do the Ravenclaws now. They've went above and beyond to study the opponent… I gotta hand it to them." He nods with the respect one would reserve for a worthy competitor.

But just when you think he's about to leave your field of view, disappearing off into the crowd of red—he looks up to meet your eyes.

Smug.

Like he knows a secret you don't.

And then his eyes flicker to the edge of the pitch, where you see a distinct splotch of viridian—where you'd last seen Taesan. It's over before you know it; Jaehyun changes the topic at hand and Woonhak takes the bait, and they turn into nothing but figures up in the crowd, just one of many faces.

Even when you're pulled forward by Chaewon and Eunchae on either sides, even when you've turned your face away from the Quidditch pitch, the feeling of paranoia still lingers.

Because long after the teams should have dispersed, you swear you still feel a pair of brown eyes boring into you from far below.

//

Gryffindor girls dormitory

You lay flat on your four-poster bed, still as a corpse in a coffin, counting the notches on the wood above.

"Taesan hyung kept staring this way, did you notice?"

Woonhak's comment echoes in your brain, rattling against the edges. It's been an hour, maybe two, and your roommates had barrelled for the washroom as soon as they'd stepped foot into the dorm.

Eunchae won after she'd strategically yanked Chaewon's little ponytail, swiping into the shared bathroom before she could get her revenge. You'd been zoned out for the entirety of her yells—mind replaying Taesan's stare like a broken TV.

Eventually, Chaewon had gotten bored of her complaints reaching deaf ears and promptly stomped off to get an early dinner in to quell her bad mood, muttering about stained skirts and sweaty skin until her voice bleeds off behind the door.

And you stay, motionless.

Taesan had looked your way. He had stared. He had stared at you…

Does he want to actually poison you even though he'd said otherwise? Is he still out for your blood..? Is he….

No way!

It had to have been a trick of the light—maybe a figment of your paranoia-filled imagination. Not a new feeling if you really dwelled on the thought; each time you move these days, you fear eyes tracing the back of your head, goosebumps springing up at the effect, and each time you swivel to find the culprit, there's nothing there.

A ghost maybe. A ghost that really wanted you to drive yourself insane.

"Meow."

The sound breaks you out of your spiralling thoughts. When you raise your head to look, the familiar coat of black and a pair of green eyes blink at you from the open window.

"You're back!" You spring up, chipper at once. "Thought you'd run away forever. Poor baby, did I scare you off last time? I'm sorry if I did." He mewls at your cooing, inching closer to your outstretched palm.

Only then do you notice the limp to his steps—slightly weary, like it hurt to move. And his eyes look tired, something like a child after getting scolded for being naughty. Kind of sulky, and a little exhausted.

"Oh, no!" you pout, worried. "Are you hurt, Mr. Meow? Maybe we can visit the Matron for a check-up—"

"Mrrrow—!" he responds to disagree, hissing to drive the point home.

"Uh…Okay, no hospital wing then…"

You're at a loss, anxious that if left untreated, it could develop into something serious. You remember the last time Mr. Ribbit had caught some magical ailment and you cried all night until your mom sent a frantic letter to the Hogwarts matron for a fix.

"I haven't really tried fixing bones on my own…and I'm sacred I'll hurt you more," you say. "But—if you're going to be stubborn, then I have no choice."

Mr. Meow blinks twice, and surprisingly, bumps his head into your palm—a sign of his trust, you feel.

"Okay…" You gulp, but take your wand out anyways as he waits. "Stay still; I'm gonna draw a circle over your leg, alright? Please work…" you say the last part to particularly no one—wishful thinking.

Shutting your eyes, you whisper an Episkey, tapping the wand-tip over his raven fur. He sits obediently—and if it hurts, he doesn't show it, letting your magic take it course.

And it does. When he tests out a step forward, then backward, it's way more coordinated than before. Mr. Meow makes a pleased sound of joy, bouncing around in excitement over the cushion. It makes you laugh too—part relieved, part amused.

"Cute kitty," you chuckle at his silly antics. "Wanna stay for a bit?"

He meows as though he'd be more than happy to stay forever.

And that's how he ends up curled at the foot of your bed—crossing another level into the privacy of your personal bubble—pressing his cheeks against your calf as you scribble the day's events into your diary. Mr. Meow makes occasional sounds of interest, sometimes takes a curious walk around your room, prodding and nosing at your things, and the intermittent staring contests he has with a sleepy Mr. Ribbit.

It's more than comfortable—almost like this is how things have always been: the scent of apples filling your senses, the tap tap tap of your pen across paper, all while the sound of the shower running buzzes in the background.

When he does start to get bored, he begins to paw at your diary's edges.

"Hmm? What do you want now?"

He attempts to flip your book to the first page, a difficult endeavour even with it being flat open on the mattress—his lack of thumbs a handicap.

A laugh escapes you at his futile attempt at being nosy. "It's from first year, from when I was new here," you say, pinching the clamped pages at the front. "I glued some of it together…must've been something embarrassing, ha. Clearly I didn't want to remember it once I grew up. I wonder what it was…"

Racking your brain, you come up with nothing. Whatever it was, it had to have been mortifying for you to go the extra mile to use a sticking charm on your precious diary. Maybe a time you made a fool out of yourself worse than all the other incidents—a hall of fame moment you would rather forget than relive.

Mr. Meow blinks up at you, waiting, then he lets out a small noise that sounds almost like a disappointed sigh.

"Hey! Sorry I don't have gossip to feed you so you can entertain your friends with my misery," you whine with a pout. "The most I can do is tell you about the time I had my robes set on fire mid-air."

The cat quirks his head.

"Ugh…don't even get me started on it."

Despite the comment, you get started on it. Your complaints tip out easily, a natural flow of pent up annoyance and confusion. Once the topic bridges on Han Taesan, you can talk for hours—maybe even days—as a first-hand recipient of his twisted interests.

You keep talking—about elaborate pranks, about chasing the Slytherin boy around the castle, all the times you've been unsuccessful in busting him.

"It's like he knows exactly what to do to tick me off…and to make me cry. He makes me cry so much, it's almost embarrassing how easy it is for him," you confess to the cat, feeling honest. "Sometimes I think he hates me. Maybe he just hates how weak I really am…maybe…" Maybe he hates how much of a coward I really am, you leave unsaid.

Mr. Meow avoids your eyes then, suddenly taken with a fray thread of the blanket. The demeanour is almost guilty—but you chalk it up to his terrible attention span.

"Pfft…what am I even doing telling you my woes?" Shaking your head fondly, you pat down his spiky fur. "It's not like you can protect me from Taes—"

"Y/N, did you see my towel!? I swear I took it in with me." Eunchae's head pokes out of the steaming bathroom, wet hair plastered onto her cheek.

Before you can reply, you feel two pairs of paws scurry away, and when you look down, Mr. Meow has already vanished—the last thing you see of him being his tail's end at the corner of the window.

"Y/N!"

"Coming, coming!" You finally leave the warmth of your bed, feeling like the past hour was but a far-away memory.

THE SUSPICIOUS CASE OF HAN TAESAN

There are less than three weeks left for Christmas, and thereby, less than three weeks left for winter break.

And thereby, less than three weeks left for you to part ways with Han Taesan's infuriating face.

"Hungry?" he asks, waving a glossy packet of some new Honeydukes chocolate in your face. And he must know what he's doing, because your stomach lets out a loud, humiliating growl. He smirks at your sheepish look.

"Ahem, no," you say, pride somewhat intact. The second growl doesn't help your reputation much.

Taesan giggles at the way you go red, but he doesn't retract the snack just yet, wiggling it.

Your suspicions rise as you stare at the thing—simple and tiny within his large palms.

The moon hangs low out in the courtyard, your muffled footsteps the only disruptions to the quiet—and his is tandem with yours. Taesan has a smug grin plastered on his face, too proud for your liking.

He's in uniform today, shirt tucked in for once and pants ironed—perfectly mandated; except for the tie that's wrapped around his bicep as an armband instead. Even with the improvement, you're still skeptical about his robes being lined with illegal potions for sale.

"Take it before I change my mind," he purrs, a faint smile there. "Dinner's over so you won't be able to raid the kitchen either."

"How did you—"

"Your stomach's louder than the Hogwarts Express; I know you were cooped up somewhere doing whatever task it is that you couldn't say no to this time."

Taesan's eyes are knowing, slightly gentle. It makes you feel more seen than you're comfortable with.

Just to shut him up, you grab the packet from his hand, avoiding his gaze and pretending you can't hear the way he giggles in amusement. Paranoia exists like spools of thread all tangled up in your belly, but you can't justify how that contradicts your actions these days…

To start, your fingers had moved on there own today—grabbing the warm sachet Taesan had gifted off your table and slipping it into your pocket before patrol. And it had been handy, a warm pouch for your cold palms. Then there's the first bite of chocolate between your teeth, the way it melts harmlessly—unpoisoned and delicious. Not even jinxed with a transformation spell.

The lack of trickery makes the hairs on your nape stand up. You wonder if this is a next-level tactic to slowly thin your sanity.

It doesn't end with the random gifts either.

You find out that Taesan hasn't just turned over a new leaf and chosen to be a good person out of thin air. Or decided to lay low until his punishment was over. He's been milking this situation to his advantage after all.

"Six galleons for a vial of fake blood and I don't drain your house points," he's whispering with an evil glint in his eyes, some poor freshman caught up under his stare. "Or better yet, I don't rat you out to Professor Park for flooding his classroom."

"It was an accident, I swear," the shorter boy squeaks, trapped in front of Taesan's menacing glare and wand.

You're simply passing by to your next class when the sight of it boils your blood, the kid reminding you a little of yourself.

"Leave that poor kid alone," you interfere, sliding in between them. The freshman looks at you with grateful tears and scurries away at once. "Taesan, you can't just misuse your authority to commit felonies!"

He scrunches his nose, annoyed at the fact that he can't conveniently commit daylight robbery anymore—as peeved as a cat that's lost its prey.

"And pass up a golden business opportunity? Do you know what you're even asking me to do?" he tosses back, standing akimbo.

You take a deep breath of annoyance and give him a rundown of why exactly he can't go around bullying children out of money. He rolls his eyes, groans, and then struts off without letting you finish.

But the next day you catch him ruffling the same kid's hair, slipping a sugar quill into his hands and letting him walk away in a daze—and what you feel isn't too far off, just complete and utter confusion at his inconsistent personality. He's a menace one day, a gentleman the next.

He keeps bringing you candy, like a cat dragging in a dead rat for its owner. But then you also notice his bad habits: exchanging extendable ears for a galleon or two, schooling Keonho and Seonghyeon on the best ways to slip by without getting caught, the way his hands itch to drop a dungbomb just to get out of prefect meetings.

But the handwarmer he gave you never loses heat, and the collection of sugar quills in your drawer begins to grow—all courtesy of him.

You can't help but complain Mr. Meow's ears off about Taesan's sudden dichotomy.

"It's a strategy, okay!?" You're pacing around the room, scratching your skin, eyes blood-red and hair uncombed—the picture of stress. "He's getting in my head—like invading it with the nice-guy-act so he can pounce when I let down my guard. Yeah…that's it…."

Mr. Meow yawns, unimpressed by your theory.

"He's going to do something terrible again…something worse than messing with Gobstones… what if he kidnaps Mr. Ribbit, oh my god!!!"

Mr. Ribbit croaks from your desk, clearly disagreeing. He probably think he's beyond things like getting kidnapped—too focused on important things such as his lunch. All day he'd been acting grumpy around you, refusing any fruit you placed in front of him, craving something more meaty like a cricket or a roach. No way you could go dig for one of those with your entomophobia…

"Meow."

"Hm?"

The cat stares at you, shakes his head, and decides it's time for him to take his leave, skipping off your windowsill to wherever he goes if he wasn't hanging out in your dorm.

Great. Even the cat thinks you've officially begun to lose your mind.

Just great…

//

"Key differences between an animagus, metamorphmagus, and a werewolf? Anyone?" Professor Moon scans the class through her teardrop-shaped glasses. "Miss L/N."

You blink awake out of your exhausted reverie, a splotch of drool where you'd pressed your cheek to the open textbook.

"Hm?" you mumble, barely present. The classroom had been too cosy, too dark with just the glowy beam from the projector displaying various diagrams on the wall.

"The answer, Miss L/N." Professor Moon's voice is razor sharp.

Once you catch her eyes, sweat begins to form at your brow. She was going to skin you alive if you didn't answer correctly—

"An animagus is a witch or a wizard who can willingly transform into an animal. It's a learnt skill—not genetically passed on like metamorphmagi."

Chaewon sends you a confused look, and you shrug.

You don't expect for Taesan to chime in from across the hall. He barely pays attention during lectures, let alone participates.

But there he is—profile sharp against the sparse yellow light, fingers drumming absently on top of his desk, and his eyes…you don't miss how they skate across from the teacher and towards you, for a split second, making you gulp despite yourself.

"A werewolf also has no choice nor control over their transformation. It's more akin to a disease, and it's very painful," he continues as though the past second didn't happen. "The other two are arguably, much tamer."

"Good," Professor Moon acknowledges. "But don't speak out of turn unless you're craving detention. Now tell me the exact process of how one can become an animagus."

Taesan grimaces; he's evidently unhappy about having to continue participating.

"Well," he says anyways. "It's a step-by-step thing—a ritual, almost."

"Not wrong," the professor agrees.

"An entire month of keeping a Mandrake leaf on your tongue. No eating it, no swallowing. If you do, you gotta start over."

You have no clue how he's so well-versed in the topic. It's so unlike Taesan…

But what do you know anyways? He's been so unpredictable these past weeks, you wouldn't be shell-shocked if he suddenly announced that he was running for head-boy next year—furious and offended, sure, but not surprised.

Taesan continues, listing the elaborate method that involves the full moon, some sort of potion that even sounded horrible, and an electric storm. A lot of work to end up accidentally turning into a rat, you think.

But the professor is clearly impressed by his thoroughness, dismissing him with a curt nod—the most respect she'd ever publicly give a student.

"Good, now we're going to go through some defensive spells that you should use if faced with a rogue werewolf. Defensive because I want you to remember that there is a very real person beneath the transformation, and they are unaware of anything that happens while in that state. The key is to cause minimal damage," she reminds the class, motioning everyone to stand up.

You follow as told, slumping over to the centre with droopy eyes and aching bones. Sleep hadn't come easy these days—you were always tossing and turning from nightmares that involved memories of Taesan's old pranks. It didn't help that your mom had been growing busier these days, every new letter of hers an apology for not writing earlier; she's so tired from her volunteer work during the Christmas season that you were beginning to worry if she'd have time for you at all once you were back home.

Professor Moon rearranges the desks and chairs with a sharp flick of her wand, making them skid into a square around the perimeter of the room. Then she orders everyone to pair up as usual.

Before Chaewon can come grab your hand, you feel a looming, tall presence behind you.

"Mind if I do you the honours?" Taesan asks, hands clasped behind his back, dipping his neck slightly; it feels like a trap.

"Y/N!" Chaewon scrambles to circle around him to loop your arms through hers, protective. "Pair up with me."

"I asked first," Taesan quips.

"Too bad, I'm her best friend. And you aren't going to scare her anymore."

He rolls his eyes. "She doesn't have to be scared of me, I'm not going to bite her head off," Taesan says easily. "Pretend this is me making amends."

Chaewon scoffs at that. "Ha! You? Making amends? Don't joke around now, we all know that you don't have a single decent bone in your body—"

"It's okay," you stop her quietly.

She doesn't expect you to do it. Scrunching her brows, she begins, "What are you—"

"I can handle him." You offer her a small smile. "The professors are counting on me… He's my responsibility after all. I should be able to handle it."

"Y/N, you know you don't have to say yes to things if you don't want to. You're allowed to run away if it gets too much, it's not an obligation to stay." She's worried for you—you can tell. And its enough for you to manage a tight smile to appease her.

"I know. Don't worry about me now—I think Gunwook needs a partner anyways."

Sure as day, the Ravenclaw has been eyeing Chaewon as though begging for her to get the hint and save him from getting paired up with a Gryffindor, sending signals of plea from behind his hand.

"Everyone quit the chit-chat and get into positions before I fail your class." Professor Moon's voice cuts through the space, commencing a wave of anxious feet shuffling across the floorboards, eager to find a partner.

Chaewon's words press against your thoughts. You're allowed to run away if it gets too much, it's not an obligation to stay, she had said. But it doesn't matter—does it, really? Professor Jeon had been proud of you for finally acting like a true Gryffindor; to disappoint him would be to disappoint yourself.

You try to remember the unadulterated spite you'd felt that day of the Gobstones match, when you'd witnessed Taesan ruin everything the club had worked so hard for. They'd been excited for weeks for the game, it's the whole reason you couldn't turn down their request of you participating.

And then he came along and set fire to that excitement. You remember Danielle's devastated pout, and Jake's disappointed sigh. Riwoo would pretend not to be bothered but you've seen him avoid the Slytherins like a plague these days. There's no excuse the club to hang out together—all because you'd been a coward and invited Taesan's attention.

If only you could reproduce the honest anger from back then, when you'd stunned him into silence…

Your thoughts are a whirlpool when Taesan snaps you out of it with a gentle touch on your forehead, more of a bump than a pat.

"Don't go all distracted on me now. I was hoping to work on my defence today. You know…In case we get attacked by a werewolf someday. Gotta be prepared, right?"

If the day ever came, you pray that it won't be alongside Han Taesan. You collect yourself, straightening up.

"Your uniform," you say instead. "It's different."

"Hm… Is it?" He glances down at it as though he'd just only noticed himself.

"It's perfect. You're wearing your tie around your neck too."

"You noticed," he grins. "Felt like a change."

You purse your lips, too within your head to tune into the bustle of the class, the way people have started murmuring spells and casting shields around you. "It's too perfect," you say, wearily meeting his eyes. "What are you trying to pull?"

"Your heartstrings," he winks. You purse your lips, unimpressed by the act.

Your trust in Taesan in thinner than ever. He isn't being himself—too obedient these days, too quiet. The last you'd seen his necktie, if he didn't completely forgo it, was wrapped around his head as a bandana while he used his wand as a drumstick to bang on his Potions cauldron.

Taesan waits for a reaction, then gives up when you remain narrow-eyed.

"Jeez, nothing. I just thought I'd come more presentable today. Not that today's special by any means—but…on a whim, if you will."

"I'm not stupid, Taesan. I could bet my left eye that you're hiding something prohibited inside your robes again."

His gaze grows mirthful, a smirk in place now. "Pat me down if you don't believe me then."

Its pure instinct that your eyes flick down to his chest. You regret it immediately.

You quickly look away to the ceiling…or the wall…or the floor—whatever was closest in proximity. "Lets just get to the spells," you grumble, ears glowing hot, while he refuses to wipe his grin off.

Fortunately, he also brings out his wand and obeys without protest.

You're quickly reminded of the last time you'd been in position—at the mercy of his jinx, and the absolute menacing quality of his gaze from back then. Now, though, its mellow. Patient.

You're waiting for him to throw something at you, hit you with another transformation spell or turn your legs to jelly or something mortifying like that. Each second that ticks away is a time-bomb, another step in the march towards your doom.

But it never comes. His posture is too relaxed for an offensive stance.

"Tarantallegra," you cast, an attempt to force his feet to dance while he was still unguarded.

Taesan, however, remains unperturbed. A simple side-step, and the spell merely grazes the air around his shin.

"Nice try," he comments; it sounds more casual than you expect—not holding its insulting quality from before.

Frustration climbs up your throat. "Locomotor Mortis," you try again, the leg-locking spell. He evades that one too.

"Add more punch to it," he says, seemingly trying to help. "Try adding more intention—you'll need to want to lock my limbs; it's not enough to just say the spell."

"Hmmf," you grumble, trying again. It fails massively, ricocheting off the floor instead.

"You gotta have grit. I've seen you determined before, so just figure out a way to remember that feeling."

"I don't like getting angry."

"Not anger," Taesan says. "Determination. Like when you stood up for me."

"Huh?"

Does he mean stood up to him?

"Never mind." Taesan's face falls to a quick line of disappointment before he reverts back to normal (or whatever normal is for him these days.) "Just do it again and mean it this time, yeah?"

"No, what did you mean by that? Tell me," you urge. You hate not knowing, not understanding what goes on in that head of his when he stares at you like that—cogs turning quietly, as though he wants to say something he can't. It makes you anxious.

"Your memory is crap," is all he says after a whole minute of pondering.

"Wow, excuse me for having holes in my memory when all you've done is ruin every single one of them."

Taesan falls quiet at your words; you hadn't meant for it to come out with venom, a pinch of regret snipping at your heart before you see him change the topic with a tiny sigh.

"Try again; the spell."

You don't want to dwell on this ugly tension between the two of you, somehow worse than when all you felt was fear and not paranoia when it came to him, so you attempt once more—choosing to hit him with a knockback jinx this time.

The word Flipendo is out your mouth before he can produce a shield around him, a flash of red hitting him square in the chest.

Taesan is too slow to ground himself, the spell too strong to resist against, and he finds himself skidding back until his back meets the cold of the floor.

"Oh," he mumbles, palms braced behind him and eyes gazing up at you, only slightly taken aback.

"I…did it?" You don't mean for it to come out as a question, but it does. Its the first time you've managed to quite literally knock Taesan down a peg—the first time you've loomed above him, for a change.

You stare down at your hands like you'd grown an extra pair somehow; it can't be—you can't have actually hit Taesan with a successful spell.

Wait, is he hurt—

"Good job, Miss L/N. I can tell you've been putting your work in—I'm impressed by the improvement," Professor Moon comments as she notices. "Mr. Han, do better."

"Yeah," Taesan answers in a daze, looking at you rather than addressing the professor face-to-face. "I'll try."

There's a pleased smile on his face—only a hint of it dancing at the corner of his lips like it could form into a smirk if given the chance.

It's almost…proud…?

Of what exactly, you couldn't say if you tried.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" He tilts his head to the side, still planted on the ground, stretching until the tip of his shoe grazes your own.

"Like—" Like he's happy to be knocked off his feet. "Like you're up to something evil again."

Taesan doesn't protest; instead he shakes his head a little fondly—a little exasperatedly, eyes soft when he says, "Never mind." and leaves you even more confused than before.

"Don't overthink it," he says, finally getting up once the bell rings, once more snapping you out of your thoughts with a playful, soft chop of his palms over your head.

Don't overthink it.

What an impossible piece of advice to follow.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

THE HAUNTED WILLOW AND THE MISSING TOAD

"Ribbit—!"

Snow caps the windowsills where you sit, the half-open panes of glass partially frosted over, tinted sunlight making pretty patterns that spiral and swirl. Mr. Ribbit is taken by something out on the ivory grounds, his own bowl of lettuce abandoned at his feet, eyes enviously fixated on a ginger fox playing around in the snow, and a small hound chasing after a rabbit into the woods.

You stare at the letter in your hand, Mr. Meow curiously peeking over your arm.

"Mom says she's snowed in at the nursing home," you say, glum. "We're supposed to head back for the holidays in two days."

The letter had come early morning, courtesy of the school owl. You'd been thrilled to see the envelope, excited to read your mom's response. But the news wasn't a good one as expected.

It makes you feel worse that she'd promised to still try to take time off, despite having people that depended on her for the smallest things—elderly who didn't have homes to return for the holidays. Whose world was confined to just the little shelter and each other. They were short on staff and your mom, like always, had been unable to turn a blind eye.

Guilt gnaws at your heart when you feel that twinge of resentment.

No, you're supposed to understand why she's doing what she does. You could just stay over at Hogwarts for the time-being; its not too late to give your name to Professor Jeon—he'd be more than happy to let you crash in your dorm until Christmas was done and gone. Chaewon had already left this morning, and Eunchae would be too soon, for a family trip in the tropics—the last thing you want to do is impose.

It's best they stay oblivious to your situation; if they knew, they'd be too adamant to help.

"Meow," the cat nuzzles into your side, his version of comfort.

"At least I have you, don't I?" You smile down at the tuft of black, managing to push aside your bitterness when he purrs to say yes.

A cat, a toad, and the frosty air outside. A cosy bed, and a single everlasting sachet of warmth for your hands.

It's not much, but it'll have to do.

//

The Great Hall - One day before Winter Break

"Y/N! Hey, Y/N!" You blink up from your bowl of soup at the sound. Jake Sim stands in front of you, a rucksack thrown over one of his shoulders. "I'm glad I caught you before I left."

"Oh… Hey Jake. What's up?" you say with a small smile.

He grins back. "Whatever spell you've put on Taesan, keep it up. He's a total saint now!"

…

What?

"What?"

Jake giggles at the way your nose scrunches in confusion. "He fixed up the club room—and I know it's not because the professors put him up to it because I've seen him ignore their punishments more than once. It has to be you."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do, silly. Taesan apologised to all of us. He bowed down and everything—dude is completely changed. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to test how far he'd go for it but… Riwoo thinks he's actually turned over a new leaf."

"Taesan?" you ask again, still out of loop.

"Yeah! He bought us all candy and a new Gobstones set too—the newest edition! Call me materialistic but I forgave quite fast."

Taesan…turning over a new leaf…

It's strange but recent events somehow add to the evidence. Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he finally developed his frontal lobe, abandoned his bad habits in favour of rebuilding his dumpster-fire of a reputation.

Maybe he's nice now…

You're about to question Jake again when two figures catch your eyes as they pass by, guffawing and gossiping with each other until they see you and Jake at the otherwise empty Gryffindor table.

"Professor Jeon, Professor Park. Good morning!" Jake greets, bright as ever. You parrot after him to match the teachers' warm grins.

"Good morning, children!" Professor Jeon beams. "Shouldn't you be packing, Jake? Your father's specifically asked me to make sure you don't oversleep like last year…"

"Oops—sorry for that again," Jake replies, scratching the back of his head abashedly. "Just wanted to tell Y/N about something."

"Ooh, what about?"

Professor Park rolls his eyes at how nosy his friend is. "Leave the kids be; just because your life is drab—"

"My life is not drab, what!—"

"About Taesan," Jake interrupts before they start bickering. "Hell finally froze over, professor."

Professor Park chides him for his language but Professor Jeon is enthusiastic to join in—"Tell me about it! I would never have thought I'd live to see the day Mister Han willingly take points off his own house. He even brought me a new whistle–!" The professor shows off the bright red whistle around his neck, blowing it for emphasis and thereby making everyone in his vicinity wince.

"He…did that?" you ask. There's a new feeling of hope inside of you; life wasn't going as nicely as you wanted but this was a silver lining. If Taesan had truly changed, then the rest of your stay at Hogwarts would be mostly worry-free. You wouldn't have to walk around with eyes at the back of your head, jumping every time something moves in case its a jinx or trick placed to trap you.

You could finally rest your heart.

"He did!" Professor Jeon assures. "Oh—we'll be heading off to Hogsmeade soon, there's a Butterbeer with my name on it that I cannot miss. Do you kids want to tag along?"

"I have to start on the packing," Jake excuses himself with a curt nod and a wave, jogging away.

"I'll be fine," you add when the professors turn to you.

"Sure?" You nod again. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me; I'll bring you something sweet as a thank you for keeping Mister Han in check. Oh! Since you're staying over the break, if you ever need company, just come look for either me or Professor Park in our offices."

"I don't think Y/N wants to listen to you lecture about Quidditch," Professor Park can't help but quip.

The other teacher sends him a sulky pout, then turns to you with more grace. "In that case, two of my players are also staying behind—the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw captains. You could always hang out with them—if they're not hogging the Quidditch pitch, that is."

The very idea of hanging out with either of the sports fanatics doesn't sit right with you. You would much rather write away your worries in the comfort of your room, Mr. Meow and Mr. Ribbit to keep you entertained.

Professor Jeon doesn't budge further; they leave soon after, the Slytherin head-of-house complaining about almost missing the train due to the hold-up.

The Great Hall descends into silence once more, empty tables all around. It gives you the opportunity to mull over what Jake had said—what Professor Jeon had said—about Taesan and his surprising growth.

You'd seen it too: the way he doesn't laze around when it comes to his uniform anymore, the way he puts more effort into following rules, how he hadn't scared you with a snake in a long time since. He'd even let you attack him during the Defence class. Something has shifted in the air.

Maybe Taesan really had turned over a new leaf after all…

//

Scratch that—he hasn't turned over shit.

It's close to midnight now, moon pale and sinister up in the winter sky, the windows rattling against the frame as harsh wind strikes against it.

You're on your hands and feet, flashing your wand-light under your bed. "Mr. Ribbit? Are you there? Mr. Ribbit, stop hiding. I got extra pudding for you so come out and try a bite."

There's a quiver in your voice; your face is pale with worry, heart cold with despair.

You'd looked for him everywhere—five hours of rummaging through your belongings, in every nook and cranny small enough to fit a sizeable toad—all fruitless. He had the habit of hoping off to explore the castle occasionally, but for this long? Unheard of.

Someone mut have took him…

Someone by the name of Han Taesan.

You're sure of it—a gut feeling that feels a lot like regret. You should never ever have even considered he'd be capable of change. Now that you've done it, he'd used the chance to swoop down and kidnap your pet toad just when you'd been the most relaxed. It was all a ploy. It was—

"Give Mr. Ribbit back to me—! NOW!"

"L/N Y/N, look at the time," he says, tapping at the watch on his wrist. "Does this mean I'm officially a better prefect than you now?"

"NOW-!!"

Taesan glances down at your outstretched arm, then back up into your eyes, scrutinising the heck out of you like you'd just accused him of Avada-ing someone.

"Did you get enough sleep today?"

The concern in his voice snaps a string in your patience. "MY TOAD; YOU TOOK HIM!"

Taesan's expression doesn't ever flicker—he just stares like he's waiting for you to get a grip, or for you to realise some flaw in your argument.

"TAESAN—"

"Okay, okay—you keep saying its me but I didn't do it," he finally says, hands up in surrender. "Promise"

Its eerie in the hallway where you stand facing each other: the cold, fireless sconces lining the stone walls, gargoyle statues looming above on the ceilings and pillars, a sharp strike of wind ruffling Taesan's hair back. At this hour, the castle had transformed into a haunted house.

"Your promise isn't worth shit."

"Woah, look at you swearing like a sailor—careful or you'll be a bad influence on me—"

"Stop." Taesan's joking tone dies at your cutting glare. "Where did you leave Mr. Ribbit?"

"… I didn't take him," he says again, teasing forgotten. His arms come to rest within his pockets. "You have to take my word for it."

"Your words never mean anything, Taesan. You've messed up far too many times."

"Is it that hard to believe I want to be better now?"

"Yes!"

Taesan sighs, but his expression turns more compassionate once he catches the red rims under your eyes, how broken your voice had turned. "What if—" he begins. "What if I helped?"

Now its your turn to go speechless.

Help?

"I'll look for him with you." Taesan is closer now, but he doesn't reach out to touch, voice soft. "You'd be surprised but I've grown fond of the little guy myself okay?"

A scoff is right there at the tip of your tongue. Fond, he says—like he hadn't just turned Mr. Ribbit into a rattlesnake barely a semester ago.

But his proposition stays there tugging at your heart. Help wouldn't hurt—if Taesan wasn't lying about not being involved in the sudden disappearance and this wasn't all just another elaborate trap to lure you into the forest and kill you or something of that capacity.

Mr. Ribbit could be cold and alone, in the woods were he was nothing but a tiny creature in comparison with the insanely terrifying magical beasts resided. What if he gets sick…? What if he gets eaten by a wild fox or—

"You checked the common room already?" he breaks you out of your mind-prison.

You nod vehemently; you'd scoured the place until your patience began to thin and anxiety began to bubble in its place.

"And I've been patrolling for a while now—no toads have shown up, I can assure you that much."

"You might have missed—"

"I have a keen sense when it comes to things like this, trust me," Taesan says, digging his robe-pocket and bringing out a long brown parchment. "And I've got this trusty baby too."

You look down, confused.

He's holding out a blank sheet of folded paper, like it should mean something.

Taesan chuckles at your incredulous expression, bringing out his wand too to tap the top of it, reciting, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

It changes form at once. Writing reveals itself, as though previously hidden by invisible ink.

"What—what is this?" You blink several times.

"This, my friend," Taesan says, grinning. "is the Marauder's Map. Useful little widget I nicked from the custodian's office—well not me, Keonho did it for me, but semantics doesn't matter now."

…

He sighs when you don't react. "It's a map—of every single thing and person in the castle and its premises. Including—animals!"

Sure as day, he shows you the tiny marked dots moving along on the parchment, each named with the being it indicated—students, professors, a few ghosts who'd been lingering in one of the empty classrooms or their towers. And the two of you, right next to each other in the winding hallway next to the grounds.

"There," he points to something, and your heart jumps at the name Mr. Ribbit engraved somewhere on the outskirts of the school. And then it plummets.

"He's in…the Whomping Willow?"

"Ah," Taesan responds. "That'll be a problem."

You turn to him in panic. Taesan notices the way you're about to probably burst out into tears and immediately speaks to calm you down. "A problem that's no match for me. Trust me on this, okay?"

Trust Han Taesan. That was going to be hard—how naive would you have to be to go back to the one person that couldn't keep his nose out of your business…

Apparently the answer is, very naive.

Because you find yourself sneaking out onto the grounds, almost pitch-black from the dim moon hanging overhead, grass and dirt scraping against the bottom of your shoes.

"Are we sure about this?" you gulp.

"We're prefects aren't we?" Taesan attempts a smile; you hear it in his voice than actually see it. "What's a little extensive patrolling?"

"Not even we're supposed to be outside of the castle. You'd have known if you hadn't fallen asleep during the safety briefings. I—Ack!" You physically jump when you feel something skitter past your leg.

It lands you flush against Taesan's side.

There's a roughness to his voice when he clears his throat to speak, "Probably a rat."

"What!? Why would you say that—rats are terrifying!"

"We're on the grounds heading into the Forbidden Forest—there are much worse things than rats out there."

"Still…"

"Just stay close to me, yeah?"

You look up, feeling his hands finding yours in the dark, a careful touch before you relax. When you don't protest or move away, he intertwines them between his own fingers.

Your heart squeezes. Warmth blooms in your chest—not dissimilar to the anxiety.

It feels a lot scarier than it did a second ago.

"What if—" you change the topic, trying hard to focus on your steps than the heat of his, admittedly large, hand. "What if there are werewolves out here?"

"Wouldn't be surprising."

"Huh!?"

"I mean—if there are any, then we're prepared to defend ourselves right? You just have to use a knockback like you did on me in class."

"That was…" Luck. A fluke. "You let me—" A howl breaks your sentence off, making you jump out of your skin again.

"Just the wind, relax," he says, tugging you slightly closer. "Oh… Professor Jeon is awake at this hour of the day, look!" Taesan points at his office in the Gryffindor tower, one of the few rooms that remain lit.

"What!? He'll see us, Taesan." You begin to worry.

"He won't," Taesan reassures. "Dude is probably drunk or singing his heart out, I bet. Won't be surprised if Park is there with him."

"But the rules—"

"Fuck the rules; let's go get your toad and get back."

"But—"

"He won't see."

"What if he does!? I don't wanna get an earful from him again—once was enough. Oh, fuck! I can see a shadow moving—what if he's coming to check? Taesan—"

"Here," is Taesan's response as he uses his free hand to pull a thin silky sheet from his pocket (which seems to be enchanted with an extension charm, now that you think of it) and throw it over both your bodies as a blanket. "Voila."

"You…have an invisibility cloak?" Your eyes are wide. But of course, Han Taesan would be in possession of both a cloak of invisibility and an enchanted map of the castle. It was probably how he got around without notice—how he always knew where to find you.

"It helps with…unwanted attention," he says easily, casting a Lumos to light the tip of his wand, creating a halo big enough to watch your steps.

Unfortunately, it also gives you a clear view of his profile.

He's so close now: the curve of his lips sharp under the wandlight, his hair mussed up nicely, falling iver his eyes—and his eyes…his stupidly pretty eyes…

"Still scared?" he asks when an owl hoots from the distance, smothered by what the cloak covers.

You hum a yes, afraid that your voice would betray your heart.

"You know, when my little sister used to be scared of the dark, my mom would hold her hand and sing her a lullaby."

"Are you about to sing for me?" you ask curiously.

He chuckles at how genuine you sound. "Only if you ask nicely," he says. "Dad would get all the kids in one room when the power went off, and then we'd have a storytelling contest. Guess who holds the longest winning streak?"

"Surely not you," you mumble. "You have siblings?"

"Two. And too many cousins to count on a hand—they're good for most part, but always messing with my stuff."

"Good. You know how it feels then." You pout, referring to all the times he'd sabotaged one of your belongings for a laugh.

"Hey! I'm making amends now, aren't I? Give a guy a chance." Taesan's voice is light and airy, despite the creepy howls of wind and barks wafting from the direction of woods. "We're almost there," he says, tapping over the map in your hand.

"I hope he's safe," you speak your thoughts out loud.

Taesan remains undeterred, pressing his palm firmer against yours. "He is—the map doesn't lie."

Each step brings another pang of worry, but Taesan doesn't take his hand back, tightening his hold every time you stumble over a twig. It's strange, but not unwelcome.

Although, a sudden loud bark has your skin prick up, body immediately reaching out for the closest things to brace yourself—which just so happens to be the boy you'd sworn to ignore for the rest of your life.

"Y/N?" Taesan's voice is too gentle for your liking—brittle too.

He's too close now, closer than ever. Your heart lodges itself in your throat, mouth parted but unable to respond. His eyes flicker from your dazed eyes down to your lips.

Like magnets, you move. Taesan leans downward, light dwindling as he slowly brings his arm down, the other tracing absent-minded circles into your skin.

His lips are millimetres away, breath ghosting across your own, warming them right up.

Your head swirls under the feeling of him—the almost touch, the inevitability of a kiss. You can't move away even if you tried; you don't want to, you realise. Taesan doesn't either, you can tell.

Nothing more exists in the thinning space between your bodies: the touch of silk cascading over you, the body-heat pulsing through you, his lips right in front of your own, and his scent.

He smells like…

Apples?

── .✦ next: PART 3/3 [FINAL]

── .✦ for more hogwarts! aus, check out the signed, sealed, spellbound series!

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When you arrived at school, Professor Boo, the head of your house, had pulled you aside to congratulate you.

"Oh, and you’ll be mostly working with Park Sungho,” he said, pointing to the quiet boy at the very corner of the common room. 

In between all the commotion of the first day—students dragging their heavy suitcases into the dorms, friends launching into hugs after a long summer of separation, clueless first years who seemed to have lost their direction—he sat on a baby blue couch—brows furrowed, head buried in a heavy-looking tome—Ancient Runes. You watch how tranquil he looks, tongue barely peeking out in the corner when he reaches a particularly interesting section of the book.

You’ve seen Sungho around, but never bothered for introductions or pleasantries. It was near impossible not to know your house-mates, especially if you were from the same year. You’ve shared a couple classes together, your names almost always appearing adjacent on the bulletin board, always either one of the top two spots—a quiet kind of competition. You know he’s smart, and it's only natural to assume he knows you are too.

The first time you actually speak is on a warm Friday evening. You are the only two available for patrol, and you were never good at saying no to a teacher. The stone corridors stretch long and winding, the setting sun spilling its hues of goldens and oranges across the walls. Neither of you say anything as you walk side by side, a comfortable quiet. 

When you glance to your right, you can’t help but notice how pretty he actually looks. The usually sharp angles of his face soft under the faint sunlight. His hair isn’t really black, more of a chocolate brown. And his lips are—

“Y/N?” He asks, disrupting your analysis. 

“Hmm?” You bite your tongue, cursing yourself internally for being so obvious. “There’s an eyelash on your cheek.”

“Oh.” He brushes away the non-existent eyelash and you give him a thumbs-up. 

The two of you descend back into your unspoken ease once more.

── ⋆˖⁺‧₊☾  

Slowly, the patrols turn longer, and sweeter. Friday evenings become regular.

On days you run late, having to stay back to clean up for Herbology or to clear up your doubts with the Charms assignments, you notice that he doesn’t leave you behind. In theory, you don’t need to patrol as pairs—if anything, splitting up would mean that you can cover more area.

But he waits for you in the same spot outside the Ravenclaw dorm, sometimes with a book in his hand, other times humming a soft melody under his breath. You’ve also noticed that he has a pretty voice attached to his pretty face.

“Hi,” You always say.

“Hi,” He always says back.

You don’t say thanks for waiting, and neither of you even acknowledge how it was starting to become a routine. Instead, you now keep extra sherbet lemons in your robe, offering him one when your stomachs start to growl mid-patrol. He accepts with a smile and keeps the wrapper neatly folded in his pocket. 

“Are you okay?” he asks one evening, a cold breeze through the open arcs ruffling his hair. It's grown longer now. “You’ve been sniffling.”

You’re surprised he notices, your nose has been running all day and a small ache throbbed under your temple. To make it even worse, you forgot to wear warm clothes today. 

But you were careful not to make it too obvious, just in case one of the Professors forced you to skip a class. You couldn’t afford to miss notes when the O.W.Ls, one of the most important wizarding exams, were not too far away. So you muffled all your coughs behind a tight palm and force-fed yourself some concoction apparently guaranteed to dull the migraine (though it seems to have only worsened). But somehow, Sungho noticed.

“You’ve been sick all day haven’t you?” he asks, a slight tone of exasperation in his voice. 

“How did you even—”

“You aren’t as discreet as you think. I saw you cough under the table.” he chuckles softly. “Here.”

You don’t expect it when he takes off his scarf and wraps it neatly around your neck, tucking it in gently. His fingers accidentally brushes against your neck, and you thank the universe that he can’t see the red beginning to bloom underneath the warm material. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, “I’ll wash and return it to you.”

“Take your time.” He smiles, turning back. “You should go to sleep now, I can patrol alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I also got this for you.” He hands you a small clear vial. “ Cough potion. Should patch you up pretty quickly.”

“You made this?” You blink up at him, both surprise and gratitude evident on your face. 

“We had Potions for last period," he explains, as though that's a good enough reason for brewing you a healing potion when he could have been doing his own work. 

When you part ways, your heart is thudding in your ears and you doubt it has anything to do with your illness. 

── ⋆˖⁺‧₊☾

You sleep for what feels like ages, the medicine warming your body, letting you dream of lemon candies and brown hair. When you wake up, the moon is already blinking up in the night sky out your window.

For a second, you think you just woke up too early. But the enchanted calendar on your wall informs you that it's the next day.

You'd slept for an entire twenty-four hours!

“Rei, why didn’t you wake me up?!” you yelp, clambering over your blanket to stare at your roommate, who happens to be sitting criss-cross on her four-poster bed opposite to yours, flipping through a magazine. 

She doesn’t even blink,. “You were sick as a dog, Y/N-ie. I tried to poke you awake but you didn’t even budge.”

“I missed an entire day?!” You flop onto your back, the mattress bouncing underneath you. “Professor Boo is going to kill me. I promised to take care of the prefect meeting today. And…oh my god, there’s so much to catch up on. I have to get notes, I have to—“

“I think you need to lay back down, you’re looking ill again.” Your friend chimes in. You shoot her a glare that she promptly ignores. “Plus, I don’t think you need to worry about the notes. Park Sungho left those for you.” She points to your study desk, the one closest to the windows. 

“He…left those for me?”

“Yep. Said not to wake you up unless I had to,” she pouts, “I only tried to because I knew you’d kill me if you overslept.”

“Oh.”

Your brain must still be under the potion’s influence, because your face heats up at the thought of Sungho meticulously taking down notes—in his perfect cursive handwriting, every dip of his quill into the ink bearing the intention of sharing it with you. You’re too exhausted to hold back a smile at that mental image.

Rei is as perceptive as ever.

“Soooo….Park Sungho, huh?” she says with a smirk.

You throw your pillow at her face.

── ⋆˖⁺‧₊☾  

“Sungho!” You catch up to the boy near an empty classroom. It's close to midnight now, but you couldn't wait till the next day to see him. 

“Y/N.” He turns around at your voice. “You look better.”

“I am. Thanks to your potion.” You offer him a grin, suddenly feeling shy. You start twiddling with your wand behind your back—a nervous tick. “And for your notes…you didn't have to do all that. How did you even get the Herbology one, you don't take it this year…”

“I asked a friend.” His eyes twinkle, the moonlight making them look like little pools of honey. 

You return a small nod, pretending like it doesn't make warmth creep up your neck.

The two of you begin to walk, sometimes with a quiet comment about classes or books. You've come to learn that he really likes Ancient Runes, the way his face immediately lights up when he gets an opportunity to talk about it. His normally calm exterior breaks into something more excited when you passingly express your curiosity.

“—It’s not that difficult actually. It looks hard but it's mostly memorisation,” he explains, “but most of the wizarding world used to use it hundreds of years ago. Some say it's outdated, but lots of history would be lost to time if we hadn't learnt to translate them.”

You nod, attentive to every word that spills out of his mouth. There's a lilt to his voice, hurried like he doesn't have enough time to say everything he wants to. 

“It's a shame most students drop it after the O.W.Ls.”

“Hey, most of us don't find it as easy as you, Mr. Genius.” You pout. 

“Rich coming from Miss. Genius,” he giggles, “But I guess it's an acquired taste—my dad works as a translator.” 

“Oh! Do you want to be one too?” You ask, feeling a little victorious at unlocking another detail about him. 

He shakes his head. “I think I want to teach it. Make it interesting for young students so they understand how fun it could be.” 

You picture Sungho as a professor, one that's mostly quiet and serious-looking, but turns talkative and passionate when he's in his element. You have no doubt he'd capture a heart or two in the meanwhile too. 

“What do you like?” He asks out of the blue.

“‘Me?”

“You’re good at everything you do, so is there something particular you want to do after school?”

He gazes down at you and heat pools in your chest. You've never said this aloud before, “A healer. That's why I'm doing both Potions and Herbology.” 

“It suits you.” He smiles. “But you should also take care of yourself, we wouldn't want our future healer to die from overwork.”

You snicker, letting your shoulder bump against his side. “That’s why you're here.”

“You think I’m gonna keep bringing you potions and notes?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“You won't?”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” He grins. “But if you keep letting me, I'll assume you just want to see my face.”

“That's only half true,” you tease back. There's an unsaid truth behind your words, and a silent understanding when he pokes your side with his elbow. It's a step forward—from patrol-partners, to companions, to friends… or something in-between. 

You circle the corridors, climbing up through the stairwell to the floor above. It's been an uneventful day, so you don't expect to find the two shadows in the corner, bodies obviously pressed up against each other.

“Ahem,” You cough, forcing the pair to break apart. “No students out of bed after curfew.”

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Sungho adds, backing you up. 

They groan, not bothering to hide it at all, but having enough dignity to part in opposite directions. It doesn't escape you how their hairs are tussled, ties undone, collars pushed aside to reveal several faint bruises.

When they disappear out the corners, you turn your head only to see Sungho looking down at you, an unfathomable expression on his face. 

You're suddenly hyperaware of how your elbows graze each other’s, how his lips part ever so slightly, how he still smells faintly like citrus. The air is electric. You can't help but think of the situation you'd both just born witness to—of disheveled uniforms and kiss marks blooming underneath.

Your heart skips a beat as he brings a hand to your cheek, thumb softly brushing against the skin there. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, unable to look away. They're plush and pink, soft to the touch you imagine…

“Eyelash.” he whispers, breaking the spell. 

When you look back up, he has retracted his hands, a tiny twitch of his lips threatening to break into a smirk. But you don't miss how pink his cheeks have turned either.

“We should—”

“Yeah, it's late.”

The walk to the common room is charged,... a little awkward. Every time your fingers accidentally brush against his, a jolt runs up your body. He breathes out a quiet goodnight, eyes not completely meeting yours, and makes his way to the boys dorm.

You don't notice that he waits for your door to click behind you before he opens his own, eyes lingering where you once stood, a hint of regret in his gaze.

── ⋆˖⁺‧₊☾  

Exams breeze by quickly, taking half your soul with it. The last subject you have is Potions, which goes exceptionally well, all things considered. You finish the paper with a final flick of your quill, sealing it before the invigilating professor comes around to collect it. 

You let out a sigh of relief, and when you turn to your right, you see Sungho flashing you a smile, leaning back in his seat to stretch his muscles. 

“First place again I'm guessing?” He teases you as you stroll together, footsteps echoing in the quiet cloister as you walk beneath the giant archways. 

“I should be saying that to you.” You retort. 

Under the moonlight, your prefect badges glint identically, light bouncing off the ancient stone walls. It's the last day of the fifth-year exam period, which means most students have already left early for their holidays. You still had to pack your things before you headed home the following morning, but the night felt too precious to waste doing chores. 

“We don't have to patrol today,” Sungho remarks quietly, voice light enough to mean something else entirely. 

“We don't. There's no one here.” 

“Right.” 

“Would you—” You clear your throat, juggling whether you should say it or not. After today, you won't be seeing him for a while, not until classes started for the sixth year. Maybe it's the guarantee of not having to face him for some time, or maybe it's the fear of the same, but in the end you decide to go for the kill. “—would you like to go to the astronomy tower with me?” 

Sungho blinks like a cat caught in the act, clearly surprised. But it slowly melts into a suppressed grin. “Yeah.” 

The astronomy tower is the tallest in the entire castle, accessible only by a long spiral staircase and narrow passages. Its parapets loomed over the castle grounds and the faraway mountains. When you reach the outer platform, your breath catches in your throat. Sungho takes a sharp inhale. 

It wasn't like you were never here before, but something about the clock ticking past midnight, the open roof hosting a deep blue sky, stars glittering like sequins on a silk dress, and the silvery moon hanging above everything, gentle and breathtaking—it just made you feel like the first time all over again. 

“Beautiful,” He whispers. You nod. 

But when you look sideways, he's already gazing at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. If you felt short of breath before, you might as well be on life-support now.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence usually reserved for the night sky. Like you're something to marvel. To notice. 

“Eyelash?” you wonder quietly. 

“No.” He shakes his head, pursing his lips decisively. You catch the slight bob of his Adams apple, something shifting, and before you know it, he's closed the gap. 

You don't get time to react, only feel the soft press of his lips on yours. A broken whimper leaves your mouth as his thumb traced the silhouette of your jaw, lifting it up slightly to hold you closer. It's sweet, like honey and lemon, and you can't resist the urge to taste him back. 

“Y/N.” your name leaves his mouth in a broken plea, before he dives back in to kiss you. You kiss for a long time, slow and gentle at first, then feverishly.

After several beats, you break apart for air.

“I like you,” he confesses, hands still cradling your cheeks. They're rough, nothing like the softness of his lips or the kindness in his eyes. But they steady you, keeping your legs from going jelly from the dizzying spell you just experienced. 

You grin up at him, heart beating out of chest. “You like me.” 

“I do. So, so much. More than I can explain.”

“More than Ancient Runes?”

“Okay, let's not get too ahead of ourselves—”

“Hey!” You pinch his wrist.

“...ouch!! Wait…—alright, alright! More than Ancient Runes.” He puts his arm up in surrender.

You miss his hands on you already, so you pull him in by his necktie and lean up on your tiptoe to plant a small kiss to his cheek. “I like you too.”

“...oh.” He stands there like a lovestruck idiot, touching the spot where you kissed him. It's silly considering you were making out not even five minutes ago. “Are we like…together now?”

“Duh.” You giggle, finding him all too cute. “For one of the smartest people I know, you can be a little slow.”

“Hey, rude.” He's the one pouting now.

“I can be a little rude to my boyfriend, can't I?” 

This makes him flush even harder, and you lock the information away for leverage. “Aw, is my boyfriend blushing?”

“Oh my god, stop.” He attempts to hide himself behind his hands, turning around, but you chase after. 

“My boyfriend’s so cute when he's embarrassed. I have the cutest boyfriend in the whole entire univ—” Your words die in your throat when he shuts you up with a quick kiss, hands wrapped around each of your wrists, not tight enough to bruise. For a foggy moment, you wish it would. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, breath ghosting against your lips. 

“Shut up and kiss me again.” You demand breathlessly. He complies.

It's another ten minutes before either of you have the sense to head back to the dorms, fingers still intertwined, lips red and kiss-bitten. The common room is warmer than usual when you arrive, a fire roaring in the fireplace. You don't want to let go of his hands, and he doesn't seem to have any plans to want it either. 

“So…” He begins. 

“So….” You bite your cheek. “Oh, I just remembered, I still have your scarf.”

“Keep it.” He rubs circles into your palm, eyes flickering down to your entangled hands. “Write to me during break.”

“Are you saying you'll miss me?” You smirk, even if your heart thuds at his admission. 

“I’ll just miss your lemon sherbets.” He rolls his eyes. “And…maybe also our night patrols. And holding your hand like this.”

You look down to see where your skin touches his, your hand in his like it was made to fit perfectly. “I promise to write,” you whisper. 

It's a bittersweet goodbye, but not a permanent one. When your hand leaves his, the air between you holds the weight of a promise, one that guarantees you'll find your way back to each other. 

Rei stirs when you stalk into your bedroom, still half-asleep under her blanket. She blinks a couple times, takes in your messy hair and reddened skin, and a slow, knowing smirk replaces her prior drowsiness.

“Park Sungho?” she asks smugly, head propped up on an arm. 

You throw your pillow at her with a grin.

── ⋆˖⁺‧₊☾  

fin

thank you so much for reading  ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ AND HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO OUR PARK YEPPI resident cheesecat cutienextdoor may you continue to grow prettier by the day

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The Great Hall bustles with chatter. Unlike previous years, almost everyone had stayed behind for the ball, despite it being non-mandatory and there being no classes. Riwoo slouches with all the prowess of someone who was forced to get up—occasionally feeding tid-bits to his pet owl who sat perched on his shoulder after a morning delivery. For a tiny little thing, he eats like a hound.

“Did the Grinch steal your mood?” You bite back. “Or are you just taking over his job?”

“No, but he did mention something about stealing your braincells…not that there were any to begin with.” He retorts easily, sounding happier than before at the sight of your deadpan stare. 

“It's Christmas season, could you be nicer to me for once?”

“Only if you promise to stop acting like you're about to throw glitter out of your pocket and dance in circles.” He says with a mock-sweet smile, sharp canines flashing—you have this ongoing theory that he was part-vampire but he swears both his parents are very much non-bloodsuckers—letting Mr. Fortune (yes, he named his owl after some muggle video-game character) fly back to the Owlery after his hearty breakfast. 

“Speaking of dancing,” you change the subject with the flick of your fork. “Have you asked anyone yet?”

“Ugh.” He groans again, flopping his head onto your shoulder. “I told you, I'm not going. I only stayed behind because someone needs to keep you outta trouble till Christmas.”

“You can't just not go, it's like…the biggest dance at Hogwarts.”

“It's the only dance at Hogwarts.”

“You'd be the only one not going. Even Leehan said he would. And he only cares about Bowtruckles and Fire Crabs.” 

“Wait really?” Riwoo lifts his head to give you a perplexed look. “He never goes to anything.” 

“Yes well, I told you, this is an unmissable, once-in-a-lifetime kind of dance. You better start planning ahead on who to ask, or you'll end up having to solo.” 

He considers your words, and you can tell he's not convinced yet. You could almost see the gears in his brain turning, the exact second something lights up over his head. “You already asked someone?”

“...Not yet. But I have someone in mind. It's top secret though, so don't even bother guessing-”

“It's Intak isn't it?” Riwoo smirks with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. 

You gape, and then in a small voice “...no.” 

You can tell he doesn't believe you for a second. It's obvious, the way you stare too long at the tall Gryffindor boy every time he passed by your desk in Divination class, dreamily sighing when you see him stuffing an entire slice of cake into his mouth across the dining hall, the way you almost tripped over yourself that one time because you got too distracted by his giggle ( Riwoo had pretended not to know you out of embarrassment).  

“Okay so what if it's him, I think I've got a shot.” You ignore Riwoo’s unimpressed look, choosing to instead daydream about how you would ask Intak out to the ball. Maybe a howler would do—no, too impersonal. Perhaps a singing valentine…wait no, wrong holiday. Would confetti be overdoing it? Probably. 

“Do you even know what you'll do if he says yes?” Riwoo asks suddenly. “Last time I checked, you couldn't dance without tripping over air. And don't even let me start on your table manners, you get foam everywhere-”

“Eat your damn potato, won't you.” You grumble. 

“Alright,” Riwoo stretches like a cat, putting his spoon down.“Since I’m your best friend and I care about you, maybe I can help you out.”

You stop angrily stabbing at your food to look at him, wondering if he was getting ready to land a punchline for one of his jokes. But he doesn't. “You're serious?”

He nods. “I'm not too bad of a dancer, you know that.” You nod in agreement. “And I've got more dating experience than you.”

“First year doesn't count. Being forced to spend detention cleaning the trophy cupboard is not a date.” 

“Say that to Haewon, she kissed me right after.” He smirks. 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. So will you help me out or not, oh love expert? 

“Consider it done.” He bumps his fist with yours. 

When you leave breakfast, you have a newfound appreciation for your best friend, and for whatever fate put you next to him on that train carriage on the first day of school when you were eleven years old. Lee Riwoo was really, truly a blessing.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Forget what you said —Lee Riwoo is a demon in disguise, he's out to make sure you slip and die and your body is never found in a hundred years. 

“My legs hurtttt.” You whine, flopping down onto the rug.

“I'm the one that got stepped on, why are you the one clutching your foot?” He sighs exasperatedly, taking a seat on the yolk-coloured couch. 

He's been trying to teach you to waltz for the past two hours. But every time you were told to step to the left, your legs unconsciously moved  in the opposite direction. He explained the steps carefully, going over each detail like one would teach an elementary-school child. All his efforts are thrown out the window when, even after the gazillionth try, your legs and brain doesn't seem to sync up like it should. 

“I should just give up.” You pout petulantly, staring up at the wooden ceiling like it has the answers to all your troubles.

Riwoo prods your side with his socked foot, making you accidentally let out a giggle when it tickles. “Yeah, do that. I'm sure there's already a line of people ready to ask Intak out anyways.” He says. 

“Why would you remind me, ughhhh.” You start whining again, genuinely devastated at the thought of having to compete with better dancers, which includes most of the student population, and probably even the professors, and even the merpeople in the Black Lake—and mind you, they don’t even have feet. “Can’t you like…I don't know…charm me into being a better dancer or something?”

“I mean, I could use Tarantallegra but you'd just look like a spider with a muscle-spasm.” Riwoo supplies unhelpfully. 

You look up at him through your lashes, his upside down face looking back at yours with a hint of amusement. “Try again?” 

“C’mon.” He hauls you to your feet, once again helping you back into position. He places your left hand on his upper right, holding your other hand with his left. His free hand rests on your back, soft to the touch over the thin material of your sweater. 

Riwoo counts the beats as he guides your steps, once to the back, then to the left, and somewhere around the third beat you stumble with a murmured apology. He's patient as ever, simply leading you away from the wrong direction, making sure you don't hurt yourself trying to avoid stepping on his foot. 

“You're doing better.” He smiles with a hint of pride. You grin back. 

“Soon I'll be better than you-” You eat your words as you knock your knee into the bookshelf, toppling over several editions of Quidditch times and Witch Weekly. It isn't long before you’re doubling over in pain, letting out a string of expletives about the damn shelf and your own two feet and the entire concept of dancing to begin with.

Riwoo only sighs, shaking his head. “...this is going to be a long day.” 

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

“First rule of dating?”

“Dress nicely?” 

“No, it’s don't get distracted by the food.” Riwoo bonks your head, pointing out how you were speaking through a mouthful of pastry. “You don't want to make him perform the Heimlich maneuver on your first date do you?”

Your face lights up. “Hey, that isn't actually a bad idea! It's basically a back-hug if you ignore the choking-on-food part.” 

Riwoo groans into his hand. “What do I do with you?”

The Hog’s Head Inn is warm and cosy at this time of day, swarming with customers, but in a way that feels homely. Snowflakes cling onto the dusty windows framed with tinsel and fairy lights, and through it you can see Hogsmeade is as busy as ever—students with paper-bags filled with goodies, last minute Christmas shoppers between their frantic searches, and the occasional day-drunks hollering at passerbys. 

You tap your feet happily under the wooden table, digging into your slice of fruitcake, while Riwoo takes a swig of his Butterbeer. He was supposed to coach you on dating etiquette, and the subtle art of flirting (his words) but as expected, the both of you had deviated from the initial objective once the food arrived. 

“You'll come with me to Madam Malkin’s right?” You chirp up, watching how his cheeks are a soft shade of alcohol-induced-pink. 

He winces, “don't you already have a million dresses? Why do you need another one?”

“None of them are ball-worthy, duh.” You roll your eyes at the obvious, and he returns the same. “And I'm not the only one who needs new robes.”

“I told you, I'm not coming.”

You're about to protest when you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye, a lanky frame you could pick out anywhere in a crowd—Intak and his syndicate of scarlett-clad-jocks, also known as the Gryffindor quidditch team to most. They walk in with the kind of swagger only reserved for habitual gold-medalists, boisterously taking over the largest table in the middle. 

“Your mouth is open.” Riwoo’s voice shakes you out of your reverie. You flail to purse your lips, only taking sideways glances at the Quidditch team. 

“Is he looking?” You ask your best friend, trying to appear discreet (and failing). 

“Nope.” He says with a pop at the end, licking the foam off of his upper lip. “Can you not make it obvious thou—oh crap.” 

Your eyes widen. “What?!” 

“Ummm…he's coming over, act cool.” Riwoo says, and your heart drops to your stomach. The urge to flee has never been stronger. 

Riwoo gets back to his drink, and you suddenly have a great interest in the shape and material of your metal fork. You're holding your breath, ignoring the sound of footsteps that gets closer by the second—for a moment you consider ducking under the desk, but the sane part of your brain says no—then you hear someone clear their throat above your seat.

“Uh, hey Y/N.” Intak says, giving you a small lift of his hand and a kind smile. 

“Hi-uh-hello…hi.” you flubber, less graceful than intended. “Intak.” you add uselessly, hoping that flashing a smile after will erase your stupidity. But something about the way Riwoo grimaces makes you think it won't. 

Intak giggles softly, “Y/N.” he repeats like it's now your inside joke. “...Jaehyun told me you kept looking over. Is everything alright?” 

You almost spit out a piece of raisin. Riwoo muffles a chuckle under his hand. When you look past Intak, you can clearly see that Myung Jaehyun, the Gryffindor Captain, and the rest of his team have turned their heads to look at you. 

You shake your head, desperate to clear your name. “No, no! I mean, yes! Everything's splendid.” Splendid? Who the hell says splendid in conversation? “I had a leaf in my eye.” 

“Oh.” Intak nods, not really questioning the logistics of the possibility of that happening. “Um, well I just had to say thanks for those Divination notes. They helped big-time, especially with the Quidditch season in full swing.”

You flash him a thumbs-up, brain being not able to come up with any coherent thought. Riwoo, however, cares enough to have your back- “She means you're welcome.” You nod frantically to agree.

Intak grins, amused by your antics, but good-spirited as always. “Well then…I'll catch you later.”

He leaves with a little wave, which you return—although it's much less suave than his. As soon as he's out of the line of your sight, you grumble into the palm of your hands. “Why am I like this?” 

“I ask myself the same thing everyday,” Riwoo agrees. “But hey, at least you spoke like three words to him.”

“I said splendid, Riwoo. Splendid. He's gonna think I'm obsolete.” You whine, holding your fork like a weapon. You're pouting dejectedly, half-eaten cake abandoned in front of you, staring off into the snow like a widow—Riwoo could tease you, make you pout harder and earn a bit of satisfaction from it. But something about the genuine downturn of your lips makes him decide against it.

He sighs, pretending to look down at his wristwatch. “If we leave now, we can make it to Madam Malkin's and have time left over for some stationary-shopping.”

The switch is immediate—your eyes light up like a bulb, a wide grin plastered on your face now. It's cute, and a little comical. “Seriously!?”

“I need new quills anyways,” he shrugs, hiding a smile behind his drink. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Never.” You reply, already starting to think of all the clothes you were going to make him try on. Despite the tiny humiliation from before, the day was already starting to brighten up.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Okay, so you may have gotten a little carried away with the drink, but that's not entirely your fault. 

What happened was this—Riwoo entertains you the entire time in the store, doing a whole three-sixty spin in his dashing new suit, letting you deck him out in earrings and rings. You overspend on a brand new dress, matching heels, and too many washi-tapes and enchanted quills than you need.  Then you say, “I could use a drink.”

Riwoo says, "You're a lightweight.” 

You say, “Watch me.”

And that's how you end up back at the Hog’s head, ordering two jars of Butterbeer. It's not alcoholic enough to be classified as underage drinking, but still mimicked the buzz good enough. 

After several competitive gulps, you're flushed as a tomato. Riwoo, though he looks fine on the outside, is not immune to your scrutiny—he’s a little red, eyes twinkly, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

When you make it to the bottom of your jar, the sun is already beginning to set, spilling gold onto his visage, making him look all soft and airy. You have the urge to reach out and pinch his cheeks, the only thing holding you back being the fear of his inevitable attack.

The walk back to the dorms isn't much of a walk as it is a series of staggers. You and Riwoo are arm in arm, giggling non-stop, swaying sideways and almost swerving off the road at some points. 

Fortunately, you make it back alive in one piece. 

The common room is warm for the winter, fireplace crackling, bathing the furniture and plants in a dim glow. You throw your bags onto the old afghan, watching Riwoo flop down on his back.

You're too giddy to rest, so you do the natural thing and poke at his side. “Riu…get up, entertain me.”

“Go away.” He playfully swats at your face.

“M’too drunk.” 

“It was one beer, calm down.” He huffs with a lopsided smile. “You haven't even tried the real thing.”

“Don't challenge me, you know it only makes me want to prove you wrong.”

He only shakes his head. “Your self-awareness is shameful.” 

Despite his supposed protests, he lets himself be pulled up by you, leaning into your warmth like second-nature. His hands find yours, you don't have to say a word for him to understand you're asking him to dance with you. 

But his steps aren't as precise as usual—a little slower, less fluid, and yours are no better. Watching Riwoo without his signature coordination makes a giggle spill from your mouth. He pouts, pressing you closer during a spin. 

“You're so soft like this.” You chuckle, readjusting your hands on his shoulder. 

“M’not soft.” He mumbles, but the smile that makes its way onto his face is undeniable. Under the canopy of hanging plants and light on wood, he looks especially dreamlike—youre not sure if it's the haze of alcohol or just the magic of dusk and lethargy. His eyes are half-lidded, hair rumpled, hands warm under your touch. 

You step forward, waltzing to the invisible music, taking the lead this time. A spin, another step—you’ve circled your way to the middle of the room, heartbeat slightly faster, breath catching. Riwoo’s grinning as he twirls you, getting faster and faster until it stops for a second, and then you're being dipped. 

His hand is at the back of your head, steadfast and safe, and your arms are around his neck, the two of you laughing without a care. 

He pulls you up—but you don't realise it when your foot doesn't land back the same. 

In a split second, you're tumbling over your feet, taking Riwoo with you. You brace for impact, trying to protect your head, only to realise he has already caught you in a roll so that you're now hovering over him, your palms pressed up to his chest, lips bare millimetres away from each other.

Your breath catches. 

For a brave moment, you look from his eyes and at his lips. And then his cheeks. Your hands move on their own accord, slipping away from his chest and lightly tracing the line of his cheekbone, pressing down with your thumb to see if it really is as soft as it looks–

“Hey.” you hear through the pulse in your ear. When you look back up, he's got a far-off look in his eyes. Somewhere along the way, his hands had slid to your waist. His lips are parted, as though he wants to ask something—instead, it slips into a smile, something longing and sweet. “Mistletoe.” He whispers, pointing above. 

You look up to see he's right—someone must've hung it for the holidays. You'd almost missed it among all the other hanging pots and plants. 

Riwoo doesn't push, he just stays there holding you, as though this was all a dream and he has no authority to mar it. 

Maybe it's the drink, maybe it's the mistletoe, or maybe it's just the look in his eyes—like he was holding back. Whatever it is, your pulse jumps as you surge forward and give into an uninhibited kiss. 

Except…It would only be generous to call it a kiss, given that it lasts all of five seconds and possibly leaves a bruise on your mouth. It's clumsy, too eager, too inexperienced—and you think that's it until Riwoo’s pulling you back, mouth crashing into yours in a frenzy. 

You feel his hands around you, the brush of his lashes on your cheek—and in a moment of short-lived clarity, you're thankful nobody is there to witness this. Your brain buzzes with his name, his lips on yours, his teeth grazing against you, him—Riwoo, your best friend who you've known forever. Riwoo who's kissing you like he needs it. 

You break apart, swallowing air, and you can tell by the look his eyes that he wants to do it again–

“We're drunk.” You hear yourself whispering, “It’s just the alcohol.” 

He blinks. You breathe.

Both of you know it's a lie—you curse your mouth for moving of its own accord, and you sort of hope he calls you out on your bullshit. The tension that lasts is taut enough to be cut with a knife—the quiet of the air just makes it worse. 

“Yeah.” He replies eventually. 

And suddenly, everything breaks, the suspended moment coming down like heavy snowfall. You scramble apart, clearing your throat. He beelines to the boys dormitory without much of a goodbye, and part of you feels grateful for it. 

When you crawl under your blanket that night, face hot with the memory of him on your lips, of the tremor in his voice when you ruined it all, and you wonder if this means he hates you now. 

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You feel as though your life is a segment of some Christmas comedy special—while your entire world is silently collapsing around you, everyone else is more excited about dates and yule-day feasts. 

You should have already asked Intak by now, but he's just an afterthought when you have real, pressing matters at hand.

It's been around a week since it happened—and by it, you mean the accidental-not-accidental kiss with your lifelong best friend who you might or might not see in a different light now. Every time you try to get a wink of sleep, you jolt awake at the image of his stupid face looking at yours. And then comes his stupid cheeks and eventually those stupid lips and…well, you kissed those lips so you must be pretty stupid yourself.

Worst thing is, you have no clue how he feels about it. 

You're in your usual spot at the dining table, miserably poking at your eggs—bedhead evident, dark-circles deathly—saddest part being: the spot next to you is empty. It's been empty for a while. You're about to groan for the nth time that day when you feel a nudge at your arm. 

Your first thought is—Riwoo’s here! Your second is…what the heck, it's just–

“Leehan.” You sigh dejectedly, going back to being sorrowful. 

“Nice to see you too?” the Hufflepuff pouts, sticking his wand back into his hair (god knows how he does it). “You look chipper.”

You grumble around a cheekful of food. “Don't you have flobberworms to dig up or something?”

“I have a mission to complete before I get back to my flobberworms.” He joins his fingers together in a solemn way that makes you want to stick his wand up his…nose. “You and Riwoo had a fight didn't you?” 

Part of you wants to disagree, say no it wasn't a fight, we just had an accidental…touching of lips. Then there's the more rational part of you that knows this is much, much worse than any fight you've ever had. You're too caught up worrying about what he thought about you to even consider why the heck you were the one to kiss him first. 

“I think he might hate me.” You mumble, tears threatening to well up. Leehan looks at you startled, hands reaching out and then retracting like he has no idea how to soothe a crying girl. 

After several beats of your snivelling. he manages to supply, “Riwoo? He doesn't hate anyone, especially not you.” Leehan settles for an awkward pat on your hair—though it’s more reminiscent of the way he usually pets a Hippogriff.

Surprisingly, you only sob harder. “That's not true, he hates his second year Muggle Studies professor. And that ice cream vendor that refused to give us seconds…and now me…”

It's a little funny, Leehan thinks, but he doesn't want to die by your fork so he holds down the laughter. “Listen, I don't know what you think he's been doing all this time…but he's no better than you.”

You blink through a glaze of tears, sniffling. “huh?”

He nods, “He’s been holed up in the Owlery …looking like someone set a dementor on him.”

The mental image of a depressed-looking Riwoo gives you something close to a whiplash. Riwoo doesn't wallow—he pushes through. 

He's the guy that tags along with you to fortune-telling booths just to see you happy, even when he swears divination is a scam. He lets you cry and whine and throw tantrums, all the while knowing exactly what to say to calm you down. And here you are, making all of this about yourself instead of being there for him.

“Oh…can I…do you think he wants to see me right now?” You rub your eyes, wiping off any wetness there. 

“He's your best friend, of course he wants to.” Leehan says in his faux-sage voice. “he hasn't shut up about you for…how long have you been fighting?”

“Like a week?”

“-for one week.” He claps his hands together like a shutter, deciding that's a good line to leave on. 

You're mulling over your options in your head, when something else strikes you. “Wait…how did you know Riwoo was in the Owlery? You don't own an owl.”

Leehan purses his lips slyly. “I have my ways.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, “Who’re you going to the ball with?” 

He makes a zipping motion along his lips and then zooms off before you can even prompt another question. 

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You find Riwoo at the Owlery, tending to Mr. Fortune. 

He's picking through the plumage, discarding little twigs and leaves that must have got caught in his feathers when he went on his trips. 

You clasp your glove-covered hands behind your back, secretly crossing your fingers before clearing your throat loudly. “Did Cookie bring back something for me?”

Riwoo’s head jerks back at your voice, causing him to accidentally poke his owl too hard and earning a sharp screech for it. Riwoo gently pats him in apology, stopping only once he starts nuzzling into his touch. You wait with bated breath, refusing to leave until he acknowledges you. 

He finally stops the grooming, letting the bird back onto his perch. There's a hint of awkwardness to his voice when he finally says, “told you to not call him Cookie.” 

It's something. And you are nothing if not an expert at grasping at edges. 

“He likes it, you're the only one that doesn't.” You retort, moving to gently pet Mr. Fortune, grinning when he returns the affection by bringing his head to your extended arm. “And he likes me.” The unlike you is unsaid, but implied. 

“Y/N-” 

“It was a lapse of judgement, right, when we kissed?” you're not sure if you’re asking him or yourself, refusing to meet his eyes. Whatever answer he decides to give you…you suppose that's your clue. 

And Riwoo…he stares at the back of your head, pensive, maybe as afraid as you are. When he speaks, he's quiet. “You're still my best friend.” 

You expect to feel relieved, but there's another feeling clawing at your insides, in the pit of your stomach—disappointment. Because his words sound a lot like a rejection, whether he means to or not. But you shake back the ugly emotion threatening to crawl up, turning around to face him and say, "You're mine too.” 

You always thought you could read him perfectly—all his little quirks so obvious to you. But when you look at him now, the furrow of his brows or the tightening of his knuckles means nothing to you. They make zero sense. 

“So we're okay?” You ask.

“We're okay.”

There's an awkward stretch of silence before he has the good sense to come ruffle your hair, not unlike how he does with his owl. You pout with no real annoyance—in fact, you've missed his bothersome habits. 

You pull his arm, taking him with you, non-verbally staking a claim on whatever plans he had made prior to this. 

For now, you'll settle for what you get, even if it means having to pretend you haven't thought of that damn kiss more than you should have.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You expect things to go uphill from there. But there's an ancient wise muggle saying out there that goes something like: Life is a party, and you're the piñata—yep, pretty much sums up your situation. 

Riwoo doesn't just stick with you during meal-times and dance lessons anymore…he also shows up in your dreams (or nightmares). And he's always flushed, with that stupid cute cheeks of his, and his teeth that are a bit like fangs, and there's usually a mistletoe hanging above, and you're more often than not kis–

“Run me over with a broomstick!” You yelp, groaning into your palm. It's starting to become a signature trait of yours now. 

Leehan and Riwoo exchange worried glances from either side of you, wondering if you ate the wrong mushroom or something. Leehan stares, then goes back to pretending his food is actually interesting. 

Riwoo leans into you, “You’re not this cranky usually.”

There's no warning for the goosebumps that erupt on your neck, heart doing a whole gymnastics routine—a handstand, split leap, cartwheel triple combo—all because he had the audacity to invade your personal bubble without a care in the world. Curse your god-given memory that won't let you forget what happened the last time he was this close. 

You cough ungracefully, sputtering on a bit of soup. He pats your back with practiced ease. 

“I'm just tired.” You wheeze. He's about to ask you to explain, when you're interrupted by a tap on your other shoulder. 

When you look around, you're surprised to find Intak—dressed in a red house-cardigan and loose slacks, looking every bit as Gryffindor with that confident, yet unarrogant smile. 

“Y/N,” he greets with a wide grin, all toothy and sweet. “I didn't see you at Hogsmeade last week.”

It takes a while for your brain to register. “Oh…Ah, yeah. Last week was–I was sick.” You forgo the details about living under your blankets for days after Riwoo started ignoring you. 

“Are you okay now? You don't look too well-”

“Just the weather. I get cold easily.” You reply, eager to change the topic. He seems to catch on.

“Uh..okay, so I'm not here to just say hi. I wanted to talk to you,” Intak says nervously, maybe even shy. “in private.” 

You glance at Riwoo on instinct, expecting him to throw you a teasing eyebrow-raise or an exaggerated look of shock, but he just sits there…not looking at you. He's occupied with his food, body no longer angled towards yours, looking far too detached—and your brain is yelling, look at me, please, why don't you care? 

Intak doesn't seem to notice anything odd, waiting patiently as you leave the Hufflepuff table to be led out into the corridor.

Riwoo doesn't see you glance back at him, he doesn't see how reluctant your steps seem to be—and you don't notice how for someone who supposedly doesn't care, his ears burn an angry crimson. 

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[5 days to the ball]

RIWOO is fine. 

Riwoo is ay-okay.

Riwoo is…counting one through hundred, trying not to scream at his reflection in the mirror. 

Everything was supposed to be fine, in fact, it was going swimmingly fine until you decided to choose that particular day to get drunk on 1% alcohol and he decided to aid and abet. Everything was supposed to be fine—and he was supposed to not be this bothered.

He's never thought he could be anywhere close to flustered around you—hes seen you at your worsts, your most embarrassing moments and milestones, and you his. Like when you accidentally set off a charm on yourself and had to sport neon-yellow hair for a day. Or when he attempted to show off his dance skills to some upperclassmen and broke his left toe. Or the time the two of you got lost in Hogsmeade in third year ended up crying together until a Professor had to come back for you. 

It was comfortable, familiar—doing what best friends do. 

But then one random day, you come waltzing in with your giddy laughter and your soft smiles, and the way you had looked at him like you wanted to kiss him… and then you did! You reached out first. 

And he…he may have wanted it too, just a little. You just looked so…free. It may have been the lighting, or maybe all that waltzing, but at some point in the night, the reasons started to not matter.

…

But it was fine.

Even after you said it was the alcohol, after he agreed—it was all supposed to be fine.

That is until life decided to throw another rock at Riwoo in the form of the six-foot-tall demon in red. He has no idea why the idea of you still liking Intak makes his head hurt, and not in the same way it used to. There's an ugly, slimy feeling reaching up from his stomach all the way to his throat…something very close to jealou-

“NOPE. NO WAY!” Riwoo slaps the moisturiser onto his face with a loud clap, face inches away from the mirror. 

He goes on to dry his face way too aggressively, padding out of the bathroom and throwing it into the hamper with an unnecessary amount of force. It startles Leehan who happens to be chewing on the end of a fish-shaped gummy, sitting on his four-poster bed, back flat against a poster of the anatomy of an Acromantula (hideous, Riwoo has expressed before). 

“Do you and Y/N trade days to be moody?” he pipes up, sounding all innocent but a menacing glint evident behind his wire-framed glasses. “You’re like the same person in different bodies and at different times.”

“Shouldn't you be-”

“Digging for Flobberworms, yeah, yeah.” Leehan simply waves it away, ignoring Riwoo’s face of surprise. “Don't worry, I'm not a prophet. Y/N just says the same thing.”

Riwoo doesn't dignify that with a response, choosing to instead dig through his wardrobe for a fresh change of clothes. He's swiping across hangers when he finds the suit he'd bought for the Yule ball, unopened in its plastic casing, tucked into the corner behind most of his other shirts. 

“He asked her out by the way.” Leehan mutters from behind. 

Riwoo turns. “What?” 

“Intak, asked Y/N out to the ball.” 

Riwoo blinks. 

Logically, he shouldn't be this shocked …what else could have happened when he said he wanted to ‘talk in private’. This is what you wanted, what he's been helping you all along for. He should be happy for you, find you and tease you in congratulations. But his feet stay rooted to the spot, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Good for them.” he turns back, grumbling under his breath.

There's a second of silence where Riwoo just stands there gripping the edge of his wardrobe, until Leehan pipes up to say:

“Hyung, you're kind of an idiot.” 

When he looks up, Leehan is already discarding his packet of candy, shaking his head with a sigh before deciding he’s had enough chit-chat—then he's skipping off, and out the door. 

Riwoo stands there wondering what he meant by that.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[4 days to the ball]

Dinner is quiet and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. 

You’re not whining like you normally do, but you’re also your usual chatter-box self. You just sit quietly eating your food, occasionally chiming in with a comment when Riwoo says something about a family ski-trip.

It’s… unnerving. 

Don’t get him wrong… he doesn’t hate that you’re not going through another one of your life crises, he would be a terrible friend to wish that upon you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you look like you’re doing fine and he’s been having the terrible, horrible feeling that everything has changed. 

He hasn’t even asked you about Intak yet—admittedly yes, he’s afraid of what you’ll say. He doesn’t want to know if you’ve gone on a date yet, or if you’ve held his hand yet, or if you’ve kissed yet–…oblivion is bliss, the less he knows, the less he wants to bash his head against a wall. 

“You’re not sick are you?” He asks when you’ve quietly nodded to another one of his remarks. 

“Hm?” You tilt your head, “No, why?”

Riwoo can tell there’s something off, but he can’t quite place his finger on what exactly. Not wanting to dissect into it, he just shakes his head and returns back to his meal.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[3 days to the Ball]

You don't talk about the ball anymore….like, at all. Riwoo has no clue what's happened—but he can't lie that he terribly misses your constant talking. 

He really, really misses you. 

Intak must be the one you go to now, yeah, of course that would be the case. Maybe it's too awkward to hang out with the person-slash-best friend you accidentally drunk-kissed, once you get a boyfriend. It wouldn't be fair to Intak. 

The boiling hot feeling he has when he thinks of it isn't jealousy, no way. It's just…he just misses hanging out. With the real you, not this suddenly reserved version. He wishes you'd poke fun at him or at least receive his teasing with some clever remark of your own—not just shrug it off and hurry off with the excuse to do something else. 

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[2 days to the ball]

He knows it’s turning into a real problem when he wakes up at the crack of dawn on his own, and his brain is flashing hot with your image….the one that had shown up in his dream and almost given him a nocturnal heart-attack. Your hands braced on his chest, your hair falling forward around your flushed face,…and that look on your face…

Riwoo knows he’s thoroughly screwed. 

He doesn’t know what possesses him to leave straight to Hogsmeade as soon as he comes to. All he knows is he needs to get out of here and go someplace he isn’t plagued by thoughts of your sparkly eyes and sweet laughter. 

He stays there for what feels like days, and once he thinks he feels like his heart has stopped racing, he decides to come back. 

Except he hasn’t braced himself for the worst scenario possible when he stops at the doorway to see Intak giving your head a fond ruffle at Hufflepuff table before leaving. Riwoo doesn’t wait around to see more, he just bolts back to his bed and screams bloody murder into his pillow, and thankfully the room is empty. 

He comes back up for air. Waits a breath. Then speaks the unspeakable into existence—

“I like her.” Riwoo hears himself admitting. 

It’s a foreign sound to his own ears, but for some reason his chest doesn’t weigh nearly as much anymore. 

He tries again. “I…like Y/N.” His eyes widen, chest rising and falling heavily. He slaps a palm over his eyes and drags it downwards- “I really do like her, oh…”

Oh.

“I love her!?” He says and almost passes out then and there. 

He’s so stupid, like dumber than a piece of rock kind of stupid. Why does he have to catch feelings right when you get a boyfriend?? Well…not entirely true…it’s more so that he only realised his feelings now, it’s been marinating in his heart for ages—probably years.

If he had to trace it back to a specific moment….it was probably at twelve years old, when you'd thrown an elaborate funeral for your pet toad—eulogy and everything—,made him the coffin-bearer (trans. he had to hold up an old shoebox with a doodle of a frumpy-looking toad on top) while you bawled your eyes off, and he saw how much love you could hold for even a small creature like that. He remembers thinking he’d never want to let you cry alone. 

And now he knows that he likes you beyond just wanting to tease and banter with you—to kiss you and hold you and dance with you even if it meant his feet got stepped on. 

But Riwoo has terrible timing and his life is just one big circus. 

Yeah, like he said….he was thoroughly, utterly, capital S, screwed.

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[1 day to the ball]

“Hyung, why do you look like you’re having a heat-stroke? It’s the middle of winter.” Leehan asks, poking Riwoo’s neck with his wand, disrupting his silent spiral. 

He finally turns his eyes away from the window to stare at Leehan, blinking once, twice.

“I’m an idiot.” he sighs dramatically.

Leehan seems surprised but not by much. He nods and then says, “So you figured it out?”

Riwoo deflates, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling now, but then ceilings remind him of mistletoes and in turn kissing and then you’re materialising in his brain and-….yeah, he can’t take this feeling. “What do I do?”

Leehan just pats him on the shoulder. “I think you know.” 

Does Riwoo know?

There’s a very good possibility that, if he were to tell you that he…likes you, you’d just pull away further. Not to mention, it would totally obliterate your friendship—almost a decade just ruined with three simple words. It terrifies him. 

He tosses and turns in bed that night. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s Intak and you—laughing at the ball together, you in your new pretty gown that Riwoo had helped you pick out, waltzing with someone else to the dance you had first learnt from him. 

He tries meditating, then when that fails, he puts a pillow over his face and hopes it drowns out the annoying buzz in his head. It doesn’t. Leehan’s soft snores do nothing to help either. 

So he does the only other thing he can do, he gets up and leaves for the common room, hoping to just rough out the night staring into the fireplace like some wanderer lost in the wilderness. He slinks out the door, a downright wrecked expression on his face. 

When he reaches over to the couch, he's surprised to find someone moving in it…for a second he thinks they're sleeping, but the sporadic shakes can only mean one thing…

“Hey, are you crying?” He asks.

When you lift your head up to meet him, his face drains of any colour left. 

“Y/N?” Riwoo doesn't think twice before rushing around to crouch down in front of you, urging you to look at him. “Hey,...hey what happened?”

You just shake your head, struggling your sobs behind your palm. Your eyes are blotchy and red, hair down in a mess. Riwoo's mind is spiralling—you don't ever shut him out like this. It's never been a problem between you two, the crying or the complaining. So why…

“Is it Intak? Did he do something?” He asks, voice tense.

You purse your lips, choking back tears, slightly hiccupping when you have to swallow air. He carefully brings a hand to your cheek, wiping off the tears that spill uncontrollably. 

Riwoo tries again, trying to get you to look at him. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head.

“…tell me.” It's a quiet plea. He’s seen you cry yourself to sleep before—over grades, over boys, even over papercuts. It was your charm really, how easily you let your emotions spill. But this was different—you’re holding back something even when it's evident your heart is breaking, and he hates that he might have lost his privilege to ask. Still he says, “Did he…did he say something?”

“I’m..” You choke on another sob. “I’m not going to the ball.”

Riwoo feels a surge of heat straight to his head.

Intak, that jerk…how dare he ask you out to the ball and then let you down a day before. Gryffindors and their stupid, reckless, better-than-everyone attitude. Intak was an idiot to give you up just like that. 

He grips the edges of the couch, nails catching at the material, “He doesn't get to break your heart like that okay? ”

You wince, biting your lower lip. Your head is downcast, fingernails digging into the skin of your palm, and he thinks you’re preparing to shut yourself out again when you say, “He didn’t break my heart.”

Riwoo sighs. “Y/N, don’t make excuses for that guy…he shouldn’t have left you alone like this. You’re supposed to be happy for tomorrow, not sit here crying over some dumb boy.”

“Don’t call yourself dumb.” You pout, too drained to roll your eyes.

…

Riwoo almost misses your comment. When it finally registers in his brain, he says, “huh?”

You grumble. “He didn’t break my heart, idiot. You did.”

The world tilts—the sharp crackle of the fire sounds a lot like Riwoo’s brain rewiring, electric and hot. “Huh?” he gapes dumbly.

“Ugh…” You sniff, no longer crying but face morphing into something closer to annoyance, maybe exasperation. “I turned him down.”

Riwoo just sits there blinking—he does that a lot these days, just clueless and shocked. Nothing seems to make any logical sense anymore. He would pinch himself to test if this was a dream, but his hands seem to have lost any connection to his brain. 

“You…turned him down?”

You sigh, nodding. Rubbing at your reddened nose, you say, “He said he thought I was cute, and that he’s been wanting to ask me to the ball but well, he thought I’d ask him first.” You take a big breath to continue, “...and I said no…I said that I like someone else."

If Riwoo was confused before, he was very close to losing his mind now. “...”

You frown. “...aren’t you gonna ask me who?”

“Y/N, I…”

You brace yourself, straightening up, looking him right in the eye when you say “It wasn't the alcohol for me. I was scared you would have regretted it…but I-”

“I didn’t either.” Riwoo interjects. His hands have somehow pried yours away from clawing at your own skin, gently placed within his palms. “The kiss, it meant something to me.”

Now that he’s said it out loud, everything he’s been holding back for days, maybe years, all come spilling out in a flurry, “It meant everything to me Y/N. I was just so scared that…that you’d hate me for letting it happen. And our friendship, I didn’t want to lose that.” He takes a ragged breath. “-and I ended up losing you anyway…I hurt you.”

Silence clouds the space between you for what feels like an eternity, but its not uncomfortable, rather something sacred.

“Riwoo.” You break the quiet spell, leading his face up to look at you properly. You point upwards, “Mistletoe.” 

He doesn’t bother to check before letting you crash his mouth into yours, half-kneeling on the carpet and half-climbing over you to hold you properly. It's rushed and clumsy, nothing like the first, and you're not even sure if you're doing this right, just that it feels perfect.

Then Riwoo opens his mouth to say, “He patted your head.” 

You blink at him, face mere millimetres away, “what?”

“Intak,” Riwoo says, still holding your waist. “I saw him pat the top of your hair…in the dining hall.”

You burst out laughing at the way he says that, his ears burning scarlett. “Are you jealous?”

“...”

“Oh my god, you're jealous!” You guffaw hysterically. “I've never seen you like this, this is great!”

He pouts, but doesn't find it in him to chide you when you look like yourself for the first time in ages. “Just making things clear, since we’re honest and stuff now…”

You grin, but decide to not tease him anymore. Instead you squish his cheeks between your fingers, pulling on it softly like dough. “He kinda knows it was you I like…,” Your face is a warm pink now. “-he was a good sport about it too. Told me he would help me out. I was the one who said I didn’t really have a chance…so he came to check up on me. Got me candy.”

“...” Riwoo doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s absurd, how far off his guess was. He’d assumed the worst possible case when Intak had been eager to help you out with him. Riwoo doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact since that would mean taking back all the curses that’d been bouncing around in his mind aimed at Intak, so he just says. “...are you a child, why’d he get you candy?”

“...you get me candy too.”

“That’s different.” Riwoo mumbles. “It’s me.”

Something in your heart does a somersault. You press your hands against his cheeks again and go in for a quick peck. And another, then another on his nose that makes him giggle. Riwoo doesn’t show mercy for that, tackling you onto the couch, and tickling the spot near your abdomen. You squeal, trying to escape his grasp but failing monumentally. In an attempt to get him to stop, you pull him straight down, making him lay flush against you, his fingers going slack and hesitant. 

From this close, you can count each fleck of brown in his eyes, trace the light mole under his eye all the way down to the corner of his lips. Riwoo waits a breath, as though asking for permission, and when you give him the smallest of nods, he dives down to kiss you like he means it. 

It’s slow but eager, tasting a little like peppermint and coffee, eyelashes ghosting your skin like they’re kissing you too. When you part, it's only for a couple breaths, enough for him to say:-

“Y/N,” He smiles. “Will you go to the ball with me?”

You grin, “I thought you’d never ask.”

── ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[BONUS]

The yule ball lives up to its name. 

The Great hall was rearranged to host several round tables, a giant ice-sculpture shaped like a swan, snack tables holding desserts even more delicious than a normal Hogwarts meal, and topping it all off is an icy chandelier that floats mid-air at the very center, snowflakes spinning down from its corners to match the melody of the waltz.

It’s perfect—you and Riwoo are hand in hand, your ballgown spinning with you, cascading down in layers of chiffon; his suit matches yours, his hair pushed back in a more elegant style. And you only step on his toes twice through the whole dance.

“Aren’t I amazing?” You giggle, swaying giddily to the music that plays from the enchanted instruments. 

He grins, all vampire-teeth and loving gaze, catching you by the waist to spin you around again, holding you close to press his forehead against yours, “You are,” he whispers.

The world is restored to its perfectly lovely state, and you wonder why you were ever too afraid to have him like this before—lovestruck, breathless, yours. Nothing could ever ruin this momen-

“Ah, my favourite lovebirds.” Leehan’s voice interrupts from behind. 

Riwoo rolls his eyes. You almost reach your bag for your wand. 

“Leehan,” Riwoo greets, holding your hand so you don’t try to fight the poor boy. “If you’re here to tease us, don’t even bother…we’ve been through enough…”

Leehan only smiles, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “Hyung, I’m here to get drinks, not everything’s about the two of you.” 

Now that you look properly, he’s holding a glass of something red in each hand, swaying a little to the music. Riwoo narrows his gaze, “-I didn’t know flobberworms could drink.”

Leehan pouts while you stifle a laugh, “My date is a real human girl okay?” 

“Seeing is believing, Han-ie.” You add, coming to loop your arm around Riwoo’s elbow. 

Leehan’s eyes flicker between the two of you, a groan right at the tip of his tongue, “I was happier when you two were wallowing in misery and not in cahoots with each other. And after all that I’ve done to fix your relationship, wow.”

“All’s fair in love and war, my buddy.” You say, earning a fist-bump from Riwoo. 

Leehan seems to want to have his last word before leaving, but he doesn’t get the chance to when his name is called out from behind. You spot a girl—vaguely familiar—waving her arm from amongst the dancing crowd; the song seems to have switched to something more loud and electric. 

Leehan doesn’t wait around for retorts anymore, he just holds the two of you in a half-hug, trying to balance his drinks, gives a smug look, and then skips on towards the girl. 

.....

…You suppose the world really has come to an end. 

Riwoo is gaping at your side, “...okay, wow.”

“Yep.” you sigh, but then brighten as you remember something. “Pay up.”

Riwoo groans, digging into his pockets for a couple galleons. “I swear I thought he’d bring a unicorn or something and teach it to dance.” 

You stop him from taking the money out, for now of course, and instead slip your hands back into his.

Riwoo’s eyes soften as they meet yours. “Mistletoe.” You lie. 

He knows you don’t need the excuse anymore, but leans in without protest anyways. It’s intoxicating and sweet, just like the night—and just like the glass of butterbeer that (fortunately) landed you in this whole mess.

And you think—If the world really has come to an end, it might still be okay, so long as you have Riwoo with you. You don’t have to ask him to know he feels the exact same way.

NEXT ── .✦ BOOK [3] seeker, smitten

thank you for reading!