Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hah, I KNEW San didn’t know shit, Wooyoung thought triumphantly, grin smug as he beheld the floating magical door before him. 

The magical door that promised the realization of his wildest dreams, and that his best friend had sworn couldn't actually exist.

And all he’d had to do to find it was walk this specific corridor three times, thinking about what he needed most—at least, according to the intel he’d nearly sold his soul to earn. 

(Jongho got custody of the Marauder’s Map for three whole weeks, and Slytherin got the coveted pre-dinner Quidditch practice slot for the rest of the term. His team was pissed, but if things went according to plan, they’d forgive him…eventually.)

“‘A dumb Gryffindor couldn’t hope to find it’ my ass,” Wooyoung scoffed before confidently shoving the tall double doors open and entering the room he’d only been dreaming of for months.

…That is, he would have, had he not been quickly rebuffed, smacking his nose against the ancient wood with a thud and an undignified rebound backwards.

Pull, said the helpful tiny text above the door handles upon examination.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and adjusted his robes, thanking any and all gods that he’d made sure no nosy students or meddling ghosts lingered in this wing. 

More deliberately this time, he grasped both of the intricately carved wooden handles and pulled the doors open with some force, refusing to let the chance for a dramatic entrance pass. 

Holding his breath, he stepped inside. 

Only, contrary to his wildest dreams, what stood before him was not a sprawling Quidditch pitch, or a closet full of the newest, slickest gear in the market, or a scroll containing some long-lost unbeatable game strategy, but…a dusty, half-covered antique mirror?

“What the hell?” Wooyoung muttered in disbelief. He rushed around the mirror, searching in vain for the stretch of soft grass, the goalposts standing tall, the fresh Nimbus 9000s lined up in wait. 

That was, after all, what he’d fervently wished for as he’d paced that damned hallway three times. 

"Remember, dumbass, the room will only appear if you have something you're yearning for above all else. Something about responding to honest hearts, I don't know. I heard it from Yeonjun, who heard it from Beomgyu, who heard it from god knows who."

He'd gotten the room to appear, but the thing must be faulty, because some mirror wasn't going to win him the championship.

And as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain with something to prove, what else could he possibly be yearning for?

“Come on!” 

Refusing to accept it, Wooyoung left the room in haste, sprinting his way across the corridor and back three times in quick succession before throwing open the wooden double doors once more.

“...You cannot be serious.” 

This time, as if gently mocking him, the mirror had migrated even closer to the door, and the cloth that’d covered it was now folded neatly at his feet. 

Seeing the anger he felt throbbing in his face reflected before him in the glass only made him more frustrated, and he closed the distance with the mirror in a few heated strides. 

“Oh yes, because this is what I ‘desperately need'", he grumbled. “Damn Jongho with his bullshit intel.”

He stared at it, giving it the judgiest once-over he could muster. He wasn’t about to leave before making it known—even to a million-year-old inanimate relic—that he felt wronged. 

He felt particularly silly side-eying his own reflection, but then…

 “Mirror of Erised?” he read aloud, swiping the dust off the swooping golden letters.

What an ornate name for something designed only to show your own reflection...

An idea bubbled to existence in his mind, and he huffed a laugh. “This couldn’t possibly be some bootleg Narnia situation…could it?”

Unable to take himself seriously but also lacking any shits to give at this point, he stepped back until his whole body was within frame, and proceeded to glare at himself with focused—if slightly wild—eyes. 

Quidditch pitch Quidditch pitch Quidditch pitch, he yelled mentally, resisting the urge to blink just in case that’d negatively affect whatever mysterious magic he hoped was happening somewhere behind his reflection. 

A minute passed and his eyes started to burn, but Wooyoung felt all the hope and frustration and wasted time of the past few months beginning to press inside his skull, and he couldn’t just go back to his room in defeat. 

Please, I want this because I need to win, to prove myself, he begged, but it didn’t feel quite right, so he tried again.

This is how I show everyone what I can do...that I take things seriously, that I care about my future, that I'm not just a distraction, a burden—

He shook himself. He was getting sidetracked.

This is how I prove the last five years weren't a waste, he thought, arriving at some devastating conclusion, desperation swirling in his gut.

He stood locked in place for a few moments more, but when nothing happened, he let his posture slump. 

Had he really expected the portal to his truest desires to magically appear in his reflection, just because some beat-up antique had a strange name? This attempt had been just as deluded as all the others.

“Who am I kidding?” Wooyoung said aloud, laughing humorlessly, “As if I can get what I want just by wishing for it. As if that's ever worked before.”

He realized with some horror that his throat was tight, a pressure building behind his eyes.

Clearing his throat, he kicked the edge of the mirror just hard enough for the glass to shudder in the frame.

“What a stupid plan.”

Not wasting any more time, Wooyoung stooped over and grabbed the cloth that'd covered the mirror when he'd first entered the room.

He never wanted to see the accursed thing again.

But just as he prepared to throw the sheet over, he froze. 

His reflection hadn’t moved. 

In his own right hand, he gripped the dusty cloth, but the Wooyoung in the mirror stood empty-handed, staring back at him with an amused tilt in his smile. 

“What the…” 

He waved at himself hesitantly. No reaction. 

He turned away slowly…then whipped his whole body back, hoping to catch movement of any kind.

No dice. 

Disappointment forgotten in the wake of whatever was happening before him, Wooyoung dropped the cloth and took a baby step forward. 

As if waiting for his cue, his reflection smiled gently and looked up over its shoulder, as if seeing something standing behind it. 

“Oh hell no,” Wooyoung laughed valiantly (trembling like a leaf). “I know the white people fall for this shit in the movies all the time, but I know better.”

“…”

Possible ghoul Mirror Wooyoung didn’t move. Just continued looking fondly over its shoulder as if to say, “Fine by me. Don’t look then.”

Every muscle in Wooyoung’s body flexed as he forced himself not to move. If he were standing before a non-haunted mirror, he’d probably be staring at the bulging veins in his neck, or the blood rushing to his face, or the flared nostrils above the lip clamped firmly between his teeth…basically anything other than his own visage eerily smiling at something invisible, taunting him with something lovely he’d surely enjoy seeing if he only just took a quick peek—

“OKAY FINE, I DIE WITH NO REGRETS.”

Wooyoung whipped his head around to look behind him at last, chin up with the pride of meeting a noble end, and was met with the chilling sight of—

...Nothing? 

The adrenaline began to drain away slowly, as if just as confused as he was at this non-lethal turn of events. 

He made to turn back around, but stopped himself.

There's...not gonna be something terrifying in my reflection when I look back, right?

...Right?

"HA HA HA. Okay, you got me...Please don't curse me when I turn around, you're above that."

After all, the ghost clearly haunting the mirror seemed more playful than cruel, and could probably be reasoned with. In his experience, ghosts responded most positively to words of affirmation. 

(That was a lie. He’d congratulated Nearly Headless Nick on getting that little bit of oral action before getting offed [don’t even get him started on the potential for wordplay there], and now the guy tried to Pass Through him whenever they crossed paths. Spiteful thing.)

Crossing his fingers, Wooyoung slowly turned back around.

He bravely took another peek at the mirror, and then he gasped. 

For, standing behind his smiling reflection, arm wrapped warmly around him was…his childhood best friend, Ravenclaw Head Boy himself—

“Yeosang??”

“Yeosang!!”

Said boy groaned and groggily waved his hand, as if to slap the call from the air. 

“It’s the weekend, leave me alone.”

He hadn’t slept for nearly long enough to deal with whatever Mingi wanted from him on a Saturday morning.

“Yeosang bro, you gotta get up, today's the day.”

It took him a moment to process, and then it was like his friend had hit him with a shock spell x2 speed hex combo for the way Yeosang jolted out of bed and stumbled to his feet with a rare lack of grace.

“Shit, what time is it?”

Mingi watched him scramble into his robes with sympathy, but no mercy. 

“It’s already 8, but I’ll take over the prefect meeting so you can head straight over.”

Yeosang tripped over his pant leg, cursing softly, “Okay, I’ll make it up to you. Thanks for waking me up.”

Mingi smiled and patted him firmly on the back, nearly knocking him off balance as he finished putting on his pants. 

“No need. The chance to boss around the ass-kissers AND see you all flustered like this? It’s my pleasure.” 

Yeosang shot him a dry look, but his friend countered with an unrepentant gummy smile. 

After a few more minutes of scrambling, Yeosang was grabbing his Potions kit and dashing out of Ravenclaw Tower.

He looked down to fasten his belt as he darted around a corner, and his moment of distraction cost him.

Before he knew it, he was on the ground, winded and gasping.

He was also…oddly warm?

“Nnnnngggghh,” groaned the warmth lying atop his chest.

Yeosang still couldn’t breathe, but his reflexes kicked in and he shoved the heavy body away with all his strength…which was more substantial than he’d realized, considering the way the ball of robes and red hair went flying across the corridor. 

And then his brain kicked in, and he realized what had happened. 

“Wooyoung?”

The boy groaned again and raised his head weakly from where he was sprawled out on the stone floor. “Damn, Sangie, way to greet a guy after five years.”

Yeosang squashed the part of him that stirred at the nickname with the part that shrank at “five years”. 

“You say that like we don’t see each other nearly every day.”

Wooyoung shot him a look as he pushed himself upright. “You know what I mean.”

Yeosang flinched, but held out his hand nonetheless. It hurt to see him, it always did, but he was never one to let his pain go on to hurt others. 

Especially since none of it is his fault, he thought with a grimace. 

Wooyoung took his hand with a firm grip, pulling himself up to stand before letting it go. 

Yeosang felt his fingers flex against his will and quickly stuck the rebellious hand inside the pocket of his robes. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, hoping the other boy hadn't noticed. 

“What, like it’s weird?” Wooyoung's cheeks dimpled deeply as he smirked, “I have plenty of Ravenclaw friends I could be visiting.”

Yeosang heard the tease, knew he wasn’t being serious, and yet he couldn’t fend off the hurt that ripped through his gut. 

I’m sure you do, he couldn’t help but think. He frowned at himself. He’d had five years to get over this, to get over…their friendship ending as it had.

He had no right to be hurt that he was no longer the reason Wooyoung came to Ravenclaw Tower.

Wooyoung was staring at him now, brows scrunched, and Yeosang jerked. He’d paused too long. 

“Students of other houses are prohibited from entering the Ravenclaw common room.” 

He winced at his own words.

Wow, way to go, Head Boy Yeosang. Just bend over and show off the stick up your ass, why don’t you.

Wooyoung laughed it off awkwardly, a trick Yeosang remembered with a nostalgic pang in his chest. 

The redhead used to drag him all throughout the castle at all hours in the night, just to break the rules and just to have something to do with his best friend, who, of course, let him have his way without fail because that’s just how they were.

And whenever they got caught—which was often, Gryffindors weren’t exactly known for their subtlety—Yeosang would always bow in apology, and Wooyoung would always just laugh it off with what he claimed to be irresistible natural charm. 

(They always got away with it, though, so perhaps there was some validity to his claim.)

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s lucky that I caught you here then.”

Yeosang froze. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Wooyoung laughed, a genuine one this time, and stepped closer. It’d been so long since those eyes were trained on him with such intensity—Yeosang’s breath caught in his chest.

And then he stopped breathing entirely because, 

“You have something I want.”

Standing close as he was, Yeosang could see the mole under Wooyoung’s eye, could feel the warm brush of the boy’s breath soft across his face.

Usually when they were this close, Wooyoung's arms were wrapped around him, their legs intertwined as they held each other, and Yeosang—

Yeosang cleared his throat harshly, “What are you talking about?”

His eyes were dry, but he couldn’t blink, couldn’t move. 

Keep it together.

Wooyoung’s brown eyes flicked between his for a long moment, as if searching for something hidden in their depths. And then—Yeosang’s heart wrenched, just a little—he stepped away, and suddenly the reminder of the distance between them was back, crushing as ever. 

“Why does it have to be you, huh?” Wooyoung murmured, so softly that Yeosang didn’t think he meant to say it aloud.

So softly that Yeosang almost didn’t understand the pain that spiked in his gut until he recognized the familiar flicker of disappointment in the other boy’s face. 

Like he’d tried his best to find something in Yeosang, and had come up empty. 

“Well,” Yeosang stood up straight and shuttered his expression, needlessly shifting his bag at his side, “I’m sure whatever you need can be satisfied by any of my prefects, not just me.” 

“Just me” has never quite cut it after all, don't you remember?

Remembering he was in a hurry, Yeosang sidestepped his old friend and tried to regain his composure as he walked away, as fast as he reasonably could.

Trust something like this to happen on a day he needed a lock on his emotions. 

And then there was a hand wrapped around his wrist, a tug backwards. 

“Yeosang, wait.”

Almost losing his balance at the sudden yank, he pivoted on one foot until he was back facing Wooyoung, wrist hot under the boy's grip. 

“Yes?” He asked sharply. It came out cold, like he was unbothered, like the heat of the skin-on-skin touch wasn’t flickering up his arm in gentle flames. 

Wooyoung looked him in the eyes, softer than before. His Adam's apple rose and fell as he swallowed, and for just a moment, Yeosang was afraid of what he was about to say. 

“I…” he trailed off, “You…”

Yeosang felt the comforting sting of his nails breaking skin as he clenched his free hand tight in a fist. He needed the pain to ground him, to keep him calm as he waited, breathless.

Helpless to do anything else, he studied Wooyoung's face.

It looked older than the memories he pretended not to dream of.

What used to be soft, round curves of childhood were now sharper, harder, with new definition in his jaw and the strong swoop of his nose aging his face from a teen into a man.

Crimson bangs flicked over dark eyes that watched his own, and Yeosang hurriedly looked away, only for his gaze to be caught by Wooyoung's tongue as it flicked out to wet his lips.

He did that when he was nervous.

And even after five years of pointedly looking away, it still made Yeosang feel the same as it always had.

The air was thick with something, and Yeosang felt that strange something drag his gaze back up to meet Wooyoung's, until they were staring simply into each other, like all their time separated had done nothing to keep them apart.

Yeosang opened his mouth to say something, anything, but in that same instant, Wooyoung's eyes broke away from his, dropping down and stopping at something far below.

When they came back up to meet his own, whatever tendril of connection they’d had was somehow, suddenly, lost, and he just said,

“Guess even Head Boys gotta earn their title, huh?” 

Yeosang blinked. Blinked again. And then snapped his head down to look at the waistband of his pants, where his belt still hung unfastened. 

He yanked it closed in a hurry, accidentally fastening it one notch too tight. He felt like a fool for thinking…for hoping…?

“Five points from Gryffindor,” he said tersely, blinking just a little too fast, “I suggest you take my prefects more seriously than you do me.”

He yanked his arm free, Wooyoung's hand dropping heavily.

Whatever warmth he'd felt at the touch had gone cold, and Yeosang was done letting his own weakness come back to hurt him, yet again.

Wooyoung just stared, mouth opening and closing like his speech had been stolen. 

With a deep, shaky inhale, Yeosang turned to leave.

He paused, just long enough to turn his head to the side and say, “Next time you decide to mess around, choose someone who can actually afford to waste their time with you."

And then he left, clutching his bag and holding his spine straight, as if perfect posture could ease the ache in his chest, or the uncomfortable heat in his face as he gave in and let his eyes fill. 

Five years and I’m still like this.

Chapter Text

“Five years and you’re still like this?!”

Wooyoung groaned bodily and flopped onto his stomach, smothering his face in San’s pillows. 

“I knowwww I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

San lifted his head by his hair gently, looked deeply into his eyes…and flicked him hard on the forehead. 

Wooyoung rolled away, clutching his head, “Ow!! Jesus, San!”

“Don’t act like you don’t deserve it.” San chucked a pillow at his face that he only barely deflected in time. 

Seonghwa calmly retrieved the pillow from the floor and returned it to its place on the bed. “He’s right, Wooyoung. You messed up.”

Wooyoung let himself go limp, his body weight dragging him to the floor. “I know I did, I just—”

“Just what?” San cut in, “Just are so eager to die an early, painful death that you make sex jokes to Hogwarts’ top Head Boy?”

“Let’s not dismiss Hongjoong so easily,” Seonghwa interjected. “And I think the issue is less about what he did and more about who he did it to.”

Wooyoung raised an arm straight up in the air, blocking the light of San’s Lumos hanging overhead from his eyes, before letting it flop to the floor, accepting temporary blindness as his deserved fate. 

“He just makes me nervous, okay!”

He sighed deeply. “And I hate it because he used to be the last person to make me feel that way, and whenever I remember that, I just get this feeling in my chest like the uncomfortableness is about to implode, and then explode all over everyone around me.”

San and Seonghwa exchanged a look that he pretended not to notice. 

“Please keep your gross inner feeling upchucking to yourself.”

“Yeah,” San added, “It’s bad enough you’ve dragged us into this whole Mirror of Gninraey nonsense.”

“You’re literally making the name so much worse than it actually is.”

“We all process crises in our own ways,” Seonghwa said sagely. “San does so by occasionally stroking out mid-sentence.”

“Yeah!” San smiled smugly. “Wait, no!”

“Guys, this is serious,” Wooyoung rolled over to glare at them, though the effect was likely largely lost as he cupped his face in both hands, strange shapes glowing behind his eyelids from staring into the light for too long.  

“I looked it up, and the Mirror of Erised is supposed to show you the 'deepest and most desperate desire of your heart'. So basically, it's saying Yeosang is the key to what I desire most…the Quidditch cup! And I can’t even manage a five-minute conversation with the guy without getting nervous and fucking it up.”

“Yeah, cuz that’s what the mirror was telling you,” San shared another look with Seonghwa. “Also, you’re lowkey cross-eyed right now and it’s freaking me out to look at you. Can you turn your face the other way?”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, and though Wooyoung didn’t know which part he was affirming, he decided it didn’t matter and flipped them both off anyway.

“It really could not have been more clear. I went to the special room, did the special password, wished for help with the Quidditch cup, and boom! Yeosang appears behind me like some beautiful black-haired angel from hell.” 

He dropped his face into the carpet and dimly noticed it had a higher thread count than his own in Gryffindor Tower. He took note of the injustice for later indignation. 

“There’s a whooole lot to unpack there, but I’m gonna step right over that and into the bigger problem—” San said, literally walking over Wooyoung’s prone body (but not before trodding heavily on his ass mid-journey), 

“—which is that you haven’t been on speaking terms with Yeosang since whatever fiasco blew apart your friendship in year two—”

Wooyoung groaned at the reminder, rubbing at where there was sure to be a San's foot-shaped bruise come morning. 

“—and now you suddenly want to make amends because some ancient haunted mirror made you hallucinate your dear old bestie—”

“Who you find hot,” Seonghwa added helpfully.

“—your dear old bestie (who you find hot)’s hot bod at your back as he embraced you tenderly and gazed into your eyes?”

Wooyoung sat up into prime pouncing position and leapt onto his friend, nearly slamming him into the wall. “Stop making it all weird, it wasn't even like that, you creep!”

Unfortunately for Wooyoung, San was built like if a bulldozer was shaped like a Dorito, and he soon found himself overpowered and pinned to the ground, face pressed back down into the rug and San’s knee digging into his spine. 

His friend leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “Don’t bother resisting, you’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Wooyoung made an animal-like noise in his throat as he tried to buck San’s dead weight off to no avail.

“Careful, he bites,” Seonghwa quipped dryly, lounging peacefully in his desk chair, watching the chaos. Wooyoung made a sound of outrage and betrayal that might have been effective if it hadn't been cut off halfway by San tightening his hold. 

“Maybe if Wooyoung would learn to look his problems, cough, relationship issues, cough, straight in the ass like a big boy, we wouldn’t have to find ourselves in these kinds of positions.”

“You're supposed to actually cough if you're gonna be subliminal, dipshit," Wooyoung choked out. "And 'straight in the ass', really?? You’re such a perv, you gym-freak, over-sized dick!”

He punctuated each insult with a wild jerk of his body, trying in vain to escape.

San just laughed, hardly budging, “Did you really just slide that in there like it wasn’t the biggest setup for a That’s What She Said joke of all time?”

Wooyoung took a second to go through what he'd said, realized, laughed, and went to proudly fist-bump his friend...and then remembered said friend was still crushing him into the plush-but-still-a-dorm-room-floor carpet.

“Okay, just get off already, you proved your point!”

A new voice called out before San could respond,

“Should I take all those buzzwords I just heard at face value and give you some privacy, or..?”

Caught off guard, San and Wooyoung blinked at each other from their pretzel-like wrestling hold on the ground before scrambling to get off of each other. 

“Come on in, Jongho!”

“Yeah, nothing to see here, hah, hah!”

“That was the most suspicious response of all time, you dunce!”

“‘Dunce’?! What are we, Hobbes and Locke debating social contract in the 17th century?”

“Hah! Jokes on you, I don’t know what that means!”

“Door’s unlocked, Jongho,” Seonghwa called out over the bickering.

“I know, but I questioned if I wanted to risk coming in after hearing…whatever it was those two idiots were doing,” the Slytherin boy said with a raised brow as he looked down on the boys who were once again entangled on the floor. 

“Hey, not nice, Jongho,” San protested with a pout.

Wooyoung poked his head out from where San's massive torso was half-smothering him into the floor.

“Yeah, just because San involves me doesn’t make us both idiots!”

“Yeah! Wait, no!”

“They’ve been at it all day,” Seonghwa said dryly, pulling San’s chair over for Jongho to sit. 

“I figured as much,” he replied, stepping primly over the mess of bodies to take a seat. 

“That’s because San keeps physically oppressing me with his big ass body!”

“Oppressing implies ill intent. I’m just protecting you from posing a threat to yourself and those around you.”

“Don’t whip out the psychology lexicon on me! I’m in a dilemma and vulnerable! And you’re not even grateful that it’s you I'm desperately coming to!”

“I really don’t think he hears himself when he speaks,” Jongho commented, already looking exhausted. 

“The innuendo has practically become one with him at this point,” Seonghwa agreed. 

“Which brings us back to the issue at hand!” San exclaimed in a rare show of sensibility, finally releasing Wooyoung to go sit on the bed. 

“That’s right,” Jongho said with renewed purpose, “Is it true Wooyoung came onto Yeosang in Ravenclaw Tower this morning?”

“That’s what she said,” San and Wooyoung quipped in unison, high-fiving.

Jongho just raised a brow at him, and it took a moment of sustained eye contact before Wooyoung realized what’d just happened. 

“Hey, you baited me into that one!” he yelled, shoving San off the bed for some reason. 

“You'd think this would all teach you to be mindful of your jokes,” Seonghwa sighed.

He turned back to Jongho, “Who was your source, though?”

“A wise man never gives away his secrets.”

“…Yeosang told Yunho who told Mingi who told you, huh?”

A pause.

“Nuh uh.”

“Right, convincing,” Seonghwa smirked. “In any case, it’s good this is contained because this one,” he gestured at Wooyoung, who was now furiously tapping out of the chokehold San had put him in in retaliation, “is already socially unacceptable just as he is. The details are bad enough on their own without getting distorted through the grapevine.”

Breathlessly, Wooyoung choked out, “I swear I had only good intentions!”

“Don’t ever say that again,” the three others responded simultaneously in disgust. 

Wooyoung gasped as he was released from San’s grip, “Okay, I know that’s like gross dude excuse 101, but I seriously didn’t mean for the conversation to go the way it did.”

“You body slammed him to the ground, told him he ‘had something you wanted’, and then implied he’d just gotten oral because he was running late for his most important Potions Practicum of the year,” Seonghwa recited. 

“After having barely said a word to the guy in five years,” finished San.

Wooyoung slumped and dropped his head in his hands. “Okay yeah, I know. I fucked up.”

San took mercy on him and wrapped an arm around his back, tucking him comfortingly into his side. 

Jongho had no such sympathy, “Yeahhh, I’m pretty sure he also bombed his practicum after all that, too.”

Wooyoung’s head shot up, “Wait, what?!”

Jongho sighed, “Mingi didn’t know specifically, but Yunho told him he needed to go incommunicado for the night, and we all know what that means.”

San and Seonghwa made somber, acknowledging “ah” noises in response, but Wooyoung just looked between the three of them in rapid confusion. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“Bro, I know you’re out of the loop with Yeosang after everything, but this is Yunho and Mingi,” San said in disbelief. 

At Wooyoung’s clueless face, Seonghwa sighed and translated, “Those two are so in sync they’re both equally unaware of how whipped they are for each other, correct?”

Wooyoung nodded impatiently, “Yeah, duh. What does that have to do with this?”

“Meaning, the only time they break off contact completely is for one of three reasons,” he responded patiently. 

“Something sparks jealousy and they both proceed to inadvertently hurt the other through avoidance and lack of communication because their EQ goes into the negatives whenever the other’s involved…”

San continued, “Some kind of natural disaster/technological blackout/mortal medical emergency keeps them apart…” 

“Or something happens with family that calls for sensitivity and concern, in private,” finished Jongho. 

They waited. 

Wooyoung blinked at them. "So..?"

“So, Yeosang failed his Potions Practicum, the last one before his N.E.W.T.s.” Seonghwa said slowly, like that explained everything.

“As in the tests we’ve all been working towards for six years..?” San tried, seeing the lack of connecting dots behind Wooyoung's eyes.

Wooyoung shook his head, still not understanding why they were so serious. "It's a big deal, sure, but 'sensitivity and concern'? Yeosang always just bounces back from shit like this."

Something seemed to click behind his friends' eyes.

"He doesn't know," Jongho said, sitting back in his chair.

"Oh man," San said, pulling Wooyoung in tighter as if to brace him.

Seonghwa took pity on him, explaining before Wooyoung could scream. "It just made the Prophet yesterday."

He paused, looking at Wooyoung before continuing, cautiously, "Apparently, the Minister of Magic will be staying at her country estate pending her reelection campaign.”

He paused again, seeing Wooyoung's face begin to pale as he finally began to grasp the situation. "...And she's going to preside over our graduation as a 'show of support for the future leaders of the Wizarding World."

San scoffed, muttering, "I wonder who she's referring to there."

Wooyoung hardly registered his retort, stuck on Seonghwa's words. "You don't mean...the house like an hour from Hogwarts? And she wants to…? Oh no.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said softly. 

“But why now?" Wooyoung protested dumbly, "Yeosang’s never...he's aced every single course since our very first year and she's never...”

"Is that really surprising?" San asked, cynical as Wooyoung had ever seen him. 

“And, may I say, what a keen observation for someone who claims not to pay the guy any attention,” Jongho added, unhelpfully. 

Wooyoung was too busy getting worked up to take the bait. “But he even made Head Boy! Of Ravenclaw, the house of overachievers!”

Seonghwa shrugged helplessly, "It's just what the paper said. I don't know anything beyond that."

Wooyoung stood in a rush, pacing the small dorm room. “He’s done everything to be deserving, sacrificed anything it took just to make her see—”

He stopped in his tracks, suddenly not seeing his friends sitting before him, but a scene from years ago, one he hadn’t thought about in a long, long time.  

Five years ago

“Oi, Sangie!” 

His best friend’s head shot up from where he’d been drooling on his scrolls. “Mm? What happened?”

Wooyoung leaned towards him in concern, using his left hand to tilt Yeosang's head up by the chin and his right to sweep the boy’s bangs from his face with gentle fingers. 

“How long have you been here?” 

Yeosang blinked slowly. Wooyoung noticed the sleep crusting one eye and instinctively reached out to brush it away. 

Yeosang batted his hand away with a yawn, “Ew, gross. Just point it out so I can get it next time, you weirdo.” 

Wooyoung made a face, “We’ve known each other long enough to have thrown up or snotted on each other a thousand times already.”

Yeosang narrowed his eyes, “You’re the only one who’s thrown up. Don’t be coy like it was an even exchange.”

Wooyoung draped his body over Yeosang’s shoulders in protest, almost knocking over his inkstand in the process. “Always so mean to me! That was a vulnerable moment and a precious milestone in our friendship.”

Moving his things over to a less precarious part of the table, Yeosang absentmindedly responded, “Only you would consider hurling your guts all over my lap after getting food poisoning from stolen lasagna a bonding moment.”

“Okay first of all, that lasagna was repurposed. I am not a thief! I’m just...a victim of a weak stomach, really. A victim!”

Pouting, Wooyoung clung onto the boy tighter in what would come off as childishness, but secretly, he could feel his chest warm itself from the inside out, pleased. 

Yeosang always fought back when he initiated physical touch, but he’d also do things like moving his stuff instead of pushing Wooyoung away, or saying things like “only you would…” and “bonding moment”.

Was his selective hearing coming out strong today? Maybe, but Wooyoung was perfectly content as he was, bent awkwardly at the waist with his full body weight dumped on his best friend’s slim shoulders, face buried in soft black hair. 

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to sit beside me like a normal person?” Yeosang said rhetorically. 

“Nope,” Wooyoung responded happily, digging his nose further into the boy’s neck. Yeosang used the same shampoo as he always had, ever since he was five and his mom decided he’d outgrown kiddie shampoo. Wooyoung used it too every once in a while, but it never smelled as good on him as it did on his friend.

“Okay, well can you at least move behind me so I can continue studying?”

Wooyoung frowned but lifted himself up slowly. “What do you mean ‘studying’? It’s winter holidays, silly.”

Yeosang barely spared him a look as he began moving his things back into the space in front of him. “Yeah, well, I’m getting ahead.”

Quietly, so quietly Wooyoung almost didn’t catch it, he muttered, “Got to get ahead.”

Frown deepening with each second, Wooyoung moved to stand behind Yeosang’s chair, peeking at the texts on the table. He double-taked, bursting out loudly, “Is that an Alchemy scroll?!”

“SHHHH,” hissed the enchanted gargoyle perched on the wall above them. 

Wooyoung glared at it, and Yeosang glared at him. 

“Yes, it is, now can you keep it down? I only barely got Pince to stop hating me for last year.”

Wooyoung smiled despite himself, sighing as nostalgia overtook him, “Ah, that was such a good day. You know for a fact she’s never looked at the Fat Lady the same since.”

He was briefly rewarded with the corners of Yeosang’s lips flicking upwards at the memory. 

He grinned, triumphant, “See, you make a huge deal about how I’m always dragging you into trouble, but deep down you know you enjoy it just as much as I do!”

Yeosang seemed to remember he was supposed to be grumpy and flattened his expression immediately. “If it weren’t for me, you probably would’ve been expelled four times over by now and you know it.”

“I do not, in fact, ‘know it’ because that’s so not true! If I didn’t always charismatically charm the pants off the prefects, we never would’ve gotten off so many times!”

Yeosang groaned, “Could you please, for once, refrain from using phrases like that when they’re in association with people like my sister, who, as you damn well know, is a prefect?”

Wooyoung giggled, biting his finger mischievously. “Oh shit, I don’t even realize I do it anymore.”

Yeosang shot him a wronged look over his shoulder, their faces inches apart, and Wooyoung felt a flash of something he couldn’t name flickering heat up the nape of his neck.

Conveniently, that was quickly brushed off and forgotten as he recalled the matter at hand. 

“Anyways, don’t think you got away with not answering me!” He waved an accusing finger in his friend’s face. 

Yeosang smacked it away, turning his attention back to the pile of parchment before him. “I did answer you, you just have too short of an attention span to follow through.”

Wooyoung blinked, quiet for a moment.

That was…an unusually pinpointed comment out of the blue. Yeosang knew better than anyone that Wooyoung had difficulty focusing at times, and that he was somewhat self-conscious of that. 

He waited a second for Yeosang to inevitably notice the minute shift in his mood like he always did, but a second turned into a minute of him standing dumbly behind Yeosang’s chair as the boy finished sorting through the scrolls he’d moved before. 

He cleared his throat, shaking it off. The guy was probably just having a long day. He was clearly preoccupied with something—or a lot of somethings, considering the stacks of papers now taking up the entirety of the table. 

“Well, I guess I’m just wondering why you’re taking notes on an Alchemy scroll when that’s a sixth-year subject?” 

Yeosang sighed, and from his vantage point behind him, Wooyoung could see the way his brows settled back into a furrowed groove he'd never noticed before. 

“I’m just being a little extra diligent, okay?” He set down the scrolls he was holding, rubbed his face, and sighed, a low, heavy thing. 

Wooyoung waited, not saying a word.

Picking at the frayed edge of the parchment in an uncharacteristic betrayal of the kind of unease he never let show, he finished quietly, “My sister’s graduating next term and jumping straight into Auror training.”

Whatever hurt feelings Wooyoung may have been nursing were gone in an instant. “Is your mom being overbearing about it again?”

Yeosang stiffened, and Wooyoung knew he’d said the wrong thing. “She’s not overbearing, she’s just…she has a lot of responsibilities.”

Wooyoung paused, thinking for a moment before saying deliberately, “But I’m sure one of them is maintaining her image…and that includes you and your sister, right?”

The tension in Yeosang’s posture released, and he sank into the back of his most definitely uncomfortable wooden chair. 

“Yeah. I’m already ahead on the core subjects, but Mom’s specialty when she was here was Alchemy and Potions, so I just wanna make sure I’m extra prepared.”

From behind Yeosang and out of his line of sight, Wooyoung let his sadness and concern bleed into his expression. Ever since Yeosang's sister made prefect and announced her ambitions of becoming an Auror, it was like a switch went off in his friend—like all of a sudden his time was finite, and everything had to be done all at once. 

They were only second years. 

“Well,” Wooyoung mustered with some false cheer, “I’m not letting you abandon me for all of winter hols, which is, you know, the break we’ve only been looking forward to since, you know, summer hols.”

Some life flickered back into Yeosang’s tired face as he smirked. “Yeah, should’ve known I couldn’t hide from you forever.” 

There he is, Wooyoung thought, brightening. Everything was fixable as long as Yeosang was still his same old allergic-to-affection self. 

He leaned in close, “So, here’s the deal. From dinner tomorrow, you owe me your nights…”

“I can feel your suggestive face sending shudders down my spine, knock it off.”

“…and I demand custody of the back of your chair while you study in the daytime.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“...I’m not gonna take the bait and look, but I’m gonna guess no.”

“You know me so well~. So we have a deal, then?”

A pause.

“You get my nights and mealtimes.”

“Mealtimes were a given, dummy. I’m engraving the shape of these cheeks in the back of this chair for all the days you make me sit here and wait for you.”

“I…I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that."

And yet,

"...You can stay here from lunch on. I want to spend my mornings in peace.”

“Deal. I’ll keep my ass so nice and warm for you, it's gonna be great!”

“Don’t push it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Hey, can you do that thing you do with the chair?”

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to ask.”

“Mean!”

…

“Thanks, Yeosang.”

“Yeah.”

Present

“You used to be his ass warmer while he studied just so you could hang out?”

“Shut up, Jongho, I was being a selfless friend!”

“And by selfless, you mean making the guy share his whole chair with you while you napped and played video games, all while draped around him like a bratty fox pelt?” San contemplated.

“For the record, blondie, I was a brunette at the time, and how can a fur coat be bratty?!”

“I trust you’d find a way.”

“ ! ”

“Also, don’t act like you didn’t lose your shit when Yeosang went blonde fourth year.”

“God, this is why I don’t tell you anything anymore.”

“Is that a thing that’s happening? Seonghwa, can you record this moment in the archives? I wanna make sure he doesn’t forget this promise.”

“San!”

“Already done. Just to be precise, the record will also state that Wooyoung is, in fact, denying no allegations of draping his entire tiny body over his poor, long-suffering friend for three straight weeks.”

“Seonghwa?!”

“In addition, it should be noted that those three weeks were the straightest thing about this entire story.”

“I hate all of you!!”

“We love you too, babe.”

“Okay no, speak for yourself, San.”

“Yeah, Jongho and I are completely objective third-party observers with absolutely no personal interest in this matter.”

“…Did you just quote She’s The Man at me? That’s not fair, I’m mad at you right now.”

“We’ll give you thirty seconds to honor your anger.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Okay, but you should know that when I close my eyes, I see all three of you for what you truly are…which is UGLY.”

“…Omg babe, are you saying we’re hot when your eyes are open?”

“I!…You know what? Yeah, I am, and you can shut up because we all know some laws of physics have gotta be freaking the fuck out from all of us being in the same room right now.”

“Aww…”

“So sweet…”

“…‘Us’?”

“Jongho, you really had to?”

“I did, I did have to.”

“…I’m gonna magnanimously ignore that in favor of asking the record to also note that we weren't squished together or anything. Yeosang would charm the chair so it’d easily fit the both of us.”

Silence.

“Babe, I love you, and the record will reflect this as requested, but you should know that that made it so much worse.”

“How is that worse than us snuggling back to front in a tiny chair?!”

“Wooyoung, that means Yeosang learned an advanced Transfiguration spell as a second year, just so you could nag him for six consecutive hours as he studied.”

“And that he maintained the spell for said six consecutive hours for three consecutive weeks. Just so you could drool on his robes and sniff his shampoo.”

“I did not! And that, that's not—!”

“…”

“…”

“…shit.”

“Yeah, babe.”

“I hate you guys.”

“Love you too, Wooyoung.”

“Anyways, Yeosang.”

“Yeah, Yeosang…”

Chapter Text

Yeosang was not having a good day. 

“How’d she even find out?”

Yeosang leveled his friend with a look.

“Right…Minister of Magic.” Yunho propped himself up on his elbows to peek over at him from where he lay prone on the other side of the old couch they’d smuggled in. 

They’d found this unused classroom in their third year and used it as a hangout spot ever since, because while Yunho was free to break the rules and crash at other Houses’ towers as he pleased, Yeosang was Head Boy—above that, the MoM’s son—and not permitted the same luxuries. 

Getting caught, amongst other things (like botching a practicum), would prove disastrous. 

He sighed. Every train of thought inevitably led back to his failure in Potions that morning. 

“So, Wooyoung, huh?”

And then there was that. 

“Honestly Yunho, I think I disassociated after my head hit the ground.” 

“Ah,” his friend responded with a sympathetic wince, “Can’t imagine that was a fun way to reunite.”

Yeosang hummed. “Not sure there was any way to do it smoothly after how things ended, though.”

He could feel Yunho’s eyes boring into the side of his head, “And by ‘how things ended’, you’re of course referring to how it was all 100% your fault, and 0% salvageable, as told definitively through your very unbiased perspective, correct?”

Yeosang closed his eyes, tired. This was a conversation they’d had many times.

“Can we…not talk about that? Today?”

A pause, and then, “Yeah, sure buddy.”

“Thanks.”

He opened his eyes to stare at the stone ceiling overhead. Every imperfect crack and chip was familiar, safe. This was their space. He felt a bit of comfort sweep over his body at the reminder. 

“Anyways, I’m pretty sure I screwed this one up too. Said some pretty cruel things to him and then just ran off.”

Accepting the olive branch, Yunho carefully replied, “I mean, and don’t take this the wrong way, he did tackle you—”

“It was a mutual tackling!”

“—say some weird vague shit out the blue and then lowkey hit on you in the creepiest way possible.”

“…Wooyoung never was the normal one between us.”

“I’m gonna generously bypass the very obvious chance to bully some self-awareness into you because I am an excellent friend…”

“…”

“…”

“ ? ”

“Acknowledgment, please.”

“Ah. Yes, indeed. My most excellent of friends, of which I have so many.”

“Thank you. Delivery could use some work, but I’ll take it. Anyway, my point is you handled that just as well as you possibly could have, you know, after being semi-concussed, creeped on, and hit on in quick succession as you were. Altogether a very disorienting situation.”

Yeosang pressed his lips together. “That’s really just how Wooyoung is, though.”

“Trust me, I remember. Can't forget our brief stint as roommates that easily.”

Yeosang winced. Yunho and Wooyoung were roommates in Gryffindor together until the beginning of third year, when Yunho came back from class to find Yeosang on the floor of their room, in the dark, alone. 

It wasn’t a memory he was keen on reliving. 

What happened after that was hazy—he hadn’t been the most situationally aware in those following weeks—but what he did know was that Yunho and Wooyoung had been friends, and then his mess ruined everything. 

“I thought you guys settled things after…what happened.” 

Yunho shrugged, the movement audible against the aged fabric of the couch. “Yeah, we did. Kinda hard not to when you share a House…and breakfast table…and Quidditch team…” he gave a noticeably extra long pause, “…and friend group.”

“Ah.”

After things fell apart with Wooyoung, he’d been lucky enough to make other friends, friends who kept him together and made everything feel okay again somehow. Wooyoung had, predictably, attracted great people as well, and quite easily. 

It was just a little bit unfortunate that their taste in people was another thing they had in common.

Didn’t exactly make planning weekend hangouts the easiest of processes. 

“Yeah. But even with Wooyoung being Wooyoung, there’s only so much leeway you can give a guy.”

“I guess so.” 

Distracted, Yeosang lifted an arm and lazily danced his fingers through the air. The stone blocks in the ceiling rumbled, then grinded and shifted to form a magicked game of monochrome Tetris. 

He flicked an L-piece to the bottom.

“Listen, I know you think it was his fault my practicum went the way it did—”

“I mean, I think that’s more than a fair assumption.”

“—but me not being in control of my feelings was what got us into this whole mess in the first place.” He flicked a T-piece downwards with more force than strictly necessary, “And just like…before, what happened today in Potions is not on him.”

Yunho sighed, sitting up on the couch. “Okay, I’ll let you have this point. But I still think you should cut yourself some slack. One fuckup after seven years of chasing perfection is okay, Yeosang.”

(“Yet again, you choose being the Golden Boy over being a good friend.”)

He shook off the memory. His encounter with Wooyoung must have shaken him even more than he’d thought. 

“It’s not about me, it’s about Mom,” he said aloud. “Everything I’ve done will have been for nothing if I can’t stick the landing.”

He slid a long piece into the gap he’d saved, clearing the board and prompting “ TETRIS ” to inscribe itself daintily into the stone. 

He ended the game with a restless sweep of his arm, standing abruptly. 

Feeling his hands begin to tremor in the way they always did when he got worked up, he nudged Yunho off the couch with a murmured apology and began pushing it until the backrest was against the wall. 

Yunho helped him without a word, transfiguring a sorry-looking nearby desk into another sofa. Together, they pushed the two couches side-by-side until one giant sleeper-sofa was formed. 

Yunho was good like that, always somehow knowing what he needed, or what he was trying to say with his silence. 

Not wasting any time, they both leapt inside the makeshift bed, bouncing with the old couch springs. 

Yunho laughed, just a little, and Yeosang felt his lips tug upwards at the corners. 

“This takes me back.”

“Bet your ass is feeling a lot less sore this time around.”

The last time they’d called upon Couch Bed, Yunho was recovering from a broken tailbone after a particularly rough Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

(“Those fuckers hide behind the soft, innocent stereotype and their cute name, but they can’t fool me!”

“Okay Yunho, let’s get you nice and relaxed on this comfy couch, shall we?”)

In response, Yunho wriggled his way towards him until they lay side by side, leaned in close enough for Yeosang to feel his breath on his neck…and whispered, “Don’t bring up my ass unless you plan to do something about it.”

Yeosang shoved him away with a groan, “Ugh, why do you always have to be so gross?”

Yunho laughed. “You cannot lie there and pretend you didn’t just serve that to me, silver platter.”

“Yeah, but you always make it so much worse than I could possibly imagine.” 

“Hey, what would we even be without my roguish charm and your cute way of pretending it doesn’t work on you?”

“Friends from forced proximity.”

“Soulmates, Yeosang. Soulmates was the correct answer.”

“Hmm…wonder what Mingi’s gonna say when I show him this memory later.”

“…Now now, what’s a few harmless comments between forced proximity friends? No need to be so hasty.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, the two stared up at the ceiling. 

Yeosang’s Tetris blocks had long since rearranged themselves back to their original drab shapes, but he could still feel his hands shaking at his sides. 

Nothing helped with the tremors quite like magic, so he raised an arm and absentmindedly flicked sparks into the air. He watched as they formed animal visages and danced, lively and carefree.

He wondered what that might feel like. 

“You’ve gotten good, you know,” Yunho murmured, eyes following the flow of the sparks, their light reflected in his pupils. 

Yeosang looked back up to where a stag was now chasing a hippogriff through a sky of fireworks. 

He frowned, the shake in his hands quieted, but the noise in his mind loud as ever. He waved the scene away with another flick of his fingers. 

“It’s just a party trick, nothing useful.”

He felt more than saw his friend turn on his side to face him. “Does she know you can do wandless magic like this?”

Yeosang stared impassively at the stones. 

“Not many parties to show her at.”

A heavy pause. 

“What about how you flipped that guy without breaking a sweat in Defense last week?”

“That was just a practice duel, no reason to tell her about it.”

But Yunho never was one to back down. 

“And when you designed and created the entire visual ceremony for the Great Hall Christmas celebration last year?”

“She knew, but it’s not really something you can put on a résumé.”

An exasperated sigh.

“God, Yeosang, really? You have the most stacked résumé I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s good, I know, but there’s still so much to be done.”

“Yeosang, you placed second in the Triwizard Tournament—”

“Wasn’t first.”

“—have been top of our class for every single year save year two—”

“Lost that one to the daughter of Mom’s political rival that season.”

“—aced every single O.W.L. our fifth year—”

“Not worth anything if I don’t pass my N.E.W.T.s.”

“—and you’re the most brilliant programmer the Wizarding World’s ever seen.”

“Yunho,” Yeosang warned, the muscles in his neck tightening. 

Here we go again…

“No, we need to talk about this!” Yunho sat up straight, angling his body to face his head-on. 

Yeosang fidgeted, keeping his gaze emptily staring straight ahead. This felt uncomfortably close to an intervention.

“We could spend all night skirting around the issue, or not-talking about Wooyoung,” 

Yeosang grimaced.

“Or even arguing about whether or not you’re the most accomplished wizard of our generation,”

Yeosang flushed despite himself, ears hot with the praise.

“But what we should be talking about is how you’ve found something you’re actually passionate about! And that you’re good at it too, amazing even.”

Yeosang braced himself. They’d had this conversation enough times for him to know what came next. 

“But even with all that, your mom still won’t give her approval?”

Yeosang raised a hand and made the dirt on the ceiling shift and flow until a detailed rendering of Hogwarts Castle emerged on the stone. 

The distraction didn’t help as much as he’d hoped. 

“I know,” he finally said, letting his arm drop at his side, “I know the things I’ve done are…worthy of recognition.”

He tilted his head to see Yunho watching him steadily. He looked away.

“But what you don’t get is that in my mom’s line of work, achievements don’t mean you’ve succeeded.”

He erased his art with a dismissive wave. “They mean new precedents, new highs to strive for, new standards to be met.”

He finished quietly, “You don’t get to be the leader of the Magical World by making failures.”

5 years ago

“An Acceptable in Magical Creatures?”

Yeosang’s mother beheld him from behind her desk, brown eyes meeting his own with that expression he never quite knew how to read. 

He looked just like her in individual traits. Dark, shiny hair cut short, straight brows, sharp jawline, high nose. In Muggle pictures, they were near-identical. 

In moving pictures, he couldn’t resemble his father more.

“It was a lapse in judgment, Mother. I’m sorry.”

Yeosang broke eye contact to stare at his feet. His shiny new loafers had been a gift for receiving Outstandings on all his other subjects. He’d hidden the only subpar mark, but he should’ve known the deception would be uncovered sooner rather than later. 

“Oh Yeosang,” came the gentle response. 

He looked up hesitantly. His shoes were too tight at the toes. 

“An Acceptable is far from failing,” she continued, matter-of-fact. “Definitely not cause for apologies.”

Yeosang felt his hands start to twitch in unease. Did she mean it this time? Or…

“In fact, I see no need to mention this to anyone, understand?” 

Clear instructions. He nodded, relieved. 

“I’ll keep quiet,” he said. 

“Good. Your sister’s set a strong example for you as prefect, and someday you too will continue the Kang legacy.”

His shoulders slumped, just a little. 

The “Kang Legacy” was referring to their long family history of prefects, Head Boys and Girls, Headmasters, and politicians, thoroughly displayed in the near-endless portrait wall lining the corridor leading to his mother’s office. They always had plenty to say to him whenever he made the long walk.  

“Yes, I know,” was all he said in response to the reminder. 

“Just be careful not to slip up again, and there should be nothing to worry about.” 

Said with a smile and a finality to her tone, Yeosang understood the implicit message that this conversation was over. 

“I won’t, Mother.”

There was a ruffling of parchment as she sorted through her scrolls before glancing up at him for a moment. 

“You’re a good boy, Yeosang,” she said finally, a flash of something in her face as she looked at him. It felt somewhat distant, like she was seeing through him and at something that sent a spark of warmth to her eyes, softening them. 

He loved that look. 

He held on to it for as long as he could. He wasn’t old enough to be allowed a Pensieve, so memorizing it was his only option. 

Then, with a little sinking feeling in his gut, he suddenly remembered:

“Bro, I can’t believe I scraped an Acceptable! We set the Nargles loose twice!!”

“You mean you let them loose. I just had to stay and help you find them afterwards, you dick.”

“Yeah yeah, even the profs know we’re a package deal. So what’d you get?”

“Same as you.”

“See!! We’re a perfect match. Let’s go celebrate at the Three Broomsticks before you have to leave!”

He smiled a bit at the memory, brushing off that strange twinge of discomfort. It wasn’t a big deal, after all. His mom would understand. 

“Oh, I forgot. I told my friend Wooyoung my grade before I left for the weekend. He's the only one who knows, though.”

A pause in the rustling paper. “Wooyoung?”

“Yeah, my best friend, remember? I write to you about him all the time,” he answered. He didn’t blame her for not remembering. She probably got a thousand letters a day on top of the ones he sent every week. 

“Ah, yes,” was the surprising response. “Wooyoung is the boy you befriended first term?”

Yeosang grinned, surprised and delighted. “That’s him! He’s a Gryffindor, and he was in Creatures with me, but I helped keep him in line. Professor said I’m ‘a good balance of calm to his crazy,’” he quoted carefully. Despite what he always told Wooyoung, he secretly liked it when people automatically grouped them together. 

“I see,” his mother said. He searched her face for that look, but her expression had gone back to flat. 

That was okay, too. He’d devoted the moment earlier to memory already. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about your friend in your future letters, hm?” 

Yeosang thrilled. She’d never responded to his letters before—probably overwhelmed with work—but clearly she valued them more than he’d even imagined. 

“Sure!” Most of what he wrote was already about Wooyoung and their adventures, but if she wanted to hear more, he’d make sure to be even more thorough from then on. 

The sound of shuffling scrolls was back, and Yeosang took his cue, turning to leave after a quick, happy bow. 

“Be careful, Yeosang.”

He nodded at the parting words, closing the door gently behind him so it hardly made a noise. She was always encouraging him to do his best with his schoolwork. 

He wouldn’t let her down again. 

Present

“At any rate, she’s actually been very understanding ever since…well, ever since second year.”

Yunho looked at him, long and lingering. “And the programming? Is she understanding of you starting your own business after graduation, too?”

Yeosang kept his expression steady. “Don’t worry, I’m optimistic. We just haven’t gone through the details of my plan yet.”

Or the general stuff. Or any of it, actually. 

There were certain topics he knew not to push with his mother, and above that, certain things better left unmentioned to his friends.

He didn’t think they’d quite understand. 

And last time you told someone, it ruined everything.

He shook the thought away. Now was not the time. 

There was a long pause, and then, 

“Okay,” Yunho said, scanning his face as if searching for something.

Yeosang gave a small, reassuring smile. “Okay.”

Yunho’s eyes fixed on his for one last moment, and then he turned away with what appeared to be grudging acceptance.

They laid there together in soft silence for a while. Nothing had actually changed, but Yeosang realized he no longer felt that twitching need to be doing something with his hands. 

And then, after a good few minutes:

“You were right, by the way.”

”Huh?”

”I’m still taller than him.”

“I knew it! Mingi owes me five galleons.”

“…You guys are the worst.”

Chapter Text

“San, I’m gonna need you to use your giant body to hold Wooyoung down for me in about thirty two minutes.”

“Got it.”

“The fuck, Seonghwa? What’d I even do to you?”

“Dump all your problems on me only for me to come up with a solution within… an hour and twenty four minutes.”

“Whatever happened to our love—wait, huh?? You mean that?”

“You figured out a spell to keep Wooyoung from innuendo-ing every other sentence?” Jongho asked in wonder.

“Or to make him actually funny?” San speculated.

“Or to make him as good-looking as he thinks he is?” Jongho shot back.

San winced, “Wait no, that’d be weird, bro. We can’t have two people with Hongjoong’s face running around.”

“Yes, no, no, no, and while I’m admittedly intrigued, Wooyoung with Hongjoong’s looks is nightmare fuel and can never be allowed to happen.” Seonghwa cut in. 

At this point Wooyoung was hanging upside down on San’s bed, letting the blood rush to his head as he rued his poor choices in friends. 

“You guys are lucky I have such a strong, healthy self esteem.”

“Tell us that again after you’ve gotten rid of those ridiculous platform crocs that bump you eight centimeters.”

“Ugh, how does he still have those?! Thought we’d finally gotten rid of them after Jongho launched them into the Whomping Willow...”

“That was you?!?”

“Don’t look to me expecting apologies. If I had a time turner I’d go back and do it again, but with more spite.”

“You—!”

Seonghwa held up a hand, “Alright, that’s enough. We’ve got a half hour left on the clock and I want my room back.” 

He waited until all eyes were on him (Wooyoung’s strangely out of focus from going right-side-up too fast, but on him nonetheless).

“I’ll make this the Cliff Notes version so even Wooyoung can follow along.”

“…”

“What, no loud protests?”

“I’m actually seeing six of you on the bed right now, so I’m gonna take the hit on this one.”

“…Right. Okay, so here’s what we know.”

Seonghwa used the tip of his wand to take notes in the air. 

“One. Yeosang bombed an important class, and his N.E.W.T. is approaching.” 

“Two. This is perhaps partially Wooyoung’s fault, because he is an idiot.”

“Ouch, but okay.”

“Character development! Acknowledging he has a problem!”

“That’s addiction recovery, but it fits, so I’ll let it slide.”

“Okay, psych nerd San over here with the specialized knowledge.”

“That’s…not—?”

“Three,” Seonghwa continued without breaking stride, “Wooyoung has some…thing he desperately desires.”

“I don’t know why you had to write ‘thing’ in quotes, but yes! The Quidditch Cup! Where is this going?”

“Well, considering what you saw in the magic mirror, I think it’s safe to say Yeosang must somehow be distantly, mysteriously connected to your need for…the Quidditch Cup.”

“…Okay yeah, I can see it.”

Seonghwa shared a look of “I’ve aged three years in the past three minutes” with the other two boys. 

“So to put it simply, Yeosang needs help, Wooyoung owes it to him, and he needs something from Yeosang in return…whatever that something may be.”

“Wait, are you trying to say that I should—”

“Strike a truce in the name of mutually beneficial, strictly business-related deals?” He shook his head for a moment, as if also processing what he’d just said, before meeting Wooyoung’s gaze steadily.

“Yes, I am.”

“But, but,” Wooyoung spluttered, “I only got an Outstanding in Potions cuz I got lucky with the exam prompt! What could I possibly do to help Yeosang?”

“Oh shit, I get it now!” San smacked a fist down on his open palm. “Hwa you’re a genius!”

Wooyoung looked between the two in confusion. 

“Mind sharing with the class?” Jongho asked, looking equally puzzled. 

“Woo, what potion did we have to make for our final?” San asked, excited.

He thought for a moment. 

“Draught of Peace? It was a bitch to brew, but the instructions were actually pretty straightforward…”

“Oh hell,” Jongho said, connecting the dots. “Seonghwa, you scare me sometimes.”

“Have to keep Hongjoong on his toes somehow.”

“We are absolutely going to come back to that at the soonest non-critical moment,” San said, pointing a finger at him before turning back to Wooyoung, “But Wooyoung, babe, I see you and we’re getting to it, I promise.”

“Okay…” Wooyoung bit off his question, frowning in impatience. He was used to being the butt of jokes—hell, he put himself there willingly half the time—but this was a matter he cared a lot about, and he hated that everyone kept knowing more of what to do than him. 

“It actually makes sense that you’re not catching on to this one,” Jongho said absently. 

Wooyoung stiffened.

“Because,” San jumped in hastily, “you’ve always been slow to recognize your own strengths.”

...Well now he was officially confused. 

“Huh?”

“Think about it, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa nudged. “What’s the most critical part of brewing a Draught of Peace?”

Wooyoung thought back to when he’d first opened his exam scroll. Written at the very top in giant, swooping script was:

“Only the brewer of clear mind, calm heart, and steady hand can hope to concoct Peace—oh!”

San gripped him by the shoulders and grinned widely. “I knew you’d get it!”

Wooyoung grinned back, placing his hands over San’s and squeezing lightly, before he had a sudden realization, smile faltering. 

Yeosang’s always kept his hand tremor a secret, how did they—?

“Who else to help Yeosang with his emotions than you, right?” San exclaimed, eyes bright. 

Oh, he thought. So they don’t know.

Then he finished processing what San was implying.

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, brushing off San’s arms to cross his own over his chest. 

Why would he be the best candidate to help Yeosang emotionally? 

He made it clear five years ago that I only got in the way.

“He means,” Seonghwa said quickly, shooting San a sideways glance, “that if there’s anyone who knows how to keep calm in a crisis, it’s you.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, and he tried to recall a crisis he’d kept calm in recently. 

Seeing his confusion, Jongho continued dryly, “Bro, you were the only one in our year who could cast a corporeal Patronus.”

Oh.

He looked down, pushing his bangs behind his ear with a slight heat in his cheeks. 

The professor had told them to concentrate on a happy memory—the happiest they had—before casting the spell, and so…he did. 

Five years ago

“Remind me why we’re doing this willingly, again?”

Wooyoung was sweating, and not the sexy-light-sheen kind of sweat, but the chest-heaving, red in the face, clothes sticking everywhere uncomfortably kind of sweat.

He was feeling overheated and very not-Hot, and it was a problem. 

Yeosang just kept trekking forward, the oversized duffel on his back bouncing with each booted step, seemingly unaffected by the exercise. 

Wooyoung hated him so much. 

(He didn’t, but he’d never tried so hard to in his life.)

“What happened to ‘we’re gonna win this thing so easily the other teams are gonna be brushing our dust off their robes for weeks!' ” Yeosang asked in response, pitching his voice in a very inaccurate and frankly insulting imitation of Wooyoung, who glared ineffectively at his back. 

“I was naive,” he said woefully, tugging at his collar weakly as he followed dutifully behind his friend. “The Wooyoung that believed in victory died four hills ago in a sweaty, tragic blaze of glory.”

He heard Yeosang snort up ahead. “You mean when you tripped over your own pack and rolled down thirty meters into a bush?”

Wooyoung gasped indignantly, “You’re the one who wouldn’t wait for me to finish my breathing break and rushed me! Take responsibility!”

Yeosang shot a look of haughty disapproval over his shoulder. “The deaths of the mushroom colonies you ruthlessly murdered in your descent lie solely on your shoulders.”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “You care more about some forest fungus than your best friend’s wellbeing?!”

“I hope the weight of their souls is heavy.”

With a burst of indignant energy, Wooyoung charged uphill and leapt onto his unsuspecting friend’s back, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a winded “oof!”.

“How’s that for heavy, you ass!”

After rolling around a bit, Yeosang bucked and tried to flip their positions from where Wooyoung was pressing his full body weight down for maximum lung-crushing effect. 

Unfortunately for Yeosang, he himself had made the mistake of gallantly choosing the larger pack at the start of the competition, and it was now successfully keeping him anchored to the ground underneath Wooyoung, who was star-fishing in smug victory. 

“Do you yield?!” He demanded, wobbling slightly as he engaged his core and continued to keep all limbs above the ground (so as to avoid accidentally carrying any of his own weight).

Yeosang grunted out a pained, “Never,” and threw his body upwards in a valiant attempt at a sit-up. 

Wooyoung would’ve laughed, but while Yeosang failed to free himself, he did succeed in throwing off Wooyoung’s balance. 

Taken by surprise, he flailed, caught himself gracelessly, and then froze.

His left knee was holding him up from the space between Yeosang’s parted legs, his right was pressed against the outside of a warm thigh, and his arms had shot straight down by instinct, to where they now framed Yeosang’s face…which was inches from his own. 

He blinked. 

With Yeosang’s pack keeping his upper body somewhat inclined, Wooyoung was draped entirely over him, and he could feel every flexed muscle, every stuttered breath, even through their robes. 

He burned with it.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. 

Yeosang’s cheeks were flushed from their hike, and his eyes were so, so dark…

“Hey.” 

Wooyoung stared.

He’d known, of course, that his best friend was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. 

It’d never been a big deal; they’d met too young for it to have ever mattered. The sky was blue, Wooyoung’s favorite color was black, Yeosang was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. 

As they got older, he noticed it more, but only idly, in an absent, ‘oh, Yeosang looks good in Ravenclaw blue’, ‘huh, never realized his eyelashes were so long’, ‘hm, his cheekbones look so high when he smiles at me like that’, kind of way. 

He always brushed it off, dismissing the thoughts in favor of smothering his friend in playful physical touches that were always so half-heartedly rebuffed. 

He couldn’t ignore it now. 

Yeosang was so close he could hear every soft, shaky breath, could see the faint pink of the birthmark by his eye, could smell the bug spray they’d both applied mixing with the scent of his fabric softener.

Could feel the way his friend’s body was entirely stiff beneath him, muscles taut and tense, unmoving. 

He scrambled off and away with enough force that the weight of his own pack dragged him back and downwards, dropping his ass into the dirt. 

He yelped in pain, wincing, and then couldn’t help but laugh at himself. 

“I guess I kinda deserved that, huh?”

A moment passed before Yeosang blinked and looked over. 

Their eyes met—Yeosang’s a bit dazed, Wooyoung’s tinged with a silent apology. 

And then suddenly that softness to Yeosang’s expression was gone, so quickly Wooyoung almost wondered if he’d imagined it. 

“Absolutely deserved, these robes are dry clean only.”

In one swift, irritatingly athletic move, Yeosang swung forward and onto his feet, making a point of brushing the dirt off his pants with faux disdain. 

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, swallowing down that strange something lingering from before. 

“Oh, calm down, you priss.” He flicked his wand out of his pocket with put-upon flair and murmured, “Scourgify.”

Within seconds, Yeosang was back to looking as perfectly put-together as usual. 

And as usual, he was too kindhearted to let Wooyoung fully reap the consequences of his own actions. 

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Wooyoung looked at it for just a moment before reaching up and taking it, pulling himself to his feet. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly, looking up at his friend through his lashes. 

Something was different now—or rather, felt different. 

He couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but he did recognize the sinking feeling in his gut as dread. 

Whatever it was, there was no going back. Not for him. 

Yeosang was Yeosang, but now he was also beautiful, but he’d always been beautiful, so it was just Wooyoung acting weird all of a sudden for no reason, and oh my god had he blinked in the last five minutes? He must’ve, right? 

He blinked, very naturally. 

“I don’t suppose you could cast a cleaning charm for me too, could you?” He asked weakly.

This was all a problem for future-Wooyoung. So what if he’d realized his best friend was aesthetically appealing after having fallen dramatically into his embrace?

He wasn’t ready to think about it, and hell if anyone was better at compartmentalizing than he was. 

He watched, standing perfectly still, as Yeosang looked him up and down in response. 

“Hm,” his friend said, reaching a hand into his pocket. 

Wooyoung held his arms out at his sides, waiting for the spell.

And then:

“I don’t think I will.”

Instead of his wand, he pulled out the scroll they’d received at the start of the competition. 

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped at his nonchalance. 

There was the proof that he was the only one strangely affected by what had just happened.

Not that he was looking for any, of course.

“Once we release the pixies from the outskirts of the forest, we can move on to the next stage at the Black Lake.” His eyes sparkled with what could only be pure evil, “We’ve gotta capture a Grindylow. Maybe we'll use you as bait...”

With that, he turned and resumed their hike like nothing had happened. 

Wooyoung stood in place for a moment, watching his friend’s back as he walked away. 

Hot people are friends with other hot people all the time without it being weird, he thought to himself. Take me, for example. I’m so hot and Yeosang’s never gone into crisis over it.

Feeling reassured, he took a deep breath and jogged lightly to catch up to his friend.

“Can we at least stop for lunch soon?”

“Not if we don’t want to take last place,” Yeosang called back. 

Wooyoung frowned to himself, weighing his priorities for a moment, before tugging his pack straps tighter with a dejected sigh. 

“You’re lucky I’m trying to win this for you.”

“Right,” came the dry response, “What would I ever do without you.”

I don’t know, Wooyoung thought. Please don't ever be.

Present

“Hey speaking of, what was your Patronus, again?” Jongho asked, breaking Wooyoung out of his reverie. 

He took a second to process the question, then inhaled sharply in mild panic. Oh no—

“It was a dog,” San answered helpfully. “I really thought it’d be a fox, but he casts the Charm and boom this big ass dog comes charging out, almost like a Dob—”

“Great Dane!” Wooyoung interrupted, high-pitched and eyes wild. 

The others turned to stare at him. 

He cleared his throat. 

“It’s a Great Dane,” he finished lamely. “I’m just…such a dog person.”

Jongho opened his mouth with an expression teetering between suspicion and knowing, but Seonghwa cut him off. 

Wooyoung could have kissed him. 

“Anyways, anyone who can cast a full Patronus has got to be good at regulating emotion,” He said after shooting Wooyoung a look that felt significant. He then added the subpoint to the notes still flickering golden in the air.

Wooyoung almost laughed out loud. 

Yeah, because I’m so good at that.

San nudged him, “There’s a reason you got that Outstanding, Wooyoung.”

He cursed his friend for knowing him too well. 

“Yeah, so what? I knock on Yeosang’s door—”

“You’re not allowed in Ravenclaw Tower,” Jongho piped up. 

“I ambush him after class one day—”

“Only mildly better, but keep going.”

“Say, ‘hey man, remember when I ran you down after five years of not talking and then you told me to go waste my time somewhere else? Well, screw that! Because I’m sooo good at emotions and I wanna help you not suck at them so you can pass the class I made you bomb! Oh and also, can you help me win the Quidditch Cup?’ and then what?” Wooyoung raised a brow at his friends cynically. 

“…Maybe your natural charisma will carry the team?” San asked weakly. 

“I mean, if nothing else, it’s efficient,” Jongho mused. 

“I have faith you’ll figure it out,” said Seonghwa decisively. He looked Wooyoung in the eyes and said, “You don’t have to try and become friends again. If you want, you can even try to pretend you don’t have…history, together.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes in confusion. They were always trying to get him and Yeosang to make up, what was happening?

“I think there’s something more important to you right now than respecting whatever happened second year,” Seonghwa continued gently. “Even if you don’t want to say it out loud.”

Wooyoung sat there for a moment. San wrapped his arm around his shoulders and brought him in close, but he only distantly registered the touch.

Something more important than what happened second year?

That was easily the worst time of his life, and he’d never been able to move past it, not really. 

But as he sat there stewing, surrounded by friends who always helped make his problems feel smaller, he realized. 

If it was within his power to help Yeosang with something he was struggling with, something he’d actually made worse, even…

Then he’d wall up his feelings and do his damnedest to help.

Even if Yeosang hated him for it. 

Even if it made things worse. 

Even if just seeing his face was all it took to remember back then, and all the promises and shared futures he’d believed with all his heart would someday be his. 

He was still the same boy as the Wooyoung of five years ago, who’d given everything and gotten his heart broken in return.

...And so he’d known his choice from the moment he understood Seonghwa’s plan. There had never been an alternative, really.  

“I guess if it’s for the Quidditch Cup, anything’s worth trying,” he said with a weak smile. 

Everything with Yeosang was so complicated, so messy. Even back then, before everything fell apart, there’d been moments of confusion, of new sensations he’d never felt before, and questions he’d never thought to ask himself. 

He understood now that having conflicting feelings was what ruined everything, was what pushed Yeosang away.

What they’d had was well beyond broken, but it never hurt to be too careful. He’d rather not find out how many more shards he could shatter into, and no one knew better than he did how fragile he was when it came to Yeosang. 

So he’d just focus on the deal. All he’d be doing was helping a classmate out with his grades, after all. A strange concept, considering who was involved, but far from serious. Far from damaging. 

And if, in return, he was able to win the Quidditch Cup? 

Well, there was nothing more straightforward than his eagerness for that.  

So he let himself fixate on that bit of excitement, let his focus overshadow any anxieties. Let that be his sole desire. 

After all, if there was one thing Quidditch captains knew how to do, it was tunnel vision on the sport and let everything else fall to the sidelines. 

He straightened, felt the strength return to his smile. 

He could do this. 

He blinked and came to himself then, and realized that at some point, he’d been nestled into San’s chest by strong arms, that even Jongho was sort of half-leaning into his side… and that Seonghwa was looking at him with a heavy warmth that made him feel safe and also very seen. 

“Alright, alright,” he said abruptly, shaking them all off gently. “I know you’re all impossibly down bad for me, but this is just excessive.”

Jongho rolled his eyes and brushed off his shoulder where they’d been touching with exaggerated disdain. “I hope you memorized how that felt because that’s never happening again.”

“Wait, Jongho, I didn’t mean it! Come backkkk…”

Jongho dodged his grabby hands with the ease of experience, and Wooyoung sulked in defeat. 

“But we were having a moment and everything.”

“We were…and then you killed it,” said San, shaking his head. 

Wooyoung turned his well-practiced pout on his friend, and it only took a moment of feigned resistance before San gave in and wrapped him in his arms again. 

“At least San loves me,” he said with a petty sniff.

Jongho gagged loudly at the display. 

Seonghwa just huffed indignantly. “I’ll remember this next time you ask me to fix all your problems.”

Wooyoung gasped, throwing off San’s arms again.

“How could I forget my savior??” 

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but Wooyoung saw the way his lips turned up at the corners and couldn’t help but lunge to hug his friend, throwing himself across the bed with a squeal.

Seonghwa dove to the side, dodging skillfully, but Wooyoung just pivoted upon landing, rolling back to face him.

“Just hold still and let me love you!”

Seonghwa’s eyes went wide with panic, and just before Wooyoung pounced again, he urgently called out, “San, now!”, and before he knew it, Wooyoung was pinned to the bed by 70kgs of pure muscle.

“Let me GO,” he grunted, squirming to get free. 

San just wrapped his limbs around him like a human straitjacket and nuzzled his face between his shoulder blades. “Sorry buddy, I have to do this.”

“You do not!” He exclaimed indignantly, flopping like a fish to no avail. “You’re doing this entirely of your own free will, don’t act like someone’s forcing you!”

San paused, and Wooyoung felt him shrug above him. “Well Hwa asked nicely, and I’m a weak man.”

“At least get your massive bicep off of my cheek before you lie to my face.”

“Omg, babe?!”

“Don’t say ‘omg’ out loud you weirdo,” Jongho cut in. When Wooyoung craned his neck to look over, he saw him shielding his eyes. “And can you flirt somewhere else? I’m getting nauseated just looking at you.”

“Then look away,” San and Wooyoung said in unison, before guffawing and somehow managing to fist bump from their contorted position.

Seonghwa sighed from some distant point in the room that Wooyoung couldn’t see, what with his neck being pinned by San’s elbow. “At least they’re on San’s bed this time.”

“Oh-ho,” San said. Somehow, Wooyoung could feel him smirking above him. “Looks like I’ve got you where I want you.”

Wooyoung bit his lip, “And what’re you gonna do to me, huh?” He did his best to arch his back, but San’s weight was still crushing his body into the mattress. “You gonna let me go, sexy?”

Jongho made retching noises off to the side, but Wooyoung didn’t even care because San was pushing himself up and off him with a, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Wooyoung lay in wait until the second he was sure he could escape, before rolling to the side and leaping off the bed triumphantly.

“Aha!! I’m FREE!” 

Seonghwa let out a choked noise and took off running, seeing the look of crazed determination in his eye. 

San gasped, “Babe?! You tricked me?!”

“Sorry, love,” Wooyoung shot over his shoulder, blowing him a quick kiss before going back to cornering Seonghwa by his wardrobe. “It had to be done.”

“Don’t you turn that back on me!” San said, tossing a pillow at him in mock hurt. “I thought we had something!”

Wooyoung ducked the projectile, but Seonghwa snatched it from midair and began using it as a shield before chucking it at his face and darting away. 

“Don’t let this come between us!” Wooyoung said, taking a running start before sliding under Seonghwa’s bed, emerging by the boy’s ankles. “You know this is something I have to do.”

Seonghwa yelped and made to leap over his bed, but Wooyoung intercepted midway and trapped him to the mattress in a tight embrace. 

At least, as tight as he could with his friend flailing underneath him. 

After a few moments of futile escape attempts, however, Seonghwa seemed to give in, and his body went limp beneath Wooyoung’s.

“See,” he said, pleased, rubbing his cheek against Seonghwa’s ruffled brown hair. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“It is,” was the pained response. 

Wooyoung happily ignored him. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

Seonghwa sighed, more of a wheeze than anything, but reached up to pat Wooyoung’s head as best he could from that angle. “You’re welcome.”

And then there was a flash and a strangely familiar clicking noise. 

Wooyoung looked over at the source, and saw Jongho lower his wand from where he’d rested it against his closed right eye, with the tip aimed straight at the sight before him. 

“Can’t wait to show this to Hongjoong,” he said with a satisfied smirk. 

Seonghwa froze beneath him. “You did not just use Eyes of Truth just now.”

Jongho laughed, a terrifying thing. “I did. Just wait til I develop the image. It’s very…incriminating.”

Wooyoung didn’t even have a chance to tighten his hold before Seonghwa threw him up and off of him with sudden strength, shoving him to the ground in his scramble to get to Jongho.

He landed with a pained groan and a thud, but no one seemed to notice. 

“Don’t you dare show that to him! Give me your wand!”

“Never!”

“Expelliarmus.”

“Hey!! I thought this was a safe space.”

“It was, until someone decided to break the rules.”

“You’re the one who told me to be proud of my spells!”

“Not if you’re going to use them against me!”

“Oh...I can’t believe you didn’t mean it...”

“Oh Jongho, you know I did, but—”

“EXPELLIARMUS.”

“How COULD you?! You’d look me in the eyes and trick me?!”

“What’re you gonna do, drown me in your tears?”

“How dare you quote Channing Tatum at me right now! The disrespect—”

“I mean, you guys just did that to me like two hours ago.”

“Shut up, Wooyoung.”

“Damn, in unison too, huh?”

“That’s what you get for betraying me, Woo.”

“San, please, that’s all in the past!”

“It’s never the inflictor that’s left with the scar, only the victim.”

“Babe…”

“You can’t call me that anymore.”

“Don’t say that! Did our nights together mean nothing to you? Our shared touches in the darkness—”

“Okay, this is only gonna get worse. You coming, Jongho?”

“You could not have asked sooner.”

“Wait, guys, don’t leave! I still need moral support—and they’re gone.”

“…”

“Hey...”

“Don’t look to me for sympathy. I have none to spare.”

“San, I love you so much, please forgive me.”

“…Ok fine, but don’t you trick me like that again!”

“You and I both know I will, and at the earliest opportunity, but I promise to make it up to you afterwards…like always.”

“Just you and me…?”

“Just us and the stars, with no one else watching.”

“Aw, I thought you said we could invite the guys this time?”

“We can negotiate that later. Tonight’s all about us.”

“Okay…we doing it on the Quidditch pitch or in the courtyard?”

“I’m almost offended…As if there’s anywhere that sets the mood like the astronomy tower?”

“You’re so right…you grab the gear?”

“Already stashed in our spot, baby.”

“Ah, you always think ahead for our marathons. Can I pick the toys this time or…?”

“Yeah, but only if you start calling them what they really are, you weirdo.”

“Ok fine…”

“…We’re starting with Rainbow Road, right?”

“Obviously, can’t have a Mario Kart tournament without it! You make the course since I’m on the t—power-ups.”

“There you go. And they say I’m the one with the innuendos.”

“…”

“Okay yeah, I get it already. Let’s go?”

“Weren’t you going to talk to Yeosang tonight?”

“…I’ll let the guy have a break from me today.”

“Wooyoung…”

“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow, okay? It’s Sunday, so he’ll probably be at his spot in the library all day like the nerd he is.”

“…”

“Don’t judge me with your silence.”

“…”

“For your information, it’s common knowledge that the spot in the back by the gargoyle is Yeosang’s table!”

“…”

“Okay fine. I promise to talk to him tomorrow before dinner, alright?”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go try to shoot each other out of the sky with bananas already.”

“I’m replacing the bananas with cucumbers.”

“What?! Why?”

“I forgive, but I never forget…”

“That’s a low blow, even for you.”

“…Okay, fine. Cucumbers stay for the first race only, but!”

“But…”

“Only if you talk to Yeosang before lunch.”

“…Okay.”

“And you have to propose the deal in full, without any innuendo.”

“…”

“Can you do it?”

“…Fine.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“If I hypothetically get knocked out via cucumber to the head, is the deal void?”

“Only if I’m the one who threw it.”

“Damn.”

“Can’t wait to hear all about it at dinner~.”

“Yeah, can’t wait...”

Chapter Text

Yeosang had just slung his bag over his shoulder when something slammed into his door from the outside. 

He jumped, hesitated, then moved to check it out, pulling out his wand. Bracing himself, he yanked the door open to reveal…Yunho being pinned against the neighboring wall by a tall, pink-haired man in Ravenclaw robes, faces inches apart.

They turned quickly to look at him, almost banging their heads together, and froze, seeming to realize the incriminating position he’d caught them in. 

He closed the door.

“Yeosang, wait!” cried the muffled voice of his best friend.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” continued the equally chagrined voice of his roommate. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, putting his wand back in his pocket. “Could you at least have charmed a sock over the doorknob or something? My Sunday is ruined.”

“It wasn’t anything like that! Mingi challenged me to a race and got petty when he lost, that’s all.”

“You totally cheated! Vaulting the moving staircases is strictly against the rules.”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow at the door. “Mingi suddenly caring about school rules? You’re right Yunho, he’s grasping at straws.”

“Pfft, you think I care about those?”

Yeosang pretended he, Head Boy, didn’t just hear Mingi, his own Prefect, say such a thing with such nonchalance.

“Yunho and I have a Code, and now he’s pretending like he didn’t break it!”

“We only made the Stairs a safe zone because that one first-year fell off after you hexed a flight—”

“Heh heh, I forgot about that.”

“—and all the first years are at Hogsmeade for the weekend! Check, and mate.”

“That’s a technicality and you know it! How was I supposed to know the children weren’t on grounds today?”

“Uh, maybe because you’re a Prefect and in charge of said children?”

“…You know, I did think the table looked sorta empty at breakfast this morning.”

Yeosang cleared his throat loud enough for them to hear over their bickering. “Is it safe to open the door or should I just stay sexiled in here for the day?”

A questionably long pause, some whispering, the sound of rustling clothes, and then, “You can come out now!”

He sighed, and slowly opened the door with lingering suspicion. 

He was right to be wary. 

Yunho’s back was facing him, but he was currently staring at him from over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes, right thumb dragging his bottom lip down.

Mingi stood behind him, hand wrapped around Yunho’s body to rest low on his waist, with his chin up and eyebrow raised.

Yeosang blinked, then cast a quick incantation—with the wand he’d already had at the ready—and watched with satisfaction as the sight before him vanished into thin air. 

“What the—”

“Did you just cast an invisibility charm on us?!”

Yeosang smiled, walking around where their bodies had been. “I saw enough of…whatever that was.”

“Seduction, Yeosang. You just erased living art.”

“And that’s a crime where I come from.”

“Mingi, our hometowns are two hours apart.”

“…We take these things very seriously in Incheon.” 

Yeosang huffed a laugh and, knowing they were following behind by the repeated tripping noises and cursing, waved his wand over his shoulder.

The spell dissolved, and twin sighs of relief echoed behind him before, “You must be in a good mood.”

“Yeah, how long did you have us hexed last time? Half the day?”

“I mean, it was pretty awesome to see the look on Hongjoong’s face when he saw two floating brooms following him during Slytherin’s practice hour.”

“Yeah, but Transfiguration was a bugger. Couldn’t see my own feet so I accidentally turned my toes into fingers.”

“Whoa, why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Could’ve climbed up McGonagall’s tower upside down!”

“See, this is why we should never be apart. I didn’t know what to do with them so I just turned my hands into feet and walked around in a handstand til the spell wore off.”

“Bro…”

“I know. My forearms are still totally ripped from it too. Here, feel?”

Yeosang cleared his throat, turning around to see Yunho going red in the face from flexing his arm muscles, and Mingi squeezing with an appreciative hum.

“Are you guys following me so we can all study together, or…?”

Mingi made a face, “Yeo, my dearest friend—”

“Excuse me?” Yunho cut in.

“Hush, you’re the love of my life, it’s different.”

“Oh…proceed.”

Yeosang shot Yunho a look, but the boy was busy carefully avoiding eye contact, flush high in his cheeks. 

Mingi continued, oblivious, “Anyways, my precious roomie, exactly why are you studying on this beautiful Sunday morning?”

“It’s raining outside.”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Yeosang sighed. “Do we really need to have this conversation every week?”

“I’m just saying, I know you’re stressed about Potions, but you’re only gonna burn yourself out at this rate.”

Yeosang flinched, avoiding Mingi’s steady gaze. “You know I’ve got a lot riding on this exam.”

Yunho was frowning now, too, but just as he opened his mouth, a loud voice echoed through the corridor. 

“Yeosang!”

Yeosang jumped slightly, turning around to see…

“Wooyoung?”

Sure enough, the redhead was jogging his way, robes askew and tie swinging, like he’d yanked it loose mid-run. 

He felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“Yeosang, I need to talk to you.”

And then he remembered who they were, and, more importantly, what they no longer were to each other. 

He felt his body stiffen, muscles tightening in his shoulders as he fought to keep his expression neutral. 

He thought he’d gotten over their encounter yesterday, but he hadn’t prepared to have another so soon, not after they’d spent the past five years carefully avoiding each other.

He noticed peripherally that Yunho and Mingi had stepped forward to flank him on both sides, posture just the slightest bit defensive. 

Something unclenched in his gut at the sight.

They were Wooyoung’s friends too, but they’d also been the ones who’d found Yeosang that day five years ago, who’d put him back together after everything he’d known had fallen to pieces. 

He would always feel indebted to them, just as they always seemed to feel protective of him when it came to anything Wooyoung. 

The boy in question was staring at him, dark eyes earnest as he caught his breath, and Yeosang noted the way his fingers were clenched tight around the strap of his bag, knuckles white. 

He was nervous. 

“I thought I made it clear I have neither the time nor energy to deal with whatever joke this is.” 

Yeosang kept his expression steady. That came out harsher than he’d intended, but he did mean it.

Wooyoung grimaced—face just as expressive as Yeosang remembered—and Yeosang pressed his lips together as he watched the boy run a hand through already messy red hair.

He always does that when he’s anxious.

He dismissed the thought in a hurry. He didn’t know what Wooyoung “always” did anymore. 

“Before anything else, I just wanna say I’m sorry.”

Yeosang blinked, taking in the way Wooyoung was standing stiff before him, hair sticking up in all directions, expression pleading.

“I just wanted to ask for your help with something yesterday, I really didn’t mean for things to happen…like that.” He fidgeted with his robes with a sheepish smile. 

Yeosang just stood in place for a moment, processing. He felt something brush against his left side, and he turned to meet Mingi’s quiet, questioning gaze. 

Steadied, Yeosang smiled softly in response, gave a little nod, and turned back to Wooyoung calmly. “You know prefects are usually the ones who deal with issues outside the House, right?”

Mingi stepped forward, “Yeah, like with what happened last year with Hongjoong’s song cache getting stolen.”

Yeosang looked over in shock. He’d never even heard about that, and he saw the guy every other day. He made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“I know, but this is…different,” Wooyoung said quietly, before looking up at Yeosang with sudden determination. “It has to be you.”

Yeosang took a breath, a sharp, shaky thing. 

Has to be me?

And the way Wooyoung was looking at him…

But no, he’d let his imagination overwhelm his sensibility too many times to let himself get hurt again. 

He wouldn’t give anything away. 

“And why, exactly, should I get myself involved in whatever this is?”

Wooyoung’s eyes scanned his own, as if searching for something, but Yeosang had too much experience suppressing his emotions to be seen through now. 

Seeming to realize it was futile, Wooyoung turned away from Yeosang and addressed his friends, voice tinged in desperation. “You guys know I wouldn’t be doing this if I had any other option, right?”

Something inside him twisted. 

It was one thing to feel five worth of pent-up tension and broken feelings for his past friend from afar, but to be reminded by the boy himself that he was the last thing he’d ever want? 

Yunho didn’t seem too pleased, standing up straight at Yeosang’s right. “Not sure if that’s the smartest intro to asking someone for their help.”

Wooyoung exhaled heavily and turned back to Yeosang, looking apologetic. “Ah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I just meant I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t have to.”

Yeosang looked away.

How has it come to this?

“Well, what’s this about then?”

At that, Wooyoung seemed to lose his courage, glancing briefly at their friends, who were still standing at Yeosang’s sides. 

“It’s kinda something…private,” he said, somehow sounding both abashed and apologetic. 

Yeosang kept every muscle in his face carefully still. 

“Private.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said with a breath. “Private.”

Yeosang could feel the back of his neck beginning to heat, and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t, I don’t think I…” he trailed off, feeling the flush spread to his face.

Dammit.

“Didn’t you say you had a meeting with Flitwick before lunch?” Mingi asked suddenly, slinging an arm over Yeosang’s shoulders.

An out.

He really had the best of friends. 

But then,

“Oh,” Wooyoung said, looking crestfallen, and also like he was doing his best to hide it. “Yeah of course, I get it. I’ll just—sorry, I’ll just go then…yeah.”

He turned and was halfway across the corridor before Yeosang even realized what had happened. 

(“You’re my best friend, Yeosang. You know you can come to me for anything.”)

“Wooyoung, wait.”

He jerked to a stop, turning to look back at Yeosang hesitantly.

I’m gonna regret this.

“Walk with me.”

Wooyoung’s face lit up in a grin, and Yeosang stopped breathing. 

“You sure about this?” Yunho murmured with no small amount of concern. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang said after a moment, unable to take his eyes off of Wooyoung, who was now jogging back towards them excitedly. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

He finally managed to tear his eyes away, only to catch Yunho sharing a look with Mingi, who took his arm off of Yeosang’s shoulders after some hesitation and a persuading nod from Yunho. 

“Call us over if you change your mind?”

Yeosang shoved them gently away and waved his hand loosely with what he hoped passed as nonchalance.

“Go pester Hongjoong, I’ll meet you once…once I’m done here.”

“…Okay, Yeosang.”

After one last lingering look behind, Yunho tugged Mingi by the sleeve, leaving Yeosang alone with Wooyoung in the hallway. 

“I’ll be fine,” Yeosang called softly after them, quiet and quick enough that Wooyoung couldn’t hear the words or the vulnerability in his voice.

Now I just have to believe it myself.

Wooyoung could feel the sweat dripping down his neck and into his robes, but all his focus was concentrated on the boy currently standing before him, arms crossed, eyes diverted. 

He looked supremely uncomfortable, and Wooyoung knew he had only himself to blame. 

“So,” he said, shifting his weight between both feet. 

“So.”

Yeosang’s tone, unlike his posture, was unreadable. Wooyoung pressed his lips together and psyched himself up. 

“Okay sorry, this is awkward as hell, but I mean, it’s been what, five years?”

Yeosang’s expression gave him nothing. 

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand came away damp. 

“Yeah, duh, you know that already. Um…” He took advantage of Yeosang's inattention to very unsubtly wipe his hand on his robes. 

Unfortunately for him, Yeosang chose that moment to finally look at him. 

Wooyoung went still, hand frozen mid-wipe.

I forgot how it feels to have those eyes on me like that…

 “Just hurry up and tell me what was so urgent you had to pull me from my studies.”

His voice was so much deeper than he remembered…

He shook off his daze. 

Focus, Wooyoung.

“Right, sorry,” he cleared his throat. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll be quick.”

Yeosang just lifted a brow, waiting.

He inhaled deeply, and then, all in one breath, blurted, “I heard you failed your practicum yesterday.”

Yeosang’s expression shuttered. His body language before had been far from open, but now it was fully closed off.

“Glad that’s spreading around the castle, then.”

Wooyoung scrambled.

Shit.

“Wait no! No one outside our group—groups?—knows about it, so don’t worry! And the only reason I even know is…”

He trailed off, feeling his throat tighten as he realized he hadn’t prepared a way to propose this sudden idea of a deal without seeming completely unhinged.

How exactly was he supposed to tell his ex-best friend that after five years of estrangement, they were suddenly meant to reunite and help each other just because, what? Because he saw them hugging in a magic mirror?

The silence ran long as he opened and closed his mouth, unable to find any words to save him. 

Yeosang just stood there watching him expectantly, straight brows framing brown eyes that used to put him at ease with just a look—

He broke off the thought, gaining new determination. 

He had his own goal he’d been working towards for years, and so did Yeosang. This didn’t have to be anything more than that. 

“I’m here to propose a deal.”

Confusion broke through Yeosang’s blank expression, and Wooyoung told himself to count that as a win. 

“…What?”

“C’mon Yeosang, you’re the best in our year, do I really have to spell it out for you?” He said it teasingly, like the playfulness could conceal his apprehension. He tried to ignore the way sweat was now running down the dip of his spine. 

Yeosang narrowed his eyes, clearly not falling for the jibe.

Wooyoung cleared his throat. 

“Yeah okay, so you probably didn’t know this, but I’m kinda a badass at potions.”

Yeosang just raised a brow, and Wooyoung's confidence wavered.

“Okayyy, so slight exaggeration, maybe, but I aced my O.W.L. last year, and got the highest grade in the class, and…” Wooyoung realized too late that he didn’t have any other reasons, and his momentum died a slow, painful death. 

“And…I can cast a Patronus?” he finished lamely.

“Right,” said Yeosang, sounding unconvinced, “And that’s related to my Potions N.E.W.T. because…?”

“Well,” Wooyoung said weakly, trying to remember what his friends had made sound so obvious just yesterday, “You’ve gotta be good at regulating emotions to cast a Patronus, and you can’t hope to master Potions if you can’t control your feelings.”

Something shifted in Yeosang’s face, but he only calmly asked, “And since I’m clearly a failure at that, somehow you hope to help me do…what, exactly?”

Wooyoung frowned. “I wouldn’t say failure, but—” 

Yeosang waved a hand dismissively, “Your point is made. What’s your goal here?”

Somehow, he felt like the conversation was slipping away from him, but he rallied and tried for a light-hearted tone, “Well, basically I’d help you get over it!”

Yeosang stared at him. 

He smiled, confident and optimistic at first, but gradually felt it slip off his face as Yeosang continued to say nothing in response, just looking at him with those dark brown eyes. 

And then finally, after the longest pause of Wooyoung’s life, 

“So just to be clear.”

Wooyoung nodded encouragingly, “To be clear..?”

“You heard about my practicum, assumed I failed because I can’t control my emotions, and decided it was up to you, of all people, to…help me get over my feelings.”

Wooyoung felt something twist in his gut. 

“Me of all people,” huh?

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, “I really wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah, I guess?” 

He chanced a look at Yeosang’s face, and felt inclined to hurriedly add, “It’s just, I remember how you could get caught up in your emotions, and we both know that—”

He cut himself off, but Yeosang crossed his arms expectantly. 

“We both know that what?”

A scene from second year flashed in his memory.

“Yeosang, I know you’re stressed but—”

“‘But’ nothing. You’ve always tried to distract me from what’s important, and I can’t afford to let you anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have plans for my life that don’t involve you. 

“It’s time you understood that.”

Remnants of past pain hit him with surprising force, and Wooyoung could only feebly say, “We both know that you don’t tend to handle that very well.”

A door closing behind him, one body in a chair charmed for two, the excitement of a letter, the despair at its contents.

“Well then. It’s helpful to know that’s how you feel about it all.”

Yeosang’s words were clipped, and Wooyoung shook off the reverie. 

“It’s not like, a critique or anything. Just because I don’t have experience with your issues doesn’t mean I don’t have my own.”

His attempt at empathy only seemed to act as some sort of trigger, as Yeosang’s brows shot straight up, and he huffed an incredulous laugh, mask of indifference cast aside as he looked at Wooyoung in disbelief. 

“My ‘issues’, huh? Interesting way to put it.”

Wooyoung frowned. Somehow it felt like they were no longer talking about the same thing.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with struggling with something sometimes, right? Accepting help when it’s offered doesn’t make you any less capable.”

“Right. And remind me, why are you offering to ‘help’ in the first place?” Yeosang’s voice was sharp now, acidic in a way he’d never heard from him before. “Or did I misinterpret you five years ago, when you told me to get out of your life and take my problems with me?”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “I did not say that?!”

“Sorry, would ‘issues’ be the better term? Forgive me, I must’ve been too wrapped up in my emotions to hear you clearly at the time.”

Yeosang was clearly worked up now, and although Wooyooung was perplexed as to why, he felt himself beginning to follow. 

Stay calm, Wooyoung. How’re you supposed to help him if you can’t keep a hold of yourself?

He took a deep breath, “Okay, I obviously fucked up somewhere in this conversation, and I’m sorry. Right now, I’m really just trying to help you, so can we forget about the past? Just until this is over.”

Yeosang’s brow was still furrowed, and his jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke, but when he did, all he said was,

“You’re right.”

Oh, he thought. That was easier than I expected.

“I guess I can’t control my feelings as well as you do, because I can’t just forget everything that you—everything that happened.”

Wooyoung gaped at him. None of this conversation was going like he’d hoped. “You know, you’re not the only one who was hurt by what happened. I’m trying to do you a favor—”

“And what, exactly, would that favor cost me? You mentioned a deal, and you made it very clear yesterday that there’s something you want from me.”

He emphasized “something” like Wooyoung wanted nothing else to do with him, but he somehow knew that correcting him would only make things worse. 

Something he’d said had upset Yeosang. Yeosang, who was easily the most level-headed of anyone he’d ever known. But he didn’t know what it was, so he had to be very careful about where he went from here. 

Above all, he knew that mentioning the Quidditch Cup now would be a mistake. 

“We can discuss that later, it’s not that important.”

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed, and the distrust dripping from his gaze made Wooyoung’s stomach sink. 

“You can either tell me now, while we’re here, or you can keep it to yourself.” 

There was a finality to his tone, and Wooyoung knew that unless he salvaged things now, he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Seonghwa’s voice echoed in his head, “Just be honest with him, Wooyoung. None of this is easy for Yeosang, but he might take it better if he knows you’d be benefiting from this too.”

Somehow, he felt like the situation had changed into something none of them had expected, but he still found himself blurting out:

“I may have seen a sort of prophecy about you and…and the Quidditch Cup.”

Nice, Wooyoung. Way to go against your friend’s advice and your own instincts.

Yeosang was back to staring at him impassively. 

“The Quidditch Cup.”

Wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck. His sweat had gone cold. “Yeah…”

“So this whole thing, the deal, the confrontations, the sudden interest in me…was all about Quidditch, then.” 

In stark contrast to earlier, Yeosang’s voice had gone distant, detached. 

Wooyoung felt whatever chance he’d had slip through his fingers. 

“No! I meant it when I said I wanted to help. The prophecy thing…would just be a nice bonus.”

Yeosang was so calm as he looked at him, so blank. 

Wooyoung would’ve done anything to see him angry again, upset, even, if it did something to erase the unavoidable feeling of emptiness in the boy’s gaze. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I decline.”

Whatever hope he’d clung to dissipated for good at his next words.

“We realized five years ago that our priorities are not in alignment.”

Yeosang turned to leave, but just as his hand fell on the doorknob, he finished, not bothering to turn around, “If you have any respect for me, or for yourself, do not speak to me about this again.”

And then the door was opening, closing, and then he was gone. 

Wooyoung was used to disappointment. 

It’d been a familiar friend in the past few months, ever since he’d decided to prove himself by winning the most prized trophy a magical athlete could earn. 

He’d run into several dead ends before finally finding the Mirror of Erised, and even then, it wasn’t clear how he should go about achieving his goal.

He’d known this was a long shot, even without his own friends acting skeptical of his plan. 

But somehow, in spite of how accustomed he’d thought he’d become, in spite of all the preparing he’d done to be let down...

Watching Yeosang walk away hurt just as much now as it had when he was seventeen, when he thought promises of forever meant more than goodbyes delivered by owl or whispered conversations behind his back, behind closed doors. 

The pain was familiar. It slipped perfectly into place inside the wound he’d long been telling himself had healed years ago. 

The only thing different this time was the feeling of permanence that echoed through the room with the sound of the closed door. 

As certain as Yeosang’s parting words, a knowledge draped over him like a leaden shroud. 

A knowledge that sometimes, broken things stay broken, and that sometimes, they get thrown away for good.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Wooyoung’s ill-fated meeting with Yeosang. 

It was a week of wallowing in his friends’ rooms, avoiding every hint of blue-accented robes, and doing his damndest to hide in the back row of all of their very uncomfortable shared classes.

In other words, he was handling it great.

“Hongjoong I can’t do this anymore,” he groaned, flopping his entire body weight onto the shoulders of the boy seated in front of him. 

He drew out the sound in a long, "Ahhhhh", the vibrations of it buzzing pleasantly between his lips and the neck he was nuzzled into.

The shorn hair of Hongjoong’s undercut was scratchy against his cheek, but he only had to endure the sensation for a second before he was being flung off and onto the ground by a well-executed shrug. 

“You’re getting your angst onto my sheet music.”

Hongjoong was hard at work, as always, using his talent for music and magic to produce his own compositions. He’d requested his own room as Slytherin Head Boy, and he’d spelled it sound-proof, leaving him free to experiment with sounds as he pleased. 

Except—to his obvious dismay—for times like now, when a dejected Wooyoung was dropped off at his door by their very fatigued friends. 

“C’mon Woo, you promised to leave the self-pity at the door.”

“Yeah, you know we understand, but you’ve got to get it together bro.”

Seonghwa and San had hauled him here after a week of enduring his constant lurking in their room, hoping the change of scenery would cure Wooyoung’s melancholy. 

“Remind me again why you thought bringing him here would be a good idea?” Hongjoong raised a brow, attention focused on the multicolored shining orbs floating before him. 

He ran a hand through a section, and a series of loud bass notes and percussive harmonies rang out. It was shockingly discordant, but also worked in the strangest way. 

“Maybe we hoped listening to you work would put him to sleep,” San said dryly.

Hongjoong snorted a laugh before plucking an orb from the air and meddling with it with his wand. Something within the interlaced golden filaments inside the ball of light arced and flashed as a note rang out, and he smiled in satisfaction before setting it back in place. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him. If he can sexy dance to a melodica, he can do anything.”

Wooyoung cocked his head, “Wait, melodica?”

“Babe, if you sexy dance so much you have to ask for specification, I hate to say it, but you might wanna rein it in a little.”

“San, two weeks ago you stood on your chair in the Great Hall and body-rolled in front of everyone just because that cute Ravenclaw said you wouldn’t.”

“What can I say? I’m weak for pretty brunettes that boss me around.”

“Aaand that’s enough of that,” Seonghwa cut in. 

“See?” San said, grabbing Wooyoung’s hand and running it over his arm. “Goosebumps.”

Seonghwa’s cheeks went pink, and he covered his eyes with an exasperated laugh. 

Hongjoong flicked an orb back into place. 

“A melodica is a small piano with a mouthpiece. Sounds like a harmonica or accordion sometimes.”

Wooyoung smacked his fist into his palm. “Oh yeah, from when Hwa played your song for us that one time! I felt like a medieval damsel flashing ankles for the first time.”

San gave him a high five, but Hongjoong just scribbled something into a scroll before grabbing an orb and chucking it over his shoulder. 

The ball of light and condensed sound thwacked Wooyoung square on the forehead, and he fell back and onto the bed with an “oof” as Hongjoong’s high-pitched laugh reverberated loudly around him. 

“Jesus, what in the horror movie soundtrack are you making?”

Hongjoong squinted at him. 

“When I’m done with the EP, remind me you’re last to get to hear it.”

Wooyoung spluttered.

“Ooh, ouch,” San said, scooting over to pat his head sympathetically. 

Wooyoung sank off the bed and onto his hands and knees in despair, “Please, I didn’t mean it! I love your scary laugh, I hope it haunts my dreams.”

Hongjoong scoffed, but when Wooyoung pressed his cheek into the floor and looked up, he could see him smiling. 

“If you mean it, we can make that happen. Yeosang’s been working on an elixir of waking dreams.”

Wooyoung flinched and averted his eyes to the carpet inches from his face.

Slytherin’s has even higher thread count than Hufflepuff’s, he thought deliberately. The only other House I have left to check is—

He cut off the thought with a loud groan, smothering his face in the plush green rug.

He did his best to block out his friends’ murmurings, but couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Oh, are we still pretending Yeosang doesn’t exist?”

“C’mon Joong, this isn’t exactly new behavior.”

“I haven’t seen him like this in years, though.”

“Well, San, this is the first time he’s actually tried to mend things since—”

“I’m still right here, you know,” Wooyoung cut in, sitting up so his back was against the teakwood bed frame. 

He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“I know I’ve been kind of a drag recently, but…I guess I just didn’t expect him to react like that.”

A commiserating hum from the Hufflepuffs, and then suddenly,

“Come on Wooyoung, is it really that hard to believe?” 

His head snapped forward to see Hongjoong turned around and looking at him, frowning in what could only be disappointment. 

He blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong opened his mouth only to close it, pursing his lips, “This is something you’ve gotta figure out on your own. It’s not my place to tell you what you should’ve noticed years ago.”

Sudden nervous energy flushed his senses, and he focused in on Hongjoong intently. 

“Has he talked to you about…everything?”

The sudden growing divide between them, there before Wooyoung even realized it, without him understanding how it got there. The confessions, the eavesdropped conversations, the fights, the Fight.

The one that ended everything for good, the one that—in his weakest moments—he combed through, analyzing every remark, wondering if he'd just said something different, if he'd done something different, if he'd just turned towards him instead of away—

The anticipation—and fear—fizzled and died in his veins upon Hongjoong’s responding look of disapproval. 

“Yeosang is just as much my friend as you are. Don’t ask me to disrespect his privacy.”

Wooyoung slumped. 

Hongjoong was right, he should’ve known better.

Beyond that, what he'd done the week before was separate from what happened five years earlier. They were connected only by hurt feelings and Wooyoung's inevitable inability to Fix It.

“Yeah…yeah you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated because I know I said something wrong, but I’ve gone through our conversation a million times, and I still don't know what it was that set him off.”

San patted his back soothingly. 

“Maybe you just made it sound too transactional?” Seonghwa mused. “I thought that’d make him more willing to accept help, but maybe I had it wrong.”

Hongjoong shook his head, “No, in normal circumstances you’d be right. Yeosang has a problem asking for help.”

“What do you mean ‘in normal circumstances’?” Wooyoung asked. 

San nudged him with his shoulder. “C’mon Woo, even you can connect these dots.”

He flushed, shoving him back. “We’ve hardly had anything to do with each other for years! Why would my involvement change anything?” 

He quieted, picking at a loose thread on his trousers before finishing, “He couldn’t care less about me anymore, so.”

Silence settled over the group. 

San stayed rubbing his back, Seonghwa was gently running his fingers along Hongjoong’s complex arrangement of orbs, making synth harmonies ring out on low volume, and Hongjoong…

Hongjoong had his eyes closed and his wand pointed at his temple as he extracted a red-colored sphere. 

He tinkered with it for a moment before tossing it to Seonghwa.

“Slip that in inside that purple cluster, will you? Yeah, right there.”

“That’s what she said,” Wooyoung mustered weakly. 

Hongjoong didn’t give any indication that he even heard. 

San shook his head and squeezed his arm. “It’s okay buddy, you won’t be like this forever.”

He sighed, shoulders hunching forward. 

If he’d lost even his innate skill of innuendo, who even was he?

He looked up at the sound of Seonghwa’s bright laughter. 

His friend had his wand pressed against one ear as he ran a finger through the new score, and he was shaking his head at Hongjoong even as he laughed. 

“You’re evil,” he said, covering his smile with his hand daintily. "Was that from just now?"

Hongjoong smirked. "Yup. Who knew he could be so useful.”

San pouted and jutted his chin forward. “Oi, let us hear too.”

“Yeah, lovebirds,” Wooyoung added, just to be a brat.

Seonghwa hid his blush behind his hand poorly, and Hongjoong rolled his eyes. 

“If you insist.”

At Hongjoong’s gesture, Seonghwa brought his wand down from his ear and ran his hand through the measure, playing it out loud. 

Instrumentals blared before a loud,

“What you gonna say?” 

“aaaAAHHH”

Seonghwa paused and turned to Wooyoung expectantly. 

He stared back blankly until it suddenly hit him.

His jaw dropped, and he snapped his head towards Hongjoong incredulously.

“Did you just auto-tune my groan of pain to accessorize your song?!”

San burst out laughing, smacking Wooyoung’s leg.

“Is that what that was? You gotta admit, it fits perfectly.”

“My pain is not your profit,” he said, slamming his hand straight out against San’s arm, leaning his body weight and dropping his head in despair. 

“Did you just angst kabedon against me?”

“And what of it? You’re built like a wall anyway.”

“Omg, babe…”

“Can’t believe you’d all take advantage of my vulnerability like this.”

Hongjoong shrugged. “You think I’d let you come in here and whinge for free?”

Wooyoung spluttered before turning to Seonghwa accusingly, “And you! You’re enabling his bad behavior!”

He just laughed, “You think he’d listen to me?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung and San responded in unison, Wooyoung indignant and San all too amused. 

Seonghwa shook his head, but Wooyoung saw the way he glanced ever so quickly over at their Slytherin friend. 

“In all seriousness though,” Hongjoong said, looking at Wooyoung steadily, “What’s the plan? Where do you go from here?”

Wooyoung felt his smile become forced. “I mean, there’s not much I can do that’s different from what I’ve been doing the past week.”

“Soo being awkward as hell in Defense and Charms, very much not-staring wistfully at Ravenclaw table during meals, and neglecting half our friends?” 

Wooyoung shot San a dirty look, but he just lifted Wooyoung’s legs onto his lap and massaged his calf muscles in half-assed apology.  

“If anything, Yunho and Mingi have been ignoring me.”

Seonghwa sighed, “Well, they did choose Yeosang in the divorce.”

Wooyoung ripped his sock off and threw it at him in retaliation. 

Seonghwa let out a shriek and dove, using Hongjoong as cover. 

“Oi, keep me out of this.”

“He’s using biological warfare! There’s no such thing as a bystander anymore!”

“Fair point.”

With a casual glance over his shoulder, Hongjoong flicked his wand in Wooyoung’s direction, mumbling something incoherent. 

With little other warning, Wooyoung felt the most nauseating sensation of his organs floating inside his own body, and he only realized what’d happened when his back thudded against the ceiling.

“Did you just anti-gravity charm me?!”

“Punishment befitting the crime.”

“I threw a sock??”

“I stand by my words.”

“Your mistake babe,” said San pityingly, “You really thought he wouldn’t rise to defend Seonghwa’s honor?”

“You wanna go up too?”

“Ahh joking, only joking…”

Wooyoung felt the blood begin to rush to his head as his body slowly drifted forward diagonally, and he flapped his arms to try and get himself upright. 

“Hello?? You can consider your point made, now let me down!”

Hongjoong peered up at him through his bangs. 

“Only once you make a decision about the Yeosang situation.”

Wooyoung spluttered.

“A final decision,” Hongjoong said pointedly.

Wooyoung managed to get his head above his body again, but that only made it more difficult to avoid thinking about everything.

It’d been more than clear five years ago, but last week Yeosang made it even more obvious that he wanted nothing to do with Wooyoung. 

And as much as their conversation confused and frustrated him, made him think and feel things he’d thought he’d smothered long ago…

He’d respect his wishes. 

“Everything was fine before I approached him about all this, so.” 

He shrugged, “I’ll just go back to how things were.”

Outside of their friend group, there was hardly any reason to interact with each other anyway. It couldn't be too difficult to resume their well-practiced charade. 

He could see his friends' reactions from his bird's-eye view on the ceiling, but he couldn't tell if they were more disappointed or resigned.  

Regardless, Hongjoong lifted his wand, but then paused. “And Yunho and Mingi?”

That had Wooyoung faltering, “To be honest…they both scare the shit outta me right now. I’ll wait til they forgive me to approach.”

San raised a brow, “You know you’re not the only one at fault here, right? They know that just as well as we do.”

Wooyoung squinted down at him. “I swear Mingi was looking me dead in the eyes when he summoned that lightning in Charms the other day.”

“That…is entirely possible,” San conceded. 

“Yes well, Jongho’s with them right now, so I’m sure they’ll talk it over,” comforted Seonghwa.

Wooyoung gave a noncommittal hum.

San leaned back on his elbows to look up at him, “What’re you gonna do about Quidditch, by the way?” 

Wooyoung scoffed. He’d almost forgotten what kickstarted this whole disaster in the first place. 

“That stupid mirror only gave bad ideas anyway. I’ll figure something out on my own, thank you.”

Seonghwa tilted his head up and looked at him, “Didn’t you say this was your last resort?”

Wooyoung side-eyed him. He hoped it communicated his irritation at the reminder, but he could also barely keep himself upright as he floated above everyone’s heads. He guessed the effect was largely lost. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

Seonghwa frowned. “Well if nothing’s changed, how else do you plan on getting your team to take the Cup? You've lost almost all the scrimmages so far.” 

Wooyoung knew his friend was just trying to help him think things through. He knew that.

But he couldn’t keep the frustration from tinting his voice as he shot back, “Well, if you have some bright idea I haven’t already tried, feel free to share.”

He immediately regretted it. And even if he didn’t, the look Hongjoong was leveling him with now would’ve done the job for him. 

“I know this is important to you and you’re in a sensitive state right now, but don’t take it out on the people trying to help you.”

Wooyoung bowed his head as best he could. 

“Yeah,” he said, embarrassed, “Sorry Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa just smiled at him, kindness wrinkling around his eyes as he said, “You’ll figure it out, Woo. Maybe something unexpected will happen and everything will fall into place.”

Wooyoung huffed a wry laugh, “You mean like how that magic mirror was supposed to be the missing piece I needed?” 

No, he was done relying on distant hopes. If he wanted something done, he’d have to do it himself. 

He inhaled sharply and shook himself back into the moment. 

His eyes met Hongjoong’s first, as he’d already been watching Wooyoung’s face. 

After a few seconds, he must’ve seen something he approved of, because he nodded at him before saying, “Okay, that’s good enough for me.”

Wooyoung almost asked what he was talking about, but then he remembered Hongjoong had been about to dispel the levitation charm on his body. 

With a wave of relief, Wooyoung watched him raise his wand and begin an incantation.

…And then there was a loud knock at the door. 

To Wooyoung’s dismay, Hongjoong stopped mid-word and, frowning slightly, stood up and moved for the door. 

“Uh, hello?” Wooyoung protested, waving his arms. 

But the movement only sent his body into motion until he was floating across the ceiling like a bouncing DVD logo across a screen.

Hongjoong didn’t even seem to notice. 

“What the…?”

Wooyoung couldn’t see what was happening, so upon his next contact with the wall, he used it as a launching pad and pushed himself in a mid-air breaststroke to get towards the door.

It was hardly effective, but he managed to get close enough to see Hongjoong pluck a floating scroll from the air before closing the door. 

He watched as his friend opened it and scanned the contents rapidly.

Unfortunately, his vantage point only granted him a brief glimpse of ornate cursive font before Hongjoong snapped the scroll shut, shoving it into his robes. 

“I gotta go,” he said in a rush, moving through the room and grabbing things seemingly at random.

Seonghwa looked up at him in confusion, but helped him collect his things nonetheless, somehow knowing exactly what Hongjoong needed without being told. 

“Everything ok?”

Hongjoong waved him off lightly, “Yeah, don’t worry. Just Head Boy business.”

“That scroll looked pretty official,” Wooyoung said, implication heavy, expression controlled. 

Hongjoong shot a narrow-eyed glance his way. “Were you spying over my shoulder?”

Wooyoung met his gaze with zero remorse and a raised brow, “If I saw anything, there is literally no one to blame but yourself.”

Hongjoong glared back at him, but Wooyoung was well-used to it by now, and it had little effect. 

“You two,” Hongjoong said, directed at Seonghwa and San, “are welcome to stay as long as you like.” 

He side-eyed Wooyoung as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “You, on the other hand, better not still be here moping by the time I get back.”

“I do not mope! I angst very mysteriously and handsomely—and he’s gone.”

The door closed behind Hongjoong’s swishing green robes, and Wooyoung floated for a few more moments before realizing. 

“Hey!! Come back and let me down!”

“I don’t think he’ll be back, babe.”

“ KIM HONGJOONG!!! ”

“I’m sure the hex’ll wear off eventually.” Seonghwa reached up to pat his foot consolingly.

“More importantly,” San interjected, “I wonder what he meant by ‘Head Boy business’…gotta be something juicy with how fast he booked it out of here.”

“We’ll probably find out eventually…” Seonghwa trailed off. 

San snorted. “Yeah, maybe you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“Uh, guys??”

Wooyoung had drifted until he was fully upside down, feet brushing the ceiling and face inches from the back of Seonghwa’s head.

Seonghwa turned at the sound of his voice and jumped with a loud yelp, almost smacking their faces together. 

“Jesus Wooyoung, warn a guy first??”

Wooyoung felt pressure swell in his face as blood rushed to his head. Grinning, a bit punch drunk with sudden euphoria, he leaned his face in close to Seonghwa’s and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Wanna Spiderman kiss?”

Seonghwa froze, and hesitantly stepped closer. Wooyoung could see the way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled—before there was a palm to his face and he was being shoved away.

Although there was little force in the push, the zero gravity effect still had a hold on him, and he was sent flying backwards. 

Luckily for him, his Quidditch instincts kicked in and he immediately tucked his knees, using the momentum to do a series of backflips instead of getting slammed into the opposite wall.  

He heard Seonghwa shout in alarm as he flipped, but he didn’t even have time to feel nauseous before the spinning was over and he was upright again.

Once his vision cleared, he looked over at his friends, and Seonghwa’s face was full of concern as he reached for him, “Are…are you alright?”

Wooyoung blinked at him a moment before saying, “Yeah, I think I just…went head over heels for you.”

Seonghwa stared back at him with furrowed eyebrows, clearly not comprehending, before it clicked and he dropped his arm, groaning. 

“Okay never mind, you’re fine.”

“Dude,” San laughed, “that was awesome?!”

Wooyoung smirked and took a bow, but the movement sent him swinging forward against his will until he was, once again, upside down. 

“Wait, no!”

“Nope. Don’t look to me this time,” Seonghwa preempted, holding up a hand. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Wooyoung switched tactics and looked towards his other friend, “San, please, you’re all I have!”

“I’ve got you, babe!”

San ran over and, without warning, wrapped his hands around Wooyoung’s neck and proceeded to tug him across the room.

Wooyoung spluttered, coughing out a, “Sanwhatthefuck,” as he was dragged through the air by the throat. 

Even Seonghwa, who’d just abandoned him, stood up as if to rescue him from…whatever San was doing.

“There!” The boy said suddenly, releasing Wooyoung with a satisfied nod. 

His grip hadn’t been all that tight, but Wooyoung made a big show of coughing and rubbing his neck. 

“You gonna explain yourself?”

San guided his body right-side-up again and beamed up at him, “Just saving you from when the charm wears off!”

Wooyoung cocked his head in confusion, but realized upon looking down that San had pulled him directly on top of the bed.

“Ohh so if I fall—”

“It’ll be into bed with me,” San said, blowing him a kiss.

Wooyoung mimed swooning, but Seonghwa cleared his throat.

“Uh, wouldn’t it be better to just weigh him down so he doesn’t have to—”

At that moment, gravity grabbed hold of Wooyoung again, and he dropped straight down with a shriek.

“—fall,” Seonghwa finished.

Wooyoung bounced on the bed, catching enough air to make his limbs windmill before falling to flop down next to San.

Startled, he felt his pulse beating fast before he blinked and let out a breathless laugh. 

San giggled too, pulling him into his side. 

Seonghwa facepalmed, but Wooyoung could see him smiling behind his hand. 

“Well,” Wooyoung said, shaking his bangs out of his eyes, “now that that problem’s solved, let’s move on to the next task, shall we?”

San quirked an eyebrow, “Next task?”

Wooyoung nudged him with his shoulder, “C’mon bro, it hasn’t been that long since we’ve gotten up to some…mischief.”

“Ohohoo~”

Seonghwa held up a hand, “Hold on. Can I excuse myself for plausible deniability purposes?”

“Nope,” Wooyoung said gleefully. 

He paused dramatically, waiting until he had their undivided attention, before,

“…and you’re not gonna want to either once you hear what was on Hongjoong’s scroll.”

San gasped, “You sly bastard, you caught a peek?”

Wooyoung smirked, smug. “Of course I did. You thought I’d waste a golden opportunity like that?”

San hooted and gave him an elated high five. 

Seonghwa sighed, “Hongjoong’s not gonna be happy once he finds out.”

“If he finds out,” Wooyoung corrected. He could feel adrenaline rushing his system as a tentative plan slowly came together in his mind. 

“And if he does,” San continued, “that’s what we have you for!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I don’t like it.” 

“Focus, focus,” Wooyoung said, snapping his fingers.

San turned on him, “Well hurry up and tell us what you saw, then!” 

“Alright, alright,” Wooyoung placated. “But, before I tell you…”

“Come on, can’t we just skip the theatrics this time?”

Wooyoung’s head snapped to look at Seonghwa, indignation momentarily replacing his excitement. 

“Excuse me?? I had to sit through your vague ass brainstorming last week when I was in distress! I’ve earned this.”

Seonghwa coughed out a startled laugh and held his hands up in surrender, “Well then…” 

He gestured for him to continue, and Wooyoung sniffed, “Thank you.” 

Seonghwa rolled his eyes with a poorly disguised smile. 

“Anyways,” Wooyoung said, drawing out the syllables before breaking into an impish grin,  “We’re gonna break into the Headmaster’s office and crash Hongjoong’s secret meeting.”

Twin blank stares met his.

“What.”

“Oh hush, I have a plan.”

“That is so not the problem here??”

Wooyoung clasped Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Just trust me, it’ll be so worth it in the end.”

But his musing was interrupted,

“Gonna need a bit more than that, buddy.”

Wooyoung turned and clutched his chest, “Et tu, San?”

“Sorry babe.”

He sighed. “You guys have no sense of adventure.”

“Or maybe you just have no sense at all,” Seonghwa rebuffed dryly. 

“Okay fine, fine,” Wooyoung said, jumping to his feet with renewed purpose. He hadn’t felt this energetic since—since before last week.

 “We have some preparations to make anyway. I’ll fill you in on the details on the way.”

San stood up with clear reluctance. 

“I guess this is one way to get you out of your funk.”

Wooyoung just smiled extra bright and turned to Seonghwa, extending his hand. 

His friend eyed it dubiously before looking up at Wooyoung’s face, as if searching for something. 

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Wooyoung smirked, wiggling his eyebrows encouragingly, “You can’t tell me you’re not intrigued.”

Seonghwa’s gaze was steady, and Wooyoung felt his smile twitch on his face. 

“No, I mean are you sure this is how you want to deal with the Yeosang situation.”

Ah.

Wooyoung dropped his hand jerkily from where he’d been holding it expectantly in the air. He stuck it in a pocket before changing his mind and withdrawing it to rub at the back of his neck. 

He could feel Seonghwa’s eyes on him, and he couldn’t help but wish that just once, his friend wasn’t able to see through him quite so easily. 

He found a loose thread on his sleeve and tugged on it. 

“Yeah, well. It feels a whole lot better than just mucking around thinking about it all day.”

Silence. 

The fabric of his sleeve twisted under his fingertips as the weave was torn into a hole. He yanked again at the thread in frustration, only widening the rip. 

Then a hand was covering his, halting the motion. He looked up. 

“Okay,” Seonghwa said, having risen to his feet. “Let’s go.”

He was gentle as he handled him, murmuring a spell under his breath. 

Wooyoung watched as the tear in his robes mended itself before his eyes, and he felt an inexplicable thickness form in his throat.

He swallowed it down, mustering a smile.

“Okay.”

He turned to San, only to see he’d already fetched his bag. He slung it over Wooyoung's head and clasped his shoulders firmly. 

“This better be so damn good,” he said, but any attempt at sternness was spoiled by the boyish smile spreading to dimple both cheeks.

Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh in response.

“Well if you’re so reluctant to go, I’m not gonna force you…”

“Ah ah ah,” San wagged a finger, “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get busted.”

“Riiight,” Seonghwa raised a brow, “As if that’s not the exact reason why I have to come along.”

Wooyoung just grinned and slung an arm over each of them. 

“This is gonna be so much fun.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck me,” Yeosang hissed, jerking his hand furiously, drops of viscous purple liquid flicking off and onto his desk. 

“No need to tell me twice,” a familiar voice whispered, directly into his ear.

Yeosang startled, spinning to face the tall brunette leaning over him, a sly smirk framed by two wiggling eyebrows. 

A shudder went down his spine. 

“Do I want to know how long you’ve been standing there?”

Yunho gave a beaming closed-eye smile, “Probably not.”

Yeosang sighed and turned back to his cauldron, “Yeah, thought so.”

He gave the mixture a stir, but it was now so thick he felt his back muscles flex with the effort. 

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” Yunho said, stooping to give his potion a tentative sniff. 

He recoiled, holding his nose, and continued, voice nasal, “I was kinda upset you left without waking me, but then I noticed the warming charm you cast on the couch bed.”

Yeosang smiled faintly and nodded, “Room gets drafty this time of year.”

He crushed a sprig of mugwort in his hand and sprinkled it over the potion evenly. 

Something made a popping noise inside, and he reared back instinctively, bracing an arm over Yunho’s chest and dragging him with him. 

The next second, now-iridescent-green liquid burst from the cauldron and splattered over his workspace. The emerald droplets sizzled where they landed, singeing holes in the scroll he’d been using for instructions. 

He cursed under his breath, waiting a few seconds to be safe, before releasing Yunho and stepping forward to assess the damage. 

Yunho whistled low, “Damn. Can’t say I’ve seen that before.”

Yeosang scowled, eyeing the way his stirring rod was defying gravity to stick straight up, despite the mixture having returned to its original watery state. 

“It’s done this three times now. The scroll says to ‘crush the mugwort evenly by hand’, as if that’s not easily the most inexact way to possibly crush something.”

He said it in one breath and glared at the disaster before him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Yunho said, inching towards him slowly like something might explode again, “I’m sure you’d be fine crushing literally anything else by hand.”

Yeosang looked away from the mess to raise an eyebrow at him, confused. 

Yunho raised his own, unimpressed, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you hitting the gym extra hard these past couple weeks.”

Yeosang’s cheeks warmed, and he turned away. “Just have more stress to work off recently, is all.”

“Uh huh,” Yunho said. Yeosang was pointedly not looking at him, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “Is that what was so urgent this morning then?”

Yeosang pulled his stirring rod out of the cauldron with some effort, only to reveal that the bottom half had entirely dissolved. 

He tossed the useless remaining half to the side, clenching his jaw. 

“Among other things.”

Yunho quieted at that, stepping forward to fiddle with the singed parchment on his desk with long fingers. 

“It just feels like we hardly ever see you anymore, you know?”

His voice was light, but there was a tightness in his face, a tension in his shoulders that couldn’t be hidden by forced aloofness. 

Yeosang looked back at his workspace. 

He hadn’t even realized, not really, not with how focused he’d been on getting this potion right, on forcing improvement before his exam. 

But Yunho was right. 

Apart from last night, when he’d called Yunho to their classroom, and the occasional mealtime, he’d hardly seen his friends recently. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, dipping his head and leaning against Yunho’s side somewhat awkwardly. His friends loved skinship, but he’d never been good at initiating. 

An arm wrapped around him without hesitation. 

“It’s ok,” Yunho said softly, resting his head on Yeosang’s. “I just miss you, that’s all.”

From where his head was turned—pressed as it was against Yunho’s sweater—all he could see was his desk full of failures, proof that days of hard work had yielded little to no return. 

But his friend had searched the castle to find him, to tell him he missed him. 

He stayed in the embrace a few seconds longer than usual before pulling away.

“I think I’ll call it a day,” he murmured. 

Facing his mess, he held his draping sleeve back as he flicked his wand, sending the day’s worth of botched concoctions on his desk winking away.

But before he could address the next biggest issue, it was snatched up by large, overly concerned palms.

“Yeosang, your hand!”

Yunho was cradling his right wrist carefully, eyes wide as he scanned the angry red mark on the back of Yeosang’s hand. 

He conjured a handkerchief without a word, face taut with concern as he dabbed at the corrosive purple drops Yeosang hadn’t bothered to deal with earlier. 

Once he’d gotten most of it, Yeosang tugged his arm loose, albeit gently, and said dismissively, “It’s just a minor burn. I’ve got a poultice in my bag somewhere if you give me a second.”

Yunho frowned at him, but didn’t stop him again, even as Yeosang used his injured hand to dig deep inside his charmed bag to pull out the herbs. 

“Please tell me you have that as a ‘just in case’ and not because this has happened before.”

“It’s just in case,” Yeosang said absently, applying his homemade balm to the burn with a gentle touch. 

He was careful not to let his other sleeve ride up as he did so. Yunho would only worry, and the wounds were already healing, anyway.

Yunho pursed his lips, but Yeosang maintained his silence, and eventually he just sighed and sat on Yeosang’s now tidied desk.

“You already know what I think about all this, so I won’t bother saying it again.”

Yeosang leveled him with a wry look as he began packing up his things. “You know that by saying that, you pretty much just did anyways, right?”

Yunho pouted and looked up at him with childish obstinacy, “If you heard me say something in your mind, maybe it was actually just your conscience speaking.”

Yeosang’s lips tilted into a smirk, “If my conscience ever takes on your voice, I have bigger problems on my hands.”

Yunho gasped and shoved at him, nearly falling off the desk, and Yeosang stumbled backwards a couple steps, laughing. 

“How’s it all coming along, though?” Yunho asked then, maintaining his smile, voice casual. “Can’t have been blowing things up all day, right?”

Yeosang felt the lightness in his chest dissipate like air in a balloon abruptly released.

He moved things around on his desk to give his hands something to do, and responded airily, “Yeah, it was…fine.”

Yunho’s eyes narrowed, so he added, “Better than yesterday.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because Yunho’s eyes flicked back down to his now-bandaged hand, and he frowned again. 

He opened his mouth—to express concern, no doubt—so Yeosang cut in before he could say anything, “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough though, I can feel it.”

He wasn’t, not even close. 

Yunho had been joking, but just as he’d said, most of his brews of the day ended up exploding and splattering on his arms, or burning holes through his desk, or dissolving the bloody cauldron.

But, after a long, uncomfortable moment of Yunho searching his face for dishonesty and Yeosang fidgeting under his stare, the furrow in his friend’s brow cleared. 

That’s worth a white lie. 

He ignored the throbbing under his bandages.

“That’s good!” Yunho said, jostling his shoulder. “Good enough that you’ll be joining us for dinner tonight, yeah?”

His smile was bright, and Yeosang had the suspicion he’d planned on proposing this from the start, had even come searching for him with that goal in mind. 

But the realization only made something loosen in his chest, something that warmed his body from the inside out. 

He’d never been the best at taking care of himself when he was fixated on something, but luckily for him, he’d always had someone who’d nudge him when he needed it.

He shook off the ghost of a memory of fingers through his bangs and a warm body at his back.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling softly and dropping the tension in his shoulders, “Sounds good.”

They headed out of the empty classroom, Yunho pulling the door open for him, but Yeosang was halted by the soft impact of something hitting his chest.

“What the…”

A fancy-looking scroll was floating before him, inclining itself twice, as if apologizing for its rude arrival. 

Yeosang nodded back instinctively before plucking it from the air, eyeing the embossed seal. 

“Looks pretty legit,” Yunho commented. 

He’d already stepped to the side so Yeosang wouldn’t have to hide the scroll’s contents as he read. They must’ve come to the same conclusion.

“Gotta be from the Headmaster,” Yeosang said out loud, squinting at it as he unrolled the slightly rough, high-grade parchment gingerly. 

Head Boy Kang, 

Yeosang grimaced at the title.

This missive dutifully informs of a schoolwide competition due to take place before the year's end. The information disclosed is strictly need-to-know, and trust is placed in your continued discretion. 

Yeosang glanced up to see Yunho leaning against the open door and staring pointedly at the ceiling. 

He was clearly trying to look aloof, but Yunho had always been the curious type, and Yeosang noticed the way his fingers were tapping an anxious rhythm into the wood at his back.

He hid a smile.   

Special consideration must be paid to a matter of great sensitivity; a priceless artifact of paramount significance has been bestowed upon Hogwarts by a most gracious benefactor. 

Some whisper of unease flashed through him, but he shook it off. 

It was strange for him to feel apprehension at the promise of additional responsibility, but perhaps Yunho was right—maybe he did need a break.

This artifact will be granted to the winner—a grand prize whose allure promises to rival the most vivid of imaginations, and to tempt the most stalwart of souls. 

Yeosang couldn’t help but huff a laugh, muttering, “Oookay, Headmaster. Bit dramatic.”

He pretended not to notice the way the veins in Yunho’s neck visibly jumped as he strained to keep his posture still and indifferent. 

The anticipation must really be killing him, he thought, amused.

“Just a bit left now,” he said, unrolling to the end with a nonchalance he knew would rankle his friend more than anything.

Yunho gave a strangled noise of acknowledgment, and Yeosang went to read the last of the scroll, smirking in sly delight.

In light of the utmost security surrounding this matter, an assembly of the Head Boys is imperative and imminent. 

Kindly expedite your presence to the Headmaster's office without delay upon receiving this missive.

“Sincerely, Headmaster Park,” Yeosang finished out loud, smile having faded. 

So much for dinner.

“Okay, I give in. Please tell me there’s something you can say about whatever has you looking so serious.”

Yunho was looking at him pleadingly, but Yeosang shook his head.

“Sorry bro, this might actually be the most top-security clearance letter I’ve gotten as Head Boy.”  

Yunho groaned, smacking his forehead and dragging his hand down his face in a not-handsome way, “Well don’t tell me that, what is wrong with you??”

Yeosang snickered, taking a not-insignificant amount of pleasure in riling him up. 

Sometimes being Head Boy had its perks. 

He felt his smile wilt, though, as he reluctantly added, “Also…I hate to do this, but…I gotta go.”

Yunho frowned. 

“As in after dinner?”

Yeosang shook his head. 

“As in right now...I’m sorry.”

Yunho looked at him, disappointment palpable, before his eyebrows scrunched, his eyes glowing with sudden determination.

Yeosang’s instincts kicked in, and he snapped his head back to look at the ceiling, breaking eye contact immediately.

It was just in time, because in his periphery, he could see Yunho’s eyes turn large and shiny, gazing down at him in the world’s most lethal puppy-eyed stare. 

“C’mon, Yeo…you’d reject me in cold blood and not even look me in the eyes as you do it?”

Yeosang scoffed, refusing to fall for it. 

“You really think I’m that stupid?”

“…If I say no, will you ditch and come to dinner?”

Yeosang rolled his eyes and kept them pointed up at the ceiling. 

Yunho tried in vain to snatch his attention a few more times—jumping up and down, dragging Yeosang’s chin down with two fingers, shoving his face forward til they were inches apart, etc—before seeming to accept defeat. 

He stepped back with a soft, resigned huff of a laugh Yeosang only barely managed to catch. 

“I’ll save you a plate, yeah?” 

A hand clasped his shoulder, and when Yeosang lowered his head, he was met with a kind—if disappointed—smile of quiet understanding that had his throat tightening almost painfully. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow, promise.”

Yunho squeezed his shoulder and nodded in response, as predicted, but contrary to Yeosang’s expectations, he then proceeded to take off in the direction of the Headmaster’s office, rather than the Great Hall.  

Yeosang jogged to catch up, looking at him questioningly, but Yunho just grabbed his wrist—his left one; he was visibly still over-conscientious of the bandage on his right—and tugged him to walk faster. 

The grip stung, even through his sleeve and the additional bandages hidden beneath, but the care in the gesture was enough to make Yeosang genuinely smile, rather than wince. 

“The least you can do after all that is let me walk you,” Yunho said with a gentle squeeze, eyes trained stubbornly forward.

Yeosang shook his head fondly to himself and acquiesced to the faster pace. 

“Have it your way,” he said, the stress of the day somehow fading into that warm feeling in his chest.

“This way!” Wooyoung said, yanking his friends to the right. 

“Can you let go of us now?” Seonghwa complained.

They were almost at the statue guarding the Headmaster’s office, having taken a brief detour to grab additional supplies…and an additional person.

“Shh, let the guy think,” Jongho said, surprisingly gracious. 

Wooyoung shot him a wary look as he tugged them down another passageway, attention half-trained on the ancient-looking parchment in his other hand. 

“Thanks, Jongho…”

“You’re welcome,” he responded. 

And then, “This is the most activity your brain’s gotten in like two weeks—no wonder you’re struggling with it all.”

“Aaand there it is,” Wooyoung said with a sigh. 

He double-checked they were going the right way, holding the map up close to his face and nodding decisively before finishing, “Would it kill you to be supportive without the inevitable backhand?”

“Yes, yes it would,” was the reply. “Also, you’re really channeling ‘Vacation Dad’ right now, so I’m actually holding back.”

San snickered from behind, and Wooyoung looked back at him, betrayed, as he led them to the left and away from a group of approaching students.

“We all know if I were a dad, I’d be the sexy unattainable type all the teachers fall in love with, so.”

A collective groan, making Wooyoung turn again to deal out his indignation, even as he adjusted their route to the hidden paths squiggling into place on his map. 

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, huh??”

Seonghwa met his gaze readily and with no small amount of discomfort, “You really want us to imagine you seducing our professors right now?”

Wooyoung gagged, “Ok ew?? Not our professors, you sickos.”

San giggled, “I always knew you had a thing for Moody.”

Wooyoung came to a dead halt. 

The noise that clawed its way out of his windpipe was guttural and fully involuntary. “Excuse me??? ”

“Damn ok, you want some of that tongue technology, Wooyoung?” Jongho chimed in, cackling.

“Oh god,” Wooyoung said, clapping his hands to his ears. He would have sunk to his knees to dry heave, but Seonghwa held him up.

“I’ll be taking that, thank you,” he said, before plucking the Marauder’s Map from where Wooyoung was clutching it against his head. 

Once it was secured, he dropped Wooyoung without hesitation, and he collapsed onto the ground with a soulless moan. 

“I think you broke him,” San said.

“He’s the one who dragged me into this mess,” Jongho replied, unrepentant. “Choice, meet consequences.”

This roused Wooyoung out of his stupor, if only halfway. “I just wanted the map! You were not a needed addition!”

“Oh,” Jongho said, placing a hand on his chest, “So this is the thanks I get for sacrificing my precious time and resources?”

Wooyoung glared up at him from the floor, unimpressed. “You were playing Barbie The Princess and the Pauper Sing Along alone in your room when I found you.”

“Yeah, and?”

“With the lights off.”

“Had to set the mood.”

“The mood for..??”

“I’m method. Don’t question what you could never understand.”

“Okay, and you were dressed as Snow White because..??”

“Is something confusing? It was the closest thing I had to a gown.”

“You literally own a magic wand??”

“Yeah well, why waste time with transfiguration when Yeosang had a perfectly good costume at the ready.”

“It would 100% take less time to—wait, what?”

Jongho looked him up and down, “Are you really okay to be on a secret mission right now? You’re slower than usual.”

Wooyoung spluttered, and San helpfully chimed in.

“We’re not saying the Y-word right now.”

“That is not the—! Ok, just gonna brush right over that and back into the much more pressing matter of the covert operation in which we are currently in the midst!”

Wooyoung flicked out his sleeves and turned up his chin. 

Don’t think of Yeosang as Snow White, don’t think of Yeosang as Snow White, don’t—

Ah fuck.

San whistled low, “Damn he’s pulling out the million-dollar words and everything.”

“Question is, is he more shocked that Yeos—”

A very unsubtle throat clear from San.

“That… ‘he’, owns the costume? Or that he didn’t already know that Yeosa—shit, Y-word? God that’s so stupid. That you-know-who—”

“Yeosang’s not Voldemort, Jongho.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY THEN.”

Seonghwa unfolded a piece of the map, not bothering to look up, “I think the imagery of Yeosang in a dress is probably what’s shocking Wooyoung most right now, actually.”

Wooyoung felt his face heat and shook out his bangs, hoping to hell they’d hide the color in his cheeks. 

“It’s just the fact that it’s a Snow White costume, ok? Any reasonable person would be surprised.”

“I’m not,” San said, blinking innocently. 

“Yeah well, you wouldn’t,” Wooyoung retorted, scowling.

“I’m not either,” Seonghwa said, tracing something on the map, “We got fitted for robes together last month and he was really pulling off this one with a thigh slit—”

“Okay now I KNOW you’re fucking with me,” Wooyoung glared, ears aflame.

“Hm,” Seonghwa said noncommittally. “I guess you'll never know.”

Wooyoung inhaled sharply and turned on his heel, walking quickly in the direction they’d been headed. 

“We gotta hurry up if we wanna hear anything interesting, so.”

He got a good ten paces away before Seonghwa called out from behind, “Wrong way, Woo.”

He skidded to a stop and huffed angrily before walking back. 

“And just why do you have the map again?”

Jongho piped up, “Technically, it’s my map, soo.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “Was that what you meant by ‘precious resources’ earlier? The map is shared custody, last I recall.”

Jongho wagged a finger in his face, “Ah, ah, ah—” 

Wooyoung smacked his hand away.

“—you exchanged three weeks in return for my valuable intel, last I recall.”

Wooyoung scoffed at him incredulously, “‘Valuable’ my ass! That mirror’s promises were worth its weight in shit.”

“Hmm, I believe it only promised to show you what you desired most, and it definitely delivered.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, “I don’t think I like your tone.”

Seonghwa cut in with a hiss, “Boys.”

They turned to him. He and San were suddenly several meters away, braced against the wall at the end of the hallway and poking their heads around the corner. 

“We’re here.”

“And so is someone else,” San added, voice hushed. 

They hurried over, careful not to let their shoes make too much noise against the stone floor. 

They’d taken pains on their way to find empty paths and avoid being seen, but this was the riskiest stage of their plan. 

“Who is it?” Wooyoung asked, unable to see over his friends’ shoulders. 

“Are they headed for the statue?” Jongho added, dealing with the same issue. 

Seonghwa passed the map back blindly, not breaking focus from whatever he was seeing around the corner. 

“What are the chances…” he murmured. 

“Perfect timing, too,” San agreed, peering out from behind him. 

Jongho grabbed at the map before Wooyoung could and scanned it. 

“Oh shit,” he said simply. 

“Give me that,” Wooyoung hissed, wrenching it out of his hands. 

It took him a second to find the cluster of their names, and another second to orient it with the crude drawing of the gargoyle statue guarding the office, but once he did…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

For standing in front of the office entrance, scrawled in pretty, loopy script…was the name, “Kang Yeosang”.

And he wasn’t alone. 

“Well, this is as far as I go,” Yunho’s deep voice rang out from around the corner.  

Wooyoung put his hands on San’s shoulders and jumped to try and get a better view. 

His shoe scraped the wall just a bit on his landing, and San looked back at him with wide eyes, shushing him vehemently. 

Wooyoung gestured furiously at him, at himself, and then around the corner, talking only with his face.

San waved him off, pointing back at him, his eyes, and then at the map pointedly before turning back around. 

“No, I don’t want to—ugh!” Wooyoung whispered, exasperated. 

He glared holes into the map, as if doing so would grant him a better view.  

Then,

“Yeah, thanks for walking me,” replied an even deeper voice, seeming to echo through the hall.

Wooyoung swallowed thickly. 

He couldn't even see, and yet the sound of that voice...

“Anything for you,” came Yunho’s reply. His tone was clearly joking, but it had a note of sincerity to it that had Wooyoung back scrambling behind San, trying to catch a glimpse. 

But despite their similarity in height, San was a good bit wider than he was—bastard works out too goddamn much—and his attempts were futile. 

So, he did what any sensible person would do and dropped his body to the floor in a plank position, peering out from behind his friends’ legs. 

Yunho’s face was the first thing he saw, something soft in his deep brown eyes. 

He was facing their direction and standing just feet from where they were hidden, between the statue and—

“So dramatic,” Yeosang tsked, putting a hand on his hip. 

His body was angled away from them, so Wooyoung could only see the length of his body in his blue robes, the hand he kept braced against the bag at his waist, the way he’d tucked his shining black hair behind his ear on one side.  

It didn’t matter that his view was limited, though. 

He’d had that same phrase and posture directed at him enough times in the past to know exactly what Yeosang’s face looked like at that moment. 

(A small, sly twitch of the lips, just subtle enough to pass as a smile and not a smirk, a glint in those brown eyes that spoke sarcasm but communicated sincerity, in that purely Yeosang way—)

But Yunho must’ve seen something in it that he didn’t like, because he frowned and stepped closer to Yeosang, close enough to reach out and gently take his hand in his. 

Wooyoung’s muscles almost gave beneath him as he held the plank, but he didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Don’t be weird, Wooyoung, he thought, swallowing. You hold San’s hand all the time.

But San wasn’t Yeosang. 

And Yeosang hardly ever allowed physical affection, even with the people he cared for the most.

Even back then, with me, he never really liked to—

“This again?” Yeosang said, dry, but also casual. Too casual…

‘Again’?

“I know I’ve bugged you enough about it today, but I hate it when you push yourself too hard like this, you know.”

Ah. This, Wooyoung understood instantly. 

Some people really never change, he thought wryly.

But his smile slowly faded, because Yunho was looking intently at their hands, a furrow in his brow. 

Wooyoung looked too, pushing up from his elbows and dropping a knee to the ground for leverage as he strained.

Yunho’s long fingers made Yeosang’s wrist look impossibly slender as they wrapped completely around, covering the pulse point and pale skin that was usually concealed by Yeosang’s robes. 

With his other hand, he held Yeosang’s hand like a knight about to kiss his lady’s knuckles, but Wooyoung didn’t have much time to dwell on that, because Yunho was releasing Yeosang’s wrist, turning his hand over in his and—stroking his palm with his thumb? 

They were standing too close, and Wooyoung’s view was partially obstructed by Yeosang’s back. He connected the dots that he could see, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the image they presented.

The stone beneath him was frigid where it touched bare skin, and seemed to suck the warmth straight from his body.

“Stop worrying so much,” Yeosang said with a hint of exasperation. 

But he kept his hand where it was. 

And when he continued, his voice was soft, barely audible.  

“Today was a lot better, thanks to you, and I just have to get through this meeting and then I’m done.”

He paused, and then, in a slow, only slightly jerky motion, he raised his left hand and placed it under where Yunho was cradling his right, so his hands were sandwiched between his. 

“How about we meet at our spot tonight, just us?”

Wooyoung couldn’t have blinked if he’d wanted to, riveted as he was to the scene before him. 

“I know I’ve been neglecting you lately, and we could both probably use the stress relief.”

Yeosang’s voice was matter-of-fact as he spoke, and Wooyoung couldn’t see the look in his eyes, but more importantly, he could see Yunho’s, and—

And Yunho was suddenly smirking, leveling Yeosang with a look heavy with something, and then he said,

“We’re gonna wear that bed out with how much we’ve been ‘stress relieving’ recently, you know.”

Wooyoung was suddenly really not sure what he was watching, and something twisted in his gut, even as he chastised himself for being ridiculous.

Stop being weird just because it’s him. You’ve made way worse innuendos than that. 

Except,

“Uh, should we be here for this right now?” Jongho whispered from behind. 

Wooyoung’s head whipped to look at him, even as he tried to be casual about it. 

Jongho was braced against the wall, leaning his full body against San’s, visibly straining to hear what was happening. 

And Wooyoung realized then that Jongho couldn’t even see what was happening around the corner—couldn’t know the intimacy with which Yunho was holding Yeosang, the familiarity with which Yeosang let him. 

And yet he felt something might be wrong.

Not wrong, Wooyoung corrected himself quickly, just…off. Nothing…nothing’s wrong here. 

“They’re good friends having a conversation, we’re not doing anything wrong,” Seonghwa replied after a pause. 

But there was something in the way he hesitated, in his apparent need to justify what should’ve—‘could’ve’, Wooyoung, ‘could’ve’— just been a normal interaction between longtime best friends. 

Wooyoung bit the inside of his cheek. The sting sharpened his focus as he turned his attention back forward.

Yeosang must’ve done something, glared, scolded, raised an eyebrow—smacked him maybe, Wooyoung’s internal monologue filled in—because Yunho was laughing and using their clasped hands to shield his face defensively. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you just make it too easy.”

Wooyoung felt something release in his chest, air whooshing out from his lungs in what could only be relief. 

He would’ve laughed at himself if it wouldn’t have gotten them caught. 

Way to overreact, Wooyoung.

“Ok,” San said under his breath, exhaling heavily. 

Looking up at him, Wooyoung wasn’t sure his friend even realized he’d said it out loud, focused as he was on the scene in front of him. 

And then, 

“I mean it, though,” Yeosang said. 

Yunho stilled, and so did Wooyoung. 

But Yeosang didn’t say anything else. Just stayed looking up at the tall Gryffindor.

Not for the first time, Wooyoung wished he could see his face. 

Yunho met Yeosang’s gaze for a long moment, several emotions Wooyoung couldn’t interpret flashing in those eyes before they dropped to look back down at their hands. 

Wooyoung hadn’t stopped noticing they were still intertwined, but even the taste of metal from his cheek couldn’t distract him from the twinge in his gut as he watched Yunho fiddle idly with Yeosang’s sleeve. 

They stayed that way for another long moment, Yunho seemingly fixated, before he finally dropped their hands. 

Wooyoung pushed himself up into a crouch. His muscles were crying from misuse, but he just held onto Seonghwa’s leg for balance and engaged his core as he leaned out. 

Yunho’s face was suddenly earnest as he looked at Yeosang, and Wooyoung was so absorbed in it that he almost didn’t register what he said. 

“I wanna say yes, because obviously, but…would you even get any real rest? You were up long after I fell asleep last night, and gone before I woke up…”

Wooyoung choked, and someone’s hand slapped over his mouth, muffling the sound. 

“Ok, I change my mind,” Seonghwa whispered abruptly, straightening and taking a step back. “Let’s hang back until they’re finished.” 

Wooyoung hardly heard, maneuvering around him and into the space he vacated. It took a few seconds to remember to breathe.

He shoved the hand covering his mouth away weakly.

Surely there must be something he didn’t understand, some context he was missing—

“Being with you is rest enough. Besides, you were worn out yesterday, and I had an early morning, that’s all,” was Yeosang’s only reply. 

His posture was easy, loose, relaxed, even. 

Especially compared to how it was last week, when Wooyoung had seen him last…

“Hm,” Yunho said after a moment, taking on a petulant tone, “Well, the last thing I’d do is stop you from hitting the gym, but you know it would’ve been way more fun if you just woke me and we exercised together…”

Wooyoung half-expected his eyes to pop out of his head and roll out into the hall, blowing their cover. 

There’s no…they’re not—!

“What is happening?” Someone hissed in a whisper behind him. San, maybe. 

“Let’s go, guys,” someone else whispered in response.

A tug at his arm. Wooyoung shook it off impatiently. 

They’d have to drag him away. Something was going on here, and he couldn’t stop the morbidly curious part of him from finding out just what it was. 

He regretted that soon enough. 

Because with no warning, Yeosang laughed.

A low, teasing, dare he say cocky? thing. 

Wooyoung’s mouth went dry. 

He watched without blinking as Yeosang tilted his head and cocked his hip, just so. 

“Brave of you to think you could’ve kept up with me.”

Yunho said something in response, something that accompanied a shove at Yeosang’s chest, but Wooyoung was witnessing it from a mile away, from behind eight-inch glass, from buried six feet below. 

He must’ve fallen over at some point because his ass was on the ground, the chill from the stone sending goosebumps shuddering through his body. 

A tight grip on his shoulders was the only thing keeping him from going prone. 

Everything was suddenly so far away, but so loud, like he was underwater as a bomb went off around him in slow motion. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening, just knew that everything he had known was flipped upside down and—

Yeosang is…? And with…?

He distantly registered that he was being lifted up and onto someone’s back, that they were moving, and that everything was blurry, but he could still see Yunho waving as he walked away, could see the smile on Yeosang’s face as he turned into eyeshot at last, could hear the way that deep voice wrapped around a word and the grinding noise that came next as the gargoyle statue turned into a staircase and moved to his will. 

He could’ve just imagined it, but he thought he followed after him, body weightless as he moved without moving, spiraling up and up and up until a sudden halt and he stopped, and then moved again, that head of black hair always in view, chasing after the swish of those blue robes, just as it always had been and even as it never was now, because things had changed, and they weren’t them, and—

And Yeosang is gay.

Chapter Text

Yeosang took the last step up the moving staircase just before the stone locked into place with a solid thud.  

He stepped out and into the Headmaster’s office, shaking off the strange feeling that’d lingered over him since he’d spoken the password to enter. 

While making his way up he’d looked over his shoulder twice, and even descended a couple of steps to check the stairs behind him, but nothing was there. 

I guess Yunho was right about me not getting enough rest as of late. 

He shook it off and looked around. 

The headmaster was sitting at his desk, several stacks of rolled up parchment floating around him.

That in and of itself was hardly out of place, considering the piles of miscellaneous papers and paraphernalia taking up every square inch of his desk. 

But what was strange was the fact that Headmaster Park seemed perfectly content with the chaos. 

He was a lot of things—strict, particular about strange things, occasionally moody, always meddling, take your pick, but messy?

This competition must’ve had him more stressed out than Yeosang could’ve predicted.  

Taking care to hide his surprise, he bowed respectfully before moving to take his place next to the only other person in the room. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong murmured with a tilted grin, quiet enough for only him to hear. “You’re late.”

Yeosang shot him a “yeah, yeah” look and a half-smile before turning back to the headmaster and bowing again. 

“Please excuse me, I came as soon as I got your summons.”

Headmaster Park greeted him with an assessing once-over.

He always seemed to see right through him, no matter his mood, and this time was no different. 

His face was sharp, not in its features but in the way he held them—brows furrowed, mouth taut, eyes squinted, analytical. 

Well-worn creases in his skin told stories of past laughter, but nothing in his expression now indicated he was in a lighthearted mood. 

“I don’t doubt the business outside my steps was just as pressing a responsibility as attending this meeting, to be sure.”

Yeosang winced. He hadn’t meant for his conversation with Yunho to go on for so long, but they’d needed to have it. 

He knew what happened when he let responsibility come between him and his relationships.

From the look of disapproval on his headmaster’s face, though, he knew explaining would do nothing to help his case. 

He bowed again, deeper. “Please forgive the oversight. I was careless.”

A few seconds, and then a dismissive waving motion in his periphery. 

He took the cue and resumed his straight-backed posture. 

“Always so polite, aren’t you, Mr. Kang.”

Yeosang grimaced, nodding silently. 

He’d asked not to be called by his family name, but since then, the headmaster only seemed to use it even more often, and with a strange weight to it, like they had an inside joke Yeosang wasn’t made aware of. 

He had to force himself not to fidget as the headmaster continued to stare at him. 

Just in case, he shielded his mind from mental invasion. He had nothing to hide, and Legilimency on students was illegal…but he hadn’t learned Occlumency for nothing, and it never hurt to be cautious. 

The moment stretched into several, and Yeosang couldn’t help but shift his weight from one leg to another uneasily.

He knew better than to interrupt when he was being reprimanded, but the silence was killing him. 

And then the tension in the room shattered between Headmaster Park’s palms as he clapped them together, loud enough that he and Hongjoong both jumped. 

“Now that that unpleasantness is dealt with, let’s get started, shall we?”

It’d been mere seconds, but his face was transformed, settling into the laugh-lines and old wrinkles that’d made him look so severe just moments before. 

Yeosang had seen it happen countless times before, but it never failed to unsettle him.

Hongjoong shot him a sympathetic look. 

The headmaster had always been extra hard on Yeosang, stricter with him than with any other student, Hongjoong included. 

But he was hardly in a position to ask the head of their school and one of the most powerful wizards alive as to why that might be. 

The only thing to do was grin and bear it, and hope there wasn’t some profound lesson he was supposed to be learning from the special treatment. 

His thoughts were cut short as his body jerked instinctively to the side, narrowly dodging a heavy looking hourglass that rotated rapidly in its frame as it flew through the air. 

The headmaster, who was rummaging through his desk and blindly flinging away anything in his way, stopped abruptly and thrust out his hand, suspending the hourglass midair seconds before it shattered on the stone floor. 

“Well, that would’ve been far from ideal,” he said blithely, not even sparing Yeosang a glance. 

Yeosang, who’d almost had his face caved in by the thing, felt his eye twitch as he watched the headmaster resume digging around the papers and devices on his desk for another long moment. 

Then a loud, “a-ha!”, and the man was yanking out a thick, ribbon-tied scroll with a sizable unbroken wax seal. 

He muttered a spell, and Yeosang forgot his irritation as he watched the intricate design imprinted in the wax seal move and change before their eyes. 

What must’ve been a series of locks and countermeasures shifted and fell apart until the wax melted straight off the parchment, disintegrating into the air. 

It was clearly a complex spell, but the Headmaster had performed it wandless, in spite of the knotted wand lying inches away on the desk beside him. 

Yeosang clenched his jaw. 

And his friends wondered why he didn’t show off his sparks and paltry games. 

“There’s a whole lot of legal nonsense I’m supposed to bind you to before we can discuss anything,” Headmaster Park said, clearly disinterested, “But how about I just assign it as reading material and we get on with it?”

Hongjoong nodded hesitantly and Yeosang joined.

“Splendid,” he said, before chucking the scroll at them without warning. 

Prepared this time, Yeosang managed to catch it against his chest with an oomf, the thing much denser than it appeared. 

He loved a good read, but this scroll could easily be a hundred feet long. 

One look at Hongjoong was enough to confirm he was dreading having to read it just as much as he was.  

Hope Yunho doesn’t mind a working dinner.  

“Now,” Headmaster continued, “As you both know, the school will be holding a competition, but!” 

He waved a finger in the air and made sure they were both paying attention before going on, “This competition will be on a grander scale than anything in Hogwarts history, if only because…of the prize that’s at stake.”

He flicked his sleeves out in what Yeosang was sure was supposed to be mystery. 

“But before I spoil the surprise, there’s the matter of your responsibilities,” he said, sobering somewhat. “The original proposed hiding place for the prize has proven…vulnerable to accidental discovery.”

His eyes drifted strangely before stopping at a point just above Yeosang’s left shoulder. 

He turned his head to follow his gaze, but there was nothing behind him but stacks of old books and pieces of scattered parchment rustling slightly in the breeze. 

He hadn’t even realized the room was drafty, but the headmaster was still an old man, after all. He was more sensitive to that kind of thing. 

He turned back and gave his full attention. 

“Once a new hiding place is decided, its details will be made privy only to you two, me, and the professors charged with protecting it.”

He leveled them with a heavy stare, “Should that information become public, there will be administrative consequences. This is not a light task I charge you with.”

They both nodded, backs straight. 

“If that’s clear,” he said, tone bouncing back to jovial, “It’s time for the fun part!” 

He rubbed his palms together with glee and Yeosang and Hongjoong shared a glance. 

“As my letter explained, Hogwarts has a sudden, very generous benefactor, who, for the time being, has opted to remain anonymous.”

He waved his hand dismissively, “But far more exciting is what they gave us.”

He sliced his wand through the air and all the light in the office was extinguished, save the candles floating around him and his desk.

They cast dramatic shadows on his face, with the clear intent of making him look mystical.  

Yeosang just stared, fighting to hide the secondhand embarrassment. 

“Because awarded to the winner of the tournament…”

He stared at them mysteriously for several seconds longer than necessary, then swung his arm, sending a strong gust of wind sweeping through the office.

Yeosang’s sleeves flew up at the surprise gale, revealing the extensive bandages covering both arms. 

He yanked them back down in a panic, heart racing, shooting a quick, wide-eyed glance over at Hongjoong. 

Shit, did he see?

But he had nothing to worry about. 

Hongjoong’s expression was shocked, but it was aimed behind Yeosang, and morphed into what looked like anger—or was that resignation?—before disappearing entirely. 

Yeosang frowned, confused, and turned around to look at whatever had caught his attention. 

Nothing obvious was out of the ordinary, save the piles of parchment that had been scattered completely, littering the floor in sad, crumpled disarray. 

A few leaves still fluttered from the wind, revealing the Slytherin seal stamped at the top. 

Ah, he thought to himself, that must’ve been his half of our paperwork.

He clicked his tongue, frowning.

“Well that’s a pain in the ass,” he whispered to Hongjoong with an annoyed grimace. “I’ll take care of that with you later, though.”

Strangely, Hongjoong just looked at him wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights.

Yeosang frowned to himself. 

I really have been a shit friend recently if he’s that shocked I’d help him out.

Headmaster Park cut in then, visibly irked at them for disrupting his moment of suspense.

“Because,” he drew out the word, “awarded to the winner of the tournament…”

They waited.

He smiled.

“…is nothing less than the object of their very desires.” 

They stared at him.

His smile only grew, and he nodded firmly as if everything had been made clear. 

After a significant pause, Hongjoong tentatively spoke up. 

“…What does that mean, exactly?” 

The Headmaster’s grin flashed eerily, and Yeosang felt a shudder go down his spine. 

“It means exactly what you think it means.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially, eyeing them both as he spoke, “The competitors will be selected at random, but there is one criterion by which they will be chosen.”

The room went quiet, and for the first time since the meeting started, Yeosang actually felt himself growing curious. 

“And that,” Headmaster continued with a gleam in his eye, “is that each participant…has something they desperately desire.”

Seeing their uncertainty, he held up a finger, “Make no mistake, those with idle wants or trifling whims will not be chosen.”

He gestured to the bookshelf behind him, or more specifically, at the ratty old witch’s hat propped on the top shelf. 

“The Sorting Hat will select only those who carry desires of the near-unattainable variety.”

His head tilted down as he looked at them, like his very body was affected by the gravity of his words.

“In other words, the only eligible students will be those who cannot hope to realize their goals without the intervention of fate.”

Yeosang’s breath caught.

‘Near-unattainable goals’…

Does that mean…I have a chance?

His voice was half a whisper as he brought himself to ask, “So whoever wins…” 

Headmaster Park smiled at him, pleased.

“Whoever wins will be granted use of a magical artifact that will in turn, grant their truest desire.”

Silence fell upon the room, only broken by the sound of rustling parchment behind him, like the revelation itself had stirred a breeze. 

Yeosang felt like the world had abruptly zoomed out, hardly registering physical sensation. 

All the months of failed experiments, of panicked preparation, of surprise summons and countless lectures of disappointment following walks down that long, cold corridor…

Could it really all be fixed if I just—? 

“Of course,” Headmaster continued casually, “as facilitators of the event, the Head Boys will be automatically exempt from entry.”

Every hope that’d managed to soar within him in the past few seconds was struck down with a cold, hard finality. 

He felt them crash into the pit in his stomach, one by one. 

The Headmaster couldn’t have dealt him a crueler blow if he’d tried. 

Disappointment rose in his throat as a solid mass, but he swallowed it down with force, nearly choking on it. 

C’mon, Yeosang. You really thought you’d get an easy way out, just like that?

Things didn’t work out that way. Not for him. 

“What are our duties?” he said, his voice distant in his ears. 

The Headmaster seemed to almost pointedly not acknowledge his change in mood, and said lightly, “For now, you are to read the scroll of legalities, thoroughly.”

He eyed them like their diligence was in question. 

Yeosang might have laughed if he wasn’t feeling so detached. 

It was highly possible they were the only two people in the castle who would actually read through a legal scroll of such length purely for obligation’s sake.  

“And then,” Headmaster continued, maintaining eye contact, “you will help oversee the Choosing ceremony.”

They both nodded, Yeosang a bit woodenly. 

A slight pause.

 “…In two days.”

Two days. That was Saturday, the last before April arrived with the spring thaw. 

Headmaster watched their reactions closely, as if waiting for complaints, but Yeosang just gave another resigned nod.

The extra responsibility wasn’t welcomed, but he could handle it. 

He always did. 

Hongjoong, however, hesitated before asking, “If I may, sir, when exactly is the tournament?”

Yeosang looked up at this.

Luckily for him, Hongjoong was doing the thinking for both of them. 

But the smile on the Headmaster’s face at the question cast a wave of foreboding over him. 

“Why, a week from Saturday, my boy.”

He looked at them expectantly, and apprehension condensed into dread in Yeosang’s gut as he mustered, “…And how long will it last?”

Headmaster’s eyes looked all too gleeful as he responded, “No way to know, of course! Could be a week, could be a month! Isn’t it exciting?”

Yeosang and Hongjoong exchanged a look of alarm. 

“But sir, we sit our N.E.W.T.s in less than two months,” Hongjoong said with dismay.

Headmaster just clapped his hands like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

“Well then,” he said breezily, “let’s hope the Hat gives us capable competitors that wrap things up quickly.”

Hongjoong shot Yeosang a concerned look, and he pretended not to notice, fighting back mild irritation. 

Does the whole castle know I’m failing Potions at this point?

He shoved that to the side, doing what he did best—compartmentalize. 

“Understood, sir.”

Hongjoong’s worried stare lingered, hanging on his shoulders and sending his skin crawling. 

He knew it came from a place of concern, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with any more pity for his situation. 

Eventually, Hongjoong got the hint and turned away, sounding resigned as he said, “You can count on us, sir.”

“Ensure that I can. You’re dismissed.”

At his words, they turned to leave, and Hongjoong opened his mouth to say something Yeosang had a feeling he didn’t want to hear.

And then,

“Not you, Mr. Kang.”

Almost relieved, he shrugged at his friend and turned back to face the headmaster. 

Hongjoong frowned and grabbed his arm, stopping him halfway, “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Yeosang sighed, but nodded. “I can’t tonight but we can meet tomorrow to study the scroll?”

Hongjoong nodded, but his look of sympathy wrapped back around Yeosang like a shroud. 

He shrank from it, tugging his arm loose. 

Hongjoong’s hand slid down and let him go, but only after managing one last reassuring squeeze. 

Yeosang watched him walk towards the stone steps and utter the password to the gargoyle, before turning back towards the headmaster. 

But strangely, in his periphery, it almost looked like Hongjoong cast a sharp look over his shoulder before he left, one that didn’t seem to be directed at him. 

But then the stone was thudding into place behind him, and Yeosang was left alone with the Headmaster. 

He realized belatedly that his friend had served as a sort of buffer, and now that he was gone, the temperature of the room seemed to plummet several degrees.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Kang.”

With a gesture, a severe wooden chair was conjured up in front of the headmaster’s desk.

He sat. The chair was even more uncomfortable than it looked.

He’d been relieved to escape his friend and his pity just moments before, but as he braced himself for whatever the Headmaster had in store for him, he found himself thinking,

What I’d give to be out there with Hongjoong right now. 

“Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you right now?”

Hongjoong was, as predicted, Not Happy.

San widened his eyes in faux surprise and shot alternating glances between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, “If they’re of the dirty, sexy variety, can you wait until the rest of us clear the premises?”

Seonghwa, with undeniably flushed ears, smacked him upside the head, “Not helping, dumbass.”

San pouted, turning to Wooyoung and Jongho to back him up. 

But Jongho was staring at the floor, avoiding Hongjoong’s angry eye contact, and Wooyoung, for perhaps the first time in his life, had nothing to add. 

He was still reeling from the conversation they’d unwittingly eavesdropped on before the night had even begun.

The conversation that destroyed any chance of their mission getting his mind off Yeosang. 

He couldn’t stop seeing the way Yunho had held his hands between his—the way Yeosang had let him—the soft way they spoke to each other like they were used to it, like it was all normal. 

He knew it was none of his business, knew he had no place by Yeosang’s side anymore.

But seeing him like that?

And with one of his own friends?

He’d only halfway come back to himself after they’d snuck inside the headmaster’s office, having followed Yeosang up the staircase, huddled under his invisibility cloak. 

San had picked him up off the floor and carried him on his back, as Wooyoung had shown no signs of moving after watching Yunho walk away. 

It was a miracle they’d avoided being caught, though they had several close calls before the meeting had even started.

One moment stood stark and clear amidst the general haze of that time. 

Yeosang had—with little warning—turned on his heel in the staircase and descended a few steps, looking around as if he knew they were hiding there. 

A mere stair away, they could only freeze and hold their breath, knowing even the slightest noise would alert him to their presence.

And for one impossibly long, nearly unbearable second…he had looked directly at Wooyoung.

His gaze was wary and a bit confused, and he definitely didn’t know he was staring directly into Wooyoung’s wide eyes, but that single second of eye contact sent a lance of pain slicing straight through Wooyoung’s heart. 

Because even with the wariness, the confusion…Yeosang hadn’t looked at him so openly, so easily, for—

For long enough that Wooyoung had felt like a man stumbling into an ocean, unaware he’d been dying of thirst. 

Then Yeosang was turning and walking away, and the moment was over, the charge in the air dissipating like it had never been. 

Wooyoung had sunk deeper into his daze, even as he felt himself being carried up the steps after Yeosang. 

That look on his face was seared into his memory, and for the next few minutes, it was all he saw when he closed his eyes. 

He hadn’t even really been conscious for the first half of the meeting, disoriented as he was. 

He’d only remembered where he was and what they were doing when that sudden, violent gust of wind had literally blown their cover.

Seeing Hongjoong’s look of pure shock as the invisibility cloak flashed up to reveal their presence had been the jumpstart he’d needed to pull himself together and pay attention. 

But even the panic of being discovered, the top secret intel they’d obtained at great risk, the unveiling of a grand prize promising desire itself—

None of it did what he’d hoped.

He’d set out searching for a distraction—anything to take him away from the situation that’d consumed his life for the past few weeks. 

And it all just blew up in his face. 

Their mission to eavesdrop on a hush-hush Head Boy meeting was supposed to be thrilling, full of forbidden excitement and the mischief he loved so much, and yet…

The thing that was supposed to take his mind off his heartbreak only sent him plunging further into its depths. 

“—and just what part of ‘Head Boy business’ did you not understand??”

Ah, that’s right. 

Hongjoong was giving them a well-deserved lecture. 

“I can’t even conjure a single more idiotic idea. Sneaking into the headmaster’s office??”

He was pacing now, a vein popping in his forehead.

He’d dragged them a distance from the gargoyle statue, far enough that Yeosang wouldn’t stumble across them whenever he was finally dismissed. 

Wooyoung idly wondered what additional business the Headmaster had with him, and why Hongjoong hadn’t been allowed to be there for it. 

“Did you think for even a second what would’ve happened if the headmaster had seen you??”

Seonghwa was looking at his feet, full of remorse, Jongho was trying to escape notice in the corner, and Wooyoung hardly felt like defending his life choices when he himself was bitterly regretting making them. 

It was up to San to stand up for them, but he barely mustered a, “But he didn’t see us…” before his voice tapered off weakly and he joined Seonghwa in staring at the floor. 

Hongjoong’s nostrils flared and his voice rose in anger as he shot back, “But Yeosang did, and even if he hadn’t, why would you take such a stupid risk just to—”

Wooyoung’s head shot up. 

“Wait, what?” He cut in dumbly, speaking for the first time since they’d watched Yunho walk away, in what felt like hours ago. 

Hongjoong halted mid-step, and his glare sliced over like it could eviscerate him where he stood. 

In normal circumstances, he would’ve been scared shitless to have that scalding anger aimed at him, but in that moment, all he could think was,

He saw us??  

“I understand you’re hurt, Wooyoung, but can you set your feelings aside for one second and focus on what’s important right now?”

When was it? He didn’t…it wasn’t that time on the stairs, was it?

“How do you know he saw us?” 

Hongjoong dropped his head back and rolled his eyes up to look at the ceiling, as if questioning the heavens themselves. 

He took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. 

“Remember when your cloak flashed up and I saw you?”

Wooyoung’s stomach sank. 

“Yeah, but I thought we got it back down before he could’ve seen?”

Hongjoong shook his head, “He looked right after I did, Wooyoung. And then he told me he’d help me ‘take care of it’ with this grimace on his face,” he said, his own face twisted in clear frustration. “He used to just avoid confrontation with you at all costs, but he must’ve gotten sick of putting up with it.”

He paused, shooting him a conflicted look, and then continued, quietly firm, “Yeosang’s going through a lot right now already, Wooyoung. He doesn’t need more shit added on top, okay?”

Wooyoung took the words like a blow and went silent. 

He was right. 

No matter what Wooyoung did, it always ended up being the wrong move and created trouble for everyone.

After all, he’d pushed the kindest, most patient person in his life to leave him, and even after he was gone, Wooyoung somehow managed to keep finding ways to push, and push, and push at him until he snapped. 

Yeosang was always sensible.

But in the few times he wasn’t…it had always been Wooyoung’s fault. 

He could only hope that this time, when Yeosang said he’d “take care of it”, he wouldn’t resort to anything too cruel. 

He knew it was a silly thought. Knowing Yeosang, he wouldn't do anything like that on purpose. He was too gentle to cause any real harm, no matter how he’d been wronged. 

But.

If there was one thing Wooyoung had been forced to learn, it was that it didn’t take much for his former best friend to hurt him. 

“Hey, HEY.”

Hands were gripping Wooyoung’s shoulders, shaking him just a touch on the side of too rough. 

Hongjoong was leaning in close, squinting at him.

He still looked frustrated, but whatever he saw in Wooyoung’s face gave him pause. 

He spun on his heel, turning to the others. 

“What happened to him?” he asked bluntly.

Suddenly, three pairs of eyes were on Wooyoung, and he felt himself shrink. 

“The usual,” Jongho said, after a lengthy pause. 

It was Wooyoung’s turn to stare at his shoes.

He saw Hongjoong round on Jongho in his periphery. 

“I mean in the past hour, what happened to him? There’s no way he’s like this just from seeing Yeosang for five minutes.”

Wooyoung shifted his weight between his feet. 

Right, left.

Left, right. 

His left shoelace was undone. He’d fix it when everyone stopped looking at him. 

Right, left.

Left, right.

When it became clear Wooyoung wasn’t going to explain anything, San finally broke the silence.

“We…we may have heard something we shouldn’t have.”

Wooyoung flinched.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t—

“What was it.”

Hongjoong’s tone was flat, and Wooyoung’s eyes squeezed shut. 

Seonghwa spoke up.

“You know how Yeosang was late to your meeting?”

A pause. Hongjoong was probably gesturing for him to continue. 

Wooyoung kept his eyes closed. 

“Well,” Seonghwa continued haltingly, “He was having a…a private conversation outside the office. We didn’t realize until—we should’ve realized sooner, but…”

“But..?” Hongjoong asked impatiently.

“But…well, it caught us all by surprise, really,” Seonghwa finished helplessly. “None of us had a clue that he’s been…that he and—”

He cut himself off abruptly.

Another pause. 

Wooyoung cracked an eye open to sneak a furtive glance up at Hongjoong’s face, only to be met by a piercing stare already aimed directly at him. 

He hastily broke eye contact, but he could feel the way his ever-perceptive friend seemed to see straight through him. 

He braced himself to be questioned. 

One second…two…five…

Ten seconds passed before Hongjoong broke the silence with a drawn-out sigh. 

Wooyoung could see him pinch the bridge of his nose from between the gap in his bangs. 

“Whatever it was, I think I’d rather Yeosang tell me himself than have you four violate his privacy a second time.”

They stood guilty, conscious of their mistake and fidgeting uncomfortably in its wake. 

Hongjoong sighed again, but gradually drew himself up until he was straight-backed and decisive. 

“In any case, what’s done is done and can’t be undone, so let’s move forward as a team from now on, okay?

Wooyoung lifted his head hesitantly. “Wait, what?”

“Broken record, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said with a wry smile. “Meaning, the damage is done and you fools already know what was supposed to be confidential information. Whether it was from the meeting or from Yeosang’s conversation, now that you know, you can’t just unknow it, now can you?”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, turning to the others. 

Seonghwa was smiling at Hongjoong, faint but fond, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

Fortunate or unfortunately, the head boy was also completely unaware, turned as he was towards Jongho, who had a hand on his chin as he thought out loud, tone analytical.

“Cutting your losses is pretty much the smartest move you could make here…as expected of our head Slytherin.”

Hongjoong stared at him, unimpressed. “Glad you’ve chosen now to start thinking about what the smart move would be.”

Jongho smiled shamelessly, shrugging, “What can I say, my ambition must’ve gotten the better of me.”

San snorted, “More like we did. You would’ve stayed playing Barbie karaoke in your room for hours if Wooyoung hadn’t let his plans slip.”

At that, Hongjoong turned back towards him, crossing his arms.

Wooyoung held himself back from pointing out how utterly unfazed he was towards Jongho’s…unique pastimes. 

“I should be disappointed that this was all your idea, but I’m too busy not being surprised in the slightest.”

Wooyoung laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“In my defense—” he mustered, before he stopped himself, smile fading from weak to nonexistent. 

“Actually…no, I don’t really have an excuse.”

His friends were being kind, lightening the mood to make him feel better. 

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel better. 

He certainly didn’t deserve to, not after all the mistakes he’d made. 

“After everything that’s happened…I guess I just wanted to take my mind off things.”

He laughed, but it tasted bitter. 

“It’s actually pretty funny when you think about it…My attempt to avoid my problems sent me running right back to him.”

Seonghwa reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “None of us expected to bump into him then or to…hear what we heard.”

Wooyoung appreciated the attempt at comfort, understood that to them, this was a minor mistake that didn’t warrant a major reaction, but to him…

It was a reminder that once, he’d had everything he’d ever wanted, everything he could ever want. 

And then he’d lost it all. 

He shook free of the touch. 

“It’s not just that, though, is it?”

He felt his eyes grow hot, and he blinked furiously, “I blamed it on the mirror, but I think I really only started this whole thing because—”

He shrugged helplessly, voice small. “Because for the first time in five years, I thought maybe…maybe there was something I could do to fix it.”

He realized he’d been clenching his fists, and he pried them open, eyeing the bloody crescent marks left behind.

“I should’ve known better.”

The sting in his palms helped ground him for a moment—helped him keep his bearings even as emotions surged into chaos in his chest, warring against themselves until even he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

When he looked up, he kept his attention trained on Hongjoong, because he could always be counted on to stay objective. 

But his friend let him down, because while Hongjoong’s eyes were stern, his voice was soft as he replied, “You don’t need to be so hard on yourself, Wooyoung. You had good intentions.”

But Wooyoung was shaking his head before he even finished talking, frustration suddenly rising within him, “I can’t just keep using that as a cop-out.”

He felt a lump growing in his throat and talked louder to overcome it, “I’ve hurt without meaning to too many times. I try to salvage a breaking relationship, and instead, I strike the final blow. I try to help an old friend, but only end up hurting him in the end.”

He swallowed, hard. “Yet again.”

His hands were numb, and instead of the sting of his nail marks, all he felt was cold. 

“I make a goal to do something with myself and prove I can do more than just ruin, and in my first attempt to make it happen, I make a mess and drag all the people I care about into it.”

He sucked in a breath shakily, looking around at his friends. 

They were listening carefully, attentive and open as they always were, but Wooyoung suddenly couldn’t bear to see the looks on their faces. 

“Don’t pity me. I can’t do anything with that.”

He shouldn’t punish his friends for caring. He knew that, and he wanted to take it back as soon as he said it.

But the feeling building in his chest kept rising, and swelling, until it was pressed against his lungs, forcing his breaths quick and shallow.

Everything was piling up, building on top of itself and pushing until all he could see were flashes of all the things he’d been trying not to remember…

Him and Yeosang stumbling over themselves in dark hallways as they ran from curfew patrols, laughing too hard to see straight. 

Yeosang’s hand on his forehead after he’d gotten a fever from diving in the Black Lake on a dare. 

The way the sunlight from the window made Yeosang’s eyes look golden when they sat at their spot in the library.

The warmth of Yeosang’s back as he carried Wooyoung to the infirmary with Quidditch injuries, ignoring his insistence to keep playing.  

…The look on his face when Wooyoung left him, on the ground in his room, alone. 

The years of pretending not to see him in the halls, of avoiding eye contact in class, of acting unaffected when their shared friends asked, “What happened?”

His botched attempts at reconnecting, the harsh rejections, the eavesdropped conversation. 

Everything was flashing, his friends’ faces were starting to blur, and he tried to gasp for air, hearing a muted thud as his head hit the ground.

Distantly, as he registered a buzz of frantic voices around him, he recognized what was happening. 

Huh, he thought. Strange to be on the other side.

Yeosang used to get panic attacks all the time, but Wooyoung had always been there to talk him down. 

He’d felt so helpless every time, forced to watch as his best friend fought his own body, with nothing to do but talk and hope it reached him. 

He’d confessed, one time, after a particularly bad one. 

It was halfway through their second year, and Yeosang’s mother had dropped in on a surprise visit after convening with the Wizengamot.

She’d taken one look at Wooyoung and dismissed him from the room, Yeosang mouthing an apology behind her back. 

He’d sat himself down outside, right up against the closed door, prepared to wait an hour, or two, or however long the visit would last. 

Yeosang had always kept the details of them close to his chest, so he had no way of knowing. 

Roughly five minutes came and went. 

He hadn’t even realized anything was wrong—would’ve just sat there waiting impatiently forever—until he heard something crash inside Yeosang’s room. 

Leaping to his feet, he flung the door open and charged inside, only to see Yeosang half-collapsed on top of his desk, his glass inkwell shattered on the floor, ink splattered on the rug like a bloodstain. 

He was alone, and he couldn’t breathe. 

Wooyoung rushed to his side and helped lower him safely to the ground, their limbs entangling as he propped him up against the bed frame and held his face in his hands. 

Sometimes Yeosang couldn’t bear physical contact when he got like this, but this time he seemed desperate for it, clutching onto Wooyoung’s hands with his own as he struggled to give his brain the oxygen it needed to realize he wasn’t dying. 

His eyes were wild, drifting in and out of focus, and it took everything Wooyoung had to keep himself calm for him, to be something stable he could safely cling to. 

“You know what’s happening, Yeosang,” he said shakily. “You know you’re safe.”

He lifted a hand to brush Yeosang’s bangs away from wide, dark eyes. His pupils were alarmingly dilated, but they tracked the movement of Wooyoung’s hand as he used shaking fingers to comb through the strands. 

His forehead was sweaty, and Wooyoung could feel the panic Yeosang was trying to fend off vibrating in his skin.

Yeosang let go of his hand suddenly to clutch at his chest, gasping for air but failing to effectively take any in. 

His eyes focused on Wooyoung’s face then, his eyebrows raised and drawn together in what was, unmistakably, fear. 

Yeosang, his steady, calm, forever put-together best friend…was afraid. 

And he was looking at Wooyoung like it was all he could do. 

He smiled encouragingly, refusing to blink even as his eyes watered, even as his heart broke inside his chest. 

“That’s right, look at me,” he said, not sure if Yeosang could even hear him, or if any of this was helping at all, but also not knowing what else to do. 

Yeosang kept eye contact, whatever that meant. 

“Hey, yeah that’s it,” Wooyoung said, smiling in relief. “You’ve seen this face a thousand times, yeah?”

Yeosang was shaking too much from his attempts to breathe for him to know for sure, but he thought he saw him try to nod. 

“Yeah, you’re welcome for that, by the way,” he said with a wobbly smile. 

Yeosang tried to laugh for him, he knew he did, even as his body continued to shake uncontrollably underneath him. 

“Hey,” he said gently, “I want you to find one thing on my face you’ve never noticed before.”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked between his, clearly struggling to maintain focus.

He’d told him once before that it was hard to do anything at all once the dizziness hit. 

Wooyoung held his face, careful not to apply pressure, and stroked his cheek with his thumb. 

His skin was hot to the touch, but he kept shivering, and Wooyoung could see goosebumps on his arms from the chills.  

“C’mon Sangie, just one thing, please.”

His throat was tight and wet, but he kept his smile up. “I don’t care if it’s the nose hairs I forgot to trim this morning or the pimple I’m trying to hide under my bangs, just pick something, okay?”

Yeosang’s responding smile was weak and more a grimace than anything, but he seemed to steady just a bit under Wooyoung’s hands as he did his best to listen. 

Wooyoung watched him closely, saw the way his pupils constricted as he focused on his face, until he could finally see the brown in those eyes he loved so much. 

In any other circumstance, he might’ve been embarrassed to have Yeosang staring so intently at his face from so close. 

He would’ve remembered how big the pores on his nose could look, or how that one hair in his eyebrow always stuck out and grew longer than the rest. 

But now, as he sat there under Yeosang’s rapidly scanning eyes, he only felt gratitude when they narrowed in on a point underneath his left eye and stared. 

“There we go,” he said breathily. “Just focus on that spot, okay?”

For a second, it looked like Yeosang was coming out of it, the muscles in his face relaxing, the shaking starting to subside, his pupils constricting to a more normal size.

But then his face contorted in pain and he clutched at his chest again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He groaned, and the shallow breathing picked back up, too fast and too short to help him.  

Wooyoung was lost again. His strategy didn’t work if Yeosang’s eyes were closed, and there was no way saying something stupid like, “Just breathe!” would do any good. 

Except maybe…

Wooyoung used his cold hands to cool the hot skin at the back of Yeosang’s neck for a moment, before grabbing the hand clutching Yeosang’s chest and pulling it away and onto his own.

Yeosang fought it, instincts taking over as his chest wracked in pain, but Wooyoung held strong, intertwining their fingers so Yeosang’s palm was pressed flat against his heart, held there by his own. 

He did the same with his other hand on Yeosang’s chest so he could feel both of their heartbeats, and leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. 

They were both sweaty by this point, and Wooyoung’s heart rate was nearly as fast as Yeosang’s, but he shut it all out.

He closed his eyes and let his voice come out low, and hopefully calming. 

“Breathe with me, Yeosang.”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling under their hands. 

He did so over and over again, until he felt Yeosang’s body finally cede to his command and follow after him. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

Heartbeats under two hands. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

Noses bumping against each other with each exhale. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Fingers twitching under his as they slowly took back control. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

A whisper against his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

They sat there for a while longer, riding out the tail end of the attack and breathing together quietly. 

He had no idea how long the whole encounter had lasted—seconds, minutes, hours. 

All he knew was that Yeosang was okay, that everything was okay.

“You scared the shit outta me, you know.”

A soft chuckle, “Yeah…my bad.”

They pulled apart, and Wooyoung leaned back against the leg of the desk with an exhausted smile. 

“Looked like a damn crime scene when I came in.”

Yeosang eyed the shards of ink-stained glass on the floor before resting his head back against the bed frame and gazing listlessly at the ceiling. 

“Figured it’d either get your attention or make one last mess for mummy to clean up.”

His voice turned bitter at the end, and Wooyoung paused.

He formed his words in his mouth carefully, like the broken glass wasn’t the only thing to tiptoe around. 

“Next time, you can just call my name instead of being so dramatic about it.”

Yeosang gave him a halfhearted smile, but it fell under his next words. 

“There shouldn’t have to be a ‘next time’.”

Wooyoung eyed him for a moment, before nudging his leg with his foot. 

“You’re right, but I better not have anything to do with why you’re saying it.”

Yeosang kept his face pointedly angled up and away, glaring at nothing. 

“Seventeen years old and someone still has to tell me when to breathe.”

It was Wooyoung’s turn to glare, but he aimed his straight at Yeosang, like a man. 

“So I’m just ‘someone’, am I?”

Yeosang dropped his head to shoot him a dry look. 

“Don’t twist my words.”

Wooyoung was just happy he’d gotten him to look at him. 

“I’m just saying, you act like you’re the only one in this scenario.” 

He nudged a glass shard away from where Yeosang’s hand rested on the carpet before continuing, “I’m here in it too, and you can take me out over my cold, dead-but-still-sexy body.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes but didn’t bother hiding his small smile. “Right. Because it’s super fun to babysit whenever my body suddenly decides it’s dying.”

Wooyoung pressed his lips together firmly, brows furrowed. 

“Time with you is time with you. I don’t care how it’s spent, I’m just happy to have it.”

What was supposed to be a reprimand came out dangerously close to a confession, and Wooyoung pretended not to feel the flash of heat in his ears as Yeosang’s head turned sharply to face him. 

He meant what he said, so he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly unable to meet Yeosang’s steady gaze, why the brush of it over his face made everything feel too warm. 

A couple more seconds of trying and failing to decipher his feverish confusion, and then,

“She wants to send me to Durmstrang.”

Wooyoung’s attention snapped back to Yeosang, who hadn’t stopped watching him. 

“…What do you mean?” he asked, voice small. 

“It means what you think,” Yeosang replied simply. He sat up straight and withdrew his wand from his robes, not bothering to tuck his shirt back in where he’d wrenched it out of place earlier. 

He mumbled a spell under his breath, and all the pieces of his broken inkwell lifted off the ground and put themselves back together again until it was good as new. 

Well, almost. 

He halted the spell just as the pieces were starting to fuse together, so the cracks were smoothed, but still visible. 

Wooyoung was watching it all dumbly, feeling like he was about to throw up. 

“She dropped in for five minutes to tell you she’s—what, that she’s transferring you schools?” The words felt like poison in his mouth, like he had to spit them out or accept the toxin into his system. 

Yeosang was turning over his mended inkwell in his hands. 

“There’s a Japanese philosophy that treasures broken things,” he said, voice controlled, as if Wooyoung hadn’t spoken. “Claims the greatest beauty comes from perfect imperfection.”

Wooyoung couldn’t care less about Japanese art at that moment. “Answer me, Yeosang. What’s she planning to do?”

A pause. 

“I always thought it was bullshit, you know,” he said at last.  

“The way she meddles with your life like it’s hers?” Wooyoung couldn’t help but retort, dread swirling in the pit of his stomach and turning him irritable. 

“No,” Yeosang said calmly.

Wooyoung’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed, frustrated. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“When something breaks, they seal the cracks together with gold,” he said, tone unchanged. “And then they say it’s all the more beautiful cuz it's broken.”

His knuckles went white as he gripped the inkwell hard enough that Wooyoung forgot his irritation and reached out to take it from him before it shattered again in his hands. 

Yeosang let him, but continued in that detached voice, “Of course it’s gonna be nice to look at. They laced it with gold, for fuck’s sake.”

Wooyoung had never seen him like this, so cold and one-track-minded. He set the inkwell down next to him and just sat, waiting. 

“Easy to say something’s beautiful for having been broken when it's made sure to put itself back together all pretty, just in case someone wants to point and go ‘ooh, ahh, I’m so sophisticated for noticing imperfection and not finding it ugly’.”

He shut his mouth then and looked away, not saying another word. 

Wooyoung thought for a moment, debating himself back and forth before finally just asking, “Yeosang, do you think you’re broken?”

Silence. 

He waited. 

Without looking up, Yeosang used his wand to draw the ink out of the stained rug, channeling it into the pot at Wooyoung’s side. 

Once the last drop was in and the only remaining trace of his attack was erased, he finally looked up and into Wooyoung’s eyes. 

“I think it’s stupid to force something to break, and then blame it for putting itself back together in a way you don’t like.”

They sat there staring at each other for a long while, Yeosang having said his piece and Wooyoung not sure what to do with it. 

Eventually, though, Yeosang broke eye contact. 

“I told her no.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened involuntarily before he smoothed his expression. He wasn’t surprised, per se, but he wasn’t not surprised. 

Yeosang didn’t tell his mother no. 

“And then what happened?”

Yeosang looked him in the eyes then, deep, like he was seeing things in them Wooyoung wasn’t even aware of. 

And then he said, 

“That was the end of it.”

And for the very first time in their years spent together, since the day they’d met and recognized a reflection of their souls in each other, Yeosang looked Wooyoung in the eyes, and lied. 

Wooyoung only realized it in hindsight, when he cast his mind back to figure out when it all fell apart, but that was the beginning of the end. 

“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, can you hear me? Wooyoung!”

He was sitting on the floor, he realized, face shoved between his knees and eyes squeezed shut. 

He opened them slowly, before lifting his chin to eye his friends, who were huddled around him like mother hens, somehow still handsome despite all the wrinkled brows. 

“Head hurts like a bitch,” he said eloquently. 

“Oh thank god,” San moaned, clasping his hands together and raising them to the sky.

“Fuck him too while you’re at it,” Wooyoung said grouchily. “Only god could fix a problem he created and then get his ass kissed for it.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Jongho said lightly, rising to his feet and holding out a hand for Wooyoung to pull himself up. 

He did so, slowly, but the head rush came anyway.  

“What happened?” He asked, brushing the dirt off his ass. 

“You had a panic attack,” Seonghwa said. “And then you didn’t get enough oxygen, so you passed out.”

“Oh.” 

So that was real. 

He’d managed to fail at not-thinking about Yeosang even while dead unconscious. 

“I’ve never had one of those before,” he said curiously.

San chimed in, “You actually don’t need an underlying condition to have one. It can happen to anyone, as long as your body overthinks itself into thinking you’re dying when you’re not.”

Jongho nodded, “You were doing a lot of overthinking.”

“And,” Seonghwa added pointedly, “you’ve been in a general state of anxiety for a while now. It’s not a huge surprise your body got overwhelmed.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but pout. 

“Thought I was a pro at handling them by now, though.”

His friends exchanged half-puzzled, half-concerned glances like he wasn’t right in front of them. 

He didn’t bother explaining. 

“In any case, the most important thing is dealing with the cause,” Hongjoong said, having spent the past few minutes in pensive silence. 

“…But if the cause is a person, how are we supposed to ‘deal with it’?” San asked, frowning. 

“It has nothing to do with Yeosang,” Hongjoong dismissed, waving him off. 

He turned to Wooyoung, a sudden weight to his expression.

“What was that you said about a goal, and proving yourself?”

It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but Wooyoung still felt his face flush. 

“I…I told myself that if I could win the Quidditch Cup, especially against impossible odds, it’d be like…like proving to myself that I’m meant for more than just hurting other people with my mistakes.”

His voice seemed to echo in the empty hallway. 

The silence after almost swallowed him whole, but then,

“‘Impossible odds’, huh?” Hongjoong said, his seriousness cracking into a sharp grin. “Now where have we heard that recently?…”

A pause, and then,

“Oh shit, is that where you’re going with this?” Seonghwa exclaimed, nearly jumping as he turned eagerly to Wooyoung. “Today was a good idea, after all!”

“Mmm, I wouldn't go that far,” Hongjoong interjected. 

“Okay yes, we know, breaking rules is bad, lying is bad, breaking and entering is cool but still bad, et cetera et cetera.”

“I’d say worse than all that was getting caught, actually, but it’s good those are all lessons learned.”

A gasp, “Hongjoong! Quick, Jongho, Eyes of Truth, now!”

“Ah ah ah, gotta be quicker than that. You'll never be able to prove anything now.”

Wooyoung knew what his friends were doing, but he felt the heaviness in his chest start to fade.

The distraction couldn’t hurt.  

“Okay, can we skip past the old married couple banter and get back to the part where I’m brilliant and have brilliant ideas?”

“No one said that, Wooyoung.”

“You aren’t even a part of this, the fuck? Butt out Jongho!”

“My feelings are hurt.”

“Hey, apologize,” San said disapprovingly. “You can’t bully him just cuz he’s not fully developed yet.”

“I’m literally taller than you.”

“By like a centimeter! Just accept your bullying like a good baby bro!”

“Ew, gross, get away from me!”

“Someday you’ll come to regret the cruelty with which you treat your elders.”

“You’re all going in a Home first chance I get.”

“Aww you’re already imagining our future life living together?”

“Wasn’t that type of home and you know it.”

“OKAY!” 

Hongjoong clapped his hands together, and everyone quieted. 

San moved to put an arm around Jongho’s shoulder, and nearly fell over when he was dodged at the last second. 

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and sighed, long-suffering, but Hongjoong acted like he didn’t even notice. 

“While I wish it hadn’t played out with you all committing several expellable offenses within a single hour, there may be a silver lining here.”

Wooyoung grinned smugly, “See, I told you all I knew what I was doing.”

“…”

“…”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you were going to tell us all exactly what you knew you were doing.”

“Ahh haha, ha, understandable mistake, don't worry about it! Proceed.”

“Uh huh. Anyways… ” 

With that, Hongjoong whipped out a familiar, elaborate-looking scroll from his bag. 

“…Is that—?”

“Yup.”

“But how did you..?”

Hongjoong smirked, “Yeosang hates sympathy. You thought I’d subject him to the pity party treatment for no reason?”

Met with their blank stares, he laughed, satisfied.

“He was holding the scroll in his hands when Headmaster dismissed me, so when I was being all comforting and shit, I was actually sliding a clone and conceal charm right on the top of the scroll! Right about…here.”

He gripped the scroll as best he could in one hand and smacked the top of it down into the other, all too pleased with himself. 

“Poor guy had to deal with my sympathy and thievery in a two-for-one bonus.”

“Eyes of TRUTH! Got it, Hwa.”

“So proud of you, my son.”

“Call me that again and I delete it right now.”

“…sorry Jongho.”

“That’s better.”

“Wait hold on, why isn’t Hongjoong reacting at all?”

“Hmm…maybe because Eyes of Truth is a screenshot spell and I have nothing to worry about? Unless he worked out how to input subtitles…”

“Jongho! Is that true? I thought you’d worked out the video feature!”

“Ah, yeah, forgot that minor detail.”

“AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE THE SMARTEST ONE HERE?”

“Uh, hello?”

“Hongjoong, babe, you have many gifts.”

“…”

“…”

“Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“You really want me to go on?”

“Yeah, I do actually.”

“If you insist. You wanna explain the time you told the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain your guys were, ahem, ‘good at all positions’?”

“I said it because they are! No justification needed.”

“…And when she asked just how you knew that, and you said ‘Well, because I taught them all my techniques personally, of course!’?”

“…A man stands by his words.”

“Well maybe he shouldn’t, sometimes!”

“Wait, is THAT why the Hufflepuffs always look at us weird before matches??”

“Jongho, baby, with all due respect, how did you not know?”

“Don’t call me that, and how exactly was I supposed to know??”

“The announcer cracks jokes about Slytherin knowing their balls every time you guys score!” 

“Okay but why would I have connected that to Hongjoong being a dumbass? He’s not even on the team!”

“I take offense.”

“Okay babe, your offense is noted. Jongho, him not being on the team only made every single one of his dumbass comments so much worse.”

“…Valid point.”

“I sense the conversation getting away from me, and I redirect back to my original statement.”

“You mean the one about you being a dirty little thief?”

“San!! You stayed quiet that whole time just to ruin it now??”

“I had to wait for my time to shine.”

“Did you have to, though?”

“Don’t be jealous that, unlike you, I have social awareness and understand proper timing.”

“Ohhhh shit, Joong, are you gonna take that from San??”

“Hold on, I don't like that you said my name like that.”

“Okay San, your dislike is noted.”

“AND THE CLAPBACK FROM HONGJOONG!”

“Uh, guys?”

“Wooyoung, I swear to god if you pipe up just to pull a San right now…”

“Hey!! Offense!”

“Your offense is noted.”

“…Okay, babe, remember, the joke is only gonna hit the one time. You can’t throw it back willy nilly and expect good results.”

“…”

“Go ahead Wooyoung.”

“That’s what she said.”

“I’m glad you got that out of your system. Now, Hongjoong was speaking?”

“That’s literally all I was gonna say!”

“Well, I said it first. Cry about it.”

“ALRIGHT!”

Hongjoong clapped again, loud, and they all obediently went quiet for the second time. 

He re-withdrew the scroll he’d illicitly cloned and lifted from Yeosang and tossed it at San, who barely caught it against his chest, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs. 

“Damn Joong, hold a grudge much?”

He rubbed at his chest, glaring. 

…which might’ve been more effective if he hadn’t been pouting at the same time. 

“You pay the price for your size,” Hongjoong said, nodding and moving on like he’d dropped wisdom with the mic. 

“Now, if we’re gonna do this,” he said, sobering somewhat, “we’re gonna do it right. No shortcuts, no room for loopholes. We don’t want anyone claiming we did this illegally, even though technically everything about this conversation itself is questionable at best.”

“Hold on,” Wooyoung interrupted. “Do what?”

“And why couldn’t we just have asked Yeosang for the scroll without you robbing him for no reason?” Jongho asked. 

Hongjoong sighed. “Now why can’t you two just be too ashamed and traumatized to ask questions, like all good children?”

“Please never have kids,” Seonghwa said.

“You say that like it's not literally gonna be your choice if he does or doesn’t,” San quipped, before dodging Seonghwa’s consequent smack without missing a beat. 

“As for the question about Yeosang and the scroll,” Hongjoong said, pretending to think deeply, “my answer is another question: ‘Because where would be the fun in that lame ass option?’”

He cleared his throat. 

“Also, keeping him out of the scheming limits Wooyoung drama and gives him plausible deniability when everything goes down.”

Wooyoung was gonna lose it.

“When what goes down??”

“Patience is a badass stripper name, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said with a sniff. “If you can last another fifteen seconds you’ll be well and truly satisfied to know that…”

He froze with a finger in the air.

Three seconds. Five. Ten. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

“You'll be satisfied,” Hongjoong said passive-aggressively, “to know thaaat…”

He opened the scroll to reveal a moving illustration of the Sorting Hat on the first page. 

“When the Choosing Ceremony arrives and the Hat spits out the names of the chosen…”

His grin as he met Wooyoung’s wide-eyed stare was so devilish it was almost sinister.

“Your name will be the first to fall.”

Chapter Text

“Okay so I know you said this would take awhile, but please tell me we’re almost done.”

Wooyoung was splayed out on the floor of his room, ears ringing, surrounded by his friends and scattered sheets of parchment.

Hongjoong had assigned them each their own section of the scroll—charming parchment versions for Seonghwa, San, and Jongho, and a floating orb that narrated in his ear for Wooyoung. 

The sun had set hours ago, and Wooyoung had only just managed to get through his piece once. 

More accustomed to these kinds of documents, Hongjoong had taken on the entire second half of the scroll and was almost done. 

Everyone else was partway through a reread of their much shorter sections, scrounging for any detail they could’ve missed. 

“Hush, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa replied after a second, distracted, “the adults are working.”

Wooyoung pouted and opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off. 

“You have the audiobook version, Woo. My poor eyes hate you too much right now to listen to any whining.”

Wooyoung spun to face San in indignation, but his comeback fizzled on his tongue at the sight of his friend. 

San was smiling to take the edge off of his words, but his eyes were weary and tinged red at the corners, and a quick look around confirmed the others weren’t in much better shape. 

Hongjoong was pinching the bridge of his nose under the thick frames of his reading glasses, Seonghwa was fending off a yawn, and Jongho…was actually asleep on top of his stack. 

Wooyoung watched them quietly for a bit, feeling his chest warm even as his spirits sank. 

“Okay guys,” he said after a while, “I think it’s time we call it.”

Seonghwa waved him off, clearly still focused on the parchment in front of him. “Something’s gotta be in here that we can use.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile. “Trust me, I wish there was.” His smile faded, “But there’s no way it would’ve slipped past all four of us.”

“Five of us,” Jongho corrected, still face-down into his stack. 

Wooyoung raised both eyebrows, “Were you absorbing info through osmosis or..?”

Jongho flipped him off, otherwise unmoving. “The Mind Palace needed processing time. No need to reread if it’s all in here.”

He tapped his head firmly with the same offending finger before letting his arm drop back down, limp.

“Well did you find something in your ‘processing’?” Seonghwa asked with a frown. “I swear my part is like academic articles on steroids.”

“‘It is mandated that all competitors possess the requisite mental and physical acuity, demonstrating an unequivocal capacity to comprehend and acknowledge their fundamental inclinations and aspirations—’ like spit it OUT already,” San agreed, dragging a hand down his face. 

Jongho turned his head, face creased with nap lines from his papers, “So basically, only people with IQ, EQ, and nice muscles are allowed.”

Everyone went noticeably silent, and San shot Wooyoung a sympathetic look.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped.

“Uh, fuck you guys too? I’ve got all three of those and you know it!”

A long pause.

“Well, yeah, maybe I haven’t done so great with the EQ recently, but still!” he amended, sticking his chin out defiantly.

A longer pause.

“…And maybe I’m not a nerdy gym rat like some people,” Wooyoung glared pointedly at San, “but I have muscles! Anyone can see that.”

He crossed his arms with a huff, flexing as hard as he could while staying subtle. 

“I, for one, love your muscles,” San said, winking at him and slinging an arm over his shoulder.

The weight of it almost dragged Wooyoung down, and he could feel a giant pec bouncing against his side with the gesture.

He glared at his friend, deflating.

“Okay, now you’re just being mean.”

San blinked in confusion.

“Anyway,” Seonghwa jumped in, “While that is…potentially helpful, was there nothing else that might help Wooyoung get selected? Jongho, anything in your section?”

Jongho sighed, sitting up fully at last. “Mine was pretty much thirty feet of ‘There will be trials…and tests…and pain…and sacrifice…’ etc etc,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not a word about how to get into the damn thing.”

He turned to Wooyoung, voice apologetic. “Sorry, man.”

Wooyoung shook his head, smiling through the disappointment he'd come to expect.

“I just appreciate you guys doing this for me…At this point, I think I gotta just hope my goal is impossible—” And important, he thought dryly, futilely, “—enough for the Hat to pick me on its own.”

Everyone nodded, and after a few moments, Hongjoong took off his reading glasses with a tired sigh. “Don’t give up. I’m gonna finish my section tomorrow with Yeosang, so maybe there’ll be something there we can use.”

His tone was convincing and firm, but Wooyoung knew his friend was mainly just trying to make him feel better.

“Yeah,” he said, appreciating the kindness anyway. “Maybe there will be.” 

Yeosang dug his knuckles into his temples, groaning long and low. 

“Yeah, same,” Hongjoong replied just as soullessly. 

“I swear,” Yeosang muttered, “it’s like I’ve been reading this thing since yesterday. How is there still more?” 

Hongjoong laughed sharply, shaking his head to himself. “Yeah. Same.”

Yeosang leaned back in his chair heavily, setting down the scroll and picking up his wand. 

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a break,” he said, casting a quick set of spells to summon a kettle and cups. 

At Hongjoong’s mumbled, “Yes please,”, he got a brew up, pushing the mess of parchment on the table aside and pouring them each a cup. 

“It was quick thinking to make a copy of the scroll for each of us,” he said idly, waiting for his tea to cool down enough to drink. “Wish I’d thought of that yesterday so you didn’t have to wait to cram it with me now.”

Hongjoong choked on his sip, setting his cup down hastily. 

Yeosang handed him a handkerchief with a sympathetic wince. The tea must’ve been too hot.

“Ah, thanks,” Hongjoong said, face red as he dabbed at his mouth and looked askance. “Just figured it’d be more convenient to uh, have another copy, so.”

Yeosang eyed him for a moment before shrugging. 

They’d been reading legal gibberish for three hours straight. It was taking a toll on him, too. 

“So,” Hongjoong said after gathering himself, tone serious, “Yesterday, at the meeting...”

He trailed off, and Yeosang hid a wince.

“What about it?” he said lightly, using his wand to send the teapot away.

There was still tea inside, but he needed something to do with his hands.

“Well first of all, what’d Headmaster Park want?” Hongjoong asked, eyeing him over his cup.

Yeosang shrugged with one shoulder, carefully casual. “An audience for more of his theatrics, that’s all.”

Hongjoong just kept looking at him, and Yeosang sighed, giving in. 

“It was so weird…”

In the past, Headmaster Park was always very clear about what he wanted. In a way, the transparency was actually a comfort.

“Your Hufflepuff classmates haven’t been performing very well in Defense as of late. As the top-scoring student, I’d like you to lead practice sessions for the other students after class each week.”

“Runes can be a challenging subject, but make sure to keep up your diligence. Head Boys must lead by example.”

“There are three weeks before the school Christmas festivities. Our decorator went on holiday, so I’ll leave the design to you.”

Yeosang had even appreciated that last one, because although it certainly was not the headmaster’s intention, the assignment had given him the rare chance to devote his full attention to doing what he loved: magical programming, invention, and flying drones—lots and lots of drones.

However, in contradiction with what he’d come to expect from the headmaster, the conversation he’d had with him yesterday was…almost eerily cryptic.

“I hope you do not make the mistake of thinking me a fool, Mr. Kang.”

“I…of course not? I’m sorry sir, but what—”

“Many times, I must make decisions with my gaze cast forever forwards. But that does not make me ignorant of what is happening beneath my nose.”

“...May I ask just what it is you’re referring to?”

“The time for all to be revealed will soon be upon us. Until then…”

“Yes..?”

“Be aware that mine will not be the only eyes following you through this approaching stage.”

The clock in the courtyard chimed then, and with a start, Yeosang realized he'd just been sitting there in silence, and that Hongjoong was just sitting there watching him. 

He fidgeted in his seat, clearing his throat. “He basically just put the pressure on me to be model Head Boy during the tournament. Typical Headmaster.”

After another long pause, Hongjoong eventually nodded, and Yeosang took a drag of his tea.

It was tepid, and tasted flat on his tongue.

“What did you mean when you said you’d ‘take care of it’, by the way?” Hongjoong asked, then.

Caught a bit off guard by the change in subject, Yeosang cocked his head.

Hongjoong’s eyes as they met his own were analyzing, piercing, even, but Yeosang had no idea what they were looking for. 

“You know,” Hongjoong said after a while. “When you said you’d ‘take care of’…that whole shitshow in the headmaster’s office.”

Oh, Yeosang thought to himself. That.

“Ah. Yeah, I know you could deal with it on your own, but I have no problem jumping in and just getting it over with,” he said, taking another reluctant sip of his tea. 

He scowled at his cup. Definitely unsalvageable. 

When he looked back up, Hongjoong almost seemed…tense?

He cleared his throat, “You sure you don’t want me to just take care of it myself? You don’t need to…get involved if you don’t want to.”

Yeosang blinked. 

“It’s both of our problem anyway, and I already have a plan for how I’m gonna sort it all out. Don’t worry about it.” 

It was true. 

Sure, he’d been annoyed when Headmaster Park’s dramatics sent their hard work flying through the office, just to create a little suspenseful wind. 

But he had a spell that’d help him re-sort the papers, so he didn’t understand why Hongjoong was making it into such a big deal. 

“Okay…” his friend finally said, brow furrowed as if he were puzzled by something. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. You know how he gets.”

Yeosang huffed a laugh, mildly surprised. Hongjoong wasn’t usually this blunt when it came to the headmaster, odd as the man may be. 

“He’s not the type to listen to anyone when there’s something he wants, let alone you. Don’t worry about it.”

But strangely enough, Hongjoong just looked at him and quietly said, “I don’t know. I think he might listen to you.”

Huh?

Yeosang stared at him, incredulous. “Dude, you’re messing with me, right?”

Hongjoong shook his head, serious. 

Yeosang waited a few seconds for him to break, but he didn’t so much as twitch—just kept looking at him with that steady gaze. 

Yeosang cleared his throat, a bit unsteady, “Well, it’s just so obvious he hates me? Thought you were well aware of that at this point.”

Hongjoong leveled him with a look. “C’mon Yeosang. You can’t actually believe that.”

At this point, Yeosang was entirely off balance. 

“I do, though? The things he says to me, and the way nothing I do is ever good enough? Honestly, he’s a big reason I can’t wait to graduate.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, almost looking…hurt?

“You really feel that way?”

Yeosang regretted his phrasing immediately, but there was nothing to be done for it now. 

“You know my time at Hogwarts has been…hard, for me,” he said, looking down at the dregs swirling in the bottom of his teacup. “He hasn’t exactly made things easier.”

A long pause.

And then,

“Yeah. I guess I can see that.”

When he looked back up, Hongjoong’s smile was half compassion, half sadness.

“I wish I’d known that’s how you felt,” he finished.

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s not like I hate him or anything. He’s just a part of my time here that I’ll be happy to leave in the past.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly before turning back to his parchment. 

“Let’s get back to work.”

He ducked his head a little as he said it, as if to hide his expression, but Yeosang still caught it. 

There was a heavy sadness hanging over him, dragging the corners of his mouth, his eyebrows, and his shoulders all noticeably down until he almost shrank with it. 

Yeosang reached out tentatively, brushing his friend’s forearm with his fingertips before summoning the confidence to grip it with his hand. 

“You know you and the guys aren’t included in any of that, right?” he said, gently as he could. “I want to leave this school behind, not any of you.”

Hongjoong’s fingers were clenched tight around his scroll, but when he finally looked up, it was with a small smile. 

“And you know we all care about you,” he said. “All of us.”

Yeosang smiled hesitantly, still sensing something was off, but not quite grasping what it could be. 

“Yeah,” he just said. “I know.”

Hongjoong clasped his forearm back, squeezing once before letting go and turning back to his scroll once again. 

Yeosang watched him for another long moment, questions ready to tumble off his tongue, but he held them back, turning to his own work. 

Hongjoong was the type to tell him straight if it was something he should know. 

If he wasn’t saying anything, it was because he felt that was right. Yeosang wouldn’t force him. 

He turned his focus onto the scroll before him, ignoring the sheer amount he had yet to read in favor of concentrating on speeding through it all as quickly as he could. 

(He was so focused, he didn’t notice when an hour later, Hongjoong nearly jumped in his chair, gripping his scroll and mouthing the written words to himself in disbelief, a smile growing large and bright on his face.)

“Sometimes, things just come together,” went the following whisper Yeosang didn’t hear. 

Oblivious, he just kept on reading about the grand prize, and preparing himself to hand it over to whoever deserved it most in the end. 

“I think I’m gonna shit my pants and throw up at the same time.”

Seonghwa turned around slowly, his face a pleasant mix of you’re-so-fucking-nasty and I-want-to-kill-you-and-then-myself. 

“That was a lovely image, thank you, Wooyoung.”

“‘Stay away from Gryffindor table’, check,” San said, scooting away on their bench. 

Wooyoung smacked him and dragged him back by the thigh.

San came willingly, laughing. 

“I love you babe, but if you projectile on me, I’ll have to move on to the next best thing…”

He winked and puckered his lips at Seonghwa, who made an even more grossed-out face. 

“I’ll take Woo’s vomit, thanks.”

San gasped, “Hey!”

“Death would be more merciful than this waiting,” Wooyoung groaned, dropping his head onto the table. 

They were gathered at the Hufflepuff dining table, waiting for dinner—or more accurately, for the ceremony following dinner—to begin.

“It’s like, I don’t even care that I’m not getting in. It’s waiting for the ax to drop that’s killing me.”

“It’ll be fine,” San said, rubbing his shoulders. “No matter what happens.”

Seonghwa was turned back around, watching Hongjoong, who was talking to Headmaster Park at the front of the room. 

They were too far to hear anything, especially now that the Great Hall had filled up with a hubbub of hungry students, so they just watched as Hongjoong bowed to the headmaster before heading for Ravenclaw table, where Yeosang sat at the head with his prefects. 

Hongjoong ducked his head to whisper something in Yeosang’s ear, and the two conversed quietly before Hongjoong clapped his shoulder and went to sit down at his own table. 

“Looks like you won’t have to wait for much longer,” Seonghwa observed.

As if on cue, Headmaster Park stood up from his seat and approached the lectern, clapping twice, the sound clear and booming. 

Wooyoung hopped off the Hufflepuff bench and slipped onto Gryffindor’s, directly behind. 

“You’ve really got us all trained to save your spot, huh,” Yunho said with a wry smile. 

Wooyoung blinked at him, startled. 

They hadn’t said much to each other since Wooyoung had his ill-fated encounter with Yeosang the week before—Yunho out of protectiveness of Yeosang, and Wooyoung out of fear for his life. 

He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he missed him.

“Well,” he said, with a hesitant smile. “I guess I’m lucky you love sitting next to me so much.”

Yunho rolled his eyes and jostled Wooyoung’s shoulder with his own. 

Wooyoung’s smile grew. 

Things were finally going back to normal. 

“Attention, Hogwarts students and staff,” echoed Headmaster Park’s voice then. 

Wooyoung stiffened, remembering to be nervous. 

“I stand before you today with an exciting announcement—something I had intended to share after dinner, but just couldn’t wait.”

Wooyoung turned to his friends behind him, wide-eyed.

We’re doing this now??

“Hey, you good?” Yunho whispered from beside him, watching his face with concern. 

And then Wooyoung remembered that no one else knew what was going to happen, that he should also be unaware. 

“Yeah,” he replied, voice a touch higher than usual. “It’s nothing.”

Yunho frowned at him, but reluctantly turned away when the headmaster spoke again. 

“It is my pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will be hosting a grand Tournament of Talent, featuring a series of challenging trials where students will showcase their skills, determination, and grit. Only one will emerge victorious, claiming a grand prize whose value cannot be overestimated.”

The hall erupted in excited murmurs.

“What’s he on about, all a sudden?”

“This bitch’ll do anything for attention, watch it be nothing.”

“Dude, that’s the most powerful wizard alive you’re talking about.”

“And? I’ll start caring when he stops making us watch his New Year's performances.”

“The last one was kinda hot though…”

“With the purple jumpsuit???”

“Can you guys shut up and listen? I wanna know what this is all about.”

“Contestants will be meticulously selected based on criteria that will only be revealed once the selection process is complete.”

At his gesture, Hongjoong and Yeosang walked up and set the Sorting Hat on a stool. 

Facing it, the headmaster muttered something inaudible, and then the hat began to move, a fold shaking itself out to form a mouth.  

“Let’s make this quick then,” it said, voice scratchy and dry. “My contract’s supposed to only call for once a year, so I better be seeing some quality of life after this, Mr. YP.”

Wooyoung could see Headmaster Park’s eye twitch from where he was sitting. 

Then the hat started spitting out names written on slips of crisp parchment. 

Hongjoong and Yeosang caught them before they fell, reading in tandem. 

“Choi Soobin.”

“Choi Yeonjun.” 

Wooyoung turned to his right to grin at the blue-haired boy across the table. 

“Hell yeah, dude!”

Yeonjun smirked back at him. “It’s you up next, Jung.”

Wooyoung’s smile faltered, but he gave a thumbs-up in reply. 

He knew better, but there was no point in telling him that. 

“Choi Beomgyu.”

“Kang Taehyun.”

“Huening Kai.”

“Huening Bahiyyih.”

“Damn, both siblings,” muttered someone at Ravenclaw table. 

“Hong Joshua.”

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Kwon Soonyoung—”

“It’s Hoshi!” yelled someone at the end of Gryffindor table. 

“Yeah, we know!” someone in Hufflepuff retorted. 

A ripple of laughter, and then Yeosang continued reading.

“Boo Seungkwan.”

“Bang Chan.”

“Lee Felix.”

“Kim Seungmin.”

“Seo Changbin.”

And so the list went on, until there was a pile of white papers littering the floor and several tables buzzing with excitement from those who’d been chosen. 

Despite himself, Wooyoung felt his heart drop just a little with each name, knowing the list had to be drawing to a close. 

“Hirai Momo.”

“Minatozaki Sana.”

And then. 

“Song Mingi.”

Wooyoung nearly broke his neck looking at his friend at Ravenclaw table, who was looking stunned. 

And then:

“Jung…”

Wooyoung’s heart was in his throat. 

Is he gonna…are they gonna call out—”

“…Yunho.”

His heart crashed back down to hit his stomach.

He’d never been so disappointed to have the same last name as his friend. 

“Congrats, man,” he said, half-forcing a smile. 

Yunho was busy kissing his bicep, clearly addressing Mingi, who was body-rolling at his table right back at him. 

He turned to Wooyoung, smile lingering on his face, “Thanks…Mingi and I are gonna win so easy it’s not even funny.”

Wooyoung was about to remind him only one person could win when Hongjoong called out, loud and dripping with satisfaction:

“And Jung Wooyoung.”

For a second, Wooyoung just sat there, staring. 

Did he just…he didn’t, right?

“Dude!” 

Yunho was shaking his shoulders, brown eyes shining as he grinned down at him. 

“It’s gonna be the three of us!”

Wooyoung felt his lips twitch upwards uncontrollably, eyes wide as he grabbed Yunho’s forearms in both palms. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”

He was so caught up in the moment and the shock of it all that he almost didn’t notice what was happening at the head of the room. 

“Hold on,” the Sorting Hat croaked. “One more.”

It coughed out one final slip of parchment, and Yeosang caught it crisply between two fingers. 

He looked at it, opened his mouth, looked back at it again quickly, and then made a noise into the mic that was more of a gasp than a name. 

He turned to Hongjoong with what appeared to be, at the very least, confusion, and then cleared his throat before stuttering out:

“K-Kang Yeosang.”

Wooyoung sat frozen, feeling like time had stopped. 

I have to compete against…Yeosang?

From the not-so-subtle whisperings around him, he clearly wasn’t alone in his thoughts. 

“Is that even allowed? He’s like, the best wizard in school.”

“Has anyone even come close to beating him in Defense? How are we supposed to stand a chance against him?”

“You see the look on his face? How can he be so surprised when he helped organize this whole thing?”

“Guys, who cares about Yeosang, look at the Headmaster!”

Dazed, Wooyoung listened, and watched Headmaster Park rush over to Yeosang, snatching the paper out of his hand with what could only be anger darkening his expression. 

“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Kang?” he questioned, waving the slip in the air. 

“I, I don’t know, sir, honest!” Yeosang replied, holding his hands up. 

Wooyoung could see them shaking, and something in him ached. 

Headmaster Park opened his mouth to say something else, hand crushing the parchment, but then Hongjoong was stepping out in front of Yeosang, hands out in a calming gesture.

“Perhaps now is not the best time, sir?”

After a long moment, the headmaster loosened his hand slowly, clearing his throat like he remembered where he was. 

“Perhaps not,” he said, leveling Yeosang with an unreadable look. “This will be dealt with.”

He turned back towards the students, fully composed. 

“Please, eat. Particularly those of you whose names were called…I shall return after dinner to announce the first stage of the tournament.”

With that, he swished the long sleeves of his robe and left the Great Hall, casting a pointed look back at Hongjoong and Yeosang, who was still staring at the paper in his hand.

Wooyoung watched as Hongjoong tugged Yeosang after the headmaster, the slip of paper falling from his grip and drifting slowly to the floor. 

He looked away, picking up his chopsticks and casting everything from his mind. 

He’d need calories for the competition, if the headmaster was to be believed. 

And he’d need whatever advantage he could get, if he was to compete against Yeosang. 

He’d barely managed to force down his tomato and egg when the headmaster was sweeping back into the Great Hall, his Head Boys flanking him.

He tried not to, but he couldn’t help but check on Yeosang. He was more composed than before, but his face remained pale and shadowed with what was either shock, confusion, or…dread?

But that didn’t make sense. The Tournament promised a chance at obtaining what you wished for most. It wasn’t something to be afraid of. 

His thoughts were silenced as the headmaster put his wand to his throat, projecting his voice. 

“Attention. As some of you may have noticed, a fair number of names have been called to compete in our tournament. As such, the next stage will be a series of duels, in which pairs will fight to prove themselves worthy of this competition.”

Wooyoung frowned. If everyone had to duel and only the winner could continue on, that meant their numbers would be cut in half. 

In other words, he had a fifty-fifty chance of not making it past the preliminaries. 

“Additionally, the dueling pairs will be decided in order of announcement, to keep things…random.”

Wooyoung felt his stomach sink. 

Oh no.

With a wave of his arm, the headmaster cast a list of names into the air above him.

“Participants, please locate your partner and proceed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom for the commencement of the duels.”

With that, he strode off, exiting the room before anyone had even moved a muscle. 

Then chaos ensued as students scrambled to find their dueling partner or their friends or both, but all was quiet in Wooyoung’s ears. All he could hear was the sharp, even taps of familiar black boots as they found their way to stand before him. 

He looked up slowly, following the slim lines of long legs in black slacks up to the sharp navy dress shirt, with all buttons save the very top buttoned neatly to frame a smooth, pale throat, to a jawline so sharp it almost hurt to look at and—

“Let’s go.”

His gaze snapped up, and met eyes that were so familiar…and yet so foreign, with their coldness and unbreachable distance. 

He stood and followed, because that was simpler than anything else. 

Because it was the only thing he could do after looking up and seeing the sparks rearrange themselves to form:

 “Jung Wooyoung vs. Kang Yeosang”

Everyone was gathered in the Defense classroom, facing the long, raised platform used for dueling practice. 

The headmaster stood in the center alongside Hongjoong, who kept looking over at Yeosang, clearly conflicted. 

Wooyoung, who was standing right next to him, shifted his weight between his feet. 

He knew Yeosang had a reason to want to win the competition.

And he didn’t want to take that away from him, especially after everything he’d done to the guy in the past few weeks. 

But he also had his own goal, his own desire. He couldn’t give up now, not after the chance he’d been granted at last. 

Besides, it’d be an insult to Yeosang to throw the fight. He knew him well enough to know that. 

“Attention, students,” the headmaster’s voice rang out. 

It’s starting.

“The criterion by which you all have been selected will now be revealed.”

A hum of confused excitement. 

“Every single one of you has something you desperately desire, and something that is holding you back from obtaining it.”

He scanned the room, taking in all of their attentive gazes. 

“Thus, the winner of the tournament will be granted use of an artifact that promises to unlock that pure desire.”

He smiled, but it looked almost sinister on his face. 

“To put it simply, at the end of the competition, one person in this room will have their very dreams come true.”

He threw his arms out wide. Wooyoung would’ve scoffed at the theatrics if he weren’t so absorbed. 

“Sound like something worth fighting for?”

A roar of “Yeah!”s resounded, and Wooyoung felt the energy of the room shift. 

Everyone was suddenly much more invested in winning, and he knew things just got a whole lot harder.

One step at a time, Wooyoung.

He had to win this duel before worrying about anything else. 

He stole a nervous glance at Yeosang, who was standing next to him, stone-cold and impassive as ever. 

It was like he hadn’t even heard the headmaster’s announcement. 

“The next stage of the competition will be revealed tomorrow morning. Whether or not you are happy to hear it will be determined entirely by your performance today.

“And with that, let the duels begin!”

Hongjoong took the cue and called out the names of the first duo, then hopped off the platform and joined the headmaster in watching. 

Wooyoung turned his attention forward. 

Whatever Yeosang was thinking at that moment didn’t matter. 

They couldn’t avoid what was happening, so there was nothing to do but go through with it and hope there were no hard feelings in the end.

No matter how unrealistic a hope it may be. 

Facing each other on the platform were Yeonjun and another tall boy with bright blue hair. 

The two seemed to be friends, and they smiled and faked a few punches at each other before taking their places.. 

But the moment Hongjoong signaled, the two burst into action, shooting spells at each other and dodging wildly in turn in an exhilarating show of magical talent. 

In the end, Yeonjun claimed the other boy’s wand, and Hongjoong pronounced him the winner. 

Yeonjun helped his friend up, and the two embraced, clearly both excited at his victory. 

Wooyoung felt something like hope rising in his chest. 

Maybe there’s a chance for us, after all.

The duels went on, with the longest lasting minutes, and the shortest only seconds. 

There were several nail-biters, like when brother and sister had to face off against each other (the sister won), and when two friends kept using dirty tricks to try and cheat against each other (the pretty boy with shoulder length hair won).

And then it was Mingi and Yunho taking the stage. 

Wooyoung hadn’t been able to control his fidgeting since three matches ago, but it was almost unbearable now. 

Just one more left and then... 

He shook his shoulders, trying to focus on his friends. 

The two faced each other, expressions serious, and assumed their stances. 

“May the best wizard win,” Mingi said, eyes like steel. 

“I won’t go easy on you,” Yunho replied solemnly, nodding at Hongjoong to confirm he was ready.

“Begin!”

Less than a second passed before the two shouted in unison:

“Dance of Desire!”

“Fix On!”

And then Mingi was dancing erotically, running a hand down his chest as he pointed at Yunho, and Yunho was staring back at him, seemingly unable to look away. 

“Oho, if you wanted to see me dance, you could’ve just asked, pretty boy.”

Yunho smirked, eyes still locked on, “Well if you wanted me to watch, you didn’t need to cast a spell to make that happen.”

Wooyoung’s jaw was on the floor, and he could see Hongjoong smack a palm to his face in his periphery. 

Laughs and catcalls echoed in the room as Mingi started gyrating on the floor, and then the headmaster stepped forward.

“Please tell me seven years of education at this school have taught you more than this.”

Yunho, still unable to do anything but watch Mingi crawl towards him on the ground, called out, “Sorry Headmaster, this one lasts sixty seconds!”

Mingi flipped onto his back, arching his back and biting his lip at Yunho, “Yeah, mine too!”

Headmaster Park closed his eyes, nodding and stepping back in resignation. 

“Very well.”

Mingi had just stood up, pressing his back into Yunho’s front and lifting a hand to cradle his face tenderly, when Yunho yelled out, “Fainting Spell!”

Mingi collapsed, and Yunho caught him in his arms.

Wooyoung, standing close to the platform as he was, only barely heard him whisper, “My spell ended thirty seconds ago, you dork.”

Mingi smirked, eyes still closed, “So did mine.”

And then he was up, darting several steps behind before shouting, “Cupid’s Arrow!”

A bow materialized in his arms, and his back muscles rippled under his dress shirt as he pulled the string back and fired an arrow of pink light right at Yunho’s heart. 

Yunho ducked to the side just in time, but he still swooned dramatically, hand against his forehead as his knees buckled. 

“So strong…”

Mingi grinned, flicking the bow so it blew apart in pink sparks. 

“It’s a shame you didn’t let it hit you…You would’ve fallen in love with me for twenty four hours.”

Something flickered over Yunho’s face, but Wooyoung only noticed because he knew to look for it. 

He glanced over at Yeosang, who was watching Yunho with an unreadable expression. 

This must be hard to watch, he thought, gut clenching in what could only be sympathy. 

He turned his attention back forward. 

“Yeah,” Yunho was saying in a quick recovery, putting on a smirk, “What a shame.”

Then he thrust out his wand, casting, “Passion’s Embrace!”

A swirling vortex of rose petals surrounded Mingi, and the light in the room faded to the glow of soft candlelight. 

Not wasting a second, Yunho then called out, “Pretty Pretty Princess!”

And then, as the petals drifted away and the light was restored to full-brightness, Mingi’s form was revealed, draped in…a fluffy pink ball gown?

He had a tiara nestled into his matching pink hair, and Wooyoung hated to admit it, but he actually looked pretty cute. 

“Babe!” Mingi gasped, swishing his skirts, “You gave me pockets?!”

A quiet huff of a laugh next to him, and Wooyoung looked over to see Yeosang shaking his head with a wry smile. 

His posture hadn’t changed, but something seemed to have relaxed in his face, softening his features as he watched the scene before him with obvious warmth. 

Wooyoung felt silly for assuming moments before. Clearly Yeosang didn’t mind the play-flirting between his closest friends, despite his and Yunho’s relat—

Despite what was going on between him and Yunho. 

Wooyoung felt that strange unease sweep him again and he chastised himself. 

Pay attention. Now is not the time for distractions. 

He turned back ahead.

The draping sleeves of Mingi’s pink gown had whipped themselves around to form a straitjacket, binding his arms to his sides. 

He tried to jerk himself free, but the pink prison only constricted tighter around him. Yunho walked up slowly, his wand dangling loosely in his hand as he pointed it at him with a victorious grin. 

“Do you yield?”

Mingi looked him in the eyes, a warm smile on his lips, and said:

“Never.”

And then he spun 180 degrees so his back was to Yunho, flicking his wrist as best he could with his arms pinned, casting, “Decalcomanie!”

For a moment, it seemed like the spell had done nothing, as Mingi turned back to face Yunho, who looked unaffected. 

Then Mingi’s gown fell, his bonds broken, and he stretched, long and lazy like a cat. 

With a surprised gasp, Yunho stretched with him in tandem, a mirror image. 

Mingi raised his right hand, and Yunho raised his left. 

“Shall we make things interesting?” Mingi asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

And then his hand started plucking buttons free from his shirt, one by one until it revealed a smooth expanse of tanned chest. 

Yunho, forced to match his movements, was in a similar state, until his shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his navel. 

Someone wolf-whistled, and the headmaster called out firmly, “Keep it PG, boys.”

Mingi threw their arms out to their sides, “Oh c’mon sir, it’s all just fun.”

“Make it family-friendly fun and there’s no problem.”

Yunho was cackling at this point, limbs moving easily as Mingi made them do all sorts of strange poses and positions. 

He’d just had them both squatting in a twerking position when Yunho broke free, using his wand to toss a lasso over Mingi, and tugging him closer. 

Mingi popped his chest forward with each tug, and they were both laughing when Yunho murmured his next spell, dragging a finger up the bare skin of Mingi’s exposed abdomen.

“Touch of Rapture,” he said, puckering his lips in a smolder.

Someone groaned in the audience, but Wooyoung could only laugh, despite himself. 

His friends were truly ridiculous. 

At Yunho’s touch, sparks of electricity danced over Mingi’s body, shooting up his hair and making it stand on end. 

Yunho pouted. “That would’ve been a lot more dramatic if your hair wasn’t so short.”

Mingi shivered, sparks flying off his body. “You know you don’t have to cast a spell to create electricity between us...”

Yunho huffed, hiding a smile as he shook his head. “Okay, okay…”

He released his friend, taking a few steps back. “You think it’s about time we end this?”

“Yes.” Someone called out from the audience, prompting a ripple of laughter through the room. 

“Oh fine, buzzkills,” Mingi said, hands in the air in surrender. 

Then he swished his wand, sending a slice of wind rushing towards Yunho.

As if he’d expected it, Yunho dropped his body backwards to dodge, Matrix-style, but when he stood back up straight, Mingi was there, inches away, wand at Yunho’s chin and pushing it just slightly downwards, locking their gazes. 

“Do you yield?” He asked softly, echoing Yunho’s words from before. 

Yunho swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, before nodding and stepping back, brushing nonexistent dirt off his robes. 

He bowed theatrically, “That’s what I get for being dramatic, huh?” he said with a smile.

“The winner is Mingi, congratulations,” Hongjoong announced, sounding like years had been taken off his life. 

The two clasped each other in a casual hug before hopping off the platform together. 

And then Wooyoung remembered to freak the fuck out. 

A glance over at Yeosang revealed the boy was still calm and collected as ever. 

Don’t tell me he’s that confident he’ll win?, Wooyoung thought, somewhat offended. 

“Wooyoung, Yeosang…please take your places,” Hongjoong said, brows scrunched in clear worry. 

Wooyoung went to hoist his body up and onto the platform, but then there was a hand on his shoulder holding him back.

“What’re you—?”

“I’m not going to duel you.”

Wooyoung turned to meet Yeosang’s steady gaze. 

“What?”

“I’m not going to duel you,” he repeated, pulling his hand back.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Wooyoung said, taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘you’re not gonna duel me’? ”

Yeosang looked down at him with a hint of irritation. “Meaning, you win. When Hongjoong signals, I’ll concede.”

Wooyoung just stared at him, shock turning his tongue stupid. 

“That makes no sense, why would you—”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter why,” Yeosang cut him off, shaking his head. “Just accept an easy win. I know you could use one.”

He wasn’t condescending as he said it, just matter-of-fact. 

Somehow that was worse. 

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

Yeosang huffed a sigh, looking tired of the conversation, “It means if you’re smart, you won’t make things harder for yourself when you don’t need to.” 

With that, he swung himself onto the platform in one easy, fluid motion. 

Wooyoung would’ve been impressed if he weren’t so pissed off.

“So you’re not even going to try to win? I don’t need your pity, or whatever this is.”

Yeosang didn’t even bother looking at him.

“Just go along with it for once, Wooyoung. Please.”

He took his place at the far end of the platform, and Wooyoung stood there gaping at him, face hot in anger, before throwing himself up and onto the platform in a decidedly less smooth motion. 

“Like hell I will,” he said, getting into his ready stance. “You’re fighting me whether you want to or not.”

There was a voice in his head—a loud one—telling him not to get worked up, to just accept the win and the doubled chance of victory that came with it.  

A smaller voice also whispered that something wasn’t right, that there must be some other reason Yeosang wanted to forfeit, a reason that was unrelated to Wooyoung and his ability. 

Neither was loud enough.

He had been underestimated his whole life—seen as just the comic relief or the spastic kid who couldn’t sit still long enough to amount to anything. 

He’d believed it, too, embraced his identity as the funny friend who didn’t seem to have any place he excelled. 

But then he found something he was good at, something to make a goal and a life out of, and someone who made him believe that he could do it all. 

…And now that person was telling him that when it really came down to it, he didn’t believe in him after all. 

So Wooyoung ignored the voices telling him to just listen and let Yeosang lose.

That wouldn’t be winning, not really.  

He took a deep breath and focused on nothing but the wand in his hand, the potential energy in his limbs. 

He would not take this victory lying down. 

Hongjoong stepped forward, eyeing the two of them anxiously, but eventually he was forced to call out, “Ready…begin.”

Not wasting a second, Wooyoung thrust his wand forward, sending a wall of flames exploding towards Yeosang, not giving him the chance to forfeit. 

A gap broke through the fire when Yeosang slashed his arms down in an X shape, stepping forward unscathed. 

“Don’t do this, Wooyoung,” he said, wand cautiously at the ready. “You have no real reason to fight me right now.”

Wooyoung just prepared his next attack, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. “Don’t I, though?”

He flicked his wand at the ground beneath Yeosang’s feet before stomping down firmly, sending a shockwave reverberating through the floor like an earthquake. 

Yeosang stumbled, catching himself with one hand on the ground and using the other to flick his wand at Wooyoung.

“Obscuro Obscura,” he cast in a murmur.

A dark cloud of black mist descended over Wooyoung’s head, and then he couldn’t see a thing. 

He staggered back, throwing his arms out in front of him, disoriented.

Pointing in Yeosang’s general direction, he shot off, “Spectra Serrata!”, and a horde of ghost scythes surged from his wand.

He didn’t see it land, but the attack must’ve worked, because the mist dropped just in time for him to watch Yeosang use a beam of light to dispel his ghosts. 

He sent another light beam his way, but Wooyoung thrust his wand out before him, “Eclipsis!”, and the attack was nullified with darkness. 

“Let me do this,” Yeosang called out again, dodging the ice Wooyoung tried to use to freeze his feet. “This isn’t a fight I need to win.”

The claim only made Wooyoung angrier, and his attacks grew sloppy, wand stabbing through the air and sending lightning strike after strike after Yeosang, who just kept dodging or blocking nimbly. 

“We both know that it is,” Wooyoung bit out, forgetting any prior need for tact. 

Yeosang flinched, his first real reaction since the duel began, and Wooyoung pressed his advantage, “Carcerum Catena!”

Chains burst from the ground, wrapping around Yeosang’s arms and legs, imprisoning him in a slowly constricting metal embrace.

The chains spread and wrapped themselves up his body, and Yeosang only barely managed to utter, “Evolvo Aves,” before they stretched to cover his mouth. 

In a flash, he transformed into a little blue bird, flying free of his chains. 

He used his wings to beat down a gale of enforced wind at Wooyoung, who was forced to drop the spell. 

Yeosang morphed back into his body and threw water spikes towards Wooyoung the instant he landed, but if there was one thing Wooyoung had on Yeosang, it was his agility. 

He dashed forward, dodging each spike, and rushed Yeosang, hoping to take him in close combat. 

He’d been leading the fight the whole time, but that was only because Yeosang was pulling his punches, defending more than attacking. 

Doesn’t matter, he thought darkly. I’ll make him fight fair. 

“Tell me,” he said, slapping an augmented palm against Yeosang’s shoulder and sending him staggering back. “What’s the real reason you’re throwing this fight?”

Yeosang smacked his wrist away at his next strike, deflecting it harmlessly to the side. 

“It’s just better this way. For both of us.”

Frustrated, Wooyoung reinforced his fist and sent it flying towards him, only for Yeosang to catch it with his own. 

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” he snapped, gritting his teeth, “I thought we’d established that.”

Clutching his wand tight enough to make divots in his palm, he sent his other fist at Yeosang, only for it to get caught too. They grappled in a stalemate, neither side able to push past the other.

“You really want to do this now?” Yeosang asked with some difficulty, clenching his jaw. 

“Why not?” Wooyoung laughed bitterly, throwing his weight to the left. Yeosang seemed to see it coming, and they remained deadlocked. “You and I can never seem to talk without fighting, so we may as well take advantage.”

In the same breath, he enhanced his legs and used the strengthened stance to shove, overpowering Yeosang. 

He stumbled back, adjusting his grip on his wand. 

He was panting now, finally showing signs of exertion, but his voice remained steady as he said, “This has nothing to do with what happened five years ago.”

A sour taste filled Wooyoung’s mouth as his pulse pounded, sweat dripping salt from his bangs into his eyes. 

It burned, and he swiped his hair away from his face as he spat, “Like hell it doesn’t.”

Then he mustered all the force he could and kicked high at Yeosang’s head. 

Lacking time to dodge, Yeosang threw up his arms, protecting his face with a block. 

“Ah,” he groaned, grimacing as his forearms took the brunt of the hit. 

Wooyoung hesitated for a second, a flash of guilt breaking through the anger, but then Yeosang was glaring down at him and throwing him off. 

He took advantage of Wooyoung’s imbalance and dropped to the ground, sweeping his leg out so fast Wooyoung didn’t even register the movement until the kick connected with his ankles.

He went down hard, the wind knocked out of him at impact. 

“Sometimes it really isn’t about you, Wooyoung,” Yeosang hissed, venom dripping as he whispered his name.

Wooyoung just wheezed, eyes wide as his lungs failed to bring in any oxygen. 

Yeosang used the moment of weakness to press his body on top of Wooyoung’s, pinning his wrists to the ground and pressing his wand against his temple.

“Are you done?” He asked, eyes dark.

Wooyoung could see the birthmark around his eye from this close, could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek, could count long, black eyelashes as they fluttered open and shut.

He could smell his shampoo.

He already couldn’t breathe, but his throat tightened even more, the lack of oxygen bringing tears to his eyes. 

His breath didn’t return to him for another few seconds, but once he finally got enough air to speak, he choked out,

“You wish.”

He bucked underneath Yeosang’s weight, flipping them over so he was on top, before scrambling off and away.

His body felt red-hot and his pulse was throbbing in his face, but he shrugged it off. 

Close combat was a miscalculation. Wooyoung may have the edge when it came to speed and agility, but Yeosang was far, far stronger.

The imprint of his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrists was proof of that. 

He shook himself and shouted “Motio Lente!” before darting towards Yeosang in a zigzag. As he moved, afterimages remained in a motion delay blur effect, like slow shutter speed photography. 

Yeosang sent blasts of flames at him, shot after shot, but they were always just a half-second behind. 

Close enough to make it count, Wooyoung went to cast his final spell, but Yeosang cut him off with his own. 

“Chronos’s Snare!”

Wooyoung felt the ground go soft beneath his feet, his boots sinking as he scrambled to keep his balance.  Something grazed his head from above, and when he looked up, he was pelted in the face with a deluge of falling sand.

Spitting granules out of his mouth, he swiped at his face and tried to run away, but then he slammed into an invisible wall. 

He banged on it with both fists, but he soon realized that it was made of thick, impenetrable glass. 

He was trapped inside an hourglass. 

Yeosang was standing outside it, chest heaving as he caught his breath, and he held eye contact with Wooyoung as he slowly raised his hand.

There was no anger in his gaze, only a resigned sort of determination like this was the end he’d seen coming all along. 

Wooyoung watched in stunned disbelief, shaking his head distantly as Yeosang’s hand climbed. 

Don’t you fucking dare. 

“Headmaster, I forfe—”

“Clarum Capsula!” Wooyoung shouted, blasting his spell through the glass and directly at Yeosang. 

A glass box formed around him in an instant, blocking out all sound and cutting Yeosang off mid-sentence. 

He hadn’t had time to make the box as large as he’d intended, anxious as he was to stop Yeosang’s words from being heard, so it was too small for Yeosang to stand at full height or hold his arms out straight. 

As such, Yeosang had no space to wave his wand. 

It was Wooyoung’s clear victory. 

He exhaled heavily as he lowered his wand, grim satisfaction sweeping through him. 

It took too long for him to realize something was wrong. 

In an instant, the hourglass spell around him crumbled into a pile of broken glass and sand, and when Wooyoung stepped out of it, puzzled, he looked up to see Yeosang falling to his knees inside the clear prison, banging on the glass with blown pupils. 

A bead of sweat dripped down his face like a tear.

“End the spell, Wooyoung!” Hongjoong yelled out, leaping onto the platform.

Wooyoung broke free of his daze with a jolt, scrambling to grab his wand from where he’d sheathed it to cast a hasty, “Finis Incantatum!”

But he was too slow, because Yeosang had already collapsed on the ground, shaking, and breathing too quick, too shallow.

An image flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked. 

Shards of glass on an ink-stained carpet and a boy on the floor. 

“Oh fuck,” Wooyoung whispered, staggering towards him.

The red-hot anger that’d fueled his fight froze over until all that was left was cold, dark panic. 

He made it several steps before he was being blocked, something firm pressed against his chest. 

“Stay back!” Hongjoong ordered, holding him back with one arm. 

“I can help!” he insisted, eyes fixed on Yeosang’s prone form, trying to shove past. 

Hongjoong gripped his shoulders firmly, forcing him to look him in the eye. 

His expression was grim. “I’m sorry Woo, but you’ve done enough.”

Wooyoung stopped cold at that.

He stood and watched dumbly as Hongjoong called a medic, and Yeosang was Apparated to the infirmary. 

He was still ankle-deep in sand and glass—physical consequences of the destruction of time. 

His ears were ringing, like shattering the spell had broken something in him, too. 

The air felt thick and wrong in his lungs as he shakily took his first inhale since the duel ended.  

A heavy tension hung in the room as a hundred students stood there silent.

He hardly noticed any of it, his own body feeling foreign as his voice croaked out, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…”

He looked to the side, lost, looking for someone to tell him something, anything other than,

This is all your fault. 

His eyes met Yunho’s where he stood past the edge of the platform. 

There was so much in Yunho’s gaze, so much that flickered across that face usually so full of life and kindness.

Then he shook his head, just once, and Wooyoung crumbled. 

He looked away, keeping himself upright only because he didn’t deserve to take respite, not after what’d just happened. 

After what he’d just done. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, in that thick stretch of silence where no one seemed to move a muscle. 

Eventually, Headmaster Park stepped forward, clearing his throat with a complicated expression. 

“The winner is Jung Wooyoung. Congratulations.” 

Wooyoung nodded distantly, stepping down and off the platform where other students moved to make room.

There were whispers all around him, stares that were careful not to linger on him too long, but that weighed on him nonetheless. 

Under any other circumstances, he might have shrank from the attention, but at that moment, he couldn’t get smaller if he tried. 

Bodies started moving around him, and he realized they’d been dismissed. 

He followed the stream, letting his legs take him away even as his mind stayed on that platform, watching glass shatter and bodies topple again, and again. 

The anonymity of being just one in a crowd was a balm, and a buzz of excited conversations broke out between winners and losers alike as Wooyoung’s duel was overshadowed by the thrill of the competition. 

It was white noise in his ears—TV static, snow hitting ground in a blizzard. 

He kept walking, not listening and not speaking.

Because somehow, despite his victory and all that he’d won, he could only think about what he’d lost. 

Chapter Text

Yeosang awoke in a narrow bed, flat on his back with his legs elevated above his head. 

“What the…” he mumbled blearily, moving to sit up. 

Something crinkled beneath his hands, and he looked down to see white paper stretched out over what looked to be a medical cot. 

“You’re in the infirmary, Yeosang,” a voice said gently. “Take it easy.”

He lay back down obediently and was immediately met with twin worried faces towering over him. 

“Is it that bad?” he asked with a dry smile, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Yunho pushed a glass of water into his hand. 

“You were out the whole night,” he said. “The nurse gave you a sedative, after…”

He exchanged a loaded glance with Mingi, and Yeosang winced as everything came flashing back. 

“After I freaked out in front of half the school?” he finished with a sigh, sitting up despite Yunho’s protestations.

Mingi frowned at him, “Why’re you acting so normal? Has this kinda thing happened to you before?”

Yeosang swirled his glass and watched the water ripple. “Enough to not be surprised, I guess.”

Another poorly disguised exchanged glance. 

He leveled them both with a glare. “I can see you, you know.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” Yunho trailed off before seeming to change his mind, pursing his lips. “Tell us straight, does Wooyoung know this about you?”

Yeosang flinched, every movement amplified by the paper crinkling beneath him. 

“…Yeah,” he said finally. “He does.”

Mingi’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood forcefully.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Yunho stopped him with gentle hands, forcing his fingers to unclench from the tight fists at his sides.

“Easy,” he said, before shifting his gaze back to Yeosang. “I don’t care how mad Wooyoung was, he wouldn’t do something like this on purpose. Right?”

Yeosang looked down at his hands, nodding before he’d even processed the question. 

Maybe it was the lingering exhaustion, or the sedative numbing raw nerves, but he realized that he felt no anger, no irritation, no grudge against the boy he shared so much complicated history with. 

Only sadness.

“I hope we stay like this forever. Promise me we will?”

“I promise.”

Was that the moment it all began to fall apart? 

He’d thought broken promises only hurt when someone else did the breaking.

He was wrong. 

“Why does it always end like this?”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, lost in thoughts and broken memories as he was. 

He wasn’t even sure he had until he turned his head and was hit with pitying looks from both of his friends.

Frowning, he opened his mouth to change the subject, but Mingi seemed to sense his displeasure and adjusted quickly. 

“What was even going on up there?” he asked, sitting back down, casual and confused. 

He didn’t seem to notice he’d kept hold of Yunho’s hand as he did so, effectively pulling him down to sit beside him. 

Yunho let it happen without a word, and Yeosang couldn’t help but slip him a knowing look before turning his gaze to the ceiling. 

“There was no chance of me winning the competition, and I knew he needed to, so,” he said with a shrug, regret coiling in his chest. 

Looking back, it was no surprise Wooyoung had taken his attempt at a favor badly. He’d been so caught up in the futility of it all that he’d forgotten Wooyoung handled pity about as well as he did. 

Yunho made a face at his answer, “Uhh is there something obvious we’re missing here, or..?”

“Yeah,” Mingi said, squinting at him. “This is you we’re talking about.”

Yeosang coughed out a surprised laugh, “Thanks, but I’m actually not just being humble this time.”

Yunho looked like he wanted to follow up, but Mingi cut in, seeming to put something together, “Wait, does this have anything to do with how weird Headmaster Park was when your name got called?”

Yunho gasped, turning to him excitedly, “Wait yeah, that whole thing was so random…I’ve never seen him so mad.”

Their heads whipped back to look at him expectantly, and Yeosang almost wanted to laugh at how synced they were. 

“Yeah…I mean, I wasn’t too shocked considering how much he hates me, but I can’t believe he actually thought I rigged the Sorting Hat somehow.”

Mingi looked at him incredulously, “What? Why the hell would you even need to rig it?”

Yunho nodded in agreement, “Old man’s officially gone senile.”

“Is now a bad time?” a voice called out from the entryway. 

They turned, and Yunho’s face went white.

“Headmaster Park! Sir, we uh…we were just…”

Headmaster Park held up a hand. “I appreciate your concern for my mental health,” he said with what could’ve been a small smile. “May I speak with my Head Boy in private, please?”

“Of course, sir!” The two hurried to stand, bowing before heading out of the room, Yunho practically dragging Mingi away.

Mingi shot a look over the shoulder that wasn’t being yanked out of its socket, and Yeosang nodded back in wordless reply. 

I’ll fill you in later, don’t worry. 

“So,” Headmaster Park said, pulling up one of the deserted chairs. “I owe you an apology.”

Huh.

Of all the things he’d expected him to say, that was not one of them.

“An…apology?”

The headmaster looked at him, almost disappointed. “I understand you believe I act purely on a disproportionate dislike of you, Mr. Kang, but things are rarely so simple.”

Yeosang went to deny it, but Headmaster Park raised a hand, silencing him. 

“You recall our last private conversation?” he asked. 

He did, of course. 

“Be aware that mine will not be the only eyes following you through this approaching stage.”

“I still don’t fully understand what you meant, if I’m honest, sir,” he replied. 

Headmaster eyed him speculatively, “Circumstances have developed differently than I’d imagined, but I suspect my words will hold true even still. Just in an…unexpected fashion.”

Yeosang nodded with some uncertainty. 

Headmaster Park didn’t elaborate, just turned suddenly to face the window behind Yeosang’s cot. 

“No matter how the wind howls, the tree that trusts its roots does not bow.” 

He seemed lost in thought, talking more to himself than to Yeosang. 

He gave him a moment, unable to do anything else. 

“It’s the season for second chances, you know,” Headmaster said eventually, still staring out at the school grounds. “Just when you think all is lost, spring arrives with the thaw and everything is changed.”

He stood then, shooting Yeosang one last look, “People are mysterious creatures, but while their motivations may seem unclear at times, their actions rarely are. Do not fall into the trap of assumption.”

His tone was solemn, gaze lucid and sharp as he fixed it on Yeosang. 

Something unnerving swept him, and he was struck with the oddest premonition. 

He didn’t have a clue what the headmaster meant now, but he had a feeling he’d soon find out.   

“Yes…sir,” Yeosang said in belated response, but the headmaster was already halfway out the door. 

“Breakfast will begin shortly, gentlemen,” he heard him say to Mingi and Yunho, who must’ve been loitering outside. 

By the time they returned to his side, he’d already slid off the bed, grabbing onto a nearby chair for support when a wave of dizziness hit him. 

Yunho reached out to steady him, but Yeosang waved him off, straightening as the blood returned to his head. 

He smoothed his sleep-wrinkled robes as best he could.

“You think I have time to grab a shower before we’re expected?” he asked his friends abruptly. 

They blinked, having clearly expected an explanation for Headmaster Park’s sudden appearance. 

He needed time to process it himself, though, so he just kept running his hands down his dress shirt, hoping they’d catch the hint. 

They did, nearly seamlessly. Mingi only paused a second before leaning in to sniff him.

He recoiled violently, feigning passing out.  

“Please do. I’ll cover for you, just go now.”

Yeosang shoved him off with a laugh and some relief, “Oh, fuck off.”

Mingi just waved his arms furiously, as if trying to waft Yeosang’s “stench” away from him, and Yunho followed his lead, reaching over to hold both his and Mingi’s noses pinched shut. 

“Don’t forget to triple-wash those robes, too,” he said, voice nasal. 

Yeosang shot them a grateful look before grabbing the rest of his things and heading out, flipping them off over his head as he went.

“I’ll leave them under your pillow for you before I do, don’t you worry.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Yeosang laughed as he left, shaking his head. 

Even still, the headmaster’s annoyingly vague words echoed in his head. 

“Second chances”, huh?

Wooyoung was at Hufflepuff table again, this time collapsed onto San’s lap in a limp sprawl. 

“Should I just drop out? I could run into the forest, never to be seen again,” he said soullessly, burying his face deep into San’s muscular thigh. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this visual right now, other people might get the wrong idea,” San said from above him.

Wooyoung couldn’t see his face, but he just knew he was smirking. 

“Let them,” he said petulantly. “Can’t be worse than what they’re already thinking.”

Silence, and then he was being lifted up and away. 

He swatted at large biceps in protest, but they didn’t stop til he was properly seated on the bench. 

“It can’t have been as bad as you’re acting,” San said plainly, crossing his arms. 

Seonghwa nodded across the table. “Anything’s free in a duel. You couldn’t have known he’d react that way.”

Wooyoung dropped his head into his hands. “I should’ve known, though.”

Trapping someone prone to panic attacks inside a tiny glass box? Not his best move. 

“I was just so confused, and mad,” he continued, half-muffled. “I wanted to face him fair and square, on even ground, but he just kept saying he didn’t want to bother trying? Doesn’t make any sense.”

Seonghwa hummed, commiserating, and said, “Well, there’s no way to understand what he’s thinking without talking to him.”

Wooyoung stared at his hands in his lap. 

There was a time when he didn’t need words to know what was going on in Yeosang’s head. 

Fingers flicking at his sides told him he was feeling unsure, widened eyes showed he was paying attention, a hand covering twitching lips meant he wanted to laugh but wouldn’t (either out of consideration or to show Wooyoung he wasn’t as funny as he thought he was). 

This silent give-and-take had come so naturally, had been so fluid, that Wooyoung hadn’t even realized it was a dance with choreography until he stumbled over the steps and fell flat on his face.

He missed the times when he’d move and Yeosang would follow, when he could make leaps without needing faith, when he’d known which direction Yeosang would go before he knew it himself. 

He was torn from his reverie by Seonghwa’s gentle hands prying his own apart. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching them into fists. 

“Well regardless, you’ve got the second stage of the tournament to think about, now,” he said with an encouraging smile. 

Wooyoung stuck out his lip, “Technically, it’s the first stage. The duels were just preliminaries.”

“That’s the spirit!” San said, tucking his head atop Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Forward thinking fixes everything!”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his attention in his periphery. 

He turned to confirm and gulped, hard. 

Yunho was walking over to his usual spot behind them. 

And he was staring right at him. 

“Well would you look at the time!” Wooyoung laughed, too loud, gathering his things in his arms in a hurry, “Better go, uh, somewhere else!”

He stood and made to run out the Great Hall, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a hand gripping his hood.

“I’m not gonna do anything to you, so wipe the sweat off your neck and quit running away.”

Wooyoung spun around, mouth agape, “That was targeted and insensitive! I reserve the right to flee and perspire wherever I so please!”

Yunho shook his hand free of imaginary sweat droplets, and Wooyoung glared at him, hoping his nervous swallow wasn’t as loud as it felt. 

Judging by Yunho’s raised eyebrow, he was unsuccessful.

“Just sit down and eat. Headmaster said he’s announcing the next stage after breakfast.”

Wooyoung took his seat gingerly. 

“If your strategy is to disarm before disemboweling, it’s only half working.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, tossing him a rice ball.

“I think there’s a lot at play here that neither of us fully understand.”

He took a bite of curry bread and offered a small, closed smile as he chewed. 

“Besides,” he said, swallowing, “Yeosang’s tired of this song and dance too.”

Wooyoung’s throat went tight, but then there was a loud clap, and all attention turned forward to where Headmaster Park was standing at the head of the room. 

“Good morning, students. I understand many of you are anxious for the tournament to begin at last, but rest assured, for that time…is now.”

He smiled, and the Hall erupted in loud cheers. 

Wooyoung’s rice ball turned to glue in his throat as he swallowed. 

“Congratulations to the winners of yesterday’s duels. Your victory was certainly well fought, and hard won.”

It could’ve been his imagination, but he could almost physically feel the way dozens of stares zeroed in on him.  

“However, there is a twist I did not forewarn you all of yesterday.”

Headmaster clasped his hands before him and waited until the room went silent before continuing:

“Because the winners will not be the only ones continuing on to the tournament.”

Confused murmurs swept the room. 

“Huh?”

“Are we doing another random draw?”

“It can’t be, he said we were chosen specifically.”

“What the hell is he talking about, then?”

“I see no better way to explain than to jump straight into it,” Headmaster said then, pulling something from his robes. 

Is that…an hourglass?

“In the true spirit of testing you as you are and where you’re at, will every student named by the Sorting Hat yesterday raise their wand?”

“What the hell is going on,” Yunho muttered beside him, drawing his wand. 

Wooyoung had no answer, pulling out his own with an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine. 

“As for the rest of you,” Headmaster said cheerfully, “please meet us at the Quidditch pitch.”

With that, he flipped the hourglass over, the world flashed white, and when Wooyoung opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. 

Somewhere else, with someone else. 

“Wooyoung?”

“Yeosang, is that you?”

Yeosang blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting from the flashbang the Headmaster had blinded them with. 

“Yeosang?”

The voice was familiar, but also strange, something off about it. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, vision finally clearing. 

As he’d thought, standing before him was his childhood best friend, his first love.

His first heartbreak. 

“Wooyoung,” he said in a breath. 

He felt a sudden, overpowering urge to step forward, to get closer, to reach out and touch—

He caught himself. 

Since when was his knee-jerk reaction to run towards the boy and not away?

Especially since the last time they’d been face-to-face, they were throwing spells and fists at each other, with so much more than some competition hanging over their heads. 

Still, there was no denying the way his fingers flicked at his sides, gravitating towards Wooyoung even as he fought to keep them still. 

Through it all, that uneasy feeling that something wasn’t quite right persisted, the feeling that there was something he wasn’t seeing, something right beneath his nose—

He had just begun to put his finger on it when Wooyoung spoke, and the last piece fell into place.  

“Sangie, where are we?”

Wooyoung was looking at him wide-eyed, gaze so open, so vulnerable, so familiar, Yeosang could’ve cried. 

He didn’t know how, or through what sorcery, but standing before him, within an arm’s reach, was someone he hadn’t seen in five years. 

The boy he’d loved, and then lost. 

“Wooyoung,” he whispered, dazed as if in a dream. 

“Wooyoung?” repeated that voice that still haunted him when he lay awake at night. 

Wooyoung just stood stunned, mind flashing through a million possible explanations for what he was seeing, what he was hearing. 

“You’re not real,” he breathed.

Yeosang looked at him quizzically, cocking his head in that clueless way he always used to. He raised a hand to tuck his hair behind an ear, long fingers tangling in brown strands as he—

His thoughts screeched to a halt.  

Brown strands. 

He hadn’t had brown hair since—

Wooyoung’s chest constricted so tight he lost his breath. 

“I’m about as real as that fire-engine hair you’ve got now,” Yeosang said, like he was teasing him. “Since when do you make big decisions like that without Echoing me all night?”

Wooyoung let out a choked sound, apprehension stuttering as he began to wonder if maybe…

“I guess I wanted to surprise you,” he said cautiously, as a test. 

Immediately, he felt stupid, and he opened his mouth to take it back, the incredulity of what he’d just considered sending a flash of hot embarrassment down his neck. 

The Yeosang before him looked younger, sure, and was looking at him like his Yeosang used to, when everything was right in the world and they’d been everything to each other, but there were dozens of possible, more reasonable explanations for that. 

Maybe Wooyoung was hallucinating, or caught in some illusion spell designed to shatter his heart, or maybe…

The thought stuttered as Yeosang’s lips twitched into a soft smile, “Well, it looks just as good as I told you it would. Proud of you for finally going for it.” 

Oh, Wooyoung thought helplessly as his suspicion was confirmed. 

With blurred vision, he reached out a hand, tentative and slow, like he was afraid it’d get slapped away, or worse, go straight through him like an apparition. 

“Sangie?”

Yeosang raised a brow, “What’s gotten into you?”

He paused, looked him up and down, and then frowned deeply. 

Wooyoung’s breath caught, unsure what it meant, but then,

“Did you get taller?”

Yeosang was looking at him incredulously, like the realization had ruined his whole day. 

Wooyoung’s laugh came out startled and wet, and he could only bear to hesitate a second longer before he was pulling him in for the first real touch they’d shared in five years. 

Yeosang was stiff inside his arms at first, almost certainly confused, but he didn't wait long to return the hug, patting Wooyoung’s back as awkwardly as always, as if nothing had changed. 

Wooyoung’s mind was spinning, and he had no idea how this was happening, but he’d been through too much in the past few weeks to waste time questioning it. 

Whatever this was, he’d enjoy it while it lasted. 

And then a sulky muttering tickled his ear,

“Definitely taller.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders shook as he laughed, and he buried his face into Yeosang’s neck.

The smell of him was the same, the feel of him as he half-held Wooyoung up, the way he breathed so steadily, his pulse a percussive lullaby against his cheek. 

Even with the new height difference, it all felt entirely too familiar, and when he closed his eyes, it was just as it’d always been, before everything went wrong. 

Yeosang just kept patting his back to a stilted beat.

He was so clearly not at ease, trapped as he was in the embrace, but there was no denying the reciprocation with which he held Wooyoung back.

Wooyoung squeezed him tighter as he realized Yeosang was just waiting, willing to stay there until Wooyoung was ready to pull away. 

It reminded him that no matter what had happened between them, no matter how they hurt each other, and no matter how he viewed Wooyoung in the present, in his heart and above all else, Yeosang was kind, past and future. 

He breathed him in one last time before letting him go, sniffling just a little. 

Yeosang was examining him in that careful way he thought came off subtle—poring over his face in a too-casual glance. 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he said then, looking away from his face to peer around them. 

Wooyoung blinked, remembering himself. 

They were standing in what appeared to be an arena with its spacious, circular floor and tiered spectator seating. 

A shimmering haze obscured the stands from view, so Wooyoung had no way of knowing if they were truly alone or if they were being put on display.  

He didn’t have time to wonder or to try to answer Yeosang’s question, however, because the ground began to rumble and shake beneath their feet, like it was trying to throw them off-balance. 

He grabbed Yeosang’s arm, trying to keep them together and steady despite his own unstable footing.

The quaking grew stronger until they were knocked to their knees, and Wooyoung watched in glazed horror as a dusty, hulking Goliath arose from the earth, cascading sand tumbling off its body until the entire arena floor became a virtual desert. 

Its face was rough with crude, vague features, contouring severely around two dark pits for eyes that were sinister in their shadows, locked forward as if Wooyoung and Yeosang were mere specks in its peripheral vision. 

Its limbs were thick and heavy, and when the creature pushed itself up to stand at attention, the air seemed to pulse with slow, grinding power. 

Eerie and indifferent, it locked into position, setting off a shockwave of air that blasted sand into Wooyoung’s face. 

He held up his draping sleeve to shield himself and Yeosang as best he could, reflexively blinking the sand from his eyes even as he struggled to keep his balance. 

The onslaught ended, and when Wooyoung lowered his sleeve, he had to crane his neck to take in the colossus before him. 

Over twice as tall as the stands and nearly half as wide as the arena itself, the golem stood immense, towering above them in effortless intimidation. 

Wooyoung was staring up at it, wide-eyed, when he heard Yeosang muster a faint, “What the fuck is that” beside him. 

He turned, not having a clue what to say but feeling the need to explain, but again he was interrupted by the golem.

“Who challenges the Timekeeper?”

Its voice was more gravel than sound, a rattling of the very air as it spoke, slow and ancient.

Wooyoung wanted to say nothing. He wanted to turn on his heel and run as fast as he could for the exit, but he knew this was his cue to step forward and say,

“I do.”

“You do??” Yeosang hissed behind him.

“I’ll explain in a sec,” Wooyoung said out of the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the monster in front of them. 

He wasn’t entirely certain he’d be given the chance to explain anything, especially considering this Yeosang was a good five years out of the loop. 

He didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, though, as the Timekeeper accepted his response with its own, opening a fist to reveal a comparatively tiny golden hourglass. 

That’s the one the headmaster used to send us here, Wooyoung realized. 

“Your task is simple, Challenger,” the golem rumbled, “Best me in battle and claim the artifact.”

Wooyoung blinked at it, dumbfounded. 

‘Simple’ my ass??

Yeosang seemed to be in agreement, “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?” 

Wooyoung turned to him, a sudden thought flashing in his mind. 

The excitement of reuniting with the Yeosang he’d once known had been so overwhelming, he hadn’t even fully processed the new development. 

What exactly was young Yeosang doing here? Was he the real Yeosang but de-aged? Or was he just a part of the tournament—a puppet designed to distract him?

Despite the wave of doubts and all the compelling reasons not to trust the boy at his side, however, Wooyoung couldn’t find it in him to do anything but pull Yeosang in closer, protective even as he stood terrified. 

Whatever this Yeosang was, he was real enough. 

And besides, he couldn’t bear to let him go again, not after he’d gotten another taste of how things used to be.

“Would you believe me if I said this isn’t my fault?” he responded, scratching his neck with a sheepish half-laugh. 

Yeosang just leveled him with the most unimpressed of looks, and Wooyoung couldn’t fight the grin overtaking his face. 

That’s Yeosang, alright. 

And then the ground shuddered beneath them once more. 

“Let the trial commence,” the golem rumbled, and then it lunged forward, speed belying its size, boulder-sized fist aimed directly at their heads. 

Yeosang was at a loss for words, eyes moving a mile a minute as they flicked over what could not possibly be before him now— 

And yet he was. 

Smiling up at him with the kind of mischief Yeosang hadn’t shared in for years, was none other than,

“Wooyoung…What are you doing here?”

Wooyoung squinted at him like he found the question amusing. “What am I doing here? More like what’re you doing on the Quidditch pitch?”

Yeosang looked around with a start. 

Wooyoung was right; they were standing at the center of the disc-shaped pitch, spectator towers surrounding them on all sides. 

He’d been so focused on the boy in front of him that he hadn’t bothered to notice where he’d been Apparated to. 

“Oh,” he said dumbly. Subtly and to the side, he summoned electricity between his fingers and zapped himself. 

The current surged from his hip to his toes and up to the ends of his hair, and although he hid the flash of pain well, he could feel the shock of disbelief reflected on his face. 

This is real.

Wooyoung didn’t seem to notice what he’d done, but he did step forward suddenly, tsking under his breath. 

Yeosang had to force himself not to step back reflexively. 

“You have such beautiful hair, only to treat it like this,” Wooyoung said disapprovingly, reaching up to rake his fingers through the messy strands. 

Yeosang shuddered in a full-body reaction to the touch, but Wooyoung just kept combing his fingers through, focused on his task. 

There must’ve been some lingering static, because there was a little bzzt, and Wooyoung jumped, accidentally tugging on Yeosang’s hair in the process. 

Yeosang had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep quiet, and Wooyoung certainly didn’t make it any easier for him, leaning in even closer to sing, “Sparks fly…” with a teasing glint in his eyes, a breath away.

Yeosang used it as an excuse to pull away, stepping back and shaking his head in faux disappointment. 

“Is that how you flirt with girls?” he chided, but his voice was treacherously dry. 

Wooyoung smirked, reaching up on his toes to smooth out Yeosang’s hair one last time before bouncing back down. 

It was needlessly dramatic—in their current states, Yeosang was taller, but not by that much. 

“No,” he said simply. “I save it all for you.”

He blew him a kiss and a wink, and Yeosang had to fight all sorts of conflicting feelings he’d forgotten used to haunt him daily. 

Don’t let it get to you, he just thinks it’s funny, he told himself harshly. Besides, this is obviously just another part of the tournament, a trick to throw me off my game.

Wooyoung, as usual, was oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

“Actually though, did you come to watch me practice or something?”

He threw out an arm, and a broom whistled through the air, slamming into his open palm with a satisfying thwack!

Yeosang frowned at the sight.

If this Wooyoung was nothing more than a conjuring of the tournament’s design, he shouldn’t have been able to summon his broom.

His frown deepened as he considered other options.

If he was real, maybe Yeosang had been sent to the past, or maybe he was actually trapped in some kind of illusion, and he’d snap out of it moments before a fist landed in his face, or—

“Earth to Yeosa-ng,” Wooyoung lilted, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Why so serious? Aren’t you happy to spend time with your dearest, most important person?”

He batted his eyelashes, and Yeosang exhaled his worries away, surprisingly comforted.

No illusion could have captured Wooyoung’s…unique personality so precisely.

But that meant that everything about this moment was real, that somehow he really was face-to-face with a boy who belonged five years in the past. 

“Wooyoung, I—”

“Shhh,” Wooyoung murmured, pushing a finger in front of Yeosang’s lips.

The tip of it brushed his skin, the most fleeting, barest of whispers of a touch, and Yeosang was silenced.

“Whatever’s stressing you out right now can wait,” Wooyoung continued firmly. “You’re here, I’m here, and that means I get to make you have fun.”

Without waiting for a reply, Wooyoung hopped and mounted his broom, scooting forward so there was an empty space for Yeosang.

“Oh hell no,” Yeosang said, setting aside the need to tell Wooyoung what was happening. Whatever this was was far more pressing at the moment. “Absolutely not.”

Wooyoung just grinned devilishly. “Come on, just do that charm you do on our chairs and make yourself more space if you’re really that prudish.”

“That is not—” he caught himself falling for the jibe and cleared his throat, “If you think I’m getting on that stick of a deathtrap with you, you’re out of your—oof!”

Wooyoung had swept his broom to the side, knocking Yeosang’s legs out from under him and launching them into the air without wasting a second, forcing Yeosang to hold on or fall off. 

“You asshole!” Yeosang yelled into the wind, but it was lost in Wooyoung’s whoop of joy as they ascended.

Yeosang clutched Wooyoung’s lapels for dear life, arms wrapped so tightly around him he could feel his own heartbeat thundering against Wooyoung’s spine.

Even in his terror, even as he reminded himself of the thousand reasons he shouldn’t, Yeosang couldn’t help but savor the closeness, the heat between their bodies as they zipped through frosted air. 

They’d never done this before, even back when they did everything together.

Yeosang would have sooner died than agree to ride pillion on Wooyoung’s broom, especially with the way Wooyoung was blazing through complex acrobatics without any intention of slowing down.

He had to admit it was exhilarating to zip through the skies, darting in and out of the goalposts like they were in some wild midair obstacle course.

That said, his face was shoved so deeply into Wooyoung’s flapping robes that it was all he could do not to fall off mid-trick.

Perhaps that was why he failed to notice anything was wrong until it was too late.

“The fuck? What is tha—”

Wooyoung’s voice cut off in the same moment he brought his broom to a sudden, complete halt.

Yeosang nearly went flying over his head as inertia launched him forward, but Wooyoung’s body absorbed the brunt of his momentum, the broom hardly moving a foot or two as he maintained tight control.

He was quiet, and Yeosang had just enough time to feel icy tendrils of dread creep inside his gut before Wooyoung said four words, calm and plain as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Yeosang, I can’t see.”

And then Yeosang saw what Wooyoung must have witnessed moments before.

An impossibly large, scaled creature coiled and weaved through the air like the wind itself, spanning hundreds of feet from its spined head to the end of its tail, a living comet of savage majesty.

“A sky serpent,” Yeosang murmured in disbelief.

A leviathan of the heavens, the creature’s body shimmered like the surface of a storm-tossed ocean.

He’d just flicked his eyes up to the spikes at its chin, protruding like a crown of daggers and bone, when Wooyoung snapped, “Don’t look it in the eyes, you’ll go blind!”

Yeosang’s whole body froze over, and he gave himself one moment of denial before forcing his body forward, craning his neck around to look at what he was too afraid to assume.

Wooyoung’s eyes were wide open, but even as they flicked around nervously, nothing could hide their milky pupils as he stared, unseeing.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang whispered, all the thrilled adrenaline of their flight hollowing out into despair. 

“It’s alright,” Wooyoung said, quiet and contained. “Just—”

At that moment, the serpent let out a shrill, primal cry that Yeosang felt rattle in his ribcage rather than in his ears. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before—a subsonic, guttural tremor that vibrated the marrow in his bones. 

Trapped on a broom miles above ground with a pilot with no eyes, Yeosang’s body was locked in place, unable to do so much as flex a muscle.

The creature undulated in the air before them before lowering its head to address them.

Yeosang only barely remembered to keep his gaze fixed on the spikes at its chin. 

“Challenger,” it hissed. A barbed tongue flicked, as if it could taste the fear thick in the air. “I am the Keeper of the prize you seek.”

Yeosang’s stomach sank.

It can’t be…

This isn’t for the competition…is it?

Would they blind a student just for the sake of their game?

Not allowing him a moment to think, the serpent whipped its tail around so the tip was in Yeosang’s field of vision, faster than he could blink. It was curled into itself, and he realized it was holding something in its clutches. 

An…hourglass?

“Claim the artifact, and the curse of past and present will be undone. What was lost will be found, and time will restore its rightful course.”

‘What was lost’…

A flicker of hope sparked within him, “Wooyoung, your sight!”

Wooyoung turned to him but didn’t reply, thoughts swirling in those empty eyes.

Voice grave, he said finally, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Yeosang nodded.

It took him too long to remember that Wooyoung couldn’t see the gesture. 

His throat tightened hard enough to choke, but he managed a strangled, “Okay.”

Wooyoung adjusted his grip on the broom in front of him. 

“I need you to be my eyes.”

Yeosang frowned, not understanding, but Wooyoung didn’t even need to see his confusion, elaborating, “If we’re going to fight this thing, you’re going to have to guide me.”

Yeosang gaped, but Wooyoung’s jaw was clenched, his conviction clear. 

It was then that Yeosang remembered that this Wooyoung was only 17 years old.

Back when they were everything to each other, Yeosang used to tease him for being adventurous but foolish, fearless but impulsive.

But the Wooyoung of this moment was clearly not immune to fear.

His hands gripped his broom so hard the wood was beginning to splinter beneath his white knuckles. His face, always so expressive, betrayed every frayed nerve as he steeled himself for what lay ahead.

He was so afraid, and he was ready to fly blind and fight a monster to get them out alive.

It was the bravest thing Yeosang had ever seen.

“Okay,” he replied, quiet but sure. “Together?”

Wooyoung nodded, swallowing. “Together.”

And then the serpent dove, and the battle began.

Chapter Text

A hand snapped around Wooyoung’s ankle and dragged him to the side.

Less than a second later, a harpoon of rock slammed into the space his body had been lying in, stabbing at least a few feet into the dirt. 

A jagged crack faultlined out from the impact point, and Wooyoung gulped. 

“Thanks.”

Yeosang shot him a glance before he had to roll away, another harpoon slicing through the air beside them. 

“Are you going to fill me in on what the hell is happening right now, or..?”

Wooyoung grabbed him by the robes and yanked him in. 

Something smashed into the ground where he’d stood, but Wooyoung hardly noticed. 

Close like this, he could almost feel the energy thrumming beneath his skin, adrenaline rushing them both. 

“I’d be happy to, but this guy keeps third-wheeling and it’s throwing off the energy, you know?”

They ducked in unison as another projectile tried to take them out. 

“Wow,” Yeosang said, leaning to the side to dodge a boulder. “I know he’s jacked, but you’d let him get between us like this?”

He leaned the opposite direction to dodge another, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh, even as he shielded his eyes from the blast of dirt that followed. 

“The only rock-hard abs I wanna look at right now are yours, babe.”

Yeosang scoffed, but Wooyoung could see the red tint in his ears even as he ducked and weaved to keep his head attached to his body. 

It was…nice, somehow. In spite of the gargantuan stone creature trying to kill them, even. 

It’d been so long since they’d bantered like this, since they’d been so at ease with each other, since Wooyoung had been able to tease and see Yeosang blush, rather than scowl.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Wooyoung blinked and only just managed to scrape clean of the massive discus that exploded into the ground behind him.  

“Um,” he said intelligently, scanning the enemy before them for any obvious weaknesses. 

The thing truly was the most massive beast he’d ever seen. Each step it took shook the earth beneath them, and he knew if it managed to strike them just once, they’d be done for. 

Armor of packed dirt covered the golem from head to toe, and all of its vital points were protected. 

“Nothing’s jumping out at me but wearing it down? Maybe he’s got a stone heart in there we can stab somehow.”

Yeosang looked at him incredulously. “You picked a fight with this thing and don’t have the slightest clue how to defeat it?”

Wooyoung pouted. “It’s a bit more complicated than that…”

They threw themselves backwards just in time to avoid being cratered. 

“Okay, time’s up. We either need to try something now or let ourselves be killed.” 

“Yeosang!” Wooyoung cried out, but the boy was already on the move. 

Darting side to side as he made for the golem, he kept his path unpredictable. Even still, there were several close calls as he grew closer and closer. 

One would have crushed him, had Wooyoung not flung out a protection spell just in time. 

Meanwhile, the giant just kept launching weapon after weapon, tireless. 

“Levitas Focalis!”

A blast from Yeosang’s wand hit the golem’s throwing arm, and its next boulder flung wide. 

The giant examined its arm, looking as puzzled as a crudely carved face could look. It tried to launch another projectile, but the arm just spun wildly in its shoulder joint. 

“Brilliant!” Wooyoung exclaimed, feeling a lot better about Yeosang closing distance now that its main attack strategy was disabled. 

Then he watched in horror as the golem chose a new strategy. 

It wrenched its useless arm from its socket and swung it like a mace in a swift, devastating stroke. 

Straight at Yeosang. 

Wooyoung cried out, thrusting out his wand and only just managing a, “Transitus Momentari!” before the massive stone column slammed into Yeosang’s body. 

Or at least, it would’ve, if the arm hadn’t phased out of existence for the split second of impact.

Even still, Wooyoung watched with bated breath until Yeosang lowered his arms from where he’d instinctively thrown them up in defense. 

“Nice save!”

Wooyoung nearly crumpled in relief. 

Way to take several years off my lifespan, Sang. 

Taking advantage of the giant’s swinging momentum, Yeosang didn’t waste a second before jabbing his wand into the air and casting, “Lutum Petrae!”

Another blast hit the golem’s other shoulder joint, but this time, Wooyoung watched as the fulcrum morphed from solid rock to oozing mud. 

Just like that, the golem’s remaining arm was a victim of its own inertia, flying off and blasting a twenty-meter hole into the upper walls of the arena. 

“Yeosang, now!” Wooyoung called, anxious as the golem analyzed its new armless condition. 

It’d adjusted all too quickly before, and he didn’t want to give it another chance to do the same. 

Yeosang took off running, and Wooyoung did his best to ease his way. 

“Axis Inclinare!”

The giant’s center of gravity was thrown to the left, and Yeosang seized the moment and used a reinforced leap to land on its lowered shoulder. 

“Bombarda!”

“Reducto!”

“Expulso!”

Blast after blast detonated against the golem’s head, shrapnel and debris sent flying like earthen fireworks. 

Wooyoung sent off a shielding spell to protect Yeosang from the spray.

He was already running back to meet Wooyoung, likely trying to get clear in case the giant toppled over. 

He reached him just as the dust settled. 

Head and arm-less, the stone colossus had fallen to its knees, torso severely chipped away, its own battered body parts lying in ruin around it. 

Yeosang was bent over, catching his breath, and Wooyoung took the opportunity to smack him upside the head. 

“The hell, Wooyoung? What was that for?”

Wooyoung barked a humorless laugh, “What was that for?? I don’t know, how about when you ran straight for a seemingly invulnerable behemoth of a creature and attacked it alone??”

His pulse still skittered beneath his skin even with the adrenaline draining away, and he felt himself getting worked up. 

“What were you thinking? I thought you Ravenclaw were supposed to be strategists, not reckless, brainless, self-sacrificing idiots.”

Yeosang caught his hands against his chest and held them there, and Wooyoung realized he’d been battering his fists against him with each word. 

The terror began to leave him, and he slumped, dropping his head against Yeosang’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. 

“What if something had happened to you? It would’ve been all my fault.”

A tentative hand released his own and wrapped around his back, pressing him in until they were locked in a clumsy embrace. 

“As if you’d let something happen to me.”

Wooyoung scoffed, the sound of it wet and muffled against Yeosang’s neck. 

“I almost did! You went in alone, and I almost didn’t cast that shield spell in time—”

“I didn’t go in alone.”

Wooyoung ground his nose into Yeosang’s dirt-encrusted robes, wiping his snot all over them in retribution. “Don’t give me that, Yeosang.”

“I didn’t, though.” Yeosang pulled away and held him by the shoulders. “You had my back.”

Wooyoung glared weakly at him. “You didn’t know that. I didn’t even really know that.”

Yeosang shook his head. “Yes, I did. Just like you know I would’ve had your back if you’d gone in first. That’s who we are, have you forgotten?”

He said it like he was teasing, but the words cleaved Wooyoung in two. 

“We, I…”

Wooyoung felt a traitorous itch begin to rise in his throat, and he stepped back, rubbing at his face furiously. 

“At least give a guy a warning next time. I swear I’ve aged ten years in the past ten minutes.”

Yeosang let him go, but looked him up and down, assessing. “Maybe not ten years, but you really do look different. What happened to ‘Asian don’t Raisin’?”

Wooyoung gasped and shoved at him, “Don’t even joke about that! I find one silver hair and you just can’t let it go!”

Yeosang stumbled backwards, snickering. “Hey, be gentle, I did just slay a giant, after all.”

“We slayed a giant,” Wooyoung corrected. 

Yeosang just smirked at him in reply, and Wooyoung realized he’d been played.  

“Okay, whatever, I guess I did have your back.”

He turned to face the golem they’d defeated. 

“How did you know that would work, though? With the joints and everything?”

“I didn’t.”

Wooyoung smacked him on the arm. “Be serious.”

“I am serious!” Yeosang defended. “I had to think fast, and the only chinks in that thing’s armor were the literal chinks in its armor. We just got lucky that it seemed to want us to win.”

Wooyoung looked at him with real disbelief this time. “What do you mean, wanted us to win? It almost killed you like ten times! Nearly killed me too.”

Yeosang cocked his head, his gaze on the guardian. “I don’t know. I have a feeling that if it really wanted to kill us, we wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.”

They fell silent, surrounded by sand and wrecked stone in the massive arena. 

“Well,” Wooyoung said after a while. “Remind me to never get on your bad side. You blasted the shit outta that guy’s face.”

Yeosang laughed and shook the dust out of his hair. “As if. If you’re ever at the other end of my wand, I’d just let you take me out.”

Wooyoung’s smile fell. 

That was…too close to home, what with recent events. 

He remembered, again, that the Yeosang he was with now wasn’t his. 

Wasn’t Present Yeosang, that is.  

“Would you really?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

Even if this wasn’t the real Yeosang, he was him in all the ways that mattered. 

Maybe this one could give him the answers he was so desperate for. 

Straightening at the somber tone, Yeosang frowned at him. “Um, it’s not like we’d ever get to that point, but…yeah. I would.”

Wooyoung had never felt smaller in his entire life. “But…why?”

Yeosang’s frown deepened, and Wooyoung pressed on, “I mean, what if defeating me would win you something you wanted more than anything, and I was seriously going after you?”

Surely he couldn’t still—

“I would. There’d be no point.”

A wounded noise escaped Wooyoung’s throat, and he ran his hands through his hair, yanking at it in frustration. “Yes, there would be! There would be. You’d have everything you ever wanted! You can’t just lie down and let me take that from you!”

Yeosang, looking at him like he’d figured something out, opened his mouth to respond, but just as he did, a rumbling shook the arena. 

“Challenger.”

Goddammit, not now.

Wooyoung kept his eyes on Yeosang, pleading, but his friend turned away from him, attention locked back on the guardian. 

Reluctantly, Wooyoung turned to do the same. 

“You have bested me and proven yourself. Claim your spoils.”

The voice had been disembodied, seeing as it had no head to host it, but before their eyes, the shattered rock that’d been scattered throughout the arena began to glow and gravitate towards the golem’s body. 

In moments, the colossus was as good as new. 

I guess Yeosang was right, he realized, unsettled. It was just playing with us. 

“The curse of past and present will now be undone.”

Wooyoung squinted at it, confused, as it opened its regenerated hand to reveal that golden hourglass. 

It turned it over, and it took him too long to understand what that meant. 

“Wooyoung, what’s happening to me?”

He whipped his head to look at his best friend in horror.

Yeosang’s hands were disintegrating before their eyes. 

Wooyoung felt himself fall to his knees, following after Yeosang as he collapsed. 

 “No, no no no, this isn’t supposed to…No! Yeosang, please. Please don’t do this to me, I just got you back. I just…”

He choked on the words, unwilling to accept reality even as he shook Yeosang’s increasingly vacant robes. 

“You can’t do this to me. I…I won’t let you. You said it yourself, I won’t let anything happen to you. No takebacks. I can’t, I can’t—”

“Shhh.”

Yeosang didn’t look nearly panicked enough as his body turned to dust. “It’s…okay. For some reason, I have a feeling that…everything will be alright.”

Wooyoung shook his head, grabbing at him wherever he still could. 

It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair.

Yeosang’s arms crumbled and were blown away with the wind.

Wooyoung could feel them slip through his fingers. 

“I don’t want to do this without you, anymore,” Wooyoung blurted, a cold inevitability freezing over his lungs. “I’ve done it for so long, and I’m just so…so tired. Please don’t…please don’t leave me alone again.”

Somehow, Yeosang seemed to understand, even though he couldn’t possibly, not as his seventeen-year-old self. 

“I wasn’t alone when I went for the giant, remember? Neither will you be when you go for the next one.”

Wooyoung shook him by the shoulders just before they disappeared. “But that’s this you. You won’t say the same in five years.”

Yeosang only smiled at him, and Wooyoung was just so achingly sad.

“It doesn’t matter. If you needed me, there’s nothing in this world that could keep me from you.”

Wooyoung was full-on sobbing now, and it was all he could do to choke out a wet, “What if I’m what’s keeping you from me?”

Yeosang’s face was the last to dissolve away, but he left him with one last gentle murmur:

“Then it’s up to you to let me come back.”

And then Wooyoung was by himself, kneeling in what was left of the person he couldn’t live without. 

Something crackled and lifted over the arena, and he realized distantly that he’d somehow been transported to the Quidditch Pitch, and that the crowd was going wild. 

Someone was saying something, but he didn’t hear it, too numb to even wipe the tears from his face. 

He’d been found, but now he was lost again.

He’d never felt so alone. 

“Down, Wooyoung, down!”

The broom plummeted at his command, and Yeosang swore he could feel his stomach in his throat. 

“This isn’t working!”

Wooyoung was a brilliant flyer, but even he could only do so much without his sight. 

The sky serpent was right on their tail, its jagged scales even shaving off some of the bristles of their broom before Wooyoung redirected them. 

The beast was in its element in the air, its movements too unpredictable for Yeosang to detect any sort of pattern. 

He had to keep his vision trained on the flash of gold at its tail to ensure he wouldn’t end up as blind as the boy in front of him, who was currently engaging in a complicated set of aerial maneuvers, trying to buy Yeosang time.

“It has to work,” Wooyoung called back, throwing them up into a steep vertical climb before dropping them down, just as quickly.

Yeosang felt like he was going to throw up, and he could feel his face being sliced open by dozens of micro cuts from the wind. 

Above all physical sensation, though, his mind was scrambling to come up with a new plan. 

“Okay, sky serpents. What do we know about them? Think, think.”

Not much was recorded about the beasts; they were reclusive and difficult to observe by nature. All Hogwarts taught on them was that if encountered, one was to retreat at any cost. 

Not entirely helpful in the scenario they’d found themselves in. 

“They can’t be too different from snakes, right?” Wooyoung yelled, wind whipping around them. 

Yeosang nodded thoughtfully. “It’s probably cold-blooded, and its skeletal structure is nearly identical, only the bones are…”

He jolted, nearly throwing them off-course. 

“Wooyoung, is the wind always this strong when you fly at this height? Up! Up and back, now!”

Wooyoung jerked the broom up into an impromptu backflip, narrowly avoiding the snapping bite of the serpent’s fanged maw. 

“No,” he called out, once they’d returned right-side-up. “I’ve never felt it this forceful.”

A semblance of an idea was beginning to form in Yeosang’s head. 

“Is it possible to do an upward spiral? One that’s loose at first and gradually tightens?”

“Going up? That’s way harder than going down, I’d need maximum lift, and we’d be fighting gravity the whole time—”

“Right! Wooyoung, go right!”

The serpent’s tail whipped so close to them that Yeosang’s head was cracked forward by the force of the displaced air, smacking into Wooyoung’s back and throwing them off-balance. 

Dazed and knocked woozy, Yeosang only barely managed to shake the fog from his head in time to shout out directions before the beast returned for its follow-up attack. 

“Left! Up and diagonal to the right, now down, no, less down, go up, go up!”

Wooyoung regained control after a breathless, terrifying moment, and Yeosang could feel both their hearts jackrabbiting in their chests with how they were pressed together. 

“Anyway,” Wooyoung continued, voice considerably shakier, “As I go up, in order to get that tight of a turning radius, I’d also need to counter centrifugal force, and even if we were weightless, it’d be pushing it—” 

“What if our weight was halved?” Yeosang cut in. 

Wooyoung snapped his head around, squinting at him with sightless eyes. “Why would our weight be halved?”

“Plunge, plunge! Okay, now straight ahead, fast as you can!”

Once they’d built a bit of a buffer, Yeosang pressed on, “Never mind why, would that make the difference?”

The serpent dove at them again, and Yeosang had to guide Wooyoung out of the way once more before he could get an answer. 

“Yes, it would, but Yeosang, don’t even think about doing some dumbfuck move like—”

“When I give the signal, I need you to plunge for ten seconds, and then immediately start spiraling upwards, loose at first, and then as tight as you can. This is important, Wooyoung, loose and then tight, no matter what, okay?”

“Yeosang, I’m serious, if you do something stupid, I—”

“Promise me, Wooyoung! No matter what you hear or feel, you'll go loose and then tight.”

“Okay, okay! I promise!”

The serpent was heading straight for them now, and Yeosang had only a few seconds to pray his plan would work before he was yelling, “Now!”

Wooyoung dropped them into a plunge, and Yeosang didn’t waste another second. 

A guttural cry was torn from his lungs as he let go of Wooyoung’s waist, and his body was ripped from the broom. 

The chaotic clash of converging winds flung him in all directions, one after the other, before he finally escaped their grip and tumbled downwards in pure freefall. 

Tears and what was likely bile and spittle alike were smeared across his face, and Yeosang could hardly breathe with the combined altitude and blows to his lungs. 

But he’d somewhat regained spatial awareness, and that was all he needed. 

Below, Wooyoung had just begun his upward spiral, the serpent nearly nipping at his heels, half a breath away from striking him down. 

Then Wooyoung began to pick up speed, his lift bolstered by the loss of Yeosang’s weight, and the hunt turned into more of a chase. 

As the serpent whipped through the air, the force of its tail commanded the currents to follow in its wake, and a near-visible swirled pattern was beginning to emerge. 

Yeosang smirked, even as he hurtled down towards an unforgiving death. 

So it is making that wind. 

He’d been hopeful when he was nearly disemboweled from the residual currents moments earlier, but now his hypothesis was proven. 

Fortunately for him. Had he been wrong, his death would have been certain, and Wooyoung’s likely. 

But he was right, and now he knew his plan would work. 

All he had to do was time things just…right…

Just as Wooyoung started on the tightest part of his upward spiral, the serpent unhinged its jaw, opening wide enough to swallow him whole. 

Yeosang didn’t let it. 

He grabbed his wand and cast,

“Inversus!”

The serpent only managed to get a mouthful of broom bristles before it was being yanked back, the winds at its back suddenly changing direction. 

Wooyoung had led it into creating an upside-down cone-shaped vortex, and now that Yeosang had inverted it, the monster was being sucked into a whirlpool of its own air currents. 

He had mere seconds to spare, now. The creature would stabilize itself soon enough.

Yeosang was determined to keep that from happening. 

“Structura Vincire!”

He felt his body almost lock into place as the structural integrity of his musculoskeletal system was reinforced. 

Hardly waiting for it to finish taking effect, he cast his follow-up spell almost as soon as he’d finished the first. 

“Densitas Vicaria!”

Instantly, he felt a surreal sense of weightlessness within him as his bones hollowed out beneath his skin. 

And then what had been a plunging descent was now a drifting, almost breezy glide downwards. 

He was still falling with enough speed to kill him should he strike the ground, but he’d bought himself time. 

More importantly, he’d saved Wooyoung. 

Yeosang felt a fierce satisfaction rush his system as he waited for the counterpart of his spell to take hold. 

Sky serpents, by design, were aerodynamic, able to soar due to the hollow bones that provided the oxygen necessary to maintain flight. 

But should the density of its bones be replaced with that of a human’s…

Yeosang watched as the serpent dropped like a stone, flailing as it was swept into the downward spiral they’d trapped it in. 

Gift of flight stripped, the leviathan had no choice but to obey the will of the maelstrom as it built up speed, centripetal force, gravity, and opposing pressures combining until the serpent was hurled towards the earth like a missile. 

Yeosang had thought the creature to be a living comet when he’d first beheld it. 

With a resounding boom, the comet became a meteorite and struck the ground with enough force to blast a crater into the center of the Quidditch Pitch. 

It was over. 

“Yeosang?! Please, please answer me!!”

Oh, yeah, Yeosang remembered. I’m still falling. 

His descent had been significantly slowed by the new nature of his bones, but he was still in an uncontrolled nosedive, and the time he had to remedy that was rapidly diminishing. 

“Wooyoung, I’m here!” 

Responding to his call, Wooyoung came streaking towards him at full tilt, robes flapping wildly behind him. 

As he approached, time almost seemed to slow, and Yeosang couldn’t help but admire the sight before him. 

Wooyoung’s face, so young and open in this version, was scrunched with simultaneous terror and determination as he dove to save him. 

His eyes were milky and unseeing, and yet, they seemed locked onto Yeosang’s, as if he had an internal compass guiding them back together. 

And those were definite tears streaking across his face and into the sky as his momentum ripped them off his skin. 

Tears on his behalf. 

Selfishly, Yeosang knew that if the last thing he saw in this life had to be this, he would die with no complaints. 

And then time returned to normal speed, and Wooyoung was screaming, “Yeosang, you have to tell me where you are, I don’t, I don’t know where you are!”

Yeosang shook himself. He didn’t want to die, but above that, he couldn’t leave Wooyoung thinking it was his fault. Whatever he may be, illusion, puppet, or dream, he was still Wooyoung. He could never hurt him like that. 

“Here! I’m right here, to your left a bit more! Keep coming down, I’m a few more meters below you!”

He glanced behind him and gasped, the very hard earth rushing up to meet him, closer with each passing second. 

“Hurry! I’m here!”

He’d just fallen past the bottom of the circular Quidditch goalposts when an arm slammed across his torso, and he was yanked into the clutches of a warm, windswept body. 

Something cracked in his chest, and the breath was thoroughly knocked from his lungs, but all he could feel was sweet, hot relief. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, Yeosang.”

Wooyoung was nearly blubbering, he was crying so hard, and Yeosang remembered with a pang that this Wooyoung was only seventeen. 

“Never fucking do that again, do you hear me? I had a goddamn heart attack and I knew what you were going to do, too.”

At Yeosang’s gentle direction, he brought them to a slow, gradual descent and a somewhat clumsy dismount.  

“I can’t believe I let you go through with that bullshit, imbecilic plan, you reckless bastard!” Wooyoung swung a fist as if trying to hit his shoulder, but the blow landed right at the center of Yeosang’s ribcage, and he gasped, indescribable agony ripping through his chest and reverberating within his fragile bones. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, what did I do, Yeosang, are you okay? Talk to me, fuck!”

Yeosang held back his groan as best he could, placing a stabilizing hand on Wooyoung’s arm. 

“I’m—eughh, I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t fucking sound like you’re okay!” Wooyoung shot back, his body trembling with either fear or rage, Yeosang couldn’t tell. 

“Just, ahh, just help me sit down for a second.”

With Wooyoung’s frantic assistance, he settled on the grass and took a shaky inhale to assess the damage. 

I probably broke a few ribs when Wooyoung caught me, he concluded. Couldn’t be helped, my bones may as well be made of porcelain right now.

He looked Wooyoung up and down. He didn’t seem to have any injuries besides minor scrapes and scratches from near-misses with the leviathan, but it never hurt to double-check. 

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked, grabbing hold of Wooyoung’s hand to keep him tethered. His eyes were flicking back and forth futilely, clearly frustrated with his lack of vision. 

“Am I okay? Am I okay,” Wooyoung replied with an insane laugh. “No, I am not okay, my best friend just took a suicide dive off my broom five kilometers from the ground, and I almost didn’t catch him before he crashed because I can’t fucking see.”

His chest heaved, and Yeosang was suddenly feeling very, very sorry. 

“You almost died, Yeosang,” he finished, quiet. “You almost died right in front of me, and I wouldn’t have even known it because I can’t. See.”

Yeosang ignored the way his ribs screamed as he leaned forward and pulled his friend into as tight an embrace as he could handle. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, the sound of it pathetic, even to him. “I’m really sorry, Wooyoung.”

He ran his hand up Wooyoung’s back and through his sweaty black hair, and just held him as he cried. 

They sat there until Wooyoung stilled, pulling back but keeping their hands intertwined. 

“I’m still so pissed at you, but…that was a cool fucking plan.”

Yeosang laughed and instantly regretted it, feeling the vibrations rattle what had to be every bone in his body. 

“Hold on,” he said. “Finis Incantatem.”

With that, the spell over his bones fell away, and Yeosang no longer felt quite so tender. 

“What did you even do after you jumped, anyway? I’m almost more pissed because I didn’t get to see it.”

Yeosang leaned into his side and let him take on some of his weight. 

“I just waited until you finished the spiral, and then I inverted the vortex and swapped my bone density with the serpent’s.”

Wooyoung had been absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand with his fingertips, but they halted at that. “What? What vortex? And why the hell do you even know a spell like that?”

Yeosang cleared his throat. “Um, well I had this theory that the serpent was creating its own air currents, and that’s why the wind was so strong up there. So when it chased after you, it ended up generating its own midair whirlpool. After that, it was all just physics.”

But Wooyoung didn’t let him off that easily. “And you know a spell to trade bone density because..?”

“Well,” Yeosang said hesitantly. “Technically, I don’t.”

“Elaborate.”

Wincing at his tone, Yeosang continued, resigned. “Remember when I first got into drones?”

“You mean a few months ago?”

Yeosang blinked. He’d forgotten that something from five years ago would be yesterday’s news for this Wooyoung. 

“Yeah, back then. Well, do you also remember how I snuck into that construction site so I could see how they used them?”

“Yeosang…please tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”

“In my defense, there were a lot of good, practical spells I learned that day! And if I hadn't learned this one or the other one I used, the plan wouldn’t have worked, so.”

“What other spell?”

“Um.”

“Yeosang.”

“Well the spell I had to use was one to swap the density of two objects. The workers used that one all the time to transport things.”

“The objects in question being your bones?”

“And the sky serpent’s, yes. I had to take away its ability to fly somehow, and it worked out because then my fall was also slowed. But I didn’t know what suddenly having avian bones would do to my body, so I reinforced it first.”

“And you used a medical-grade spell to do so, yes? Please say yes.”

“…”

“Hell, Yeosang.”

“If it could strengthen scaffolding and keep bridges up, it could definitely keep my body from collapsing in on itself. I made an educated guess.”

Wooyoung buried his head in his hands. 

“I know you’re like, our generation’s most brilliant wizard, or whatever, but god, sometimes you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

Yeosang couldn’t help but pout, just a little, at that. “The plan worked, didn’t it?”

Wooyoung muttered something indecipherable and then just nodded. “Yes, yes it did.”

Under his breath, he added, “So annoying that it did. Can’t keep getting away with this…”

Yeosang’s lips twitched into a smirk that he quickly stifled before Wooyoung could catch it. 

And then he remembered that he couldn’t, his gaze still vacant with the sky serpent’s curse. 

“C’mon, let’s go take that hourglass and get your eyes back.”

With a groaning exhale, he stood, offering a hand to Wooyoung. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung said, relief stark in the word even as he tried to hide it. 

Yeosang took a second to imagine what the fight must’ve been like for his best friend.

To fly completely blind, evading a giant monster purely by instinct and subpar verbal instruction, when a split-second delay could cost them both their lives. 

He tried to imagine if Wooyoung had been the one who’d launched himself off the broom, if Yeosang had had to try and save him while having absolutely no idea where or how to find him. 

Calling his name and praying he’d call back, because if he didn’t, that meant…

“Wooyoung,” he said, something unbearable burrowing its way into his stomach. 

“Yeah?” Wooyoung replied, supporting Yeosang’s weight while also accepting his guidance as they staggered towards the body of the beast. 

“You are the bravest person I know and it’s not even close.”

Wooyoung flushed a pleasant shade of pink, and even through the dirt and blood and tear tracks, he was the most beautiful thing Yeosang had ever seen. 

“Well, yes,” he said, pulling himself up to full height. “I’m glad you’re finally realizing. Feel free to tell me so til we’re old and grey.”

Yeosang’s responding smile was bittersweet. 

“I will.”

This Wooyoung hadn’t turned on him, not yet. Hadn’t seen all the reasons to leave and decided to finally do just that. 

Yeosang hadn’t made this Wooyoung hate him yet. 

Pathetically, he couldn’t help but hold his hand a little tighter, lean into him a little heavier. 

Once this was over, he’d never feel this closeness again. 

It made him hesitate as they closed in on the innocuous golden hourglass that’d started it all. 

“Wait.”

Wooyoung stopped and turned to look at where he thought his face was. 

He was a bit off, but with that expression, he might as well have gored Yeosang where he stood. 

That face…

Wooyoung had always been the bright, warm one. Had always been the one people couldn’t help but smile around, the one they couldn’t help but love.  

But now, as he gazed at Yeosang with the purest, most trusting, most painful openness, all Yeosang wanted to do was cry. 

“Never mind,” he said, voice thick. 

How could he be selfish and prolong this moment when Wooyoung was relying on him, was waiting so patiently to see again?

Decision made and heart heavy, he reached out and picked up the hourglass from where it sat, curled in the barbed tail of the monster they’d slain. 

Examining it in his hand, he flipped it over to see if there were any inscriptions, and then a wave of something pulsed out of the artifact. 

It passed through his body, and there was the bizarre feeling of his bones melding back together as they were healed. 

He looked up eagerly, “Wooyoung, can you—”

And then his stomach dropped, because Wooyoung was gone. 

“Wooyoung?” He whipped his head from side to side, hoping against hope that he’d just slipped away when he was busy studying the hourglass. 

And then the noise slammed against his senses like a physical wall. 

Suddenly, the empty stands were full of screaming students, and someone was announcing from a loudspeaker like they were at a sporting event. 

Yeosang clapped his hands over his ears and stumbled away, ignoring it in favor of searching, and calling out,

“Wooyoung!”

He had to be there, somewhere. He couldn’t have disappeared without Yeosang knowing…he couldn’t have. 

And then he saw him.

All he could see was his back as he half-knelt, half-clutched at the ground beneath him. 

“Wooyoung!”

He nearly slid in his eagerness to be at his side, to hold his face in both hands and look into his eyes—

Eyes that were dark, and seeing once more. 

“Oh, thank god,” Yeosang murmured, pressing their foreheads together. 

He laughed in dazed relief. 

A set of almost hesitant hands reached up and clutched at his robes, and when Yeosang pulled away to look at Wooyoung, his breath caught. 

Those brown eyes were welling with tears, and from the dampness of his face, they’d been doing so for a while. 

“Yeosang…”

And then he was yanked forward and into a crushing embrace, those hesitant hands clawing at his back as if trying to pull him even closer. 

Caught off guard, it took Yeosang a second to bring his arms up and around his friend to return the hug. 

Wooyoung was shaking against him, and Yeosang rubbed his back, tucking his chin in its slot between his shoulder and neck.

They sat there in the grass, limbs entangled, and then Wooyoung was pulling away, too soon. 

“Sorry,” he said, for some reason. “I just…”

He trailed off, and Yeosang smiled fondly. 

He flicked his forehead, and Wooyoung yelped, finally meeting his gaze, looking wronged. 

Then something clicked. 

Puffy as his eyes were, Wooyoung’s cheeks weren’t quite as rounded as they had been, and his jaw was sharper, had felt stronger beneath his fingers moments earlier, as well. 

Yeosang stumbled back, falling onto his butt as he pushed himself away. 

Wooyoung reached out as if by instinct, but retracted his hand after a moment, looking conflicted. 

“Oh…” Yeosang said dumbly. “I thought you were…”

Wooyoung frowned at him, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, a booming voice echoed through the stadium. 

“What a show, what a show!”

Headmaster Park had taken the stand, decked out in bedazzled black robes. 

“This first Challenge tested your ability to face a piece of the past that has been holding you back in the present.”

Yeosang was suddenly very aware of the boy beside him, and had to consciously keep his eyes on the announcing booth. 

Headmaster Park lifted a hand and revealed the golden hourglass levitating above his palm. 

“Those of you who were unable to use the Cromer and end the trial have, unfortunately, been eliminated. But to those of you who succeeded…”

He thrust a hand to the sky, and a long list of names appeared, sparkling in an iridescent purple. 

“Take note of the wizards and witches remaining. In order to compete in the upcoming Challenges, you must ally yourself with another. After all…” he pulled his face into a grand expression, putting on a profound tone, “Teamwork, makes the dream work.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the stadium at that, but Headmaster Park acted as if he didn’t hear it. 

“The next event will take place this Saturday, following lunch. Take care to make the necessary preparations. I offer no clues but one: Surrender all choice and let be what may. The shifting spine will guide the way.”

Sweeping his arm dramatically, Headmaster Park DisApparated, leaving the stadium full of students and a curious rumbling at what his words could entail. 

Yeosang just sat where he was, half-sprawled in the dirt. 

His wounds had been healed, but the emotional toil had taken its toll. 

He’d never felt more exhausted. 

Deciding swiftly that the Headmaster’s vague clue could wait until he’d slept, Yeosang dragged himself to his feet. 

Wooyoung stared up at him, that plaintive shadow still darkening his face. 

Yeosang hesitated, but held out a hand. 

Wooyoung had pulled him in earlier, rather than push away, as was their habit. If he was willing to extend civility, so was Yeosang. 

Something twinged in his chest at that. Having his Wooyoung back—even for just that fleeting hour—had weakened him, had made the parts of him he’d hardened soft and vulnerable again.

He stood there, solemn, with his hand extended, when all he wanted to do was fall to his knees and into his arms once more. 

He wanted to hold him tight, as tight as it took to keep him from leaving again.

He wanted to tell him that he no longer wanted to be at a distance, to be at odds. 

He wanted things to be what they were, before everything went wrong. 

He wanted, and wanted, and wanted, and yet he couldn’t have any of it. 

His chest may as well have remained broken for how his heart ached. 

Wooyoung was still just staring at him, something helpless in his eyes now as he searched him. 

“Yeosang, I…”

Yeosang was suddenly terrified of what he had to say. 

He held so much power over him in that moment, despite being the one crumpled on the floor. 

Yeosang awkwardly retracted the hand he’d been holding out, tapping his fingers against his sides as he debated whether or not he’d be able to outrun whatever was about to come out of Wooyoung’s mouth.  

Wooyoung frowned at him, pulling himself up to stand. 

He’s fast on his feet, Yeosang thought, calculating. My odds just went down significantly. 

“Don’t run away from me,” was what came out of Wooyoung’s mouth at last. 

Yeosang froze, taken aback. 

“You think I don’t know you?” Wooyoung continued in a whisper, face scrunched like it used to do when he was hurt. “You think I don’t know exactly what you want to do right now?”

Yeosang didn’t know what to say. 

It didn’t matter, Wooyoung continued on, expression morphing into disbelief. 

“As if I haven’t watched you do it every single time I’ve tried to talk to you, to make things right?”

Yeosang went to deny it, but Wooyoung shook his head, and something in his face made Yeosang fall silent. 

“Sure, I fucked it up each time—and I’ve actually really wanted to apologize to you for that, by the way, because I really just keep putting my foot in my mouth and I’m so sorry, I’ve been so sorry, but…where was I? Oh, right. I may have made a mess of it, but at least I tried, Yeosang. You just kept…kept running away. You’ve walked away from me so many times, and I—”

His voice broke, and he gasped, pushing a hand against his chest like it could possibly be hurting as much as Yeosang’s. 

“Wooyoung—”

“Please,” Wooyoung said, sounding so small. “Please don’t walk away from me again.”

A silence stretched between them as Yeosang opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. 

“I don’t,” he said weakly, clearing his throat, “I don’t understand what’s different this time.”

He and Wooyoung had done this already. Had done it so many times now that it almost felt like they’d built a routine around it. 

What had changed between now and the last time they’d gone through these motions?

Wooyoung made a noise in his throat that must’ve been involuntary. “I guess nothing, for you.”

Yeosang winced. 

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Wooyoung had no way of knowing it. 

“You have no real reason to change your mind now,” Wooyoung said, carefully, “And I don’t know what happened to you back there with all the time travel, past and present bullshit, whatever.”

He took a steadying inhale through his nose. “But I’m willing to work together if you are.”

Whatever Yeosang had prepared himself to hear, it wasn’t that. 

“Work…together?”

“For the competition,” Wooyoung clarified. “We have to partner up for the next challenges.”

His eyes flicked to the side, like he was catching himself. “But even if we didn’t have to…”

When his gaze next met Yeosang’s, it was determined, almost similar to how he’d looked when facing the serpent earlier. 

“Even if we didn’t have to, I’d want to tell you so. I know we’ve been avoiding each other because it hurts, and because there’s so much…history, here, but, I mean.”

He threw his hands up, “Does what we’re doing now really hurt that much less?”

He peered up at Yeosang, clearly waiting for an answer, but Yeosang didn’t know if he had one. 

To a certain extent, Wooyoung was right. It only made sense. 

But whenever he had to recall what’d happened between them, whenever the feelings that’d lain not-quite-dormant within him for years resurfaced only to be struck down once more…

It truly was the worst pain he knew, and he’d just shattered his ribcage. 

“I…” he managed, throat dry. “I’m not sure.”

Wooyoung’s expression shuttered, and he nodded, shuffling his feet.  

“Right. Sorry, I guess I’ve never known when to quit—”

 “I’m willing to try, though,” Yeosang said helplessly. Young Wooyoung’s open laugh echoed in his mind, that bright, free, full-toothed grin all he could see. 

He knew he was being cruel to himself by letting the words spill out, but he was unable to stop them. 

“If you are, I’m willing to try.”

The way Wooyoung lit up was enough to banish his concerns. 

He didn’t know why Wooyoung was suddenly so eager to put the past behind them, but Yeosang had never really been able to refuse him anything. 

Reuniting with his Wooyoung had only exacerbated that fact. 

“Really?? You really…you mean it?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang said, a hesitant smile twitching on his lips even as he tried to smother it, feeling inexplicably shy. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Wooyoung’s laugh in reply was abrupt, sharp, like it’d tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

It was different from his past version’s—a slight shadow cast over what used to be pure light—but it didn’t matter, especially when it broke into a wide, dimpling smile, the same one that only happened when Wooyoung was unstiflingly happy, past and apparently present.

Yeosang felt like a blind man who couldn’t help but keep staring at the sun. 

He knew he shouldn’t, knew it wasn’t good for him, knew it’d only make things worse in the end, and yet…

There was never another option, not for him. 

“Well,” Wooyoung said, and dammit, he was just so obviously delighted, “I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped.”

Yeosang could only nod, fatigue weighing thick on his eyelids, and still he kept his eyes open, kept staring for as long as he’d be allowed to. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung said, still looking at him like that, before ducking his head to hide his grin. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“See you tomorrow,” Yeosang said, the words coming out husky. 

He was just glad they came out at all. 

“Okay…bye,” Wooyoung squeaked, and promptly booked it off the pitch. 

Yeosang didn’t know how long he stayed frozen in place, wondering how he’d ended up here, and what the hell he’d just agreed to.