Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“In a blush, love finds a barrier.”
— Virgil, Appendix Vergiliana. Ciris

Hanbin

Love is always, unconsciously, at the back of Hanbin’s mind. And when he does turn his thoughts to the daunting four-letter word, Hanbin finds that he can attribute many of his strengths to it — and many of his follies, too. It’s why, he thinks, he landed in his current House, known for being kind and caring even if he doesn’t truly think that’s the real reason.

Hanbin had known before even stepping off the train what House he wanted. He remembers the low, raspy voice of the sorting hat in his ear, cajoling him to reconsider; it was probably his determination that had made him such a fitting candidate for Gryffindor. Alas, the hat had deferred to him.

But Hanbin never wastes more than a fleeting thought over his sorting. He’d wanted his mothers house, no matter what, and he’d like to think he’s gained the respect and friendship of his peers over the years to truly make Hufflepuff feel like home. So he’s never regretted his choice — out of love — not even when his Common Room by the kitchens places him at the furthest point possible in the castle to his Advanced Defense the Dark Arts class, which he is, unfortunately, going to be late for this morning.

The quickest way to the tower is up the Hufflepuff shortcut that will set him out by the marbled bust of Phillipus von Hohenheim, through the Gryffindor hallway, and then it’s just two corridors and a very long climb of stairs up to the classroom. Hanbin has the exact route charted in his head, legs taking long strides through the corridor as he dodges a group of chattering second-years.

The hallways are crowded at this time in the morning. No one has classes yet except for those in Advanced lessons. But it is, unfortunately, the perfect time for everyone to be scrambling out of their Common Rooms and ambling their way toward the Great Hall for a late breakfast. Hanbin bites his lip as the wide Gryffindor hallway stretches before him, the sheer size of it diminished by the sea of students in gold and red.

Hanbin steels himself as he plows forward, using his generous height to spot openings in the crowd. He’s making good progress, until he nearly walks right into a giant painting swinging out straight in the middle of his path. A high-pitched scream stops him dead in his tracks, nose inches away from a rosy round face and a head piled high with auburn curls.

He feels his stomach sinking— he’d been so good about avoiding this corridor since that night, always begging Matthew to meet him elsewhere or at his Common Room instead. And now, because of some foot traffic it’s all going to come crashing down. Hanbin maintains at least a semblance of hope that the Fat Lady has forgotten. He can’t have been the only drunk student to land at her feet, right?

“Oh my dear, you gave me quite a freight!” the Portrait of the Fat Lady sighs, hand to her heart, interrupting Hanbin’s internal plea.

Slight snickers can be heard nearby over the commotion, and Hanbin takes a hasty step back, never having ever wanted to be so physically close to the Fat Lady that guarded Gryffindor tower.

“Sorry,” Hanbin mumbles, though honestly, it isn’t his fault. Whoever had planned the architecture of Hogwarts had clearly not thought through the prudence of sticking a massive painting that swings outwards in the middle of a bustling hallway.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone ran into me,” the Fat Lady sniffs dramatically, seeming quite put out. Her fan flutters in front of her face at a rapid pace, and Hanbin can see a slight flush on her cheeks that he would rather not think too hard about.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be late for my class,” Hanbin tries, hoping to be able to rush by without incident. He is definitely going to be late to DADA now, which means a House point deduction, detention, and probably an extra essay, because Professor Endo is a bit sadistic that way.

Unfortunately, it seems the Fat Lady won’t let him go that easily. “Wait a minute, Hufflepuff.”

And Hanbin’s proper and polite upbringing just won’t let him refuse. His heart plummets even as his feet pause. “Yes?”

“Tall, handsome, lovely dark hair. Uniform neat as a pin and oh— a Prefect,” the Fat Lady giggles. “If I’m not mistaken, you were here this weekend. Though decidedly … less put together.”

At her deduction, the world is thrown into stark contrast; the cold light pouring in from the high-arched windows set passing students’ faces into a pale, white mien, illuminating Hanbin in his terror and dread, helpless to witness the moment in slow motion. The whites of the passing Gryffindors’ eyes around him flash with curiosity, their footsteps slowing in the hopes of eavesdropping. Hanbin watches with growing horror as the Fat Lady taps her frilly fan against her round chin, regarding him with eyes that are far too gleeful to foretell anything except utter calamity. (Because of love.)

“If I remember correctly, you were the one telling me all about the lovely Slytherin Head Boy you have a crush on! His shining eyes and breathless smile,” the Fat Lady beams, as if she had just won a prize, as if she had not just spilled Hanbin’s deepest, darkest secret to a hallway full of students. “And by the looks of your blush, I’ve gotten correct, haven’t I? You’ve really got such a becoming blush. I’m sure if you just talked to him, you’d win him over in no time—”

Hanbin feels like his face is about to melt off with how burning hot it is. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he wonders distantly, numbly if it’s a self-defense mechanism to remove him from the reality of this nightmare. Hanbin doesn’t even know what he manages to stutter out, only that he says something, and then he’s darting around the painting, running straight down the hallway, ignoring the bodies that he bumps into. He arrives at the door to his DADA class completely red in the face, wishing for death — and ten minutes late.

“I’m revoking your best friend card.”

In many ways, it is clear to Hanbin why he and Matthew are friends. Their first meeting had been, not surprisingly, on the Quidditch pitch. They’d been the only two players on that fateful February morning to have decided to slog through the sleet and snow, mount their lacquered brooms with frozen hands, and face death itself — or at the very least, a painful and unfortunate trip to Madam Pomfrey’s.

Through the blurry fog of twirling snow Hanbin had seen another figure on a broom, looping wide circles at a dangerous height above the pitch. Then, he had known, they’re the same. Both stubborn, competitive, and hard-working, but more than anything, willing to chase the things they wanted with great abandon.

Thus, despite Hanbin’s best efforts to sequester himself away from the rest of the student body in the quiet section of the library, Matthew’s familiar voice worms its way into his ears. He glances up from his Transfiguration essay to see Matthew dumping his bag on the table across from him and pulling out a chair. Hanbin knows exactly what this is about — has been trying to avoid it all day actually — so he promptly ignores his now apparently ex-best friend and returns to his quill and ink.

“Hey! Don’t just ignore me!”

Hanbin shushes his outburst quickly, looking around to make sure they haven’t drawn the librarian’s attention — or any particularly tattle-tale Ravenclaws’. “Be quiet,” he chides.

Matthew seems to take Hanbin’s admonishment as an invitation to open up about his grievances. “Forget studying for a minute. How could you not tell me you have the world’s biggest crush on Zhang Hao?”

“Oh yeah, say that louder will you? I don’t think the House Elves dusting the restricted section have heard the latest gossip yet.”

“Well they’d be the last ones — everyone’s talking about it.”

Hanbin groans, dropping his quill on the table and choosing to lay his head face down on his folded arms instead. “I know,” he bemoans. It’s the reason he’s sequestered himself here with only the dusty tomes and narrow shelves as company.

As if completely oblivious to his blinding embarrassment Matthew continues on: “Phineas Bradley told me what happened this morning. That, like, half the Gryffindor House heard you’re madly in love with Zhang Hao. Which, by the way, I can’t believe I had to hear about from Phineas, who heard about it from the Fat Lady. Do you know how dumb I looked not knowing this about my own best friend?”

“That’s hardly the problem here,” Hanbin gripes. “Everyone knows now.”

“Oh, come on,” Matthew cajoles. “It’s just the way the rumor mill works. Everyone is quick to jump on the latest bit of gossip, but I’m sure they’ll forget about it soon enough. As soon as the next person messes up their amortentia brew, which, by the way, is apparently coming up next month so just be careful about drinking any liquids you’ve left alone—”

“Matthew,” Hanbin cuts him short. “I don’t think that’s helping right now.”

He hears a gentle sigh and then feels the heavy weight of a hand on the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Come on now,” Matthew says kindly. “Pick your head up.”

After a beat, Hanbin does lift his head, sure his face is as beet red as it was this morning.

“How come you never told me?” Matthew asks, looking a bit more serious now.

Hanbin shrugs. “I never thought it was that serious—” though it was apparently serious enough that in a drunken haze he’d told the Fat Lady all about his feelings. “—I mean, everyone has a crush on him, right?”

“He is pretty popular,” Matthew agrees.

“I never really thought anything would come of it. It’s just a silly crush,” Hanbin mumbles. Holding a flame for someone for six years wasn’t exactly a silly crush, but everything else was true. He’d never planned on ever letting his feelings be known to anyone, let alone Zhang Hao.

“Well, what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to hide out here until everyone in the school has been obliviated of the whole incident or I graduate, whichever one comes first.”

Matthew laughs as if Hanbin has told the funniest joke in the world and isn’t being entirely serious. “I’m sure this whole thing will blow over quickly,” he repeats. “Like you said, a bunch of people have crushes on Zhang Hao. It’s not like this is a first for him.”

Hanbin isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel better about that.

“That guy gets love letters in the post every morning. I really don’t think he’s going to be weirded out by this,” Matthew continues to rub burning salt across his wounds.

Except, against all odds, his words are actually rather comforting. As if the pain has reached a heightened threshold that has made it loop back around to numbness.

As if reading Hanbin’s clearer expression, Matthew nods to himself in satisfaction. “Don’t worry about it, man. People have way worse rumors going around about them other than having a crush on one of the most popular students at Hogwarts.”

“You’re right,” Hanbin reluctantly nods, trying to convince himself of what he had just said out loud.

“Including Zhang Hao himself,” Matthew leans in, choosing now to whisper. “You know about all the stuff with him, right? Like, you’ve got to, if you like him.”

Hanbin nods. It’s fairly old news by now. It had all happened during Zhang Hao’s first year anyway, before either of them had been at Hogwarts. At the beginning of the term, there’s always a smattering of whispers as the first-years’ attention gets snagged on Zhang Hao’s ethereal, milky countenance, on his cute smile and fine-boned figure — and they start to ask questions like who is he? what does he like? which inevitably leads to some magnanimous upperclassman catching them up on the infamous Slytherin Prefect (now Head Boy).

“I heard a new one this year actually,” Matthew says conspiratorially. “That he got mixed up with some Auror assignment and got seriously injured, witnessed some things he shouldn’t have. That’s why he was out for the entire second half of the year. Some people even said he was given veritaserum for questioning.”

“I don’t think that’s real,” Hanbin frowns. The story changes from year to year, but the general gist is simply, after an ordinary start at Hogwarts, Zhang Hao had disappeared sometime late January. Only to reappear at the start of the next Hogwarts year, having lost his memory and with the professors and Headmaster Flamel suspiciously tight-lipped, to restart his first year. If anyone had thought it would set the Slytherin back though — it hadn’t one bit. If anything, he’s one of the brightest students Hogwarts has seen in centuries.

“What do you think happened then?” Matthew challenges.

“He probably had some health problems or private family issues. I don’t know,” Hanbin sighs.

“What about his lost memory?”

“It’s not like he lost all his memory,” Hanbin stresses. “Just those few months.” There are countless unknown poisons, hexes, curses, and jinxes out there that could make that possible. Besides, if the cause of his disappearance was truly as nefarious and dangerous as the rumors say, Hanbin doesn’t think he would have been allowed back at school.

“Fine, whatever. I see you’ve been completely blinded by your ardent love for him—”

“Oh, shut up,” Hanbin laughs.

Matthew chuckles as well, but drops the subject. “Come practice dueling with me tonight.”

Hanbin shakes his head. Even without his self-sanctioned quarantine, he still wants to finish up this essay.

“Come on,” Matthew pesters.

“I’m not even in the club,” Hanbin refutes good-naturedly. Ever since Headmaster Flamel’s announcement at the start of the term that they would be hosting the TriWizard Tournament — the silver jubilee after its reinstatement — Matthew had been diligent about keeping up with his skills. Which unfortunately included a renewed interest in the Dueling Club and an annoying persistence in getting Hanbin to join him.

He had been a second year during the last TriWizard Tournament. Hanbin remembers the awe and thrill of the magic back then — how new and fantastical and marvelous it had all been to a young boy like him who had grown up without. The Tasks and Champions had made him ravenous for more, covetous to have just a fraction, just a taste of what they were capable of. And over the years his voracious greed and appetite is what he thinks has propelled him to Quidditch captain and seventh-year Prefect. But he’s no longer a bright-eyed, green thumb of a wizard anymore. And something about this year’s Tournament has lost its luster, scuffed foggy and slightly dented when grazed against the responsibility of his Prefects badge and his overloaded courses.

“Come on, you’re the only one who I trust to duel without trying to actually hex me right now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed Antony’s girlfriend.”

“Hey!” Matthew protests. “She kissed me. It wasn’t even a good kiss.”

Hanbin shakes his head — he’s already heard the story too many times since Saturday. It’s certainly the last time either of them will be drinking firewhisky. “Anyway, I can’t tonight. I still have to do Endo’s extra essay, too, for being late this morning.”

“An essay for being late?”

“And detention,” Hanbin grimaces at the memory. “You know he’s strict.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you need to kiss his ass if you want that apprenticeship.”

Hanbin wrinkles his nose at the mention, one that he is sure is turning a fair shade of brown with how much he’d been trying to kiss up to Professor Endo since the start of the year. Though this morning had completely undone all of his efforts so far. He sighs. “Yeah, he’s only taking on two students and you know Lauretta Bell is going to be one of them.” The sixth-year Slytherin had gotten top marks and an Outstanding on her DADA O.W.L.s last year.

“Lauretta is nice,” Matthew defends.

“She’s only nice because you roped her into taking all of your overnight Prefect patrols last year.”

Matthew pretends like he doesn’t hear. “Come to the club next week then.”

“Fine,” Hanbin relents, if only to get Matthew to stop bugging him about it. If he got a head start on his studying this weekend, he should be able to spare one evening next week.

“Great!” Matthew stands up, as if everything had gone according to plan. “I’m off to the pitch to practice before the club. See you later!”

Hanbin gives him a wave, turning back to his parchment. However, Matthew’s appearance had decidedly thrown off his concentration for the evening. So after two more inches of writing, Hanbin decides to give up for the night. Maybe if he hurries they’ll still be serving dinner in the Great Hall. Hoisting his bag on his shoulder, Hanbin heads out of the library, thinking about all the love letters Zhang Hao gets.

Matthew isn’t the only one spilling at the brim and taking any chance he can get to talk about the TriWizard Tournament. Hanbin can’t seem to get away from it. Murmurings about the Yule Ball crop up in the back of Potions class; chattering on about the other two schools carries over the chilly courtyard between classes; not to mention, wild speculation blankets every communal area over who the Champions from Hogwarts will be is incessant, like crickets in the summer, buzzing and annoying.

Hanbin even hears his own name floating around a few times, though it’s mentioned in the same breath as Cormac Blaiddyd, who is notoriously dumb as bricks, though not a half-bad Quidditch Chaser, so Hanbin doesn’t really think there’s much merit to it. By the end of the week, he’s almost relieved to be going to detention, if only to escape from the nonstop drone.

“Is everyone here?” The permanent scowl on Filch’s face scans the small group gathered in the hall by Sir Cadogan’s painting. Hanbin doesn’t think he’s imagining the sadistic gleam in Filch’s eye as he reveals their punishment: “Half of you will be polishing the trophy room, the other half, cleaning the Owlery.”

Filch quickly splits the group in half, and Hanbin gets stuck with the Owlery. After directing the other students to the trophy room and promising — threatening — to come check on them posthaste, Filch leads Hanbin and three others up to the tower.

“You are to scrub the stairs and clean the perches. Don’t bother the owls,” Filch snaps, leaving them to it with soapy buckets, scrubs, and mops that look like they’ve seen better days.

One of the other boys in the group, a fourth-year Ravenclaw from the looks of it, groans as soon as Filch is gone. “This is going to take forever.”

“Might as well get started. Filch will have no problem making us do this all night unless we finish,” another girl grumbles, leaning down to take a mop from the bucket.

It really would be more prudent to just use a cleaning charm, but of course, that isn’t much of a punishment, so they had been instructed to leave their wands at their dorms, much to Filch’s delight. Silently, each of them pick up a cleaning instrument and begin their grueling task.

While scrubbing the window sill (what he was exactly scrubbing Hanbin did not want to think about), he glances out at the night sky, trying to run through the chart and placements from his Astronomy sheet for the exam coming up next week. If he’s going to be stuck here, might as well try to get a bit of reviewing done, especially because studying is going to be eaten up this weekend by that extra DADA essay.

The speckled sky overhead contains a swirl of auroral grays and purples. Hanbin has always appreciated that the stars are so much more visible here at Hogwarts compared to the small flat he shares with his family. The fumes and smoke and pollution there hang like a blanket over everything, muddying even the concrete, blurring the weak sunlight. Hanbin remembers when he’d first arrived here, how amazed he was at the open air and brilliant, dazzling sky. He’d spent so long staring with his head turned up that he’d given himself vertigo.

Movement from a tower nearby catches Hanbin’s eye — the Astronomy Tower, of course. Someone is setting up a telescope next to one of the open windows, probably trying to cram in their assignment before curfew. He’s about to turn away again when a familiar dark head pops into the window frame.

His breath catches in his throat — he instantly recognizes Zhang Hao. His skin is mesmerizingly silver under the moonlight. And backlit by the pale firelight glow from inside the tower, it’s nearly pearlescent. He moves with a gossamer-like delicacy as Hanbin watches him reach over to turn the telescope and angle it just-so. Hanbin isn’t close enough to make out Zhang Hao’s figure under his billowing robes, but he has watched him enough times to know the wrists that are turning the knobs are slender, that he bends at a criminally tapered waist to peer through the scope. Even from afar, Zhang Hao looks luminous and beautiful, always beautiful.

Zhang Hao straightens from his adjustments and turns his gaze unerringly, directly at him. Immediately, Hanbin squeaks and pivots out of view. He presses his back against the stone wall, heart thrumming a hummingbird wing’s pace against his ribs. After a moment to settle his surprise, Hanbin takes a chance to peek around the edge of the window again. There’s no one behind the telescope; Zhang Hao is gone.

Ever since that night, crossing paths with Zhang Hao becomes an uncomfortable but common occurrence. Hanbin can’t recall ever having run into him this much before — particularly in recent years. Despite their overlapping Prefect roles, their differing advanced classes have meant they haven’t shared a course in two years. To make matters even more embarrassing, Hanbin is fairly sure Zhang Hao doesn’t even notice him each time.

Under any other circumstance, he would be delighted by these run-ins. Now, when he walks to the Great Hall and spots Zhang Hao exiting through the double doors with a group of his Housemates, Hanbin switches spots with Gyuvin midstep, just to put a bit of space between them, just to be safe. When Hanbin sees Zhang Hao leaving a classroom across the hall just as he’s exiting the Prefects' bathroom, he backtracks quickly, scolding himself for being ridiculous, but still taking the time to re-wash his hands until the murmuring outside fades.

Thankfully, the next week passes without any more humiliating incidents, mostly because Hanbin is so busy he barely leaves his dorm unless it’s to go to the library. As the weekend starts though, he has his sights set on something else: the first Quidditch match of the season. It’s set for next Sunday — a Hufflepuff and Slytherin match. And as the winners of the House Cup last year, Hanbin is determined to keep their streak going. Even if that means suffering through a few pointed jeers about losing on purpose so he can please his ‘loverboy’ and jokes that to distract the Hufflepuff team the Slytherin’s will just hold up cutouts with Zhang Hao’s face on them.

“How are you feeling, captain?” Matthew nudges him in the shoulder as they make their way out of the castle and toward the Great Lake on a warm, windy Saturday afternoon. The breeze blows gentle ripples across the murky water, and most patches of greenery have been taken up by darkened robes and the spill of assignments left for later.

“Alright,” Hanbin shrugs. “I’ve booked the pitch for practice tomorrow, so I’ll see how everyone is shaping up.”

“Ravenclaw’s got themselves a new Beater this year,” Matthew complains. “I didn’t even see him at tryouts. I bet it’s some dirty, under-the-table tactic Clarisse has come up with.”

“Maybe he just couldn’t make it,” Hanbin offers.

“If I’m going to complain to you, you need to agree with me!”

“Okay, fine, she’s definitely up to something,” he relents. The two of them find an unclaimed patch of grass and dump their school books on the ground unceremoniously.

“Better.”

Hanbin snorts, pulling out his History of Magic textbook. “They have a new Keeper, too.”

“Harry Higgs,” Matthew confirms.

“He’s pretty young,” Hanbin remarks. “Fourth-year.”

“He’s decent,” Matthew shrugs. And then he narrows his eyes. “They had closed practice last weekend. Who even does that?”

“You guys could have a closed practice, too,” Hanbin offers.

“But then how are we going to show off and intimidate the other teams?”

Hanbin rolls his eyes, and the two of them dissolve into soft laughter for a bit before they mutually turn to their books. Not too long later, a gangly form plops itself on the ground next to Hanbin with a bright smile. “Hey guys, you want chocolate frogs?”

“Merlin, yes,” Matthew mutters, looking up from his reading and snatching one of the packs that had spilled out from Gyuvin’s bag. “If I have to read one more word about the Muggle war I’m going to lose it.”

“I thought you were good at that stuff — being a Muggle and all,” Gyuvin points out.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not incredibly boring.”

“Actually, I had a question about that,” Gyuvin perks up. “What is the dark web? Is it like the Dark Arts?”

“Uh,” Matthew pauses. “It’s, like, the internet.”

“Thanks so much for your unparalleled Muggle knowledge and intellect,” Gyuvin retorts, heavy with the sarcasm.

Hanbin snickers as he finally looks up from his reading, reaching for an offered chocolate frog. Both he and Matthew had grown up in Muggle families, whereas Gyuvin was from a long line of wizards. However, Gyuvin was incredibly fascinated with Muggle life and any tidbit that either of them could share with him. One summer, he had somehow talked his parents into letting him stay with Hanbin for a week, and he’d had a hell of a time with the television.

Before getting to know Gyuvin, Hanbin had thought most purebloods would be rather stuck up — though there are still a few who think blood purity means something and strut around Hogwarts acting like it, so maybe Gyuvin’s openness said more about him as a person and less about his heritage. Actually, he doesn’t speak about his home at all. Despite being friends for four years, Hanbin barely knows anything about his family.

In contrast, he and Matthew had introduced their families to each other the summer after Matthew’s first year at Hogwarts. It isn’t that uncommon for Muggle-borns to attend Hogwarts anymore, but he thinks Matthew’s parents were still a bit relieved to find another somewhat Muggle family with a son at a ‘magic school.’

As Matthew starts in on a quick recap of the World Wide Web for Gyuvin, Hanbin finds his eyes wandering around the lake. It’s nearing five o’clock, the sun slowly sinking its golden tendrils into the water. There aren’t as many people around anymore. Hanbin spots a few of his Hufflepuff friends closer to the castle, fiddling around and laughing over exploding snap. Two tall figures winding down the path from the direction of the Care of Magical Creatures cabin catch his eye. Someone nudges him in the shoulder.

“Isn’t that Zhang Hao?” Gyuvin nods toward the two boys on the path, having tuned out of Matthew’s lesson.

Hanbin nods mutely. It is. Of course he’d show up here, too. Maybe the Fat Lady had actually placed a curse on him that day.

“So?” Gyuvin presses.

Matthew seems to have realized that his student has stopped listening, following both of their gazes over to the two Slytherins drawing closer. Hanbin recognizes the other tall figure with Zhang Hao: Ricky Shen, the only known current Hogwarts student with a Veela core wand. That’s what everyone says at least, and that’s all Hanbin knows about him really. They’ve never shared a class or had any other reason to cross paths.

“So?” Hanbin echoes, turning to Gyuvin, who is looking at him like he expects Hanbin to make some sort of declaration.

“So, don’t you have a massive crush on him?”

“Well,” Hanbin falters. “Yes. What about it?”

“Well, have you talked to him?”

“No, and I won’t,” Hanbin shuts down immediately. There’s a reason he’s kept his distance all these years. And unfortunately, that hasn’t changed regardless of his current situation — it’s veritably made it worse, actually.

“Hanbin has no intention of confessing in earnest,” Matthew sighs. The two of them had already gone over it in a heated debate Thursday night.

“But don’t you think he already knows?” Gyuvin presses.

Hanbin grimaces, “Yeah, probably.”

“It’s kind of weird to act like it didn’t happen then.”

“No, I’m actually rather hoping he’ll forget about it,” Hanbin says, voice a bit thin.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to work out.” The slow, teasing smirk on Gyuvin’s face precedes an awful tension that works its way up Hanbin’s spine. Gyuvin juts his chin out roughly towards something behind his shoulder.

When he turns, Hanbin sees that two Slytherin have settled under one of the large oak trees not too far from them. Or at least one of them has settled — Zhang Hao is currently tromping across the grass, making a bee-line towards their trio.

Hanbin quickly turns back to Gyuvin so as not to catch his eye, internally cursing. Maybe he’s just passing by, maybe he forgot something in the castle, maybe he’s actually coming over to talk to Matthew who shares a Muggle Studies course with him—

“Good evening.” And the voice is so lovely that Hanbin has no doubt who has just paused by their little group. “Gyuvin, Matthew,” Zhang Hao greets. After a pause, “Hanbin.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hanbin sees Matthew shoot Zhang Hao a quick smile, which means he can’t get out of ignoring the boy unless he wants to make things even more awkward than it already is. He tries to calm the rapid beat of his heart, willing his blush to not give him away as he turns around.

The first thing Hanbin notices is that Zhang Hao looks just as luminescent under the waning dusk light as he does under the moon. Perhaps it’s just an innate quality of his, perhaps it isn’t the moon at all, but a sort of lunar countenance that he inherently possesses. He’s in full robes this evening, despite it being the weekend, though his sleeves are rolled up like he had just finished doing some work in the greenhouse. His expression is polite and open, no sign of any sneering or pity — not that Hanbin really thinks Zhang Hao would react in that way, but he also can’t say he hasn’t already concocted every worst case scenario in his mind.

“Are you busy now?” And by the way Zhang Hao’s gaze doesn’t waver from his, Hanbin knows he’s talking to him.

“Uh, no, just doing some studying.”

“Do you have time to talk?”

“With you?” Hanbin squeaks out. He’s immediately embarrassed over his reaction and feels traitorous heat creeping over the curve of his ears.

Thankfully, Zhang Hao doesn’t seem to inherit his nervousness. If anything his smile creeps up a little higher. “Yes, with me. It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Okay, sure,” Hanbin agrees. He feels a nervous twist in his stomach as he stands up, following Zhang Hao a little further down the lake away from their friends. Zhang Hao’s gait is smooth, and Hanbin feels a bit like a creep for noticing how enticing the little strip of skin above his collar looks.

They pause by the pebbled shore of the lake, and he does his best to not stand too close. Zhang Hao’s hair is gently ruffled by the breeze, and Hanbin is hit once more by his graceful beauty. If he didn’t know better, he would think he’s currently under some sort of enchantment — didn’t Matthew say amortentia classes were coming up? — but unfortunately, Zhang Hao has always been this otherworldly to him.

Hanbin had fallen in love with Zhang Hao the moment they’d met.

It’s a bit cliche now that he thinks back on it — the first boy to be kind to him on the way to Hogwarts, when he’d been so nervous and apprehensive and completely convinced they’d made a mistake letting him attend. He’d been frantic back then, stumbling through the train trying to find his wand. He’d lost it somehow, or dropped it, perhaps while he’d been changing into his robes, perhaps when he had shuffled unsteady step after the other through the corridor to find an empty seat.

The train had barely left the station, he had barely just waved his teary-eyed mother goodbye. He couldn’t already be a failure. His mind had conjured scenarios where the Headmaster would turn him back when they arrived simply because he obviously wasn’t fit to be a wizard, because, like he feared and suspected all along, they’d gotten something horribly wrong with his invitation.

Zhang Hao, slight and reserved but with large, intelligent eyes, had been sitting in a compartment all by himself, had looked up with great concern when he’d appeared. Hanbin still remembers the dark pool of his eyes, the way they seemed to swallow him whole. He remembers how their brittle edge had softened immediately when Hanbin had stuttered through an explanation of his troubles, how they had formed into two sweet crescents when Zhang Hao smiled generously at him, when he had offered to help.

It had just been a simple Accio charm — but to Hanbin, it had been the most wonderful thing anyone could have done for him. They’d sat in the same compartment for the rest of that train ride — for the first and last time — as Zhang Hao explained Hogwarts to him with the regality of an aristocrat, the generosity of an angel, Hanbin listening in rapt attention.

In the years since, Hanbin has tried to downplay the memory, to talk himself out of his own feelings, but the emotions and warmth that had burst forth in that moment still linger, a ghost of a hand turning his head whenever Zhang Hao passes, a lodged thorn that digs deeper into his heart with every staccato beat. It’s wholly embarrassing how much he loves Zhang Hao.

Hanbin clasps his hands together to keep them from shaking now. His emotions range from nervous to giddy and back again, as he waits. There’s a heightened moment of silence, and Hanbin wonders if Zhang Hao is waiting for him to say something first, despite being the one to call him over.

“Zhang Hao, I—”

“I wanted to—”

Their words clash mid air like twirling leaves, or intersecting bolts of lightning. Hanbin immediately seals his lips shut.

Zhang Hao chuckles. “Sorry, what was that?”

“No, nothing,” Hanbin insists. “What were you going to say?”

Another beat, and it feels like Zhang Hao is giving him a chance to talk, but when Hanbin stays silent, he simply shrugs. “I wanted to ask if you could take Taerae’s curfew patrols tonight?”

Hanbin feels his entire body loosening with relief that Zhang Hao had wanted to talk to him about Prefect duties and not his debilitating crush. He hadn’t realized how tense he was, how rigid his shoulders were, how tight his legs had been, bracing himself for the shattering rejection, made all the worse for how he’d assumed Zhang Hao would try to cushion it behind banal excuses and forced niceties. He nods quickly. “Yeah, that’s no problem.”

“Thanks,” Zhang Hao’s grin deepens, gentle, grateful. “In exchange, I’ll keep you off rounds for most of the week. I know you have a Quidditch game coming up.”

“Oh,” Hanbin breathes. And it’s a bit pathetic that his heart flutters at such a simple gesture. He tries to tell himself that Zhang Hao is just thoughtful like that — everything he’s ever heard about the seventh-year certainly supports it. Polite, thoughtful, if not slightly aloof has been the general consensus over Zhang Hao’s personality. There’s no reason for him to give Hanbin special treatment. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Zhang Hao answers breezily, waving his hand.

The two of them fall into another silence — not entirely awkward, but also not entirely comfortable either. Because now would be the perfect time for Zhang Hao to say that’s the only reason he had called Hanbin over and for the two of them to part ways. Except he lingers, and Hanbin does as well, the two of them outlined against the fading light of day, their shadows rippling across the surface of the lake.

Finally, Zhang Hao turns to him again, that same polite, small smile on his face. Hanbin loves that his usually striking features, lean lines, and sharp beauty softens whenever he smiles. “What were you going to say before?”

“Oh, I—” He’d actually been about to apologize. He thought Zhang Hao had brought him over here to turn him down nicely, and he was going to say sorry for the trouble of having a massive crush on you. He’s infinitely thankful he hadn’t been given the chance to finish. Zhang Hao’s eyes are a steady, heavy weight against Hanbin’s features, and he has no doubt that his panic is clear on his face as he scrambles for something else to say. “It’s nothing, really.”

One side of Zhang Hao’s lips turn up in a playful smirk, the sort of which Hanbin has seen him giving to his friends over at the Slytherin table a few times, but never at him before. Their interactions so far had been in one shared Potions class in their fourth-year, and in their Prefect meetings, which have usually been kept terse and to the point. He seems about to say something more, something perhaps a little lilting and a bit teasing, but soon the impish expression melts away, back to his normally placid demeanor, and Zhang Hao simply just nods, “Okay then, shall we head back?”

For all his hesitation and trepidation before, Hanbin inexplicably wants Zhang Hao to stay. He wants to get to stare at him openly without fear of it being impolite; he wants to prod at Zhang Hao’s facade to get at what that lively expression had really meant; he wants to listen to him reading through their whole Prefect schedule because his voice is surprisingly soft and cute. But of course, there’s no reason for them to linger now that their business is complete. It’s not like they’re friends; it’s not like Zhang Hao would seek me out for any other reason. If anything, this conversation was proof of that — rejection enough.

By the time the two of them reach Matthew and Gyuvin, his two friends have packed up their stuff. The sky is darkening properly now, a distinct chill hanging in the air, winter clinging valiantly to the mist and wind. Dinner will be served soon.

“See you around,” Zhang Hao waves at him. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“No problem,” Hanbin returns his smile.

As soon as Zhang Hao is far enough away, both Matthew and Gyuvin pounce.

“What is happening tonight?”

“What did he say?”

Hanbin places his hands up to ward them off, and bends down to gather his things into his knapsack. “He just wanted to talk about Prefect stuff,” he explains in a low tone. “I’m taking Taerae’s patrol tonight.”

Gyuvin lets out a drawn out, exaggerated sigh. “That’s so boring! He didn’t bring up your crush at all?”

“No,” Hanbin confirms, standing up to his full height. And while a part of him is relieved that it seems like Zhang Hao is just as determined to move past the whole incident like nothing happened as him, a much, much, much smaller part can’t help but feel slightly deflated. But of course, he knew he never had a chance anyway.

Hanbin gets up early next Sunday for the Quidditch game.

The moments before dawn have always felt magical to him, before he’d ever gotten to witness true magic himself. The purple mottled sky before the sun begins its crest contains a stillness that Hanbin can’t find anywhere else in his life. Where no one is making demands of him; where he isn’t making demands of himself and feeling guilty when he doesn’t get to it fast enough, when he doesn’t do it well enough, when he thinks he falls short again and again. The sky asks nothing of him.

The stillness fades all too soon as the beds around him start to rustle and voices drift in from downstairs in the Common Room. Breakfast goes by quickly, and by the time the team is ready to leave, most of the House has already trickled in, wearing sunflower yellow and charcoal black and carrying all sorts of cheering equipment. Someone’s enchanted raccoon puppet starts to shout all the players' names in looping succession, and it gives them a chuckle as they exit the Great Hall to its deafening cries.

It’s the ideal weather for a Quidditch game: closing in on the end of September, the sun shines down unencumbered by clouds although a gentle breeze still ruffles their robes as they make their way to the changing rooms. Even from inside, Hanbin can hear the thundering footsteps of the students heading towards the stands and the raucous chatter and cheers from both Houses.

Briefly, Hanbin wonders if Zhang Hao is among the crowd — he must be. As far as Hanbin knows, he’s fairly close with most of the Slytherin team, including their captain. It’s not like Hanbin tries to look, but he also hasn’t missed the way they sit closely at the Slytherin table during meals, that they always seem to sync their Prefect rounds with each other every term. Of course, it doesn’t bother him one bit.

“Okay, everyone, gather around,” he calls, tucking all thoughts of Zhang Hao away. “Let’s keep to our usual practice formations at the start and adjust if needed. The plan is to have Gyuvin focusing solely on the Quaffle, which means Patrice and Vance, you two need to be defensive with the Bludgers.

“The goal is to divert them as far from the game as possible so their Beaters are forced to exert energy to chase and hit them back. I’ll stay close to the goals with Gyuvin and get the Quaffle over to you two on the far side of the pitch.” Hanbin nods towards Rossie and Kama, the two other Chasers. “Let’s keep our passes to the edges of the pitch, and quick if you can, don’t give them a real opportunity to start up a chase.

“And Irma,” Hanbin turns to their seeker as the team snickers a bit — a long drawn inside joke between them all. He teases, “All you’ve got to do is beat a fourth-year genius in a broom race. Easy enough.”

The team walks out to deafening roars and cheers from the stands. Across the shimmering green, the Slytherin team also emerge in their emerald and silver robes, flashing under the brilliant morning sun. Hanbin catches sight of an enchanted snake made up of sparklers winding its way around the left side stands. Thankfully, he doesn’t spot a single sign with Zhang Hao’s face on it. Perhaps Matthew was right and the whole Fat Lady incident has truly blown over.

Hanbin waves and bows and smiles at the appropriate times, letting the support of his house wash over him as they approach the center of the pitch. This is why he had wanted to be captain — it felt good to be relied on, to be well-liked and trusted. The weight of their applause is like an anvil chained to his ankle, a stepping stone to boost himself up from, a deadly albatross that’s just as likely to sink him.

Finally, the two teams line up next to Madam Hooch.

“First game of the year,” she says, looking between him and the Slytherin Captain Gideon Grimsby, as they step forward for the toss. “Let’s make it a good one.”

Hanbin clasps hands with Grimsby. The Slytherin Beater has a charming, snide smile on his face — as if victory is already secured, as if Hanbin is nothing but an inconvenience on their way to two-hundred points and eventually the Quidditch cup. Hanbin tightens his hold.

Slytherin wins the coin toss for initial possession, and on the blow of Madam Hooch’s whistle — and to the rising crescendo of the crowd’s cheers — they’re off.

Gyuvin blocks an early shot made by Warren, Slytherin’s sixth-year Chaser, and Hanbin picks up the Quaffle on a dive before it drops out of reach. He quickly dashes around a stray bludger, lobbing it easily over to Kama who takes it to the other side of the pitch.

As the game begins in earnest, everything besides the Quaffle, Bludgers, and other players fade into the back of Hanbin’s mind. One of the things that he likes most about Quidditch is its ability to make everything else go away — not even just the burn of his thighs and the ache in his palms, but the expectations that he holds himself to, to be kind and graceful and giving and considerate. Quidditch gives him the rare excuse to be selfish, to want to win, to forget everything else besides his own goals and desires.

Forty minutes in, and the point gap is still minimal. Even the two Slytherin Beaters haven’t been giving them too much trouble. However, their Beater Vance got a warning for diverting the Bludgers too close to the stands and since then Grimsby has been taking advantage of the narrowed field to lobby as many Bludgers toward him and Gyuvin as possible, which has put them on more of a defense than Hanbin would have preferred.

“Get back!” Hanbin yells as he darts towards his left to avoid yet another bludger headed his way courtesy of Grimsby. Slytherin is currently in possession and two of their Chasers are headed straight for the posts. However, the strength of Gyuvin as a keeper is his incredibly long reach. He manages to block a shot, but Hanbin loses the chase for the Quaffle and Warren lobs it through a higher post.

“Ten points to Slytherin!” Hanbin hears the announcer yell, but her voice is distant and tinny, as if locked away in the back of his mind.

“Change of plans,” Hanbin says, swooping over to hover by Vance. “Send Bludgers to their Keeper — and Seeker if you see any movement.”

“What about you and Gyuvin?”

“We’ll manage,” Hanbin says. “Tell Patrice.”

Vance darts away again as their Chaser Kama gains possession of the Quaffle, maneuvering herself around the Slytherin Seeker and yet another Bludger sent her way.

In that same distant realm in the back of his mind, Hanbin hears the announcer call out: “Fifth-year Kama scores another ten points for Hufflepuff! Though they’re still trailing by twenty points, it’s a neck and neck difference. It’s looking like it’ll all come down the Seekers. And— look! Slytherin’s Yujin Han has spotted the Snitch!”

Hanbin whips his head around to where he had seen Yujin last, only to spot the Slytherin Seeker swooping down from his vantage point — straight at his Seeker Irma. As if sensing the fourth-year-sized projectile currently launching straight at her, Irma turns around, yelling something that Hanbin is too far away to hear — drowned out by the rising exclamation of the crowd as they all expect a nasty collision with the way Yujin isn’t slowing down. Is he crazy? And that’s when Hanbin sees it, a glimmer of gold hovering right above the bristles of Irma’s broom. Except she’s too distracted by the diving Slytherin to notice.

Hanbin wants to yell that the snitch is right there, he wants to scream at her to move so Yujin won’t crash into her, but he’s frozen, caught in a moment of indecision, between his desire to win versus his care for his friend.

“It seems like Irma has not spotted the Snitch—”

It’s too late.

Because by the time Hanbin sees panic and realization flash across Irma’s face, Yujin is already on her, arm outstretched, broom tilted to the side, so they don’t crash — except, unfortunately, Yujin’s broom control is nowhere near good enough, and so, Hanbin can only watch on in cold dread as Yujin’s hands curl around the snitch and his shoulder rams into Irma’s, sending both of them off their brooms.

Zhang Hao

Zhang Hao gasps as he leaps to his feet with the rest of the crowd around him. He watches the two figures on the far side of the pitch slam into each other, teetering, their brooms wobbling as if in slow motion for a second — before they slip off their brooms and their bodies start plummeting to the grassy pitch at a breakneck pace. Zhang Hao lets out a shout, multiplied tenfold by everyone around him, and he isn’t even sure if he’s the one that surges forward or if he’s being bolstered by the crowd.

Yujin! his mind screams, maybe his mouth as well, Zhang Hao isn’t aware of anything else except the two bodies hurtling ever faster towards the unyielding field. He gasps with the rest of the crowd when the two of them seem to hit a barrier — five feet above the ground. He watches their bodies jerk to a sudden halt, and then slowly descend down to lie on the hard dirt, limp and unmoving. A cushioning charm, Zhang Hao realizes. He places his hand on his chest, feeling the fluttering of his heart against his breastbone. He sinks back down on the wooden slat bench of the stands, knees suddenly weak, relief drooping his spine.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Zhang Hao mutters, eyes still glued to Yujin and Irma lying on the field. Madam Hooch has reached them by now as well as another Quidditch assistant. They’re calling for somebody, most likely Madam Pomfrey.

“That was terrifying. I can’t believe Yujin would do that,” Zhang Hao hears a girl nearby say.

“That was bloody cool!” a deeper voice replies.

Zhang Hao scowls, turning his head to find the owner of the voice and catching the eye of a bright-eyed, freckle-faced second-year. He cowers under Zhang Hao’s withering stare, shuffling back and tugging on his friend to go. There’s so much chatter around him, excitement, relief lifting their voices and making everyone a little more enthusiastic as they begin to file out of the stands — the game is over.

On the field, Madam Pomfrey has arrived and is levitating both Irma and Yujin onto stretchers. Zhang Hao doesn’t even wait for the dulcet tones of Lea Nettles to announce the winner of the game before he’s dashing down from the stands and marching through the halls to the Hospital Wing.

Ricky catches up to him near the Great Hall.

“He’s fine,” is the first thing his friend says, accurately reading the concerned crinkle in Zhang Hao’s brow. “I heard some students talking in the courtyard. They overheard the professors and Pomfrey — just some strained muscles, maybe a fractured bone at most.”

“That is not fine,” Zhang Hao breathes, though the concern making his feet slap down on the stone floors abates, just a little.

“Nothing some Skele-gro won’t fix,” Ricky placates.

“They will not need Skele-gro if it’s just a fracture,” Zhang Hao sighs as if it’s common knowledge. He continues, muttering more to himself than Ricky: “Ferula might be all that is needed, but they should be checked for any concussions first. Maybe if paired with a Wideye Potion it’ll be okay, though some rest is also important. They’ll simply need to be woken every hour or two …”

Zhang Hao continues running through his mental checklist until the two of them step into the Hospital Wing. By the time they arrive, Irma Lee is sitting up against the pillows in a bed tucked into the corner with Madam Pomfrey gently testing her arm. Yujin is lying on the bed next to them. Pomfrey looks up when they both enter, a frown on her face and her mouth open and ready to unleash her familiar spiel against disturbing visitors, but her gaze softens when it lands on him.

“Zhang Hao,” Madam Pomfrey greets.

He leaves Ricky by the entrance as he hurries over to the beds. “Is there anything I can do to help? How are they?”

“Everything is well in hand. There’s no need to worry,” Madam Pomfrey assures. “Most likely just a few fractures. Nothing some healing spells and a night of rest won’t solve. Though, if you would like to practice a few of your diagnostic charms, you may do so on Mr. Han over there.”

At the mention of his name, Yujin’s eyes blink open and he turns his head towards Zhang Hao. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees him. “Did we win?”

Zhang Hao scowls, heading over to the bed as Madam Pomfrey returns to Irma’s arm. “And if I say no?”

“That’s impossible,” Yujin argues. “I caught the snitch.”

“You also barreled into another player without any regard for your or her safety, nearly killing you both and landing you in the Hospital Wing,” Zhang Hao stands over Yujin’s bed with his arms crossed and a practiced expression that he usually reserves for telling off first-years he finds out of bed after curfew.

He’s mollified that Yujin at least looks a little more contrite. At least he hasn’t lost his touch yet — though Zhang Hao figures his authority and ability to censure him won’t last for much longer. It had worn off on Ricky quite quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Yujin grimaces. “Is she okay?”

“Madam Pomfrey said you’re both going to be fine,” Zhang Hao sighs. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly reckless. No Snitch or Quidditch game is worth your life.”

Yujin chews on his lip, working it until he winces, a bead of blood pooling along the surface. Zhang Hao sighs again, sitting down on the bed and muttering a quick healing spell to soothe the sting.

“I just wanted to make the House proud,” Yujin says in a small voice.

“I know,” Zhang Hao soothes, running his hand over Yujin’s messy hair. He knows he’ll regret telling him this but— “We won. Two-hundred and ten points.”

Yujin smiles so hard he splits his lip again.

Commotion from the hallway has Zhang Hao snapping his head up.

“Uh,” Ricky says from his lingering position by the doorway. “The Hufflepuff team has just arrived.”

“They are not to be let in,” Madam Pomfrey instructs sternly, and Zhang Hao nearly laughs at Ricky looking distinctly uncomfortable at having been somehow given the unsolicited responsibility of guard duty.

Zhang Hao can hear the low murmur of voices and the tromp of Quidditch boots right on the other side of the doorway, but no bodies come barreling through.

“Let’s wait here,” a faint, familiar voice drifts in. Zhang Hao can’t see the players yet, but he thinks he knows exactly who it belongs to. “Madam Pomfrey will hex us if we all go in at once.”

Zhang Hao snorts at that. He stands up again, glancing down at Yujin’s form and instructing, “Lie still, and let me take a look at you.” He gets to work with the knowledge that Hanbin will prevent the curious and concerned Quidditch players from barging into the Hospital Wing.

The simple diagnostic spell tells him what he already suspected — bruising around Yujin’s legs and chest, a pulled shoulder muscle from the force of the impact, a bump along his hairline that will likely swell and look worse than it actually is, and the possibility of a concussion.

“How’s he doing?” Madam Pomfrey asks, coming over to check. She must already be done with Irma. Zhang Hao reports the results to her, and she pulls out her wand, tapping against Yujin’s chest and shoulder with a quick episkey. Once that’s all sorted, she turns back to Zhang Hao, “I should still have a few healing potions stored in the back cabinet. Will you grab them for me, dear?”

Zhang Hao nods, dutifully setting off towards her medicine cabinet. It’s a tall, stately, wooden thing. One that is powerfully enchanted to burn anyone who touches it — to prevent any mischief or theft. It had taken Zhang Hao two years to earn the right to be an exception to the spell, and there is still an echo of reverence in his movements as he lays his hand on the wooden handle and pulls open the door. There are small labels on the side of each vial of healing potion, with an initial and a date when they were brewed. Zhang Hao feels a bit of pride swell in his chest seeing his familiar handwriting on them.

He takes them back to Madam Pomfrey who pours them into two floating cups of tea, before sending them off to Irma and Yujin.

“Drink those,” she tells the two of them. “It’ll greatly improve your recovery, and you’ll be out of here by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Irma questions.

“I’ll keep you here overnight just to be safe,” Madam Pomfrey says. “But you should be back to your chipper selves in the morning. I’ll write you a tardy slip for your classes if you still wish to attend.”

“Um, Madam Pomfrey,” Ricky’s voice drifts over from the doorway. The four of them turn their heads to see that someone else has appeared behind his tall form.

Hanbin’s eyes widen a bit when they meet Zhang Hao’s, but then his gaze skitters past him over to Madam Pomfrey and then to Irma behind her.

“Can I come in?” Hanbin’s gentle voice carries across the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. “Fine, you may stay for fifteen minutes, and then I must ask you to leave.” She switches her gaze to Zhang Hao and Ricky, “All of you.”

They agree, easily on Ricky’s part, reluctantly on Hanbin’s, and Madam Pomfrey makes her way to her backroom to give them a bit of privacy.

Hanbin hurries straight to Irma’s bedside.

“I’m fine,” Zhang Hao hears her reassure him. Soon their voices lower to a murmur that he can’t quite make out from the other side of Yujin’s bed. He watches as Hanbin sits down and clasps her hand in both of his own — they can’t be dating can they? Hanbin has a crush on him, or he’s supposed to, not that he has done anything to indicate that what the Fat Lady had said was true.

“You’re scowling,” Ricky points out, having finally approached the beds.

“I’m not,” Zhang Hao snaps, turning away from the Hufflepuffs to glance back down at Yujin, who is also looking up at him with eyes that are far too knowing for a fourteen-year-old.

“Everything okay?” Ricky nods down at him.

“Yeah,” Yujin croaks, taking a sip of his tea.

“That was a really ballsy move,” Ricky grins.

“Don’t encourage him,” Zhang Hao groans. He glances down at Yujin as well. “When you’re feeling better tomorrow, you need to apologize.”

Yujin scrunches up his nose, but under Zhang Hao’s unyielding stare, he slowly nods. “Okay, I’ll do it before we leave tomorrow.”

“Good.” Zhang Hao reaches over to lay a soothing hand over his head again. He’s known Yujin since he was toddler — their families, like most of the other purebloods, having known each other for all of their lives. It still amazes Zhang Hao how big he’s grown; big enough to be able to make his own stupid decisions. “We’ll leave you to rest then. Make sure to drink anything Madam Pomfrey gives you, even if it tastes horrid.”

“Okay,” Yujin says.

“See you tomorrow,” Ricky bids Yujin a farewell before the two of them head out of the room. Zhang Hao spares Irma and Hanbin a brief glance as they pass by — Hanbin has a rather frazzled expression on his face, and Irma a teasing smirk. He wonders not at all bitterly what they might be talking about.

“You alright?” Ricky asks as soon as they exit the doors, looking at him with a gleam in his eye that Zhang Hao would rather not examine. It seems the rest of the Hufflepuff team had dispersed; the hallway is empty when they step out into it.

“Yes, of course,” Zhang Hao sniffs, straightening his robes for good measure. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason at all, that’s why I asked,” Ricky says, his expression developing into a full on smirk. But thankfully, he doesn’t say any more as they make their way to the dungeon.

Gideon and the rest of the team are sprawled around the Common Room when they enter, though they immediately leap to their feet to surround the two of them.

“Zhang Hao,” Gideon reaches him first, clasping his large hand over his elbow. “How is he?”

“They’re both just fine, bruises, some pulled muscles. Madam Pomfrey is keeping him overnight just to rest,” Zhang Hao explains, turning slightly so he can address the rest of the team as well. Gideon’s hold remains a heavy weight on his arm.

“I wanted to go check on him, but figured it was probably best to leave it to you and Madam Pomfrey,” Gideon explains.

Zhang Hao gives him a smile. “You were right; there’s no need to worry.”

Gideon breathes out a sigh of relief, features relaxing into an easy smile. “It’s a good thing you were there. I knew they’d be in good hands.”

“It was mostly Madam Pomfrey,” Zhang Hao denies, though he can’t help but feel pleased over the acknowledgement.

“We’ll have to plan a party for when he’s back tomorrow,” Warren, one of their Chasers says. “He’s a hero.”

Zhang Hao frowns at that. Gideon catches his eye and turns back to the group, “He may have gotten us a win, but what he did was dangerous. I don’t want any of you guys following his example.”

One of the players towards the back — their sixth-year keeper Leland — snickers, but no one dares openly contradict Gideon.

“Sorry, man, forgot you’re a Prefect,” Warren says with a smirk.

It’s all a show, Zhang Hao knows. A facade of respect and glib understanding for the two Prefects to be able to claim innocence later — Gideon’s strategy no doubt. Despite their pretenses, Zhang Hao knows that by tomorrow evening, illegal Daisyroot Draught will somehow make its way into the Common Room and Yujin will be letting far too much praise and encouragement go to his reckless head.

“We’ll make sure he gets a proper welcome back, yeah?” Gideon places a heavy hand on Zhang Hao’s shoulders. “Nothing bad, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zhang Hao waves him off, sidestepping so his hand drops. He suddenly feels incredibly tired. “I’ll leave you all to your planning.”

He and Ricky leave the team in the Common Room and head through the doorway far doorway down the long winding corridor to their room. Zhang Hao plops down on his bed, groaning as he kicks off his shoes.

“You know he’s just laying it on thick for you, right?” Ricky asks, perched on his own bed.

Zhang Hao doesn’t have to ask who he’s referring to. They’ve had this conversation too many times already.

“Yeah, I know,” Zhang Hao mutters. “But it’s complicated.”

Gideon has, for whatever reason, always seemed to have a soft spot for him. It had been Gideon who had defended him back in their first year, when the rumors regarding his disappearance from Hogwarts and memory loss were at their most rampant. Zhang Hao had lost track of the number of times Gideon had gotten into spats over some snide comment made at Zhang Hao’s expense, the number of times he’s scolded him over doing something so pointless — because it certainly wouldn’t stop the mean-spirited gossip and sidelong glances and students running away saying he had Scrofunglus — while patching up his scraps with Murtlap Essence.

He had been thankful back then, a little guilty, too. And perhaps it’s that lingering guilt, the feeling that he owes Gideon something that makes him turn a blind eye to some of his more unsavory aspects, particularly as they’ve gotten older, as his family have sunk their claws deeper in him.

Gideon isn’t all bad, Zhang Hao wants to believe. He may show favoritism and abuse his Prefect powers and spout pureblood nonsense at times, but— Zhang Hao sighs. There really is no but. Whenever he’s brought these things up to him, he receives a heartfelt apology, a promise to do better. And the thing is, Zhang Hao thinks he’s sincere, or at least it always feels that way, as Gideon holds his hand and looks into his eyes and implores him to understand that it’s difficult for him, too. But then the abuse will start up all over again a few weeks later. And Zhang Hao has grown tired of their fraying friendship. If he’s being honest, it hasn’t been a real friendship for some years now.

“I’ll talk to him again tomorrow,” Zhang Hao offers, throwing his arm over his eyes to stem the headache he feels coming on.

“It’s not your job to babysit him,” Ricky says placidly. He hears a bit of shuffling as the younger settles back against his pillows.

“I know that,” Zhang Hao retorts, a little too harshly, taking his own personal feelings and frustration out on the least deserving person. He repeats, a little softer, “I know that.”

But he also knows that he’s one of the only people that Gideon actually listens to, that he actually holds in some sort of regard or esteem. And so this, too, feels like his responsibility — on top of everything else.

Zhang Hao shuffles around on his bed, turning his back towards Ricky in a silent sign that he’s not in the mood to talk right now — Ricky has always been good at reading his signs, it’s one of the reasons they get along so well. Even as his body sinks into the bed, his mind continues to whirl with unfinished, half-formed thoughts, of Gideon pulling Yujin aside this morning after breakfast, of the Astronomy work he still needs to complete tonight, of Hanbin’s non-confession and the way his mind drifts to it at completely inappropriate times. Perhaps worst of all though, he remembers Hanbin’s flushed cheeks as they stood next to the still waters of the lake. Zhang Hao drifts off into a fitful slumber, a rosy, apple-blossom tint on his mind.

He isn’t sure for how long he sleeps, but he wakes sometime later to a brief commotion by the door to their room. Someone has lowered one side of his bunk bed’s blinds — probably Ricky — that faces the window, but the side that opens to the inner bedroom is still tied up. He opens his bleary, groggy eyes to see their other two roommates, Huanjun and Camden, chattering amongst themselves as they come in. Soon enough, their topic of conversation becomes clear.

“It’s in the entrance hall now. Phineas saw them putting it up,” Huanjun reports. “I reckon we can start putting our names in tomorrow. Flamel will probably make an announcement in the morning.”

Zhang Hao sits up on his bed, swinging his leg over the side as he rubs his still-tired eyes. He notices Ricky reclining on his own bed, an open book in his hand.

“Are you guys going to enter?” Ricky asks.

Camden shrugs, dumping his satchel on the trunk at the end of his bed. “What’s the point?”

“Come on, we should all put our names in,” Huanjun says, plopping on his own bed next to Camden’s. He turns to Zhang Hao, “Especially you, Head Boy.”

It’s his turn to shrug. “It’s not about popularity.” Not that Head Boy is a popularity contest, but reputation is certainly a factor in the choice, and there’s no point in being humble about his reputation around Hogwarts: attractive, smart, well-liked, well-connected. The pile of love letters at the bottom of his trunk tells him so. “The Goblet will decide.”

“My O.W.L.s scores weren’t that great, so I’m probably out,” Camden says.

“At least you’re smarter than the entirety of Gryffindor,” Ricky quips. Both he and Camden chuckle, even Zhang Hao manages a smile despite the fog clinging to his brain. It’s been like this for the past two days. Whenever he wakes up, he feels even more tired than when he went to sleep.

“It’s got to be Slytherin this time. Probably Zhang Hao or Gideon.”

“Or Lauretta,” Zhang Hao offers, thinking of the sixth-year Prefect. Her DADA skills are one of the best among her year, probably better than most seventh-years, too.

“I reckon it’s one of you two,” Camden says. “You’re older.”

“So? Montmorency was a sixth-year when he won,” Huanjun argues.

Zhang Hao tunes them out after that, as the two begin comparing stats of the past winners. With everything that has been happening lately, Zhang Hao had nearly forgotten about the TriWizard Tournament, or at least how real and how close it really is.

He doesn’t want to enter his name — but he knows he has to. If only to placate everyone who thinks he should, who will be disappointed in him if he doesn’t. He honestly hates all this Tournament talk — it leaves an awfully bitter taste in his mouth how much everyone is willing to shove him into the spotlight, how greedy they are to partake in his successes. But most of all he hates himself the most, for working so hard to gain their respect only to realize it’s all too easily lost — to realize it’s still not enough. Somehow, after all these years, he still feels like he has something to prove.

Zhang Hao stares dispassionately down at the bottom of his tea cup. “It’s an eagle.”

“And what does that mean?” Professor Burbage asks in a breathy voice that makes Zhang Hao’s skin crawl.

He looks around the room for some inspiration, but is only met with Taerae’s blank gaze. “I’m … going to reach great heights?”

“Yes, yes,” Professor Burbage crowds even closer, and Zhang Hao has to resist the urge to flinch back. “But the eagle is on the side of your cup, which means you have the determination to lead other people. But despite it all, you still believe that you can do more.”

The eagle doesn’t really look to be on the side of the cup whatsoever, but Zhang Hao simply nods so Burbage will move on and call on the next student. He sets the offending teacup down when he does, tuning out the rest of the interpretations, gazing out of the North Tower window. It’s an unseasonably cold day, and a gentle breeze blows in to ruffle his fringe. A chill tingles up Zhang Hao’s spine — completely unrelated to the beady dark raven’s eye that peers up at him from pale porcelain.

The sound of scraping chairs knocks Zhang Hao out of his daydream. He picks up his thing and follows Taerae down the spiral of the Divination tower stairs.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Taerae complains. “We’ve been taking this course for a month now and I don’t understand a single thing. How is a cow supposed to be a good and bad omen?”

“It’s fine,” Zhang Hao pacifies. “I heard the exam is all interpretation and theory.” It’s the only reason he signed up for the course — he has enough of a workload without adding extracurriculars into the mix.

“We should have just taken Care of Magical Creatures.”

Zhang Hao gives him a droll look. “Do you want to be bitten by a fire crab again?”

“No,” Taerae shudders, thinking back to his fifth-year horror. “But Clarisse said they get to actually work with unicorns this year.”

“I doubt it’ll be very extensive.”

“Better than Burbage breathing down our necks while we stare at glass balls,” Taerae mutters.

The two of them arrive at the courtyard, sitting down on a stone bench under the shade of a tree to protect their delicate complexions. It’s one of those odd, cold days where the sunlight feels more artificial than warm — throwing the students milling across the grass and stepping out from the stone archways into a strange, bleak translucence, as if they’re all ghosts.

“Oh, I almost forgot, thanks for taking my patrol last weekend,” Taerae says once they’re seated. “Want me to do yours tonight?”

“Actually,” Zhang Hao starts. “Hanbin did your rounds.”

There’s a long pause, in which Zhang Hao refuses to look over at his friend. He has no doubt a raised brow, affected an annoying grin, and come to some absolutely ridiculous, incorrect conclusion. “How come?” Taerae asks.

“I asked him to.”

“Taking advantage?” Taerae teases.

“No!” Zhang Hao protests, not liking how close to the truth that hit. Perhaps he had used it as an excuse to talk to Hanbin, simply just to see that if given the chance, he’d confess. He hadn’t. Zhang Hao has mixed feelings about that. “Besides, I don’t think it’s true that he has a crush on me.”

“What? You don’t think the Fat Lady is the pinnacle of sincerity and trustworthiness?” Taerae snorts.

“I get all my most reliable information from paintings,” Zhang Hao says sarcastically. Everyone knows they’re notoriously finicky; traditionally only a few certain ones can be counted on to give accurate information on a student’s whereabouts when they’re out of bed at night. “But I mean, you know him. Do you think he likes me?”

“I don’t know him that well — we just had curfew patrols together last year.”

“Well?” Zhang Hao presses. Taerae is the closest he’ll get to one of Hanbin’s friends.

“I can’t say he’s ever really brought you up,” Taerae ponders, utterly unhelpfully. “Outside of, you know, talking about Prefect stuff.”

Zhang Hao scowls. He doesn’t have time to date — he has absolutely no intention of humoring any of the various confessions and crushes directed his way, simpering girls and blundering boys with too much bravado for their own good. He’s tired of them all, and not one of them have ever caught his eye. He’s never liked anyone to want to spend so much time with them, to feel so moved that he has to have them for himself. And as cheesy and dreamy as it sounds, that what he wants love to be — effortless and desirable. Sue him if that makes him picky.

He’d tried going on dates, once, twice, maybe even thrice, back in fourth-year when he’d grown into his full height and the suspicious whispers faded and instead were eclipsed by his many achievements and “stunning beauty” and “captivating charisma” (to quote Ricky). It had been overwhelming back then, to suddenly get so much attention that he hadn’t quite known what to do with it. So he’d given in. Said yes to a few more dates than he should have, not wanting to upset anyone. But they had never led anywhere, and they had taught him that it was something he isn’t really cut out for. So why is he annoyed that Sung Hanbin apparently does not have a crush on him, after all?

“But I mean, why not?” Taerae asks.

“Why not what?”

“Why wouldn’t he have a crush on you? Plenty of people do. It’s almost a rite of passage for the lower years,” Taerae snickers.

And that annoys Zhang Hao, too. That people’s affections for him are a given, like he hasn’t had to work at it much like he’s mastered the perfect wrist movement for a complicated Transfiguration spell, much like he’s meticulously followed directions down to the millisecond for his Potions brews, shedding integral parts of himself to become someone they could admire. The boy that they were all in love with has never been him.

Though Zhang Hao can’t really blame Taerae — they aren’t in the same House, didn’t really become close until they both became Prefects in the fifth-year. Zhang Hao shouldn’t expect him to know everything that happened in his first and second years, especially because most of the antagonistic remarks, all of the cutting censure had been subtle enough that none of the professors noticed either, that even the Prefects back then had turned a blind eye.

“He’s a seventh-year,” Zhang Hao points out, like Taerae needs the reminder.

“Maybe he’s one of those that never grew out of it,” Taerae teases. “Has been pining over you since first year.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Zhang Hao mutters, rolling his eyes. Because he’s experienced first hand how quickly people’s infatuations fade — how they profess their love for him and try to sneak him amortentia and follow him around the halls until one day, they lose interest. He can never hold anyone’s interest. He can feel it, a roiling sense of bitterness rising up his esophagus, choking him. He doesn’t want to release it here, so he glances around the courtyard, desperate for a change of subject.

He nods towards a group of Hufflepuff sixth years, clutching something in their hands, scurrying off quickly in the direction of the entry hall. “Are you going to enter?”

“The Tournament?”

“No, the professional Quidditch League,” Zhang Hao replies sarcastically. “Yes, the Tournament.”

“Yeah,” Taerae nods sagely, matching Zhang Hao’s sarcasm. “A bunch of us Ravenclaws are going to do a ritual in the East Tower bathroom with Felix Felicis, turn around three times, summon a troll, and then enter our names this weekend.”

Zhang Hao reaches over to swat at Taerae, who dodges him laughing.

“You know me,” Taerae shrugs, still chuckling. “I hate having to do anything remotely physical. There might be interesting challenges, but I can learn just as much from watching. Remember last Tournament, they had to counter a spell that was nonverbal — that was quite interesting.”

He nods with a small hum.

“I hope they poison them this year,” Taerae muses. “That would be exciting to watch — basic diagnostic charmwork along with advanced potion making before the poison hits them.”

“That’s too easily taken care of with a bezoar,” Zhang Hao refutes.

“Where would they get a bezoar?”

“It’s still too straightforward,” Zhang Hao insists. “It has to be more complicated — maybe a multi-layered hex to start.”

“What are you two nerds talking about?” Ricky’s voice carries over them both as his shadow blends in with the shade of their perch. In the limpid sunlight, he looks a bit greyer than usual.

“Taerae wants to poison the TriWizard Champions.”

“But that’s no fun,” Ricky shakes his head.

“See? That’s what I said,” Zhang Hao gloats.

Taerae immediately opens his mouth to argue, until he’s interrupted by Ricky—

“They should poison someone they love instead.”

The two of them fall silent.

“Sometimes you terrify me, Ricky,” Taerae mutters.

Thursday night finds Zhang Hao all alone.

Though he considers himself quite popular, everyone that he could possibly spend time with is preoccupied this evening. Ricky had snuck off earlier to the kitchens with some friend, promising to bring Zhang Hao back dessert “if there’s any left.” Taerae begged off for a Ravenclaw study session — notoriously exclusive and off limits to anyone who isn’t in their House. Even Yujin and Gideon are at Quidditch practice tonight, and neither Camden nor Huanjun have returned to the room.

So with a few hours left before curfew, Zhang Hao resigns himself to slogging his telescope up the Astronomy tower. When he arrives, he notices a few third years have taken up the best viewing windows for the night, including his preferred one. Zhang Hao grumbles as he finds another spot away from them and unpacks his set up; he’s not bully enough to ask them to move, even if this angle is less than ideal. He gets ready to settle in for a long night.

The last time he was up here … Zhang Hao lets his gaze drift from the clear, glittering sky over to the neighboring tower. He sees a few shadowy figures flitting about on top of the spire — just owls. He could have sworn he saw Hanbin in the Owlery a couple weeks ago. That had only been a few days since gossip started going around regarding what the Fat Lady had said about his crush. The pointed whispers and derisive giggles had set Zhang Hao’s nerves on edge, and he’d come up here back then as an escape to the unpleasant memories they had drudged up. He had thought the constant chatter about Hanbin had made him go crazy and conjure him up here, too. There’s no sign of the Hufflepuff tonight though.

Zhang Hao sighs and turns back to unrolling his parchment and adjusting his telescope. On paper, he should love Astronomy. It allows him to sit still in relative silence for long periods of time, it requires precise calculations and detailed attention to follow along with the texts, perfect for someone who has innate focus — like him. The one singular problem is, he’s just bad at it. No matter how many charts he reviews or how many times he glances up at the stars, the instincts needed to be a good astronomer evade him. It also doesn’t help that if he spends too long gazing up at the dark yawning sky, he gets the overwhelming feeling of something pressing upon his mind, pushing him somewhere cavernous and vast and unknown. That’s usually when shadows start to creep into the edge of his vision.

He’s tried all sorts of ways to get rid of that feeling. It’s just the sky, he tells himself, no closer to Earth or in danger of falling down and crushing him than on any other occasion. He’s even gone to lengths to take a Pepperup Potion prior to charting, with the hopes that increased stamina and a little bit of a boost will set right whatever imbalance is happening in his brain. Unfortunately, Astronomy continues to be one of his most hated — and weakest — subjects.

Zhang Hao is just finishing up his first constellation when he is made aware of two things. The first is that the quiet murmurs from the third years are gone; they must have finished their work. The second is a presence in the next alcove over, someone also scratching away at a chart but with much more ease than him, judging by their relaxed stance and speedy quill.

Hanbin lets out a small sound of surprise when he glances up to see Zhang Hao staring at him. It in turn makes Zhang Hao jump a bit, not quite expecting the thrum of awareness when their eyes meet. They both chuckle a bit, embarrassed and self-conscious. Hanbin has a nice smile — Zhang Hao has always thought so, kind and soft-spoken and generous. Hanbin is always generous with his smiles.

When had he arrived? Zhang Hao doesn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Hanbin replies, “A while now.”

“Oh.” Zhang Hao struggles with something more eloquent to say and comes up empty. He blames it on Hanbin’s smile.

“You were concentrating really hard,” Hanbin offers him an out.

A quiet falls in the space between them, and just like before by the lake, it doesn’t feel awkward. And yet Zhang Hao isn’t entirely comfortable in it, because now he is aware of the scratch of Hanbin’s quill, and his small unconscious hums as he refers back to his textbook, and the swish of his robes as he paces back to his telescope to check something. But as Zhang Hao turns back to his own constellation, the silence also feels amicable; he gets the sense that both of them are quite content with it, and that lessens the pressure of providing conversation, of having to worry about disappointing him when he doesn’t have something witty or interesting or particularly insightful to say.

It’s Zhang Hao who finally breaks the silence, after wrangling another star from the obscure sky. “How is Irma doing?”

Hanbin smiles over his telescope at him before answering, “She’s alright — she’ll return to practice next week. Thanks for asking.”

“You seemed concerned in the infirmary.”

Hanbin grimaces. “More like guilty. I feel like I should have somehow prevented it.”

“It was entirely Yujin’s fault,” Zhang Hao admits. House loyalty does not count for anything in the face of Hanbin’s remorseful gaze, apparently.

“It was just bad luck,” Hanbin offers, shaking his head. “No one would have thought the Snitch would show up there. I could tell he was trying to avoid a collision by the angle of his dive.”

It’s impressive, both Hanbin’s Quidditch acumen and his stubborn need to be so kind. They fall into yet another prolonged silence, filled with the flip of Hanbin’s textbook pages and his continued small murmurs as he jots down coordinates on his map. Zhang Hao tries to concentrate on his own work, but no matter how he adjusts his telescope, he can’t find the final star for his constellation. Rubbing at his temples, he sighs. Without realizing, he turns to Hanbin again for relief, “About last weekend’s Prefect rounds …”

“Hm?” Hanbin hums softly, glancing up with a curious smile. “What about it?”

“I hope you didn’t agree just because I asked.”

Hanbin looks taken aback, and Zhang Hao bites his lip, unsure if he’s overstepped. Apparently, what Taerae said had been bothering him. But maybe it’s too presumptuous. Even now, Hanbin seems determined to finish up his own work and be out of here without showing a single sign of interest in him. They wouldn’t even be talking if it wasn’t for him. There’s no way Sung Hanbin has a crush on him — Zhang Hao has weathered too many of those to know what that is like. And it isn’t like this: easy chatter and sweet but distant smiles. The Fat Lady is a big fat liar, he concludes.

“Sorry,” Zhang Hao says before Hanbin has a chance to reply, waffling for a way to save this. “I just mean since I’m Head Boy and—”

“Don’t worry,” Hanbin assures. “I get it. I would have said if I couldn’t do it, but I’m happy to help.”

For some reason, Zhang Hao feels dissatisfied. For some reason, he doesn’t want Hanbin to be quite so polite, quite so … so formal with him. He must be going crazy. Hanbin is probably just here to finish his work and is fed up with Zhang Hao bothering him with inane chatter. “You don’t have to be so nice.”

Hanbin looks momentarily surprised again before he starts laughing, not even small little giggles, just full blown laughter that has him leaning to the side off his chair. “Did you want me to tell you no?”

“No,” Zhang Hao scowls, put out by Hanbin’s mirth. He was not trying to be funny! He was actually trying to be nice here! “But you can be honest with me.”

“I am, I promise,” Hanbin replies, still chuckling.

The dimples of his cheeks are sweet, Zhang Hao thinks. They make him look younger, carefree.

“I actually thought you were being too nice,” Hanbin accuses.

“Me?” Zhang Hao is a bit surprised. “Why? You don’t think I can be nice? Because I’m a Slytherin?” He hadn’t realized Hanbin had that impression of him.

“No, not that,” Hanbin’s smile curls up in a sly smirk, and Zhang Hao is struck with the realization that Sung Hanbin is not just cute or sweet, but actually deadly handsome, so much so that it takes Zhang Hao a second to realize what he’s saying. “I thought you were being nice because you needed help with your chart.”

He pulls himself to his full height, casting Hanbin an imperious look, his lower lip pushing out in a pout of displeasure. “No I don’t.”

Hanbin’s cheeky grin doesn’t waver. “You have the wrong placements for Saturn’s moons.”

Zhang Hao glances down at his latest coordinates, his tone flat when he replies, “You’re joking.”

Hanbin giggles, getting up from his bench to walk over to Zhang Hao’s alcove, pointing at a spot on his parchment. “They’re supposed to be closer here. I could tell they were off from all the way over there.”

“I hate Astronomy,” Zhang Hao groans.

“Here, let me,” Hanbin offers, grabbing his own map and bringing it over to Zhang Hao’s table, laying them side by side.

Zhang Hao’s eyes darts between the two charts for a moment before he slumps down in defeat, tossing his head back. “I’m going to have to redo all of it,” he wails.

“It’s not that bad,” Hanbin soothes. “I’ll help you. What do you have left?”

He raises his head to glance over at his textbook. “Just these two constellations. And then apparently Saturn.”

“Okay, I’ve already done one of them — and then we can do the last one together,” Hanbin offers, indicating the spot on his chart where he’s nearly laid out the stars and the coordinates right next to them.

“I can’t cheat off you,” Zhang Hao says, slightly offended, though unsure if it’s on his or Hanbin’s part.

“It’s not cheating,” Hanbin insists, a small glimmer in his eyes. “We’re working together.”

Zhang Hao still isn’t convinced, but he’s actually quite desperate to not have to chart any of this himself, and Hanbin is offering him a lifeline. Sighing, as if he’s the one being inconvenienced here, he bends over and starts copying the placements and coordinates for the completed constellation on his parchment.

“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Hanbin teases when he’s finally done. “Flamel hasn’t barged in to expel you.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Zhang Hao mutters, though he shoots Hanbin a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Hanbin answers, seeming suddenly a bit bashful, but he turns back to the book too quickly for Zhang Hao to pick out whether he’s actually blushing or not. “For the last one, it’s near Europa so it shouldn’t be that hard to spot.” He motions towards Zhang Hao’s telescope. “Do you mind?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head and watches as Hanbin ducks down to look through the scope, fiddling with it so it’ll be angled in the right direction. Sure enough, he seems to spot what he’s looking for. “Got it.”

“That was fast,” Zhang Hao breathes, a little in awe.

Hanbin’s cheeks are pink when he turns back around. Zhang Hao feels a strange satisfaction, at having broken through Hanbin’s unflappable, cordial mask, as if he’s won something.

“Here, you take a look,” Hanbin offers.

While Zhang Hao looks through his telescope at a patch of sky that looks like every other view he’s seen tonight, he hears the scratch of Hanbin noting it down on their parchments. It really is quiet up here in the tower.

“Do you see Pleiades?” Hanbin asks.

“Not a chance.”

Zhang Hao hears soft laughter behind him, and now, he has the privilege of knowing exactly how the cute dimples that are no doubt forming on Hanbin’s cheeks look.

“It’s a bright cluster of stars. Should be on the right,” Hanbin explains.

He follows his instructions, adjusting the telescope just a bit until he sees a smattering of smaller stars that cluster together in a glowing, pulsing group. “I think I have it.”

“Okay, good,” Hanbin sounds pleased. “Now, come show me where it is.”

They proceed in this same pattern, with Hanbin instructing Zhang Hao on where the points of the constellation are based on the book, and Zhang Hao coming back to mark them down. He leans over to indicate on Hanbin’s chart where he just added the newest star, their hands brushing for just a moment. It’s warm, Zhang Hao thinks, almost absently. But it lingers on the tips of his fingers as he adjusts the telescope, on the glowing red curve of Hanbin’s ears.

They work quickly and smoothly together, though apparently not quick enough. Just as he’s marking the second-to-last point, the ten minute announcement for curfew rings overhead.

Hanbin instantly groans, “I have to go; I can’t get detention again, sorry.”

“Again?”

The pink from Hanbin’s ears spread quickly to the upper swells of his cheeks. His nose scrunches up cutely as if from a distasteful memory. “Ah, I was late for Advanced DADA a couple weeks ago.”

That didn’t seem like Hanbin. Though Zhang Hao supposes it could happen to anyone. “You’re a Prefect — who’s going to give you detention? Me?”

“I don’t want to take advantage …” Hanbin says haltingly.

And it’s so ridiculous, it’s Zhang Hao’s turn to laugh. It bubbles out of him, doubling him over.

“It’s not that funny,” he hears Hanbin mumble over his guffaws.

“I’m sorry, but it is.” Zhang Hao pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “You’re practically doing my Astronomy work for me and you’re the one taking advantage? Yeah, I’m really going to slap you with a tardy slip — ten points from Hufflepuff.”

Hanbin’s lips quirk up at the corners, his cupid’s bow dipping down impishly. “Fine, let’s finish then.”

Zhang Hao hops off the bench and heads back over to the telescope, bending over once more to line his eye with the lens. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

The silence stretches behind him.

“What?” Zhang Hao turns his head back to see Hanbin standing where he’d left him, now with brighter spots of pink on his cheeks.

“Nothing,” Hanbin squeaks, hastily turning away to scan the textbook again.

Zhang Hao knows that look — has caught it on the face of passing first-years in the hall, from girls who peek over at him from across the Great Hall thinking he doesn’t notice them. He smirks slightly as he turns back to the telescope. Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge the Fat Lady, after all.

That evening, once Zhang Hao makes his way back to the dungeons, Ricky intercepts him in the Common Room.

“What’s that look for?”

“What look?” Zhang Hao feigns ignorance.

“All smug.”

“I don’t look smug,” Zhang Hao scowls. “I just finished my Astronomy work for the week, sue me.”

Ricky narrows his eyes, knowing he’s not telling the full truth, but unable to discern what about it is so suspicious. “Fine, whatever. Can I see it?”

“No, you can’t,” Zhang hao refuses on instinct.

“I brought you tea cakes from the kitchen.”

Grumbling, Zhang Hao hands over the sheet of parchment. His gaze lingers the star Aldebaran, briefly remembering how Hanbin’s hand had slightly adjusted his, fixing the position as he made the mark.

“Thanks, you’re the best,” Ricky grins.

Zhang Hao simply sighs. “Give it back to me in the morning; I’m going to bed.”

Ricky nods, bidding him goodnight before heading back to the corner of the Common Room he’s holed up in to finish his work. Walking down the hall, Zhang Hao flexes his hand, remembering long, slightly callused ones that had neatly sectioned off their charts, turned the knobs on the telescope so the depth would be just right for him. He idly wonders why he and Hanbin have never really spent much time together before — it seems like such a shame. Not that he really has the time to now; not that it really changes anything if Hanbin does have a crush on him.

And beyond the issue of time and concentration and energy, is the deep seated fear that underneath it all, there’s something inherently unlikeable about him. A year’s worth of bullying had left him incredibly motivated and petty — and broken. Though he thinks maybe all that damage was already done before, not that he can remember.

Despite the warmth still reverberating under the thin skin of his palm, Zhang Hao gets ready for bed with a heavy heart. And when he wakes up in the middle of the night, a scream caught in his throat, the bedsheets tangled haphazardly around his legs and one of his curtains half draped over his bed, Zhang Hao can’t say he didn’t see it coming. His heart is pounding and his breaths are harsh and loud in the quiet air.

“You all right?” Huanjun’s voice comes from the bed across from him. His roommates are all used to his night terrors. He told them he’s had them since he was little, and over time, they’d come to take his word for it, especially since he never seems to do anything besides yell and cry and, one time, tumble out of his bed. They’re kind about it though, which Zhang Hao is grateful for.

“Yeah, sorry if I woke you.”

“All good. Get some rest, yeah?”

Kind but clueless. Zhang Hao can’t say he minds it being that way though. “Yeah, thanks.”

He doesn’t get any rest for the remainder of the night. Zhang Hao had long stopped trying to figure out what the cause of his night terrors are, what they’re even about. He knows it stems from the gap in his memory, but he’s been told enough times not to try remembering — failed enough times at it to finally relent.

When he was younger, namely in his first and second years right after the incident, he’d kept a secret journal, jotting down every feeling and flash of a moment to try and figure out what had happened, what was wrong with him. The journal now sits at the bottom of his trunk, untouched. And as the years have gone by, he’s able to remember less and less. Now, whenever he tries, all he feels are fear and dread — there’s nothing there.

There’s never anything there.

Chapter Text

“Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.”
— Mark Strand, The Coming of Light

Zhang Hao

Loud, cramped and raucous. Zhang Hao hates the Great Hall like this. It’s why he prefers to take his breakfast late and his dinner early, simply to avoid his current predicament: pressed flushed hip to knee with Ricky on his right and Gideon with his arm slung over his shoulders on his left.

A sea of students, a deluge of never-ending students fill the Great Hall wherever he looks. Ravenclaws trying to cast a diminuendo on a few rolls to sneak back to the dorms for later; Lauretta Bell giggling insipidly and leaning right into Warren’s lap across the table even though they aren’t that hard pressed for space; someone shouting from the other side of the hall that their foot has been stepped on.

It’s all giving Zhang Hao a headache — and they haven’t even begun yet.

A sudden hush falls over the hundreds of students, a cascading wave of wary awareness and curious anticipation, and with eerie precision, all heads swivel to the front of the hall. Headmaster Flamel takes the stand.

Zhang Hao has the same thought he has every time he sees Flamel: for a man who has eternal life, he sure doesn’t seem to care very much about looking young. He thinks Flamel has a few more wrinkles around his eyes this time, and the hand that lifts the wand to his throat, to amplify his strained, weak vocal chords, trembles ever so slightly. His crisp, heavy robes look as if they’re too heavy for his frail body — and yet, when he speaks, the voice that carries over the hall, overtop the students who a second ago had been chattering and chaotic and clamoring, is cool and clear.

“Esteemed students and faculty, as you all know it is a great honor to be hosting the TriWizard Tournament — particularly on its silver jubilee.”

Flamel’s pupil’s, pale and faded over time, travel over the tables. Zhang Hao can see the chilling effect it has on the students as it settles on them, the slight shift of bodies, the straightening of spines, the averting of eyes. If Flamel notices, he makes no indication. He smiles — and perhaps it is because of his old age, but he looks kinder, less spectral when he does, the folds of his face arranging themselves into something more human.

“Before I introduce the visiting schools, I want to remind you that despite any natural rivalries from the Tournament, they are here for you all to broaden horizons, form new friendships, and learn from each other. I hope you will join me in not only welcoming the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but endeavor to make Hogwarts a comfortable and inspiring learning environment for them — as I know it is for you all.”

The large double doors on the opposite end of the hall from Flamel suddenly swing outward. And in similar fashion as Flamel’s entrance, all the students turn their heads in sync to look at the cobble stone floor of the entryway and the yellow glow of the overhead wooden chandelier. The doorway is empty.

Flamel continues, “Now, please, join me in welcoming the esteemed Headmaster and students of Beauxbatons.”

Before Flamel is done imparting his last crystal syllable, there is a bright but soundless flash of light in the doorway, causing a few of the students near that end of their tables squeal. The hazy smoke quickly fades away to reveal two rows of waxen blue and gleaming eyes. The Beauxbaton students take soundless steps into the Great Hall, their short capes fluttering behind them like butterfly wings.

Zhang Hao thinks they are both beautiful and uncanny, each wearing a serene, doll-like smile, looking straight ahead as they drift down the center all aisle to Flamel’s podium. The hush that had fallen over the Hogwarts students previously lifts, with whispers, mutterings, and the occasional giggle curling around the room.

As if in contrast to her dainty and elfin students, Olympe Maxine makes her grand entrance, her stature twice their height and her footsteps sure and loud echoing throughout the hall. But despite all that, Zhang Hao thinks she walks with more grace and poise than any of the airy students who had preceded her. She, at least, turns to smile and nod at the students, as their chattering rises to a crescendo.

When she reaches the end of the aisle, Headmistress Maxine leans forward to double kiss Flamel’s cheeks in greeting.

“Welcome. It is an honor to have you joining us for this school year,” Flamel intones, that same lucid voice ringing out across the hall.

“Pleasure is all ours,” Maxine demurs, pulling out a large, feathery fan from one of her beryl-hued sleeves. Zhang Hao purses his lips together to stop himself from laughing at how flamboyant and ridiculous it looks.

He watches with fascination as the Beauxbaton students pour themselves, steady and flowing, to a small side table in front of the Headmaster’s podium. The way they all settle like dominos speaks of practice and purpose. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao spots Leland watching them with his eyes saucer-wide and mouth agape.

The crest of sound over Beauxbston’s entrance quickly dies down again as Flamel raises his wand to his throat once more. A faint pressure ghosts up Zhang Hao’s spine when Flamel roams his gaze over to the Slytherin table. It’s the disconcerting feeling of looking death in the eyes, of someone having outgrown their due time, extending past their means so they become something otherworldly and completely unmoved.

“And now, I am honored to introduce the students and Headmaster of Durmstrang.”

Yet another commotion near the hall doors has Zhang Hao swallowing a gasp, truly jumping this time and bruising his ass on the hard wooden bench when he lands. He muffles his choked coughs in his sleeve while Ricky absentmindedly pats his back. The Durmstrang students arrive with a bang — literally.

There’s no smoke this time, only a cracking, reverberating boom that blends into the steady drum of their boots marching into the hall. It would be impressive, their timing, if it didn’t nearly force Zhang Hao’s heart out through his mouth.

The Durmstrang students march in neat lines, but they’re far more lively compared to the Beauxbaton students before them. Many of them are completely covered in fur, from hats to mufflers that cover the lower half of their face. But they turn to stare curiously back at the students seated around the tables, and the few of them whose faces are visible wear deep, cutting grins.

Ricky nudges him in the ribs and leans in. “You think the fur is real?”

“Absolutely,” Zhang Hao confirms. He has no doubt any of the Durmstrang students were more than capable of catching and skinning an animal — alive, probably. Despite their cheery demeanors, their knife-edged smiles give Zhang Hao the same feeling as Headmaster Flamel’s wisp-like fingers and translucent skin, like something is not quite right underneath their cordial veneer.

Their headmaster struts in behind the group. Vulchanova is tall and reedy and every bit as withdrawn as her students are brazen. It seems both headmistresses have raised very different students from themselves. Briefly, Zhang Hao remembers the Durmstrang students during his second year being much more reserved and solemn — with none of the feral gleam these shiny new students seem to have. He wonders what might have changed.

Zhang Hao spots a few familiar faces among the group — family friends, or more aptly his parent’s friends’ children. It’s been a fair few years since he’s seen them, having been able to beg off entertaining guests as he’s gotten older. But he distinctly remembers one of them dangling their House Elf into a well. Perhaps Durmstrang has always been like this — callous and openly cruel.

There are no cheek kisses this time as Flamel smiles wanly in greeting, and the Durmstrang students also take their seats.

“Welcome, welcome,” Flamel repeats, knuckles trembling as he digs the wand deeper into the side of his neck. On any normal person, it may be uncomfortable, choking even, but Flamel doesn’t look like he even feels the stiff wood. “Two such illustrious schools have joined us; I can only hope we play host to all of your expectations. My hope is that we all take this time to learn from one another and, most importantly, enjoy the spoils and entertainment of this Tournament.

“And speaking of the Tournament,” Flamel’s voice rises just slightly, accompanied by the flaring of the Goblet that has stood dimmed and subdued throughout the introductions of the evening. Its blue flames flicker brilliantly, writhing too and fro as if waiting to draw unsuspecting students into its grasp.

The flames had been nothing more than a subtle brush against his fingers, no warmer than the touch of another pair of hands, when he had dropped the slip of parchment with his name on it into the Goblet. But now he thinks if he gets too close, it would burn him alive.

“It is time to select our Champions,” Flamel’s amplified voice echoes ominously across the stone.

Everyone’s eyes are on the Goblet now, flaring so brightly that a few of the closest students and some Beauxbaton girls lift their hands to shield their eyes. It’s so brilliant that it throws the rest of the hall into deep shadow, drawing darkened shapes in the walls, stretching their forms and disfiguring them, putting the floating candles to shame. Zhang Hao reaches under the table to grip Ricky’s hand, digging his fingers into his friend’s bony knuckles. He feels both hope and dread — a double-edged sword slipped right between his ribs.

The flames rise even higher and turn a brilliant red, casting everyone in a hellish glow. And in a culminating roar it spits out a twirling, charred piece of parchment. Zhang Hao can feel everyone’s anticipation sucking all the air out of the room, everyone collectively holding breaths. Ricky squeezes his hand back under the table.

The parchment drifts down into Flamel’s brittle grasp. He turns it around with a flourish and reads out the name: “Our first Champion from Durmstrang, Callidora Munter!”

Pounding from the sturdy wooden table at the front of the hall precedes a tall girl standing up with a slashing smile and flashing eyes. Her chin is pointed and hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her tan, copper skin is set against the contrasting blue hue from the Goblet’s receding fire as she makes her way in front of the podium, beaming so hard her eyes are curved into crescents and her freckled cheeks are bunched all the way up. Headmistress Vulchanova has a small smile on her face as she dips her head in approval.

“And the other Durmstrang student joining Miss Munter,” Flamel prompts as the Goblet flares once more, this time sparking as it sends another piece of parchment into Flamel’s palm. “Is Milena Koffka!”

A short and stocky girl gets up from the table, the sounds of shouting and table-banging even louder this time. She has fur draped over her shoulders, making her look imposing and broad, and her yes sweep the hall in a defiant challenge as she steps up to stand next to Callidora. Flamel leads the entire hall in dutiful applause.

“What do you think?” Gideon asks, bending down low to make sure Zhang Hao hears.

Zhang Hao sizes up the two girls at the front of the hall. He isn’t quite sure what to make of them — they both look confident, capable, eager. And perhaps that is what scares him the most. There is not one ounce of hesitation or fear in their eyes as they stare unwaveringly out at the sea of students who could soon become their competition. “They think they’ll win,” Zhang Hao says. They know, he thinks.

“But do you think I could beat them?”

Zhang Hao frowns briefly, “It’s hard to tell their skills from this alone.”

“Yeah, but just from first impressions,” Gideon presses, shrugging his shoulders in what might have passed for nonchalant if it didn’t send a cascading wave of students teetering off balance on his other side.

Zhang Hao gets the sense that this is somehow important to him. For some reason, his opinion has always mattered to Gideon. “I mean, I guess. I know you’re quick with your spells and good at nonverbal magic, too. So, yeah, you would be tough competition for anyone.”

Gideon smirks, bobbing his head in quick succession. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all just talk though. You know? They could be good, too.”

Now he’s just laying it on thick. “Yeah, they could,” Zhang Hao deadpans.

Up at the front of the hall, Flamel has another piece of parchment in his grasp, this time in a cerulean blue. “Our first Champion from Beauxbaton: Lee Bernard!”

The name immediately rings a bell.

“Isn’t that …” Ricky leans in to whisper.

“The Head Auror’s son,” Zhang Hao finishes.

“I wonder why he didn’t go to Hogwarts?”

Zhang Hao recalls there had been some hubbub in the Daily Prophet over Bernard’s chosen school many years ago when Zhang Hao himself had been enrolling in Hogwarts. His eyes follow Lee Bernard, dressed in a majestic short azure cape and robe made in a matching shiny, ichorous material. He eases himself onto the dais before Flamel’s podium and Headmistress Maxine blows him a kiss.

Lee’s expression is a bit more subdued and softened compared to Callidora and Milena’s next to him, but his back is ram-rod straight, his shoulders pushed back, and his arms relaxed and loose next to him — every bit the proud and spoiled son. Even from across the room, Zhang Hao can spot the pleased flush under his umber skin.

“I don’t know,” Zhang Hao answers Ricky. “Maybe they figured all the attention would go to his head.”

Ricky snorts. “Doesn’t seem like sending him to Beauxbatons has helped with that then.”

Zhang Hao can’t help but chuckle as well, as Flamel reads out the final name for Beauxbaton.

“Violet Beauchêne!”

A pale, sylph of a girl glides her way among polite claps and a couple cheers from the Beauxbaton table up to the front of the hall to join the rest of the Champions. As soon as she turns to face the hall, a wave of awed murmurs and even a few gasps ring out from the crowd. She’s beautiful — in a way that is utterly enchanting, that could make you forget your own name, that demands you to lay down your life to have her. A few boys over at the Hufflepuff table stand up as if to move to the dais before a few hands grab their robes to pull them back down.

“What’s with all of these characters this year?” Ricky grumbles lowly.

“She’s part Veela isn’t she?”

“Sure is,” Ricky confirms.

“I thought they weren’t allowed to attend anymore.”

“Probably passed the test by a hairs-breadth margin. Or she has some connection who was willing to forge her ancestry,” Ricky offers.

“Hm, you would know,” Zhang Hao teases.

Ricky doesn’t even deign to give him a verbal answer, simply rolling his eyes.

“It’s our turn. It’s us,” Lauretta whispers breathlessly from across the table as Flamel wraps up his brief congratulations for the Beauxbaton students and the Goblet bursts high and crimson again.

Zhang Hao holds his breath as Flamel snatches the drifting piece from the air with a crack of his bony fingers.

“Our first Hogwarts Champion,” Flamel reads with his amplifying charm. “Zhang Hao!”

That feeling of hope and dread, speared right against his pumping heart since the drawing started, twists even deeper. Zhang Hao’s chest expands in elation at the shouts that immediately ring out around him, even as his heart plummets in parallel panic. It’s a sense of validation and satisfaction, threaded through with caution. Flamel’s pale eyes meet his own, unreadable.

And then he stands, because he has to, because Ricky is cheering in his ear, because someone’s insistent arms are pulling him up. He walks up the aisle in a blur of expectant gazes and shining eyes and congratulatory calls. Something in the back of Zhang Hao’s mind calls out in alarm, but he tamps it down, allowing the excitement and buzz to buoy him for now. His feet take him up the one, two, three, four steps until he’s standing next to Violet. The hall really is crowded — the weight of two thousand eyes upon him.

Up close, the flickering of the Goblet is even more daunting — but Zhang Hao doesn’t allow himself to flinch back as it crackles orange and red, shooting another twirling parchment out for the last time in five years. He scans the room in front of him as he hears the tell-tale crinkle of Flamel’s hold.

“And our final Champion — Sung Hanbin!”

Zhang Hao gasps, eyes shooting over to the Hufflepuff table that erupts into deafening cheers. He watches as one familiar dark head rises amid the crowd — Hanbin. His cheeks are a startling, terrible red, and Zhang Hao wants to march over there and clap his hands over them, to keep them from everyone else, to hide his weakness from the piercing, keen eyes of the other Champions. However, despite his apparent shock, Hanbin’s steps are steady as he makes his way up to the front of the hall.

Their eyes meet, and Zhang Hao sees a mirroring mix of trepidation, panic, worry, but also vindication in Hanbin’s gaze. They are full of the same greed. Zhang Hao feels his heart beating a quick rhythm in his chest as Hanbin approaches, his eyes still set on him. After all these years, they’re set in the same proximity by fate once again. Hanbin steps up next to him, and Zhang Hao can practically feel the heat radiating off of his cloaked arm just centimeters away from his own. He curls his fingers into a fist.

“Now, please join me in congratulating our esteemed Champions one more time,” Flamel’s ghostly voice drifts over them. A wave of near deafening applause washes over the nc and then they’re whisked away through a side hallway, up a moving staircase, and into the faculty tower where they’ll be given waivers to sign — simply for guarantee, because the Goblet has already contracted all their fates.

Somewhere along the way, Hanbin’s hand finds its way into Zhang Hao’s. He doesn’t shake him off.

Hanbin leaves immediately after signing his waiver — runs out of the room is more apt, but no one seems to take any notice besides Zhang Hao. They were dismissed after being told to return early in the morning in four days' time to meet with the Ministry officials and Tournament organizers. Callidora and Milena are murmuring with Vulchanova in the corner by the fireplace, while Bernard and Violet were whisked away by Headmistress Maxine back to their wing of the castle — Zhang Hao assumes to talk strategy, or perhaps to coordinate the hue of blue they will wear on Monday — shortly after Hanbin departed.

He, too, looks at the wide doorway longingly, but Zhang Hao already knows what’s coming—

“Come with me to my office for a moment,” Headmaster Flamel sighs next to him. Sighs because his words are more a puff of air without the amplification of the charm. But Zhang Hao hears him all too clearly. He nods dutifully and follows the Headmaster out of the room, down a long hall, and through the familiar doorway of his office after he casts a revelio charm against a tapestry wall.

Cavernous. That’s the word that comes to mind whenever Zhang Hao thinks of Flamel’s office. The high ceiling only serves to make him feel trapped, even more like a mouse in a cage. Maybe it’s because the domed ceiling leads to nothing, no natural light filtering in, not even the murky depths of the Great Lake like in the Slytherin dorms. It’s just stone and mortar up there — all waiting to drop down on his head.

The office is circular, fashioned with various darkened alcoves all around it. Zhang Hao has only ever been in one of the alcoves and that experience was enough for him to will, pray, for the rest of them to stay shadowed. He doesn’t need to know all of Flamel’s secrets — just one.

“How is this year coming along?” Flamel inquires, gliding over to a tea tray next to a long Chesterfield sofa and a few leather armchairs, their usual perch when Zhang Hao comes to visit.

Those had been much more frequent in his lower years, particularly that first year where he was to check in with the Headmaster once a month to make sure nothing was … awry in his mind. The professors and Flamel had disguised it with concern, masked it with goodwill. Said they were for his own good, to make sure he was recovering normally, that whatever had happened during his roughly eight month disappearance hadn’t fucked him up irreparably — not their words, but Zhang Hao was capable of surmising as much. However, the appointments had never seemed particularly caring. They had been making sure he didn’t remember.

And that used to incense him — that used to drive him to sleepless nights where he’d scribble out of fury and frustration in that now-useless journal, every little snippet and wisp of a recollection. Now, as Zhang Hao settles himself onto the brocade armchair, he can muster no more than a twinge of irritation. “Everything is fine,” he mutters.

These meetings have dwindled to once a semester in the last couple years. Flamel no longer watches him out of the corner of his eye, as if he fears Zhang Hao will leap up and brandish the truth. Luckily for him, Zhang Hao is no closer to figuring out the gap in his memory now as he was six years ago.

“That’s good,” Flamel notes. His voice is hoarse, like grating sandpaper, like an organ scrubbed so raw it’s no more than membrane and tendons barely clinging together. “Congratulations on your selection.”

Zhang Hao nods his head, his only acknowledgement. He would never thank Flamel for anything.

As if sensing his ire, Flamel huffs out a soft breath. “Tea?”

“Sure.” It’ll only sit untouched on the table in front of him for whatever duration their conversation persists. But it mollifies the pettiness in Zhang Hao to know he’s wasting a cup of whatever expensive tea leaves Flamel has in stock.

Among common proceedings like making tea, the Headmaster looks even more preternatural. Zhang Hao stops himself from shrinking back when a saucer and hot cup of tea is placed in front of him on the low table.

Flamel folds himself onto the seat across from him. “I want you to be careful with the Tournament.”

Zhang Hao rests his hands on his lap so he isn’t tempted to fidget, to give anything away. “Why?”

“It will be strenuous. You shouldn’t overexert yourself.”

“I’ve been handling myself just fine these past few years.”

The two of them stare at each other, at an impasse. Flamel’s eyes blank and cold, Zhang Hao’s insistent and unyielding.

“I’m simply concerned for you,” Flamel finally breaks the silence.

Zhang Hao has to work hard to hold back his sneer. He knows very well what Flamel’s concern means. “What do you think will happen?”

“Nothing will happen,” the Headmaster is quick to dismiss. “If you are careful.”

“And what if I’m not?” Zhang Hao presses. He forces himself to stay relaxed against the stiff cushion. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Flamel simply sighs. “You know what I cannot tell you.”

Yes, he does. “Is it almost time?”

“Even I don’t know that.”

Zhang Hao grits his teeth so the words on the tip of his tongue are quelled before they force their way out. “Then why do I have to be careful?”

“The Tournament will push you in ways you never have been before,” Flamel finally offers. “It will be dangerous, regardless, that is all.”

Disappointment, chased by frustration. Nothing out of the usual for his chats with the Headmaster. “I understand,” Zhang Hao demures. He doesn’t; but he’ll no longer beg Flamel for his own memories anymore. “I’ll be careful. I should get going now.”

“Hm, of course,” Flamel’s gaze is already drifting off, even hazier, even more distant than they were just seconds ago. “I hope you have a good time celebrating with your friends. It is certainly a proud achievement not many can claim.”

Zhang Hao stands with a small nod, and turns to leave the office. Flamel is already no longer in his body by the time he shuts the heavy oak doors behind him. “Yeah, I feel incredibly honored,” Zhang Hao mutters to the empty hallway.

He knows what awaits him in the Slytherin Common Room. No doubt they’ve already started celebrating without him. Normally he would be eager to see his friends, to receive congratulations and the honor and praise that comes with it. He enjoys being the center of attention when it’s like this. But he needs a bit of time to think after his conversation with Flamel, and so he takes the long way down to the dungeons, through the Transfiguration corridor, which he expects to find deserted — except it’s not.

“Hanbin?”

He’s currently huddled on a bench with his knees pulled up to his chest. His face is mottled red, his eyes shiny, as if he’s barely holding back tears. Hanbin’s gaze snaps to Zhang Hao when he hears his own name. They stare at each other for a suspended moment, neither of them expecting to come across each other in this empty hall.

“What are you doing here?” Zhang Hao blurts out.

“Uh,” Hanbin mumbles. “Having a panic attack, I think.”

Zhang Hao bursts out into immediate maniacal, nonsensical, crazed laughter. He tries to will himself to stop because he doesn’t want Hanbin to think he’s laughing at him, but he’s unable to until tears are leaking out of the corner of his eyes, and he’s struggling for breath around whatever stone seems to have been lodged in his chest, which he realizes too late is a sob. When he finally gets a rein on his wild emotions, he gasps out, “Merlin, look at us — Hogwarts Champions.”

Hanbin is still staring at him with glassy eyes, confusion and concern swirling around in them. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

Zhang Hao swipes roughly at his cheeks. And that same feeling from the Astronomy tower reappears, except stronger this time, something akin to annoyance, even though he knows Hanbin doesn’t deserve it, even though he knows that’s not quite what it is. “You’re so kind,” he sighs, dropping himself, skin and bones and listless muscles, on the bench next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.” Hanbin gives him a weak smile.

“It’s because of the Tournament,” Zhang Hao guesses.

“Yeah,” Hanbin blows out a breath — but it catches too quickly.

Zhang Hao listens to Hanbin’s rapid gasps for three seconds before he can’t take it any more. He sets his hand on Hanbin’s shoulder and then slips it onto his back, rubbing soothingly. “Just take slow breaths, in and out, easy alright?”

Hanbin gives him a grateful smile, even as his chest hitches with another short breath. Zhang Hao reaches out for one of Hanbin’s hands and holds it against his own chest. He breathes in deeply until it fills his entire diaphragm, until whatever had been stuck there — the sob — seems to loosen, and then he breathes out, a rush at first, tapering off into something slow and steady. “Follow me,” Zhang Hao instructs, repeating it a few more times until his chest aches.

Or maybe that’s from the deep, doleful look Hanbin is giving him, like he’s his only lifeline right now. After about ten minutes of this, Zhang Hao feels Hanbin’s breaths sync with his. He does a few more rounds before he gently lifts Hanbin’s hand and places it back on his knee, patting lightly.

“Better?” Zhang Hao prompts.

“Thank you,” Hanbin mumbles. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Zhang Hao reassures, rubbing his hand up and down Hanbin’s back still. They sit in silence for another stretch — Zhang Hao finds these silences with Hanbin have become the norm, but they aren’t entirely unpleasant.

Once Hanbin seems to be feeling a bit more put together, he turns to him, “How come you aren’t off celebrating?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Zhang Hao shoots him a wry look, but he continues on to explain: “Flamel wanted to talk to me for a bit. I was just on my way back to the dungeons.”

Hanbin graciously doesn’t point out that the Transfiguration corridor isn’t exactly on the way — one. “Did I miss anything?”

“Oh no,” Zhang Hao shakes his head emphatically. “He didn’t have anything important to say.” He’s grateful that Hanbin doesn’t press him on it — two.

“I think I was just a bit overwhelmed by it all,” Hanbin gives his own explanation in turn, fiddling with the cloth of his robes also draped over his knee. “I was okay in the Great Hall, but then the waiver and … I started to overthink. I didn’t expect to be chosen.”

Zhang Hao looks at him in surprise. “Why not?”

“Did you think I would be?” Hanbin challenges.

Zhang Hao gnaws on his lips. He can’t quite lie, not when Hanbin is looking at him like that. “Why not?” he repeats again as a way to avoid answering.

Hanbin gives him a sad smile — three. “There are others who would be better suited.”

“But you’re a Prefect and Quidditch Captain,” Zhang Hao insists. “I actually didn’t really think I’d be chosen either.”

At this, Hanbin does the unexpected, the unkind thing, says what Zhang Hao doesn’t want him to. “You? Of course you’d be chosen.”

“I know it seems right on paper but …” He trails off. He doesn’t like to vocalize his insecurities; he doesn’t like to speak into existence the possibility that he’s still a terrified and unsure and timid twelve-year-old. “I’m not what everyone thinks.”

Hanbin gives him a long look — not reproachful or even disbelieving, just that, a look. His eyes roam over Zhang Hao’s face, bringing with them the feeling that Hanbin is seeing, not assuming or judging or even thinking. Simply taking all of him in. And it terrifies him; it scares him to the bone. Zhang Hao feels electricity sparking within him, bouncing against his rib cage and off his heart, and with each zap, zap, zap, it beats a little harder.

Finally, Hanbin smiles, it’s small but it’s there. It takes him even longer to speak again. “That may be true — but you are an amazing wizard.”

Zhang Hao feels like he can breathe again. “No more amazing than you — we both got four Outstandings on our O.W.L.s.”

Hanbin’s eyes widen. “How do you know?”

“I’ve got to keep track of my competition,” Zhang Hao teases. There’s a bit of color in Hanbin’s cheeks now, a bit more of the brightness that he had when they were looking at the stars. Zhang Hao quirks his lips up. “Literally, now, I guess.”

And Hanbin surprises him again, biting into a grin. “So you know I scored top marks in DADA.” The unspoken: and you didn’t.

Zhang Hao leans forward with a razor smile of his own, his heart pounding now for a completely different reason. “What happened to not thinking you were good enough?”

Hanbin simply sniffs and stands, brushing off his robes. “I never said that.”

And then he’s off down the hallway without a backwards glance, leaving Zhang Hao a little ruffled, a lot bemused.

“Where have you been?”

In an instant Zhang Hao’s sour mood from before returns in full force. “Let me catch my breath,” he grimaces, climbing through the Common Room doorway.

“Aw, come on,” Gideon sulks, his lower lip jutting out. And perhaps the unexpected charm, so at odds with his towering physique and striking features, would work on most. “We missed you! This is all for you, after all.”

Gideon sweeps his arms out behind him to the rest of the crowded room where Zhang Hao can definitely smell Daisyroot Draught wafting from, where conversation is buzzing and people are laughing and casting silly little sparks off their wands, where everything seems just too much at the moment. Zhang Hao sees Leland sprawled across an armchair, head lolling with a goofy smile on his face. A couple sixth-year girls are giggling by the fireplace and shooting him and Gideon side glances. Someone seems to have set off streamers around the place, leaving the dungeon brighter and livelier than Zhang Hao remembers ever seeing it.

“Where were you?” Gideon asks again.

“I was just talking to Flamel.”

“What did he—”

“Zhang Hao!” Ricky barges into their conversation, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Zhang Hao feels the full weight of his friend press into his side as he receives a sharp—toothed grin. “Congratulations.”

Zhang Hao squeezes him back, “Thanks.”

“Come on then,” Gideon encourages, drawing the two of them deeper into the dim room. The light shifts based on the undulation of waves around them in the Great Lake, with dark lines slithering across the carpet and pockets of light catching the tips of their shoes.

“There you are!” Camden beams when they wind their way to the center of the room. “Our Champion! I knew it’d be you!”

“He’s been insufferable about it all night, please just tell him he’s right so he’ll shut up,” Huanjun says, appearing next to them.

“I had full faith in Zhang Hao, too,” Ricky argues.

“You all knew better than me, how about that?” Zhang Hao pacifies, chuckling.

“Let’s have a toast!”

Zhang Hao jumps a little at Gideon’s loud shout. He wants to say no, wants to tug on his arm and tell him he’s not interested in making a toast, not when he feels completely drained beyond his capabilities after weathering through Flamel and finding Hanbin in the corridor. He feels nearly at the end of his emotional rope, but those closest to them have already turned and spotted him.

“Congratulations, Hao!”

“You’ve finally arrived!”

“Let’s hear it then, Champion!”

They cheer and bellow and cry. All for him.

And he hates himself for liking it. For basking in their good mood and congratulations and applause. It only magnifies his own weakness — how much he craves their approval even when he scorns it in equal measure. He slips into the role seamlessly, even if it takes a little extra effort tonight. Zhang Hao affects a bright smile, turning in a circle to receive his accolades.

Someone hands him a cup, the scent of Daisyroot heavy now under his nose, and soon all the shouts blend into a unanimous shout of “toast, toast, toast, toast!”

Zhang Hao feels himself being boosted onto an ottoman, and he reaches his hand down to steady himself on Ricky’s bony shoulders. Everyone’s upturned faces, eyes hungry, smiles eager, look up at him glassy and waiting. The faces of his friends; the faces of those who had cast him dark looks and surreptitiously whispered about him six years ago — they all blend together. Zhang Hao widens his smile until the corners of his mouth aches.

His cup goes up in the air — the rest of the House follows suit.

Zhang Hao has been doing a pretty good job of sticking to Ricky so far tonight, which is usually enough of a buffer to keep Gideon, and anyone else, from getting too close. But then Yujin was teary-eyed and all in his face blubbering about how proud he was and how he’ll be cheering him on and that he’s thinking of getting enchanted Zhang Hao jerseys that blow kisses (to which Zhang Hao emphatically told him no), so he had lost his friend in the crowd. He inches along the wall on the far side of the Common Room, hoping that everyone is either too drunk or distracted or tired to notice him slipping away.

No such luck.

“Where are you going?” Gideon grins, ambling up to him with long strides. He tips his cup towards Zhang Hao. “Another drink?”

“I’m tapping out for tonight,” he shakes his head. “I’ve got Advanced Potions in the morning.”

“I’m sure Professor Zhou will cut you some slack. He’s got to have a bit of Slytherin pride.”

“I can’t expect special treatment,” Zhang Hao protests.

“Always following the rules,” Gideon murmurs, expressing souring.

“You know why—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gideon interrupts with a frown. Though his mood seems to bounce back rather quickly with a razor grin; Zhang Hao doesn’t like the spark of zeal in his eyes. “At least the competition this year is easy.”

“Easy?” Zhang Hao laughs. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, have some confidence,” Gideon nudges him in the shoulder. “That Hufflepuff is no match for you.”

He frowns. Gideon is the second person to think so tonight — the first one being Hanbin himself, but Zhang Hao takes this one much less lightly. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s nothing special,” Gideon shrugs.

It’s like deja vu. “He’s a Prefect and a Quidditch Captain.”

“I’m a Prefect and Quidditch Captain,” Gideon snarls.

Ah. “I know you were expecting to be chosen but—”

“It’s fine,” Gideon cuts him off again, that jovial smile slipping into place once more. With each snap of the mask the fervor in his eyes grows stronger. “Because you’re Champion. And you’re going to beat that Muggle-born, good for nothing who thinks he can just strut around the castle, as if he’s not lucky to even be let in the—”

“You know I don’t like it when you talk like that,” Zhang Hao snaps, spine straightening and drawing away, feeling the Daisyroot Draught he had drank earlier in the night rioting in his stomach in protest as well.

Gideon’s face grows slack. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he entreats, quick and with a sad look. “Sorry, I’ve been drinking. You know how I get when I drink too much.”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao sighs. He knows too well, and he knows too well what Gideon will be like the next time and the time after that. “I’m a bit tired — I was just heading off to bed.”

“No, no, don’t let me ruin the fun,” Gideon says remorsefully, lifting off from the wall.

“It’s not you,” Zhang Hao grits out. “I’m just tired.”

“This party is for you.”

“And I hope you have a great time on my account,” Zhang Hao stresses. “Goodnight, Gideon.”

Giving him a last forlorn look, the kind that looks so believable, that has Zhang Hao thinking time and time again that maybe Gideon is simply struggling, maybe Gideon is just hopelessly lost, too. “Yeah okay, goodnight Hao.”

Zhang Hao heaves a breath of relief once he closes himself off in his empty dorm room. He gets ready for bed mechanically, taking out his pajamas, putting on his skincare, turning over his sheets. Going so far as to pre-pack his bag for classes the next day. He sits on his bed in silence for a long time, feeling bone-tired but knowing what waits for him on the other side of sleep won’t be pleasant. He listens to the low buzz of conversation echoing down the hall, the occasional chorus of laughter as the party eventually winds down. When he finally hears voices coming closer and students finally going to bed does he close his curtains and lie down.

That night he dreams about Professor Zhou assigning them a love potion. He runs out of pearl dust and turns to Hanbin to ask for some. The scene shifts to blue flames as he watches the Goblet of Fire spit out Yujin’s name, his wide, frightened eyes swirling around and around before a loud wailing cuts through everything else in his dream. The last thing Zhang Hao remembers before waking up is Hanbin pouring a whole bottle of amortentia down his throat.

The next few days became unbearable. Zhang Hao should have known the attention wouldn’t just be from his House. He’s met with unsolicited advice, uncomfortable fawning, blatant stares, insipid giggling, the whole gamut no matter where he goes. He’s resorted to hiding in his dorm room by Thursday, but he’s not even safe from Camden and Huanjun there. It’s driving him nearly mad; it drives him to the top of the Astronomy tower.

“We can’t keep meeting like this.”

Zhang Hao whips his head up to find Hanbin grinning at him from one of the alcoves. There’s a fifth-year on the other side of the tower but she seems to have fallen asleep on her chart.

“I’m trying to hide,” Zhang Hao mutters, trudging over to the window next to Hanbin’s.

“From your adoring fans?”

Zhang Hao props his hands up on the table, leaning over it towards Hanbin, to tease, “Are you one of them?”

Hanbin’s eyes widen just a fraction, a conflicted look on his face.

“Nevermind,” Zhang Hao says quickly.

“No, I—”

“We’re competing,” Zhang Hao cuts in. “I get it.” When Hanbin doesn’t say anything for a moment, Zhang Hao deflates. He turns to set up his telescope and unroll his parchment, willing himself not to look over.

Hanbin waits for him to finish before he speaks, softly but firmly into the heavy air, “I am.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes dart up to meet his with unerring accuracy.

“A fan,” Hanbin clarifies warmly, smiling so the corners of his eyes fold in that sweet way of his.

“You’re just saying that,” Zhang Hao grumbles. He resiliently tries to keep his mouth downturned but it betrays him by twitching.

Hanbin’s laughter rings out, wondrous and light. “Don’t pout; I’ll work on your chart with you again.”

“You’re just going to pretend to let me help,” Zhang Hao crosses his arms, petulant.

“Nonsense.” Hanbin grabs his own chart and textbook, coming over to settle them next to Zhang Hao’s things, cozy on the table. “Let’s work together again — please?”

Well if he asks so nicely. Zhang Hao gives a short, terse nod, his smile finally winning out.

His assignment is finished within an hour, a feat so miraculous Zhang Hao can’t help but stare down at the chart in shock. He thinks he’s a fan of Hanbin’s as well.

He’s gone back over to his table to pack up his things and quickly slings his satchel over his shoulder to head out. “I’ll see you later,” Hanbin gives him a small wave.

Before he makes it a few steps down the stairwell, Zhang Hao rushes over. “Wait! Have you had dinner?”

Hanbin peers up at him curiously. “Not yet.”

Zhang Hao lets his desires win out, before he can overthink it. “Let’s go together.”

The Great Hall is fairly empty by the time the two of them show up with only a handful of students still at each of the House tables. They get a few stares, some whispers when they appear in the doorway, clearly together.

“Oh, where should we sit …” Hanbin trails off, looking between their two House tables.

Zhang Hao grabs his elbow lightly, tugging him toward the left — the Slytherin table. He keeps his gentle hold on Hanbin until they’re settled on the bench. They get a few curious glances from a group of fourth-years further down, but the section Zhang Hao chose is empty, apart from the heaping plates of food in front of them.

“I’ve never sat here before.”

“I know,” Zhang Hao grins. “But it’s not your first time at another table.”

“Hm?” Hanbin prompts, distracted by the different dishes in front of them.

“You sit at the Gryffindor table sometimes.”

“Oh yeah, with my friend Matthew. I don’t think you know him.”

“He’s on the Quidditch team, right?”

“Yup, a Chaser. Oh—” Hanbin turns away from the food back to Zhang Hao. “I kept meaning to ask since the last time we spoke, I hope Yujin isn’t taking what happened too hard?”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately, he’s completely recovered.”

Hanbin giggles. “I wish I could be young again.”

“Me too,” Zhang Hao groans. “I feel decrepit sometimes.”

“You’re only a year older than me.”

“Yujin once called me dad by accident.”

Hanbin snorts, and Zhang Hao shoves his shoulder.

Another one of those companionable silences falls between them as they pile their plates and start eating. But between bites of his shepherd's pie, Zhang Hao can’t help but sneak glances over at him. He notices that Hanbin likes to take big bites, allowing the food to round out his cheeks, before he purses his mouth into a little rose to chew. The sight elicits an insipid, bottomless sweetness in Zhang Hao. He feels heat creeping across the tip of his ears as he returns his gaze to his own plate.

“What?” Hanbin notices.

“Nothing.”

“What?” He isn’t going to let him off the hook.

“It’s nothing,” Zhang Hao insists.

“You want some, is that it?” Hanbin indicates the pork chop he had slowly, steadily, and so adorably cut up into bite-sized pieces on his plate earlier.

“Yes, fine, I want some,” Zhang Hao snaps, feeling his ears fully heat. He hopes Hanbin doesn’t see — he hopes the candlelight above them is leaving at least a few things to mystery.

Hanbin smiles beatifically, pushing his plate toward Zhang Hao in a silent offer.

And how dare he sit there all angelic and lovely and generous while Zhang Hao feels so awkwardly flustered! Who is supposed to be the one with the crush here!

An unsatisfied and frustrated feeling raises its head again, that same not-annoyance that has flashed through him whenever Hanbin was being too pleasant, too comely. It makes Zhang Hao want to act out; it makes him want Hanbin to feel that same rush of discomfort and awareness and disconcertion. So instead of spearing one of the neatly cut bits of pork on his plate, Zhang Hao reaches out to grab Hanbin’s wrist, bringing it and his fork and the bit of speared meat on it up to his lips. He watches Hanbin’s round eyes darken and his cherubic cheeks flush red as he eats directly off his fork. Zhang Hao’s annoyance disappears instantly.

“Where have you been?”

The two of them snap their heads to the side to see Ricky sitting down on the bench opposite them. Zhang Hao drops Hanbin’s wrist like it burns.

“Why is that always the question nowadays?” Zhang Hao mutters.

“I thought you were holing up in our room.”

“I went to do Astronomy.”

“Okay, and …” Ricky flicks his gaze over to Hanbin, who had started eating his pork chop again.

“Hanbin helped.”

“Hm, interesting,” Ricky comments.

Zhang Hao shoots him a warning scowl.

“Nice to meet you,” Ricky grins at Hanbin, who swallows and smiles back.

With Ricky sitting across from them, Zhang Hao becomes acutely aware of how close he and Hanbin are, their thighs barely a palms-width apart. Hanbin’s elbow accidentally brushes the edge of his robes when he reaches for his cup, and Zhang Hao has to reach across him to snag a jam doughnut.

“So,” Ricky drawls, eyes darting between the two of them. “When did you guys start hanging out?”

“We don’t really—” Hanbin starts.

“Hanbin helped me with Astronomy a couple weeks ago,” Zhang Hao explains.

“Out of nowhere?”

“Sort of,” Hanbin shrugs. He grins over at Zhang Hao. “He was really struggling so I offered.”

“I was not struggling,” Zhang Hao feels inclined to disagree even though he was.

The two of them ignore him.

“So it’s you I have to thank for completing my assignment!” Ricky perks up, snapping his fingers like he just solved a puzzle. He turns to Zhang Hao. “I knew there was no way you did that chart — I ended up getting full marks.”

Hanbin bursts out laughing, and Zhang Hao very mulishly glares at them both.

“Usually, it’s returned with half of the constellations wrong — if I’m lucky,” Ricky shrugs.

“Maybe you should consider doing your own Astronomy work then, Ricky,” Zhang Hao says snidely.

“I’m scared of heights,” Ricky asserts cavalierly, placing a hand over his chest. “How could you possibly suggest I risk my life up there?”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure the Astronomy Tower is enchanted so students can’t fall off,” Hanbin offers. “You know just in case anyone tries to …” He trails off and grimaces, shoulders scrunching up as if he’s self-conscious that he brought up a taboo topic. How cute.

“If I could off myself from there, I might have been tempted a few times,” Ricky answers breezily. “Especially during O.W.L.s last year.”

Hanbin relaxes. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“One moment of terror in exchange for never having to brew another Erumpent Potion,” Ricky holds up both of his hands palms up like he’s weighing his options.

“Oh shut up, you got an Exceeds Expectations.”

“By the skin of my teeth!”

“How come you’re not in Advanced Potions this year then?” Hanbin asks.

“Too lazy,” Ricky shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll even take the N.E.W.T. so there’s no point.”

“I don’t think I’ll take the N.E.W.T. either,” Hanbin offers. “But I ended up taking it.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Champion,” Ricky grins.

Hanbin flinches like Ricky has touched on a sore subject, and Zhang Hao immediately leans forward. “Ricky is forgetting to mention that he’s taking Advanced Care of Magical Creatures, which no one in the entire castle has heard of before he enrolled.”

Ricky shoots Zhang Hao a betrayed look. “It’s a real class!”

“Of course it is,” Zhang Hao smirks. “And how many people are in it?”

Ricky pauses. “Five.”

Zhang Hao splays his hand out in front of him in a and that’s all that needs to be said gesture. Hanbin giggles. And Zhang Hao leans back again, pleased.

Monday morning comes rude and, much to Zhang Hao’s dismay, rainy. All of his roommates are still tucked comfortably in their four-poster beds when he wraps his cloak around himself and exits the dungeons. They had been told to meet the Ministry officials and organizers in the courtyard. He stares balefully out from the awning of the walkway at the rain making its way down with increasing intensity.

Zhang Hao casts an Impervious charm on his cloak before stepping out under the deluge. There are a few figures huddled in the mist, and Zhang Hao recognizes them as the trio from Durmstrang: Headmistress Vulchanova, Callidora Munter, and Milena Koffka. Off to the side, he also spots Flamel, who has his wand pointed upwards, thus encasing him in a cocoon of dryness and warmth. The rest of them be damned.

The four of them exchange brief nods as Zhang Hao joins them, Flamel unmoving, eyes cast into the gray horizon.

“The others are late,” Vulchanova snaps out, just as the rain begins to pour even harder.

Zhang Hao can feel it pooling around his feet, wetting the bottom hem of his trousers. A chill travels up his spine.

“Perhaps, we can wait in the Great Hall?” Vulchanova suggests. “It will not be wise to entertain important guests in the rain.”

The four of them turn to Flamel, who turns to them slowly, serenely, as if they are not currently standing under a direct deluge of water. He smiles, like that’s a thought that hadn’t yet occurred to him, “Why yes, that’s an excellent idea. Let us reconvene there.”

Zhang Hao turns quickly, marching right back to the walkway. He hears the other three scampering in after him, and Milena saying something in a foreign language quite heatedly. He’s about to turn down the walkway towards the Great Hall when he hears rapid footsteps behind them. Hanbin’s cheeks are slightly pink when he catches up, and there’s a flyaway strand of hair across his forehead.

“What happened? Where are you going?” Hanbin huffs when he stops next to him.

“We’re going to wait for them in the entryway instead,” Zhang Hao explains, fighting the urge to reach up and tame a bit of hair sticking out by Hanbin’s ear.

“How long were you out there for?” Hanbin peers at him. “You’re drenched. Did you not cast an Impervious charm?”

Zhang Hao looks down at himself, startled to realize it’s true; no wonder he’s shivering so much. “I did, but I don’t know why …”

Hanbin takes off his heavy cloak and covers Zhang Hao’s shoulders with it.

He tucks himself a little smaller, liking the heavy, comforting drape of it. “Won’t you be cold?”

“We’ll be inside,” Hanbin shakes his head. “I brought it for the rain anyway.”

“Thanks,” Zhang Hao murmurs, hitching the heavy cloak higher up on his shoulders as they begin walking.

Hanbin seems to have realized his hair is a mess, fussing with his bangs and running his hand — distractingly — through it a few times in an effort to tame it.

That awful, awful realization once again of how handsome Hanbin is hits him full force. “You look fine,” Zhang Hao whispers as they step into the hushed hall.

Flamel is already standing under the large wooden chandelier of the entryway when they arrive, though Zhang Hao can’t remember seeing him exit the courtyard. Headmistress Maxine and the Beauxbaton Champions have also joined them, predictably in shimmering, matching periwinkle capes with fur trims. The scattered groups stand around the hall silently, which Zhang Hao appreciates. He’s still shaking slightly, a frigid cold settling along his shoulders that he knows will only be banished with a warm bath in the Prefect's bathroom.

“They’re here,” Flamel announces softly, and the group collectively turns toward the large double doors that open moments later, a portly man walking in ahead of a contingent of other wizards in official robes.

“Minister Spavin,” Flamel greets, stepping forward.

“It’s pouring out there,” the Minister complains good-naturedly. “If only you lifted the apparition wards around this place, we wouldn’t have to take a carriage in.”

Flamel simply smiles and shakes his head like this is a continuation of a familiar back and forth between them. “I’m afraid not for the safety of my students. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, good to see you,” Archer Spavin grins. He then turns to the visiting Headmasters and the six Champions. “Can’t quite believe it’s already another Tournament. Feels like we just had the last one!”

“Pleasure to see you again, Minister,” Headmistress Maxine greets.

“Good, good, good!” Spavin repeats, turning and greeting each of them with handshakes.

Zhang Hao watches each of the interactions with interest — Lee with his back straight and a reverent clasp, Violet with a demure smile and the barest flutter of her lashes, Headmistress Vulchanova with a straight face and barely a blink.

When he reaches him, Zhang Hao waits for a spark of recognition, any sort of change in the Minister’s expression, but he simply gives him a jovial, single, arm-rattling shake and the same plastic grin he wears for the rest of them.

“Excellent,” Spavin settles back with his hand on his waist. “Well, it looks like we have a very talented group of Champions this year. Yet another exciting Tournament in store, I am sure. Now, let me introduce Ruth Ollerton, the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Mason Bernard, Head Auror, who will help oversee the plans to keep all of you safe during the Tournament.”

Zhang Hao zones out for a bit as the two officials introduce themselves and explain the logistics of Auror presence around the castle, magic defenses, as well as medical responders. Instead, he watches the fascinating interplay between Lee Bernard and his father — or more accurately how stubbornly Mason ignores his son. Occasionally, Lee sneaks glances at his father, who stares resolutely forward as he drones on to reassure them about “minimal Ministry meddling” and “emergency protocols.”

“Right, that’s all done then,” Spavin claps his hands nearly overtop of Mason's closing words. “The short of it is: You won’t even know we are here! Well, not us, but the very capable Aurors Mr. Bernard here has assigned.”

They’re given a few more details regarding when they’re due for press photos and interviews and who the judges of their Tasks will be — all names that are vaguely familiar to Zhang Hao. Only one among the group stands out, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. By the shared looks from the other Champions, he’s also not the only one to recognize it: Kim Jiwoong — former Hufflepuff and previous Hogwarts Champion from his second year. The name immediately brings to mind a cut jaw and a particularly powerful patronus.

They’re dismissed soon after with Spavin, the Ministry officials, and the Headmasters retreating to Flamel’s office to discuss “more serious matters that would bore you young lot.”

“I am quite looking forward to seeing you all at the First Task,” Spavin says with a twinkle in his eye as he departs.

“Why is your Minister so … friendly?” Callidora asks as soon as they disappear down one of the winding corridors.

“He’s not always like that,” Lee says. “Dad says he can get pretty scary sometimes.”

“Oh yeah? What else did good ‘ole dad say??” Milena sneers.

Lee turns to her with a fierce scowl, but Violet shoves a dainty arm in front of him, shooting her own glare over at the Durmstrang students.

“He probably hasn’t been told what the Tasks are,” Hanbin speaks up to mediate, to Zhang Hao’s surprise. He looks over at Hanbin, who has his hand in the pocket of his robes in a casual stance and an easy smile on his face.

“How would you know?” Callidora challenges.

“Spavin didn’t seem too keen on him; I doubt he would have shared,” Hanbin shrugs.

Koffka laughs, a high, short-lived sound.

Lee turns his ire on Hanbin, but he stays mute, cheeks turning ruddy.

“Come on, let’s go,” Violet cuts in, linking her arm through Lee’s and leading him away. “There’s no point discussing with them.”

“Yeah, go and arrange your wardrobes!” Callidora calls after them.

The Durmstrang girls depart soon after as well, back out into the rain, presumably to the large ship currently presiding over the Great Lake. Hanbin offers him breakfast, but he’s still freezing so Zhang Hao declines in favor of high-tailing it to the Prefect's bathroom. It isn’t until he gets there that he realizes he still has Hanbin’s cloak. He hangs it up neatly with his own and reminds himself to bring it to him later.

The warm water envelopes him, prickling at the skin along his back as the heat comes in contact with the blocks of ice that are his shoulder blades. He scrunches his shoulders up to his ears as he sinks deeper and feels the tingles traveling all the way up the back of his neck. As he slowly thaws, Zhang Hao’s eyes are drawn again to the dark brown coat hanging by the doorway. It really was a sweet gesture. And it was just the right amount of heavy, like a weighted blanket, comforting and secure — that’s Zhang Hao’s last thought before he drifts off to sleep.

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year is always more trouble than it’s worth.

Zhang Hao compares it to corralling cattle, except the cattle likes to talk back and shoot him curious glances and whisper and giggle behind their small palms.

“This way, third years,” Zhang Hao leads, waving a small green flag he’s conjured up from the tip of his wand. He sees the other Prefects with their group of children as well, most notably Hanbin who stands by the side of Honeydukes with a bright smile, bending down to adjust the cloak of a small ginger-haired girl. His hands are gentle as he quickly does up her coat. Zhang Hao is too far away to hear what he’s saying, but the girl’s eyes are practically worshipful as they shine up at him.

“What now?” One of his own third years complains from the back of the group, making Zhang Hao snap his attention back to them.

“You all have three hours in the town,” He instructs. “But before you go, there are some basic rules— you two back there, don’t go wandering off yet!”

Zhang Hao is fairly sure his throat is going to be hoarse by the end of the day.

Twenty minutes later he unleashes the horror of nearly seventy-five third years on the village. Half of them run into Honeydukes, and he has no doubt the other half are currently booking it down the cobblestone path to Zonko’s Joke Shop. He has the horrible feeling that he’s going to be confiscating dungbombs for the next month.

Ricky materializes next to him once all the children have gone. “This is why I didn’t want to be a Prefect.”

“And we are all better for it — you would just let them do whatever they want. Like with Yujin.”

Ricky shrugs like he doesn’t really mind. “The kids love you though,” he comments. Zhang Hao can’t tell if it’s sarcasm.

“They only love me because I’m strict, and they’re scared of me.”

“That’s not true,” Ricky snickers. “Otherwise, they’d listen better.”

Zhang Hao soon splits from his friend — Ricky off to Brood and Peck for some unicorn hair and him to Tomes and Scrolls to see if he can find the new second volume of Asiatic Anti-Venoms — both agreeing to meet at The Three Broomsticks in about an hour.

The bookstore is dark and stuffy when Zhang Hao walks in. The entire area is subsumed by dusty scrolls and heavy books, spiraling up into tall towers that reach the rafters and shoved haphazardly on top of each other on the shelves. There are a few skylights and windows to let in the light, if only they weren’t completely swallowed by the overflowing piles of texts. There are faint signs for sections on hanging plaques placed seemingly at random among the shelves: Conjuring magic, Alchemy and Ancient Art, Quidditch.

He’s thumbing through a thick volume of Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean when the creek of the door precedes someone else walking in.

“Oh!”

Zhang Hao glances up to find Hanbin with a gold and black scarf draped loosely over both shoulders and a becoming cowlick falling into his eyes. He grins in greeting. “Hello.”

“What are you doing in here?” Hanbin hurries over with a smile of his own.

“Shopping for toadstools,” Zhang Hao deadpans.

Hanbin giggles, peering over his shoulder at the tome he’s currently holding. “Preparing for the Task and trying to throw me off?” Hanbin teases.

“Not at all; be my guest,” Zhang Hao snaps the book closed with a puff of dust, and hands it off to Hanbin. “Why are you here?”

“It’s my turn to be hiding,” Hanbin admits rather sheepishly.

“You’re running away from your avid fans? How cruel,” Zhang Hao laughs. “From the third years, I assume?”

Hanbin nods, setting Zhang Hao’s book back on the shelf neatly.

“They seem pretty enamored with you,” Zhang Hao points out.

“I’ve always been good with kids,” Hanbin shrugs.

Zhang Hao leads them further into the bookshop. It’s a bit dimmer in the back, the sunlight fighting against the guard of books too weak to extend its tendrils here. Both he and Hanbin have to duck under the curve of staircases to reach the bookshelves. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

“You just need a little bit of patience — and to listen to them.”

“I think they ought to be listening to me.”

Hanbin giggles again.

Zhang Hao finds himself grinning goofily at the books — Hanbin’s good mood infectious. He spots the spine of Asiatic Anti-Venoms Volume II and pulls it out. “Aha!”

“Healing?” Hanbin inquires. “Do you think we’ll need that?”

“I’m not here for the Tournament,” Zhang Hao explains. “I just like it.”

Hanbin considers him for a moment, the two of them ducked low under the overhang, their shoulders rounded and their faces a little closer because of it, and Zhang Hao feels a bit self conscious. Attention is a fickle and strange thing for him. He learned to dread it when he was young, when heavy stares only contained censure and judgment, and then he came to loathe it, when those eyes came with derisive whispers and nasty rumors — and now, he isn’t sure. He loves it; he knows he loves it, he’s always loved it. Attention and praise. But a part of him hates it too, far more than ever before.

And yet, the weight of Hanbin’s eyes, wide and dark and shining under the shadowed awning of the staircase, two pinpoints of starlight, feel different. He gets the distinct feeling Hanbin is seeing him just as he is, neatly brushed hair, bare face with all his moles, heavy robes and sturdy shoes for walking.

“You want to be a healer?” Hanbin finally guesses.

“You’re a genius, how did you know?” He can’t resist teasing him; he can’t resist trying to draw out that gentle blush he hasn’t seen in a few days. He’s unsuccessful, but instead gets one of Hanbin’s wide grins. It fills his heart just the same.

“Lucky guess.”

Zhang Hao pays for his book with a galleon, and the two of them find themselves deposited on the dirt road outside. “Where are you headed now?” he asks.

“My friends are probably still in Honeydukes, but I can’t go back there,” Hanbin explains sheepishly.

“Come to the Three Broomsticks with me.” Once again, Zhang Hao leaves control of his mouth completely up to his desires and not his brain. “I’m meeting Ricky, and the third years probably won’t go in there after gorging themselves on sweets.”

Hanbin chuckles, nodding slowly in agreement. “Okay, lead the way.”

The two of them set down the short lane, their feet in matching rhythm.

“Why do you want to be a healer?” Hanbin asks.

Zhang Hao has gotten good at answering this one. “At first it was interesting because it was challenging, but then I started to just really enjoy it.”

“How come?”

“What do you mean?”

“How come you enjoy it?”

Zhang Hao kicks a pebble in the middle of the road, weighing how much he should share. This much should be fine. “It’s all like a puzzle I need to solve, and getting it right is the reward. I’m the type of person who likes seeing tangible results; I’m a bit impatient like that, and I also want — need — to feel like I have a purpose. Doing all that through helping someone feels pretty good.” The blush he had tried so hard to entice out before dusts the upper swells of Hanbin’s cheeks when he looks over at him. How curious. “What?” Zhang Hao prompts.

“I think you’re really good at helping people,” Hanbin says finally with that heart-stopping smile of his.

“I don’t know where you’ve gotten that idea, since it’s mostly been you helping me.”

“After Yujin fell off his broom,” Hanbin reminds him. “And that time in the corridor when I was, um, having a hard time after the Champion selection. You knew exactly what to do.”

“You would have been fine without me,” Zhang Hao dismisses. He can see Hanbin wants to argue, but they arrive at the door of the Three Broomsticks and Zhang Hao yanks open the door before Hanbin can say anything else.

Immediately, a wave of conversation and the smell of grease and meat encompass them both, not entirely unpleasant, but not entirely welcome either when Zhang Hao had Hanbin completely to himself before. They shuffle into the pub, and he spots Ricky sitting at a back table immediately. The sixth year looks up in surprise when they both pull out a chair.

“Didn’t expect you to pick up a stray,” Ricky drawls.

“Found him in Tomes and Scrolls.”

Ricky narrows his eyes suspiciously at Hanbin, who sits tall and straight. “Were you following him?”

“Of course not!”

Zhang Hao shoots Ricky a censorious frown before explaining, “He’s hiding from the children.”

“Merlin, I don’t blame you; I would, too,” Ricky commiserates.

“They’re big fans of his,” Zhang Hao says pointedly.

“Hm,” Ricky hums, picking up his glass and taking a sip, glancing at Hanbin over the rim. “I don’t blame them either.”

They order a plate of chips to share, and chat about their upcoming classes for the week. Both Ricky and Hanbin are taking Alchemy, though not together. As they grumble over a particularly hard philosophical interpretation — Zhang Hao marvels at how well the two of them get along: Ricky with his ill-timed comments and bluntness and Hanbin with his corny jokes and supernatural ability to keep any conversation going. He watches their back and forth with fascination, a bit wondrously, a bit enviously.

“I saw a few of them going around Hogsmeade before I came in here,” Ricky comments.

Zhang Hao tunes back into the conversation. “Wait, who?”

“Durmstrang students.”

“I heard the Gryffindors are in charge of guiding them around, likewise for the Ravenclaws and Beauxbatons,” Hanbin says.

“Double the work for them,” Ricky mutters. “You guys spend a lot of time with their Champions? What are they like?”

“Competitive.”

“Defensive.”

Ricky glances at the two of them with a smirk. “So just pleasures to be around then.”

“They’ll all start classes with us next week,” Zhang Hao offers.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Ricky says sarcastically.

“What? You’re not excited for some ‘interschool mingling’?”

Ricky wrinkles his nose. “We mingle enough over the summer, thank you very much.”

Hanbin looks at the two of them curiously.

“Family friends,” Zhang Hao fills him in. “By the loosest definition. Most old Wizarding families know each other, inevitably.”

“Unfortunately,” Ricky mutters under his breath.

“Parents are friends or, at least, friends of friends,” Zhang Hao continues, ticking them off on his fingers. “They went to school together, work together at the Ministry, or attend the same vacation clubs, all of that nonsense.”

“I didn’t realize it was so extensive.”

“They’d all turn purple in the face if they heard you saying that,” Ricky chortles. “Like to consider themselves exclusive.”

“So you know most of the other students?”

“No, no,” Ricky shakes his head. “Just one or two. But they’re the nasty sort, so I’m not keen to know the rest.”

“I’m sure they aren’t all like that,” Hanbin insists. “They might be nice.”

“Oh you poor, poor thing,” Ricky mutters.

Zhang Hao leaps to his defense. “I’m sure some of them are nice — please just try not to accidentally hex them in DADA.”

“I make no promises—”

“Look who’s all here!” A booming greeting from behind him has Zhang Hao gripping his cup a little tighter.

He turns around, a tentative, wary smile in place as he turns to see Gideon, Warren, and Lauretta. Gideon has an insouciant smirk trained completely on Hanbin, even as he says in greeting to Zhang Hao, “We were just on our way out when we noticed you over here.”

“Good meal?” Zhang Hao asks in a vain attempt to draw Gideon’s accusing gaze.

“Could’ve been better,” Gideon shrugs.

“We find the food and company here a bit … lacking,” Lauretta cuts in with a pointed smile, as if Zhang Hao is somehow in on it.

“Maybe it was just your immediate company,” Zhang Hao mutters.

Lauretta stiffens slightly, even as her smile doesn’t falter — so willing to brush these small things off because of who Zhang Hao is, because of the esteem he’s somehow gained by being Gideon’s favorite. Equally distasteful reasons as her initial comment.

The exchange is not missed by Gideon, unfortunately, who raises his smirk even higher, nodding with raised brows and a mocking look at Hanbin, “Your Seeker alright? She took a nasty fall.”

Something in Zhang Hao immediately protests Gideon even looking at Hanbin — ridiculous because they just played a Quidditch game two weeks ago, because they’ve likely interacted dozens of times in the years before. But something has changed, shifted. Gideon’s beady eyes have an acute edge to it, his grin feral and unnecessarily caustic for casual disinterest, even dislike. It makes Zhang Hao want to reach out to Hanbin — he would if he doesn’t think it’ll make this, whatever this is — jealousy, disdain, or blood purity — even worse.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Hanbin answers warily. “I heard Yujin is doing well, too.”

It’s apparently not what Gideon wants to hear, deducing exactly who Hanbin would have heard that from. His smile drops, leaving a flinty, black slate. “I was telling my team they shouldn’t take chances like that,” he says. “Can’t always expect the other players to know how to dodge — it’s unsafe.”

“If he keeps playing like that, he’ll get hurt,” Hanbin warns, face morphing into something colder than Zhang Hao has ever seen on him, devoid of the warmth, the shyness, the boyish charm whenever they’re teasing each other back and forth, when Hanbin is gently coaxing another constellation out of him, when he’s telling him that he’s great at helping people. It’s in this moment Zhang Hao realizes he’s gotten it all wrong — Hanbin isn’t the sun, radiant and warm and kind.

“You let me worry about my team,” Gideon brushes off. “You worry about winning your games.”

“You’re right,” Hanbin shrugs. “You’re the one who has to earn the respect of your team, not me.”

Gideon's mouth curls snidely, not into his telltale snarl, but close. “I already have my team’s respect. I’m the captain.”

“I think we both have very different definitions of what it means to be a caption,” Hanbin says. “But like you said — you know what kind you are better than me.”

“Gideon,” Zhang Hao cuts in, voice pitched sharp because it’s tinged by panic, because he’s desperate here. “Will you make sure all the third years are rounded up?”

It takes a second, but Gideon’s gaze swings back over to him. He gets another smile, the one for show that is brittle and banal, and Zhang Hao thinks, just a little broken. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Gideon’s real smile. Maybe years.

“Sure thing, Head Boy,” Gideon smirks with a mock salute.

Zhang Hao sighs. He hates it when he gets like that. He hates every one of Gideon’s ruinous habits. “Okay, thanks. I’ll come out to help in a bit.”

His brief distraction seems to be enough to placate him enough for now though. “Alright, see you later.” Gideon doesn’t bother looking at Hanbin again as he leads his friends out of the pub.

Zhang Hao jolts when he feels a head fall onto his shoulder. Hanbin groans, long and loud as soon as Gideon and their friends are out of sight. He feels the tension slowly bleeding out of the both of them, the warmth of the weight on his shoulder sinking down into his muscles.

“Sorry about that,” Hanbin says, lifting a face that’s dusted with pink. He looks at them both sheepishly. “I’m not usually so …”

“Cool?” Ricky provides.

“I was going to say antagonistic,” Hanbin huffs out a small laugh. “I know it was uncomfortable.”

“It was Gideon’s fault,” Zhang Hao immediately says. For the second time, he chooses Hanbin over his House, this time much more easily. “He’s … difficult sometimes.”

“All the time,” Zhang Hao hears Ricky mutter, but he chooses to ignore him.

“Sorry about him,” Zhang Hao grimaces at Hanbin, who looks surprised, eyes rounding out, face once more possessing that familiar softness.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for him.”

“He wouldn’t have come over if it weren’t for me.”

Hanbin shakes his head sadly. “I think he was just coming over looking for a fight — I shouldn’t have given him one.”

Zhang Hao winces. And yet, he still feels a sickening amount of guilt, like bile, acidic and bitter, burning within.

“I should also go and check on my third years,” Hanbin offers with a small smile. “I can leave some money for the chips.”

“It’s fine,” Ricky waves him off. “I’ve got it.”

Hanbin hesitates and looks like he’ll argue, but he finally nods. “Okay, I’ll get the next one then.”

Zhang Hao wants to say something more, to tell Hanbin that he doesn’t agree with any of what Gideon says, that they are friends but — always but when it comes to Gideon nowadays — but before he can say anything else Hanbin gets up and winds his Hufflepuff scarf around his neck. The words die on his tongue. He manages to return a weak smile as Hanbin turns to leave, left only with the little bit of hope that ‘next one’ brings.

Even with how much of Zhang Hao’s attention has been taken up by the Tournament — and Hanbin — recently, the relentless pace of his classes and coursework and responsibilities don’t end. But he’s gotten used to this, being endlessly busy without a second to spare, always counting his minutes until he needs to be doing something else, rushing off in the castle to his next appointed task. Slowing down means thinking, pausing means ruminating. Stopping means he lets the fear sink into his bones and numb him completely.

So Zhang Hao throws himself into every Advanced Charms class, says yes when Madam Pomfrey asks if he can come and assist her over the weekend to brew a new batch of Calming Draught, signs himself up for three nights of overnight Prefect patrols — he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep anyway.

It used to be the gaping hole in his mind that terrified him the most. That no matter how he prodded at the dark matter in there, it wouldn’t budge, it wouldn’t ease, and he came no closer to learning its secrets. It was like having a foreign, intrusive entity in his mind — and he had hated it. He used to wake up from nightmares clutching his head, unable to remember why he’s screaming but knowing in his heart that he had felt that darkness spreading.

Nowadays, what scares him the most is Hanbin. If only he could stay so busy as to forget about him.

But it’s impossible when everywhere he goes Hanbin’s name follows his own. It’s “Zhang Hao and Hanbin” from the fifth-year Ravenclaws trotting down the staircase or “Hanbin and Zhang Hao” from Professor Flitwick who congratulates him in front of the whole class and wishes the two of them luck. The Triwizard Tournament has inextricably tied the two of them together just as wholly as they’re bound to the contract of the game.

“We’ve definitely got the two most attractive Champions.”

“I saw them walking together in Hogsmeade.”

“I heard Zhang Hao went to the Hufflepuff dormitory to drop off Hanbin’s cloak.”

“Charlotte heard they were up in the Astronomy tower together past curfew.”

Zhang Hao shuts the chatter out with the firm click of the large oak door. He turns to see the faculty tower completely transformed today for the purpose of the Daily Prophet photos and interviews. Armchairs have been pushed aside with only a few of them artfully arranged — Zhang Hao guesses for the photos. He’s one of the first to arrive and spots Violet sitting off at a vanity with various staff fluttering around her and an alarming amount of glitter on the table in front of her.

A short woman spots him immediately. “Dew Goldstein,” she introduces herself. “Daily Prophet editor.”

Zhang Hao reaches out to shake her waiting hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m—”

“Zhang Hao,” she confirms. “Very good, we have you all set up over there. We are doing photos first and then some questions.”

He eyes the table next to Violet’s that she indicates.

“Go on then, we’ve only got a few tables,” Dew instructs. “We’ll have to rotate you all out as you arrive.”

Nodding reluctantly, Zhang Hao settles himself on the stool and immediately two women appear next to him, one combing down his hair and the other turning his chin left and right to examine his features.

“You’re very handsome,” she beams. “We’ll just do some light touch ups. You want to look your best in the paper, right?”

Zhang Hao barely mumbles out an agreement before they attack him with great fervor, muttering unfamiliar spells and moving his head at their leisure. When they’re done, his hair has been neatly tousled and parted over his forehead, his lips are plump and his eyes sultry. He looks both smoothed over, features more pronounced and yet completely fuzzy at the edges at the same time. Zhang Hao has half a mind to ask them for the exact incantations.

“All set,” one of the women beams at him.

He hadn’t noticed the arrival of the other Champions while he was distracted in the chair. But as he steps off the stool and turns around, Zhang Hao spots Hanbin two chairs down, also with his own flurry of staff around him.

“Violet! Zhang Hao!” Dew calls from the other side of the velvet room. “If you’re both done we’ll get your individual shots first.”

Zhang Hao wonders if this is how the third years feel when he’s corralling them around Hogsmeade.

Dew does Violet first. The Beauxbaton Champion has a cute heart-shaped face, dainty features, and fair, flaxen hair that’s been styled into doll-like waves that layer over her shoulders. Like this, her Veela ancestry becomes all the more clear, but it’s also underscored by her blatant flair in front of the enchanted camera. She demures like it’s an art form, shooting coquettish looks through her lashes, maintaining a shy smile throughout. A rather obvious tactic, but even Zhang Hao can credit that it’ll work wonders.

The Tournament is a test of skills, but each Champion's popularity plays a significant role in their successes after. Zhang Hao remembers a Wesley de Montmorency from two or three Tournaments back — he’d been much like Violet, beautiful, but most importantly, good at pandering to his fans. He had skyrocketed in fame upon graduating and is now making a fortune for himself as a celebrity duelist. For many years it’d been said winning the Tournament was practically a golden ticket to whatever job offer post-Hogwarts they desired.

Zhang Hao has no such hopes for himself. He doubts the Board of St. Mungos cares very much about whether he looks striking and attractive on the front page of the Daily Prophet. And yet when Dew calls him forward and asks for him to pose on the settee, he still feels nervous.

“No smiling,” Dew instructs.

Zhang Hao does not have it in him to argue that Violet had smiled quite a bit. Instead, he dutifully stares coldly into the camera, turning his head imperiously and crossing his legs. It’s not too different from the aloof mask he keeps around most of the school, the alluring mysterious one that Zhang Hao finds safer to show than his true self.

“Wonderful, head up a little. Let’s see that jaw.”

Zhang Hao follows her instructions, feeling a bit like a posed doll, feeling a bit silly, but he supposes she knows best.

He’s not particularly vain — but he also knows he’s handsome, radiant, beautiful, stunning, striking, cold. All adjectives he’s read on various love letters, and, if they’re brave, heard straight from his suitors’ mouths. Zhang Hao has no misconceptions about his appeal, but he also refuses to preen and cater to the camera now. That same dichotomy of fame and attention and praise, and his own conflicted feelings about it rising to the forefront.

“All done,” Dew finally announces. The way enchanted photographs are developed, he won’t be able to see the results until he has the paper in hand.

As Dew busies herself with Milena and Callidora, Zhang Hao glances over at the vanities where Hanbin is still surrounded, somehow with even more women than before. He hears faint tittering and giggles coming from that corner of the room and feels the side of his mouth quirk up — he has no doubt Hanbin is charming all of them with his bashful smile and polite demeanor right now.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say for the interview?” Violet’s voice startles Zhang Hao out of his contemplation.

He hasn’t. “A little.”

She sniffs. “It’s very important, you know.”

“It doesn’t influence the Tasks,” Zhang Hao points out.

“I know that,” Violet stresses. “Thinking beyond the Tasks and even the Cup. This is an opportunity for us to secure our future, give a good first impression.”

“I don’t think there’s much it can do for me.”

Violet gives him a strange look. “Why would you even enter then?”

“Is that how Beauxbaton does it?” Zhang Hao asks.

“Of course. That’s why I’m here. That’s certainly why Lee is here. He wants to prove that he’s worthy of succeeding his father.”

“I don’t think Head Auror is a hereditary position.”

“I know.” Violet scowls. It’s fascinating, even when she frowns there are no visible lines on her face.

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I get it,” he placates. It’s a fair goal, even if the appeal of being an Auror has always baffled him.

His mind, as it always does nowadays, easily spins the topic back to Hanbin. Ever since their conversation in Hogsmeade, he’s chastised himself for not asking. Zhang Hao knows he excels in DADA, along with mostly everything else. Is he aiming for a Ministry position too?

Unable to help himself, he flicks his gaze back over to Hanbin's vanity just in time to see him stepping out of the chair. Zhang Hao feels himself perk up, heart lifting, wanting to carry him all the way over to the other side of the room. He forces his feet to stay put next to Violet. Hanbin’s hair has been styled similar to his, slightly messy with artful strands overlaying his forehead. They’ve made his eyes even rounder, even lovelier, but everything else is sharp angles and heart-rending planes — oh. He’s in trouble.

“The last two Champions, please!” Dew calls from beside the photographer. “We’re running slightly behind.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes don't leave Hanbin for a moment while he takes his portraits. Hanbin beams at the camera with his special blend of effortlessly charming and endearingly genuine. Beneath the yellow-wash candlelight of the chandelier above, he looks like a dream.

When Dew directs them onto the set for a group shot, Zhang Hao surges forward, long legs carrying him right to Hanbin’s side. They pose them as so: the three girls sitting on small stools and the three boys standing behind them. Zhang Hao finds he doesn’t mind when he has to shuffle a bit closer to Hanbin, until their shoulders are nearly brushing, until he’s drawn into Hanbinms orbit by his powdery, milky scent.

“Fantastic, just like that. A bigger smile please, Milena. Stand up taller, Lee. Perfect, perfect!” She calls as the photographer takes at least ten shots. “Now, for the interviews. I’ll take Lee first, come with me.”

Their small group disperses, and Zhang Hao glances over at Hanbin, catching him looking back at him. He grins.

“You look good,” Hanbin offers by way of greeting.

It feels slightly awkward between the two of them, a bit stilted. Zhang Hao wants to dispel this feeling immediately. “Just good?” He lays it on thick, jutting his lower lip out slightly.

“You know you look better than just good,” Hanbin laughs.

“But it’s still nice to hear.”

“You look very lovely today.”

It’s warm and earnest, like much of what Hanbin does, and Zhang Hao feels himself standing a little taller. Lovely. Hanbin thinks he’s lovely. “You’re quite stunning yourself.”

A now-familiar blush starts to creep in along the curve of Hanbin’s ears as he shakes his head. “You don’t mean that.”

Slightly afronted Zhang Hao stands even straighter. “Yes I do!”

A small giggle. Two tender creases along his cheeks. “I—”

“Take the compliment, Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao pushes, knowing he’s coming up with another denial.

A small shake of his head before Hanbin seems to pull himself together, adjusting his shoulders and setting his chin. A shame — Zhang Hao enjoys seeing him all flustered. “Thank you.”

“Zhang Hao!”

He jumps a little when their bubble bursts. He turns to see Lee getting up from the leather wingback chair in the corner of the room where Dew waits. It must be his turn.

“Good luck,” Hanbin encourages.

Zhang Hao shoots him a grateful smile before padding over to the reporter. She has a parchment and quill set hovering in front of her, her writing all done with light flicks of her fingers.

“It’s easier to have a conversation this way,” she explains when she catches Zhang Hao looking.

He nods and makes himself comfortable on the cushioned chair.

“Now, where to begin,” Dew taps her fingers, eyeing him with consideration. He knows that look, it’s the one he affects when he’s brewing an antidote, when he’s reading about a particularly curious medical case in a textbook. She’s trying to solve a puzzle. “How about this — Prefect and Head Boy, and now TriWizard Champion. You have quite the resume. Tell me about how this compares to your previous achievements.”

Zhang Hao has long known that words have power — more so than the incantations he uses for spells — they hold weight, they’re irreversible, they are a portion of him imparted into the world. And so he chooses his words precisely, purposefully now. He expresses how grateful he is, how honored, how hard he’ll work, how he hopes to win, how all of this greatness was due to the professors and friends he’s met along the way. He says everything right.

Dew Goldestein looks completely dissatisfied. “And who would you say is your biggest competition?”

“I’m not entirely sure — I don’t know much about the Champions from the other schools, so I’ll be watching them closely during our First Task.”

“Hm, what about Hanbin? You are both seventh-years, Prefects. I’m sure you know a bit more about him.”

Zhang Hao chews on his lip, realizing too late the way Dew’s gaze flicks down to them with sharp interest. “He’s excellent in Defense Against the Dark Arts; I know he’s likely a better duelist than me. I’m lucky they have the rule that prevents Champions from directly fighting one another.”

“So you think you’d lose if you were to duel him?”

“I … don’t know.”

“But if it was down to just the two of you for the TriWizard Cup — who do you think would win?”

Two months into the school year and this has somehow become routine: Zhang Hao climbing the Astronomy Tower stairs at seven in the evening to find Hanbin holed up in the usual alcove — their alcove. This time, Hanbin is so engrossed with his telescope that he doesn’t even hear the pad of Zhang Hao’s shoes across the carpet.

It’s too tempting for him to resist. He lightly taps Hanbin’s ass, earning him a loud yelp.

He’s cackling when Hanbin turns around, face completely awash in a becoming shade of pink. “Zhang Hao!” he protests, expression scrunching up in an adorable way.

“You were so focused,” Zhang Hao chuckles. “How do you always beat me here?”

“I have a free study period Thursday afternoons.”

Zhang Hao harrumphs, “That’s cheating.”

He drops his satchel on the table next to Hanbin’s, figuring there’s no point in keeping up the pretense.

“Well, show me what you’ve got and let me help,” Zhang Hao says, rolling out his chart before he realizes Hanbin hasn’t replied. He looks up, curious. Hanbin hasn’t moved from beside the telescope. “What? You don’t want to?”

“No,” Hanbin rushes to reassure, shaking his head. “What you said just reminded me that I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”

Zhang Hao props his hip up against the table, facing Hanbin and giving him his full attention. Hanbin is always truthful, but he doesn’t often speak his mind, not about things that matter, not about things that he’s truly thinking about, Zhang Hao realizes. It makes moments like this, where Hanbin is obviously hesitant but trying to be brave, even more endearing and precious. Zhang Hao gives him all the time he needs.

“A while ago,” Hanbin starts unsure. “When we had dinner together in the Great Hall, Ricky mentioned that you let him copy your chart.”

“Oh,” Zhang Hao tilts his head at the memory. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you since you did most of it. I won’t give him my chart again if it bothers you.”

“It’s not that.” Hanbin’s shoulders are a bit scrunched up, his feet shuffling.

Zhang Hao makes conscientious effort to keep his expression open, attentive. Inexplicably, it means a lot to him for Hanbin to trust him to be honest, to feel comfortable enough to impart any of his thoughts whether deep and doleful or passing and droll.

Hanbin blows out a breath. “It’s just, I thought you were really against cheating — since you were so adamant about it when I first offered to help you.” Another nervous smile, his eyes searching his face. “But it sounded like you had no problem with it with Ricky. I’m probably just overthinking it, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of what hap— because of something else.”

Zhang Hao feels slightly stunned, and not in the same way he was two days ago upon seeing Hanbin’s delicately styled hair and sharp jaw. The quick astonishment melts into amused understanding. “I can’t believe you remembered. It’s really been bothering you?”

Hanbin — consciously or unconsciously — scrunches his body up even more, shoulders inching closer to his ears, hands coming up in front of his chest. “Actually, forget I asked.”

But that won’t do. Zhang Hao closes the space between them, reaching out to clasp Hanbin’s wrists before he can fully cover his face. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have teased you; don’t be embarrassed.”

“I am very embarrassed!”

“I’ll tell you the answer, come on, look at me.”

Finally Hanbin raises his gaze, his darling eyes and the pink around his eyes making Zhang Hao’s heart stutter.

“I’ve known Ricky since we were both little. Since we were six or seven? I’ve forgotten now, but the point is a long time. But with you, we weren’t friends yet. And I meant it when I said I didn’t want to take advantage. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to help me, because of …” Zhang Hao stutters, a rare occurrence for him. He figures because Hanbin has avoided mention of the Fat Lady and the c-word, he should as well. He plows on, “And I don’t like feeling like I owe people. I’ve been keeping track, you know.”

“Keeping track?” Hanbin echoes. The entire time Zhang Hao had been speaking, he hasn’t blinked. He noticed because he was waiting for the flutter of his lengthy lashes.

“The number of times you let me get away with saying something opaque or avoid a question — or blatantly lie.”

Hanbin’s eyes widen. “I didn’t want to push.”

“And I appreciate that,” Zhang Hao squeezes his wrists. “But it also makes me feel like … you’re being too generous with me.”

“So you want me to tell you when I know you’re lying?”

“No.”

“But then?”

“I’m hard to please,” Zhang Hao says wryly. He has long known he’s made up of a jumble of contradictions — someone who thrives under the spotlight but hates having to please other people; someone who wants the freedom to do whatever he wants without any expectations, but fears instability and never having anyone to rely on; someone who is lazy to the bone and would much prefer to spend the day in bed but knows that keeping busy is the only way to stop thinking. He lets go of Hanbin; his hand feels cold again. “But just you wait, the more familiar we get the more I’ll take advantage of you.”

“I don’t mind you taking advantage of me.” Hanbin’s cheeks flush even darker, traveling all the way down his neck now to the open collar of his uniform shirt, but he doesn’t look away from Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao’s heart stutters again. Had he heard right? That was bold, not only that but incredibly … obedient. And something about that combination, an oxymoron of daring and docile, tugs at his heart makes it beat so hard it nearly batters itself against his ribcage. They stare at each other for a lingering, suspended, heated moment, before he says, “Y—you shouldn’t let people walk all over you.”

“It’s okay if it’s you.” Immediate and sincere. And completely devastating for him.

The more Hanbin pushes, teeters on this juxtaposition, the more Zhang Hao feels drawn, enticed, seduced. How tempting. “You’ll regret you said that,” he murmurs. “I really like being in control.”

Hanbin doesn’t give him the grace of ignoring the double entendre. He leans in — figuratively, literally. “I’m sure I won’t.”

The dip of Hanbin’s philtrum is really quite pronounced. It’s a perfect curve that gives him a slight look of mischief, of delightful petulance. It makes Zhang Hao want to trace it with his finger, his tongue. Somehow they’ve closed the already scant distance between them with this push and pull, this teasing and testing of boundaries. Their chests aren’t pressing together — but just barely, the drape of their robes mere inches apart. Hanbin’s hands have fully dropped to the side to accommodate, and Zhang Hao finds himself tilting his head, subconsciously aware of what is needed of him if he just leans in slightly—

Hanbin finally, finally flutters his long lashes low. And at first that’s what Zhang Hao thinks makes the noise, the sound of feathers ruffling and flapping, but then two owls suddenly burst through the open window right next to them. They both leap apart; Zhang Hao’s heart racing for a completely different reason even as a brown barn owl and a speckled tawny owl land on their table.

“Merlin!” Hanbin breathes with a hand pressed to his chest.

Zhang Hao glares at the two birds who have just suddenly become his mortal enemies. “Why are they here?”

He no sooner asks his question when his eyes land on a neatly folded brown envelope with a red seal bearing the TriWizard Tournament crest in the barn owl’s grasp. The cursive lettering above the fold reads: Zhang Hao. He glances over to see Hanbin extracting a similar letter from the tawny owl, turning it to show him the shiny Hanbin Sung on it. Zhang Hao quickly unties his letter, and soon after the two owls flit out of the tower again.

“What do you think it is?” Hanbin whispers.

“First Task?” Zhang Hao guesses.

Hanbin nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

Zhang Hao flexes his hands against the waxen paper. There’s a thick card inside, he can feel it. It weighs down his palm, wants to drag him down the tower, all the way to the dungeon where he can pore over its contents. It makes him aware that they are not simply friends, Hanbin is not simply a cute boy — but they’re competitors now. No longer in name but in truth. As soon as they crack open the seals on the envelopes the Tournament begins.

Despite the letters in their hands, their eyes haven’t left each other. Zhang Hao can see a mirroring conflict in Hanbin’s eyes, the weight of the paper in his palm. He takes in a small gasp of air when Hanbin sets his envelope on the table, on top of the forgotten parchment of his Astronomy chart. Unwittingly, like a reflection, Zhang Hao does the same thing. They stand facing each other, their hands lingering on their letter, perfectly mirrored. They slide them away, the brush of paper against parchment draws out the moment between them — the coiled, smoldering tension before they burst into flames. Zhang Hao lifts his hand the same time Hanbin does. One second before Hanbin comes crashing down into him.

As first kisses go, it’s rushed. Clumsy, even. Their mouths meet at an odd angle, with Hanbin catching more of his upper lip and with their noses knocking uncomfortably. But it’s already the best kiss Zhang Hao has ever had. Because, like with everything else Hanbin does, there’s an earnestness, an eagerness to it that makes his breath catch in his throat, that makes him reach up to grab his shoulder, curve his fingers over his jaw as they adjust and angle so the seam of their lips fit perfectly against each other.

A gentle palm rests against the hollow of his lower back. It’s barely a press, it’s barely a touch. Just the ghost of warmth that seeps into him slowly, that makes his lips feel like they’re going to burn if they don’t move. Zhang Hao has no idea if this is Hanbin’s first kiss, but he presses forward to take the lead, slotting their lips more tightly together and hearing Hanbin’s pleased hum vibrate against his cheeks.

Despite the frantic start, the kiss mellows out into something gentle and syrupy, curling something sweet and delicate and tender through his system. The pillow of Hanbin’s lips is inviting and soft, and Zhang Hao can’t resist kissing him, again and again and again, just brief pecks and languid brushes, until he’s lightheaded and faint. Until he feels like his lungs are going to burst, but even then he only tilts his head even more, pressing even closer.

Zhang Hao gasps when he feels the gentle nip of teeth, stilling to let Hanbin do what he wants, to cede control when he lightly draws the edge of his teeth along the smooth inner lining of his lips, when he licks and nibbles until Zhang Hao parts them just enough for Hanbin to get a taste. It’s electrifying; it makes Zhang Hao feel completely boneless, he wants to drape himself across Hanbin, he wants to fall completely limp and know he’s standing only because Hanbin is strong enough to bear the weight of them both.

And then he pulls back.

He’s certain his ears and his cheeks are scarlet, the same as Hanbin’s. But Zhang Hao is also sure his eyes are nowhere near as bright or sparkling. If he had thought Hanbin handsome or cute or dazzling — just once, even briefly — it was only because he hadn’t yet witnessed the devastation of a Hanbin freshly kissed. But what he had been right about: Hanbin isn’t the sun. Zhang Hao fears he’s a writhing, burning supernova, emitting so much light across the sky that it blinds him before contracting into a blackhole — one that he fears he won’t be able to escape from.

Chapter Text

“There is no explanation for the fire
That burns in our bodies
Or the desire that grows, again and again,
So that we must move toward each other
In the dark."
— Siv Cedering, Ukiyo-E

Hanbin

Dear Mister Sung,

We are pleased to inform you that the First Task of the TriWizard Tournament will take place on 12 November.
We wish you the best of luck.

　　 Sincerely,
　　 　　Nicolas Flamel

　　 　　Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster
　　 　　Special Advisor to the Wizengamot
　　 　　Order of Merlin, First Class

Hanbin has probably read the card upwards of fifty times by now. In the week since receiving it, he’s run his fingers all along the thick stock paper, tracing the edges until they’ve become slightly frayed and the corners rounded. He’s read it under sunlight, pulled it out in complete darkness, at every hour on the hour and even once exactly at 12:11 in the morning.

The thick parchment has stayed just that — parchment. The words have remained the same, written in a loose, flowing scrawl that is reminiscent of previous letters he’s received from the Headmaster, namely his Hogwarts acceptance letter that he had also pored over hundreds of times six years ago. How easily a piece of paper and familiar lettering brings him back to that same anxious and nervous feeling, though this time for completely different reasons.

“Haven’t figured it out yet?” Gyuvin asks, sitting down next to him at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast.

Hanbin pockets the small card in his robes. “Not yet.” 12 November. He has roughly three weeks left.

“You’ve been spending all your time on it.”

An act of self-preservation that Gyuvin wouldn’t know anything about. Thinking about the Tournament, focusing on figuring out what the First Task is has been Hanbin’s only lifeline, because otherwise he’ll think about his ill-timed, extremely impetuous kiss. And well — he’d rather not. His gaze carries itself, unbidden, across the Great Hall to the table on the other side of the room.

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Gyuvin reassures, regaining his attention. “Have you tried throwing it in some poison? Setting it on fire?”

“I don’t want to destroy it.”

“Maybe it isn’t anything at all,” Gyuvin shrugs, shaking some cornflakes into his bowl. “Just a card, and you’re thinking too much about it.”

For nearly anything else in his life, Hanbin would give that option a bit more merit — he’s an overthinker at heart. But he feels the weight of it, heavy in his pocket. He’s sure about this. “They wouldn’t have sent us all letters if it wasn’t something more. For everything else they’ve just directly told us when we had to be there to meet Spavin, when the Daily Prophet was coming. They could have just told us, if all there is to know is a date.”

“Okay, fine, you’re the Champion,” Gyuvin grumbles around a mouthful of cereal. “Have you asked Zhang Hao about it then? You’ve looked over to the Slytherin table enough times.”

Hanbin squeaks, hitting Gyuvin lightly on the arm to cover up for his embarrassment. “I am not looking!”

“Yes, you are,” Gyuvin counters. “And just in case you haven’t noticed yet, he’s not there.”

Hanbin’s shoulders slump. “I know.”

“Don’t look so disheartened.” Gyuvin gives his back a hearty slap. “Lover boy will come down to breakfast eventually.”

He doesn’t even try to refute Gyuvin’s moniker of lover boy, just mumbles, “I know. He always comes down late.”

“Merlin, it’s worse than I thought,” Gyuvin mutters, turning back to his bowl.

The Hufflepuff table starts to slowly fill up as the morning carries on. Patrice and Irma sit down across the two of them, and Hanbin bids them good morning. He’s gratified that Patrice is rather short so he can still keep an eye on the green and black robes that shuffle too and fro from the far table. He’s nearly done with his breakfast, ready to give up when a flurry of activity near the large doors draws his attention.

He’s here.

Hanbin tries not to stare as Zhang Hao makes his way to the table with Grimsby and one of the Chasers from the Slytherin team. Zhang Hao is tall, though somehow Grimsby is still a half head taller, and probably double his width too — which is what makes him such a natural Quidditch Beater. The three of them are chatting amicably, which settles something uncomfortable and sticky in the cavity of Hanbin’s chest. Zhang Hao quirks up one side of his mouth in that familiar smirk Hanbin is so used to being an outsider too — all except that one time by the lake.

“If you stare any harder I’d think you were trying to hex them,” Gyuvin whispers none-too-quietly.

Hanbin turns to scowl at him.

“Are you going to ask him about the card?”

“No.”

“Then why were you waiting for him?”

“No reason,” Hanbin replies. He starts to gather his things around the table.

“You’re leaving?” Gyuvin asks incredulously. His following words, most likely something that would unerringly pinpoint how ridiculous Hanbin is being, are drowned out by the familiar flurry of wings each morning as the owls fly in through the large circular window at the front of the Great Hall to deliver the post.

Hanbin uses this chance to slip away, giving Gyuvin a hasty wave.

But as he heads toward the large doors, he can’t help but glance one more time at Zhang Hao, with a roll halfway to his mouth and four or five owls flitting above him — love letters no doubt. Hanbin quickly turns away.

He should just talk to him. He knows that, the inner voice screaming in his mind has been telling him so for the better part of a week now. And it’s not like Hanbin doesn’t want to — but it all comes back to what Gyuvin accused him of: overthinking. He hasn’t had a chance to find time to speak with Zhang Hao after their kiss in the tower — their multiple kisses, as they seemed unable to stop until they had heard footsteps traipsing up the Astronomy Tower just in time to break apart, Hanbin’s hair a bit in disarray, Zhang Hao’s eyes dreamy and glazed, the two of them flushed and guilty. They’d finished their charts quickly after that, and then Zhang Hao had to rush off to do Prefect rounds.

Since then Hanbin’s mind has been abuzz. Partly in a state of disbelief and utter bliss, replaying their kiss over and over — the smooth slide of Zhang Hao’s tongue and his incoherent murmurs whenever they broke apart that Hanbin doesn’t think he realized he was making — until he’s kicking his feet in bed and his ears are burning; partly in complete anxiety and panic, because he doesn’t know what the kissing means, because Zhang Hao hasn’t sought him out since, because he doesn’t know if he is supposed to be the one to seek him out, and whether or not he’ll be rebuffed if he does, if he’ll be turned away from the Slytherin dorm if he dares to show up. His conflicted heart pulses a stuttering, nervous rhythm whenever he thinks about it — all the time, not at all.

It’s much easier to focus on the Task.

And he’s been able to do that for the most part — but today is Thursday. And as the evening hour gradually approaches, Hanbin grows more and more restless. He nearly adds a whole extra spoonful of powdered moonstone into his veritaserum in Potions, and spends the entirety of History of Magic listing out all the pros and cons of going to the Astronomy Tower tonight as usual. As Professor Binns dismisses them, Hanbin stares down at the columns on the back of his parchment.

It all comes down to —

Pro: He’ll finally be able to put his worries at ease, and Zhang Hao may tell him of course he’s in love with him, too.

Con: Zhang Hao dismisses it as nothing more than generosity and goodwill and tells Hanbin he is far too busy to date — his famous line when dissuading his many past suitors. It’s one that has crushed hearts far stronger than Hanbin’s already.

He gets up to leave the classroom.

After much pacing outside the Gryffindor Common Room, Matthew finally appears.

“Have a nice afternoon, boys!” The Fat Lady trills behind them as Hanbin hurries his friend down the hall, not glancing back at her. He hasn’t been able to meet her eyes since that incident.

Matthew turns to Hanbin with a frown, as they hurry down a set of moving staircases. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you something, but not here,” Hanbin murmurs, that sticky feeling returning to his chest, slinking down into his stomach and making him feel sick.

They wind their way out from the castle, to the greenery by the lake. Hanbin spots Durmstrang’s imposing ship in the distance. There are still a few students out and about, though less so now that the weather is taking a turn for the colder.

They pause underneath a tree, just off the path down toward the greenhouses.

“I kissed Zhang Hao,” Hanbin utters, immediate and urgent, like his body can’t quite keep the secret to himself any longer.

Matthew’s eyes grow large before his lips split into a wide grin. “Look at you! That’s great! So, what happened? He accepted your confession?”

Hanbin winces, not quite able to share in Matthew’s elation. “I … don’t know. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about it after it happened.”

“What does that even mean? How did it even happen? You can go find him! I saw him earlier today coming out of Transfiguration.”

“I know I can,” Hanbin stresses. “I’m just scared.” It’s a bit embarrassing, admitting it out loud. It’s uncharacteristic of him, showing his uncertainty and weakness, but these are rather dire times.

And it’s like Matthew senses the turmoil he’s feeling, because for once he doesn’t tease, simply giving him a sympathetic look and holding his arms out for a hug. Hanbin clings onto his friend.

“I know it sounds simple,” Matthew starts. “But I really mean it: you don’t need to be scared.”

Matthew pulls back, his firm hands on Hanbin’s shoulders. He’s quite a bit shorter than Hanbin, with a mop of brown hair that has a tendency to stick out at odd angles. Hanbin tries not to think of how different his hands feel to Zhang Hao’s searing grip.

“Literally the worst has already happened,” Matthew continues. “And even after the Fat Lady blabbed, look at you two now! Didn’t you become friends? Maybe this is just the next push you guys need.”

“Or it’s the last push he needs to let me down easy and tell me he’s not interested whatsoever,” Hanbin mutters. Maybe if he lets all of his pessimism out of him now, he’ll be able to stop feeling so awful. It’s a bit freeing to finally get to say out loud, even if it’s chased immediately by self-consciousness and embarrassment.

“He won’t,” Matthew reassures. “If he really felt that way, he wouldn’t have paid you any attention after the whole painting debacle.”

“What if he just feels bad for me?”

Hanbin is startled when Matthew roughly shakes his shoulders. “Get it together, Sung Hanbin! You are not someone who is pitiable or unlikable! You are actually very likable, and kind, and great to be around! And I am sure Zhang Hao thinks so, too, or again, he really wouldn’t give you the time of day. I get that sort of vibe from him.”

A little dazed, Hanbin has to work hard to hold back his tears. He’s already made himself vulnerable once today, Matthew is really going to think him a complete mess if he cries too. “Thank you — um, what sort of vibe?”

Matthew rolls his eyes, dropping his arms in defeat. “Of course that’s what you focus on and not the fact that I am the best wingman and friend in the whole world, but whatever. I mean the sort of vibe that no one can make him do something he doesn’t want to.”

“He’s very nice,” Hanbin finds himself coming to his instant defense

His best friend gives him a droll look. “Please tell that to yourself. He is very nice, so he will not break your heart over this.”

“There’s a difference between being nice, and actually liking me back,” Hanbin mumbles, coming off the high of Matthew’s encouragement. “He could still let me down — nicely.”

“Wouldn’t you rather know then?” Matthew prods. “I mean, you’ve obviously thought about this a lot. Just get it over with.”

“But if I never ask then I won’t ever be let down.”

“You literally cannot avoid him forever. The First Task is in a little over two weeks.”

“And it’ll be even more awkward if he rejects me,” Hanbin wails, laying his head forehead down on Matthew’s shoulder. He gets a long-suffering sigh and gentle pats on the back in return.

“Come on — let’s go see if the House Elves in the kitchen will give us treacle tarts.”

Hanbin finally brightens up at that.

The North Wing hallway is silent and still — a bit eerie, Hanbin thinks, like it is every time it’s devoid of the general chatter of students and the sound of hundreds of footsteps shuffling through. With the midnight sky overhead peeking through the windows, only the candelabras along the wall cast a dim light on the pale stone floors. They create gaps of darkness between each pocket of visibility, which is why Hanbin doesn’t notice someone else is already there outside the classroom until they step out from the shadows. He lets out a yelp of surprise, heart racing double time when he realizes who it is.

Zhang Hao looks extremely displeased under the warm glow from the candles. Hanbin’s feet falter, but then he lets them carry him the rest of the way until he stops in front of him. It’s too late to run away now. “Good evening,” he says nervously.

“Hello,” Zhang Hao replies, terse, sharp.

Hanbin has to hold himself back from physically flinching at his frigidity. Immediate guilt swamps him, and yet that same nervousness follows on its heels through his veins, preventing him from saying what he really wants. Instead he says, “I thought I was patrolling with Grimsby tonight.”

Not the right thing to say, evidently, if the narrowing of Zhang Hao’s eyes is any indication. “Should I go back and ask him to come instead then?”

“No, I— that’s not what I meant,” Hanbin says quickly. “I was just surprised.”

“Disappointed you can’t avoid me any longer?”

Hanbin does flinch for real this time. “No …” he trails off, not quite knowing what else to say to that. Though that’s not true either, he knows what he should say, that he should apologize and explain why he has been avoiding him. But his tongue refuses to cooperate.

Zhang Hao waits for a beat, the moment stretching between them heavy and tense. Before finally looking away, shoulders stiff and a cold unapproachable expression glazing over his features. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They finish the whole North Wing this way, passing by the reading room and study hall — the various locations of after hour hookups that Hanbin has had the unfortunate privilege of breaking up in the past, of which he is immensely thankful no one is using tonight. He resolutely does not meet the Fat Lady’s gaze as they step past her through the Gryffindor corridor. The air is incredibly uncomfortable, thick and nearly choking with vexation. The whole while Hanbin keeps his hands in his robe pockets, his teeth on his lower lip.

“Stop doing that,” Zhang Hao finally snaps as they take a moving staircase to the faculty tower.

Startled, Hanbin pauses his footsteps. “Doing what?”

“Biting your lip. You’re going to chew it right off.”

“Oh,” Hanbin uses his tongue to prod at his stinging lip. He’s fairly sure he’s already broken skin. “Sorry.”

Zhang Hao lets out a deep sigh, turning away as they make their silent way through the tower and down to the West Wing. The silence and darkness only seems to amplify the gloom between them.

“We should check the courtyard,” Hanbin notes as they pass by the viaduct. It’s getting too cold for anyone to want to be outside at night, but also, that probably makes it the perfect spot for students to hide away.

“Fine,” Zhang Hao nods, letting Hanbin lead the way.

The cool October air hits Hanbin’s warm cheeks with a slap, and he can’t quite suppress a shiver at the sudden change in temperature. The open sky out here littered with his favorite — stars — also makes him feel a bit less suffocated, a bit less weighted down by his own worries and Zhang Hao’s blatant displeasure. He turns around on a buoy of sudden courage. Zhang Hao startles in the opening of the archway at Hanbin’s sudden movement.

“What?” he asks, wary.

“I really didn’t mean to avoid you,” Hanbin blurts out.

Zhang Hao pauses at the threshold, folding his arms and raising a brow. “Really?”

“Really,” Hanbin insists, but then winces. “I mean, I did, but—”

“So which is it?” Zhang Hao demands, somehow both petulant and cold at the same time.

“I did, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t really want to.” He’s really not doing a very good job of this.

Thankfully, Zhang Hao doesn’t seem to be quite fed up with him yet. “What does that mean?”

“I wanted to talk to you after we— um, after we—”

“Kissed, made out with great abandon, had our tongues shoved down each other’s throats — take your pick,” Zhang Hao provides for him, each option feeling like an arrow through the chest, the way he says them so unflinchingly, without ever looking away from Hanbin, as if he’s been waiting days to say this.

“Yes, that,” Hanbin stutters.

“Say it,” Zhang Hao demands — again.

“After we kissed,” Hanbin gives in. “I really did, but I got too nervous. And the longer it stretched out, the more I convinced myself that maybe it was … better this way.”

Zhang Hao visibly slumps at that, his shoulders drooping and the chill melting off his features into something rather … sad. The corners of his mouth dip, pulling his lips into a criminally tempting pout. “I don’t want you to be nervous,” he says.

“It’s not you!” Hanbin rushes to mollify, not being able to bear Zhang Hao giving him a look akin to a kicked puppy. “I’m just — I tend to get in my head a lot, and I overthink, and it’s all me.”

“No, it’s not,” Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I want to be someone you won’t have to be nervous around. I guess I still have a lot of work to do.”

“It’s really not—” Hanbin tries again. But he’s cut off by Zhang Hao.

“You don’t have to be so nice!” He exclaims, taking a step forward, his dark brows cutting two rigid lines across his face under the moonlight. “You can tell me what I did wrong — you can tell me why you don’t want to see me, why you didn’t come to the Astronomy tower this week. It’s all fine! I don’t need to be coddled!”

Except his broken expression, faltering and shaking behind his bravado tells Hanbin something else entirely. And it’s that — Zhang Hao’s vulnerability instead of his ire that gets Hanbin to admit, “It’s because I like you so much!”

And once that is out, Hanbin finds that it all comes out of him like a torrent, unstoppable and horrifying emphatic. “I’ve liked you for a really long time, actually. Which,” Hanbin laughs bitterly. “You probably heard about earlier this year. But I never approached you after or told you, because it’s been so long that I grew comfortable in it. In it never being real. That if I never talked about it, if I never told you, then it could still be something that remained in my heart, and I wouldn’t have to face the possibility of rejection.”

“That’s … a lot,” Zhang Hao breathes.

If one good thing has come from his humiliating tirade though, it’s that Zhang Hao’s expression has lost all of his hurt. And if that’s the price of his heart, Hanbin suddenly realizes he's okay with it. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Zhang Hao draws himself up to his full height, which is just slightly taller than him, Hanbin realizes. A sort of resolve, a determination shutters over his eyes, and Hanbin braces himself for the let down.

But what Zhang Hao says next is not at all what he is expecting. “I was hurt—” It comes out clumsily, like Zhang Hao isn’t used to saying the word. He’s letting him in, just a little bit, Hanbin realizes. And this in and of itself is worth all of this embarrassment and fumbling and worry, he also realizes, regardless of if it ends badly. Just the fact that Zhang Hao is willing to bare himself to him like this is enough. “—when you didn’t show up on Thursday.”

Zhang Hao gives him a self-deprecating smile, more of a grimace before continuing. “I didn’t want to bring it up — what the Fat Lady said about your crush — unless you did. Do you remember that evening out by the lake like a month ago when I asked you about Taerae’s patrols?”

He nods, realization drip, drip, dripping it’s way slowly into the back of his mind, like through a fine sieve.

“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it. And then I actually thought for a while that you didn’t like me at all, and it was just another baseless rumor. Wouldn’t be the first.” Zhang Hao swallows, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing along the milky column of his throat. “And to be honest, I also needed some time to think. Though, Merlin, I thought about you so much, which I guess, was the answer all along.”

Hanbin’s breath catches in his throat, not quite believing his ears, not quite daring to look into the watery truth that had come from all of Zhang Hao’s words. “It’s not just a rumor” is what he finds himself saying. Because now that he’s confessed, properly like he said he never would, Hanbin is determined that he’s clear. Because now that it’s out there and he’s told him, Hanbin couldn’t bear it if he didn’t believe him.

“I know now,” Zhang Hao finally smiles, his first real one of the night, a bit trembling and unsure, but the corners tilt up and his cheeks push out, and Hanbin finally feels like he can breathe. “But like I said before,” Zhang Hao narrows his eyes. “I still have a lot of work to do if you think I would kiss someone that I didn’t like, Sung Hanbin.”

And in the quiet that Hanbin leaves with his awe, Zhang Hao does perhaps the most endearing thing he has yet. He stomps his foot, a huff of breath coming out wispy and pale in the cool night. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Like a flame flickering to life, Hanbin feels his cheeks pull up in a wide grin, his entire body infused with a warm and joy so full he feels about to burst, again. He fears opening his mouth in case he blurts something else completely embarrassing, like he looks so beautiful and magnificent here with the moonlight cresting along the glide of his hair, outlining his lithe figure in celestial halo, so he simply nods, enthusiastically.

Zhang Hao huffs out another breath, hesitating for just a moment. “Of course, I like you, too,” he mutters.

Despite the stilted, mumbled nature of the confession, Hanbin feels his heart seize up with elation, the breath leaving his lungs in a great big whoosh — though that is also probably due to the body that suddenly collides with his own, hands gripping the sides of his robe and a face smushed right into his shoulder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Zhang Hao complains, right into the fabric of his uniform collar. “You’re so—”

He can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh as Zhang Hao’s words devolve into jumbled sounds and a drawn out groan. When he leans back, Hanbin sees his tender, rampant, glorious blush illuminated by the bright moon, the slightly petulant jut of his lower lip. It almost feels silly now, his avoidance, his reluctance for this moment. A giddiness bubbles up in him, and Hanbin leans in, eager and shy at the same time. But Zhang Hao stays still, letting him draw closer with a slight curve forming on his lips moments before Hanbin lines their mouths up with far more precision than he did last time.

Hanbin’s breath hitches at that minute touch. Zhang Hao’s lips are cold — he’s lost track of how long they’ve been out in this courtyard at this midnight hour. Briefly, Hanbin remembers their original purpose for coming out here and finds slight amusement in the fact that they’re the clandestine couple using its privacy tonight. And perhaps at that moment he would have the wherewithal to draw back, to double check that there aren’t any other students who had decided to hide out between the tall columns and barely tamed plants, but then Zhang Hao’s plush lips push against his, just slightly, and all coherent thought and possibility of extracting himself from this very, very attractive situation flees his mind.

Arms tighten around his neck, drawing him in, and Hanbin finds his own hands curling into loose robes, clasping and grasping until his knuckles brush against the warm bulwark of Zhang Hao’s hip. If their previous kiss had been like a banking fire, flaring high before slowly smoldering out into a lingering glow, warm and good, then this one is the exact opposite. Like flint striking, each contact ratcheting up the flutter of his heart. And this is what Hanbin has been longing for, fearful of for the past week. Every time he thought about their kiss an equal amount of yearning and dread would rush through him. But now, it’s all satisfaction, all complete triumph as he pulls Zhang Hao in closer and feels his body melt against his own, as if he’s feeling the same sort of exoneration and relief.

Nothing exists besides Zhang Hao in this moment, not the cold bite of wind against the nape of his neck where Zhang Hao’s fingers don’t quite cover, not the rustle of leaves overhead nor the distant hoots of owls streaking through the cloudless night. There’s only his taste and heat and scent and the drag of his nails, lightly, over his neck and shoulders. There’s an urgency in the way Zhang Hao kisses him, deep and bruising, but Hanbin welcomes it eagerly, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but he can’t help it. He tastes blood by the time Zhang Hao pulls away, and he sees a speckle of it, scarlet like a warning sign, on Zhang Hao’s bottom lip. It looks good on him, Hanbin thinks, unbidden. Something about it deeply satisfying.

“You’re bleeding,” Zhang Hao whispers, lips curling in a way that makes Hanbin think it’s satisfying for him, too.

“I know.” Hanbin prods his lip with his tongue again, wincing.

To his surprise, Zhang Hao backs away so Hanbin’s hold drops and digs in his cloak pocket for his wand. “Do you trust me?”

Hanbin nods, mutely.

“Episkey,” Zhang Hao murmurs with a flourish, and Hanbin feels a slight tingle on his lip before the raw ache disappears.

“Thank you,” he says, reaching up with cold fingers to tap against the newly mended skin.

“It’s nothing,” Zhang Hao waves away. He gives a quick glance behind Hanbin. “Let’s go back inside — there’s no one out here. And I’m freezing.”

Once they’re within the castle walls once again, Hanbin rubs his hands together, and to his surprise, Zhang Hao reaches over, cupping his hand in his own as he mutters another Warming Spell, and he feels heat curl through his fingers. He gasps, delighted, thanking him once more.

Zhang Hao gives him a small smile. He doesn’t let go of Hanbin’s right hand as they continue down the hall.

They’re running behind on their patrol due to the interlude in the courtyard — so they rush through the East wing, eventually finding themselves by the kitchens, between both of their Common Rooms. Both of their footsteps slow in sync, finally coming to a stop as neither of them are quite ready to part yet.

Hanbin shuffles his feet, gnawing on his newly healed lip before blurting out. “Because I know I’ll somehow overthink this again but … are we dating now?” He only realizes with a wince how utterly pathetic his words sound after they’ve already tripped off his tongue.

It’s lucky for him that Zhang Hao apparently likes pathetic losers because he lets out a giggle, pressing even closer to Hanbin with fluttering lashes.

“You are so cute,” he coos. Zhang Hao places a light kiss against Hanbin’s heated cheek. “Of course we are.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure.” Hanbin is sure he sounds like he’s being strangled. He desperately hopes the hand Zhang Hao is holding has not become clammy.

“Hm, you don’t sound very enthused about it,” Zhang Hao teases with a practiced pout — so different from the forlorn one before, but no less devastating and effective. “I thought you liked me so much.”

“Please don’t tease,” Hanbin begs, feeling himself warm even more.

His plea earns him a light kiss on the cheek. “Okay, only because you asked so nicely,” Zhang Hao grins.

He’s about to answer, most likely something embarrassing and whining, when a shadow suddenly slithers along the wall down the hall. Hanbin stiffens, dropping Zhang Hao’s hand seconds before a familiar, gruff voice rings out.

“Zhang Hao?”

Zhang Hao frowns momentarily before he turns around, revealing Grimsby approaching them from down the hall. Hanbin takes a hasty step back.

“Are you still patrolling? How come it took you so long?” Grimsby asks as he draws closer.

“We were just finishing up,” Zhang Hao answers, turning his body slightly.

“You took a long time, so I thought I’d come check on you.”

“We just got held up out in the courtyard,” Zhang Hao explains. “But everything is fine. We didn’t get attacked by second years found out of bed.” His tone borders just on this side of sarcastic.

Grimsby comes to a stop beside them, and Hanbin feels himself tensing up. It’s not like he’s scared of him, and yet the possibility that he might have seen Zhang Hao and him so close— it’s also not like it makes him uncomfortable, but he’s barely been able to confess his feelings to the person of his affections, he definitely doesn’t want to make them well known to someone he can barely tolerate, who he’s fairly sure feels the same way about him.

“So you’re done?” Grimsby prompts, looking between the two of them, eyes sharp.

Zhang Hao looks like he wants to say something more, but when their eyes meet, Hanbin beats him to it. “Yeah, we’re done.” He gives Zhang Hao a small smile. “See you next Thursday?”

He knows Zhang Hao will know what it means. And he’s gratified to see him relax, just a bit, his face softening incrementally, that gentle smile washing over his features.

“Sure, see you Thursday, Hanbinie.”

Hanbin stays rooted to the spot, determined to hide how that one nickname makes him feel undone. Once Zhang Hao and Grimsby disappear around the corner before he finds the will to move again.

It’s not like Hanbin was invisible before. A Prefect and a Quidditch captain, he hears in Zhang Hao’s distinctly rounded syllables. Even before he said that though, Hanbin already knew — his responsibilities and expectations have never shielded him from what he has inevitably become: a leader. Not that he had ever truly felt like one when shuffling along to his classes, and eating in the Great Hall, and cracking his eyes open at dawn for Quidditch practice.

But he distinctly feels it now.

Ever since the Champion selection, the weight of a multitude of eyes fall on him wherever he goes, some with open assessment, others with naked admiration — all settling uncomfortably under his skin. To acknowledge them is to make his awareness increase tenfold, and so Hanbin looks straight ahead as he walks the halls, as he sits in the library, as he enjoys the last warm day of the year out by the lake. No one ever comes up to him. But they stare and stare and stare.

The only relief Hanbin has is in his classes, where those in his year are all too used to his presence and far too busy with their own studies to fawn or deride, dealer’s choice. And also among his Quidditch team, where, to his surprising realization, he must have always seemed an authority figure, someone to listen to, someone to rely on and trust.

“I hear the Slytherin’s are throwing a party for Halloween,” is the first thing out of Matthew’s mouth as he rounds the corner, towel around his shoulders and wet hair dripping onto the tile of the changing room.

“Did you hear that in the shower?” Hanbin asks dryly.

“No! I heard it from Lauretta in DADA yesterday.”

“So?” Hanbin queries, knowing Matthew is going somewhere with this. “Did she invite you?”

“Please try to keep up around here. She can’t invite me because she just started dating Warren.”

“My condolences.”

Matthew chokes on a sudden laugh. “That isn’t the point though,” he coughs once he regains his composure.

Hanbin does up the buttons on his uniform before reaching for his gold and charcoal tie. “What is the point?”

“The point is — because I couldn’t get us an invite, you have to get us an invite.”

He had feared this would be the case. Hanbin sighs, “I’ll ask him about it.”

Matthew pumps his fist into the air — extremely dorky, strangely endearing. He turns to grab his own shirt and tie from the cubby next to Hanbin’s. “I love your boyfriend privileges already.”

Hanbin shushes him quickly, shooting a furtive look around. Luckily, most of the other members of their House teams have left by now after their joint morning practice. But Hanbin still hears a shower or two in the other room and hopes the stream is loud enough they didn’t hear anything.

“What?” Matthew is giving him a strange look.

“We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“You told me and Gyuvin. Who else do you need to tell?”

“I mean — we haven’t really made it public.”

Matthew considers this for a moment. “And you don’t want to?”

“Not yet,” Hanbin confirms.

“Why not?”

Hanbin chews his lip as he contemplates how to verbalize the equal amounts of giddiness and dread the thought of it alone conjures up. “It’s still new to me, you know? I want to just be able to figure it out on my own before we get the whole school talking.”

“Zhang Hao dating would be a pretty big deal, you’re right,” Matthew nods, doing an awful job of knotting his tie. “You know, come to think of it, I did wonder why the biggest dating rumor from this past weekend was Lauretta and Warren. It should have been you two.”

“Please keep your voice down,” Hanbin stresses. “I don’t want people talking about us before — I don’t know — we become a little more comfortable.”

Hanbin has never experienced it before, has never dated anyone before to experience it with, but he can only imagine how petty gossip and prying eyes and contemptuous comments can so quickly sour this fragile, tenuous bond between them. Hanbin wants to cup it in his palms, to shield it from the rain and even the harsh sun; he wants to be so, so careful with it, just like he wants to be meticulous and thorough and thoughtful with Zhang Hao. He wants to be everything for him.

“You know you can’t avoid it completely right?” Matthew gives him a mischievous look. “Eventually you’re going to have all of Zhang Hao’s jilted admirer’s trying to hex you in the corridors.”

Hanbin groans. “Just … not yet, okay?”

“Fine,” Matthew sighs. “As the great best friend that I am, I will not talk about it in mixed company.”

“Thank you,” Hanbin sighs, putting his robes on over his uniform.

They part ways outside of the changing room, him off to Herbology and Matthew to Muggle Studies. Hanbin doesn’t get much free time for the rest of the day when he realizes he forgot he had a Charms quiz so he spends the lunch period revising, and then when a fourth year comes up to him in near tears because they’ve lost their pet cat, meaning he spends the rest of the afternoon searching only to find them wandering the grounds all the way by the Forbidden Forest. But even amid these daily tribulations he feels it.

They stare and stare and stare. And no one ever approaches him.

Until a tall, imposing figure looms next to the cushioned armchair Hanbin has parked himself in for the night to hopefully get some revision done. A long shadow cast by the roaring fireplace looms over Hanbin’s textbook pages. With a frown, Hanbin looks up into a completely unfamiliar face.

“Hello,” the towering boy says. He has a round face that offsets his intimidating figure. His eyes are stern, made more so by the fire casting a glow about his neatly parted dark hair and thick-framed glasses.

“Hello,” Hanbin responds, startled. “Can I help you?”

“No, but I can help you,” he says.

“What … does that mean?”

“I know you’re trying to solve the First Task clue for the Tournament.”

Hanbin’s frown falls more firmly into place, and he slowly shuts his textbook. He sits up a bit straighter. “How do you know that? Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

The boy places his hands in the pocket of his neatly pressed dark gray tweed slacks. It’s after class hours so his robe is off with just his uniform shirt stretched over generous shoulders, though still buttoned all the way with a neat Ravenclaw tie fitted right at his collar. “I’m Gunwook.”

“Nice to meet you, Gunwook.” The name rings a bell, though Hanbin is hard pressed to place it. “I’m Hanbin.”

“I know.”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Hanbin tries, tipping one side of his lips up in a small smile.

“I’m a Prefect, too,” Gunwook says — no, boasts — puffing his chest out a little bit, accentuating his astonishing physique even more. “And I’ve been looking into and researching past TriWizard Tournaments. I’ve compiled a few trends on the Tasks that I think could be helpful to you. Otherwise, I also have some theories as to what could be done to reveal the true nature of the letter that you received.”

Hanbin feels no more at an advantage after that spiel, but he is rather impressed by Gunwook’s determination and clearly practiced speech. Enough that he doesn’t immediately dismiss him. “That’s really nice of you,” he starts, still unsure. “It must have taken you a lot of time to put that together.”

As if coming alive at the recognition, a large, gummy grin splits Gunwook’s face. It puts his expression even more at odds with his solid build, though now, he does look much younger than he initially seemed.

“It was nothing,” Gunwook beams. “Just took a couple nights to comb through a few books. Did you know? Before they restarted the Tournament twenty-five years ago, the last streak of uninterrupted games was for two hundred years! That is if you don’t count the Tournament of 1887 where they lost control of a Graphorn, and it attacked two students before the mountain trolls could subdue it.”

At Hanbin’s slightly dismayed and horrified look, Gunwook reassures, “Don’t worry the students lived! Though the rest of the Tournament that year had to be canceled since two out of three of the Champions were … indisposed.”

“I hope your data didn’t point to any Graphorn’s for this year,” Hanbin says weakly.

“They haven’t used one since,” Gunwook shakes his head solemnly. “Which is quite a shame — I mean, I’m all for your safety, but they really are fascinating creatures. They had a very unfortunate decline in population after some fiendfyre gone wrong in the early 1900s, and are rather endangered now. Probably wouldn’t be able to get one to Hogwarts, even if they wanted.”

“When has fiendfyre ever gone right?” Hanbin jokes, doing his best to keep up.

Apparently, it’s the right thing to say, because Gunwook smiles impossibly brighter, taking it as an invitation to settle on the ottoman next to Hanbin’s chair. Even seated, he still cuts an impressive shadow. “Exactly, everyone who has ever hoped to use it for their own ends has had it go horribly wrong. If only people looked more at history and believed less in their own folly.”

“If only,” Hanbin echoes. Gunwook seems polite and eager and incredibly knowledgeable even if his initial presence and motivation are still obscure. And he’s getting pretty desperate here. “You seem … nice, but I’m just having a little bit of trouble understanding here. Why do you want to help me?”

“Because I think you’ll win,” Gunwook leans forward, a look of excitement seeping into his features.

It’s five simple words, not even particularly poetic or profound, and yet they cut right through him, pangs against the part of Hanbin that’s shrouded in self-doubt, tunnels all the way back in time to the bumbling twelve-year-old who couldn’t quite believe he’d been chosen to attend a magic school. Odd how that these words coming from a stranger can mean so much, how he is simultaneously more reluctant to accept them but still wants to so deeply. That they prickle at the corners of his eyes, simply because being complimented alleviates his doubt the same instance it shines a glaring, unavoidable light on it.

“So do you want to hear my theories about the letter?” Gunwook shuffles impatiently.

Hanbin blinks quickly to clear his foggy gaze, scrunching his nose surreptitiously in a small sniffle and returns Gunwook’s smile. “Yeah, sure.”

In his more than six years at Hogwarts, Hanbin has never been in the Slytherin Common Room.

It’s darker than he expected, the only light coming from various flickering candelabras mounted against the walls and the murky shafts that dart down through the high windows with lake water pressing against it on the other side. The space is far larger than he thought it would be, even containing an overflowing crowd. The growl of a lion comes from somewhere among the group of people, an enchantment, a costume, just like scales that glitter on a Ravenclaw girl’s face as she passes by him. Hanbin had gone for a fairly easy charm: cat ears.

The shuffle of bodies overlaps like a perfectly orchestrated puzzle, pieced together by a purposeful and particular language of acquaintances, friends, easy flirtations, and inevitable let downs. Hanbin spots Zhang Hao standing in the middle of the room immediately, surrounded by familiar Slytherins. Though tonight they seem outnumbered in their own Common Room. It seems like nearly half the upper years had gotten themselves access to the Common Room password if the difficulty in which Hanbin maneuvers over to the armchairs through the press of bodies is any indication. He finally squeezes past a line of Gryffindors to get to his friends.

“Hanbin!” Gyuvin exclaims, lurching forward to loop two gangly arms over his shoulders. The tall boy is made even taller with the addition of antlers on his head. A sprinkling of brown freckles and a dark triangle of a nose completes his look. Hanbin only has one moment to brace himself before Gyuvin leans his full over-six-feet body on him.

“Hi, Gyuvin,” he grins. “I seem to have lost Matthew — have you seen him?”

“Nope,” Gyuvin says, popping the last sound of the word. “Did you know red currant rum doesn’t taste like red currant at all?”

He laughs. “And why do I get the feeling that you know that because you’ve already had too much?”

“Not too much,” Gyuvin shakes his head with deep seriousness, ever the lightweight but unwilling to admit so.

Hanbin eyes Gyuvin’s half-filled cup for a second before pouncing, but his friend’s reflexes — probably from all his Keeper training — are too fast. Gyuvin leaps back before Hanbin can make contact, nearly spilling the contents of the drink. “Go get your own!”

“How could you share that fascinating fact without letting me try for myself?” Hanbin teases.

“Go, go! And go find Matthew,” Gyuvin pushes him away with his free hand, shoving Hanbin toward a cluster of sofas circled around a table that seems to have become the de facto bar of the night.

“Sure, sure, I’ll be sure to share the wonders of red currant with him,” he chuckles dryly.

As he shuffles across the room once more, Hanbin takes in all the small details that he passes. And he tries not to feel jealous at the sudden realization that this room, this place knows Zhang Hao with far more familiarity than him: the slightly worn dark green velvet of the armchairs have seen him delirious in elated and relaxed after a full week of classes, forlorn and frustrated over countless essays and spells; the dark oak of all the tables now littered with wands and bottles of liquor know exactly what time Zhang Hao retires to bed and what his sleep-ruffled hair looks like; the intricate weave of each expensive wool and cotton rug has gotten to see Zhang Hao grow up — with all of the challenges, hopelessness, and unmitigated joy that comes with it, with a closeness Hanbin will never know.

He tries not to feel jealous, to feel bitter, an emotion that rears its ugly head whenever he catches a glimpse of a tight group that still surrounds Zhang Hao by the banked fire. But it’s hard to avert his eyes when loud laughter occasionally rings above even the steady rumble of other conversations, as if lauding their presence over him, insisting that he look, that he envies. Worse so, is when a cackling, high-pitched, and entirely off-putting laugh joins them to ring clear across the room. Hanbin’s chest physically aches at the thought that apart from the furniture it is the people, too, who have seen Zhang Hao in so many ways he never has. How small he is in the labyrinthian universe that revolves around Zhang Hao.

When he finds Matthew, he’s standing with his Quidditch captain, Sumi Kazawa, and Ravenclaw’s captain Clarisse Kong.

And he has two drinks in his hand.

“There you are!” Matthew exclaims. “Where did you go?”

“I went to look for you,” Hanbin argues, gracefully taking one of the cups. He squints down at the liquid, but can’t quite make out what it is. He takes a sip and grimaces.

“We were just talking about you,” Sumi says. She’s a short but incredibly lively seventh-year. She’s arguably the best keeper in the whole school, though Hanbin would never admit that in front of Gyuvin. He had heard that she’s planning on trying out for a few professional teams after graduation.

Hanbin looks between her Clarisse who stands at her side. “Good things I hope?”

“Depends on if you think taking wagers about you winning the Tournament counts as good,” Clarisse snickers.

He groans and shoots Matthew an accusatory look, who immediately places his hands up in a look of surrender. “Don’t look at me like that! At least I bet on you!”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t hear any betting going on,” Hanbin takes another long swig of his drink, this time the flavor going down a bit more smoothly.

“Just like you’re going to pretend this party isn’t happening?” Sumi teases.

“Are Prefects even supposed to be here?” Clarisse chimes in, a twinkle of mischief in her dark gaze. She leans closer to Sumi as if teetering on her feet with the coral undertones of her blush seeping through her dark skin courtesy of her empty cup, Hanbin suspects.

“Well, our Head Boy is somewhere in this crowd, so I think I’m okay.”

“I better not catch any of you docking points for tardy students Monday morning then,” Sumi laughs.

“I actually think we should be docking you all double points,” Hanbin teases.

“Speaking of Head Boy,” Clarisse cuts in. “He’s got quite a sum bet on him.” She whistles to emphasize her point, except the cacophonous buzz of revelry around them is too loud so all Hanbin sees is the purse of her lips.

“I’m sure he does,” Hanbin demures.

He won’t ever be the first to say Zhang Hao doesn’t deserve it. If he wasn’t in the Tournament himself, he would probably bet on him — he still might. Despite his propensity for self-doubt, Hanbin still thinks he sees himself fairly clearly. He knows better than most where his weak points are, where if someone were to prod and poke at he would collapse right in on himself, which is why he knows between the two of them, Zhang Hao would win.

It is not worship or admiration or even love that makes him think so, it is only the years of having watched Zhang Hao excel in every course, place top in his class, and gain the tutelage of Madame Pomfrey who is well known around the castle for not abiding by lingering students. He’s seen him slowly wrap everyone who entered his circle of orbit around his finger with a wit so scathing and sharp that it could draw blood and cauterize the wound in one fell swoop if given the chance. He’s witnessed him become an untouchable, nearly inhuman prodigy that haunts the halls of this stone castle. And even knowing all that, Hanbin also knows there is so much more to Zhang Hao than just that. Hanbin’s heart strains and leaps with how much it covets.

“You’re not far behind though,” Matthew points out, tipping his cup towards Hanbin. “In fact, Sumi said she—”

“Okay no more betting talk,” Sumi blurts out, reaching over to smack her hand over Matthew’s mouth. “Do not give him any more details.”

Hanbin leans back laughing, tuning out of the conversation when it inevitably turns to Matthew and Sumi trying to weasel information out of a clearly tipsy Clarisse before their Quidditch match-up in two weeks. He finishes his drink while managing to hum and nod his way through maintaining niceties, and then makes a swift exit with the excuse to refill it.

Eyes darting to the center of the room once again, he catches sight of Ricky first, lounging on a chaise lounge with a few other sixth-years that Hanbin isn’t familiar with.

Ricky’s sharp eyes spot him immediately. Hands empty, it seems like he isn’t one to drink much. “Hey, want to sit?” Ricky invites, nodding towards the end of the long chair.

“No, thank you,” Hanbin shuffles awkwardly, not quite wanting to ask so blatantly in front of everyone else. But he had lost sight of Zhang Hao twenty minutes ago, and the tension twining around his lungs is reaching painful heights. “I’m looking for Zhang Hao actually … if you’ve seen him?”

When Ricky smiles the center of his mouth dips severely, so much that it almost looks like a ‘v’, it matches all the other sharp angles of his face: the corner of his eyes, the point of his chin, the perfect widow’s peak framed by wispy pale blond strands. It throws him into severe magnificence, so uncharacteristic of the traditionally awkward and uncouth rites of youth. “Ah, you just missed him I think,” Ricky leans forward, tapping his chin in consideration. “I think he went off somewhere with Gideon; I lost track of them though.”

Swallowing around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat, Hanbin nods quickly, “That’s okay. I’ll go find him later, thanks.” He stumbles away before the crumbling feeling in his chest can manifest in a truly pathetic and crestfallen expression.

Somewhere with Gideon. Those words ping around Hanbin’s brain, giving him a headache doled out in painful portions until he finds himself next to a candlelit sconce in a corner of the room, tucked against a glass pane of murky lake water. He’s seen the way he looks at him — Grimsby at Zhang Hao.

Hanbin has always suspected after watching the two of them together through the years, noticing that wherever Zhang Hao went, Grimsby followed not far behind, that there was more there than friendship. At least on Grimsby’s end. But it had been confirmed that day in the Three Broomsticks, where plain disdain had transformed into transparent jealousy, where Hanbin had seen clearly on Grimsby’s face a mirror of what he’s felt through all the years he’s watched them eating in the Great Hall tucked up against each other, retiring to the same dormitory after classes, spending sunny spring afternoons out in the quad. Those moments have grown fewer and fewer in past years — but Hanbin had already seen enough to know how close they are. To know that Grimsby is irrevocably in love with Zhang Hao — too.

And yet, with each passing day, month, year, where they seem to be nothing more than friends, Hanbin had clung onto despairing hope. There’s no reason for that to have changed now, he tells himself, pressing his hand against the hard bone beneath his chest. He gives a wane smile to a few Hufflepuffs as they shuffle past him dressed as a band of bowtruckles, fanning himself and hoping his flushed cheeks make them believe he’s just had a bit too much to drink instead of being on the verge of tears.

There’s nothing to be worried about, he tries to convince himself. Zhang Hao had kissed him; Zhang Hao had said they were dating. And yet the last time he saw him had been when he had been departing down the hall side by side with Grimsby, a view so familiar and so interlaced with all of Hanbin’s previous heartbreaks that it’s all he can think about right now. He wants to leave; he knows he won’t be able to find any sort of peace of mind if he doesn’t at least see Zhang Hao one more time tonight.

So he makes his way back over to Matthew, who seems to have lost Sumi and Clarisse, and is instead with Gyuvin and a few of his Gryffindor friends. Hanbin drinks — too much, not enough. He allows one of Matthew’s friends to continue to push cups into his hand; he allows himself to droop listlessly against Gyuvin’s side, who must sense that something is wrong because before another cup makes it to his lips, his friend kindly guides it away with a shake of his head.

But it’s not enough — any of it. His friends, the drinks. But it’s bearable with the way the room has started to swim, and Matthew’s enchanted fox tail seems to grow twice in size, and the conversation loses all coherent thread but still makes Hanbin giggle nonetheless.

And then he’s there.

Hair slightly messy and flattened compared to before. Expression cold but so, so beautiful — always beautiful. Zhang Hao is saying something to Gyuvin that Hanbin can’t quite make out. He doesn’t care though because he’s here. Hanbin leans forward and finds himself pitching forward, off balance, before a cool hand clasps onto his arm. He thinks he says something, maybe I’m so glad you’re here, maybe where have you been, maybe I’ve been thinking about you all night. He isn’t sure.

But Zhang Hao gives him a long-suffering, if not endeared look. And then glances up at Gyuvin, saying something Hanbin can’t quite make out. But he doesn’t want that! He wants Zhang Hao to look at him!

“Hao— Zhang Hao,” he calls, maybe too loudly.

“Yes, what is it?” Zhang Hao graces him with a smile. “What happened to you?”

Hanbin simply beams goofily up at him from the lower angle of his slumped posture, so Gyuvin jumps in for him: “He had about five—”

“Six!” someone interjects.

“Six cups of rum and maybe whiskey,” Gyuvin finishes.

“What am I going to do with you?” Zhang Hao mutters, so low that no one near them could hear, except Hanbin, because he’s somehow suddenly much closer with his arm around Zhang Hao’s narrow waist. He wants to savor the soft press of his side, that gentle dip right be his ribcage, but Hanbin has to use all his concentration to stay upright lest he take Zhang Hao down with him, too.

“I’ll get him sorted,” Zhang Hao offers to his friends over his head.

Zhang Hao’s sweater is so fuzzy and soft. Hanbin remembers it being a pale pink thing that had drawn his eye from across the room. Or perhaps it was just the wearer who was like a beacon of exquisite light. He’s truly just like a moth to a flame. Hanbin giggles at that insipid thought, not even realizing that Zhang Hao is maneuvering him through the room. He catches the barest glimpses of stares and stares and stares. But in his inebriated state, in his utter relief that Zhang Hao has his arm around his shoulders, Hanbin can’t quite find it in him to care.

The noise of the crowd abruptly fades, and Hanbin looks around at a long hallway with doorways at interspersed intervals on both sides.

“Your room?” Hanbin mumbles.

“That’s the goal,” Zhang Hao groans. “If you’ll cooperate.”

He’ll do anything Zhang Hao asks. Hanbin focuses on turning his thoughts away from Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao and to putting one foot in front of the other, to not hinder him as he opens the door to his room.

Zhang Hao dumps him on the four poster bed closest to the window, a cloudy turquoise bleeding into the dim room from the watery depths behind it. Hanbin slumps down, spine liquifying into the mattress until he’s lying completely flat on Zhang Hao’s sheets. He can tell it’s his because it carries the same faint floral, jasmine scent as his sweater. Hanbin smiles goofily up into the canopy.

“Having fun?” Zhang Hao’s face appears above him, but all his features are in the wrong place. His rosebud mouth is too high, his imperious and lovely nose turned the wrong way — he’s upside down, Hanbin’s brain helpfully supplies.

“I am now,” he giggles, trying to turn himself over but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. Zhang Hao’s cool touch is welcome against his overheated skin when he lays it against his burning cheeks.

“Look at you,” Zhang Hao murmurs, an indescribable look in his eyes as he peers down at him. Hanbin looks back up at him guilelessly. Zhang Hao’s expression finally morphs into something that can only be described as fond and exasperated. “I have something to help you sober up. And then we can talk.”

Hanbin frowns when Zhang Hao moves away, out of his line of sight, and sits up to see that he hasn’t gone far, just over to the chest at the foot of the bed to rummage for something in it. But Hanbin doesn’t want to sober up — he has all these thoughts in his brain and the still sensible part of him knows he’ll never say them out loud if not for the alcohol loosening his tongue, if not for giddy relief it underscores. And he knows they need to be said. He’s already learnt that keeping his worries to himself will hurt Zhang Hao. He never wants to hurt him.

“Wait,” he blurts, a bit too loud when Zhang Hao stands with a vial in his hand. “Not yet.”

There must be enough urgency in his voice that Zhang Hao takes him seriously. “Okay, we can wait,” he placates, though he doesn’t stow the vial away, just walks over to sit on the bed next to Hanbin, setting it on the mattress next to him. He then turns to cup Hanbin’s face in his hands. “I didn’t take you to be much of a drinker.”

“I was upset,” Hanbin mumbles.

“Why?” Zhang Hao has started rubbing his thumb along Hanbin’s cheeks in rhythmic strokes. His fingers are gentle but firm, and Hanbin feels himself melting in his palm. After a stretch of silence where Hanbin begins to nuzzle into his warming palm, Zhang Hao prompts him again. “Hanbin?”

His smile slips off his face as he meets Zhang Hao’s soft gaze. “Because you went off with Grimsby,” he whines. A corner of Zhang Hao’s lip twitches, and Hanbin’s frown deepens, eyes turning doleful and despairing. “Why is that funny?”

Instead of answering him, Zhang Hao says, “I was a little upset, too.”

Hanbin’s serenity shatters quite quickly. “Why? What did he do?” He lurches forward in a panic, accidentally dislodging Zhang Hao’s hold.

“He didn’t do anything,” Zhang Hao laughs, placating him, hands on his shoulder to keep him at a distance. “I don’t know how you got it in your head that I went off with him, but I wasn’t with Gideon.”

Hanbin can practically feel the gears in his brain turning — and then they stick. “I’m very drunk right now, and I don’t understand.”

“Merlin, you’re so cute,” Zhang Hao breathes on a full smile this time, elegant and soft, pushing his cheeks up into curved pillows for his sparkling eyes to rest upon, all leading down to the immaculate tilt of his lips. “I wasn’t with Gideon,” he repeats. “Yujin had a bit too much to drink tonight — he really shouldn’t have been drinking at all; it’s my fault for not keeping an eye on him, so I went to help him to bed and tuck him in, that’s all. And then I came back to the party to find you.”

“To find me?” Hanbin feels like he’s glowing.

“Of course.” And it’s Zhang Hao’s turn to frown — though his eyes still glimmer with affection. “Even though I was upset at you.”

“At me?” Hanbin feels his glow dimming.

Zhang Hao giggles — watching the interplay of candid expressions flash across his face no doubt. “Yes, at you, baby. I was upset because my boyfriend kept going around the whole room talking to everyone but me.”

Hanbin leans forward, eyes wide and beseeching. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to apologize. “You were with all your friends, and I didn’t want to intrude …”

“You can come talk to me anytime, especially when I’m with my friends,” Zhang Hao insists, reaching up to pinch at Hanbin’s cheek none too lightly. It makes him squeak. Zhang Hao grins cheekily, “But I forgive you.”

“Me too,” Hanbin nods quickly.

He loves Zhang Hao’s laugh. It’s so messy and loud and unrestrained — it’s so unlike every other part of him that he shows the world. Hanbin wants to listen to it forever; he wants to hear it so much the sound is ingrained into his psyche, so he’s able to capture it with reverent clarity in his dreams.

Zhang Hao laughs so hard he falls against Hanbin, shaking and jolting slightly before it tapers off into chuckles. “Thank you. I’m so relieved.”

“You really didn’t go off with Grimsby?” Hanbin’s gears are still a little stuck.

“I didn’t,” Zhang Hao insists. “Do you not believe me?”

“I do,” Hanbin mumbles. But he leans forward anyway, reaching for Zhang Hao’s collar. His hands are clumsy as they tug at his fuzzy sweater, and Zhang Hao huffs out a laugh.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking.”

“For what?”

Hanbin’s hands smooth over the flawless plane of Zhang Hao’s throat, traces the delicate rise of his strong collarbones. “Just checking,” he repeats.

His balance is not the best with his bloodstream flooded with alcohol, and so Hanbin doesn’t notice when he shoves a bit too hard, doesn’t realize until Zhang Hao lets him push him back on the bed, allows Hanbin to scramble over him in a way that he would blush and demure and never imagine doing sober. But like this he has the pearlescent expanse of Zhang Hao’s neck at his disposal to examine. He leans even closer, continuing to pull at his sweater.

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao finally voices a protest from below him when Hanbin’s wandering hand hits the upper swell of his smooth chest. “You’re going to stretch it out.”

He withdraws his hand reluctantly, sitting back. Only then does his awareness return to him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“I promise I wasn’t with him. Nothing happened,” Zhang Hao reassures, accurately guessing with his perceptive and non-alcohol-infused brain what Hanbin had been looking for. He reaches up for Hanbin’s face, and he relinquishes it so easily, dropping it between Zhang Hao’s outstretched hands even as his own find purchase on the soft blanket on either side of his shoulders.

Hanbin smiles when Zhang Hao’s hands caress against his cheek once more, when he curls his fingers into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Come here,” Zhang Hao murmurs, drawing him down for a kiss — light and chaste. Hanbin is putty in his hands, allowing him to keep him suspended above him, just out of reach, wherever he wants. Zhang Hao grins. “You’re more possessive than I thought. You’re lucky that I like that.”

And that makes Hanbin so happy — that he likes anything about him. He doesn’t even complain when Zhang Hao lets go, nudging against his legs for Hanbin to get off him.

Zhang Hao then reaches for the forgotten vial. “Now, will you take this?”

“What is it?” Hanbin eyes it skeptically.

“A modified antidote I made for drunkenness,” Zhang Hao explains. “Usually it’s to take before bed so you don’t wake up with a hangover. But they’re good for emergencies like this, too.”

Hanbin nods obediently, waiting for Zhang Hao to break the seal and scoot closer. He expects Zhang Hao to give it to him, but instead his hand comes up to cradle the back of Hanbin’s head as he brings the vial up to his lip to tip the contents into his mouth. Hanbin swallows — it’s bitter, but nothing too awful. He smacks his lips at the faintly tangy aftertaste. “I don’t feel any different.”

“It takes about ten to fifteen minutes.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s a fairly simple brew — alcohol isn’t a strong poison,” Zhang Hao explains, getting up to tuck the empty vial away in his trunk.

Hanbin wants to refute Zhang Hao’s impressiveness, but his tongue has somehow stopped working, or perhaps brain has reached the maximum amount of thoughts in his currently inebriated state.

Zhang Hao comes back to sit on the bed next to him. He reaches over to flick at one of the cat ears on Hanbin’s head that he had forgotten about. “These are cute.”

“I forgot they were there,” Hanbin laughs. And then he squints accusingly at Zhang Hao. “Where’s your costume?”

“It’s our party; I don’t need a costume.”

Hanbin fakes an affronted look. “Of course you need a costume! How is the host not going to dress up?”

“Because the host has been running around all night taking care of people,” Zhang Hao retorts.

He pauses for a moment. “I’m sorr—mmph—”

Zhang Hao’s hand comes up to muffle his apology before it’s finished. He wags a finger in front of Hanbin’s face. “Bad kitty, no apologizing.”

Blood rushes fierce and instant to Hanbin’s cheeks and ears, heating them even more than the gentle dusting of pink courtesy of his drinks. Something tense and syrupy curls low in his stomach, and he has to consciously stop himself from squirming atop the covers. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it — most likely the five cups of rum — but he curls his hand into a fist next to his cheek. “Meow?”

Zhang Hao ears instantly turn bright red, too, as he exclaims, “You are not allowed to do that!” He gives Hanbin’s shoulder a shove for good measure, and Hanbin topples back on the bed, cracking up.

“Stop laughing! It’s not funny!” He hears Zhang Hao whining next to him.

He barely hears him over his own unhindered, unstoppable laughter. When it finally peters out into small giggles, Hanbin rolls his head to the side so he can see Zhang Hao staring at him in horror with a wonderfully pink face. And he’s so different from the usual Zhang Hao that he shows the world, that Hanbin has watched from afar for so many years. It suddenly hits him that this version of him in this moment, so flustered and so cute, is wholly his.

Hanbin loves looking at him. Granted, he loves looking at him all the time. But there’s something about a disconcerted Zhang Hao that’s especially delicious. Like Hanbin is finally making up for some of the time he’s missed, like he’s witness to an angel without holy robes and a sanctimonious halo, a blessing just for him. He wants nothing more than to be deserving of it.

“What are you staring at?” Zhang Hao asks him mulishly.

“I think you’re beautiful.” In the face of Zhang Hao’s authenticity, Hanbin finds his own candor comes easily. And besides, he’s allowed to say these things out loud now, right? What’s the point of dating him if he can’t tell him how beautiful, how lovely, how rarefied and ethereal he is whenever he wants?

“I am not forgiving you for meowing, Sung Hanbin.”

“But you liked it?” Hanbin teases.

“No, I did not!”

Hanbin dissolves into giggles again, unable to help the giddy, free, fulfilled feeling from filling him completely.

“The antidote should be kicking in any time now,” Zhang Hao mutters. “Hopefully.”

And he’s right. Lying here, his neck crooked at an awkward angle so he can keep staring at Zhang Hao, Hanbin feels the flush cooling on his neck, the thoughts tripping a bit more easily off his tongue. “I think it is,” he confirms.

Sitting up fully, he finally registers the voices drifting down the halls. He’d been too caught up in their bubble — caught up in Zhang Hao’s gravity, his body no longer tethered to the ground but to another person — to notice before, but it seems like the party is finally ending.

“I should go,” Hanbin offers.

Zhang Hao’s plump lips press together in displeasure. “We’ve barely spent any time together this week and you already want to go?”

“I think your roommates will be coming back soon,” Hanbin says.

“I don’t mind,” Zhang Hao shrugs. But his eyes are sharp, so he picks up on Hanbin’s hesitance immediately. “But you do?”

Hanbin hadn’t thought they would talk about this tonight — he had barely been able to make a conscious decision about it. And having lost the emboldening bravery of liquor in his system makes this a thousand times harder. But he also doesn’t want to lie.

“Yes.” Hanbin grimaces as soon as it’s out, and he rushes to explain: “It’s not that I don’t like being with you, I do. But sometimes when I think about what people will say, especially with both of us being Champions and how that would look, I get— I feel …” he trails off, unable to articulate the awful, weighted, churning sensation he gets in his gut.

“You want to keep this a secret, for now,” Zhang Hao clarifies. His brows are furrowed though he doesn’t look as upset as Hanbin expected.

“Maybe just for now? I think I just need some time to get used to it.”

There’s a brief moment of silence — and Hanbin has half a mind to tell him to forget it, that it doesn’t matter, that he can bury his own worries and fears and insecurities for him. He’s about to open his mouth to say just that, when Zhang Hao finally nods.

“You don’t have to explain it,” Zhang Hao reassures. And when he smiles it’s a real one, full of warmth and understanding and for some reason that makes Hanbin want to cry. “I want to do whatever makes you comfortable. Besides, I’m not particularly fond of people talking either.”

“Are you sure?” Hanbin asks tentatively. It’s his own boundary, but how willingly he’d bulldoze over it if Zhang Hao says no.

“Yes,” Zhang Hao chuckles, standing up and reaching down to help Hanbin up. “I get it.”

“Thank you.” He sounds a bit more choked up than he would like, but he hopes Zhang Hao doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Zhang Hao tuts.

“Then thank you for the antidote.”

“Oh, you better be, that was my last one.”

Hanbin smiles, half out of relief, half out of besottedness. He loves this childish, spoiled side to Zhang Hao — once more, so different from the capable and composed version of him that has always seemed too good to be true. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hm, how?” Zhang Hao leans in toward him, lashes fluttering.

And Hanbin thinks this much might be okay, they have a few more minutes, so he leans forward, planting a swift kiss on his petal-soft cheek. When he pulls away, Zhang Hao has a dazed, glassy look in his eyes.

“I’ll think of something,” Hanbin promises.

He hasn’t talked to Zhang Hao about the First Task at all.

Not that he has much to say — he still hasn’t figured out the clue on the card — and Hanbin knows he’s running out of time. Three weeks have somehow dwindled down to one, and now each day mocks him with weak morning sunlight and the inane chatter of his friends and the cruel punishment of ever increasing homework assignments.

“We could try this,” Gunwook offers, pushing a book into his line of sight.

Hanbin reads a few lines of the paragraph on an Animagus Reversal Spell, pursing his lips. “I’m not sure about this.”

“I’ll jot it down just in case.”

The two of them find themselves in a sun-dappled corner of the library, just as the sun is setting on yet another day that brings Hanbin closer to the looming First Task. He glares at the small piece of offending parchment sitting between them, the flourish of Flamel’s signature seeming to mock him with its gaiety. The one thing he knows now: it’s indestructible.

After countless failed spells and charms and even one desperate hex, Hanbin had finally relented to Gunwook’s wheedling and whining and allowed him to drip just a bit of Tentacula venom on it. It had slid right off the paper like it was a glass pane, causing the two of them to scramble before any of the venom could drip onto the table. After that, Hanbin had tried setting it on fire, pouring water on it, Deletrius, among various other methods of destruction.

Another thing Hanbin also now knows: he was right. There’s no reason for the parchment to be so heavily protected against all elements unless there’s a clue hidden within. But Hanbin has pored over it, could recite it forward and backwards from memory, replicate the exact placement of ink on parchment down to the angle of Flamel’s flourished ‘H’, and yet he has not been able to decipher a riddle or code from it one way or the other.

“They don’t even say where or what time the Task is,” Hanbin mutters, picking up the flimsy but most resilient piece of paper in the world, apparently. “How are we supposed to figure it out?”

Gunwook, who has turned back to the shelf, pulls a few more transfiguration books out before pushing them back with a disgusted look. “We’ve already checked all these before,” he sighs. Hanbin is about to flip through the animagus book Gunwook had left open when the Ravenclaw suddenly turns around, a look of excitement on his face. “What about the restricted section!”

“Oh, that might actually work.” Most of the books in there are focused on the Dark Arts, or contain spells or brews too difficult and dangerous for younger students to attempt. There are also a few collectors volumes in there and apparently a few volumes with … salacious entries, though now that he thinks about it, fourteen year olds are prone to exaggeration and white lies, so he doubts Hogwarts actually keeps anything like that in its collection.

“Prefects can go in there right?”

“Only sometimes,” Hanbin frowns. He’s only been in there a handful of times, usually with expressed permission from the librarian and a slip from a professor.

“That must be it!” Gunwook exclaims, his voice echoing off the tall wooden shelves. “You’re both Prefects; Flamel would know that. So the answer must be in there.”

“What about the other Champions?”

“Their curriculum is different. Maybe they have other methods, too,” Gunwook shrugs. “But this is an advantage.”

“Okay, why not?” Hanbin shrugs. “Shall we go ask?”

Gunwook hesitates, dazzling excitement fizzling out at the imminent prospect. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should do it tomorrow.”

A playful smile curves Hanbin’s lips. “Why? Are you scared of the restricted section?”

“No,” Gunwook refutes much like a boisterous child. “I just have to go to Dueling Club this evening, so I should get going.”

“You were the one who was all excited about it,” Hanbin points out, still smirking. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure,” Gunwook stresses, though he won’t meet Hanbin’s eye as he starts closing the books around the table and packing his bags.

The letter accidentally gets caught between the pages of a book, and Hanbin reaches over to slip it back out. Gunwook picks up the book at the same time to add to the growing pile in his arms. They both pull.

Zzzt. It rips.

Hanbin is so stunned for a moment all he can do is stare at the jagged edge of what he had thought was an indestructible piece of parchment. The neat, cursive penmanship now swirling off the page. A pained sound makes Hanbin look back up at Gunwook, who has a look of utter panic on his face. They stand suspended and frozen, as if by staying still they can prolong this disastrous moment, they can somehow stop time from moving forward, and somehow reverse this back to when the letter had been neat and whole. They can, with their combined intelligence, somehow fix this.

Fix— Hanbin tugs his wand out from the pocket of his robe, hearing Gunwook making another pained sort of choked sound. He points his wand at the ripped letter, “Reparo.”

Nothing happens.

Gunwook really does crumble then. His expression falling in despairing fashion. “I’ve ruined it! I’ve ripped your letter!” To Hanbin’s dismay, big, fat tears start to roll down his cheeks.

“Oh no! It’s okay, it’s okay,” Hanbin reassures, laying his half of the letter down on the table and rushing towards Gunwook, pulling him into a hug. It’s a little awkward because Gunwook is nearly as tall as him and definitely wider, but Hanbin manages to wrangle both his arms around the other boy’s shoulders so he can pat the back of his head. Even as dismay and a slight tinge of alarm swarms him over the ripped letter, Hanbin can’t stand the thought of Gunwook blaming himself. “It’s not your fault. We ripped it together. Everything will be okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gunwook sobs. “I should have been more careful. I closed the book, and I didn’t even realize. I never thought it would rip—”

“It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world,” Hanbin gentles, rubbing his other hand up and down Gunwook’s broad back. “Hush, no need to cry over it now.”

“But your Task,” Gunwook sniffles. Tears glitter below his eyes and his face has become a splotchy red color. “It’s in less than a week.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Hanbin soothes. He uses the long sleeve of his robe to wipe up Gunwook’s wet cheeks, the younger Ravenclaw still sniffling but obviously trying his best to pull it together.

“I’m sure you don’t want my help anymore …” Gunwook mumbles, sullen and utterly dejected.

“This was not your fault,” Hanbin says firmly, making sure Gunwook is looking at him before he continues. “And I would still appreciate your help. I probably need it now more than ever.”

“Really?” And despite their similar heights, Gunwook somehow manages to peer up at him with open, hopeful eyes.

Hanbin often forgets how young Gunwook is — mainly because he towers over everyone else in the years above him. But occasionally, he sees a glimmer of pure excitement, or pure mischief, in his eyes that lends a joyous sort of youth to his features. Melancholy has the same effect. As Gunwook finishes patting his eyes dry, he still possesses the vestiges of simplistic trust and endearing naivete that only linger so long past childhood. Hanbin reaches out to give him another hug — this time he gets one in return. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Hanbin,” Gunwook mumbles.

He gives him an affectionate smile. “No need to thank me. Come on, you have Dueling Club right?”

Before they leave the library, Hanbin tucks the two halves of his letter into the pocket of his robes. Despite what he said to Gunwook — he has no idea how he’s going to figure this out.

The fanfare of feathers every morning don’t phase Hanbin anymore after six years. He doesn’t have his own owl — if he needs to send any correspondence, one of the school owls will do, usually just to check in with his parents every once in a while, once when he realized he’d forgotten his potion scales at home. And so he doesn’t expect any letters this morning — or any morning — eating his fried eggs on toast and trying valiantly not to sneak glances at Zhang Hao across the room. He startles when a white and gray speckled owl thunks down on the table in front of him, making his cup rattle.

Hanbin’s brows furrow in confusion as the owl drops off a neatly folded newspaper and flaps its wings, nearly knocking the tower of rolls off the platter, taking flight once more. Hanbin barely notices the near miss though, his mouth slightly agape as he stares at the front fold of the newspaper — at himself, grinning and winking and, embarrassingly enough, blowing a kiss (he does not remember doing that) under the curling masthead of the Daily Prophet.

His hands scrabble at the paper before anyone else — namely Gyuvin who is sitting next to him — can see. Hanbin flips open the fold, poring over the page with something akin to panic.

The caption below his massive, solo photograph: Hanbin Sung, seventh-year at Hogwarts, is this year’s favorite to win the TriWizard Tournament. Out of a crop of promising young wizards, Sung has shown considerable talents in Defense Against the Dark Arts, earning an Exceeds Expectations on his Ordinary Wizarding Levels (O.W.L.s) two years ago. Despite claiming to be unaware of the Wizarding World up until he received his Hogwarts letter, Sung has flourished in the years since, earning accolades from the institution as a Quidditch captain and Hufflepuff House Prefect. Sung now takes on his next challenge — and looks to exceed expectations here, too.

There’s a small blurb underneath directing readers to page four to see all of the Champions’ full profiles.

Hanbin stares numbly in disbelief, hand shaking slightly as it clutches at the sides of the paper — quite like when he had received his Hogwarts letter ten months after his twelfth birthday. Except unlike that time, there is no simmering elation and burgeoning hope, just a gut-deep dread and cold incredulity that makes him wish perhaps this is just his copy. Perhaps all the Champions had received front covers as well.

Gyuvin nudges him roughly in the shoulder, jolting him from his rising hysteria. “Why is everyone suddenly looking over here? What did you—”

His friend sees his gigantic moving photograph — beaming up at them with crinkled cheeks — on the front page of the paper at the same time a pair of feet halt across the table from the two of them. Hanbin inches his eyes up with great reluctance, feeling his heart sink when he registers who it is, that her face tells all about her displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Callidora demands, throwing her own copy of the paper down on the table so now there are two perfectly polished Hanbin’s smiling and waving up at them.

Hanbin winces. “I’m not sure either.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she sneers, her sharp chin jutting out. “What did you say to get her to feature you on the front of the paper?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Hanbin insists, a bit hurt and a lot frustrated, his own embarrassment and confusion over the situation bubbling over.

“Maybe she just took a liking to you then,” Callidora scoffs. Her eyes glancing him up and down with derision — it makes his skin crawl, it makes his stomach twist with disgust. “Pretty boy like you probably flirted your way through the whole interview.”

Awfully, terribly, catastrophically, Hanbin feels the corner of his eyes prickle. Not out of sadness or even distress, but a white hot, untamable anger that makes him sit taller, that flushes his face and makes him grit his teeth. He can’t speak — if he speaks he’ll cry, and he would rather die than give her the satisfaction.

“Maybe he’s just a better wizard than you. Wild thought, I know, but probably not that difficult to manage.”

Callidora whips her head around to glare at Zhang Hao who had appeared next to the Hufflepuff table, his arms crossed and face a blank mask. He doesn’t seem to be particularly angry, if anything his placid expression belies the acidity in his voice — he looks almost bored. Though his clenched fists tell a different story.

“Why are you sticking up for him? Shouldn’t you be just as mad? Shouldn’t you be more mad? You’re from the same school and yet they feature him.”

“The Daily Prophet is all just nonsense fluff,” Zhang Hao sighs. His voice is drawling and low — with none of the coquettish accents that had been on full display Saturday night.

Hanbin digs his nails into the palm of his hand, trying his best to tamp down the two warring emotions raging in him. The anger is still there, so strong he fears letting his teeth up in case he stands and flings every insult he can think of at the Durmstrang girl. And yet it is slowly being overcome with gratitude — a baser, more debilitating emotion because it swells in his chest and rises up his throat and overtakes his senses in potent fashion. Neither of them quite help the rising redness around his eyes.

“Nonsense fluff,” Callidora mimics. “Don’t try to make yourself feel better. You got sidelined just like the rest of us.”

Hanbin suddenly finds his voice — thankful that it doesn’t crack when he speaks. “I just don’t think his ego is as fragile as yours.”

Callidora turns her glare on him. “Ego? You want to talk about ego? When you hogged—”

“That’s enough!”

A surprising voice causes all three of them to swing their heads to a fourth person to enter the fray. Violet Beauchêne stands there with her pale blond curled locks and pert nose with a look of disgust and disapproval marring her saintly features. Only then does Hanbin realize he had risen to his feet during their argument.

“You are all making a scene — and making us all look horrible. It is a silly little article for Merlin’s sake!”

This is probably the most emotive Hanbin has ever seen Violet, and her outburst is enough to subdue even Callidora into silence. At least for all of three seconds.

“You’re right, it’s stupid, and furthermore, wrong,” Callidora derides. She trains her glare back on Hanbin. “Tell me, do you even know what our First Task is yet?”

“Of course.” Hanbin wills his face to keep its cool mask, to not let the flush along his neck give him away. He maintains her steely eyed look with a flat one of his own. He doesn’t dare flick his gaze over to Violet, let alone Zhang Hao. He wonders if he’s figured it out yet.

Callidora snorts, “You’re a terrible liar.” Her expression snaps from outrage to glee — like a sleight of hand at one of those faux Muggle magic shows. “I can’t wait to see you crash and burn.”

With that, Callidora leaves with a satisfied smirk, disappearing just as suddenly as she had appeared. Violet, too, turns to go, but not before giving both him and Zhang Hao stern looks. Hanbin can’t remember what year she was, but in this moment he feels like one of those properly chastised first years he finds sneaking out of the castle at night. With a puff of breath, Violet follows Callidora out of the Great Hall doors.

He turns toward the only one left. Push and pull. Hanbin wants to run to him, to beg him to hold him and to stay there until he world no longer seems so looming and large and no one else can ever set eyes on him ever again — but Zhang Hao still has that detached, wary look to him. His fists haven’t let up; the skin around his mouth is pulled taut. Hanbin wants to go up and kiss him, but the weight of everyone’s stares encloses them in an oppressive shadow. Hanbin feels it pressing in on him overbearingly and without pause.

“Do you really know what the First Task is?” Zhang Hao asks, almost blithely.

Hanbin shakes his head.

Finally Zhang Hao’s distant demeanor breaks, just with a small smile — always with a small smile. It’s just a subtle quirk of his lips, but Hanbin sees it everywhere else on his face, in the gentle softening of his eyes, in the slight push of his cheeks, in the cute upturn of his brows. From a cold regality to a tender sort of divinity — Hanbin wonders if anyone else notices.

“Me neither.”

Hanbin lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding, a loosening of some awful knot in his chest. He wants to say something else, but then Ricky calls Zhang Hao from further up the walkway. Classes — they’re going to be late.

Zhang Hao shoots him an apologetic look. Hanbin barely gets to give him a smile in return before he leaves.

The staring is worse today. Much worse.

No matter where he goes or what he tries to preoccupy himself with, it’s always there — the words from the Daily Prophet quoted to him from passing sixth years, underlined in the assessing looks and faint murmurs for those brave enough to gossip where he can hear.

While leaving his Arithmancy classroom: I’ve never really paid much attention to him before. I mean, I know he’s a Prefect, but so is Cormac, and well, no one expects anything from him.

Coming down a moving staircase that deposits him by the trophy room: I doubt Hanbin has what it takes. You have to be quick on your feet in the Tournament. He’s always been a rather textbook wizard, wouldn’t you say? It’s why he got all those O.W.L.s — he’s useless with practical magic.

Walking through the colonnade to his next class: Exceeds Expectations in DADA! That’s insane! Who even gets an Exceeds Expectations? He might have been the only one in his year.

Maybe I should have put more galleons on him.

I don’t get why the Daily Prophet chose him of all the Champions.

But he’s properly handsome, isn’t he?

It’s definitely going to be an interesting First Task.

Hanbin skips lunch — and dinner. He decides he’ll stop by the kitchens later and hope the House Elves take pity on him. And then he encloses himself in the one space where he knows he’ll get some time alone: the Prefects' bathroom. Namely, the bath.

Steam rises around Hanbin’s shoulder, curling through the damp strands of his hair, fogging his vision. He’s sitting in a sunken tub amidst beige and copper marble flooring. The gold trimming around the tub and the brass of the taps find themselves fading into a dull shine from the humid heat clinging to every corner of the room. Hanbin sighs, sinking even further into the water, feeling it lap around his neck, lick the bottom of his earlobes.

In this bathing chamber hangs a painting of a phoenix. Hanbin stares as flames lick up its tail when it swoops around the canvas, disappearing out of frame only for it to reappear in a streak, like a comet through the drifting haze. If he squints, it’s almost like the fire is in this room with him instead of painted with oil and pigment. Hanbin can almost smell the acrid tang of smoke, the heat from the water prickling against his skin nearly like the lick of flames burning him alive.

He lets out a drawn out groan before dunking his head into the near-scalding water.

Hanbin resurfaces moments later with a gasp, mock tears in rivulets running down his cheeks. It hadn’t helped whatsoever — his mood still sour and every thought that drifts across his mind unwelcome and abrasive. He leans over to grab a glass bottle from the side of the tub, the diamond cut pattern pushing into his tender palm. Hanbin pours a healthy amount of shampoo in his other hand and starts working it through his short hair. He focuses on lathering up all the way to his scalp, even getting the hard-to-reach spots at the back of his head. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until his arms ache with the effort, until his scalp tingles.

He’s so focused in his efforts to will away all of the mutterings he’s heard today — good and bad — that Hanbin nearly leaps out of the bathtub when he hears the booming bang of a door slamming open. Almost immediately after loud voices carry through from the main area of the bathroom.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!”

It’s Zhang Hao’s voice, neat and clear.

Hanbin would recognize it anywhere, even when he sounds furious, even when he’s screaming — which Hanbin doesn’t think he has ever heard Zhang Hao do. He reacts on instinct to the sound, he’s almost halfway out of the bathtub until he realizes there are still suds in his hair and he’s naked and Zhang Hao and whoever he is arguing with probably came in here with the same expectation as him: privacy.

And he can’t deny a part of what stills him, besides the very practical reasons, is also curiosity. It burns, as brightly as the phoenix in the painting, and it produces just enough steam to blur his sense of what’s right. He shouldn’t eavesdrop — but a small voice in the back of his mind tells him it’s not really his fault. He was here first; they should have checked if anyone else was here if they didn’t want to be heard. Hanbin tamps down the rebuting voice that says he could call out and make himself known. Instead he sits back down in the water as silently as possible.

“It’s what you shouldn’t have said!”

Hanbin recognizes this voice too: Grimsby. And the alarm and surprise that had formed at the sudden bang of the door morphs into something ugly.

“It’s done, Gideon. We did the interview weeks ago,” Zhang Hao sounds exasperated. The acoustics of the tile and marble and glass in this lavish bathroom mean Hanbin can still hear him perfectly. As if Zhang Hao were speaking right in his ear. “What do you want from me?”

“I just don’t get you at all. Why did you say that in the first place? You didn’t have to give him the spotlight.”

“I didn’t give him anything. I doubt they did up that cover, splashed him across the page based on what I said.”

In this moment two things become abundantly clear: they’re talking about him; and he should have read the rest of that paper. After the uproar this morning, Hanbin hadn’t even wanted to touch the paper again let alone read what else they had written about him. Besides, he didn’t need to; everyone else has been talking about it enough that he’d deduced its contents. It was all good, thankfully, but so much so that it's to his detriment, if Callidora’s outburst this morning and now the argument Zhang Hao is having is any indication. What Hanbin regrets though is not reading Zhang Hao’s interview — which seems to be the subject of their fight right now.

And even that — the fact that Zhang Hao is fighting with someone who is not him — stirs that ugly feeling in his chest again. It’s not anger; it’s not even jealousy. Those two emotions are too pure and unadulterated — easy to categorize and to explain. But what Hanbin is feeling is so much more than that. He loathes the idea of anyone else getting any part of Zhang Hao. But it’s more than just possession. It’s a feeling of deep injustice and near cruelty — because Grimsby doesn’t deserve it.

And it’s not his own prejudices and envy getting in the way. Grimsby has never been a good person; Grimsby will never be the type of person who deserves Zhang Hao’s time or attention or emotion. And it is with this ugly thing lodged in his chest that he has to hear him receive them anyway.

“Did you mean it?” Grimsby’s voice is flat and cold — but not quite. As if he’s play-making at disinterest, as if with a single tap his ice will crack. “What you said in the interview?”

There’s a pause, and Hanbin strains his ears, hoping now isn’t the time they start whispering. He’s long past caring about his own morals. He wants to know what Zhang Hao said, what has made Grimsby so livid.

“Yes.”

“You can’t truly believe he’s a better wizard than you.” Even with walls separating them Hanbin can hear the sneer.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s him.”

“And what do you have against him?” Zhang Hao’s voice rises a bit again. Based on the irritated way he spits it out, Hanbin guesses it’s not the first time they’ve talked about this.

“I know you don’t like to hear this, but you’re the one making me say it.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll finally hear how ridiculous you sound!”

“It’s not ridiculous!” Yelled — across the room in Grimsby’s deep tone. “Merlin, you were born into magic, grew up around it. You come from one of the oldest Wizarding families in the world! You don’t seriously believe that you could lose to some guy who only learned that wizards existed six years ago. You know what I heard? That his mum was so ashamed of being magic that she hid it from her husband and family for years.”

Hanbin freezes — the water stings.

“She turned her back on the Wizarding community, snapped her wand of her own accord. And now he just gets to waltz back in with his filthy, traitorous—”

“That’s enough!” Silence.

Hanbin clenches his jaw so hard he hears a soft pop behind his ears.

“I’m not even going to entertain what you said about his mother,” Zhang Hao’s voice carries all the chill that Grimsby wishes his had. His punctuated syllables are so sharp they feel like daggers lodging one by into the thick of Hanbin’s chest, sliding molten hot knives laced with barely banked fury through his ribs. “That has no bearing on him, this Tournament. All this over some article? Some stupid, insipid piece in the Daily Prophet that is meant to drum up interest in the Tournament? Will you please think a little, Gideon?”

“It’s not just about the article.”

“I—” Some shuffling of robes. “I don’t know what you mean. You’re acting like I nominated him for the Wizengamot or something. And regardless, he’s good. Really good. And if he beats me and wins this whole Tournament well then he will deserve it — based on his own merits and skills and abilities as a wizard.”

“How could you say that? Where’s your pride? Are you just going to lie down and let him walk all over you? What does he have that—” An abrupt stop.

“I’m not arguing with you over this anymore,” Zhang Hao grits out.

“Do you know how many students would kill to be in your place? Would kill to be in his place?” Grimsby’s outrage is apparent, though now it’s a simmering, roiling thing. Both of their words are quiet enough that Hanbin needs to strain to hear. “Winning the TriWizard Tournament pretty much means you get handed any job you want after Hogwarts. This could change your life. I’m only thinking about what’s good for you. And I don’t like that you’re already setting yourself up to fail.”

There’s a stretch of silence. But Hanbin doesn’t have to wonder what’s happening out in the main room. He knows exactly how much Zhang Hao is fuming — he guesses it’s about in equal measure to his own. It’s writhing and incandescent and bristling. Hanbin can feel it all the way from here.

“Then I guess it is fortunate for me that I am not worried about these things,” Zhang Hao snaps. “Not because I think I am so well connected or above the grueling toil of applying to St. Mungos; I know very well how difficult it will be. But I have slept a total of ten hours this week; I still get nightmares every night, and there is still a chunk of my memories missing, Gideon. I am never not reminded that there is something wrong with me; that my mind is not wholly my own. And so I hope you understand if there are other things that preoccupy my time and efforts. And, evidently, how I present myself to the Wizarding World and whether or not I am setting myself up for success in the equivalent of an advert in the Daily Prophet does not cross my mind as often as it does yours.”

Hanbin expects Grimsby to continue to be belligerent; he expects him to retort with something just as foul and spiteful and hostile as everything else that has come out of his mouth ever since the two of them had entered the bathroom. But he does something so much worse.

“I thought you had given up on that.”

Where Hanbin had previously been hot with irritation and anger, he now feels a sickening cold wash over him. It’s not because the water in his bath has cooled, or that the phoenix in the painting has stilled, perched on a branch; it's because his stomach has just twisted — horribly — at Grimsby’s words. Because they hint, indicate, tell of a familiarity between the two of them that Hanbin can’t possibly compete with. That he yearns for with every thought in his mind and pulse of his heart.

I thought you had given up on that. Tells Hanbin that this isn’t the first time Zhang Hao has shared these worries with him, that everything Zhang Hao had said about his sleepless night and his memories is not new to Grimsby. But they are new to him. Every word Zhang Hao had said had been an agonizing revelation; the vitriol and fierceness in which he had spoken of his own mind had sunk its claws into Hanbin and dragged, scoring him open and taking all the heat away with which he needs to close his wounds. The phoenix takes flight again — the play of flames on the surface of the bath crimson and viscous, like blood.

A caustic laugh rings through the cooled steam. “I thought so, too, but I don’t think it’s one of those things I can just get over.”

Hanbin would give anything to see Zhang Hao’s expression right now; to have him be the one he’s talking to, even if he’s angry. He’ll take anything, even his acrimony.

“You’re safe now though.” And horribly, disgustingly, Grimsby sounds reassuring.

But Zhang Hao doesn’t sound scared when he replies; he sounds defiant. “Am I?”

“Nothing else has happened in years. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t remember.”

“Don’t you think I haven’t tried to let it go?” There’s a bit of shuffling, the sound of robes moving. And then Zhang Hao’s voice, closer, right at the opening to the bathing chambers: “There’s no point in talking about it anymore. I didn’t bring it up just to get into it all.”

Hanbin holds his breath, cognizant of the fact that the entrance of the chamber opens to four different partitioned rooms; one of which Hanbin is currently in. Zhang Hao would see him immediately, if he decides to round the corner.

“Fine,” Grimsby’s rough reply. “I just don’t want you to let him win.” It sounds petulant and childish in the face of Zhang Hao’s own concerns.

A heavy sigh. “Of course I won’t.”

Grimsby leaves the bathroom soon after with a dull thud of the door. But even after that, Hanbin doesn’t hear the telltale signs of Zhang Hao’s footsteps. He doesn’t hear anything even as he strains his ear, kept still by the threat of discovery.

Even though he can’t see him, Hanbin is able to guess Zhang Hao’s whereabouts with unerring accuracy. There’s a light tap, a foot against the tile right before the entrance. Hanbin’s ears are so attuned to any small sound from the main area that he thinks he even catches a small inhale of breath — he can just imagine Zhang Hao’s full lips parted slightly, pulling air through his teeth. Hanbin bites his lip, remembering that they had kissed; he had kissed those lips that he’s thinking of now, that he can see so clearly it’s as if they’re in front of him and red-bitten once more. Briefly, bitterly, Hanbin wonders if Grimsby has ever had the privilege.

The moment of pause stretches, and Hanbin wonders if he’s crazy for feeling like there is a tinge of anticipation in it, as if they are both waiting for the other to call out, to bridge the distance and lack of sight. But eventually there’s a swish of robes and the slow walk of footsteps against the tile. The Prefects' bathroom door shuts again.

Hanbin takes in a full breath, chest heaving and lungs aching. His shoulders and hands shake when he reaches for the tap to run hot water into the cooled bath again. Hanbin feels numb, even more than before, completely brittle. He washes the tacky shampoo out of his hair, scrubs down his entire body — harder, harsher than he should — and then dunks his head under the water again. That’s when he screams.

Hanbin’s wet hair curls at his nape as he dresses, first into his slacks and then his button up shirt. He forgoes his tie, throwing it over to his satchel on the corner table and picks up his robe. A slight rustling sound reminds Hanbin of the First Task letter — still ripped in two, still in his pocket from last night. In a daze, he fishes them out.

As expected the two pieces remain unscathed and untouched by the lingering heat and mist in the bathroom, still dry and crisp as ever to the touch. Experimentally, Hanbin folds a corner, flipping it back and forth until it rips off. How is it that the piece of parchment is entirely impervious to the elements, but still prone to normal wear and tear? It would need to be a very specific kind of protection charm — odd in and of itself because they’re usually used for large areas or for something as big as a home. It figures that Flamel would have the power to not only attach it to something so small and flimsy but to make it incredibly particular as well. But why?

The phoenix twirls through the frame of the painting, its blazing tail trailing a line of flame.

On instinct, Hanbin pulls his wand out from his robe pocket. “Incendio.”

Like his test before in the Hufflepuff Common Room, the fire twirls around it, writhing scarlet. But the parchment beneath doesn’t start to wilt and blacken and curl as a normal piece of parchment would, only allowing the vestiges of the flame to cling onto its corner. Hanbin holds the letter carefully and takes a few steps back to the edge of the tub.

It can’t be this simple. He lets go and watches as the piece of parchment spins in the air for a moment, before the weight of the fire pulls it down and into the water.

It continues to burn — flames now orange and gold, pushing against the tepid blue of the rippling water.

And just like that, the realization strikes him; he knows what the First Task is.

Chapter Text

“All things caught between shield and sword,
All grief empty, the clear night passes.”
— Tu Fu, Restless Night

Zhang Hao

The Champions get another letter twenty-four hours before the First Task telling them to meet by the fourth-floor corridor at dawn on the twelfth.

Twenty-three hours after receiving that letter: Zhang Hao finds himself in a charmed tent next to the Quidditch pitch — and it feels like his very modest breakfast of toast, eggs, and cherry tomatoes are about to come right back up.

“Are you sure about this?” He leans forward to whisper to Hanbin who sits in the low chair opposite him.

The other Champions are scattered throughout the massive tent. Both Callidora and Milena had made their rounds, trying to provoke them and the Beauxbaton students hours ago when they all had breakfast together. When no one rose to the bait, they decided to stake out the area in the top right corner with a settee and low table and haven’t moved from there since. Violet and Lee have been whispering with Headmistress Maxine for the past hour in the opposite corner. No one is paying either of them any attention.

Hanbin nods quickly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m trusting you,” Zhang Hao warns, even as his stomach churns nervously again. In his mind, he runs through the different ingredients that he will need for this Task — whether or not they’ll be provided, how he’s going to make it happen otherwise. And underlying all that — how he’s going to make it up to Hanbin.

“Nervous?” Hanbin teases.

Zhang Hao scowls. “Of course I’m nervous. Are you not?”

“Terrified,” Hanbin confides.

They had a week, barely that, to come up with their strategies once Hanbin had realized what the Task was and divulged it to him as well. Zhang Hao runs through his mental checklist one more time before starting on the first step of his brew. He’s so absorbed in it — add the shrake spines, stir gently three times counterclockwise — that he jumps slightly when Hanbin speaks again.

“What are you thinking about?”

“What I’m going to do in the Task!” Zhang Hao snaps.

Hanbin giggles in the face of his annoyance. He’s got a bit of a playful streak, Zhang Hao has realized, much to his chagrin, much to his delight.

“Your eyebrows are knitted so tightly I don’t think there’s hope of ever separating them again,” Hanbin points out.

Zhang Hao scowls at him harder, even though it seems to have no effect at all. “Shut up and do your own reviewing!”

They had agreed to work on their solutions separately — in fact, Zhang Hao had insisted on it. A part of him still smarts at having the First Task told to him instead of figuring it out himself. He’d tested all sorts of counter-spells and potions on the letter to no avail, and he was thankful to Hanbin, sure, but he was prideful as well — and the two emotions war in him as he sizes up his competition sitting across him.

Hanbin’s hair is slightly messy, a little fluffy still, maybe from an early morning shower; Zhang Hao doesn’t think he usually styles it much. His bangs fall in soft clumps across his forehead and the strands are just long enough that Zhang Hao wants to lean over and tug on them, a little meanly — preferably while they’re kissing. His eyes travel down to the cheeks that always seem to have a faint glow to them, perhaps a symptom of being out in the sun for hours playing Quidditch.

And speaking of Quidditch, Zhang Hao tries valiantly not to let his attention stray further down than that, particularly to Hanbin’s wonderfully built thighs — crossed and straining against the slacks he chose to wear today (against any slacks of his on any day, actually, not that Zhang Hao has spent a lot of time noticing; it’s simply something that is unmissable) — no doubt from all the time spent gripping a broom between them— Zhang Hao stops his train of thought abruptly. Though Hanbin’s shoulders are rather … lovely and his chest is a danger point, too. So Zhang Hao makes sure to keep his perusal only ulp to the lovely downturn of Hanbin’s philtrum and the sweet ‘v’ of his smile as he grins at him. As it turns slowly into a knowing, self-satisfied smirk.

“What are you thinking about now?”

A troublemaker! And completely shameless! Hanbin has everyone fooled with his cherubic smile and fluttering lashes, but he is the devil! “Nothing,” Zhang Hao sniffs. “Quit looking at me.”

Hanbin laughs. “You first.”

Zhang Hao pointedly looks away, catching the eye of Lee from across the tent. The other boy quickly darts his gaze elsewhere. A thought occurs to him, which means he immediately has to ask: “Do you think everyone knows what the Task is?”

“I would hope so. Otherwise, this is about to go quite poorly for them.”

Doubt swamps him to think that he might have been the only one who couldn’t figure out the letter.

“What is it?” Hanbin gently prompts. He needs to get better about hiding his expressions.

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head, feeling his lips push into a pout. But he also can’t help it: “Is it bad of me to wish that maybe they didn’t?”

“Of course not,” Hanbin reassures immediately. “This is a competition after all.”

“Where was that attitude when you told me about the Task?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so sullen or accusatory. He immediately rushes to explain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I’m really glad you told me, because this would have been a disaster if I didn’t know.”

Hanbin frowns slightly, but his eyes are solemn and considering as he looks at him — always looking, with those eyes that seem to see everything. “I know you would have figured it out yourself. But does it make sense if I say that this wouldn’t be a competition if I hadn’t told you? I want us to start on a level playing field, so we can see who wins out there today. If I win, I want to know it’s because of no reason other than that I’m simply better.”

Zhang Hao is momentarily stunned. He’s been surrounded by proud, stubborn, and entirely competitive people his whole life. It’s a byproduct of his lineage, he fears; it’s an unavoidable casualty of his House, too. So he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by the same traits in Hanbin, why it feels so new, why it sets his heart racing after its arrested pause. “It would have still been fair if I hadn’t figured it out for myself,” he argues. “That would have been my fault.”

“But that would have been no fun,” Hanbin smiles, his expression gentling even as it sharpens. His flash of teeth feels entirely on purpose. “Besides, I owed you for the sobering potion.”

“That’s hardly comparable,” Zhang Hao snorts.

“That’s up to me to decide.”

Zhang Hao matches him in pettiness, sticking his tongue out like a six year old. Hanbin laughs, so bright and sparkling Zhang Hao almost thinks he can see it crystallize before them.

“Champions, I hope you are ready. We will soon begin!” The exuberant, booming announcement is made by none other than former Beauxbaton student and TriWizard Champion Wesley de Montmorency. A head of perfectly coiled blond curls bounces their way into the tent on the heels of the spirited words. Violet’s gasps from all the way across the tent.

Zhang Hao has seen Montmorency before on multiple covers of Witch’s Weekly and one time on a cereal box, but those depictions surely did not compare to his luminosity in person — literally. His stark white robes seem almost enchanted to catch and reflect every speck of light in the tent, the gold trim on his raised collar perfectly setting off the golden luster of his lush locks. Zhang Hao feels like he has to squint at him as he steps into the tent.

“Hello, Champions!” He greets them all with a smile filled with teeth so white they nearly wash him out.

There is a brief, shocked pause, before various mumblings of “Hello” and a breathless “How do you do?” from Violet fills the large tent.

“I’m very excited to be both the announcer and a judge for what is sure to be a thrilling Tournament this year,” he says, continuing to beam at all of them with his brilliant teeth. “I hope you are all adequately prepared — though perhaps it is more entertaining if you are not.” Montmorency shoots all of them a mischievous look, or a caricature of such, his features twisted in a way that exaggerates his point, that it feels almost like one of those convoluted masquerade masks. “I am here to announce that you have ten minutes before the start of your Task. And, to introduce you briefly to my fellow judges before you all go out there.”

Montmorency’s robe is so blinding Zhang Hao hadn’t even noticed the other figures who had entered the tent behind him. There’s a tall man with dark hair and a sharp nose next to three women, two ministry officials — if Zhang Hao recalls from their meeting with Spavin — and a former Hogwarts professor that taught before he started here.

“Jiwoong Kim, my TriWizard Champion successor,” Montmorency begins the introductions, indicating the dark-haired man with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a rather bored, almost blank look on his face. “Helena Nott, former Durmstrang student and one of the top Aurors with the Ministry of Magic foreign office; Basil Egnell, who works at the Department of Magical Education; and Ettie Tecson, former Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor.”

Polite murmurs of greeting ripple through the tent. Zhang Hao rises from his chair along with Hanbin, nodding his head at the judges who meet them with practiced smiles. Basil looks to be the oldest of the lot, with a wisps of gray along her hairline and finely set crows-feet next to her eyes, lending her the look of a kindly, spritely grandmother. The youngest seem to be Jiwoong and Helena, who Zhang Hao guesses are roughly the same age. Though Helena has her hair tied back in such a strict and tight bun that her styling could be an argument to age her by ten years.

“We won’t hold you up. You now only have five minutes anyway!” Montmorency cackles like he’s just told the most hilarious joke. “See you all out there shortly, good luck!”

Jiwoong is the last to leave the tent behind the swish of Montmorency’s snow-white cape. Zhang Hao remembers him from the Tournament during his second year — a brief vision of the Hufflepuff casting a rather nasty hex at a boggart comes to mind. He leans over to Hanbin once more, eyes still set on the retreating figure of the former Champion. “Do you know him well?”

“I didn’t interact with him much,” Hanbin says, shaking his head. “But everyone in my House always talks about him so I feel like I do.”

“Quick, tell me, is he susceptible to bribes?”

Hanbin chuckles. “What happened to wanting it to be fair?”

“You were the one who said that,” Zhang Hao retorts primly. “I’ll play dirty to win.”

Hanbin gives him another one of those sharp smiles, another knowing smirk that sets his heart pounding and makes the breath catch in his throat; that makes him want to pull on Hanbin’s hair until tears spring to his eyes, only with permission, only because Zhang Hao thinks … he might like that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hanbin ducks close to murmur in his ear.

With his mind still swirling with Hanbin and how soft his cheeks would feel until the pinch of his thumb and forefinger, Zhang Hao lines up by the opening of the tent with the other Champions. A few Tournament organizers arrange them side-by-side in pairs to walk out with Lee and Violet first, Callidora and Milena second, and him and Hanbin last, before giving them the go signal to walk out onto the pitch. Half a second after stepping foot out under the blazing sun, any coherent thought Zhang Hao has is completely obliterated by the heart-stopping, thundering cheers from the Quidditch stands, with even more of them than usual surrounding the field to accommodate the visiting schools.

It’s a greedy crowd, Zhang Hao can immediately sense it. Everyone is leaning forward on the benches, eager grins slashed on their faces, piercing gazes darting over their small group as they walk at a steady pace to the center of the field. Everyone sitting in the stands above has a voracious appetite, impatient and restless to be entertained, to have something to talk about, as poised to praise as it they are deride and ruin. Over on the far side, Zhang Hao sees a judges stand set up, where the four of them are already sitting. The Headmasters and other faculty members are positioned on the stands directly above them with the best seats in the house.

Zhang Hao feels the adrenaline kick in, an automatic response to feeling like prey among so many predators leering down at them. His heart rate ratchets up another notch, dialing close into fear, when he sees what’s in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. In the center of what looks to be six small chests arranged in a large circle is a pensieve. Zhang Hao has seen one before — of course he has. That experience had been so horrific that just the sight of the basin sends him into an immediate tailspin of fear. He stumbles in his steps along the short grass, feeling the blood drain from his face. Next to him, Hanbin pauses briefly as well — to keep pace with him. Zhang Hao forces his feet to move, past the slogging dread and thick horror welling up within him.

He nearly jumps when rough fingers close over his own. The light pressure — a squeeze — drawing his attention away from his spiraling thoughts. Enough so he remembers the voracious crowd and their prying eyes, entirely focused on them, to pick them apart or to sing their praises — it all depends on the show they give. They’ll see, he reminds himself. He takes in long breaths, forcing the air past the blockade in his chest to calm down; he clings onto Hanbin’s hand, squeezing back as they make their way, in lockstep, to the middle of the field. To his great relief, they’re signaled to stop a few yards away from the pensieve.

“Welcome to all the students, faculty, and guests to the First Task of the TriWizard Tournament!” Montmorency’s voice rings out across the crowd. It’s somehow even more animated when amplified twenty-times its natural volume. “I am sure you all are already familiar with them, but please allow me the honor of introducing our fine Champions one more time: Lee Bernard and Violet Beauchêne from Beauxbatons, Callidora Munter and Milena Koffka from Durmstrang, and Hao Zhang and Hanbin Sung from Hogwarts.”

The cheers which had already been loud before grow deafening, so much so that it’s almost like a physical wave of sound as it hits Zhang Hao, nearly bowling him over. He steadies himself with Hanbin’s hand again. He realizes they’re the only ones holding hands among the Champions — he should let go. They might take it as a sign of weakness, a sign of attachment. But he can’t bear to just yet.

“I know you are all eager to learn what challenge the Champions will face today, but first, I must also introduce our esteemed panel of judges,” Montmorency continues.

He runs through the names, albeit with a bit more biography than his introductions in the tent, but standing so close to the pensieve, Zhang Hao is unable to focus on much else, especially an oral recitation of someone’s resume. Despite the distance between them, the pensieve looms large, warping in his mind's eye to seem far closer, far bigger than it actually is. This pensieve is different from the one Flamel has in his office — Flamel’s is intricately carved, though slightly worn in its age and ceremony. This one contains less detail, the stone smooth in most parts as it curves inwards like a Grecian column. But the ghostly, murky water that lies in the middle of its basin is the same.

“We are almost ready to reveal the First Task!” Montmorency announces with great fanfare. “But before I announce the details—”

A great uproar from the crowd, much to Montmorency’s delight who titters and shushes them while obviously basking in having the crowd hang onto his every word.

“If I could have each of the Champions please position themselves in front of a chest. Yes, that’s right,” Montmorency encourages when none of them move to follow instructions. “Champions, please move so each of you is by a different chest. There’s enough for all of you! It does not matter which one you choose!”

Zhang Hao’s heart seizes at the prospect of losing the security of Hanbin’s hold. But it’s ridiculous, he tells himself, to cling onto Hanbin like he’s some child in need of reassurance and comfort. He lets go abruptly, feeling slightly unbalanced afterwards like that side of him is suddenly far heavier than before. Zhang Hao is sure people saw them — he’s sure his friends will have much to say about the apparent show of weakness, but trapped between what may lie within one of the glazed-wood chests and the recollected fear of the pensieve, he can’t quite find it in himself to care at this moment.

“Now, what you’ve all been waiting for!” Montmorency trills with great anticipation. But instead of his high, excited tones, what Zhang Hao hears next is a great roaring, and suddenly a giant ring of black fire has surrounded the pensieve, placing all of the Champions on the outside of the circle. Zhang Hao — and the crowd — gasp collectively. Across the flames he catches the wide, fearful eyes of Milena, before it transforms into a scowl. Next to him, he sees Lee take a few steps back from the flames that are already emanating an intense heat. The blaze is made of the purest, darkest tones of black, fading out into a smoky gray. Hanbin had been right.

“I am pleased to present the First Task: a trial by fire,” Montmorency says, pitching his voice low for emphasis. “The ring of black flames — a protego diabolica cast by the Headmasters and judges, including yours truly — is charmed to protect the pensieve under the most dire of circumstances. It will also, naturally, instantly and severely burn anyone who comes into contact with it.

“The Task presented to our brave Champions is to devise a method, through whatever means necessary, to pass through the ring of flame and discover their Second Task contained within a memory in the pensieve. Of course, the order in which they cross the circle of fire and return from the pensieve will play into their final scores and may bring certain … advantages in the next Task. The fire will not extinguish until they have all retrieved the memory.”

Zhang Hao eyes the fire warily, but it’s not the flames that intimidate him — naturally it’s what lies in wait for him behind.

Montmorency continues with his boisterous voice: “But of course, for such a difficult Task, the Champions will have some assistance. Champions,” he addresses them. “Each of your chests have been enchanted with a summoning charm that will procure any item or items that you may need to complete this challenge. Similarly to the basic summoning charm, you may only summon items of which you know exist in real life. Therefore, a fantastical, diabolica-proof cloak is off the table.” Montmorency gives himself a chuckle, this time even the crowd joining in — high on the excitement and entertainment that awaits.

“There is no time limit, but remember, you are all competing against each other — some of whom may already have a head start. On my count, you may all begin.” Montmorency lifts his wand in the air.

“Three.”

“Two,” the crowd chants, too, poised with sharpened teeth to feast.

“One — you may begin!” Bright sparks flash upwards into the sky from the end of Montmorency’s wand, joined by an uproar in the crowd as the Champions, as if set free from a locking curse, all startle into motion.

Having to use a pensieve again — it’s true fear, true terror, true hopelessness, the likes of which being consumed alive by flames can’t even compare. Ironically, that makes the Task at hand extremely simple. It makes Zhang Hao’s movements smooth and methodical, swift and precise as he turns to his chest and pulls out his wand once they’re given the signal to start. He spouts off quick spells in succession to gather everything he needs — mortar and pestle, shrake spines, a gold cauldron, among other things. The last and most vital ingredient, the one he had been planning and working on for the past week since Hanbin told him the Task: a Mandrake Restorative Potion. The gleaming wood of the chest opens, and Zhang Hao pulls out the small, cool vial that holds all of his chances of making it through this Task alive. He hopes it’s enough.

Through all of his preparations, Montmorency’s voice calls high and bright for the crowd’s entertainment: “It seems Miss Koffka has opted to go with a neat bit of spellwork, but unfortunately her Extinguishing Spell does nothing but blow against the flames! And look, on the other side! Lee Bernard has summoned a broomstick from his chest — and a rather fancy one, at that.”

Zhang Hao does his best to tune him out as he sets his ingredients in order and then starts on the first step — the recipe for this potion memorized front and back in his mind. He mutters a quick Auguamentil to fill his cauldron with water before grinding the copper in his mortar and pestle, making sure to get it fine and smooth.

“Mr. Bernard’s plan to fly over the flames does not seem to be going well!” Zhang Hao hears Montmorency’s ecstatic announcement seconds before a flare of heat has him stumbling back. He whips his head up just in time to see one side of the ring of flames roar high and dark, like one of those dementors he read about in DADA back in third year, chasing a figure on a broom. The wall of black fire continues to follow Lee’s path around the circle, shooting higher and higher, always beating him by a couple of inches — robbing him of the ability to swoop over it.

Briefly, and not for the first time, Zhang Hao wonders what Hanbin’s strategy is. It takes all his willpower not to dart his eyes over to the right where he is. But he resists in favor of concentrating back down on the brew in his cauldron. It’s a competition, he reminds himself — and he’s going to win. Not because of what Gideon said, not even because of the pressure and expectations of everyone else, but because he was placed in Slytherin for a reason: his pride.

Four shrake spines go into the bubbling liquid, sinking under the surface quickly; Zhang Hao mutters an incendio to increase the heat, making sure to stir slowly so it doesn’t heat too quickly or else the spines may become over excited and jump back out.

“And Lee Bernard has come crashing down!” Montmorency commentates. “But what a valiant, brilliant effort! Everyone, let’s give him a round of applause for a spectacular showing!”

Zhang Hao chops up his dittany preciously, taking care not to drop even a little bit of it as he adds them to his cauldron. It’s by far the rarest ingredient in this brew — he had only just managed to weasel the dittany from a surprisingly stubborn fifth year girl yesterday. The small batch is all he has. Taking firm hold of his ladle, Zhang Hao swirls out three gentle stirs clockwise, holding his breath: the moment of truth.

The bubbling liquid transforms into a brilliant, blazing blue — a hue just shy of navy but with all the intensity of a bright teal. Zhang Hao breathes out his sigh of relief. He makes sure to double check the heat of his cauldron before stepping back and allowing himself to finally relax. The brew will need to simmer for roughly twenty minutes now before it’s ready to be bottled. A quick chapter’s worth of reading on a normal day, or perhaps even a three-inch dent in his essay. But here in the ring of the first Task — it feels like ages.

But now that he’s freed from his obligations to his potion, Zhang Hao turns his head to the right. Hanbin’s tall figure and billowing robes casts a deep shadow across the grass. He has a slight furrow in his brow, and his nose is twitching slightly in a way that Zhang Hao finds entirely adorable, contrasting the severe look in his eyes. He’s muttering something — from this distance Zhang Hao makes out the slight quiver of his lips, the pronounced dip of his upper lip curling with each incantation. Hanbin doesn’t blink as he sets his eyes on the flame in front of him, wand held ready by his side.

There are a number of spells he could be trying — flame-freezing, extinguishing like Milena, even a basic counter-spell. “Do not underestimate the importance of Finite Incantatem, everyone,” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice runs through Zhang Hao’s head. “Though it is a simple spell, it is all-purpose, and when used by a truly powerful wizard, can likely counter any curse, jinx, or hex thrown your way, so it is important to learn it well!”

Zhang Hao watches with fascination as Hanbin seems to decide on something, his features settling into a look of concentration, drawing the planes of his cheeks, usually so round and lovely, into distinct lines and accentuating the sharp edge of his nose. His wand movement is purposeful and precise — it sparks something blue within the flames just in front of him, but doesn’t do anything to dispel it. His brows pinch together once more.

“A very good attempt by Hanbin Sung at what looks to be a flame-freezing charm! However, this is no ordinary flame, and it will perhaps take a combination of spells to properly— No, no! Don’t give me that look Jiwoong! I am not helping them whatsoever!”

Laughter rings out through the crowd — a lofty, high-handed sort of mirth that gains momentum as it falls down upon them, so much so that Zhang Hao feels hits him with the full weight of a thousand bricks. Hanbin has turned away from the fire and towards his chest, pacing back and forth in front of it, considering and brooding. Zhang Hao wants to worm his way into his head, to know exactly what he’s thinking.

“We are thirty minutes into the Task, and none of the Champions have yet to devise a way through the flames just yet despite some very creative and skilled attempts so far!”

Twenty minutes — Zhang Hao turns back to his potion. The immediate step after simmering is to add ten drops of extract. It’s with a heavy heart that he adds ten drops into his brew. This will drain his entire supply of it, something he’s been hoarding since fifth year, but he tells himself it’s worth it, that competitive edge striking a thin, blood-welled line between his goal and everything else. As soon as the tenth drop is added, the potion turns a pale, creamy yellow starting from the point where the last bit of essence makes contact with the surface.

“Essence of Dittany!” Montmorency crows from the judge’s stands like he had solved the world’s greatest mystery. “If any of you all had also been wondering what our Hogwarts Champion has been up to — he is making Essence of Dittany!”

Stir twice, counter clockwise. More copper. As the speckled bronze pieces dust over the thin film of the potion, it turns it from a light, sunny yellow to a deeper, richer hue of gold. Relief swamps him immediately at the sight.

“He’s done it!” Montmorency announces. “What a rare skill to brew such a detailed potion in so short a time! Not to mention that many of the ingredients are extremely difficult to source, even with a summoning charm. But surely … he isn’t planning on using the ditany is he? Jumping into the fire would be unheard of!”

Zhang Hao ignores the sudden crescendo of chattering above — like vultures cawing for a meal — as he banks his cauldron fire and allows the dittany to cool. He’s just finished portioning a bit of into his a stoppered vial when another roar from the enchanted flame and a gust of acrid heat has him flinching. Violet is casting spell after spell — what looks to be jet streams of water — against the flames that writhe and rage against being banked. It’s futile, Zhang Hao thinks. The letter they’d all gotten was impervious to water, even he had figured that much out.

“Ah, and Miss Beauchêne’s plan has been fouled!” Montmorency calls gleefully. “But perhaps Miss Koffka and Mr. Sung, who have both also opted for relying only on their wands, will have better luck.”

The counter-spell! Zhang Hao wants to yell at Hanbin. Only if it wouldn’t risk giving it away to the rest of the other Champions. He wills it into Hanbin’s head, stares so hard at the curve of his pinkened cheek and the creases along his squinted eyes and wishes his Legilimency was anything more than subpar so he can return the favor that he still owes him.

But his efforts are just as futile as the streams of water Violet had conjured. Zhang Hao forces his own attention back to the two glass bottles in his hands, delicate and now properly chilled to the touch but which feel so heavy in his palm, like dead weights. He should do it now; there’s no point in tarrying any further. If he succeeds now he’ll be first. And yet the tempting and delicious thought butts heads with the dread for what awaits him after he gets through the flames.

Zhang Hao closes his hand fully around the two vials, feeling the smooth glass clink against each other in the tight grip of his palm. He pulls out his wand to mutter Protego, completing the wand movement before putting that safely away as well. Not that this Protection Spell will be of much use against the spelled flames — it’s simply for his peace of mind, for the little bit of bravery and foolhardiness and belief of invulnerability he needs to make the final leap.

It feels like there’s something stuck in his throat that makes it hard to swallow, that makes it hard to breathe. And even then he can feel himself fighting back short, gasping breaths. It’s panic, a voice in the back of his mind helpfully supplies. Panic, which is trying to overtake him at this crucial moment. He’s spent too long giving in to it — right now but also for many, many years. He fights past the imaginary blockade in his chest, breaks through with a deep breath. There is no waiting for his fear to subside (it won’t); there is no waiting for the perfect moment (that will never come). He must do it now.

He approaches the dark fire, not allowing his feet to falter or his knees to shake. He registers Montmorency’s high, tinny voice saying something in the back of his mind, but it’s drowned out by a high pitched ringing, by the intimidating thunder of the flames. Zhang Hao tightens his hand around his cures, his lifelines, and unbidden, takes one last look to his right at Hanbin, who is staring back at him with a look of wonderment and deep terror. And then he steps into the fire.

It only lasts a few seconds, from one side to the other. But the flames are devouring, blistering in their intensity. It catches on his robes instantly, scrapes his skin raw within a second of contact. When Zhang Hao stumbles and falls onto the dry grass on the other side of the ring of flames, the high pitched ringing in his ears has become a siren’s blare, and a deep, piercing pain has lanced through skin and muscle and laid claim to his bone. He feels like he’s going to vomit — his head feels like it’s about to burst and an acrid taste lingers in the back of his throat.

Miraculously, he’s still clutching his antidotes, even though the skin on the back of his hand is bloody and charred, rivulets of crimson trailing down his ashen, blistered wrists as he struggles to uncork the first vial. His hand feels like it’s still on fire; his entire body has become one giant torch of pain. Faster, he urges himself, fingers slick with blood and slipping on the cork. The burning, excruciating ache covers every inch of his exposed skin. Faster. On the third try he manages to shove his nail into the cork, sending off another sharp bolt of agony down his arm. His hand shakes so badly that he holds it up to his lips with tremendous effort; he somehow manages not to drop it until after he’s drained the whole potion.

He doesn’t even taste the draught as it goes down, all his senses numb to anything besides the overwhelming pain. For a moment, Zhang Hao’s heart seizes when he feels no different. Did he overestimate the healing abilities of his potions? Did the fire do irreparable damage that he couldn’t hope to counteract? Panic returns, threatening to drag him under. But then the pain starts to fade, gradually. The acidic, bitter taste in his mouth mellows out, the ringing in his ears clears little by little. Zhang Hao watches as his skin pieces itself together into something shiny and pink but no longer covered with grotesque white bubbles and torn, burned flesh.

The second vial opens up a lot easier. Zhang Hao spreads the freshly brewed Essence of Dittany along his neck and arms and face — every visible inch of skin that’s still tender from the burns. A noxious-looking plume of green smoke immediately rises from his raw skin. It purges the rest of his wounds, heals them over once again with healthy skin. Zhang Hao takes in a deep breath, no longer feeling like his chest is aching, on the verge of collapsing in on itself. Even Montmorency’s cacophonous announcements slowly filter back into his ear: “No worries here, everyone. The TriWizard Tournament is perfectly safe! You can take my word for it!”

And the sound of another voice: “Zhang Hao!” He turns his head toward the flames. That’s—

The dark fire to his right blazes even darker, has Zhang Hao scrambling to his feet and backing away. The flames twist and turn, sparking blue in the very center. And in that sliver of color, Zhang Hao sees the brief blue of the Quidditch pitch on the other side, the shape of a figure moving through the gap. That’s Hanbin.

He has a wild look in his eyes as he emerges from the inferno. There’s a faint iridescent sheen over him, as if Zhang Hao is seeing him through a screen — a shield charm. One second Hanbin is stepping out of the blaze, robes billowing out behind him, whipping in the frenzy of the fire, and the next he’s right in front of him, reaching for him.

“Zhang Hao,” Hanbin gasps, clutching at his arms and casting his frantic, panicked gaze over him. “Are you okay? How could you just walk into the fire? I can’t believe that was your plan?”

“I’m okay,” he reassures. “That was my plan — and it worked!” Zhang Hao feels laughter spilling out of him, feels a dizzying rush of delight. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline hitting his system late, whiplash from the intense pain and immediate relief. But it’s the first time he’s ever used his potions, his healing, in a moment that truly matters, in a moment where it made a difference between life and death — regardless that it was his own — and it feels near euphoric.

“You scared me so much! I saw your robes catch on fire and then you were completely swallowed by the frames; I thought my heart had stopped!”

To his great surprise, Hanbin pulls him into a tight hug, his arms trapping his own between them so it’s hard for him to reciprocate, but the comforting feel of a beating heart against his own, particularly after such intense injury, sets it at ease. Zhang Hao leans his head on Hanbin’s raised shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief moment and soaking in the even more elated feeling of such care. “I’m fine; I’m okay,” he mumbles against Hanbin’s neck, hoping to reassure him. He gets one last tight squeeze before sets him at arms length again. The corners of his eyes are slightly red, and he doesn’t stop using them to scan Zhang Hao up and down

Hanbin gives him a weary smile, as if not entirely convinced that Zhang Hao is whole and healed before him. “I can’t believe—”

Another crackle of the dark fire snaps both of their attention to the ring of flames still engulfing them on all sides — and the reminder that they’re not alone, that they’re still in the middle of the Quidditch pitch being watched by nearly a thousand people, that only half of the First Task is done for them both.

“Maybe we should …” Hanbin shifts self-consciously. He ends his sentence by darting his eyes to the pensieve behind Zhang Hao. “Before the other Champions make it through.”

Based on the increased frequency in the bursts of fire, it seems like a few of the other Champions are close. Zhang Hao nods, feeling Hanbin’s hands drop away. The elated, happy feeling in his chest fades just a little. But he’s still running high on his success, which is what gives him the courage to turn and face the truly difficult portion of this Task — at least for him. The pensieve mocks him, sitting quiet and nondescript in the middle of the grassy area. As if it isn’t capable of tortuous pain, worse even than when his skin had been melting off his body.

Hanbin seems to notice his hesitance. “Everything okay?”

It would seem rather pathetic if he spoke his fears out loud, Zhang Hao thinks. So he simply grits his teeth and nods. “Just a little nervous about the pensieve; I don’t have a good track record with them.”

“I could go first?” Hanbin offers.

“I’m not letting you trick me into letting you win! I crossed the fire first,” Zhang Hao rounds on him quickly with indignation, too caught up in his ruse to realize Hanbin’s intentions until too late. Hanbin’s knowing smirk gives him away, and it melts Zhang Hao’s heart a little even as he narrows his eyes.

“I’ll be right there after you,” Hanbin offers, smile gentling.

That’s what finally gets Zhang Hao to step up to the basin: the promise that he won’t be going in alone. And that in and of itself is a startling realization. As someone who opens up seldomly and trusts even less often, Zhang Hao is surprised to find himself doing both despite not knowing Hanbin well at all. But now also isn’t the time for a deep dive into his own psyche or to reflect over what about Hanbin truly sets him at such ease — he stares down at the never-ending bowl of water swirling in its silvery, taunting glory.

Physical touch. That’s all that’s required to access a pensieve, a rather thoughtless method for anyone who deems their memories crucial enough to safekeep. Zhang Hao curls his hand around the side of the basin, fingers just a mere inch away from the surface. He braces himself and lets them dip under.

Immediately, it feels like he’s being shoved head-first through a funnel. His brain is squeezed so tightly against his skull he gets that nauseous feeling of vertigo and whiplash all at once. It would be similar to apparating, if he knew where he was going, if he had any sense of how to land or balance himself once he arrived. Instead, Zhang Hao finds himself dumped sideways on a stiff, leather chaise lounge. Even sideways though, he recognizes where he is immediately — in Headmaster Flamel’s office. He’s just orienting himself after the dizzying fall when Hanbin appears with a sudden pop!, sitting neatly on one of the armchairs off to the side. Zhang Hao scowls at him.

“Hi,” Hanbin smiles when he sees Zhang Hao is in disarray. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine,” Zhang Hao huffs, righting himself on the chaise.

“Where are we?” Hanbin cranes his head around with wide eyes.

It’s good to know not everyone is as familiar with this office as he is. “Headmaster’s office.”

“Ah,” Hanbin nods, looking around a little further. “I’ve only been here once before, when I got my Prefects badge in fifth year.”

“How lucky for you,” Zhang Hao supplies drolly, dusting off his robes and standing up on the thick carpet.

“What do you think we’re doing here?”

“We’re just supposed to be spectators,” Zhang Hao shrugs, looking around as well. “It’s a memory, we can’t affect anything or go beyond the bounds of it.” His eyes drift over to the alcoves tucked all around them; even if he was curious, even if he wasn’t terrified, there would be no way for them to access them unless the owner of the memory allowed them to. And there’s no way Flamel would be that careless.

Zhang Hao turns in a full circle, trying to deduce if there’s something out of place that they should be noticing — a piece of parchment left out for them to read, an obvious item that could be a clue. But nothing seems out of the ordinary based on his memory of the office. It somehow manages to be just as foreboding and oppressive here as in real life. There’s no way for them to tell what time of day it is in the windowless room, much like every time he’s in here, Zhang Hao feels like he’s suspended in a foreboding, liminal trap. Made worse this time by the fact that he knows he is — in this pensieve.

“Do you come here a lot?” Hanbin asks, as if just picking up on a thread of their earlier conversation.

The sides of Zhang Hao’s lips turn up unwillingly. Hanbin is so perceptive. He spins to face Hanbin still sitting on the high-back armchair with a smirk. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I would never,” Hanbin gasps in mock affront, hand to heart. “What if Flamel walks in?”

“And what do you think he’ll be walking in on?” Zhang Hao teases, stalking over to the armchair and trailing his fingers along the curve of the leather arm. It’s fun to pretend this way: that they aren’t in a memory, that even if Flamel did walk in he wouldn’t see a thing, that they’re actually trespassing in the headmaster’s office to flirt — among other things.

Hanbin seems to share his sentiments, gazing up at him with a tantalizing grin. “A kiss, if I’m lucky?”

He says it so earnestly, so guilelessly with shiny dark eyes staring directly up at him that Zhang Hao finds himself flushing pink. Damn Sung Hanbin for being a good flirt! And have his lashes always been that long! “You’ll have to do more to earn a kiss,” Zhang Hao insists despite already leaning forward.

“Please?” Somehow those eyes turn even wider, even more doleful and lovely.

Zhang Hao sighs. He really is too susceptible to begging, especially when it comes from someone so sweet. He leans the rest of the way forward dutifully, letting Hanbin gently skim his lips over his, not too much — or that was the intention, until a greedy palm grips the back of his head, tangling into his hair and pulling him forward with a quick jerk. Zhang Hao gasps as their mouths slot together in a heated, seamless tangle, as Hanbin’s tongue skims across his lower lip and slips into his mouth. And it’s not his finest moment, but he gets lost in it, letting Hanbin deepen it with licks and teases.

They’re in the middle of the First Task!

Zhang Hao pulls himself away, slightly embarrassed that his chest is heaving. “Who taught you to kiss like that?” he protests with flustered, faux outrage.

“You,” Hanbin laughs, leaning back in the chair and looking entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s my first time—”

The door to the office suddenly opens. Both of them jump — Zhang Hao away from the armchair, Hanbin up and out of it. Flamel walks in, long and pale and solemn, completely killing the teasing vibe between them. Zhang Hao stiffens, standing just a little taller when the Headmaster draws close. He walks across his sprawling office, past the two of them, and sits down on the stately chair behind his giant oak desk. The two of them draw closer, like moths to a flame.

Flamel pulls out his wand, slow and leisurely, the candlelight from around the room highlighting every risen vein and wrinkle on the back of his hand. It trembles slightly as he points the tip toward the empty piece of parchment that had laid on his desk — which Zhang Hao had assumed had been for notes or perhaps an unpenned letter.

“Watch closely,” Flamel says, to no one, to them. His voice is a ghost of a whisper, a brief movement of his lips. He doesn’t say anything else, but suddenly the surface of the parchment ripples, and out of it rises scattered pieces of glass. There must be hundreds of them, tiny and sharp. All of them are arranged so their jagged edges line up, like a mosaic of mirrors. A maze, Zhang Hao realizes, before the pieces disappear once more, melting back into gentle beige lit with the glow of candles.

“A maze of mirrors,” he says, turning to confirm with Hanbin.

There’s no one standing next to him — only the emptiness of the office.

Zhang Hao’s heart drops immediately. He turns around, trying to control his sudden panic. He scans the sitting area behind him, even looks towards the shadowed arches around the room, a dreadful feeling settling in his gut. “Hanbin?” His empty voice echoes back at him.

Suddenly, the candles dim, elongating Flamel’s shadow so it droops off the end of his desk, so it oozes into the darkness along the outskirts of the room, blends into the nightmare of the alcoves. Slow fear ticks up Zhang Hao’s spine. Flamel stands from the chaise lounge, his wand once again tucked away, his frail frame wavering slightly before he sets off for darkness.

Zhang Hao hesitates as he watches the ghostly figure of Flamel drift towards one of the alcoves — not the one where he knows lies a pensieve, where he should go to deposit the memory he had just created for them. But despite his frustrations with Flamel, it’s better than being left here all by himself. He follows him around the desk and towards the alcove behind it. For some reason, he has stayed in this memory after Hanbin — perhaps for this reason. Perhaps Flamel devised it this way so the first Champion would see something else. Was that the advantage Montmorency had hinted at? He desperately hopes so, even when his growing apprehension tells him otherwise.

A candle sconce automatically lights up with a flickering flame as soon as Flamel sets foot in the alcove. In it is a singular, ornate mirror that seems suspended in the middle of the semicircle of the stone wall. The mirror’s frame is quite similar to some of the fancier ones adorning paintings around Hogwarts, but something tells Zhang Hao this isn’t simply a vanity. Flamel’s reflection doesn’t appear as he steps in front of it.

A chill travels up Zhang Hao’s spine as he watches the scene unfold, his fear telling him to run, his mind knowing there’s nowhere for him to go. Even if he averts his eyes, he’s trapped in this memory until it decides to relinquish him. Terror grapples at his heart, wanting to seize it in its hold, but Zhang Hao manages to escape its grasp, just barely. He hates this. He hates this. And yet still, he watches.

Flamel stands in front of the mirror, as still as a statue, not even an errant breeze moving the long length of his robe. He looks like a corpse, stood up on its feet and hung by puppet strings. He stands there for what feels like an endless amount of time before the surface of the mirror starts to ripple. A figure emerges from the murky glass pane.

“Good day, Headmaster.”

It’s an enchanted two-way mirror, Zhang Hao now realizes. He cranes his neck to try to make out who is speaking, the voice unfamiliar, but regardless of the angle, an inky blackness surrounds the shape of the person speaking. It must be charmed for secrecy, because it seems Flamel can see the person quite clearly based on his inclined head in greeting.

“I didn’t not expect to hear from you so soon.” The voice isn’t unpleasant — a little airy, a little scratchy. It’s unrecognizable to him, but somehow, Zhang Hao feels like he’s heard its cadence and timber before. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Even an old man such as myself tires of the same questions over time.” Flamel’s words are barely a whisper, rasped through his throat before curling out of his wrinkled form.

“I simply mean to assure you that our offer stands regardless of time.”

“I have seen far more time than you.”

“Then excuse my impatience, a folly of youth.” Subservient, sardonic.

“My answer remains the same.”

Silence from the mirror. For so long that Zhang Hao thinks that the magical connection has faded, but Flamel still stands in front of it, staring at a form obscured from Zhang Hao. He creeps closer, trying to get a better view. The alcove itself is empty besides the mirror. The same smoothed over granite blocks supporting a domed roof. Just as grim and dismal as the alcove with the pensieve. Pensieve!

He’d been so taken with the mirror and their conversation that he had momentarily forgotten this was a memory. His panicked realization that he’s still somehow trapped, far beyond the obvious time necessary for the Task is eclipsed by the rise of that same smoky, thin voice from the mirror once again.

“Then mine as well. Is this all you have called to discuss today?”

“No,” Flamel shakes his head, wisps of his white hair drifting in the air. “I am inquiring about a different matter. Recently, the Minister has informed me that a certain creature has been brought into Great Britain.”

“And what sort of creature would that be?”

“I think you know very well.”

“Headmaster, I can assure you, regardless of what you think of me, I am not running a menagerie here.” If the voice had been natural, if it had been something a bit more corporeal, a bit more human, there would have been some levity to those words. But the vaporious, ephemeral quality of the rasp, means it lands flat.

Zhang …

There’s a sudden spark of tension, a tug at the skin on the nape of his neck. Zhang Hao frowns, shaking his head. He raises his hand, clapping it against the thin skin there, as if to catch a bug that’s biting him, but his palm comes away clean. Another zap, sharper this time, a little more painful and he winces. He takes a full turn but doesn’t see anyone else here besides himself and Flamel, who is still in front of the mirror.

Hao!

“I know what you are trying to do,” Flamel accuses. “The Minister does not — yet. Stop this now before it gets all of us in trouble.”

This is the first time he’s ever heard Flamel like this, tense and angry; the first time he’s ever heard anything that hasn’t come out wane or tepid.

Zhang Hao!

Alarm runs through him when the pinch on the back of his neck turns into what feels like a nail being scored down his neck. When that pressure point, not painful but unmissable, reaches the first protruding knob of his spine, he jumps. The pressure abates, but the ghost of it still lingers, trickling cold apprehension down his spine.

Flamel continues his conversation in front of the mirror, but no matter how hard Zhang Hao strains his ears, he can no longer make out what is being said. The voices come through muffled, in fragments, and the pinching has returned at the top of his spine, insistent and, this time, slightly painful.

Zhang Hao takes a step back away from the alcove, stumbling, realizing his legs have grown numb under him, realizing that it’s spreading from that point on his neck. It’s paralyzed him, he realizes at the same moment complete terror swamps him.

Zhang Hao! Hao!

His breaths come short and panicked, his eyes wild as they flick around the room. He’s still trapped in this pensieve, in this memory. The panic he’s been able to dodge so far curls its fingers into him.

The pull on his skin reaches its most painful point yet, and Zhang Hao sees more than feels the numbness in his legs give them out, As he drops to the floor, the last thing he sees before everything fades to black is the intricate emerald green and crimson red swirls of Flamel’s lavish carpet.

The view is familiar.

The high ceiling and rafters of the Hospital Wing draw into focus to greet Zhang Hao when he opens his bleary eyes. It’s morning — or at least daytime — because sunlight pours through the high-set windows in faded yellow patches along the stone walls of the castle, dapples across the wooden floors and the tucked curtains that create soft, round shapes by his bedside. As Zhang Hao takes in his surroundings, his mind is still a bit foggy, like trying to tread water in the mist. His head is above the waves, but he still isn’t able to make out much.

He blinks slowly, his memory of the First Task, the pensieve, being trapped in Flamel’s office and that eerie, eidolic voice from the mirror returning in a rush. Despite the warm, snug sheets around him, a shudder still runs through him. From the moment he lost consciousness to now — he has no idea what happened. A familiar fear grips him, one that has haunted him for years: that the nothingness in his mind would slowly begin to seep into other parts of his life, that it would eventually steal away his other memories, too.

A gasp from his right knocks him out of his doom spiral. Zhang Hao turns his head to see Hanbin is sitting on a small stool next to his bed, hair slightly askew and messy, eyes wide and shiny.

“You’re awake,” he breathes. Hanbin blinks slowly once, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. And then he launches himself off the chair, so hard that it scratches back against the floorboards, so he can lean over Zhang Hao, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “You’re—” Hanbin’s voice is thick as he blinks them away.

His lashes are long and thick, fanning out in a perfect, even manner, Zhang Hao notes, watching them flutter with Hanbin’s very valiant effort not to cry. This close, he notices the slightly pale pallor to Hanbin’s skin, the red around and under his eyes, as if he’s been rubbing at them for a long sleepless night.

“I’m so happy you’re awake,” Hanbin finally manages, his mouth pulling into something of a smile. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” Zhang Hao says, or at least tries to say. What comes out is an ungainly croak that immediately has him clamping his lips shut.

Hanbin rushes over to the bedside table and brings over a cup of water for him to sip from. “You’ve been asleep for two days — you must be thirsty,” he says kindly, cheeks dimpling slightly, sweetly as he holds the cup up to Zhang Hao’s mouth and tilts it with painful care so he can drink.

Zhang Hao waits for Hanbin to lift the rim of the cup away from his mouth before speaking. “You have such long lashes.”

Hanbin pauses, a look on his face of surprise and vulnerability flickering over his features. He sets the cup down slowly on the bedside table, coming back over to fuss over Zhang Hao, pulling at the covers and patting aimlessly at his pillow, careful not to meet his eyes. “Um, thank you,” he says, clearly flustered. “But, uh, how are you? Anything hurt?”

“No, nothing,” Zhang Hao reassures, despite his voice still coming out slightly hoarse. He shuffles his pillow a bit, with Hanbin hovering all the while, so he can at least sit up slightly. His brain is just now shaking out the condensation and clouds, having Hanbin here helps him feel less like he’s floating in the middle of a fog. “But I want to know what happened. How come you’re here?”

“I wanted to wait for you to wake up,” Hanbin says automatically, like it’s natural for him to be keeping vigil next to Zhang Hao’s sick bed. He moves the wooden stool closer before slowly sinking back down on it, perched on the edge like he’s ready to leap up at a moment’s notice as soon as Zhang Hao needs something.

He gets the impression that despite him being the one in the hospital bed, Hanbin is the one who is more fragile here. He can’t even begin to imagine what happened after he passed out in the pensieve — it’s an object that holds their consciousness first and bodies second. Had it spat him back out when he had fainted? Had he been stuck in that swirling, silvery depth, unconscious and slowly sinking into oblivion? Zhang Hao shudders at the thought. Unthinkingly, he reaches his hand out atop the blanket, seeing the brief relief in Hanbin’s expression when they interlace their fingers.

Hanbin holds his gaze for a moment, in that way that he does when he’s simply looking, when he’s truly seeing him. And whatever he does see seems to mollify him enough to start: “After we saw the maze of mirrors Flamel conjured, that was the end of the memory for me. I got sent out of the pensieve, and there was this huge, big fanfare — you know, the first to complete the Task and all that. But they had been expecting you, since you were the first to go in.

“A few of the other Champions had also made it through the fire by then — Callidora and Lee had gone in the pensieve as well. And so we all waited to see who would come out next, but I could just feel that something was wrong. We were in there together; it didn’t make sense that I could return and you wouldn’t. When Callidora was the next to emerge, I started worrying in earnest. And then came Lee, and then Violet when she finally broke through. Everyone knew something had gone wrong by then.”

Solemn, Hanbin tightens his grip on Zhang Hao’s hand. “I should have done something sooner, signaled to the judges that something was wrong, stopped the Task so we could get you out. I should have—”

“It’s okay,” Zhang Hao cuts in, before Hanbin can really get going. “What were you going to do? Jump back into the pensieve?”

“Yes,” Hanbin says emphatically, instantly, giving the impression that he’s had an entire night to rethink his actions, that he had the midnight hour to simmer in his guilt. “I should have gone back in; I should have ran out of the fire and gotten somebody. I should have done something.”

Zhang Hao wants to reassure him again, wants to tell him that it’s fine that he did none of those things, that there’s no way he would have known what to do anyway, that having him here holding his hand is enough to make up for any perceived shortcoming, but Hanbin plows ahead, seemingly determined to get it all out in one go.

“At that point even Montmorency couldn’t quite keep the murmurs and worry of the crowd at bay. The Headmasters knew something was wrong, I could see them across the flames whispering and discussing but—” Hanbin pauses, tears suddenly springing to the corner of his eyes as if the memory itself is distressing. He gives Zhang Hao’s hand another squeeze before he restarts. “The fire was charmed to remain burning until we had crossed and to only allow us through to the pensieve. Not even the Headmasters could get past it once it was lit. They never anticipated something like this could happen.”

He squeezes Hanbin’s hand back, clutching his fingers in a tense hold, so hard until he feels Hanbin’s skin slide against fine bone. That’s how he knows he’s alive, that he’s here, with him, and not still stuck in that memory. “But what happened? Did they figure out why I was … why I didn’t come back out?” Zhang Hao whispers, realizing he doesn’t need to speak very loudly with how close Hanbin has leaned in. Even while still caught in Flamel’s ghostly study, he had already formed his own theories.

“You got pulled into another memory. One that wasn’t supposed to be in the pensieve.”

A memory isn’t a neat segmented thing that can be chopped up finitely and portioned out methodically. It ebbs and flows — can be triggered by a certain phrase or smell or sight. Memories get shuffled out of order and rearranged and misplaced and inverted and lost all the time. People remember things that happened that never really did, insist on certain details being true when they simply jumbled it up with some other moment. Memories are imperfect. Zhang Hao has done extensive research on them — he’s had to. So he knows that pensieves are one of the most volatile and unreliable types of magic, dangerous because of its unpredictability, terrifying because there are no rules.

He doesn’t even realize how cold and pale he’s turned thinking about it until Hanbin’s hand comes up to cup his cheek. And then he’s there, less than a foot away with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth somehow making his cheek push out even more. Zhang Hao takes in a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of his palm seep into his skin.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin soothes, traces of his own tears and distress suddenly gone in the face of Zhang Hao’s fear. “You’re out now, and you’re safe. And I’m here — for what it’s worth.”

Zhang Hao gives him a haggard smile. “It’s worth more than you know.” He watches the twitch of Hanbin’s nose — cute how it does that. He gives him a quick nod, shoring up his courage. “Keep going, please.”

Hanbin leans away, though not after his hand lingers against Zhang Hao’s cheeks for a few more seconds. “Once everyone got through, the Headmasters, judges, some Ministry officials, and Madam Promfrey came rushing down. They tried to usher us all away quickly, similar to the crowd that the professors and Prefects were rushing out of the stands. I know it was for the best, in order to work quickly to get you out. But all of it just seemed like they were trying to cover up their blunder.”

He pauses, and color finally returns to his cheeks in the form of a flush, high and dark. Zhang Hao can’t figure out if it’s because of his anger or some unknown embarrassment. “I refused to leave, of course. I was rather … outraged. Madam Pomfrey later called it ‘inconsolable.’ But they had already messed up once with the pensieve. I couldn’t just … I couldn’t just leave you with them.”

Such utter relief and gratitude washed through him, so much so that he can’t quite think of any way to verbally express it. He suddenly feels exhausted, as if he could sleep right here right now for a whole week; he suddenly feels completely energized, wholly healed. Zhang Hao raises their interlaced fingers up to his mouth, pressing his lips feather light against the back of Hanbin’s hand.

And the astonishment, the brief wonder that blooms across Hanbin’s face, that washes away the intensity there before — he must feel it too, the light spark where mouth meets hand, that thrill in the center of his chest that reveals itself curiously, alarmingly as hope.

“Continue,” Zhang Hao prompts again, this time with a smile tucked in the corners of his mouth.

Hanbin clears his throat. “Yes, well, I made such a scene and was so adamant about it that they let me stay. Please don’t look so pleased. Now that I think about it, Professor Endo is definitely never going to give me the DADA apprenticeship after that.” He chuckles nervously, and Zhang Hao’s smile deepens, relaxing a little bit more into his propped up pillow.

Hanbin nods definitively before his expression morphs into something more somber. “It was Flamel who ended up pulling your consciousness out of the pensieve — I think it worked because it was his memory. Once they got you out, you were just lying on the grass, so still like you were sleeping, but I couldn’t see your chest moving at all. It was terrifying.” Hanbin smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “My saying that as if you didn’t go through much worse. How are you feeling? Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey? Do you need anything? More water?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. He thinks it’ll be just a bit too much to say Hanbin is all he needs, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Hanbin brings him the cup from the bedside table again anyway.

Once he has deemed that he’s drunk enough water, Hanbin sets it back down and turns back with a conflicted look. “Can I ask … what happened to you in there? It’s okay if it’s too much, if you don’t want to talk about it yet, or even with me. I can go and get Ricky or one of your other friends later, if you’d prefer to have them listen instead.”

“No, no,” Zhang Hao reassures, patting the blanket with his hand. Hanbin correctly reads it as wanting his hand back in his. “I actually want to tell you. I’m scared that I’ll forget again. I feel like what I saw was important in some way, and I want you to remember it for me, just in case.”

It’s an old fear of his — one that has mostly faded. Back in his early years of Hogwarts, where the trauma and the fallout had all been so much worse, Zhang Hao had been plagued with the debilitating fear that he was losing his mind. That some part of his memory would be snatched away from him overnight, that when he wasn’t looking or wasn’t paying attention he would begin to lose more and more of himself.

He’d have brief panics when he realized he couldn’t remember the name of a wizard in History of Magic, or he couldn’t immediately recall what he had for dinner last Tuesday. Every small nonsensical slip of his mind had felt like a sign of some far greater doom. Naturally, as time passed and nothing of the sort happened, Zhang Hao found it easier to rationalize it all with himself, to tell himself these were normal lapses. He hadn’t realized that this was what he was afraid of upon waking up — until he’d said it out loud.

Hanbin’s eyes round out, soft and tender with surprise. “Of course,” he nods. “I’ll remember.” Zhang Hao has no doubt that he will.

“It’s exactly as you said — the memory seemed to just continue. Flamel got up from behind his desk and went into one of the alcoves. I don’t know if you know, if you haven’t been in there often, but he has these small circular alcoves set all around his office. They have different things in them, artifacts, I think one of them has a chimney for Floo-ing, and one is a, um, pensieve,” he swallows, it sticks to his throat. He makes himself continue. “Anyway, in this one, it was a suspended mirror. Very fancy and ornate.”

Zhang Hao describes the voice as best as he can, what he thinks the mirror is, that it’s enchanted so no one can truly look through it besides Flamel, and the conversation that he overheard. How everything started feeling a bit muffled and distant, probably while the real Flamel was trying to extract him from the pensive. “I’m guessing that the conversation probably happened sometime after Spavin came to visit for the Tournament since he mentioned the Minister. But,” Zhang Hao bites his lip. “It’s hard to tell. It might have been earlier, over the summer, while they were planning the whole Tournament and already knew what they were going to do for the Tasks.”

“What do you think the creature is?”

Zhang Hao shrugs. “No idea. It seems like it must be dangerous for the Minister to be worried about it, but most of those are big, hard to smuggle even with an Undetectable Extension Charm.”

Hanbin’s brows are knitted closely together. “I can’t say I really understand the conversation,” Hanbin finally says. “But it sounds like whoever is on the other side of the two-way mirror — they disagree with Flamel on something; or Flamel disagrees with them.”

“It didn’t seem like they were all that friendly,” Zhang Hao agrees.

“Then why would he keep the mirror?”

“It’s expensive?” Zhang Hao tries.

That earns him a small huff and a smile.

It eases the stickiness in his throat, the heaviness in his chest. “I’m not really sure I understand it all either,” Zhang Hao sighs. “It could just be nothing, boring Headmaster work that has nothing to do with …” He trails off; he should talk to Hanbin about it. He’s already said this much and it’s not like Hanbin wouldn’t already know about his lost memory. Everyone’s heard the rumors. But it’s been a long time since Zhang Hao has had anyone new in his life. Anyone to tell it all to — anyone he felt would listen. And his old habit of closing himself off, of protecting himself from revisiting the past kicks in.

Another smile, but not enough to earn him the dimples he knows are hiding in Hanbin’s cheeks. “Thank you for telling me nonetheless. I won’t forget.”

It’s not the most blinding, heartwarming look they’ve ever shared but there is a thread of something more there, a tenuous bond tying the two of them together: a shared secret. He had been right earlier about assuming that it’s morning, the weak sunlight from before now much brighter, enough to smooth a honey warmth over the walls, to dust the air with swirling motes.

“How did you convince Madam Pomfrey?” Zhang Hao asks — overnight visitors are exceedingly rare. He remembers once thinking Madam Pomfrey would never allow them unless they were reading last rites, and despite his dramaticism he doubts his condition had warranted any.

“Ah,” Hanbin pauses, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck, careful to avoid Zhang Hao’s curious eyes. “Like I mentioned, she said I was inconsolable. So she let me stay to take a Calming Draught, and, well, she retired to bed right after giving it to me … so I just never left.”

Zhang Hao bursts out laughing. “I never took you for such a rulebreaker!”

“I am not!” Hanbin refutes with great indignation.

“No wonder you got detention,” Zhang Hao teases.

“I had not gotten detention for four years prior to that!” Hanbin squeaks.

“Now what is all this noise so early in the morning, boys?” A woman’s voice rings out across the Hospital Wing, effectively shushing both of them. “It is not even six in the morning!”

The two of them freeze guiltily and turn to see Madam Pomfrey standing on the other side of the room with her hands on her hips and a gravely displeased expression on her face.

Hanbin stands abruptly, disconnecting their hands, and Zhang Hao creeps his own back under the covers, trying his best to affect a pale and sickly mien so as to escape Madam Pomfrey’s wrath.

She hastens toward them, scowl still on her face. “I’m going to pretend that you only just arrived this morning, Mr. Sung,” she directs at Hanbin as she leans over to give Zhang Hao a stern look but then ultimately lays a hand on his forehead before murmuring a few diagnostic spells to check his condition. “I will likely keep you here today, dear,” she says to him. “Everything looks fine, but it must have been quite an ordeal, so you should rest a bit. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Any pain? Headache?”

Surprisingly no. Zhang Hao shakes his head.

Madam Pomfrey rounds on Hanbin, though this time with a bit less fire admonishment. “See, he is right as rain. So you should be off to get some proper rest before classes begin in a few hours.”

Under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, the two of them aren’t offered much of a goodbye, just a hasty promise from Hanbin to come find him after classes before he scurries out of the Hospital Wing. Once he’s gone, Madam Pomfrey manages to give Zhang Hao a reproachful and curious glance, but he pretends not to see. He’s given a Pepper-Up potion, a few rolls, and orange juice for breakfast before she busies herself with other Tasks.

Around noon, Ricky and Taerae pay him a visit, though they’re wise to hover by the doorway until Madam Pomfrey gives them permission with a terse, “Fifteen minutes.”

“We’re here to keep you company,” Ricky says as soon as they’re within earshot. “Since we know you’re the worst patient in the world.”

Taerae snickers. “What he means is, we’re glad you’re okay.”

“How do you feel?” Ricky asks. Despite his opening joke and blasé demeanor, his brows are slashed low and his mouth has that same certain twist to it as when he ate some bad salmon that one time and had a particularly uncomfortable night — worry, Zhang Hao realizes is what it is.

“I’m fine now,” Zhang Hao reassures. “Not something I ever want to experience again though.”

“It must have been scary,” Taerae sympathizes, dropping down to sit at the end of his bed. Ricky stands, hovering on the other side.

“I just hate that feeling of being trapped and helpless. Didn’t help that it was a pensieve,” Zhang Hao shudders just thinking about it, feeling caged in by his own consciousness, helpless to escape the memory until it relinquished its hold on his mind.

“How could they have let this happen?” Taerae fusses, tucking the blankets at the end of the bed back under so they don’t brush against the floor. “I overheard some Durmstrang students talking — you all were supposed to get your own memory. Milena and Callidora had different ones.”

Zhang Hao furrows his brows. “But Hanbin was there,” he refutes. “We were in the same memory.”

“Supposed to,” Taerae stresses. “Obviously something went very wrong. But maybe that’s why you got stuck — it wasn’t the one you were supposed to see. Or it was but Hanbin shouldn’t have been there.”

He chafes against the suggestion. “It wasn’t Hanbin’s fault.”

“Well, no, not on purpose, but it might be an explanation is all.”

Zhang Hao knows what Taerae is saying is logical, but still a part of him wants to argue that it was made better with Hanbin being there, that maybe he wouldn’t have been brave enough to get in the pensieve at all without him. He doesn’t say so out loud though. “Maybe,” is all he offers.

“Speaking of Hanbin,” Ricky chimes in, as if to save Taerae. “He’s definitely in love with you.”

The hard shift of topic has Zhang Hao letting out a squeak — a squeak — which makes Ricky’s eyebrows wing up in surprised and Taerae’s wide mouth pull up on one side in a knowing smirk.

“I know he has a crush,” Zhang Hao says weakly.

“Not just a crush. Like, in love with you,” Ricky insists.

Zhang Hao squares his shoulders, as dignified as he can be while leaning up against three pillows in a hospital bed. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

The two of them give him blank stares for half a second before falling over each other in laughter. Taerae even braces himself on the bedspread, deep belly laughs ejecting from his frame.

“Poor guy,” Taerae chokes.

“Why are you two laughing?” Zhang Hao whines, smacking the top of his blankets for emphasis.

Ricky’s mouth twitches as he tries to school his expression into something stern. “You need to put him out of his misery,” he just manages before falling into a fit of giggles again.

“He was literally seconds from walking through fiendfyre for you,” Taerae chortles. “You should have seen him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that livid before. Not even just that, he was desperate. Thought he was going to throttle not just one but two judges when they all went running over after.”

“He probably just felt bad,” Zhang Hao mumbles, feeling his cheeks flame. “Like what happened with Yujin and Irma.”

“He wasn’t breaking down the Hospital Wing door just to get to Irma,” Ricky snickers. “I think he deserves a proper rejection for that at least.”

Mild annoyance starts to take shape in the form of brows pulled low and a mouth pursed tight. “What makes you think I’ll reject him?”

“Well, you didn’t do anything when the Fat Lady told everyone about his crush,” Taerae points out.

“I—”

“No, no, wait.” A Cheshire grin starts to spread on Ricky’s face, one that Zhang Hao knows only brings bad news — for him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together suddenly. I thought it was just because you two were Champions and all that, but even before, when he mysteriously helped you with that Astronomy chart. You would never let any of the other people who confessed even so much as think they had a chance.”

“He didn’t actually confess,” Zhang Hao mumbles.

“Technicalities,” Taerae waves away, immediately picking up on Ricky’s meaning. “And you had him take my Prefect patrol before, too, how curious.”

“That’s just Prefect work! I was busy that night!” Zhang Hao fears his denials are falling on deaf ears.

“You like him!” Ricky exclaims, as much as someone as refined and elegant as Ricky can exclaim. It’s mostly the look of triumph on his face that caps it.

He presses his lips together, setting his jaw. He’s not going to deny it — but he also made Hanbin a promise. A promise that he fears is on the rocks now.

“Nothing to say to that?” Taerae laughs. “Well, good to know he’s not going to get his heart broken.”

Zhang Hao lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I am suddenly feeling very weak and sickly, so you must both go,” Zhang Hao lays his arm across his forehead feigning a swoon before burrowing further under the blankets. “Thank you for visiting your poor, suffering friend. Perhaps consider a get well gift next time — pumpkin pasties would be nice.”

Ricky snorts, but Taerae relents with an eye roll and a leaning hip. “Fine, fine. We’ll leave you here to recover and contemplate how you’re going to climb that Hufflepuff like a tree.”

“I will not be—”

“I do not want to catch the two of you making out in our room, please take it to his dorm,” Ricky teases, cutting him off.

Zhang Hao makes a frustrated noise, similar to a weak wail, which earns them a sharp shushing from Madam Pomfrey. He takes his ire out on being reprimanded by his mentor twice in two days on his friends, who only giggle and raise their hands placatingly as they leave the room.

As an aspiring healer, Zhang Hao knows how important rest and sleep is. He wills himself to close his eyes, evens out his breathing, and doesn’t move so much as an eyelid — it’s a wholly futile effort, a mockery, a mimicry of being truly unconscious. He’s never fallen asleep easily, but it’s even worse now. His brain continues to whir nonsensically: a snatch of Flamel swirling into a dark lake where he sees his own reflection melting into the perfect yellow bubble of Essence of Dittany. Eventually exhaustion claims him, but his sleep is equally fitful. He wakes when there’s a brief shuffling of robes by the side of the bed.

Madam Pomfrey smooths back the hair from his forehead when he opens his eyes, bringing an unexpected bout of tears at the tender touch. They sting the corners of his eyes, and he takes in a shaky breath to stem them.

“Would you like a Sleeping Draught, dear?” she asks kindly.

Zhang Hao shakes his head. He’s tried them before. “It’s okay — I slept a bit. I think I should be fine to go now.”

“You should be all set if you’d like to return to your dorm now, but you’ve been through quite a lot,” she murmurs, glancing at him sympathetically. “It’s natural if you have trouble sleeping, especially given your … past. Come find me if you need anything else.”

Zhang Hao sometimes wonders how much Madam Pomfrey knows about his memory loss. He assumes she must have been given his medical information at least, an insurance to let him come back to school. Though he fears the worst effects of whatever had happened to him would have required the expertise of those at St. Mungos. He’s never pressed her for information about his memories though — he’s been disappointed by too many authority figures in his life already.

He thanks Madam Pomfrey as she gives him one last check and promises to return if he’s feeling unwell before heading out of the Hospital Wing. He skips the quad by slipping into a hidden passageway next to the statue of Gunhilda de Gorsemoor, not in the mood to ferry concerned looks or prying questions.

The passage only takes him so far, though it’s nearing dinnertime and most of the students are already milling about the Great Hall, so the corridors he takes back to the dungeons are blissfully empty. Zhang Hao pauses at a turn in the hallway, the same one he and Hanbin parted after doing the Prefect patrol Zhang Hao had hijacked, after their first kiss. He glances longingly down the left knowing the path will lead him past a few unused classrooms, the kitchen, and eventually down more stairs to the Hufflepuff dormitory. He turns right.

Zhang Hao doesn’t encounter another soul until he slips back into his room.

“Hao!”

Zhang Hao shuts the door behind him with a jump at the sudden shout.

Camden sits up on his four-poster bed against the far wall, eyes alight. “You’re back! Ricky said he went to see you and you were ‘as dramatic as ever’ which I took as a sign that you were okay. How are you feeling?” Despite his question Camden continues to chatter on as Zhang Hao pulls a spare change of clothes from his trunk. “What you did in the Task was bloody incredible! How did you make that potion so fast? I swear it takes at least two hours to brew, or did you modify it? Crazy! It should have been you who won!”

Zhang Hao pauses halfway through changing into his pajama top. “Wait, who won?”

“Well, Hanbin,” Camden shrugs. “He was the first to come back from the pensive like the rules said. Though everyone knows it should have been you!”

Zhang Hao sits on his bed, a conflicted, numb feeling overcoming him. It’s not anger, or even annoyance. Just a deep sense of unfairness and a bit of pride — he’s glad it was Hanbin if it wasn’t him. “So, I’m guessing I’m last?”

“No way! If that had happened, the whole school would be up in riot,” Camden says, scooting forward to the edge of his bed. “You’re still second. I think their hands were tied in terms of first place, but the judges’ scores depend on how you all got through the fire. And you were the first and best at that!”

He finishes buttoning up his sleep shirt. “What about the others?”

“Lee got through almost right after Hanbin — using the same spell as him, mind you. I think they docked him points for that. Violet used some water spell I’ve never seen before. Montmorency was convinced it wasn’t going to work but,” Camden shrugs. “It did. Milena took forever though — nearly a whole half hour after Callidora got through. That’s why they took so long to save you. Gideon was furious. I thought he was going to start hexing her from the stands.”

Zhang Hao isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He hasn’t spoken to Gideon much since their fight a week ago in the Prefects’ bathroom. He’s grateful, sure, to have a friend who has always been in his corner, but he can’t help but feel like there’s a catch to it; like he’s supposed to repay it in the future, a racked up tally of debt. It’s unfair of him to think this way, he knows. For all of Gideon’s many flaws, he’s never made Zhang Hao feel obligated regardless of how much he’s helped him. And yet — it’s an unshakable feeling. “I’m glad he didn’t,” he finally manages, grateful that Camden is too preoccupied on talking to really notice his discomfort.

“The Second Task has already gotten out. Maze of mirrors, isn’t it? You’ll get back that first spot easily.”

“I’m sure it’ll be more complicated than just a maze.” Zhang Hao nibbles on his lip.

“Sure, some hexes, enchantments on the mirrors. Probably meant to make you all confused and stuff. But you’re smart! You’ll be fine,” Camden says breezily. “Maybe they’re letting you all off the hook for now — we have the Yule Ball coming up, after all.” Camden gets up off his bed, frowning when he seems to suddenly register that Zhang Hao has changed into his pajamas. “You’re not going down to dinner?”

“Madam Pomfrey had me eat earlier,” he lies. Truthfully, he’s just not in the mood to weather seven more conversations of this ilk, regardless of how harmless and well-meaning Camden is.

“Okay, rest up then. I’ll see you later,” Camden says with a grin and a wave.

Zhang Hao gratefully waves goodbye to Camden, relieved to have the room to himself for now. But even in that freedom, he waffles, eyeing his bed warily. The thought of lying down for more hours on end, unable to sleep and where his mind whirls through darkness and pieces of fragmented memories and nightmares doesn’t seem at all appealing.

He’s always faced his fears head on. It’s why he pored over every book on memory and pensieves and related charms that he could get his hands on; it’s why he decided to become a healer, because he realized early on that only by immersing himself in hands-on research and use does he feel like he’s truly in some control over his condition, that he can wrangle back the part of himself that he’d lost.

What he wants to do now is not to rest; he wants to go to Flamel’s office. He wants to see that mirror for himself. But the spike of adrenaline and the clamminess of his hands tell a different story. That’s what he should do, if he wants to regain some semblance of power in this situation, if he wants to feel productive and purposeful. But it’s not what he truly wants.

What he wants— Zhang Hao quickly tugs his robes back on over his pajamas. If he keeps them closed, no one will notice anyway. He passes a few second years in the Slytherin Common Room on his way out, but they don’t bother him beyond giving him wide-eyed stares. The lower years are always still too in awe of him, too furtive and tentative. They’ll shake that off by their third year no problem.

Soon enough, Zhang Hao finds himself at that same juncture in the halls as before, this time taking the route on the left. He’s just made it past the kitchens when he spots a familiar figure on the other end of the corridor.

“What are you doing here?” Hanbin’s look of surprise is alarmingly adorable.

“What are you doing here?” Zhang Hao challenges, footsteps coming to a halt when they meet in the middle.

“I was going to find you,” Hanbin huffs in amusement.

Zhang Hao finds his own mouth curling up at the ends to match. “Me, too.”

“I heard you’d left the Hospital Wing, so I thought you’d be in your room.”

Also alarming is how quickly Hanbin has learned him so well. “And what were you planning on doing?” Zhang Hao taps on his chin, their familiar banter settling some of his nerves from earlier. “Hammer on the Slytherin dungeon door until someone let you in? Wait out there all night until I came out?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Hanbin teases.

“Mm, I would,” Zhang Hao nods. He moves in a little closer; closer than two people having a normal conversation should be. “Here’s something you should know about me: I love being spoiled.”

Hanbin leans back slightly, just so he can give him a considering look up and down. “I think it’s more than that. You like attention — the right sort of attention; you love the idea of someone being at your beck and call. Am I right?”

Once again, how alarming. He nods, almost absently.

A wide grin spreads over Hanbin’s face. “That’s no problem then, I can do that.”

The wholehearted submission makes all the breath leave Zhang Hao’s lungs in one slight sound, “Oh.”

“You really like that,” Hanbin laughs. Zhang Hao has no doubt he will put this little revelation to good use later — he can’t wait.

“Let’s go back to my room,” Zhang Hao says, finally breaching the ever-closing gap between them and tugging on Hanbin’s sleeve. Now that he’s gotten what he’s wanted, he’s eager to escape into the comforts, and privacy, of the empty room. “All my roommates are at dinner. Did you eat?”

Hanbin shakes his head as they start making their way back down the hall. “Not yet.”

Hanbin really should eat. “Do you want to go?” he offers.

“You’d probably rather not,” Hanbin guesses correctly. And then his face brightens with an idea. “Wait here!”

Zhang Hao watches, amused and endeared, as Hanbin disappears into the doorway that leads to the kitchens. He reappears moments later carrying a small bundle in his arms and a smug smile on his face.

“The kitchen Elves love me.”

“Should I be worried about them stealing my boyfriend from me?” Zhang Hao giggles, tucking his arm through Hanbin’s free one as they continue back down to the Slytherin dormitory pressed side by side.

“It’s hard to say,” Hanbin jokes. “Do you know how to make a soufflé?”

“No, but can the House Elves do this?” Zhang Hao challenges, sticking out his lower lip and letting his eyes round out, leaning into Hanbin’s personal space with his best cute face.

“No,” Hanbin laughs. “I’m not sure I’d want them to anyway.”

“But I’m much cuter!”

“Of course you are,” Hanbin asserts. “But we can’t live off that alone. What are we going to eat if you can’t cook?”

“You can cook,” Zhang Hao scoffs. “I’ll be too tired after double shifts at St. Mungos.”

“Okay,” Hanbin agrees easily. “I’m actually quite good, you know? I used to make breakfast for my younger sister when my parents were too busy.”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. Of course he did, of course he is. Perfect, lovely Sung Hanbin.

They arrive at the door of the Slytherin dormitory, and Zhang Hao takes a quick glance around to make sure the hallway is empty — they are two Prefects but they are also technically breaking the rules — before whispering the password. The stone archway carves itself open, and Zhang Hao ushers Hanbin in. He’s relieved to see that the second years in the Common Room have made themselves scarce, probably down to dinner as well.

They’re nearly in the clear until Zhang Hao pushes open the door to the long hallway of the boy’s rooms — and comes face to face with Lauretta. As soon as their eyes meet, they both freeze. Zhang Hao has the brief impression that her cheeks are rather flushed before she hurries by and out into the Common Room. He blows out a breath of relief when they finally make it into his room. “She’s definitely going to say something about you being here.”

“Scared of detention?” Hanbin teases, wandering in to sit on the foot of Zhang Hao’s neatly made bed and placing his bundle of contraband dinner on top of his trunk. It makes him happy that he’s making himself at home here.

“No one would give me detention,” Zhang Hao answers haughtily, but then he deflates. “What I mean is she’s definitely going to talk. People are going to know you were in here, and I know you wanted to keep this a secret. Maybe I can find her later and—”

“It’s okay,” Hanbin placates, his smile turning a bit shy, a little chagrined. “I’m fairly sure most people know by now.”

When Zhang Hao frowns, he continues: “I mean during the First Task, I was … I made quite a scene. And then I forced myself into the Hospital Ward. I think I made it quite clear in front of the entire student body … and the whole faculty … and all the visiting Ministry officials.” Hanbin’s cheeks have taken on a dewy pink hue by the time he’s done talking.

“Oh that’s …” Zhang Hao loves that. Zhang Hao loves that Hanbin couldn’t control himself. “Is that okay though?”

Hanbin nods definitively, sharp and short, but instant. “I don’t regret what I did, even if it’s a bit embarrassing to think back on. I’m sorry it took you being in danger for me to realize. I shouldn’t have asked you to keep it a secret to begin with.”

“Not at all,” Zhang Hao rushes over to the bed to sit down next to him, like always a little closer than needed. “I’m happy that you’re okay with it. But I would be happy too if this was something just for us for a little while longer, if that’s what you wanted.”

“I think you were spared the worst of it today though,” Hanbin chuckles.

Zhang Hao groans, leaning his head against Hanbin’s shoulder. “I don’t even want to know what they said.”

“Nothing much, just that I’m trying to distract you from the Tournament so I’ll win, or you’re stringing me along so I’ll let you win. That this is all just fake to gain popularity and notoriety so we can both beat the other schools — as if that’s even how this Tournament works. There was also someone who said I somehow tricked the Goblet into choosing me so that I could get close to you.”

“Ridiculous,” Zhang Hao mutters.

“But I get it though,” Hanbin shrugs. And his tone of understanding, even defeat, has Zhang Hao raising his head sharply.

“What? You know they aren’t right.”

“You’ve turned down almost everyone since fourth year. It makes sense that they would be suspicious.”

Zhang hao frowns. In a perfect world, his love life would be no one’s business but his own. But of course, in a boarding school like this, everyone talks. “It’s nonsense is what it is.”

“I am curious though. Why did you turn everyone else down, but not me?” Hanbin asks, turning towards him slightly, his eyes bright pinpricks.

He also turns to face him, frown still on his face, accusing, “Are you fishing for compliments?”

Hanbin’s answering chuckle sends flutters through his chest. Zhang Hao wants to grab his hand and press it right there where his heart is beating a frantic rhythm over just a trill of laughter, tell him this is why.

“Maybe I am.” Hanbin shrugs. “Humor me?”

Instead of answering him though, Zhang Hao wants to know first. “When did you realize you liked me?”

A flush instantly lights up Hanbin’s ears. He may be able to hide a blush on his cheeks when he tries to, but his ears always give him a way. “Why do you want to know?” Hanbin squeaks.

“I’m just wondering. Answer me first,” Zhang Hao implores. He thinks he knows the answer, but he wants confirmation first. Otherwise, his own answer is about to be rather humiliating.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Zhang Hao wiggles around in dissatisfaction. “You’re embarrassed by me!” he accuses.

“I’m not!” Hanbin protests with another laugh. “It’s just embarrassing for me.”

“Come on — tell me,” Zhang Hao allows his voice to take on a whiny, indulgent tone. He watches Hanbin flounder for a moment, adorably, before seeing his eyes soften, the delicious, delicious capitulation that he wants. He loves winning.

Hanbin sighs, glancing down at the scant space between them, mumbling, “Maybeivelikedyousincefirstyear.”

“What was that?” Zhang Hao heard, but this bashful Hanbin is just too fun to tease.

“I’ve liked you since first year!” Hanbin says, louder, clearer, his words coming out a bit too forceful as he snaps his gaze up to meet Zhang Hao’s eyes.

He’s dazzling. He’s all Zhang Hao can see. His heartbeat stutters, but he’s always had a good poker face. He had expected that Hanbin had liked him for a while now — just a knack that he had developed after weathering through an innumerable amount of crushes. A sense of sorts that gave him a fairly good hunch about these things. But first year? “So you’ve been holding a flame for me for six years?”

“Yes …”

And Hanbin looks so sweet about it, so slightly dejected about being forced to reveal the truth that Zhang Hao can’t stand it. He leans forward to brush his lips against his rosy cheek. A reward.

“What moment really made you fall for me?” Zhang Hao presses, leaning back again. “Did you pass me in the hall, and I was just so beautiful you had to look twice? Was it my intelligence and charming wit in class?”

Hanbin pretends to consider for just a moment before a sly smile spreads over his lips. “I’m pretty sure it was your skill with a wand.”

Zhang Hao’s brain short circuits, just completely dissolves into white noise for a moment. “Did—” he sputters, leaning forward. “Did you just make a dirty joke, Sung Hanbin?”

Hanbin’s face grows red across the span of half a second, as horror washes over his expression. “I— yes— I’m sorry. Should I not have? Was that too much? It’s not really why—”

Zhang Hao bursts out into thrilled, ecstatic laughter. He should have realized earlier, maybe he did realize earlier which is what makes goading him so much fun, but when backed in a corner — Hanbin fights. They have that in common. And how wondrous, wonderful it is to see it in action. He should have known the goody-two-shoes, perfect Sung Hanbin had more to him than that.

“You are so—” Perfect. Surprising. Hilarious. Zhang Hao snorts, tilting his head to the side, peering at Hanbin with a lilted smirk and lowered lids. “I think your wand technique could use some work actually, but don’t worry I’ll help you learn.”

Hanbin’s mouth grows slack, actually parting his lips a bit, and his pupils blow wide and dark. Zhang Hao can’t help but cackle again, unbecoming and loud. And even then, Hanbin still looks at him like he’s his dream come true.

“Come on now, no more distractions. What was it about me?” Zhang Hao cajoles.

“I think you’re the one fishing for compliments now,” Hanbin sighs with a shake of his head. But still, he gives in. “I don’t know if you remember, but you helped me that year on the Express. I’d lost my wand,” he chuckles. “And you helped me find it.”

Zhang Hao goes completely still. There’s … no way. The boy on the train. Of course he knew it was Hanbin. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. But he hadn’t expected Hanbin to remember at all, much less it being the reason why he’s liked him all these years. It had been one train ride — not even that, maybe less than an hour because by the time Hanbin had stumbled into his train compartment, they were already changing into their robes.

“That was …” He isn’t sure how to sum up what that was. One of the sole untarnished bright spots of that first year back at Hogwarts; one of the only times that year he remembers ever having felt normal — like himself — after losing his memory.

He doesn’t often like to think about that year. He remembers it too starkly, viscerally, unfortunately, ironically. A nasty, awful trick of fate that his memories of those days are so clear and fresh, that they still have the power to hurt him, when he would do anything to forget them. It seems his mind is determined to betray him, determined to hurt him whether he forgets or remembers.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about that train ride that the sudden mention of it catches him off guard. Zhang Hao doesn’t have time to put his usual guards up; he doesn’t have time to steel himself for the onslaught. He stares back at Hanbin with suddenly stinging eyes, willing his mouth to work. “That was so long ago,” he manages.

“It meant a lot to me.” Hanbin is looking at him curiously, cautiously, noticing the red around his eyes, but not quite sure what it means yet. There’s no way he would be able to guess what it meant to him. “I … do you remember?”

And why does he sound as incredulous as Zhang Hao feels? Of course he remembers. He remembers the dread and wariness when someone had knocked on his compartment door, the surprise at seeing an unfamiliar boy with round, scrunched up cheeks who seemed to be on the verge of tears. A first year, who didn’t seem to recognize Zhang Hao at all despite his missing posters having been ubiquitously tacked up all around the Wizarding World, urgent and unmissable, for three months.

A pureblood heir stolen right out of Hogwarts — supposedly the safest place in the world for students of his ilk. And he had been returning that day, with an empty gap in his memory and emptier promises from both Flamel, the Minister, and his parents that everything was going to be alright. Zhang Hao hadn’t wanted to deal with anyone else, and had been fully prepared to give whoever came in his compartment a terse reply.

But Hanbin had just seemed so distraught, so much more lost than even him that Zhang Hao was compelled to help. It was just a simple accio, but the way Hanbin had looked at him. Zhang Hao feels an echo of that elated, delighted feeling swell in his chest at the memory. It’s much fainter now, dulled by the years and distance, but Hanbin had made him feel so good, so needed, so seen. It’s … startling to realize that he also remembers, that he may think back on that moment as fondly, as warmly from the other side as him. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

And Hanbin does that thing whenever he’s caught off guard, he tilts his head to the right just slightly, and the slashes of his lovely tapered brows angle in with confusion. “How could I possibly forget?”

“I didn’t do that much, Hanbinie,” Zhang Hao blows out a breath. His fingers dig into the blankets beside him so they won’t shake. He grips the smooth cotton until the tips of his fingers turn white. “Just a simple spell.”

“You did more than that. To me you were like … a hero!”

“I was no such thing,” Zhang Hao is quick to deny. How could Hanbin suddenly spring this on him? That was his moment — a treasure that he kept, tarnished and scratched and slightly chipped from banging around against the corrupted grime of that year, but still precious. “You’ve really liked me since then?"

Hanbin’s head tilt remains, but he nods. “I’ve liked you since then — maybe not consciously. It wasn’t a crush at first. I just thought you were amazing. But over time it became something more.”

Zhang Hao must make a face, disbelieving, doubtful, dismay, that has Hanbin sitting up straighter on the mattress, leveling a serious look his way. All traces of the bashful, tentative version of him replaced with aching sincerity. “Why don’t you believe it?”

He shakes his head — less of an answer to Hanbin’s question than to clear his head of all the sudden overlapping memories.

“Why don’t you see that you — the you back then — was just as amazing as you are now?”

“Because I wasn’t,” Zhang Hao laughs, this time without humor. “I can’t believe, after everything that happened, after everything everyone was saying that you, you still—”

“That didn’t change a thing,” Hanbin says, cutting him off, steamrolling over all of Zhang Hao’s ego with a strong voice and intent expression. “Even though we only spoke for a short while, I knew you weren’t like any of the things they were saying. Of course, I learned about what happened, your disappearance and memory loss. But that didn’t change what you did and what you were like. You are — were — so, so kind. How many people would have stopped to help a clueless first year like me?”

The question is clearly rhetorical because Hanbin doesn’t pause: “No one else. Yours wasn’t the first compartment I knocked on that day — but you were the first to offer to help. Yes, maybe eventually a Prefect would have, if I had been smart enough to find one. But only because it’s their job to. So you shouldn’t do that.”

It’s the first order he ever gets from Hanbin, a bafflingly incensed, completely indignant Hanbin — on his behalf. And he’s glorious. All pink cheeked and burning eyes. When he’s angry, he looks a bit like he’s just been kissed.

“Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t a big deal or that what you did didn’t matter. It mattered to me,” Hanbin repeats emphatically. “And I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe, but the person that I fell in love with is you as you are now, but also the Zhang Hao who was on that train.”

And in the face of that — love. Well, there’s nothing left for him to do but cry is there?

Chapter Text

“With love's alertness
we recognize
the soundless whimper
of the soul
behind the eyes”
— May Swenson, In Love Made Visible

Hanbin

He should have stopped talking.

“I’m so sorry,” Hanbin gasps, as soon as Zhang Hao’s face crumples, tears pooling in his eyes. He wants to reach up and wipe them away; he wants to pull Zhang Hao into his arms and hold him until the jerk of his shoulders subside and he doesn’t have to take in short, gasping breaths anymore. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry I crossed a line. Please, don’t cry. It’s my fault. Please, let me—”

Zhang Hao lurches forward, solving Hanbin’s problem of what to do. He pulls him close, allowing Zhang Hao’s arms to loop over his shoulders, and holds him tightly as he continues to cry. Hanbin doesn’t ask him why. Just tucks him into the curve of his arms, marvels at how delicate Zhang Hao is, how with a squeeze Hanbin feels like he’ll snap him, how incredibly slight he feels leaning against him, like it would be no trouble at all for Hanbin at all to continue to bear his weight for the rest of his life.

When Zhang Hao pulls away, cheeks dry from having rubbed them on Hanbin’s shoulders, his eyes still tinged slightly pink and his lips are puffy and roseate and lightly trembling. It’s entirely unfair how pretty he looks after having cried his eyes out, but Hanbin tamps down his desires easily. His hand continues its rhythmic patting along his back.

“You love me?” Zhang Hao sniffles.

Hanbin freezes.

So does Zhang Hao.

“It’s okay if—”

“If that’s not okay—”

The two of them dissolve into relieved, giddy laughter. And then Zhang Hao’s stomach growls — loud and low. And the two of them laugh harder, tears leaking out of the corner of Zhang Hao’s eyes again, but his cheeks are pushed so high and round, his eyes all aglow, that Hanbin knows whatever had overcome him had passed.

The two of them unwrap the food from the Kitchen Elves, revealing bread, a copious amount of cheese, a jacket potato covered in foil, some cherry tomatoes, strawberries, and what looks to be two large slabs of nut brittle.

“What an interesting selection,” Zhang Hao comments, though he doesn’t wait to pick up a cherry tomato and pop it into his mouth. It’s the same shade as the tip of his sloped, round nose.

As the two of them eat, they talk: about the Quidditch season so far; comparing which of them have had the honor of getting the most annoying first years this year; a recent antic of Peeves that had left the third floor East wing corridor uninhabitable for at least two days. They both make a concerted effort to keep the topics light and fleeting — nothing about the Tournament, what Zhang Hao confided in him in the Hospital Wing, not even their upcoming N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year. They both pointedly avoid talking about the fallout the First Task will have, beyond just the matter of scores and placements and the game, but the way their budding, delicate relationship was revealed in spectacular fashion.

Here, it’s tranquil and freeing and normal. And it feels like they have all the time in the world to learn all these small details about each other, seemingly inconsequential, but which build to something that’s larger than the sum of its parts. Like when Zhang Hao is particularly excited about something, he’ll reach over and pat his leg, as if Hanbin’s attention has ever strayed for a second; like when Zhang Hao blows out his cheeks when he’s frustrated, lips curving down adorably; like how he wiggles his shoulders whenever he gets a good bite of the food, whenever he’s happy or content with whatever it is they’re talking about. Cold and aloof and distant, Zhang Hao is absolutely not. And Hanbin already knew that from the handful of times they’ve spoken candidly and freely like this, but it still never ceases to amaze him how wrong everyone is about who Zhang Hao really is.

Hanbin can’t help but feel like he’s somehow received some sort of blessing. As far as he knows, he isn’t doing anything special, he’s not doing anything in particular that warrants Zhang Hao’s attention or time or affection, but he’s somehow gotten them all. And he gets that feeling again, the one that had prompted him to want to keep this to themselves for just a little bit longer — that he would do anything not to mess this up. And the anxious feeling that there are so many ways that he can.

By some miraculous stroke of luck, none of Zhang Hao’s roommates return after the dinnertime passes. The two of them have been tucked away talking for nearly two hours, and the sky outside has turned dark and cloudy, indicating rain, or perhaps even the first snowfall of the year now that the temperatures have started dropping overnight. Hanbin gets up and cleans off the food with a quick charm, and then he lingers, standing by the side of the bed. He doesn’t want to leave. Because leaving will mean discarding this small sanctuary they’ve created for themselves tonight, a liminal reality made up of only two people, filled to the brim with the detailed intricacies of their hearts.

So Hanbin is relieved, near giddy, when it seems like Zhang Hao has other ideas besides asking him to leave. He settles easily on the side of the bed, legs parted just enough that he can reach over and draw Hanbin to stand between them.

“Hyung?” The question — the moniker — comes out instinctively, out of nowhere. Hanbin’s eyes widen.

“Hm?” Zhang Hao tilts his head to the side, peering up at Hanbin curiously. He reaches over for his hand, more to play with his fingers than to hold, moving them up and down, bending them to his will.

“It’s an honorific in Korean. Usually used to address older boys,” he tacks on. He isn’t sure why it came out. Hanbin isn’t used to speaking Korean to anyone besides his family. Occasionally, Gyuvin or Matthew will call him this — but it’s few and far between.

“Ah.” Recognition sparks in Zhang Hao’s eyes. “We have something similar in Mandarin.”

“What is it?”

“Gege, or ge, more commonly, casually. But no one really uses it here. Maybe Ricky sometimes if he wants to be annoying.”

Hanbin briefly remembers a vision of Ricky sitting across from him in the Great Hall, flashing a smug grin and eating three treacle tarts. Like Zhang Hao, he also has a curious many hidden sides. “Would it be annoying if I did it?” Hanbin asks, half teasing.

“I think I’d rather like it if you did, actually,” Zhang Hao smirks up at him, tightening his hold on Hanbin’s fingers and tugging lightly so he takes another step forward between his legs, so his knees bump against the side of the bed, so Zhang Hao’s upturned face is right below his. The ask is blatant and clear even without words.

And Hanbin bends slightly at the waist to give him what he wants. The warm settle of their lips against each other already feels natural, necessary. And Hanbin realizes how much he’s missed this — this vital, undeniable connection that makes his chest swell with elation. He kisses Zhang Hao, tasting him with a few slow, tantalizing licks before he pulls away. He loves the roundness of Zhang Hao’s mouth, just like a rose, so velvet-soft and tender as it parts and blooms under him.

It seems he’s not the only one to have missed it though, because Hanbin has barely managed a breath before Zhang Hao’s hand cups his cheek to pull him back down again. They kiss, languidly, easily, just like their conversation. Zhang Hao still tastes faintly of strawberries, and Hanbin hums happily, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. Somewhere along the way Hanbin finds his knee tucked up on the bed, his teeth pulling Zhang Hao’s lower lip between his own. Zhang Hao has winded his way around him, playing with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, occasionally scoring his nails against his scalp and sending breath-stealing shivers down his spine.

Zhang Hao’s eyes are closed with a lazy smile stretching across his lips as if he’s tilting it up to the sun. And Hanbin has never done this before — the kissing, the wanting, the needing — but the nerves and hesitation that he has in many parts of his life fades away at the smooth of fingers along the nape of his neck, at the way Zhang Hao leans forward into him with a hitch of his breath. Hanbin allows himself to fall into it, to give more, to want more.

And then Zhang Hao scoots even closer, getting his plush thighs around the knee on the bed and rolling his hips into him. Hanbin gasps where he’s planting gentle kisses along the side of Zhang Hao’s jaw.

“Hao …”

But just as fast, Zhang Hao’s fingers tangle in his hair, preventing him from leaning back too far. He blinks open his dazzling, beguiling eyes. “Is this okay?”

A breath stutters out of him, his heart squeezing in his chest — from anticipation? From nerves? But still, he nods, pressing forward just a bit to watch the delicious hazy spread of Zhang Hao’s pupils. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs.

“Ah,” Zhang Hao groans, tilting his head back and looking pained and pleased at the same time. “Correct answer, Hanbinie.”

Hanbin giggles, dipping down again to gentle his lips over his cheek, ghosting over the pretty freckle of his mole. Zhang Hao grinds up into him, movements peppered with thin, high barely there whines. And Hanbin can’t help but pull away just to look at him. Merlin, he loves looking at him, a slight pink still around his eyes, his mouth open and panting. He sees the barely there flash of his pink tongue, and Hanbin, unbidden, hitches forward, pressing more fully against his cock.

“Don’t stop,” Zhang Hao whispers, voice pleading, as he stretches up to plant a sticky kiss on Hanbin’s cheek, rocking his hips a bit faster. “Just kiss me.”

Automatically, Hanbin leans down to do just that. There’s no other choice when Zhang Hao is so wanton and sweet and pliant — when he makes him all of these things, too. Hanbin teases his lips, sure that he’s being rather clumsy about it, but that doesn’t matter whatsoever when Zhang Hao starts murmuring gentle nonsense against his lips. Certainly not, when Zhang Hao’s hips arch against him so deliciously. He chases Zhang Hao’s lips when he lies back on the bed, sprawled on the comforter with Hanbin kneeling over him.

Hanbin’s chest heaves as he watches Zhang Hao move below him, his lips parted with quick, silent pants, his eyes clouded dark and lust-heavy. His whole world narrows down to the slow press of Zhang Hao’s hard length against him and the gentle roam of his hands up and over his shoulder, around to his collarbones, smoothing down over his chest, dismantling Hanbin into nothing but pleasure and impulse. Neither of them look away from each other, maintaining a connection wondrously equal to the press of lips with only their locked gazes.

Hanbin feels the tug of Zhang Hao’s greedy fingers as they cling onto his shirt underneath. In turn, Hanbin reaches for Zhang Hao’s hip, goading him on as he ruts himself against his thigh. But of course, there’s a sense of competition here too, even among their sweet sighs and leisurely pleasure. Zhang Hao’s hand trails the length of Hanbin’s side, insistent and sinful, to press against his hip, to trail to the front of his straining pants, to cup the bulge there that has been begging for pressure. And Hanbin lets out an embarrassingly loud whimper, doubling over and only just managing to brace himself with his arms before collapsing right on top of Zhang Hao.

“You should feel good too, right?” The enchanting, devilish whisper comes with a flick of Zhang Hao’s wrist, and the inevitable cant of Hanbin’s hips as he pushes against his soft palm.

Zhang Hao rolls his knuckles over the straining head of Hanbin’s cock. Hanbin shudders, a groan working its way up his throat as Zhang Hao continues to palm at him. It’s so good; it’s so good. And he’s never had anyone else touch him this way; he never quite realized how much of a difference it would make if it wasn’t his own hand working against him, if— he flicks his eyes up for just a split second—

Hanbin yelps, leaping back and stumbling a few steps, his already rapidly beating heart now pounding near violently against his ribcage.

Zhang Hao, still splayed out on the bed, hair messy and eyes fuzzy, stares wide-eyed up at him, blinking slowly as if wondering how he had suddenly gotten five feet away from him. And then his face scrunches up. “What?”

Hanbin places his hand on his chest, trying to calm the adrenaline shooting through him at the pair of eyes staring at them from across the room. He points with his other hand. “He— he scared me,” he complains.

Frowning, Zhang Hao props himself up and looks to where he’s pointing. When he turns back to Hanbin his lips are twitching, confusion clearing into mirth. Zhang Hao barely holds back his laugh when he says, “That’s Ricky’s cat, Hanbin.”

“Well, I didn’t know he had a cat!” Hanbin blunders. “I was just— I was caught off guard. I thought someone was there watching us!”

Finally giving in, Zhang Hao throws his head back in a cackling laugh. “I can’t believe—! We were—” He splutters as if he can’t stand the thought without bursting into another fit.

“I caught something moving from the corner of my eye and just panicked,” Hanbin chuckles sheepishly, finding some humor in the situation now that his heart isn’t trying to burst out of his chest. Unfortunately, the appearance of Ricky’s cat and the terror that had bolted through him in that moment had made his previous desire to fizzle out. Though looking at Zhang Hao with his kiss-swollen lip and parted legs sitting so prettily on the bedspread, he feels like it wouldn’t take very much to get him worked up again.

“Come back here,” Zhang Hao giggles. And Hanbin lets him take his hand again.

But … “The cat.” Hanbin squirms.

“What about the cat?”

“He’s watching.”

“So what?”

“So, I don’t want the cat to see us …”

“She’s not going to tell,” he protests, pressing his lips together in a very obvious and valiant attempt not to laugh at him.

But Hanbin still waffles.

Zhang Hao pouts up at him when he realizes he really isn’t going to kiss him, even more enticing because his lips are still swollen from Hanbin’s ministrations before and — Merlin — is that a hickey on his jaw? But Hanbin still shakes his head.

“Just pretend she’s not here!” Zhang Hao whines.

“I just don’t feel comfortable because I know now!” Hanbin says almost abjectly. He wishes he didn’t mind, because what they had been doing before … Hanbin has no doubt will feature heavily during his showers from now on.

Zhang Hao groans, long and loud and dramatic, as he falls back on the bed with his arms spread out. “I’m going to wither away untouched and unfucked because Sung Hanbin won’t let Ricky’s cat watch!” he yells into the canopy of his four-poster bed.

“Stop that!” Hanbin gasp-giggles, leaping onto the bed to cover Zhang Hao’s mouth.

But Zhang Hao wriggles away from him to shoot him a dejected glare. “You won’t even kiss me!”

Hanbin slides his eyes over to the brown cat sitting on the far bed again. Its eyes, a mixture of green and yellow, stare back unblinking at the scene on Zhang Hao’s bed. He turns back to Zhang Hao again with a small grimace. “Just one kiss.”

“You don’t have to force yourself,” Zhang Hao sniffs, turning his head away and looking extremely put out.

“Come on,” Hanbin cajoles with a small laugh. He scoots forward on his knees, reaching for Zhang Hao’s arm. When he doesn’t turn to look at him, Hanbin leans forward to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

It still feels a little surreal that he gets to now. Hanbin remembers all the moments before that he’s wanted to: seeing Zhang Hao’s cheeks tinged red from the biting cold during the winter months; the way they had curved when Hanbin caught a glimpse of them smiling from down a stone hallway; the bright sheen on them when he got caught in the rain, highlighting the sharpness of his chin even as they emphasized the delectable curve of them. He had thought about what it would be like to have just one chance to kiss them. And now … Hanbin gives him another peck for good measure, this one finally seeming to mollify him.

Zhang Hao finally turns, puckering his lips in a silent demand. Hanbin leans in again, welcoming the rosy push. Even a quick, simple one like this still has Hanbin trying to catch his breath when he pulls away.

“So what’s his name?” he prompts once they both sit more comfortably on the bed.

Zhang Hao sighs deeply. “I can’t believe my boyfriend would rather talk about a cat than let me give him a handjob.”

“You—” Hanbin squeaks. He was what? He was going to—? He wonders if he can still offer to throw Ricky’s cat out of the room.

“Too late!” Zhang Hao snaps as if reading his mind. Hanbin has gotten himself committed to the most petty and petulant person in the entire castle.

“Her name is Zhīma, or just Zee for short. She’s a girl, by the way.”

“Zhīma?” Hanbin tries to copy. “What does that mean?”

“Sesame. She was a lot darker when she was a kitten. We all thought she was a black cat, but she’s gotten a lot lighter over the years.”

“I heard brown cats are quite rare.”

“Yeah, if you’ve been around Ricky for five seconds you would have heard it no doubt,” Zhang Hao rolls his eyes.

Zee seems to be able to tell that they’re talking about her because she suddenly jumps off Ricky’s bed, padding over to paw at a corner of Zhang Hao’s blanket.

“She wants to be picked up,” Zhang Hao explains when he sees Hanbin staring.

He leans over the side of the bed, grinning and making sweet babbling sounds. Zee gives him a little meow as he curves his arm under her body to cradle her. “Aw, aren’t you sweet?” Hanbin babies.

“Don’t be fooled — she absolutely hates one of our roommates, Huanjun. We have no idea why. Ever since first year she’ll hiss and run out of the room whenever he’s here.”

“He must be an awful person, right? It’s not your fault,” Hanbin coos to Zee, who stares up at him with innocent amber eyes that confirms she’s at absolutely no fault in this situation.

“First the Kitchen Elves, now Ricky’s cat. I have my competition cut out for me,” Zhang Hao teases, also reaching over to swat at Zee’s paws. She immediately starts trying to bite him.

“I don’t think you have to worry about the Kitchen Elves, but Zee on the other hand …”

Zhang Hao shoves him in the shoulder for that.

And that’s how Ricky finds them ten minutes later, chatting and giggling on Zhang Hao’s bed with his cat tucked in Hanbin’s arms.

“Glad to see you’re feeling much better now,” he drawls at Zhang Hao, dumping his bag on his bed. “And I see you’ve met Zhīma.” This one directed at Hanbin.

“She’s very sweet,” he compliments.

“Not when it’s dinner time, which is soon,” Ricky turns with a pointed look, and Hanbin relinquishes her.

She immediately dashes over to Ricky’s side. He shakes his head. “Only loyal when there’s food involved.”

“It’s getting late. I should go before your Common Room starts filling up,” Hanbin offers. Now that Ricky’s back, the rest of his roommates will probably start trickling in too. He’s cutting it close to curfew.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Zhang Hao prompts, hopeful.

“I’ll come find you after classes,” he promises.

It almost feels surreal, that they have nearly a full week of classes to get through after the debacle that was the First Task, after secluding themselves in this small world of just them. Though Hanbin isn’t hopeful enough to believe that this bubble they’ve created for themselves tonight will last very long.

It doesn’t take long for someone to approach him about Zhang Hao. Though the first person who does is entirely unexpected.

Milena — who had accosted him after Potions — leans against the stone wall between a suit of armor. They’re in a quiet hallway with a couple of unused classrooms, Hanbin thinks the one down the hall is sometimes used for club activities, Gobstones Club, if he remembers one incident he had to break up last year correctly. The low murmur of students moving between classes can still be heard buzzing from the next corridor over.

She crosses her arms. “So … you and Zhang Hao, how long has that been happening?”

Milena has been a hard one for Hanbin to figure out. She’s brooding and caustic. In the few interactions they’ve had as Champions, Hanbin thinks she’s also bordering on just plain antagonistic, though not as prone to wild behavior as Callidora. Besides these interspersed moments though, Hanbin hasn’t seen, or heard, about them much. They mostly choose to stick with other Durmstrang students and retreat back to their ship as soon as they’re done with their classes. Unlike Lee and Violet, who Hanbin hears, has been having a grand time mingling with all the Hogwarts students — if all the whispers over how many people are already in love with Violet are to be believed.

“Uh,” Hanbin tamps down the urge to answer automatically. He frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

“Why are you trying to keep it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Were you two already an item before the Champion drawing?”

Hanbin doesn’t know what she’s trying to get at — but this seems harmless enough to reveal. “No.”

Milena hums consideringly. She’s a short girl, though her shoulders are broad, making her look more imposing, powerful. In this hallway, she stands as the taller one. “How cute — two Champions falling in love.”

He’s still trying to figure out if she means that mockingly or not when she continues with a sigh.

“I … wanted to apologize for the Task, actually.”

Now, this is a surprise.

“For taking so long,” she grumbles, not quite meeting his eyes. “The professors could have gotten to him sooner if I had been a little faster.”

Her confident demeanor from before has been slightly chipped away, not all gone, but the varnish on it is just a little less lustrous. She would look almost unsure if it weren’t for her straight shoulders and puffed out chest — a proud stance that Hanbin thinks Durmstrang must ingrain into them.

“Ah,” Hanbin realizes what all this is about now. He nearly winces, thinking back on all the awful things he’d thought about her; the way he’d wanted to pull her through the fire — uncaring if the flesh melted from her bones and her hair caught flames just Zhang Hao’s for the few seconds before his antidotes had worked their magic — just so the Task would be complete. He should be the one to apologize. “I’m sor—”

“I didn’t realize you could be terrifying like that,” Milena butts in. Except she doesn’t look repentant or even begrudging, she looks impressed. “I genuinely thought you would end my life as soon as I got through the fire.”

“Is that why you took so long?”

Milena lets out a bark of laughter — tinged with sharpness and something else besides humor. “I know what you want me to say — you’re scary, Sung Hanbin. I’m sorry, okay? Don’t take this chance to hold a grudge and then push me off the viaduct.”

He chuckles. Though his ire at her, all the bad will he’d had towards her had dissipated the moment he knew Zhang Hao was safe. It wasn’t her fault; she’d just been caught up in an unfortunate mix of circumstances that never should have happened. The one Hanbin blames … the one he still holds a grudge against is someone he can’t get to — yet. “I would never do something like that.”

“Hm,” Milena hums, sizing him up with a considerable look. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“I think you should tell Zhang Hao, too.”

She smirks. “Why would I bother? I know you’ll pass it on to your sweet little boyfriend.”

Hanbin winces. She’s right.

Milena turns to go, but after a few steps, she turns around like she’d forgotten something. “Oh, and don’t bother saying hi to me in the hallways — this doesn’t mean we’re suddenly all chummy now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hanbin stares at her retreating form curiously. He has half a mind to head back to the Hufflepuff dormitory, but there’s only so long he can avoid the Great Hall — and the generosity of the Kitchen Elves will also only last so long. So he braces himself to weather the crowd of students as he heads down the wide staircase for lunch.

The second person who approaches him is another surprise.

“Hanbin!” Ricky calls right before he can turn into the hall.

He slows his feet, waiting for Ricky to catch up. But of course the Slytherin doesn’t look rushed, despite the more rapid pace of his feet. Merlin forbid the angelic, otherworldly Ricky ever seem anything other than perfectly blasé. “Hi, Ricky,” Hanbin greets when he draws closer.

“Are you alone today?”

Apparently every conversation is going to stump him today. “Uh, I guess. Why?”

“I’ll walk in with you.”

Hanbin shrugs. “Sure.”

“Congrats on your win, by the way.”

“Ah, that’s kind of you to say — I know Zhang Hao would have been first if things hadn’t …”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Ricky shakes his head. “You still did well.”

Hanbin gives him a shy smile. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

Besides a few sideways glances and a group of girls at the Ravenclaw table who immediately start giggling, there isn’t much of a reaction when they walk in, much to Hanbin’s relief. “Did you want to come sit with us?”

“No, it’s okay,” Ricky says quickly. But he isn’t looking at Hanbin, instead he’s looking over his shoulder at the Hufflepuff table, eyes roaming and indecipherable. “I’ll see you later.”

Hanbin is left baffled for the second time that day when Ricky promptly turns on his heel and heads over to the Slytherin table. But he shrugs it off — perhaps he had just wanted to talk to him about the Task. Hanbin is approaching the end of his own table when he spots Irma, Patrice, and Rossie waving him over.

“Hey, Captain,” Patrice calls.

“Where have you been the past two days? We haven’t even gotten a chance to properly congratulate you,” Irma complains as Hanbin sits down on the bench across from Rossie who gives him a grin between mouthfuls of potatoes.

“Thanks, guys,” Hanbin smiles, taking a seat and quickly loading up his plate. “Though I don’t really feel like I deserve first.”

“Not that,” Patrice snickers. “We meant your boyfriend.” Her eyebrows wiggle in spectacular fashion, so exaggerated that Hanbin can’t help but laugh.

“Tell us all about it!” Irma squeals, clapping her hands together.

“Seriously,” Patrice leans forward. “How did you manage to bag the most elusive person in this whole castle?”

Rossie gives what Hanbin thinks is an encouraging rumble from around his soup spoon.

Hanbin presses his hand against his cheeks, already slowly heating at the interrogation. “Did it go around that fast?”

“Uh, this is slow,” Irma says. “I don’t know where you’ve gone off to the last couple of days but it’s the only thing everyone has been talking about since the Task.”

“That and the fact that Zhang Hao got trapped in the pensieve,” Rossie finally contributes.

“Which, of course, then just goes back around to how dreamy the love of his life was getting all glowering and angry when he was in danger,” Patrice teases.

Hanbin groans, deciding to plant his forehead on the table to avoid looking at any of them. “Don’t say that,” Hanbin mumbles.

“What? Love of his life?”

“You did look pretty pissed.”

“Oh, downright terrifying.”

Hanbin laughs, thankful he has such good friends, even if they love teasing him. “I’m not that scary,” he complains. Why is he hearing that everywhere today? “I’m actually very nice!”

“Anyone who has to point out that they’re very nice is scientifically proven to not be,” Rossie says.

“Anyone who has seen you at six a.m. practice asking us to do drills will agree,” Patrice nods sagely.

“Just for this I’m making you all do an hour of passing drills this week.”

“Oh, come on!” Irma complains. “I don’t even pass.”

“You get to be the Beaters’ target then.”

The table dissolves into loud complaints, attempts for a lighter sentence, and finally grumbled acceptance for the rest of lunch.

It’s not until that evening that Hanbin realizes something is wrong.

He’d gone to find Zhang Hao after classes as promised but was informed by Taerae that he’d apparently been summoned right after their Divination class to Headmaster Flamel’s office and hasn’t resurfaced since. Which doesn’t sit well with him at all. Hanbin remembers the jittery, unnerved look Zhang Hao had gotten when they’d dropped in the pensieve and he’d realized where they were. Hanbin gets the sense that he didn’t have good memories of that office to begin with, and now, to be back there again just a few days after the memory … Hanbin hates it. But also, besides blasting a hole into the Headmaster’s office and barging in there himself, there’s not much he can do right now.

No, what’s wrong is that it’s nearing curfew now, and Hanbin realizes he hasn’t seen Gyuvin all day.

When Hanbin enters the Hufflepuff dormitory, he heads straight to their room upstairs to look for him, but he finds it empty. He decides he’ll wait around until curfew to see if Gyuvin is back before going around the castle to look for him — this wouldn’t be the first time Gyuvin has completely forgotten about an essay and holed up after classes to get it done. Though now that Hanbin thinks about it, he hasn’t seen him since Sunday. They’d spoken briefly after the First Task, and then … well, Hanbin had spent that night in the Hospital Wing, and then also last night with Zhang Hao. Guilt swamps him when he realizes he’d forgotten about his friend in the midst of everything.

The chime for curfew rings, compounding Hanbin’s worry. He heads out of the room and spots their roommate Hajoon sitting in the Common Room, chatting with a few other sixth-years.

“Hey,” Hanbin greets. “Have you guys seen Gyuvin?”

Huanjun shakes his head, but another girl leans forward. “He wasn’t in Muggle Studies today; I thought maybe he might be sick or something?”

“I’ll check the Hospital Ward, thank you.” Hanbin gives them a quick wave before making his way out of the Common Room.

It’s entirely plausible that Gyuvin got a cold, but he has this feeling that something isn’t quite right, that he won’t find him under the watchful care of Madam Pomfrey. Following his instincts, Hanbin lets his feet take him to the third floor.

By the fourth-year DADA classroom is a statue of a one-eyed witch, and behind that statue is a secret passageway that leads to Hogsmeade, specifically the cellar of Honeydukes. A fifth-year had told Hanbin and Gyuvin about it when Hanbin had been a third year — a well-kept secret among the Hufflepuffs, only shared with those in their House. The two of them had thus used it often and with great abuse. At least up until one time Gyuvin over-indulged in sugar quills and chocolate cauldrons and threw up in the passageway. They started using it less after.

But, Hanbin knows, this is still where Gyuvin goes when he’s upset.

He taps on the hump of the witch’s back whispering the code word: Dissendium. After a moment of quiet, the statue begins to turn with a nearly imperceptible grating noise. The gap isn’t very big, as they’ve gotten older it’s gotten harder and harder for them to squeeze through, but Hanbin just barely manages, feeling the squeeze mostly along his shoulders. He sucks in his stomach and pops into the narrow passageway. It’s just big enough for two people to walk side by side, and his head nearly touches the top nowadays, which means Gyuvin has to crouch.

“Lumos,” Hanbin whispers, allowing the glowing tip of his wand to guide the way. He sets off at a brisk pace. If he doesn’t find him here, he’ll try the Hospital Wing next. Maybe he really is tucked among the cotton sheets, a little feverish but otherwise okay.

But his instincts are rewarded when halfway down the tunnel he spots a tall shadow walking towards him with its own hovering ball of light. The figure is hunched over.

“Gyuvin!” Hanbin calls.

The figure startles, the ball of light bobbing in surprise. Hanbin rushes forward, glad that he’s found him. When he draws closer, he sees Gyuvin wiping hastily at his cheeks.

“Gyuvin,” Hanbin says again once he stops in front of him. He does a quick once over of Gyuvin, though he doesn’t seem to be physically hurt. There’s a small bag of sweets in his left hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, Hanbin,” Gyuvin says weakly. He uses the back of his hand to wipe under his running nose, shuffling from side to side and not quite meeting Hanbin’s eyes. “Heading to Honeydukes?”

“No,” Hanbin ducks his head, trying to see Gyuvin’s face a bit more clearly to no avail. “I was looking for you. What happened?”

Gyuvin finally looks at him. His eyes are dry but the corners are still red, even under the limited light. “Any chance you’d let it go if I told you nothing?”

Hanbin crosses his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Walk with me.” Gyuvin motions back the way Hanbin had come, and their two little balls of light float next to each other down the darkened passage.

“I hope you left money for the sweets,” Hanbin says, buying Gyuvin a bit of time to gather his thoughts.

“Of course I did,” Gyuvin says, sounding affronted. “Some sickles under a bag of toffees … they’ll find it eventually.”

“You got quite a bit.”

“Are you judging me, Sung Hanbin?”

“Just hoping you’ll share,” Hanbin says innocently.

Gyuvin at least snorts. And then he holds the back out for Hanbin to take. When he opens it, he sees a veritable pile of chocolate frogs. “That bad, huh?”

They stop at the end of the passageway, right where the curve of the statue starts and sits down. They’d used to sit here and finish up all their contraband treats before heading back to the dorm — having late night talks over their worries, the tribulations of growing up, the heavy unknown of the future. The hallway is so narrow now, or perhaps their bodies so big, that their legs press up against each other when they settle on the dusty floor. Hanbin takes a chocolate frog out of the bag before handing it back. He unwraps it quietly, waiting for Gyuvin to sort everything out before speaking.

“I don’t really want to get into it,” Gyuvin starts, mumbling around a cauldron cake. “I just needed to go tonight.”

Hanbin frowns, not angry or even disappointed, just genuinely sad — and maybe a bit guilty. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. It’s just with the Tournament and— everything else, I’ve been preoccupied. But I’m still here for you.”

“I’m glad you and Zhang Hao worked things out by the way,” Gyuvin bumps his shoulder. “Keeping it a secret was a silly idea.”

Hanbin blows out a breath. “I know. I just … let my insecurities get the better of me. I’m lucky he for some crazy reason is willing to put up with it.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think of it that way.”

Hanbin still has his doubts — about when all of this will be snatched away from him, but— “I’m not here to talk about myself. Don’t change the subject, Gyub.” He looks over at Gyuvin, whose eyes are still a little puffy — entirely obvious because of how small his face is and large his eyes are. “It’s okay if you really don’t want to talk about it though.”

Gyuvin does that thing with his mouth — moves it around from a frown to a smirk and back to a frown again — that he does whenever he’s thinking extra hard. “Yeah, I just … want some time to think about it. I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with, in any case.”

And that hits harder, pierces through Hanbin more painfully than anything else that Gyuvin could have said, worse than simply not knowing, worse than Gyuvin just needing some time to work through it by himself. Hanbin is happy to give him all the space he needs, but this … it feels painfully close to being discarded. “I can try.”

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I kind of don’t want you to.”

Hanbin turns fully then, giving Gyuvin a hurt look. He doesn’t mean to, he knows this conversation isn’t about how he feels, but how else is he supposed to take that? “Why not?”

Gyuvin shakes his head, his long bangs running into his eyes. “I said don’t take it the wrong way! It’s not anything big, I promise. It’s actually kind of stupid …”

“You can still tell me.” And it’s because Gyuvin looks hesitant, tempted, that Hanbin continues to push. “You can trust me.”

“I know,” Gyuvin groans, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes as he tips his head back. He lowers them slowly. “I know. But … just trust me, okay?”

It’s cruel of him to turn it around on him like this. Because what else can Hanbin say but yes? If he’s asking for Gyuvin’s confidence, he should be able to give it to him as well — and respect his wishes despite the equally concerned and guilty feeling swirling in his gut. “I do; I will. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

“Okay, mom,” Gyuvin sighs, but his smile is real this time. “I’ll tell you about it once it’s all over, okay? And then we can both laugh over how silly it is.”

“If you change your mind, I’m here any time. I really am sorry I haven’t been around lately, but I don’t care if I’m in the middle of the Second Task, I’ll come if you need me.”

That finally gets Gyuvin to laugh. “And if you’re with Zhang Hao?”

He isn’t proud of the way he hesitates, even if just for a split second. “I’ll still come, Gyuvin. I hope you know that. We’ve been friends for so long. It’s not— it won’t be Zhang Hao or you.”

Gyuvin nods slowly. He snaps open another chocolate frog box. “I get it.”

Hanbin is too scared to ask what he gets. Instead he lets Gyuvin pass him another chocolate frog, the two of them making a dent in his pile with nothing but the faint glow still emanating from the tips of their wands, with nothing but all of Hanbin’s doubts hovering just outside the circle of light.

The weekend comes with a flurry of activity. The second Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw — and the announcement of the Yule Ball.

The notice had gone up on the board outside the Great Hall to great anticipation and consternation at the end of Friday’s classes. And not even twenty-four hours later, it’s already caused a huge whirl among the students. Violet Beauchêne has already turned down a tally of four boys, someone made a huge proposal at midnight out on the Quidditch pitch (promptly broken up by Filch who gave them both detention), and a thousand roses had been conjured outside the Ravenclaw dormitory this morning. That’s all anyone is talking about when Hanbin heads down to breakfast, passing a concerningly large group of Gryffindors discussing whether or not they should resort to using amortentia, or at least Felix Felicis, to get dates.

Hanbin runs into Taerae and Gunwook in the crush of students heading down for breakfast ahead of the game. They’re both decked out in their finest Ravenclaw regalia, which includes a headband with enchanted flapping wings and a large unfurling, extremely lifelike banner of an eagle swooping down on a lion.

“You two do not play around with House pride,” Hanbin chuckles.

“We’re just serious about winning,” Taerae snaps proudly.

Gunwook tries to show him a spell that shoots raining blue sparks from his wand until Hanbin reminds him that they are, in fact, in a packed hallway and perhaps now is not the time, but he will make sure to keep an eye out for it during the game.

When they enter the Great Hall, Hanbin is surprised to see a few extra chairs set up at the faculty table at the head of the room. Most of the professors choose to take their meals in their offices or in their lounge, occasionally showing up for meals — most usually Flitwick or head of Gryffindor House Professor Trembelay. But this morning, there are three new figures sitting up there: TriWizard judges Kim Jiwoong, Wesley de Montmorency, and Basil Egnell.

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Taerae asks, following Hanbin’s gaze.

“Maybe they just want to watch the game,” Gunwook suggests.

“Don’t they have jobs?”

“It is the weekend,” Hanbin shrugs.

Their small trio part ways at the Ravenclaw table, despite Gunwook’s invitation for Hanbin to join them. He wants to check in on Matthew — who always gets inordinately nervous before these things. As expected, Hanbin finds him looking rather green and sickly among the revelry of the Gryffindor table. It already looks like they’re celebrating a win with red and gold streamers spewed across bowls of porridge and stacks of waffles.

“Oh, thank Merlin, you’re here. Please help him,” Sumi whispers to him before she runs off to stop one of her Beaters from throwing an apple at their Seeker.

Hanbin shoots Sumi a smile before rounding the table and clapping his hand on Matthew’s shoulder, making his friend jump.

“Feeling alright?” Hanbin prompts.

“Yeah, if by ‘alright’ you mean ‘about to throw up’,” Matthew croaks.

He chuckles, giving him another pat on the back for encouragement. “Come on. You’re an amazing Quidditch player. You’re going to be fine.”

“We’re only playing them once,” Matthew refutes weekly. Indeed this year's Quidditch Tournament has been slimmed down to accommodate the dates of the TriWizard Tournament. What usually is a round robin of at least two games with each of the other Houses has now been cut to just one game per House.

“We have to win,” Matthew wails.

“Think of it this way, if you guys lose, you can make up the points by doing exceptionally well in Transfigurations.”

Matthew looks positively greener at that suggestion, making Hanbin cackle.

Hanbin rubs his hand encouragingly up and down Matthew’s back. “Come on, I was being serious before: you’re a great player.”

“You think so?”

“Of course! Remember when you made that pass to Cormac last year?”

“Over the head of the Slytherin Keeper?” Matthew perks up.

“That’s the one. People still talk about that being one of the best passes in Hogwarts Quidditch history. You were absolutely insane in that game. Where is that Chaser, huh?” Hanbin doesn’t give Matthew a chance to reply, shaking his shoulder a bit. “Oh yeah, he’s right here.”

Matthew sucks in a deep breath. “You know what? You’re so right!”

“Yeah!”

“I’m going to make another killer pass!”

“You will!”

“I’m going to make the winning shot!”

Hanbin conveniently ignores the existence of their Seeker. “Absolutely! You could go pro!”

“I could go pro! Yeah!”

Hanbin sends Matthew off to Sumi beaming from ear to ear, knowing a hyped up Matthew is near unbeatable. He wasn’t just saying things just to say them before — Matthew is incredible with the right mindset. He’s played him before, he would know.

“Good luck!” Hanbin calls, silently apologizing to Taerae and Gunwook. And of course, this absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that after losing to Syltherin, Hanbin’s team now has to win against both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor to even have a hope at the cup.

Hanbin eats breakfast quickly, most of his friends already having gone out to the stands. He chats idly with the fifth-year Prefect, until another Yule Ball proposal happens over at the Slytherin table. There’s a sudden round of raucous cheering, and Hanbin glances over to see some girl standing at the end of the table with her hands on her cheeks. A crowd of green and silver swallows her after, so he isn’t able to get a good look at who it is, but he does scan the rest of the table — no sign of Zhang Hao. Hanbin knows he did Prefect rounds late last night and never has been one for Quidditch, so he assumes he’ll sleep through the morning game.

For a moment, Hanbin imagines that he’s the one over at the Slytherin table, that he has just asked Zhang Hao to the Yule Ball. He wonders if he would get the same elated and enthusiastic response; something inside him wilts when even in the fantasy of his daydream he knows he wouldn’t. And not simply because he’s fairly sure most of Zhang Hao’s friends don’t care for him, that Grimsby most definitely loathes him, but because there will always be those who whisper behind their hands and turn their nose up and remark snidely upon a relationship like theirs — one between two boys.

He heads out to the Quidditch pitch with a heavy heart. And it’s like the universe heard his thoughts — read his innermost fears and what he was truly worried about once everyone knew he and Zhang Hao were dating — because as he’s heading down the viaduct on the way to the pitch, Hanbin overhears a shrill, nasally voice behind him say: “It’s so embarrassing that both of our Champions are … you know.” A smattering of snickers follow that comment. “And even worse they’re together. I just know they’re going to take the Yule Ball as an opportunity to be absolutely gross, if you know what I mean. I think I speak for everyone when I say no one wants to see that!”

Hanbin gets the suspicion that it’s being said within earshot for his benefit. He should be over comments like this by now; it’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before. He’s never been particularly open about his sexuality — he’s never really had to be after spending six years convinced that the only person he loves would never be interested in him — but he’s not the only gay student at Hogwarts. These derisions are painfully inevitable, especially among circles of students who come from more … traditional Wizarding families. The worst part is they never amount to enough to report to a professor or Head of House, and so all the comments just … exist, get said, lingers on the periphery, or sometimes like now, not so periphery.

“I mean if they want to be together, it’s whatever, I’m not bigoted or anything. But it’s just a little distasteful to shove that in our faces, right?” A slight pause. Hanbin can’t see the group behind him, but he imagines the boy is getting nods and encouraging looks. It turns his stomach. “We all went to watch the First Task, not that kind of show.”

The snickers and snorts are louder this time. Hanbin grits his teeth, staring straight ahead, all too aware that his cheeks have bloomed a bright red, not out of embarrassment but utter outrage — and disgust. He doesn’t dare look around to see if anyone else has heard. It’s a sizable crowd heading down to the Quidditch game. A couple students are a little further ahead of him murmuring together, and there’s a shout at the head of the viaduct of some girl looking for her friend, but if Hanbin can hear the group behind him, he’s sure others can too.

“And another thing—” the sharp voice pipes up again.

But Hanbin can’t stand listening to another thinly veiled attempt to rile him up, another torrent of condescension over who he is. He spins quickly, right in the middle of the walkway, so people have to move around him, so when the group he pinpoints slows to a stop in front of him, he already has a pleasant smile on his face, despite the burning of his cheeks.

“Hey!” someone from the back of the group calls out. A couple girls near the front snigger into their palms. It’s a group of around seven — and Hanbin makes certain to remember all of their faces. He wants to find the one who was talking though.

“Since you all have so many opinions about my performance during the Task,” Hanbin drawls, sweetly. “Let’s hear it then.”

“We didn’t say anything,” one of the girls up front tries to deny.

Until a guy in the middle of the group, slightly short with blond spiky hair and a Ravenclaw’s tie speaks up, “I didn’t mean anything by it.” His voice is acrid and high. “And you’re a Champion. People are going to have thoughts. You should get used to it.”

Hanbin crosses his arms, though his genial smile doesn’t slip from his face. When he speaks his tone conveys his contempt quite clearly though, “I don’t care if you have thoughts — you don’t think I haven’t heard every single one since my name was drawn?”

“Then what’s the big deal? We were just talking. Don’t eavesdrop on a private conversation.”

“The big deal—” Hanbin leans forward, smile sharpening. A tingle is working its way up the base of his spine, the kind that speeds up his heart rate, the kind that tightens his chest and makes him hold his breath, the kind that tells him he’s narrowing in for the kill. “—is that your criticism has nothing to do with my skills as a wizard or even the Task at all.”

“And like I said,” the boy says, having no sense not to double down. “People are going to talk. People are going to have opinions. Maybe you shouldn’t have put your name in the Goblet if you can’t handle the pressure of being a Champion. We don’t need someone like that anyway—”

“Someone like that,” Hanbin sneers, letting out a short, humorless laugh. His smile is so wide now his cheeks ache with it. “Someone like me, you mean. So if I shouldn’t be Champion, who should? Someone like you?”

The boy shuffles, tucking his hands into the pocket of his blue and silver lined robes and looking distinctly uncomfortable under Hanbin’s contemptuous grin. “That’s not what I said. I mean, you’re a good wizard, anyone can see that. It’s just—”

“That I’m gay,” Hanbin says bluntly, not willing to beat around the bush anymore. Not willing to let him get away with being vague and pretending like that isn’t what he meant. “You don’t like me or my performance at the First Task because it reminded you that I like men — that Zhang Hao and I are together.”

Hanbin vaguely notices that a couple people have started lingering on the outskirts of their argument — he doesn’t blame them, he’s practically stopped the flow of traffic.

“When you put it like that, you’re just trying to make me look bad.”

“I think you did a fine job of that on your own.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“We all know what you really meant, even if it’s not what you said out loud. It’s why all your friends laughed, isn’t it?”

And the group shies away, physically backs away, a few of them even flinch when Hanbin’s pulled smile, nearly grotesque in its mockery, travels over all of them once more. “Everyone gets it, but are too afraid to say it out loud, hm? That’s how these things work, right? That’s how you all get away with ‘looking bad’ in public without ever facing any sort of consequences, isn’t it? Next time you, or anyone else,” Hanbin raises his voice, because he might as well make this spectacle worth it. “Has a problem with my sexuality or my being with Zhang Hao — I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mince words. Because I know the only reason you don’t say what you think explicitly is because you can’t stand other people talking about you the way you talk about me.”

“Fifty points from Ravenclaw,” a loud voice cuts in from behind the group.

The boy whips his head around, obviously catching on to the owner of the words before Hanbin. His friends follow suit and between a gap in their bodies Hanbin spots Taerae with his hands on his hips standing behind them.

“What?” The boy sputters out. “Taerae! You can’t!”

“Why? Because I’m also a Ravenclaw?” Taerae sneers. “If you think I’m not above taking points from my own House for flagrant acts of disrespect and, frankly, just embarrassing behavior then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“Five points!” Taerae snaps immediately. “Any more from you lot and I’ll give you detention, too.”

One of the guys furthest away from Hanbin groans and seems to grumble something, but it’s too low for him to make out. Hanbin steps to the side for the group to shuffle defeatedly past him. He feels like his cheeks are going to start flinting off soon for how stiff his grin has become, like granite, but he maintains the terrifying pleasantry until after they’ve all gone. He finally drops his smile when Taerae steps up to his side, linking their arms together and dragging Hanbin the rest of the way down the viaduct. Hanbin resolutely does not look at any of the students whispering and casting both of them wary glances.

“I didn’t realize we were getting a pre-game show, too,” Taerae comments with a squeeze on his arm.

Hanbin sighs. “I would have rather not.”

“I know,” Taerae says compassionately. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s … not new. Not that it makes it better, but it was mostly just how blatantly they knew I could hear that got to me,” Hanbin sighs. “You didn’t have to step in like that. Is that going to cause trouble for you, taking fifty points?”

“Probably,” Taerae snorts. “But you should know, those types of people, you can’t get through to them with words. They’ll never be cowed or embarrassed enough into thinking they’re actually wrong. Sometimes, it’s easiest to just take the points and be done with it.”

Hanbin doesn’t know Taerae very well outside of the once week curfew patrols they did last year. But in this moment, he feels connected to Taerae in the way that their exhaustion and frustration and helplessness is bone deep, despite their stature and the neat Prefect badges pinned to their robes, it’s disheartening to realize they’ll never earn the respect they’re warranted simply because of who they are. Hanbin also gets the sense that this is not the first time Taerae has had to deal with comments like these; it certainly isn’t his either — and he hates that for the both of them.

“Someone has to say something — even if it’s useless.”

“I didn’t say it was useless.” And Taerae gives him such a gentle, kind smile, Hanbin feels those delayed prickles in the corner of his eyes. They always come along with a rush of great anger, with great emotion. He does his best to hold them back, at least until the two of them part ways at the stands, Hanbin to Hufflepuff where he sees Gyuvin sitting with the rest of the team, and Taerae to Ravenclaw, the box filled to the brim.

On Hanbin’s way up the stairs, he spots Ricky jogging down the steps rather hurriedly. What a surprise. “Ricky!” he calls. Ricky nearly misses a whole step and scrambles for the railing just in time to catch himself. Hanbin rushes up to make sure he’s okay.

“What are you doing here?” Ricky mutters. Sweat is making his bangs stick to his forehead, despite the rather cool temperature, and there’s a high flush on his cheeks. It’s probably the most frazzled he’s ever seen him.

“What are you doing here?” Hanbin tilts his head with a bemused smile. “I’m going up to my House’s stands.”

He would say Ricky almost looks nervous, except he quickly slicks back his bangs and leans to the side in a classically unbothered fashion. He actually also looks good — despite Hanbin being fairly sure that if he tried to pull the same thing with his hair he’d look like an electrocuted hedgehog. “Had to grab some Herbology notes from someone,” Ricky shrugs.

“Ah, the Advanced one with five people in it,” Hanbin laughs. “I remember.” That definitely sounds like something a Hufflepuff would take. He expects Ricky to scoot past him then — after the hold up on the viaduct, Hanbin is getting to the stands fairly late and the game is bound to start soon. He hopes Gyuvin has saved him a seat up there.

Except Ricky doesn’t go, he lingers by the railing, an inscrutable look on his face. It almost seems like he zones out for a second, but then his attention focuses back on Hanbin. “Zhang Hao didn’t tell me, by the way.”

“About what?”

“The two of you.”

“Oh,” Hanbin is surprised. He hadn’t meant for it to be a secret like that — he had certainly told Gyuvin and Matthew. He also isn’t sure if Ricky is now blaming him for some sort of rift in their friendship. “It’s not his fault. I asked him to keep it a secret.”

“I know — he told me after that you had wanted to keep it private for a bit. It’s not a big deal.”

Hanbin isn’t really sure where he’s going with this — the same way too many of his conversations have been going recently. “That’s, uh, good. I didn’t really mean for him to keep it from you or his other friends.”

“Zhang Hao is … sincere like that,” Ricky says, crossing his arms. His striking features that always seem a bit otherworldly are suddenly quite intimating with his arch look. The rumor that he’s part Veela crosses Hanbin’s mind again, but he doesn’t think he and Ricky are close enough for him to ask. Ricky continues: “He may be particular and demanding and sometimes annoying, but he rarely ever says something he doesn’t mean. If he makes a promise; he keeps it.”

“I know,” Hanbin has the sudden sense that he needs to defend himself. He stands a little straighter.

“He’s very serious about this, you know?” Ricky clarifies. “About you.”

“I know,” Hanbin says this with a little less confidence.

“He’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on to most people,” Ricky states, reveals, more like. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, his face drawn into somber lines, too serious for a sunny fall afternoon right before a raucous Quidditch game, too foreboding for a casual conversation between two acquaintances who just so happened to run into each other. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Hanbin’s eyes widen as he nods up at Ricky. “I won’t.”

“Promise me.” A slight frown mars the smooth spot between Ricky’s eyes.

“I promise.”

“Ricky, there you are,” a voice from behind Hanbin calls up the stairs. And Hanbin watches Ricky visibly jump for the second time in a span of ten minutes. That voice … Hanbin braces himself as he turns around.

Grimsby stands at the bottom of the stairs, dark-haired and wide-shouldered, the tepid morning sun pooling on the ground behind him, stretching out his shadow. He frowns when he spots Hanbin, but otherwise doesn’t say anything else or make any comments toward him. Surprisingly, his eyes skip right over him back to Ricky. “I was wondering where you ran off to. We’re all sitting up near the top of the stands. You know, in the Slytherin box, which is your House?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Ricky mutters. He smoothly slips past Hanbin on the stairs, not sparing him another glance as he meets Grimsby below. Hanbin briefly hears Ricky saying I was just getting some notes, before the two of them walk out of sight.

Hanbin still hasn’t forgotten what Grimsby said in the Prefects' bathroom that day — during his argument with Zhang Hao. It festers in a pit right in the center of his chest, worse than even what he’d heard from the Ravenclaw, hurtful and enraging in the worst way. But it’s not like he can bring it up to Zhang Hao to tell him that what Grimsby said isn’t true without admitting that he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. So he had tucked it away, a thorn in his side. One that prickles every time he catches sight of the Slytherin captain.

Those sorts of rumors, the way Grimsby had spoken about him, it’s not something that can be dissuaded by the truth, it’s not something that he can disprove. He’s learned the hard way that it’s a deep-seated notion that can’t be undone no matter how hard he tries, no matter how many accolades he gets, no matter that he has received the exact same amount of honors as Gideon — more so now that he’s a TriWizard Champion. That should give him some measure of vindication, some feeling of triumph and closure. That he can continue living his life successfully, letting traditional wizard purists like Gideon fade in hindsight.

And yet, the ugly truth of it is: it haunts him. Because, just like the Ravenclaw earlier, those sorts of people are never alone. And so who else around Grimsby feels this way? It’s not hard to guess out of the obvious candidates — but Hanbin knows those who agree always hide in the shadows created by the looming, foreboding specter these prejudices create, too cowardly to ever speak out. And those are the ones, with unspeakable hate, that make Hanbin second guess every conversation, that hurt him the most.

He finds his gaze straying back down the stairs to where Ricky had disappeared with Grimsby. Via association with Zhang Hao, he had assumed the two of them ran in similar circles — but he hadn’t known they were close. Indeed, when Hanbin finally makes it to the stand, greeting Gyuvin and his other friends distractedly, he sets his eyes to the Slytherin box across the way. He spots the telltale flash of Ricky’s blonde head next to Warren, sitting right below Grimsby. And he can’t quite shake the tight, uneasy feeling in his chest.

Somehow, word has gotten out that TriWizard Champions and newly official boyfriends Sung Hanbin and Zhang Hao do their work together in the Astronomy Tower. Either that or what feels like a quarter of the fourth-years and every Gryffindor currently taking the course suddenly has a very pressing need to finish their charts on Thursday night when Hanbin arrives at the top of the tower.

He pauses in the arched doorway, eyes wide at how packed each of the alcoves are. Suspiciously, and what tells him his first assumption is most likely right, is that his and Zhang Hao’s usual spot across and just slightly to the right of the entrance remains unclaimed despite the many people who seem to just be … milling around. It’s a stage — just waiting for them to fill it.

Well, Hanbin has no desire to do so tonight. He promptly turns on his heels — and tries to hide his smirk when he thinks he hears a gasp from behind him followed by frantic whispering. He hurries down the spiral staircase, speed-walking through the halls so he’ll make it to Zhang Hao’s History of Magic classroom before they’re dismissed, so he can warn him not to bother going up there.

Hanbin misses it by a couple minutes, hearing the faint toll of the bell and the less subtle tromp of footsteps on the stone floors when the classes around him let out. He ducks through an archway and up a set of stairs, eyes scanning the long hallway for a familiar head of dark hair. By the time Hanbin spots him, Zhang Hao is already drawing further and further away, carried on the tide of chattering and bustling students.

Not wanting to call attention to himself, Hanbin wades through the crowd behind him, closing the gap between them slowly. It’s because of all the students around that he doesn’t realize that Zhang Hao is walking with someone until they both round the corner into a less populated area of the castle.

“Zhang Hao,” Hanbin calls out.

His boyfriend pauses his conversation with Violet and turns around, his mouth forming a cute ‘o’ when he spots Hanbin behind them. “Hanbin! I was just going to find you. Are we not doing Astronomy tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Hanbin chuckles.

Zhang Hao frowns. “How come?”

“It’s pretty full up there.”

Violet giggles with her mouth behind a dainty hand, already catching on. “They want a good look at you both. How fun.”

Zhang Hao wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather not be observed like an animal in a cage, thanks.”

“Don’t think of it like that,” Violet insists. “Attention is good. Besides, it makes sense that people are curious — after all that happened during the First Task last weekend. You two should be going around!”

“Going around?” Hanbin asks.

“Spending time together in public,” she elaborates. “You really should be putting your best foot forward together as a couple.”

“It’s not like we’re the Minister and his wife,” Zhang Hao makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat that makes Hanbin giggle.

“No,” Violet titters. “But you are probably the most talked about couple at Hogwarts right now.”

Discomfort spreads through Hanbin’s chest — talked about. Sure, people are talking about them, maybe with the same sort of derision and contempt as that Ravenclaw. “We’re not really trying to make any sort of statement.”

Violet shrugs. “Suit yourself. I think you could really spin it to your advantage though.” Before Hanbin can ask for clarification on that, Violet spots something over his shoulder and squeaks. But I really must be going now! I’m glad you’re doing alright, Zhang Hao. See you both!”

And then she turns on her heels and nearly runs down the hallway. Hanbin turns around to see what spooked her and spots what looks to be a growing group of Slytherins, one boy with a handful of flowers. He feels his lips twitch in sympathy.

“Maybe she should rethink her attention is good philosophy,” Zhang Hao drawls.

For all of Violet’s insistence of upkeeping some sort of status as a couple — she doesn't seem all that eager for romantic attention. “Poor girl.”

“How many invites do you think she’s had?” Zhang Hao smirks, tucking his hand into Hanbin’s arm. They meander through the halls, not really with any destination in mind now that their evening plans have been thwarted. It’s too cold to go out into the courtyard or by the lake at this time of the year, and any other common area indoors like the library, side lounges, Common Rooms has quickly been swarmed by students.

“I heard the count’s gone up to twelve now.”

“And it hasn’t even been a week!” Zhang Hao laughs.

“I wonder who she’ll end up going with,” Hanbin muses.

“Probably someone she deems famous enough.”

“She’ll be hard pressed to find someone like that here,” Hanbin muses.

“What about that Gryffindor — the son of that Tornadoes player you were telling me about?”

“The one who’s somehow terrible at Quidditch despite that?” Hanbin shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

The two of them pass by a high wall of portraits. Up ahead he sees a shimmering, faint blue glow of a ghost. He turns them down the stairs just in case it’s Peeves.

“Maybe Amon Buckling?” he finally suggests. The Ravenclaw is widely thought of as the smartest student in school.

“Too shy,” Zhang Hao comments. “No offense to Amon. I think she’d want someone smart and charming and popular, who ticks every proper box.”

“So you,” Hanbin teases.

“Or you,” Zhang Hao rebuts, squeezing his arm. And then he sighs dramatically. “Too bad for her that I’ve already nabbed the most eligible bachelor in the school.”

“That’s … not even remotely correct.”

“You told me this once before, Sung Hanbin: You really don’t see yourself clearly do you?”

He splutters. “That’s— different!”

“Hm, I don’t think so,” Zhang Hao says primly.

They’ve somehow found themselves down by the trophy room near the entrance hall. Hanbin is just about to suggest that perhaps they see if his dorm is free — or find an empty classroom if they can’t do any better, when a tall figure rounds the corner from the Transfiguration corridor.

Jiwoong looks surprised to see them. And the hold of Zhang Hao’s hand against the crook of his elbow weighs heavy; the press of his shoulder against his own warm. It makes Hanbin highly aware of how they come off — a couple moonlighting through the hallways. Though, isn’t that what they are?

An inscrutable expression flickers over Jiwoong’s features, before it unexpectedly turns into relief. “Good afternoon,” he greets.

Hanbin nods his head, and Zhang Hao replies with a brief. “Good evening.”

It’s somewhat awkward as the three of them linger in the wide hallway. The candlelight on the wall flickers and a pass of wind flutters through from the larger space ahead. Hanbin assumed Jiwoong would simply pass them by, but he lingers, and thus, to not seem rude, so do they.

“It’s good to see you again,” Hanbin smiles, mostly for something to say.

Jiwoong gives him a grin made of smooth marble. “You, too. I’m glad another Hufflepuff has taken on the mantle of Champion. I hope your track record proves to be better than mine.”

Jiwoong hadn’t won in his year — that honor had gone to a student from Durmstrang, who is now currently working at Gringotts as a lawyer. Though Jiwoong didn’t make it out all that poorly either.

“I can only hope mine is as good as yours,” Hanbin replies.

“How come you’re here?” Zhang Hao pipes up. “I heard you came to see the Quidditch game?”

“Ah, actually I had some matters to discuss with the Headmasters,” Jiwoong said. “So I didn’t get to catch the game.”

“About the Second Task?” Hanbin perks up.

Jiwoong shoots them both a teasing smile. “I won’t be giving anything away, even if I am rooting for you both.”

“What happened to school loyalty?” Hanbin goads.

“It’s not anything that would affect the Tournament anyway,” Jiwoong laughs. “Just some trivial Ministry matters.”

“I doubt anything regarding the Department of Mysteries is trivial,” Zhang Hao says.

Despite not winning his Tournament, Jiwoong was hired by one of the most elusive and exclusive departments in the Ministry. One that most wizards work for years to qualify for, not only in terms of their clearance, but only the most skilled wizards are employed by the department due to the experimental and oftentimes dangerous aspects of the material that they work with.

“Not about the department either,” Jiwoong assures. “Simply some misplaced paperwork that I had to come straighten out — boring things, really.”

Hanbin doubts that so many of the judges would need to come in person in order to attend to a paperwork matter, but it is also clear that Jiwoong won’t disclose any more. Even though only a mere five years separates them agewise, standing opposite each other in this corridor, with their rumpled school robes and candy-colored ties on and Jiwoong in his Ministry-emblazoned vest under a sharp-cut suit jacket that sets off his incredibly well-filled out shoulders, Hanbin feels that Jiwoong is far older, far wise, far more experienced than he’ll ever be. It’s chasm between the two of them.

“But I was actually hoping to catch you both before I left,” Jiwoong continues. He glances down the hall as if to check no one had materialized during their quick conversation. He turns back to them with a small smile. “I hear the Hog’s Head has gotten itself cleaned up a bit since I was a student here. I think an evening there for old times sake would do me some good.”

It’s true that the Hog’s Head took down that ominous sign about the sale of unicorn’s blood a few years back. Though Hanbin can’t say he’s ever been in there recently — or ever. But it’s clear what Jiwoong is hinting at. “It is quite a bit nicer,” Hanbin agrees. “The area upstairs could be considered rather … homey now.”

“Excellent, I think I’ll find myself there tonight,” Jiwoong sends both of them a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can catch Montmorency before he leaves as well. He seems to be owing me a pocket watch he borrowed.”

Once Jiwoong disappears back into the entrance hall, Zhang Hao turns to him. “Well, that wasn’t very subtle.”

Hanbin snorts. “No, but it was effective.” He pauses. “We should go right?”

Zhang Hao nods slowly, his expression considering as he glances off in the direction Jiwoong had disappeared to. The slope of his nose is so lovely, the catch of the light on his cheeks enchanting. He turns to find Hanbin staring and shoots him a grin. “Yeah — I’m curious what he wanted to tell us.”

Hanbin considers: “Do you think it’s about what you saw in the pensieve?”

“I haven’t told anyone about that.”

“Maybe it has to do with what he came to talk to the Headmasters about.”

“Maybe it’s just some tips for the Tournament, and he doesn’t want to be caught showing favoritism,” Zhang Hao shrugs.

Honestly, that’s far more likely. But if Zhang Hao has made up his mind to go, Hanbin isn’t going to be left behind. Besides — it’s still a competition. If Jiwoong is giving them tips, he’s not about to let Zhang Hao get ahead.

Hanbin makes great effort to keep his footsteps light, quiet, and quick as he creeps down the dark hallway. He’s taking the long way around to keep out of the way of the Prefects. Around this time at night, just barely past midnight, they would have just started in the North Wing and made their way to the faculty lounge, sweeping through the various study areas on that side of the castle. He’d asked Zhang Hao earlier who would be on patrol tonight — Gunwook and Winston McKinley, a sixth-year Gryffindor Prefect — but he still wants to be cautious. They still don’t know what Jiwoong wishes to tell them, and perhaps it’s best that no one else knows they’re leaving the castle tonight.

A shaft of moonlight streaks in from a stained-glass window up high as Hanbin passes a row of suits of armor. He’s become accustomed to them in the daytime, ignoring them as he rushes to classes or to whatever task awaits him, but gleaming under the moonlight their dulled spears and rounded axes suddenly take on a foreboding, vigilante quality. Like they’re one enchantment, one muttered spell away from coming alive. Hanbin shakes that thought away and rounds the corner into the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He finds it empty.

Hanbin tucks himself into an inconspicuous alcove while he waits for Zhang Hao. The Prefects may not be a problem, but he also knows Mrs. Norris and Filch are always lurking about. He eyes the large tapestry across the hall depicting Barnabas teaching trolls ballet. He snorts a little when one of the trolls spin off the side of the woven frame. Faint footsteps echo down the hall, and Hanbin immediately presses himself against the stone, willing the shadows to hide him. The cloaked figure pauses in front of the tapestry before setting down his hood.

“Zhang Hao, over here,” Hanbin whispers, stepping out of the alcove.

He watches as Zhang Hao leaps three feet into the air, barely able to muffle his yelp in time. He clutches his chest and spins around. “Hanbin! I didn’t see you!”

“That’s the point,” he chuckles. “What took you so long?”

“Got waylaid by a portrait,” Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. “They’re so nosy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Zhang Hao giggles. “Perhaps they’ve done me a favor a time or two though.”

“Yeah, speak for yourself,” Hanbin mutters, earning him a pinch on his side from Zhang Hao. He muffles his laughter as he springs away.

There are a number of different secret passageways in the castle that lead them to Hogsmeade. Apart from the one that he and Gyuvin used last week behind the Gunhilda of Gorsemoor statue — Hanbin knows of two others: one behind a mirror on the fourth floor near the History of Magic classroom that would take them a little ways out of Hogsmeade to a now defunct well. But this one here, this would get the job done the easiest, straight from the Room of Requirement to the portrait in the upper floor of the Hog’s Head.

“How did you find out about this passage?” Hanbin asks once the doorway opens up and they step in. The version of this room with the connecting portrait is a warm-toned lounge with velvet brocade sofas and golden gold frames hung up on the walls. The carpet is thick and lush, and it feels like it belongs in some ancient, wealthy wizard’s mansion.

“My uncle told me about it,” Zhang Hao snorts. “He got a lot of use out of it when he was a student. He figured telling me would get me on his good side.”

“Why does he need to get your good side?”

“Uh, I’ll tell you about that later.”

Hanbin gives Zhang Hao a look out of the side of his eye, but he’s already glancing up at the large portrait of Minister Ulick Gamp to the right of the fireplace.

Zhang Hao rolls his head over to him, giving him a cheeky grin. “How do you know about it?”

“A Hufflepuff upperclassman told me about all of the secret passageways a while ago — and the room. But I’ve never actually used this one before.”

“Hog’s Head not really your crowd?”

“No, no, of course I love grimy floors and feeling like I need a bath in boiling hot water after sitting down on any surface in there,” Hanbin replies sarcastically.

Zhang Hao laughs, loud and wheezing, as he fishes his wand out of his cloak and taps along the gleaming gold of the frame. After completing the pattern, the ornate leaf frame shifts, and the whole painting pops out of the wall, swinging wide open to offer passage into a high, dark tunnel. He glances over at Hanbin, “Shall we?”

Hanbin has no idea where the Room of Requirement is physically placed within the castle walls — he’s not had much use for it, but has come to assume that the location itself also has to do with whatever function it’s called upon for. Which would make a lot of sense that the walk to the Hog’s Head only takes about twenty-minutes, if they’re departing from the side of the castle that is closest to the village.

When they reach the end, Zhang Hao does a similar tapping motion along the dead end wall, which Hanbin quickly realizes when it swings open, is not a dead end wall but instead the back of another portrait; this one of Hesper Gamp. They kick up some dust as they shuffle out of the tunnel, and gather up even more filth when Hanbin turns to click the portrait back into place.

The upper floor of the Hog’s Head is a sight for sore eyes despite any rumors of “improvement.” Grime nearly covers the two windows on their left; the corners dark with mold and soot, with only a small round middle to let in a faint glow from the lamp post outside. Candles are lit around the room, dripping wax, sometimes straight onto the creaky wooden floor. The chairs are worn through and fraying at the edges, and the small table in the center has one leg chopped off. Instead it’s propped on a few dusty thick-cover books. Hanbin thinks the top one looks like a guide for Dark Arts.

And sitting gingerly on the edge of an armchair — because it looks so old that if he perhaps leaned back further he would actually fall straight through and be sitting on the floor — is Jiwoong, sipping on a questionable mug in his hand. “Fancy seeing you two here,” he smirks.

“Have you been waiting long?” Hanbin asks, swiping his hand out to brush off a stray cobweb that seems to have clung onto the back of Zhang Hao’s cloak. Zhang Hao shoots him a grateful look before eyeing up the sofa. The two settle on it gingerly, careful to pitch their bodies forward — also because Hanbin wouldn’t put it past the cushions to have bed bugs.

Jiwoong shakes his head. “It’s all good — I’ve just been having a nightcap. I’m glad you decided to come. Drinks?” He looks between the two of them who both give him vigorous shakes of their head. Jiwoong is far braver than them.

“So, why did you want to get us all the way out here?” Zhang Hao asks, cutting right to the chase.

Jiwoong clears his throat and sets his mug down. His mouth pulls into something similar to a grimace, the fire playing across his features, sinking his eyes in deeper, making the elevated bridge of his nose sharper. “I didn’t want to speak in the castle, because it’s not something Flamel would approve of you knowing. But I think it’s important for you to be aware — even if it may not be true.”

Hanbin doesn’t miss the fact that Jiwoong doesn’t look away from Zhang Hao as he speaks. “It’s about the pensieve, isn’t it?”

“Yes, from the First Task,” Jiwoong nods. “Which inherently makes what I’m going to tell you two hard to prove. That’s Flamel’s main argument for keeping you in the dark — which I understand. There’s no need to cause a stir or warn you both over nothing. But after what has already happened, that’s enough of a reason for me.”

Jiwoong laughs a little bitterly. “And perhaps a measure of guilt. I helped work on the pensieve for this Task. And I won’t deny that the bit of magic used to enchant it is complicated and prone to hiccups. But that’s not an excuse; I’ve done a fair bit of work with memories at the department … I should have done a better job of protecting you all.”

Zhang Hao sits up straighter next to Hanbin, tensing at the mention of the pensieve. “It’s not your fault,” Zhang Hao says quietly. “I don’t know how much you know about what happened to me, but I know that memories aren’t easy to control.”

A corner of Jiwoong’s mouth ticks up in a wry smile. “You’d actually be a perfect fit for the department, if you’re ever interested. A lot of us have … personal reasons for being there.”

Hanbin hadn’t known that about Jiwoong — he had always seemed so well-adjusted at Hogwarts, so successful, so well-liked. Just like Zhang Hao.

“Thank you, but I’m quite set on St. Mungos.” Zhang Hao returns Jiwoong’s smile with a wry one of his own. “If they’ll have me.”

“If they don’t, you know where to find me.”

Zhang Hao gives him a nod in acknowledgement.

“But about the pensieve?” Hanbin prompts.

“Right,” Jiwoong nods, getting back on topic. “The enchantment on the pensieve was done by myself, Flamel, and Professor Endo. It took a fair bit of research and asking a few of my colleagues for help in order to devise the right sort of layering of spells to ensure the memories you all would see. As you probably know by now, you both were not supposed to end up in the same one.”

They both give quick nods, almost in sync.

Jiwoong sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “But obviously, something went very wrong. At first, we assumed it was simply the pensieve being unpredictable, memories being uncontrollable, an unfortunate, but frankly typical, malfunction. But this past week, I had the opportunity to collect the pensive and bring it back to the Ministry, where I did a bit more looking into it myself and … I believe the pensive was tampered with some time after the three of us enchanted it, before it made its way into the middle of the fire that day.”

“Tampered?” Hanbin asks, apprehensive. His skin prickles with awareness, and suddenly every shadow in the room looks suspicious, suddenly he feels like he’s being watched. “How?”

“Additional spells that were not authorized by the three of us.”

“What spells?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Jiwoong leans back in his chair. Thankfully, the bottom doesn’t drop out from under him. “All I know for sure is that there were definitely a few counter-charms, to remove some of the fail safes that we had placed on it. If I had to guess, something to counteract our Fianto Duri and the Salvio Hexia as well, to allow whoever was doing the tampering to perform additional hexes.”

“So how do you not know what they cast?” Hanbin asks, not meaning for it to be accusatory, but wincing when it comes out that way. “Sorry, I mean, if you could detect the counter-charms. What makes them different from the hexes placed?”

Jiwoong gives him a small nod, forgiving him quickly. “I only know about the counter-charms because I know which protective spells were placed, and how to check if they are still there,” he explains. “Unfortunately, the pensieve itself is an incredibly magic item similar to the Goblet of Fire. It does not take to enchantments — or hexes — easily. It could be that whoever hexed it fundamentally altered the magic of the pensieve and therefore it is impossible to detect now. Or, it could even be that they tried, but failed.”

“They definitely did something,” Zhang Hao speaks for the first time since Jiwoong started explaining. He leans forward a bit, his jaw clenched, his eyes wide. “Something happened to the pensieve that kept me trapped in there.”

“We aren’t sure yet,” Jiwoong admits. “It’s why Headmaster Flamel didn’t want to say anything. It is highly likely that someone did tamper with it, but we cannot yet be sure whether or not they were successful, if the target was even you. Perhaps they meant for it to happen to someone else. Perhaps they didn’t care who it happened to and just wanted to cause a bit of chaos for the Task. There are too many unknowns at the moment.”

“But you don’t really believe that. You wouldn’t have asked us to come tonight if you did,” Zhang Hao’s voice has gone flat. Not exactly hostile, just numb. Hanbin reaches his hand over; Zhang Hao’s fingers are like ice.

“Right … I don’t really believe that,” Jiwoong says, frowning. “But I’m also not a hundred-percent sure that you’re truly in any danger. And I don’t have any more to tell you at the moment. But I think you should know, so you can decide for yourself whether you wish to stay in the Tournament.”

“It’s a binding contract,” Hanbin reminds him.

“There have been witches and wizards who, for whatever reason, have been unable to complete the Tournament in the past,” Jiwoong says, shaking his head. “They say it’s binding — in a way it is, but it can be broken. The only magical agreement that is truly unbreakable is—”

“An Unbreakable Vow,” Zhang Hao confirms.

“Exactly,” Jiwoong nods. “You can both forfeit if you wish. I can’t tell you what the consequences of doing so is, but it is your choice.”

“What about the other Champions?” Hanbin asks. “Should they not be warned as well? It could very well be that they could have been caught up in the pensieve instead of us.”

“You know more than you’re letting on,” Zhang Hao accuses. His fingers, still bitterly cold, tightens around Hanbin’s hand, nails digging into his palm, but he doesn’t shake Zhang Hao off. “You’re not just here to do just paperwork, are you?”

“I’m not,” Jiwoong grimaces. “And I’m sorry about lying before, but I am being honest when I say this is all I know so far. The ‘paperwork’ I’m here for is unrelated to all this and strictly Ministry business, I promise.”

Hanbin smiles at Jiwoong, laying his other hand over Zhang Hao’s, rubbing it gently to soothe him. “We appreciate you telling us, even if you were told by Flamel not to.”

“He may be the Headmaster, but I’m no longer in school,” Jiwoong chuckles. “And when it comes to other people’s safety — we fundamentally disagree. He prioritizes keeping the peace, but I think being honest is most important. You don’t have to make a decision tonight though.”

Hanbin looks over at Zhang Hao to find him already looking back at him. They share a long look, without words, but in his expression Hanbin sees the same sort of sheer courage and fierce concern as when their gazes had met at the announcement of Champions, what feels like months ago instead of mere weeks. And like in that moment, Hanbin knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Thank you, Jiwoong,” Zhang Hao finally smiles, though it’s brittle.

Jiwoong nods, eyeing both of them warily. “If you need anything, you can send me an owl. I’ll be in touch if I discover anything else I feel like you both should know. But I would greatly caution you against looking into this on your own. Do you understand?”

The look they share this time is brief, fleeting. But instantly, Hanbin knows they’re agreed on this, too. “We understand,” he lies.

Their departure is quick and without fanfare. They bid Jiwoong goodnight, and slip back behind the painting of Hesper Gamp. The walk back to school is quiet; both of them in deep contemplation. The Room of Requirement is quiet when they return apart from the soft click of the ornate gold leaves around Ulick Gamp’s portrait locking back into place. Ulick himself sits primly and properly atop a floral-patterned armchair, his eyes flickering down at them, mouth twisted in disapproval.

Zhang Hao walks over to one of the opulent sofas, sitting down on it heavily. Hanbin hovers by his side, unsure.

“I know it’s late … ” Zhang Hao says, his voice breaking the muffle of silence around them. He pauses as if internally struggling to ask Hanbin for what he wants. “But I just need to talk all of this through. And … I want to tell you — about everything. What happened during my first year. I think it’ll help you understand why all this is happening.”

Hanbin doesn’t dare breathe, he doesn’t dare blink. In the Hospital Wing, he had gotten just a taste of it: Zhang Hao’s trust and vulnerability. And it had been a potent, heedy thing. A bindable, tangible proof of his devotion and commitment — once he tells Hanbin his secret, he can never take it back. But more than that, it feels like a blessing. He knows this is a part of Zhang Hao that is hard-earned, something he doesn’t share with just anyone. And it is with reverent awe that Hanbin sits down next to him on the sofa, taking his hands in his own.

“Of course. Whatever you want,” Hanbin assures, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Zhang Hao’s hands. “We can stay as long as you want. All night, if you need.”

Zhang Hao relaxes slightly at that, shooting Hanbin a grateful smile. “Hopefully it won’t be until morning, we have another day of classes tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t mind spending the whole night with you,” Hanbin says, coquettish and no longer as shy — because if he’s learned anything after these few weeks with Zhang Hao, it’s that he likes it when he’s forward, when he flirts.

And just like he predicted, a curling satisfaction laces itself to Zhang Hao’s mouth. “Under different circumstances, I would very much like that.” He then tucks himself up onto the chair, long legs curling up, his side completely leaning into Hanbin. He lets Zhang Hao make himself comfortable. Eventually, moving his legs so they drape over his own, the two of them leaning back on the couch.

And then Hanbin waits.

It always takes a bit for Zhang Hao to gather his thoughts. Hanbin wants so badly to help; he wants to take apart his reservations, the many barriers he must have erected over the years, with his bare hands, but Hanbin also understands that this is something only Zhang Hao can do — something only he can choose to do himself. And so the next best thing he can do is give him the space and time to do so. In the midst of his contemplative silence, Zhang Hao mindlessly plays with Hanbin’s hand, bending his fingers, twisting them with his own. And when he’s ready, he begins.

“You probably know the general gist of it already. Even if you weren’t here when it happened. I also only remember the events immediately leading up to it, and then what other people have told me over the years,” he starts.

“I disappeared sometime during January of my first year. It was after the break, because I remember going home and everything being fine over Christmas with my family. We had a big party at our house that year — Ricky, Gideon, and a bunch of other students who are family friends came over. I’ve checked with a fair number of them, and no one remembers anything out of place or suspicious happening. According to my own memories and everyone else’s, it had been a completely unremarkable holiday.

“And the thing is, I still remember it quite well, down to the present I’d gotten from my parents: a pair of expensive dueling gloves. About a week later, I came back to school. And the night before classes resumed, I went to sleep like normal — and then nothing.”

Zhang Hao lifts his eyes up from their overlapping fingers, except his gaze is slightly unfocused, as if he’s seeing Hanbin but also a myriad of other memories and thoughts overlaid on top of his features. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“They won’t tell me that I was kidnapped, let alone who they think it was. I’ve only been able to piece together that I didn’t simply wander off on my own based on various slip-ups, mainly from my mother when she drinks.” Zhang Hao’s expression turns wry; Hanbin smooths his thumb over the back of his hand. “She once talked about losing me to ‘them’. But she caught herself quickly and has never given me any clue about who she was referring to. And of course neither the Ministry, nor Flamel, have been forthcoming.”

Hanbin gets that same spooked feeling he had back at the Hog’s Head. The only that makes him think every shadow cast by the roaring fire — behind the armchair, under the table, in the corners of the room — hides a phantom with claws that will dart out at any moment to snatch Zhang Hao away; that whoever “they” are, they are somehow listening in to this conversation right now. He tightens his hold on Zhang Hao’s hand. And it’s Zhang Hao’s turn to soothe the soft pads of his fingers over his palm.

“I get it,” Zhang Hao murmurs, seeing Hanbin’s reaction. “I spent many, many, many years afraid, terrified even. You can imagine my first and second years were especially bad.” He gives a short, humorless laugh. “If I’m being honest, the feeling, the paranoia of it all still hasn’t fully gone away, but I can’t— won’t live that way.”

Hanbin has always been in awe of Zhang Hao. For his intelligence, his beauty, his kindness, his will and determination — but once more Hanbin is floored in the face of his utter bravery, his fierce resistance to being intimidated. “I can’t believe you came back.”

“They changed my dorm, of course. Moved me in with some sixth-years, which is why Ricky and I are in the same room. But … let’s just say I still have a lot of trouble sleeping.”

Hanbin remembers that, from Zhang Hao’s argument in the bathroom with Grimsby. That he said he’d barely slept all week. He knows that Zhang Hao does more Prefect rotations than anyone else, and he’s always chalked it up to just his obligation of being Head Boy. Hanbin’s heart pangs in sympathy — now he knows, it’s preferable to spend the night alert and roaming the halls, cognizant of all the things that could go wrong, than helpless in bed. Hanbin tightens his hold on their hands, so intertwined now it’s hard to tell where each of their hands start and end.

“Frustratingly, I’ve made very little progress on who they are. Though I’ve been assured many times by my family, Flamel, the Ministry Aurors who took my case that I’m no longer in any danger,” Zhang Hao sighs.

Hanbin frowns. “How can they be sure?”

“I’m assuming it’s because they know, and they’ve already been apprehended. That’s my hope at least.”

“Then why won’t they tell you?”

“I don’t know,” Zhang Hao says, ire and resentment bleeding into his tone. “I don’t know why they won’t tell me anything, why it’s my life that has been affected the most and yet they all just expect me to continue to live it like nothing has happened. That they think I’ll just go along like a good little son, a good little student who can’t think or deduce things for himself!”

After his outburst, Zhang Hao seems to catch himself, his expression schooling into something a bit more tame, though still unhappy. He leans his head on Hanbin’s shoulder, wilting a little. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Not at all — I don’t want you to hold back,” Hanbin insists. “I want to know everything, and that includes all the bad as well.”

“They’ve assured me that it’s safe enough for me to return to school, live my life, go home. I don’t need anyone watching over me, which is, honestly, a relief. But there are still so many things I don’t know — who they are, what their purpose was, why I was taken in the first place, and why my memories are being kept from me.”

Hanbin freezes, eyebrows immediately pulling tight. Because— “Kept from you?” he asks incredulously. “They’re keeping your memories from you? I always assumed that your memory loss was—”

“From some sort of accident? Or perhaps from the time I was taken?” Zhang Hao completes his thought.

Hanbin nods, mutely, bewildered and increasingly incensed.

“I thought so too at first. I told them I couldn’t remember a thing in a panic, expecting them to help me. Only for them to pretty much tell me that they’ve locked away my memories for my own good.”

Zhang Hao lets out a pained, rough, cutting sort of laugh. The kind that curdles Hanbin’s insides, the kind that rouses a profound sort of anger in him, a deep sense of injustice. “I don’t know how you haven’t burnt this place to the ground by now,” he says, darkly, having half a mind to do something like that himself.

“I might have been tempted a time or two,” Zhang Hao shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. And as if their long night has suddenly caught up to him, Zhang Hao’s face splits into a wide yawn.

“Do you want to … get more comfortable,” Hanbin offers. “While you talk?”

Zhang Hao nods, mumbling a “thanks, Binie” as the two of them maneuver around on the seat until Zhang Hao’s head is successfully pillowed against his chest and both of their long, long legs are able to splay out towards one end of the sofa. “Now, where was I?"

“Those bastards locked away your memory,” Hanbin prompts.

Zhang Hao snorts. “Apt description — though you probably just mean one bastard: Headmaster Flamel.”

“He wouldn’t,” Hanbin gasps, but even he doesn’t really believe that. It makes sense; even as a first year, he hadn’t missed the frequent trips Zhang Hao made to both the infirmary and Flamel’s office. But of course, Hanbin hadn’t even come close to the true nature of the visits.

“Of course he would, he’s an exceptional wizard,” Zhang Hao mocks. “And just like everyone else, he insists it’s for my own good. Of course, he couldn’t just decide to do it himself. It’s Ministry-approved, signed off by my own parents. All because they think this will protect me.”

Hanbin can’t begin to imagine how betrayed Zhang Hao feels, how alone, how frustrated. “That’s not protection, that’s just ignorance.”

“To Flamel, they might as well be the same thing.”

“So they’ve just stolen your memories forever?” Hanbin tightens his hold around him.

Zhang Hao gently pats at his chest, as if he’s the one who needs to be soothed. “Not forever. Flamel says that when it’s safe for me to remember, my mind will automatically unlock those memories. Of course, it’s a tricky sort of charm he’s placed on my brain. One that even he can’t undo now.”

“But if they told you that you’re safe now … why haven’t you remembered?”

“That’s the same question I’ve been asking them — and myself — for years. It means they’re keeping something from me,” Zhang Hao laughs bitterly, the puff of air landing somewhere around Hanbin’s collar. “My best guess is maybe I experienced some sort of trauma when I was taken. Something they don’t want to deal with, can’t deal with yet. Sometimes,” and Zhang Hao’s voice gets quiet, timid. “I wonder if they’re right — that maybe once my memories unlock I’ll experience some sort of horrendous psychic break and go mad.”

“You won’t.” Hanbin knows that for certain. “If all of this proves nothing else, it’s that you’re the most resilient person I’ve ever known.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Zhang Hao mumbles, but he presses a little closer, his nose pushing up against the tender skin of Hanbin’s neck. “You have no idea how many times my sanity has barely hung on by a thread.”

“But you’re still here. And you’re doing better than any other witch or wizard would in your situation.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Hanbin says with conviction and confidence. He would stake his life on this. He would bind his life to Zhang Hao’s, his mind to his, if only to prove to him how much faith he has in him.

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao mumbles.

“Thank you for telling me,” Hanbin whispers back, humbled and in awe, and yet still simmering with rage. “Do you think what Jiwoong said tonight, what happened with the pensieve, is related to all this? I can’t even imagine— Merlin, how difficult it must have been for you to get in there during the Task. How could they make you do that?”

“I doubt they knew I’d be competing when they made these Tasks. Flamel did call me to his office right after the selection; he’d been incredibly cryptic back then,” Zhang Hao snorts. “Like he usually is, warning me to be careful during the Tournament. He must have known the pensieve would cause problems, even before everything went to shit.”

Hanbin rubs his hand up and down Zhang Hao’s arm. He gets a light graze of lips against his collarbone in return — all simple gestures of comfort.

“It’s hard for me to believe it’s unrelated,” Zhang Hao whispers.

Hanbin flicks his gaze to the shadows around the room. Nothing there. The prickling feeling at the back of his neck doesn’t abate though. “What did Flamel say when he called you into his office earlier this week?”

“Nothing, as usual,” Zhang Hao scoffs bitterly. “He’d been far more concerned about interrogating me over the memory I had seen. And certainly wouldn’t share anything in turn. Just kept insisting that there was no reason for me to be worried; that I was still safe. But if I was … this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Did you tell him about the mirror?” Hanbin has a hard time believing that.

“No,” Zhang Hao confirms. “I told him the memory faded to nothing after the maze. I’m not sure if he believed me, but there’s no way he’s going to get it out of me without veritaserum.”

“Maybe you should tell Jiwoong what you saw — he might be able to ask around about it, too.”

Zhang Hao’s hair lightly brushes against his chin when he shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s anything he can do right now. And besides, I get the feeling he’s not telling us the full truth either.”

The silence stretches for such a long time, and despite Hanbin’s whirring thoughts, the prickle he feels against his heart every time he thinks about how much Zhang Hao has suffered, the crackle of the fire is rhythmic, and the weight of Zhang Hao’s body on top of his own is grounding. He finds himself sinking deeper and deeper into the sofa.

“I want to go see the mirror in person, in Flamel’s office,” Zhang Hao says after some time, like he’s made up his mind. “Will you help me?”

It’s a near impossible task; Hanbin can’t think of any scenario where the Headmaster’s office will suddenly become accessible. But despite his doubts, Hanbin doesn’t hesitate when he answers. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

“To wake embedded in warm weight of limbs
Never till now so wholly in repose,
Then to detach your body, strand by strand
From his; but slumbering, mumurous a moment
He confidently drowns again. His arms
Gather you closer, stirring to take leave,
The birds' hushed rapture ushering the dawn.”
— Carolyn Kizer, The Light

Zhang Hao

There’s something on his back. Zhang Hao jolts awake in an unfamiliar, dark room with the awareness that a weight is pressing against his lower back. He tenses in panic, preparing to fight his way up until he hears a soft snuffle by his ear followed by a contented sigh. Ah, Hanbin. Zhang Hao relaxes quickly, the previous night coming back to him.

Their conversation had ebbed and flowed, drifting from lighter topics like their courses for the week and Matthew’s raucous celebration after the Quidditch match back to the Second Task and the glaring hole in Zhang Hao’s memory. There had been moments, memories ironically enough, that Zhang Hao thought would be painful to speak of, that he tries not to dredge up in the day to day, but under those brazen, observant eyes that Hanbin wears so well, it had actually been helpful, even healing, to speak about them. Hanbin had allowed him to stop and start and fumble with his words, had accepted all of him with grace — and rage.

He remembers Hanbin’s anger the most. And Zhang Hao can’t help but feel vindicated by it. There have been other people angry on his behalf in the past: his parents, Gideon, Ricky, other family and friends, particularly in the years immediately following the incident. But Zhang Hao’s fixation on it, none of them understand that. And he’s slowly been left to carry the torch of his fury alone — further down this path than all of them, perhaps for the rest of his life. He wonders, briefly, how long Hanbin will stay angry.

Hanbin, who is currently drooling quite badly onto an embroidered couch pillow. Zhang Hao snorts softly, and Hanbin snuffles again at the brief disturbance in the air around him, mouth pursing in the most darling way. There are no windows in the room and the fireplace had gone out sometime during the night, leaving them in the dark. There’s only one candle sconce lit on the far side of the room, by the doorway, and it’s barely enough to make out the details of the room. The clearest thing he can see is the white of Ulick Gamp’s eyes, judging and slow to blink. But the former Minister remains silent, sitting imperiously in his proud frame.

Stretching silently, and allowing Hanbin’s hand on the small of his back to slip off, Zhang Hao props himself up on his elbows to take a look around. He sees a clock-shape on the mantle above the banked coals of the fire and squints his eyes— and bolts straight up in alarm.

“Hanbin!” He yelps, reaching over to shake him awake with great urgency. “Hanbin, wake up! It’s half-past nine!”

“What? Hu—” Hanbin jolts awake, legs spasming for a second as he takes in a gasp. He blinks a few times up at Zhang Hao, who has already leaped off the couch, running to the pile of their discarded robes on the armchair in front of the fireplace.

“Classes started thirty minutes ago!” Zhang Hao bemoans. “Oh no, oh no.” He rummages through their things in the semi-dark, doing up his tie halfway only to realize he hadn’t buttoned his shirt and tugging the knot loose against so he can.

He hears Hanbin gasp from behind him, as if the deluge of information upon waking up has just caught up to him. And then soon after another pair of hands join the pile. Hanbin snatches up a robe and hastily puts it on before running his hands down his dark slacks to smooth them out. Zhang Hao knows he has DADA with the ever-unforgiving Professor Endo this morning — late twice in one semester. He winces, he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing much of Hanbin this week at all.

The two of them share rushed goodbyes as they run out of the room, Hanbin down to the dungeons and Zhang Hao to the North Tower for Divination. As he pants up two flights of stairs, Zhang Hao combs his fingers through his hair and makes sure his shirt is tucked in the back, hoping his robe covers any of the more obvious wrinkles after spending a night in it. The motions are jerky and unpracticed. He never does this. This is entirely unlike him — and thus, it’s to no surprise that every pair of eyes in the classroom jumps to him as soon as he opens the door.

Professor Burbage, who was pacing the front of the room reading from a textbook, pauses and glances up over his spectacles. “Ah, Zhang Hao. You are late.” It sounds less like an accusation from a professor and more a vague, perhaps surprised observation.

“I’m sorry. I overslept,” Zhang Hao mumbles. He really should have come up with a better excuse — he could have feigned Head Boy duties, an emergency in the common room, even falling off one of the moving staircases.

But Burbage doesn’t seem to care, simply nodding and waving his hand towards the empty chair next to Taerae as an indication that he should take his seat. “I see, I see. Well, I am obliged to deduct House points, even if you are Head Boy. Five points from Slytherin, I suppose. Now, where was I? Ah! Over the years, various witches and wizards have long thought to unravel the mysteries of the mind’s fanciful thoughts …”

Zhang Hao hurries to his seat while Burbage continues to read, tuning out his words immediately as he tries not to meet anyone’s gaze on his way to his table. It’s only when he sits down does he realize he doesn’t have his bag with him. Taerae gives him an arched look, but pushes his book so the two of them can share. Dreams. Burbage’s airy and animated voice from the front of the room finally registers: A dream is not only a dream. It is a multi-faceted, multi-layered message from the universe waiting for you to decode.

It’s also at this moment that Zhang Hao becomes aware of a low murmur around the room underneath Burbage’s breathy drone. A Ravenclaw girl to his right giggles into her palm and then leans over to whisper to her friend sitting next to her. Zhang Hao tries to keep his expression smooth as he stares resolutely at the front of the room. And yet he can’t help but notice small flickers of the whites of students’ eyes as they dart their gazes back to look at him and Taerae — or just him. His brows draw together. What is going on?

Zhang Hao looks to his other side to see a Slytherin boy — Melton Prott — nudge his friend with a sly smirk on his face. Both of them glance in his direction, but quickly avert their gazes as soon as they notice him looking. Burbage seems to be paying the general disarray of his class no attention though as he waves his hand in a wide arc and then jabs at a passage in the book. Only a few students at the front of the class, Ravenclaws, are even paying him any attention.

After a bit more droning on, Burbage finally dismisses them to work through a few practical dream interpretation problems. Zhang Hao immediately turns to Taerae, who is already glancing at him with a knowing glimmer in his eye that only serves to irritate him more.

“What?” Zhang Hao snaps.

“In a rush this morning?” Cryptic, as usual. Annoying Ravenclaw.

“I woke up late,” Zhang Hao says primly, repeating his excuse for Burbage. If he’s being honest, most of his annoyance is with himself. He’s never overslept before; mainly because he does not sleep much, but also because he’s responsible, he’s Head Boy for a reason. He’s an impeccable student with an impeccable record, and it bothers him that his perfect attendance is now ruined.

A frustration that Taerae does not seem to care a bit about as he smirks at him and leans his chin on his folded hands. “Any particular reason?”

A smattering of giggles behind them has Zhang Hao turning quickly, only to catch a furtively whispered “did you see …” before their voices lower and he can’t make out anything else. He turns back to Taerae. “Not really. Stop interrogating me.”

“You don’t normally oversleep that’s all,” Taerae says, shrugging.

“I know,” Zhang Hao sighs.

“… You also don’t normally show up in a Hufflepuff tie.”

Zhang Hao whips his head down so fast he risks snapping his neck. And right there, knotted rather sloppily and tucked under his collar is Hanbin’s canary yellow and charcoal-black tie. Zhang Hao’s ears heat immediately as he fully realizes the horror of having traipsed around the castle and boldly waltzed into this room wearing his boyfriend’s tie for everyone to see. He reaches up to clutch at it, as if his thin fingers will be able to hide the incriminating colors from everyone else — who have all clearly already seen.

“How could you not tell me?” Zhang Hao hisses at Taerae.

“I just did, didn’t I?” Taerae replies with a Cheshire grin. “Besides, it looks good on you. Yellow is really your color.”

And despite his embarrassment, a part of him horribly, unexpectedly likes that. Zhang Hao’s hand wavers over the offending tie. Technically, taking it off would be a dress code violation, whereas keeping it … well, the uniform guidelines don’t say they have to wear their own ties. Zhang Hao slowly lowers his hand as Taerae’s eyebrows inch up.

“Not going to take it off?”

“It would be a violation,” Zhang Hao mutters, pointedly not looking him in the eyes. “I can’t get more points deducted.”

Taerae snorts. “Sure, sure.”

At that moment, Melton leans over with a sly grin. “Had a good time last night?”

Zhang Hao stiffens but he doesn’t sense any sort of judgment from Melton, just some good ‘ole ribbing. Might as well play into it if they’re all going to assume anyway. He sits a little straighter, aware that the girls to his right are eavesdropping raptly. He allows a smug smile to unfurl. “Why, yes, I did.”

Melton snickers, elbowing him in the arm a bit. “Good for you.”

Thankfully, as the class goes on the whispers mostly subside along with the novelty. Zhang Hao does catch a couple girls giving him sideways glances, but he does his best to ignore them as he and Taerae complete their work. A few minutes before the end of class, Burbage calls over the general chatter of students who had stopped doing the assignment at least twenty minutes ago.

“I have left my notes in the journals you all handed in last week. Very interesting stuff in there, very interesting. Please pick them up and continue working on them. We will revisit them in next week’s class and explore the intricacies of your dreams!”

There’s a general rumble of chairs and crescendo of chattering as class is dismissed. Zhang Hao follows Taerae to the front of the room, hearing a Slytherin girl whispering to her friend “I heard he wasn’t in the dorms last night!” right behind them. Fantastic.

“Mister Zhang,” Burbage says as they approach, though he does not look up from some mysterious scribbling he’s doing on his desk. “If you could stay after for a moment.”

Taerae shoots him a sympathetic look, but quickly ducks out of the room after picking up his leather-bound journal, making his escape while he can. Zhang Hao hangs around awkwardly next to Burbage’s desk as a few last students also grab their books. It almost feels as if he — and his tie — are on display as they walk past him. Melton gives him another wink before he slinks out of the door and down the stairs. Finally, everyone is gone, but Burbage still continues with his head down as if he had forgotten that he had asked Zhang Hao to stay. He gets a good look at his scribbling, and Burbage seems to be making multiple circles of varying sizes on a page. He figures it’s best not to ask.

Zhang Hao clears his throat. When Burbage still doesn’t look up, he makes a point of saying, “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”

Finally realizing that someone is still here, he picks his head up, hand pausing mid-circle. He squints at Zhang Hao for a bit before picking up large round spectacles from the table and slipping them on over his bulbous nose. His magnified eyes finally focus on his face. “Ah, yes, yes, very good. Not to worry. You are a most excellent student.”

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He shuffles a bit, unsure. “Was that all, sir?”

“Ah, no, there was something else I wished to discuss. You see, I couldn’t help but notice—”

Surely he’s not going to talk to him about the tie.

“—that your dream journal was curiously empty, Mister Zhang.”

Ah, that. “Sorry,” Zhang Hao finds himself apologizing twice within the same amount of minutes. “But I explained when you assigned them to us, sir. I don’t have dreams.” It’s not entirely the truth. He does have them. He knows because he wakes up screaming from them — but he can never remember what they are, only short, dark, abyssal snatches. Gone as soon as wakefulness takes him again, certainly not enough for him to jot them down in some dream journal.

“We all dream,” Burbage says sagely. His wide eyes haven’t blinked.

“Uh, perhaps so, sir. But I don’t remember my dreams at all. So I don’t have anything to write.”

“Sometimes our dreams elude us for a reason, Mister Zhang.”

He’s fairly sure his elude him because the memory that they relate to have been locked away in his mind, and thus, his brain conjures up its worst imaginations, cannibalizing itself in its attempt to fill in the missing pieces. But he’s not about to tell Burbage that.

“In lieu of recording your mysterious dreams then, please jot down a few lines about your feelings before and after you sleep. Perhaps that will help us divine some clues as to your mindset while you are asleep, hm?”

He doesn’t want to do that. But he also doesn’t want to score poorly in Divination of all subjects. It’s supposedly the easiest course on his schedule. “Yes, I’ll do that from now on, sir.”

“Fantastic, I am eagerly awaiting the future we can unlock in that little brain of yours!”

“You and me both,” Zhang Hao says sarcastically, though he doesn’t think Burbage picks up on it. He’s dismissed soon after and hastily takes his chance to leave, nabbing his empty journal and booking it down the stairs.

He really should go back to his dormitory to swap ties. But the chat with Burbage had already cut between the time before his next class, Potions. Which he has with Professor Endo. He simply doesn’t have enough time, Zhang Hao tells himself. He rushes down the corridor, Hanbin’s bright yellow tie flashing under the streaking sun.

As soon as he’d gotten Flamel’s summons, Zhang Hao had known he would have to lie — convincingly. He still isn’t sure he had quite pulled it off, still isn’t sure Flamel won’t call him back in for another interrogation — because that’s what it was. No matter how much it had been couched in concern, as his meetings with the Headmaster always are, or how much Flamel had tried to reassure him that everything is fine, Zhang Hao has been subjected to it enough times to know when it is a questioning. Similarly to when Flamel had drilled him on his memories all those years ago, he’d been trying to figure out what he knows. To protect himself? Maybe. To protect his secrets? Definitely.

Being back in that room had been … difficult. He’d had to constantly remind himself that he was not back in the pensieve. He would focus on tangible differences: the hot cup of steaming tea, untouched, in front of him; Flamel sitting in the same armchair he had kissed Hanbin in, the two visages evoking wildly differing emotions in him; the curtains pulled shut around the alcove that he now knows contains the mirror. Not that he dared to look more than once. It had been an excruciating two hours, going over and over with Flamel what he had seen — or not seen — lying through his teeth. He’d come out of there completely exhausted. And completely determined. Flamel is hiding something, he’s sure of it now more than ever.

Unfortunately, every idea he has to gain access to that mirror is easily foiled. Despite knowing exactly where the entrance to Flamel’s office is, a simple revelio isn’t enough to gain access. There is some sort of physical component to it, similar to the way the goblins in Gringotts open their safes, a mechanism that can only be unlocked by a specific touch. Despite having seen Flamel do so on multiple occasions, Zhang Hao doesn’t feel confident in replicating it — at least not enough that it won’t risk triggering some sort of alarm that warns Flamel. He has also never been left alone in the office once he was inside. Zhang Hao feels relatively confident in his ability to get an audience with the Headmaster, but once there, how would he get rid of him? How would he distract him enough to get in the alcove unnoticed?

He’s gone over these questions so many times in the past week. They stagnate in his mind like algae resting on the water’s surface, clinging and useless. They float listlessly around on sleepless nights, overtaking his fears and his other doubts, along with Jiwoong’s warning. Which is why Zhang Hao is still up, a small lamp sitting on his bedside still burning as he flicks through his Charms textbook, when Ricky slips back into their room far too late.

He freezes when he spots Zhang Hao sitting up in his four poster bed, curtains open. Zhang Hao raises his eyebrows at him in question. It’s far past curfew, by at least two hours. “Where have you been?” he whispers as Ricky hurries over to his bed, taking off his cloak and robes and stuffing them roughly into his trunk before pulling out his pajamas.

Ricky ignores his question while he changes, but Zhang Hao keeps his eyes on him. His movements are jerky and harsh, as if he’s irritated over something. It’s already strange enough that he’s out past curfew — not the first time Ricky has done so, but he’s always told him, or even been with him. But he’s barely seen him around all week and now this.

Finally, after changing into his sleepwear, Ricky gives a nonchalant shrug. “I was just out late with some friends and lost track of time.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “Would those friends include Gideon?”

Ricky stiffens but tries to play it off by crawling onto his bed. Zhang Hao has noticed, ever since before the First Task, maybe ever since Halloween, Ricky has been spending more and more time with Gideon and his crowd. Not that he can really say anything; he was the one who introduced them all in the first place, back when all of them would spend far more time together, before classes and duties and responsibilities and a growing rift in opinions and proclivities came between them. He knows that Ricky had never really liked him though, which is why it makes his recent behavior all the more suspicious. “What were you guys doing?”

“Stop being nosy,” Ricky grumbles. “We weren’t doing anything, okay?”

“I’m just curious,” Zhang Hao placates. And then he affects a pout. “And I’m upset you guys didn’t invite me.”

“I thought you two were fighting.”

Are they? Their spat in the Prefects' bathroom feels like a lifetime ago. Since then so much has happened that all of his consternation and anger back then had somehow fallen by the wayside. He’s still annoyed, certainly, but Zhang Hao simply chalks it up to all the normal things that he’s grown weary of in Gideon, his blind devotion to his parents, the way he abuses his Prefect position, his out-dated and awful notions about blood purity. None of that is sadly new. “I’m not mad at him anymore,” is what he ends up saying.

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

Zhang Hao narrows his eyes. “Why are you suddenly on his side?”

Ricky visibly bristles at that, shooting him a frown of his own. “I’m not taking his side. I would never. You should know that.”

“You’ve just been spending a lot of time with him recently. And it sounded like you wanted us to make up.”

“I don’t care if you two make up or not. You just said you weren’t mad at him so,” Ricky shrugs again, that blank, brusque demeanor he wears so well wrapped around him once more. His cocoon, his safety blanket. “Do what you want.”

And with that, Ricky drops the curtains around his bed, effectively ending their conversation. But he should know Zhang Hao well enough to know that he won’t drop the subject. Indeed, even as Zhang Hao turns back to his reading, he makes a note to ask Ricky about it again tomorrow. He glances down at the textbook on his lap, vision blurring slightly, but he simply rubs it away. He hasn’t had much time for studying recently with all the commotion regarding the Task. But he can’t fall behind in his studies. He hasn’t lost sight of his goal, his plan, amid all this.

Zhang Hao doesn’t know when he falls asleep, only that he wakes with ragged breath and a racing heart. His textbook has slipped onto the floor, and the lamp is completely burned out, leaving the room in darkness. The murky black of the lake outside the glass window tells him it’s still the dead of the night. And in the darkness, Zhang Hao gets that prickly, tense feeling all around his limbs, the kind that he got when he was younger and had read too many scary stories before bedtime, convinced that if he let a foot out of his blanket a werewolf would come and chew it off. He quickly tucks himself under the covers, but it does nothing to soothe his jitters.

He lies there, still and stiff. And then he reaches into his bedside drawer to pull out his journal and a self-inking quill, and he starts to write. It begins as just a few fragmented words. “A few lines about your feelings,” Burbage had dictated. Which is all Zhang Hao sets out with the intention of doing. But then it just pours out of him, while his legs remain tense under the thick duvet, while he pulls his arms into his sides like if he stays small enough whatever is out there won’t see him, while the faint pressure behind his eyes that threatens to intensify into a migraine. Everything, all of it. By the time he’s filled three full pages, he’s panting; he only stops writing because his hand is shaking so badly. He’s too terrified to read through what he wrote, quickly shoving everything back into his bedside drawer.

It’s laughably predictable how the rest of his night will go after this. He’ll inevitably drift off from exhaustion one or two times, only to be jolted awake by his own discomfort and fear in short intervals. And then he’ll lie awake, staring at the curtained canopy of his bed until the barest streaks of dawn light filter through the window, finally freeing him to get up and shower and begin his day. Rinse and repeat three to four times a week. On the good nights, he gets some studying done. On the bad ones, one of his fitful bouts of rest will result in some screaming. All par for the course, really.

So it’s inexplicable, what makes Zhang Hao get out of his bed, tension running up his spine at being so exposed. He throws on his cloak, shoves his feet into his slippers, and quietly slips out of the room. No one is awake at this time of the night, the common room completely empty. The clock hanging on the wall downstairs reads just after two in the morning when he hurries past. Zhang Hao does a quick peek outside to make sure the coast is clear — the Prefects would have already finished midnight rounds, the only ones he need be wary of is Filch and Mrs. Norris. But the trip to the Hufflepuff dormitories is a fast one.

How ironic that he had once teased Hanbin for potentially pounding on the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons asking for him. Because when his feet draw to a stop in front of the large cherrywood barrel that he knows opens up into the Hufflepuff common room but which he can’t gain access to, that’s exactly what he considers doing. Zhang Hao’s discomfort is a suffocating, gnawing feeling in his chest, crawling through his ribs and taking hold of his heart. He wants to see him. Nevermind that it’s the middle of the night, nevermind that this endeavor will most likely end with him turning right back around and getting back into his uncomfortable, cold bed. Zhang Hao doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at the wood grain until he hears footsteps approaching.

That sets him into motion. The corridor is a dead end. And Mrs. Norris is better than any bloodhound at sniffing out students found out of bed. Adrenaline coursing through him, Zhang Hao dives between two huge wine barrels across from the entrance, careful not to knock against any of the wooden props and crouching close to the dusty floor as the footsteps draw closer. It is not, however, the lithe and feline form of Mrs. Norris with the hunching, gaited steps of Filch behind her. It’s a student. Quite tall and skinny with legs so long it would not be a hyperbole to say they reached his throat. The boy is dressed in casual clothes instead of the usual uniform and there’s a small bag hanging off his left arm. Zhang Hao leans forward, calling, “Gyuvin!”

“AAAHrgh—”

Zhang Hao shushes him quickly, scooting out between the barrels with his hands up. “It’s just me!” he whispers.

“Merlin! You scared me,” Gyuvin puts his hand to his chest, slumping over a little.

This is perhaps not the best introduction he could have to one of Hanbin’s closest friends. Certainly, Zhang Hao knows who Gyuvin is — for all he doesn’t care about Quidditch, he still knows he’s the Hufflepuff Keeper, and more importantly, someone Hanbin talks about a lot — and he’s certain that Gyuvin knows who he is. And yet, this is probably their first conversation, likely, ever. At two in the morning while Zhang Hao is creepily lingering outside the Hufflepuff dorms. He winces, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you going to give me detention?” Gyuvin nibbles on his lower lip nervously. “I swear it was an emergency. It was very important actually, I … I—” And then he seems to change tactics, fishing out a hexagonal package from his small bag and shoving it at Zhang Hao. “Chocolate frog?”

Zhang Hao’s lip twitches in amusement, his own embarrassment fading quickly. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“No,” Gyuvin stresses. “Uh-uh. Of course not. But if you maybe like sweets like all sane people in this world, and would accept my chocolate frog in exchange for not deducting House points … that would be great.”

“That’s what bribery is,” Zhang Hao says, crossing his arms and fighting back his smile.

“No, it’s not,” Gyuvin denies, waving the enticing package in front of him now. “I am simply giving you a gift. For being a great Head Boy! And Hogwarts Champion! You’ve been through a lot, you deserve this. Not that I think chocolate can solve all your problems, but it bloody hell can’t make it worse, right? And perhaps, totally unrelated to this very generous gift of mine, you would pretend you did not see me sneaking back into my dorms tonight?”

Zhang Hao takes the chocolate frog, putting him out of his rambling misery. “Perhaps.”

Gyuvin’s shoulders slump even more in relief. “Okay, great, fantastic. Do you want another one?”

“Where did you get these from?” Zhang Hao peers at the bag that Gyuvin is carrying, with the rising suspicion that it’s entirely filled with chocolate frogs.

“Uh,” Gyuvin hesitates. “Last month’s Hogsmeade trip?”

Zhang Hao is exceedingly generous in letting that go. Perhaps because he also has an exchange of his own in mind. “Sure, I’ll buy that … if you’ll get me into your dorm.”

“Why do you—” Gyuvin starts off, confused for a moment before sudden realization hits him and he squeaks with whatever revelation he’s made. “Ah! Sure, sure. I, um, didn’t realize it was like that between you two. But after everyone started talking about your ties …” Gyuvin trails off in a nervous giggle.

Zhang Hao arches his brow in inquiry. Which seems to be just enough to get Gyuvin to crack.

“I mean, I know you two are together, so … it makes sense, right, right. I don’t know why I’m being weird about this. I’m not being weird about this. I guess I just never thought about it, but it’s natural. It’s good! It’s a normal part of a relationship,” Gyuvin gives another forced laugh at the tail end of his ramble.

A smile creeps up on Zhang Hao’s face, just a small twitch of his lips. “What is it that you think is a normal part of a relationship?” He can pretty much tell, but it’s rather entertaining watching Gyuvin squirm this way.

“Sex!” Gyuvin blurts out, rather clumsily, rather crudely.

It makes Zhang Hao burst out into laughter, doubling him over even as he tries to keep to a lower volume.

“Don’t laugh at me!” He hears Gyuvin whining above him.

He straightens, shoulders still bobbing slightly from his giggles. It’s not very surprising that everyone thinks that — it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would that they do. Out of all the rumors that have been spread about him, getting into Hanbin’s pants is probably one of the best ones. Also, regrettably untrue. Though Gyuvin doesn’t need to know that. “So are you going to let me in?”

“Asking me that after you laughed at me …” Gyuvin grumbles. But he still turns and gives the password to the common room: They laid him to rest with his hat inside out. A lyric from an old pub song — how fitting. Zhang Hao commits it to memory immediately.

And then Gyuvin turns around and ushers Zhang Hao inside. He leads him upstairs and around the circular upstairs walkway. Zhang Hao has only ever been in here once before, when he escorted a first-year Hufflepuff back from the Hospital Wing after he had gotten injured while making a Herbicide Potion, but even under the cover of darkness, the Hufflepuff common room still manages to be comfortable and welcoming. It is completely empty though, as expected.

“This is it.” Gyuvin pauses in front of a wooden door.

Zhang Hao scrunches his brow. “Are you not coming in?” He distinctly remembers Hanbin mentioning Gyuvin and him sharing a room, because they had thought it coincidental that they were both bunking with sixth years — Zhang Hao because of what happened to him, Hanbin due to uneven numbers among the years.

Gyuvin makes a face. “Not while you both …”

“Fuck?” Zhang Hao provides serenely.

“Yes, that,” Gyuvin squeaks. “Anyway, I’ll be down sleeping on one of the sofas. Goodbye!”

Before Zhang Hao can feel too bad about kicking Gyuvin out of his room, the boy is already scurrying back off towards the stairs, clutching at his bag of chocolate frogs.

Zhang Hao quietly nudges open the door to find three beds occupied. One closest to the door and the other right next to the window. He’s never been in Hanbin’s room before, and Zhang Hao can’t help but greedily take in all the details as he steps in and softly shuts the door. The moonlight from the window illuminates everything just enough that he can make out of the shape of their trunks at the foot of each bed, a stack of books that seem to have been knocked over on the carpet, a half-played Gobstones game next to it, along with what looks to be a pile of clothes and some random shoes tossed about. So a normal boy’s dormitory.

But Zhang Hao immediately hones in on the roll of parchment on one of the trunks, atop which sits a fifteen-inch Applewood wand that he knows has a phoenix feather core — he would recognize it anywhere. Zhang Hao tip-toes past the bed by the door with the curtains drawn shut, and then the empty bed that he presumes to be Gyuvin’s, finally reaching the bed next to the window. Luckily, one side of the curtains is drawn open, a shaft of moonlight illuminating Hanbin’s angelic sleeping countenance.

His long, dark lashes fan over flushed cheeks, one of which is bunched adorably up against the pillow. His mouth is slightly parted, the pronounced dips of his upper lip slightly trembling with each breath. And Zhang Hao is loath to disturb him, but anticipation sings in his blood. That clawing, awful feeling in his chest, the one that tells him there’s a monster waiting around every corner, unblinking eyes watching him from every shadow, finally fades as he sets eyes on Hanbin. Zhang Hao takes a tentative step forward — and reaches out his hand.

“Hmmrm,” Hanbin snuffles, his nose twitching before he squints his eyes open. And then he smiles, all warm and inviting. “Hao?”

“Hey,” Zhang Hao shuffles a bit.

“Am I dreaming?”

He snorts a bit. “No, you are not.”

Hanbin’s brows crinkle together, nose twitching again, like a bunny. And then he gasps, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Zhang Hao? What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

Zhang Hao leans over with placating hands, worried that Hanbin will wake up his two roommates. “Nothing’s wrong — sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“How did you get in?” Hanbin scrunches his nose again, seemingly not fully awake yet. It’s rather cute.

“Gyuvin let me in.”

Hanbin looks over to his right at the empty bed.

“He thought we were going to … fool around in here so he’s staying down in the common room.”

Hanbin squeaks — that seems to fully wake him up. “I-Is that why …?”

Zhang Hao giggles. He shakes his head, sobering a little. “No, I just couldn’t sleep. I had another nightmare.”

“So you came here?” Hanbin tilts his head. Cute, cute, cute, everything about Hanbin is cute, sleepy or not.

He nods slowly. It all seems a little silly, a bit juvenile now for him to have come running all this way, for him to wake Hanbin up simply because he had a nightmare, simply because like every night before he couldn’t sleep. And then the answer that had eluded him until this moment, why he had wanted to see Hanbin so badly, why tonight was different than any of the other nights before, hits him squarely in the chest. It knocks the breath right out of him. Zhang Hao thinks it falters the steady beat of his heart for just a second.

He’d slept soundly through the night in the Room of Requirement.

Hanbin sits up a little bit more on the bed, reaching a hand out. “Was it a bad one?”

Zhang Hao bites his lip, nodding again, this time a bit more quickly, this time fighting the tears that prickle for some odd reason in the corner of his eyes. And it’s like Hanbin can sense that he’s full of emotion at the moment, because he doesn’t ask anything else, just tugs Zhang Hao onto the bed. And he goes, as if floating on a cloud, until he’s sitting next to Hanbin, until he slowly draws his cloak off and drapes it across the end of the bed, until Hanbin lifts his blankets and urges Zhang Hao to shuffle underneath them. “I just wanted to see you,” he mumbles, settling in.

Hanbin nods in understanding — and then a wide yawn stretches his face. They both giggle, leaning in towards each other.

“You should go back to sleep,” Zhang Hao urges.

“We should both sleep,” Hanbin insists.

He’s not entirely sure he can. But lying here watching Hanbin’s peaceful slumber under the cool light of the moon certainly sounds like a better way of spending his night than sitting tense and alone in his own bed. “Okay,” he agrees easily.

They both shuffle down under the blanket with some awkward tugging and an accidental knee to the hip — “Sorry,” Hanbin mumbles — before they’re both lying facing each other. Hanbin yawns again, so wide he nearly flashes his molars. He then wrinkles his nose, rubbing his cheek comfortably into the pillow.

“Is this okay?” Zhang Hao asks, even as Hanbin’s eyes start to drift closed again.

Hanbin reaches over, blindly, for his hand under the covers. Zhang Hao relaxes just a little bit more. “This is great,” Hanbin murmurs. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, Hanbinie.”

A gentle hand shakes him awake.

“Zhang Hao?”

The whisper tickles against the shell of his ear, plays with the flyaway strands of his hair that had drifted across his forehead while he was asleep. Zhang Hao frowns.

“It’s time to wake up,” the cajoling voice tells him sweetly, softly.

Zhang Hao blinks his eyes open, surprised to see pallid early sunlight spilling across an unfamiliar floor. Someone’s discarded sock — red — lies stark against the light yellow rug. Awareness comes back to him all at once. What he had done last night, where he currently is, who is shaking him awake. He inhales sharply, turning over onto his back to see Hanbin sitting on the edge of his bed, already changed into his uniform, but a dressed-down version of it. His tie isn’t yet on, the first few buttons of his collar open, and his shirt is untucked. Casual and half-dressed and far brighter than the rising sun.

“Good morning,” Hanbin smiles, small lines forming on his cheeks.

“Good morning.” Zhang Hao’s frown smooths out. He blinks his eyes hard to fully wake up. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” Hanbin provides. “I thought you might want to head back to your dorm to change before the hallways get crowded for breakfast.”

Zhang Hao snorts, sitting up and running his hand through his undoubtedly messy hair, trying to smooth it down. “Why not give them a show?”

“I think we already did that yesterday,” Hanbin chuckles. And then he reaches over under his pillow, pulling out a tell-tale green and silver tie. “Speaking of, I should probably return this to you.”

Zhang Hao smirks. “Why was it under your pillow, Sung Hanbin?”

Hanbin’s cheeks turn pink in an instant. “No reason! I figured it was the safest place to keep it. So it doesn’t get lost in …” he waves his hand around the general disarray of the room.

“Hm, sure,” Zhang Hao reaches over and slips it out of his hold. “Thank you.” He thinks about the pretty sunflower-colored tie in his robe pocket; the one now folded neatly on Hanbin’s trunk. “I’ll bring yours next time.”

“Sure, there’s no rush,” Hanbin says eagerly. “I have a lot of them.”

“You’re right though,” Zhang Hao sighs. “I should go before anyone else starts any more torrid rumors about us.”

“I don’t know if it can get much worse, to be honest,” Hanbin laughs softly, leaning sideways on the bed, his pale arm stretching across the dark blanket.

He blinks up at Zhang Hao and, oh, he looks utterly enchanting like this, with large, beguiling eyes looking right up at him in the misty gray of dawn. It causes Zhang Hao’s brain to short-circuit momentarily, before he picks up on the thread of their conversation again. He’s about to ask Hanbin what have you heard? when his eyes trail a little lower to the open V-shape of Hanbin’s uniform collar, where it’s opened up just a little bit more and perfectly frames three dark marks. Zhang Hao gasps.

“Wha—” Hanbin is interrupted when Zhang Hao pushes him onto his back, hands trembling, but quickly undoing the top buttons of his shirt.

“Oh no, oh no,” Zhang Hao breathes, panic rising in him, dread coursing through his veins. His hands shake, but he manages to undo two more buttons to confirm his worst fears. He sucks in a breath as he gets a good look at it — it’s not possible. It’s not possible for Hanbin to have gotten cursed. Not like this. Please, please, not like this.

“Hey, hey,” Hanbin giggles nervously at Zhang Hao’s obvious alarm. “It’s okay. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You— you have curse marks,” Zhang Hao stammers. He presses his cool fingers against the three symbols set against Hanbin’s collarbone. They’re dark, completely sunk into his skin. He doesn’t even feel the raising of the scar anymore. “How long have you had these?” And then, betrayal, hurt. “How could you not tell me?”

“They’re not curse marks!” Hanbin hurries to say on a half-giggle. He reaches up to hold onto Zhang Hao’s wrists, but he shakes them off.

Maybe he doesn’t know yet. Maybe he doesn’t realize … “They’re completely in your skin, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao says slowly, trying not to sob.

“I know, I know,” Hanbin repeats, still far too calm for the situation. He gives up on pulling Zhang Hao’s hands away from his neck and reaches up to cup his face again. “Look at me. It’s okay; they’re not curse marks.”

The heated touch of Hanbin’s coarse hands against his cheeks makes Zhang Hao pause, though his fingers still tremble as they trace over and over the marks. They’re curious curses — clean in shape, as if there hadn’t been any struggle. Maybe Hanbin had gotten them when he was young, before he even knew about the Wizarding World. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t know what they are. He’s never seen ones like these before, but he certainly also hasn’t seen every curse out there and—

“They’re not curse marks,” Hanbin repeats, another giggle trickling into his words. He makes sure their eyes meet before explaining, “They’re tattoos. Muggle tattoos.”

Zhang Hao freezes. “Tattoos …?”

“Yes, tattoos. It’s a Muggle invention — they ink patterns into their skin using a machine.” Hanbin finally let a small giggle escape, his dimples coming out in full force this time, though in his embarrassment Zhang Hao finds he can’t enjoy them quite as much. It’s quite clear that Hanbin is desperately holding himself back from laughing, which only makes his ears redden and cheeks heat, certain that Hanbin can feel them warm even against his unseasonably hot palms.

“I …” Zhang Hao clears his throat, trying to salvage the tattered pieces of his dignity. “I think I’ve heard of them before.” He slowly lifts his hand from Hanbin’s collar, blushing even more when he realizes that the wide swell of Hanbin’s chest has been exposed. “Ah, sorry.”

Hanbin really does laugh then, fully, brightly, playfully, still slightly hushed, as if everything on this leisurely morning deserves to be treated with gentleness.

“But thank you for your concern,” Hanbin murmurs, staring up at Zhang Hao with those eyes of his — sincere, all-seeing — the slowly brightening sky dappling across his honey skin. And then he smirks. “I should warn you now though: I have another tattoo on my arm. Don’t want you to see it in the future and get all worked up again.”

Zhang Hao huffs, “I know now.” And then curiosity gets the better of him. “How come you have them?”

“A lot of my Muggle friends were doing it,” Hanbin shrugs, though it’s kind of stilted given he’s still lying on the bed with Zhang Hao hovering over him. “And it seemed cool at the time. I gave it some thought and decided to get these.” He dips his chin slightly to indicate the tattoos along his collar. “A few years later, after thinking about it some more, I got the one on my arm.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Hanbin grimaces. “Kind of like getting multiple stinging jinxes at once, for maybe thirty minutes.”

“Well …” Zhang Hao pauses, his finger going back to trace along the curve of the dark moon. “They look pretty.”

“Thank you.”

Zhang Hao isn’t quite sure what possess him to lean down and run his lips very lightly along the marks — perhaps the play of light through the window that seems to illuminate Hanbin even brighter than he usually is, perhaps the way his chest rises and falls steadily, assuring Zhang Hao that he’s here with him and very much alive and not cursed. It might be relief; it might just be pure want. Zhang Hao senses more than sees Hanbin’s quick breath as he kisses the sun. And he’s so close to his heart, he almost thinks he can hear that, too. He presses another gentle kiss, right against the moon before he sits up again, grinning, gratified to see that Hanbin is just as pink as him now.

“What was that for?” Hanbin breathes.

“No reason,” Zhang Hao grins. “Just felt like it.”

Hanbin hums. “Do you perhaps feel like … kissing me elsewhere?”

“Like …?”

“On my face perhaps.”

Zhang Hao bends down and smacks a kiss against Hanbin’s round cheek. “Here?”

“What about the other one?” Hanbin cajoles, tilting his head to the side and smiling mischievously up at him.

It’s a little suspicious, but Zhang Hao doesn’t figure out what he’s getting at until it’s too late, until he’s leaning back down to kiss his other cheek and Hanbin suddenly turns his head, their lips meeting at just the right moment. Zhang Hao gasps. “Hanbin!”

But Hanbin’s hand has already curled up and around the back of his head, pulling him back down again for a more languid, proper kiss. Hanbin keeps it rather chaste, just a firm press of their mouths, but still, Zhang Hao’s heart is racing when they part, and Hanbin’s eyes have been blown wide and dark. He leans down again—

The curtains on the four-poster bed on the other side of the room smack open, making Zhang Hao leap backward and his heart pound for a completely different reason. On the bed sits a surly looking boy with light brown hair. “Okay, break it up, lovebirds.”

Hanbin sits up with a huff and a small laugh. “Sorry, Yarkov. Forgot you were there.”

“Yes, evidently.” Yarkov stiffly gets out of bed without looking at either of them again, gathers some clothes and a bag of toiletries from his trunk, and then hurries out of the room without another word.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Zhang Hao groans, bending over and smashing his face right into the bed. “I’m making a horrible impression on all your friends,” he mumbles into the blanket.

Hanbin giggles, rubbing his hand up and down Zhang Hao’s back. “There, there. I think Yarkov was just feeling a bit embarrassed.”

Zhang Hao lifts his face. “That was him being embarrassed? I thought he was angry.”

“Oh yeah,” Hanbin nods definitively. “Yarkov isn’t very expressive. But that was already a lot for him.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “Well, good to know he doesn’t hate me.”

Hanbin hums. “Hm, he still might.”

Zhang Hao lays an open-palmed, light whack on his arm, setting Hanbin off into another fit of giggles.

The two of them agree to meet outside the Great Hall for breakfast after Zhang Hao has gone back to his dorm to change and get his things. He rushes through it, grateful that his roommates are notorious for skipping breakfast for an extra hour of sleep and are all still sequestered neatly in their own beds when he sneaks back into the room. The corridors are a little more crowded when he exits the dungeons, all of the early risers already up and about, plus those with Advanced classes in the mornings looking distinctly disgruntled and nearly half asleep as they shuffle along to the Great Hall. Zhang Hao, for one, has a skip in his step as he rounds down the final staircase to see Hanbin lingering just to the right of the doorway.

“Good morning,” Hanbin greets, brilliant smile on his face. “Again.”

“Good morning,” Zhang Hao echoes, feeling a bit shy for some reason.

“Ready to make a scene?” Hanbin’s smile doesn’t falter as he bends his elbow for Zhang Hao to take.

“What happened to wanting to keep this a secret?” Zhang Hao shoots him a wry smile.

Hanbin’s arm tightens around his hand. “I can’t say I haven’t already heard some … awful things, but I don’t have any regrets over how I acted during the First Task. So if everyone already knows and are going to talk anyway …”

“We might as well enjoy it?” Zhang Hao provides.

Hanbin nods. “Yeah, something like that.”

The whispers start almost instantly. More noticeable since the Great Hall is still relatively empty this early in the morning without the general chatter that may usually mask it. The Gryffindor table right in front of the door features two girls with their heads bent close together, furtively whispering while shooting both of them occasional glances — Zhang Hao is sure word will get around about him and Hanbin spending another night together and showing up for breakfast arm in arm, or some more lurid, fanciful version of that, soon enough.

“Yours or mine?” Hanbin pauses.

Zhang Hao casts his table a quick look, spotting Lauretta, Warren, and Leland sitting there. No Gideon in sight yet, but if those three are already there, he won’t be far behind. “Yours,” he says instantly, tugging Hanbin’s arm toward the Hufflepuff table.

It’s still fairly empty when they sit down and start to pile eggs, potatoes, and sausages on their plates. Zhang Hao scoops a bit of scrambled eggs on his toast, taking a bite and wriggling his shoulders at how delicious it is. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hanbin’s cheeks pushed out in an irregular shape from a mouthful of potatoes, and he can’t resist leaning over and poking it. Hanbin squeaks, jumping a little and turning to give him accusing, sad eyes. Zhang Hao giggles.

Hanbin holds out a plate of bacon for him, and he shakes his head.

“You don’t like bacon?”

“I don’t,” Zhang Hao confirms.

Hanbin blinks at him in shock, and then he places the plate back on the table with a hard thunk. “I fear we have to break up immediately; I’m so sorry it had to end this way.”

Zhang Hao tries to temper his smile. “Truly an unfortunate turn of events. I’m so very heartbroken.”

“We just have irreparable differences.”

“I understand. It’s inevitable when we want different things in life.”

“You two are weirdos.” And that is how Han Yujin formally meets his boyfriend again.

“Yujin!”

“Good morning,” Hanbin smiles up generously despite just being called in no uncertain terms weird.

“Why are you two roleplaying a break up?”

“We were not—” Zhang Hao feels his face flame. That is happening far too often recently. He gives up on denying it; instead, he very naturally and artfully and totally unsuspiciously changes the subject. “What are you doing up? It’s too early.”

“Tobin’s owl was making a ruckus again.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “He knows he isn’t supposed to have him at the dorms. It’ll make droppings and attract rats. There aren’t even any windows for Merlin’s sake. I’ll talk to him again later.”

But Yujin has already stopped listening to his tirade. Instead, he’s glancing curiously at Hanbin, a little shy perhaps, a little awestruck even. Hanbin, ever attentive, notices immediately.

“Do you want to join us?” he asks in his typical gracious and generous manner. Zhang Hao could swat him for it.

Yujin lights up immediately. “Can I?”

Zhang Hao wants to say no. This is his time with Hanbin! But then he glances over at the Slytherin table, still fairly empty besides Gideon’s — and technically his own — friends. Finally, he just shrugs, “This isn’t my House table.”

And yet Hanbin still waits for his acquiesce before motioning to the bench across from them. “Take a seat,” he says warmly. “How is Quidditch going recently?”

“Pretty good,” Yujin mumbles. Oh yeah, now he suddenly wants to be timid. Zhang Hao shoots him a withering look, which Yujin doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy staring at Hanbin while he breaks the yolk on his egg.

“Who are you all playing next?”

“Gryffindor.”

“Ah, my friend Matthew is on the team. You guys will be up against some tough competition.”

At that Yujin seems to brighten a little, leaning forward. “I saw him in the match against Ravenclaw. He flies so fast,” and then a little more quietly. “But not faster than you.”

“I’m not that fast,” Hanbin denies.

“Yes, you are,” Zhang Hao interjects.

Hanbin turns to give him a teasing look. “Have you ever seen me fly?”

“Of course I have! During your game. I was looking at you the whole time!”

Yujin snickers. “And what about your own team?”

“Well,” Zhang Hao flounders, completely not liking how they have teamed up against him. This is unfair! “I was watching the whole game! I just couldn’t help but notice that Hanbin was very fast is all.”

“How heartbreaking. Not even cheering for your own team,” Yujin clutches at his chest dramatically.

“Han Yujin, you will not be allowed to eat with us again if you—”

“Anyway, we should see about doing some practice matches,” Hanbin offers. “Since we’ve played each other already, it’s probably safest without giving away any strategic secrets.”

Yujin nods eagerly, and then he seems to falter. “Ah, you’ll have to ask Gideon …”

“I’m sure Grimsby will be mature and impartial when it comes to the good of his team,” Hanbin assures, though his smile has grown a little brittle.

At the change in topic, Yujin slides his eyes over to Zhang Hao. “Actually … I had wanted to tell you, he’s been a bit strange lately.”

“Strange?” Zhang Hao straightens. “How?”

“I don’t know, just a little unreliable. He’ll suddenly change our practice times last minute and say he’s busy. I saw him and Ricky sneaking out of the common room the other night, after curfew.”

Zhang Hao sighs. Unfortunately the sneaking out isn’t new, but of course Yujin in his naivete wouldn’t know. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to him about it. I did catch Ricky coming back late the other night, too.” He pauses. “Have they been spending a lot of time together?”

Yujin nods quickly. “A lot, a lot. Like more than usual — or when you make them all hang out with you.”

He grimaces. “I don’t make them—”

“I know,” Yujin chirps. “I just mean they all want to spend time with you so they put up with each other even if they’d never choose to hang out together themselves. Except recently, I guess. It’s weird.”

Perhaps Yujin is far more perceptive than he gives him credit for.

“I think whatever he’s doing has to do with some mirror he lost.”

Both he and Hanbin tense up immediately.

“What mirror?”

“I don’t know,” Yujin says slowly, noticing the way both of them are suddenly alert and at rapt attention. “He was ranting about finding it in the locker room the other day to Warren before I came in. But they stopped talking about it real quick when they saw me. It’s kind of a random thing to care about. Like he can just get a new one.”

“I’ll ask him about it,” Zhang Hao assures quickly. He doesn’t want to pry any more lest Yujin, in his sudden wisdom and acute observation, picks up on his interest in the subject. The less people who know about it the better.

But if Gideon is somehow involved with whoever tampered with the pensive … Zhang Hao suddenly feels a bit sick. Despite all of Gideon’s faults, despite their distance recently, Zhang Hao doesn’t want to believe it. He still thinks of them as friends. They’ve confided in each other; he’s told Gideon about his nightmares, Gideon has shared with him the pressure from his family. They had played together on his family’s sprawling lawn as children. He wouldn’t do that to him … right?

A subtle nudge against his thigh jolts him back into the moment, where Hanbin has somehow smoothly navigated the subject to the topic of DADA and Yujin is staring at him with those sparkly eyes again, as if he thinks Hanbin is brilliant, as if Hanbin is his idol.

“Is that where you learned the spell for the First Task?” he asks.

“It is,” Hanbin nods, chuckling. “A bit ironic because I spent so much time preparing, but when it came down to it, it had just been a basic spell. Though I guess being so … concerned,” he shoots a meaningful glance at Zhang Hao. “Did help.”

“But you must be an amazing wizard to be able to repel fiendfyre with just that.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “Not at all — I’m fairly sure it was just the adrenaline and, well,” he clears his throat. “The specific situation. If you asked me to do it again, I’m sure I couldn’t.”

Yujin looks no less in awe though as he takes another bite of his breakfast.

Soon after, the Great Hall starts filling up. Zhang Hao doesn’t miss when Ricky and Gideon stroll in to join the group at the Slytherin table. Anxiety and worry take up the majority of the space in his stomach, and he stares glumly down at his unfinished food.

And of course none of that goes unnoticed by Hanbin. “You should go talk to them, if you want,” he leans over to whisper.

Zhang Hao shakes his head, though he’s still conflicted. “Maybe later …”

“It’s bothering you.”

Always so unerringly accurate at reading him. “Now’s not a good time. I’ll try to catch him alone later.”

Hanbin nods kindly, understanding. “Tell me how it goes — if you want to.”

“If it has to do with …” Zhang Hao trails off, cognizant that Yujin is chewing on toast across from them despite their hushed voices. “I’ll let you know.”

When the two of them depart shortly after to their classes, Zhang Hao catches a Ravenclaw boy murmuring, “Damn they do look bloody good together though.”

Ricky had once told him that he doesn’t enjoy hanging out in the Hospital Wing. That had been back in Zhang Hao’s fourth year, when he was frequently volunteering extra time here. Ricky would tag along, though he’d never stay very long. Zhang Hao had always thought that it was because he didn’t want Madam Pomfrey to come back and chastise him, but then Ricky had told him that little tidbit: he found hospitals in general to be sterile, devoid of life, even a little haunting.

Which had been completely baffling to him. Being told off by an irate Madam Pomfrey, well, anyone would be terrified of that. But for the Hospital Wing to be unwelcoming? He can’t quite fathom it. The high-set windows provide a steady stream of sunlight even during the winter months, and the slightly tangy smell of mint and nettles never fails to soothe him. It’s comforting, familiar. Even all these years later.

And as Zhang Hao sorts through the medicine cabinets containing extra potions that Madam Pomfrey is stocking up ahead of the winter months, which also happen to be the most contagious illness months, he finds himself humming a small tune — the pub song that also happens to be the passwords or the Hufflepuff dormitory. Some might say the work here is tedious. It’s not like he actually gets to treat any of the seriously-ill patients lest the school be hit with accusations of malpractice, but he still finds it rewarding, calming. He prefers to think of it as routine.

Zhang Hao writes out ‘Bright green liquid,’ very effective for eye infections, on a small slip of parchment before attaching it to a small bottle and pushing it into the shelf until he hears a faint clink. He repeats the process with ‘Wiggenweld Potion’ (for sterilizing minor injuries) and ‘Cure for ague’ (typically good for any sort of fever). He’s just turning to dip his quill in some ink when someone walks into the Hospital Wing.

Gyuvin jumps when he sees Zhang Hao sitting on the small stool by the low cabinets, much like he did two nights ago outside the Hufflepuff common room.

He’s quite a jumpy person. Gyuvin falters in the doorway for a bit, looking almost … wary before stepping fully into the room.

“Can I help you?” Zhang Hao greets.

“Uh, hey,” Gyuvin gives him a small, awkward wave. Zhang Hao immediately notices the strange way he’s carrying his left arm. “Is Madam Pomfrey here?”

Zhang Hao eyes Gyuvin’s slightly bent arm, the way he’s holding it close to his side, the way his shoulder is slightly raised and stiff as if to take the pressure of gravity off of it a bit. “No, she went out to the greenhouse to gather Bubotuber pus.”

Gyuvin makes a face. Anyone who has undergone fourth-year Herbology would know how unpleasant and arduous a task that is. “Ah, I see. I can come back later then.”

He’s already backtracking and nearly out of the door when Zhang Hao gets up off his stool. “Wait, do you need something? Maybe I can help.”

“Ah, no it’s okay,” Gyuvin says hastily, though he does pause.

“Do you not trust me?” Zhang Hao crosses his arms. “I’m very capable, you know. I’ve been learning from Madam Pomfrey for years and—”

“That’s not it,” Gyuvin rushes to reassure. “I’m sure you are. It’s just …” He trails off, and after a moment of hesitation like he’s trying to think of an excuse that will not horribly offend him, he finally gives in, shuffling further into the room.

Zhang Hao goes over to one of the beds and pats it, indicating for Gyuvin to fold his long form onto it. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you with your arm,” he prompts.

Gyuvin looks at him with wide eyes. “How did you—” He shakes his head. “It’s just, um, a bit sore. From Quidditch practice.”

“Do you mind?” Zhang Hao motions towards Gyuvin’s loose shirt sleeve. It’s past class hours now, so he’s clearly ditched his robes as soon as he could. When Gyuvin shakes his head, Zhang Hao carefully starts rolling up the sleeve, careful not to jostle his arm too much; he can still tell that Gyuvin is still holding it carefully up and out.

As soon as he gets above the elbow, Zhang Hao frowns. Dark purple splotches decorate Gyuvin’s thin arm, in regular circular patterns all the way up to nearly his shoulder. There’s a larger red, swollen circle that looks worse than the rest — it’s fresh and will clearly fade into another bruise. It’s quite inflamed, which suggests another injury over ones that have barely, or haven’t at all, healed. Gyuvin winces when Zhang Hao tucks the sleeve over his shoulder.

“This looks pretty bad …” Zhang Hao observes.

“It’s not!” Gyuvin says immediately, a little too loudly. “I mean, I just accidentally got hit with a Bludger.” He chuckles.

Zhang Hao nods slowly. It’s not the first time he’s seen a Bludger injury — happens far too often. But it doesn’t account for all the other bruises clearly dotting his arm … “Are all of these from Quidditch?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gyuvin nods. “Casualties of being a Keeper, you know? I block with my body a lot and always get hit by all the balls.” Another stilted laugh.

That makes sense … sort of. Though Zhang Hao suspects that if he were to roll Gyuvin’s other sleeve, he wouldn’t see matching marks on that arm. Well, perhaps he likes blocking with his left side, who knows. He lifts Gyuvin’s arm slightly, making sure to do so from his elbow and frowns once more when he spots even more bruising under his arm.

“Okay,” Zhang Hao draws out. He gently lowers his arm and straightens up again. Gyuvin kicks his legs a little bit from his position on the bed, chewing his lip in nervousness. “What I can do is a basic bandaging charm and then give you some bruise removal paste.”

“That sounds good.” Gyuvin bobs his head quickly.

Zhang Hao pulls out his wand, giving a small warning of “this might hurt just a little,” before he mutters the spell, Ferula.

Gyuvin’s entire body stiffens up, but otherwise, he doesn’t give any indication of the pain. Almost immediately the redness across his skin fades, though it’s still a bit puffy.

He heads over to the medicine cabinet he had just been restocking, pulling out a bit of the paste and returning to hand it to Gyuvin. “Apply this generously over all the bruising, and it’ll get rid of them within the hour. For the Bludger one, it may take a second application if it isn’t all gone by tonight.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” Gyuvin sighs gratefully. He seems a bit less nervous now and gingerly starts to roll down his sleeve.

“You should be more careful while playing,” Zhang Hao says, turning away and pretending to busy himself with something on the table at the end of the bed, not wanting to place any additional pressure on Gyuvin. Whatever is happening and wherever he’s getting these bruises from, he clearly doesn’t want to share. “And if it happens again, apply the bruising paste. If it hurts really bad, you should come back here to get it checked out.”

Gyuvin hops off the bed, tucking his right hand below left elbow as if to help prop it up, seemingly a habit from his sore arm. “I will, thank you.”

Zhang Hao expects that to be it, except Gyuvin continues to hover despite his obvious antsiness. He turns back to him with a small crinkle in his brow. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“Uh,” Gyuvin’s eyes dart every which way besides his face. Finally, they land on the towel on the table and asks his question to it. “Could you not tell Hanbin about this, please?”

Zhang Hao crosses his arm. “Why not? He’s your captain. He should know about it.”

“I know, I know,” Gyuvin reassures, seemingly quite distressed. “But I don’t want him to feel bad over these. You know what he’s like, and how he was after Irma fell off her broom that one game. He’ll think this is somehow his fault and blame himself for being a bad captain. I just don’t want to worry him. And now that I have the bruise paste, it’ll be like I never got them!”

And against his better judgment, Zhang Hao knows instantly what Gyuvin is talking about. The memory of Hanbin bent over Irma’s sick bed, clutching her hand comes to mind, how he had waited outside the Hospital Wing after sending the rest of his team away in order to check up on her, the gentle way he had murmured to her, inaudible besides his sincere I’m so sorry. And on the heels of that understanding comes a bit of jealousy, unexpected and undeserving. Of course Gyuvin knows Hanbin just as well — better — than him. They’ve been friends for years. Whereas Zhang Hao has only gotten the privilege of his company for a few short months.

“I get it,” he says, a bit more shortly than he wants, and immediately regrets it when Gyuvin shrinks in on himself. “It’s fine. I won’t say anything,” he tries to placate, but it comes out just as irritated. He decides to just shut up.

“Thank you,” Gyuvin says, a bit awkwardly. He tucks the paste into the pocket of his slacks. “I’ll get going now, have a lot of work to do … and stuff.” Along with being generally skittish, Gyuvin also seems to be a nervous chuckler.

“Okay, good luck,” Zhang Hao says, just as awkwardly as Gyuvin. Merlin, it’s contagious apparently.

He watches as Gyuvin quickly turns and heads out the door before making his way back to his stool and the unlabelled medicine jars. It doesn’t come to him until he’s set the last bottle in the cabinet — the smaller bruises on Gyuvin’s arm, they had looked like fingerprints.

Hanbin is already waiting for him when Zhang Hao rounds the stairs up to the Astronomy Tower. He’s bent over the large table in the alcove, quill nearly brushing up against his nose as he concentrates.

“How did you still beat me here?” Zhang Hao asks with a small grin as he sets his bag on the table. “Are you so eager for our study sessions?”

There are no charts for them this week; the assignment being an essay on dark energy and dark matter. And yet it’s become something of a routine, a moment of respite in the chaos in every other part of his life, for them to find time to do their work together on top of the tallest tower in the castle. To Zhang Hao’s great relief, hardly anyone else is up here tonight.

“I didn’t have anything going on after Quidditch practice.” Hanbin looks up from his parchment, already unrolled with a good few inches of writing curled upon it.

“So you weren’t excited to see me?” Zhang Hao pouts, pushing out his lower lip.

“I just really love Astronomy,” he replies with a straight face.

“So you hate me,” Zhang Hao widens his eyes. “You want me dead.”

Hanbin breaks then, giggling and displaying his prominent whisker dimples. “Not me, but I think Professor Sinistra does.” He nods down at his barely-started essay. “Four-feet on this?”

Zhang Hao groans, taking out his ink bottle, quills, and textbook to set them down on the table across from Hanbin. “We’re going to be here all night.”

The two of them settle into a quiet rhythm, filled with the scratching of their quills and the occasional hoots of owls from outside the window. There are a generous amount of candles in the tower that flare in waxing and waning circles of light to overlap each other and create a honeyed, amber atmosphere. As Zhang Hao reads a passage in his textbook and finds the information that he needs, it suddenly strikes him that it’s the first time in a long time that everything feels incredibly normal.

And despite his persistent doubts about the mirror, he lets himself fall into Hanbin’s sweet giggles and the dip in his cheek when he smiles; the small furrow in his brow when he flips through his textbook for a reference; and the adorable habit he has of brushing his quill against the pointed tip of his nose when he’s concentrating. It’s a bit surreal, how much solace these little things bring him, so quickly, so potently. He doesn’t want to lose this.

“What are you looking at?” Hanbin grins, pausing in his writing.

Zhang Hao jumps a bit, not realizing he’d been staring. “I’m not looking. I’m just getting sleepy.”

“How could you say that about my favorite subject?” Hanbin mock frowns in disappointment.

“Would you like to write my essay then?”

Hanbin gasps, though there’s a flicker of genuine surprise, genuine delight in his eyes. “Asking me to cheat for you, what an honor.”

Zhang Hao shakes his head at his antics, but he can’t help but smile.

“Do you need help though?” Hanbin prompts, peering over at the foot and a half that Zhang Hao has written.

“It’s fine — I’ll just make something up. No one even knows what dark matter is.”

Hanbin giggles. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. She can’t mark me incorrect if the smartest wizards still haven’t figured it out either. Can she prove that it isn’t, in fact, just five billion acromantulas?”

“I’m pretty sure she can,” Zhang Hao laughs.

“I’m telling you: they’re expanding the universe, one furry, disgustingly huge leg at a time.”

“Please do warn me before they get here, so I can start running for my life.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“My hero,” Zhang Hao sighs, dropping his quill and pressing his hands to his chest just in time to see a second dimple line join the first on Hanbin’s soft cheeks, his eyes folding into sweet crinkles. A thrill runs through his chest, a skipped beat, a brief stutter in the fabric of his heart caused simply by Hanbin’s smile.

“Hey, Zhang Hao.” Hanbin sets down his own quill, leaning forward.

“Yes?” Zhang Hao tilts his head in question. Hanbin’s undivided attention and shining gaze is dizzying. He leans forward as well.

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

A rush of warmth fills Zhang Hao so quickly that his cheeks feel set aflame and a tightness suddenly pulls around the corner of his eyes. He can’t quite breathe — with Hanbin sitting across from him, dark hair gleaming under the flickering light, skin so golden and creamy and lovely, a faint grin tucked in the corner of his lips up. A vision. An angel. Who wants to take him to the Yule Ball.

Which is to be expected — they’re dating, after all. And yet, Zhang Hao feels completely caught unawares that he’s decided to ask him now. And yet, where else would he ask if not here? It’s not an elaborate proposal — he’s sure when he tells Violet about it, she’ll scoff and say Hanbin should have made some big gesture out in the Quad — with no flowers, no fancy spells, no grand gesture, and yet gentle sincerity under the yellow light feels more profound than any of that would have.

Zhang Hao realizes he’s simply been staring at him in a daze and quickly nods, finally finding his voice. “Yes, yes, I’d love to.”

Hanbin’s shoulders, which had slowly been inching upward as the silence had stretched on, lower again almost in tandem with the syrupy rise of his lips, forming the most brilliant, most luminous smile Zhang Hao has ever seen. “Wow,” Hanbin sighs.

“What?” Zhang Hao asks, equally as breathless.

“I just can’t believe it,” Hanbin says. “I get to go to the Yule Ball with you.”

“I feel the same,” Zhang Hao rushes to say.

The two of them smile giddily at each other over the wooden tabletop, their essays completely forgotten, the brightness of their expressions rivaling the brilliance of the fire-lit candles.

Hanbin leans back and reaches into the pocket of his robes, a faint blush dusting the swells of his cheeks, darkening in the slight dip of his dimple. “I actually … I don’t know if this is too much, but I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to,” Zhang Hao says, even as he eagerly leans forward to see what Hanbin is reaching for, even as his heart speeds up in anticipation. He loves gifts, he loves getting gifts and giving them. And if Hanbin’s unerring attention and keen observation is anything to go by, he knows that whatever he got him will be utterly perfect.

Hanbin draws out his palm out of his pocket in a fist.

“What is it?”

Hanbin gives him a shy grin. “Close your eyes. I’m too embarrassed.”

Zhang Hao huffs. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” But he shuts his eyes anyway.

“Hold out your hand.”

He hovers his hand out somewhere over the table and feels something slinky drape into his palm. Zhang Hao opens his eyes immediately, taking in the silver chain. And attached to it, nestled right in the center of his palm is a shiny, weighted crescent moon. Small enough to be tucked under his clothes, heavy enough that he’ll feel it warm right against his skin. His breath catches in his throat, grows short and staggered as he stares at the necklace, willing himself not to cry because that would be embarrassing.

“Do you like it?” Hanbin sounds nervous. “Like I said, I don’t know if it’s too much, if you even … you don’t have to wear it if it’s not really—”

Zhang Hao glances up, fingers closing around the necklace. “I love it,” he says, sounding a bit more choked up than he would like. He smiles so big, the corners of his lips tilt so high that his cheeks push out and the corner of his eyes squish together. “I love it, Hanbin. It matches your cursed marks.”

Hanbin laughs, shoulders shaking. “Yes, just like my cursed marks.”

“When did you even have time to get this?”

“It was actually my great-grandmother’s. It was a gift my grandmother gave me.”

Zhang Hao sucks in a quick breath, feeling something — perhaps his heart — expand his chest. “I can’t take this, Hanbin.”

“Yes, you can,” Hanbin reassures immediately.

“But it was your grandmother’s.”

“And it’s yours now. It reminds me so much of— I want you to have it,” Hanbin changes his words at the last moment. And Zhang Hao wonders what it reminds him of.

But tears are already burning in the corner of his eyes, and he’s trying very hard to hold them at bay. He doesn’t want Hanbin to see. He nods quickly, barely managing to hold back his sniffles. “Will you put it on for me?”

Zhang Hao surreptitiously blinks away his tears as Hanbin takes back the necklace and rounds the table so he can secure it around his neck. The slight weight of the moon slides down his skin, and as it settles against his collarbone, only one word comes to mind: Love.

He hadn’t said it back that night on his bed, when Hanbin had told him he loved him — the person that I fell in love with is you as you are now. But he hadn’t seemed to mind, maybe because he already knows. Maybe because Zhang Hao isn’t able to hide anything, at least not from him, from the eyes that always linger on the curve of his lip and bore into his own with equal measures of sincerity and curiosity. And it feels quick, but also in so many ways inevitable. Perhaps it had all been building up to this from that single train ride. Perhaps, like for Hanbin, that had been the start of his unwitting love.

Hanbin secures the clasp, and Zhang Hao feels a heated brush of fingers against the nape of his neck, sending a cascade of tingles down his spine. But when Hanbin comes back around the table and sits down, his face is calmly collected, his smile innocent. “It looks good on you.”

Zhang Hao glances down, seeing the way the gleaming pendant lies perfectly over his tie. Without the clothes in the way, it would rest right against the hollow of his throat, right where he can see the shadow of ink between Hanbin’s slightly open collar. “I’m never going to take it off,” he vows.

Hanbin giggles. “You probably should for showers and—”

“Nope, never,” Zhang Hao shakes his head adamantly, marveling at the gentle weight of the chain as it tugs against the sides of his neck. He can’t wait until it feels like part of his skin until the press of metal against his throat no longer feels new or foreign, until this gift becomes a part of him as irrevocably as Hanbin’s ink is a part of him.

“Promise?” Hanbin’s eyes twinkle, rivaling the stars set against the dark night outside the window. They look glorious, they look triumphant.

“Promise.”

It storms that night, waking Zhang Hao up with a vicious crack of thunder, heard even under the choppy waves of the lake. Hanbin welcomes him into his bed without hesitation.

Zhang Hao is sitting on Hanbin’s bed when Gyuvin comes rolling in. The younger boy squeaks and pulls up short when he spots him. Zhang Hao lifts a brow, not sure if he likes being completely used to this reaction by now. You’d think he was some sort of hideous monster for how terrified Gyuvin looks every time he spots him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gyuvin complains. “You’re the one who scared me.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“Yes, in my room.”

“It is also Hanbin’s room.”

“Well …” Gyuvin seems to lack a response for that until, “Where is he?”

“Showering,” Zhang Hao shrugs. He’s currently in the middle of his skin routine and dabs a bit more serum on his cheeks. He isn’t sure why Gyuvin is still surprised to see him here. It’s been raining all through the weekend, and after climbing into Hanbin’s bed for the second night in a row, he’s been extended the gracious and not at all coerced offer to stay tonight as well. He naturally makes himself at home in Hanbin’s space. Zhang Hao snuggles back into the two pillows he has propped up on the headboard.

He’s about to turn back to the few glass bottles in front of him when the sound of a sharp hiss from the other side of the room has his head snapping back up. He didn’t think any of Hanbin’s roommates had a cat. But instead, he sees Gyuvin straightening up with a small wince.

“Everything okay?” Zhang Hao asks. “How’s the arm?”

Gyuvin jumps, seemingly having forgotten that Zhang Hao was here in the two seconds of silence. “Fine, fine. I’m just fine.” But his face continues its pained grimace as he bends over his trunk again.

“You’re making quite a face there.”

Gyuvin’s expression flattens, even though when he stands up again, hands clutching his pajamas, he moves slowly, carefully. Zhang Hao has studied enough medicine to know when someone is hurting.

“Do you need help with that?”

“What do you mean?” Gyuvin asks, wary.

Zhang Hao chuckles. “Your back pain.”

“I don’t have back pain. I’m not decrepit,” Gyuvin retorts.

“Fine, fine,” Zhang Hao shrugs. Can’t help a patient if they don’t want it. “Whatever you say. You still have the bruise paste?”

As if he reminded him, Gyuvin winces through bending over again to fetch the familiar yellow pot, tucking it with his clothes as he shuffles out of the room. Zhang Hao doesn’t miss his slight limp when he does. He frowns in consternation — something is clearly going on with Gyuvin; it’s hard to believe all of this is from Quidditch. He turns back to his moisturizer, scooping up a generous amount and dabbing it on both cheeks, contemplating how he might bring this up to Hanbin without being overly suspicious.

After a short while, the door clicks open again, and Zhang Hao glances up to see Hajoon, Hanbin’s other roommate, walking in. He drops him a quick nod as he passes, before climbing into the four-poster bed on the other side of the window and promptly shuts his curtains. Grateful that he’s not going to try to strike up conversation with him, Zhang Hao pulls out the new book that he had gotten via owl post this morning, flipping to the chapter he’d left off on about Asphodels. That’s how Hanbins finds him a few minutes later when he hurries into the room in a tantalizingly thin shirt and loose shorts.

“You look comfortable,” Hanbin teases from behind his open trunk, casting Zhang Hao a knowing expression.

“Yes, I’m very comfortable,” Zhang Hao sniffs. He tucks his legs up a little higher, adjusting his book.

“But there’s no room for me.”

“That’s really too bad.”

Hanbin gets a running start as he rounds one of the wooden posts of the bed and belly flops right in the middle of the mattress, bouncing it and Zhang Hao and his book until he’s all askew and splayed against the crooked pillow. “Hey!”

Completely unrepentant, Hanbin curls over on his side, propping his head up on a palm with a cheeky grin. Zhang Hao catches a curl of dark script on his arm where his shirt sleeve has ridden up and his heart stutters for just a second, fear and … something else gripping him, until he reminds himself to calm down. It’s just a tattoo.

“What are you reading?”

Zhang Hao lifts the cover to show him Two Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

Hanbin pulls a face. “Fascinating.”

“It is, actually!” Zhang Hao retorts, even as he shuts the book in favor of paying attention to Hanbin. He already knows this boy is going to do horrid, awful things to his concentration — and his grades, if he isn’t careful.

He scoots over to make room against the pillows, and Hanbin immediately crawls up to sit next to him, their sides pressed tightly together. Hanbin’s shirt isn’t tight, but it’s incredibly thin and clings to every dip and swell of his chest and stomach. And Zhang Hao has the overwhelming desire to touch; he curls his hand into a fist under his book. It’s in moments like this that Zhang Hao wishes Hanbin’s roommates were a bit more like his — absent.

Though, speaking of roommates: “Hanbin, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Hanbin lolls his head back against the pillow, relaxed and sleepy after a long day.

“Do you get injured a lot while playing Quidditch?”

Hanbin turns his head over so he can look at his expression. Zhang Hao has no doubt it’s a mix of consternation and feigned indifference.

“What’s brought this on?” Hanbin asks, and then he smiles, smug. “Worried about me?”

Zhang Hao scowls. “Maybe.”

His arrogant smile only gets wider. “I promise I’m very careful when I play. Quidditch injuries aren’t all that common.”

“You don’t ever get hit by a Bludger?” he asks skeptically.

“Ah, alright. I do get hit sometimes. But it’s an occupational hazard, part of the game to get a few bumps and scrapes,” Hanbin shrugs. “Usually, after a few days they heal themselves anyway, nothing too serious. You don’t have to worry.”

“Remind me to get you bruise removing paste, too,” Zhang Hao mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“If it ever hurts badly,” he says louder. He thinks back to the nasty swollen red bruise on Gyuvin’s arm and nearly cringes — Quidditch really is a barbaric sport. “You should go to the Hospital Wing.”

“It never gets that bad, don’t worry,” Hanbin placates. “Besides, I’m an exceptional flier.” He winks.

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. “Perhaps you’ve taken a Bludger or two to the head too often.”

“Hey! What do mean? I am an excellent flier!”

“I know you are,” Zhang Hao reaches over, squeezing both of Hanbin’s cheeks with his thumb and pointer finger, effectively quieting his indignation. “But just in case something happens, I really would feel better if you went.”

Hanbin’s eyes seem to melt under Zhang Hao’s watchful concern. “I promise that if I really need to, I’ll go,” he says.

Zhang Hao’s reply is interrupted when the door to the room opens once more, but instead of Gyuvin, it’s Yarkov who walks in with his close-cropped light hair and hulking figure. His orange and purple striped pajamas are a direct contrast to his surly demeanor, and Zhang Hao presses his lips together so he doesn’t laugh out loud — he doesn’t need to give him another reason to hate him.

Yarkov takes a glance around the room, spotting Zhang Hao in his usual spot on the bed and tilts his head, face blank. “As Prefects, shouldn’t you know students from different Houses aren’t allowed in each other’s dormitories?”

Slightly offended, but also slightly contrite, Zhang Hao opens his mouth to reply with some sort of flimsy excuse, but Hanbin beats him to it. “He’s been here the past two nights. Where have you been, Yarkov?” he asks lightheartedly, like they’re extremely chummy.

Yarkov simply shrugs and turns towards his own bed by the door. Zhang Hao leans into Hanbin’s side, dipping his head so he can whisper in his ear. “I told you he hated me.”

“Nonsense,” Hanbin insists. “That’s his way of joking around.”

“I have never seen that boy crack a single smile.”

“He’s not very expressive. But he’s a good guy,” Hanbin reassures, patting Zhang Hao’s arm placatingly.

“You’ve got some very odd roommates,” Zhang Hao mutters.

Yarkov tinkers around with something on his bed — a deck of cards? — for a bit before he eventually also closes his curtains like Hajoon. Zhang Hao thumbs through his book a little further, but the solid body practically emanating heat next to him is quite distracting. So when Hanbin starts to nod off against his shoulder, clearly not as interested in the healing properties of saltwater and freshwater algae as he is, Zhang Hao quietly shuts his book and sets it on the bedside table. He draws the heavy drapes around their bed, makes sure Hanbin’s head is somewhat supported by a pillow, and then lies down on his side, hands tucked under his cheek.

The curtains offer them a modicum of privacy, creating the fragile illusion of a sanctuary that only contains the two of them. There is still the pressure and insistence of his responsibilities, of the Tournament, of the secrets of his memories that press in on all sides, but they are kept at bay with heavy velvet curtains for the time being. And Zhang Hao can’t bring himself to worry all that much as he allows his eyes to close and his mind to drift naturally, incredibly into slumber.

It was only a matter of time.

Zhang Hao’s eyes flash open in the darkness, his body entirely frozen, his mind whirring in a panic. It was only a matter of time before the nightmares catch up to him, before they realize his method of escaping them and ruins this too. As always, he can’t remember the nightmare that had awoken him, but this feeling is familiar, the way every muscle in his body is tight and tense, the way he takes in shallow breaths, his lungs unable to push back against the heaviness in his chest. He no longer feels like crying when this happens — the comfort of tears, of wallowing in his misery, has faded with time. After a while it is no longer an indulgence but instead simply weakness. So instead, Zhang Hao stares up at the darkened canopy above him, trying to take slow breaths in, working on loosening the tension in his body.

He’s nearly done with his legs, until shuffling to his left has him seizing up again. But then a warm hand reaches over to rest against his side, sliding against the slight dip of his waist and over his constricted ribcage. And instead of freezing him up even more, the light contact, the small reminder of where he is, who he’s with, breaks past the fear that has a hold on his mind. As if snapping a string, Zhang Hao’s whole body relaxes into the soft mattress with a quiet punch of breath. It’s so dark he can barely see Hanbin’s face, and yet he somehow still sees the flutter of his lashes as he opens his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Hanbin murmurs, voice gravelly from sleep.

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao whispers back, but his voice is so threadbare that he doesn’t know if Hanbin hears him.

Hanbin scoots a little closer. “Are you sure? Was it a nightmare again?”

Zhang Hao reaches over to hold onto the hand that Hanbin has pressed against his side, clutching it perhaps a little too tightly, but Hanbin doesn’t complain. “Yeah,” he repeats. He clears his throat slightly. “But I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to get used to it.” And there’s that anger, simmering just beneath the surface that Zhang Hao adores, but Hanbin’s movements are delicate and affectionate as he moves even closer, resting his cheek against Zhang Hao’s shoulder and sliding their joined hands to the center of his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I never remember them — there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know in the Muggle world, there’s something called therapy.”

Unexpectedly, one side of his mouth quirks up. “I’ve heard of it.” In his extensive research in medicine, Zhang Hao has dabbled in Muggle texts once or twice. He’s always had to hide them from his parents — from his mother especially, who would not approve. Vaccines especially had been a fascinating concept, but he hadn’t lingered as long on therapy. “You go see people to talk about your problems.”

“Something like that,” Hanbin chuckles, rubbing his cheek against the cotton of Zhang Hao’s shirt.

He didn’t even know it was possible, but Zhang Hao finds himself relaxing even further. His vice grip on Hanbin’s hand loosens slightly, enough for Hanbin to slip his arm around his waist and tuck him tightly against his front.

“I’m not sure it’ll help in my case,” Zhang Hao sighs.

“Just give it a try; I’m awake now anyway.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No apologizing,” Hanbin mutters. “Now start talking.”

Zhang Hao snorts. Only Hanbin could make the offer to help sound like a threat. “But what should I talk about?”

“Anything you want,” Hanbin says, considering. “It doesn’t have to be about the dream. How about how you feel?”

It takes him a moment to find the words. “I feel … frustrated, more than scared.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” And then Hanbin seems to catch himself. “Well, that’s not good, but I mean as a start—”

“I know what you mean,” Zhang Hao grins up at the black folds of the curtains above. It feels a bit surreal, this entire conversation. It might just be the effect of a liminal, fading space in the middle of the night. But Zhang Hao suspects it has more to do with Hanbin than anything else. “When I first wake up, I’m terrified. Like my body is catching up to the horror of my dream all within a span of a second. Sometimes I’m able to catch lingering imprints from my nightmare, the feeling of being watched, of people gathering all around me. Sometimes I think I see the sky … with stars.”

Zhang Hao swallows. Hanbin has tossed his leg over his own as well, comforting him with the heavy press of his body. He continues, “But I can never tell if it’s just me trying to grasp at something familiar to explain it all away, if what I think I remember is even a real memory or just a dream my brain conjured up. The more I try to pin it down, the further it drifts away, like trying to catch mist, or smoke, in my hands. And then when the terror fades … I’m angry. And then I can’t sleep. That’s it really.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Hanbin whispers.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” he teases. The frustration is still there, at not being able to remember, at not being able to even figure out what is causing him all these sleepless nights, but this is the first time he’s felt almost … lighter after a nightmare. “But it is helping. I thought I had found a way to fix them. I didn’t have nightmares when we fell asleep in the Room of Requirement.”

“Nothing heals that quickly. Even one night is an improvement,” Hanbin murmurs, his words taking on a low, sleepy quality again.

Zhang Hao is aware that while he is used to functioning on three hours of sleep, Hanbin isn’t. “You should go back to sleep.”

“What about you?”

“Hanbin, you can’t stay up with me.”

“What if I want to?”

“Then you’re going to fall off your broom during Quidditch practice tomorrow, and it’ll be all my fault.”

Hanbin shakes his head, but he snuggles even more comfortably into his side, eyes fluttering closed. “I would only fall for you.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “Cheesy.”

He only gets a soft hum in return. Eventually the rhythmic brush of Hanbin’s thumb against his waist stills and the puffs of air against his neck grow lengthy and steady. Zhang Hao isn’t able to sleep again for the rest of the night, but getting to watch Hanbin in the depths of slumber, nose twitching and mouth pushing into a pout, witnessing the slow dawn of the morning cast more and more of his lovely features into its light, it almost feels worth it.

Zhang Hao doesn’t get the chance to talk to Gideon until Monday. He eludes him all weekend — and so does Ricky, despite the two of them sharing the room. He always finds some excuse or the other, studying down in the common room, sneaking off to the kitchens for a snack, needing to suddenly go shower despite already having done so earlier in the evening. He knows Ricky doesn’t return to the room in the few nights he spends in the Hufflepuff dormitories because Camden tells him so. And when he questions Ricky about it, he only receives a, “I’ve been studying late, ge, stop pestering me.” At least that’s more than he gets from Gideon, who he sees once at breakfast on Saturday and then not again until their shared Potions class Monday, where he deftly places both Lauretta and Warren between them, and then runs off after class under the guise of running a Prefect errand for Professor Zhou.

Desperate times call for desperate measures — and as both of them continue to avoid him, his desperation grows. The doubt and disquiet can only be tucked away for so long before it begins to eat away at him in the quiet moments on his walk between classes; when he sits down at the Slytherin table for meals, surrounded by friends but no one he can really talk to; during the still moments before he falls into a fitful rest only to wake up an hour later drenched in a cold sweat. It makes him clumsy in Herbology, makes him lose his concentration in History of Magic (and once you drop out of Binn’s listless droning there really is no tapping back in). It’s an unsettling thing that worms its way into his heart, weighing it down until it becomes near unbearable. The longer he waits, the further he feels like the answers are slipping out of his grasp. Just like his nightmares.

Gideon is waiting for him in the deserted hallway a little before midnight.

“Hao,” he lifts off from the stone wall, an altogether unexpected look on his face. Zhang Hao had thought to shock Gideon and catch him off guard tonight. Instead, he looks … pleasantly surprised. As if he hasn’t tried to dodge him for days on end, as if this was actually his plan. “I thought I was patrolling with Winston tonight.”

“He ate something bad at dinner, and asked if someone could fill in for him,” Zhang Hao lies. “I couldn’t find anyone to take his shift at the last minute, so,” he shrugs, peering closely at Gideon’s reaction, but he doesn’t give anything away. “You don’t mind that it’s me instead, right?”

“Not at all. This’ll go much easier now that you’re here,” Gideon says easily. But he’s always also been an exceedingly good liar. Zhang Hao still remembers how he had blamed a smashed relic vase so convincingly on his younger brother back during third year. “You should be the one put out for having to fill in an extra shift.

“Not at all,” Zhang Hao repeats, motioning his hand down the hall.

The two of them walk in silence for a few minutes, the sweep of their gazes into the windows of classrooms and around corners to small alcoves are well-practiced and second nature after two years of doing it. Zhang Hao waits until they’ve passed the faculty tower, hoping to have lulled Gideon into a false sense of security before speaking up. “How have you been lately?”

“Good, good,” Gideon answers casually. “How are you … after everything?”

“Hmph, now you care?”

“Come on,” Gideon chuckles, his broad shoulders and tall, bulky form drawing his shadow long across the stone flooring as they pass by a candelabra in a curved alcove. No students there. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t come to see me after the First Task, in the Hospital Wing. I was a bit hurt.” Zhang Hao had only meant it as a bit of teasing, even a bit of tactic, something to draw Gideon in. But he finds it surprisingly true; unbeknownst to him until just now when he’d said it out loud, he had been hurt that Gideon hadn’t come to see him, hadn’t sought him out after he’d been trapped in a pensieve for Merlin’s sake.

A part of him wonders if it’s simply ego, another part wonders if it’s just something he’s grown used to. Gideon has always been a constant in his life, whether Zhang Hao liked it or not. He’s always been able to count on him to be in his corner, to be concerned over him, to care about him. He wonders if perhaps he’s taken it for granted.

“I wasn’t sure if you were still mad at me after … our conversation. And after what happened at the First Task, I thought it might just make things worse.” Gideon doesn’t look at him as they walk, and by leverage of his height and the shadows of the midnight hour, Zhang Hao can’t quite make out his expression when he looks up at him. Gideon clears his throat, “I hadn’t realized how close you two were.”

“That we were dating?” Zhang Hao asks wryly.

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Gideon says, softly, almost sadly. “I just meant … we’re friends, right? You could have just told me.”

Zhang Hao knows he shouldn’t feel guilty. He shouldn’t. Because if what Yujin said is true, Gideon is also keeping things from him. Worse things than if he’s dating anyone. And yet, Zhang Hao still does — feel guilty. “It’s not personal, Gideon. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Ricky.”

And yet they both know that’s a lie. It was personal.

“But after what you said about him, about his mom, Gideon? You can’t blame me for not feeling like confiding in you right after.” Zhang Hao takes care to keep most of his acrimony out of his tone. He briefly feels guilty for being so short with him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to wholeheartedly forgive what he said back then.

“I get it. I do,” Gideon nods. But he also doesn’t apologize.

That’s what their relationship — friendship — has come down to these days. An unbreachable gulf between them, both of them still for some reason holding onto the quickly fraying rope that ties them together, that hangs between them in the chasm. Zhang Hao shakes his head; this isn’t working. “What’s been going on with you lately?”

They turn a corner — the hallway is silent and empty.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been hanging out with Ricky a lot.”

At this, Gideon laughs a bit. “We’re friends.”

“Not really.”

“What makes you say that? Ricky is cool.”

Sure, Gideon has never seemed to mind Ricky much. They’ve known each other for a long time, too, though per Yujin’s accurate observation, they’ve only ever spent time together when he was involved. But never like this before. “I’ve just been feeling a bit left out is all. Where did you guys go last week?”

But Gideon ignores his question. “We don’t mean to. You’ve just been a little preoccupied lately.”

“I was trapped in a pensieve, Gideon,” Zhang Hao laughs bitterly. “Yes, I was a little preoccupied with that.”

“Not that. You’re always with him,” he clarifies.

Ah, well. “I have been a bit busy lately. But I still care about you all.”

“Do you?”

Zhang Hao bristles at the clear skepticism in his tone. “I do.”

Gideon sighs, dropping the subject, clearly not wanting to get into another spat again. “I’m glad you’re doing better. For what it’s worth, I was worried about you.”

“I know.”

And out of everything that Gideon has told him tonight, this is the easiest for Zhang Hao to believe. And that’s truly the crux of it, isn’t it? Gideon does care. Zhang Hao knows he does. He has shown it time and time again — which is why it’s so hard to discard him, which is why it’s so hard to separate the kind, thoughtful boy he had once been with this figure standing in the darkened corridor with him, not meeting his eyes, giving him cryptic, accusing answers. Maybe it’s time for both of them to grow up. Maybe Gideon already has.

“The pensieve brought back tough memories — not the ones I wanted, unfortunately.” Zhang Hao’s lips twist in a wry smile.

“I meant what I said before,” Gideon says, keeping his tone gentle, as if he’s scared of spooking Zhang Hao, as if he is a small animal capable of being spooked. “You should just forget about it. It can’t do you any good to keep … fixating on your missing memories like this.”

“How can I not, Gideon? Why don’t you get it? It … changed me.”

“I do get it. That’s the thing. How could I not? I was there that horrible year when you went missing. When no one could find you, when I had no idea what had happened to you, if I’d ever see you again, if you were even still alive … you weren’t the only one affected by it.”

Zhang Hao has to work very hard not to bristle at that. And perhaps not to feel guilty about it as well. Certainly, doesn’t he have the privilege of being a little selfish in this situation? Certainly, despite the lingering damage it did to his friends, his family — his mother, who still imbibes far too often — doesn’t he get the right to be the most hurt by it all?

“But I’m back now,” he refutes. “And you get the closure and the peace of mind that I’m here and alive. Yet I’m still missing so much of myself.”

“You’ll always be you, Hao. With or without those memories.”

A completely heartening thing to say; the completely right thing to say. But instead of comforting him, it only riles up his exasperation. He tries not to take it out on Gideon though. “I can’t explain why this means so much to me, but it does.”

Gideon nods slowly. They pass through an open hallway, the arches to their left blowing in the chilly night air. The temperature is dropping precipitously now that it’s the end of November.

“Okay,” Gideon finally relents. “I can’t stop you, but I hope you’ll be careful. I do still care about you; I always will. And I don’t want,” he seems to catch himself a little bit, seems to get choked up just slightly. “Anything else to happen to you.”

“I will,” Zhang Hao promises. It’s an easy one to make; it’s also the most truthful thing he’s told him tonight. His heart picks up speed when a crazy thought enters his mind. It’s a terrible risk; it’s one he knows he shouldn’t take. And yet Zhang Hao finds himself asking, “Will you help me?”

There’s a long pause. “I’ll do what I can.”

And here’s his precipitous jump off the cliff. “I heard you’re looking for a mirror.”

A sharp intake of breath. Gideon whips his head around to look at him, the first time he does tonight. But his expression of shock — of horror? — quickly smooths out into a blank facade.

But before he can say anything in denial, Zhang Hao continues, “I’m looking for one, too.”

Zhang Hao can feel how tense he is walking next to him, his shoulders tight and his hands curling into fists at his sides. And for one second, one brief moment Zhang Hao fears that Gideon might strike him. It’s a thought that comes out of nowhere, without precedence. Even in the midst of their previous fights, he has never been scared of Gideon, never felt the tension in the air that signaled his fight or flight. But the feeling passes just as quickly. Zhang Hao relaxes again, even as Gideon remains stiff beside him.

He looks like he’s struggling to form a response, and after a short beat, Gideon finally asks, “How do you know about that?”

“I haven’t been around lately, but I still hear things,” Zhang Hao replies cryptically, not wanting to get Yujin in trouble.

Gideon works his jaw, and after rounding down the staircase that will take them back to their dormitory, he asks, “Do you know what it is? Truly?”

“Do you?” Zhang Hao shoots back immediately.

They stop at an impasse, in the dim corridor of the dungeons that stretch beneath the castle. A heavy silence settles between the two of them. And Zhang Hao waits. He’s already gone out on a limb, dangling by the tips of his fingers. It’s Gideon’s turn. If he truly cares …

“It’s an enchanted two-way mirror,” Gideon admits, like it’s been tortured out of him.

Zhang Hao hadn’t realized until now that he had been hoping, wishing that somehow, despite all the coincidences, despite his reaction, that Gideon would know nothing about the mirror in Flamel’s office. That he would be unconnected to this.

“Why are you looking for it?” he asks warily. Suspicion prickles up his spine. And while his brain tells him he’s perfectly safe being out here alone at night with Gideon, he gets that same tense awareness along his arms as when he wakes up from a terrible dream.

“Why are you?” Gideon hedges. And it’s clear from his stance, his tone that he won’t divulge anymore until Zhang Hao does.

He carefully considers how to convince him without giving too much away. “I saw it in the pensieve, during the Task. I think it’s related to my memories.”

And if there wasn’t pure horror on Gideon’s face before, there is now. “You don’t want to get involved in this,” he warms.

His stomach drops. It’s clear Gideon knows more than he’s letting on. “You said you would help me,” he accuses.

“This wouldn’t be—” Gideon breaks himself off with a sardonic, humorless laugh and a shake of his head. “This wouldn’t be helping you at all.”

A clear warning as any. Too bad Zhang Hao has never been good at heeding those. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you,” Gideon whispers, almost crestfallen, his desperation palpable. “You said you would be careful.”

“I will be,” Zhang Hao retorts. “But being careful doesn’t mean doing nothing.”

“I get that. And I even get why you feel like you need to do all of this. But the mirror … it’s dangerous, Hao. I can’t—” Gideon cuts himself off, catching himself just in time. “Just please trust me. This isn’t going to get you the answers you want.”

“But what even is this?” Zhang Hao presses again. “I can’t just take your word for it when you won’t even tell me why you’re looking for it.”

“It’s something my parents need,” Gideon says flatly. It’s an answer and non-answer all in one. “That should tell you all you need to know.”

“They know who he is, who owns the other mirror.” The realization dawns on Zhang Hao — not an unlikely coincidence. Not many people in the Wizarding world would have the privilege of having a direct line to Flamel, and Gideon’s parents are the upper echelon of privileged.

“They’re trying to get in touch with him for something urgent. Don’t—” Gideon cuts him off when Zhang Hao opens his mouth. “Ask me what it is, because they won’t even tell me that.”

“What? They can’t just send an owl?” Zhang Hao chuckles darkly.

Gideon’s mouth slides into a grim expression. “He’s apparently a man who is … hard to get a hold of.”

Zhang Hao stays silent, considering. He wants to press him for more. Who the man is. Why he seems so adamant about this. But he also knows Gideon, and he knows applying pressure, interrogating him directly won’t get him to crack. Instead, he employs another tactic: “I still have to try, Gideon. And I can either do this with or without you.”

He gives Zhang Hao a pained look. “I said, I can’t.”

“Fine. I get it.” Warring emotions swirl through him: disappointment, annoyance, fury, hurt, worry, and mistrust. He knows when to admit defeat; when to know that pushing even more will hurt his cause more than help, and he doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret — he doesn’t want to accidentally reveal more than he should. Zhang Haogets the sense that Gideon feels the same. He would almost wonder at how much space has come between them, but he knows full well who had left that distance, who had made room for all of this doubt to creep in.

Zhang Hao turns, murmuring the password for their common room door, ever aware of Gideon lingering behind him. He doesn’t dare turn to see his expression. When the arched doorway opens up, he takes a tentative step forward only to be stopped by a low murmur of words.

“You won’t be able to use it,” Gideon warns.

He pauses in the doorway.

“The mirror — there is a password to activate it. Even if you find it, you won’t be able to reach him without it.”

Zhang Hao clenches his jaw. Out of all the emotions pushing against the surface, suspicion wins out. “I’ll let you know if I even get that far.”

Chapter Text

“The taste of blood, which is life, is the same salty taste as that of tears, which is pain.”
— Gabriela Mistral, Collected Poems & Prose; “Death”

Hanbin

“I don’t trust him.” It’s his instinctive reaction as soon as Zhang Hao mentions Grimsby’s name. Even just the thought of Zhang Hao walking through the halls late at night with him has Hanbin’s stomach twisting and his hands clenching into fists. It brings to mind their own Prefect patrol — and how that had gone. And even though he knows Zhang Hao and Grimsby’s had gone very differently, that automatic flare of jealousy is hard to suppress.

Zhang Hao eyes are dark and considering as he sits across from him, slowly nodding. “He definitely wasn’t being forthcoming by choice, but,” and Hanbin knows he’s not going to like what’s coming next, “I don’t think there’s another way to get the password.”

“What if he’s lying to you?” Hanbin leans in, they’re currently tucked into a small circular alcove in a study area on the fourth floor. The room is entirely empty besides them at the moment since it’s dinnertime. Occasionally a student will wander past the room, but they don’t linger, hurrying off to their dorm or to grab a bite before the dishes disappear from the Great Hall.

“He probably was, but, Hanbin, he knew exactly what the mirror was.”

“There might not be a password,” Hanbin insists. “Did you see Flamel using one in the memory?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “He didn’t, but also …” he trails off, biting on his lower lip and tucking his feet up on the armchair. It suddenly strikes Hanbin how incredibly small he looks with his shoulders hunched over and his legs pulled together.

In his mind's eye, Hanbin always remembers Zhang Hao being much larger than life. A glowing beacon, the moon that pulls at his waves, dictates the speed and height and depths of his emotions. And it’s not that he doesn’t think Zhang Hao is human. He’s always been just a boy sitting in an empty carriage compartment — until he also became more than that. Through the years Hanbin has kept a personal, secret visage of Zhang Hao in his heart, even as his public persona, the person Hanbin witnessed in his triumphs and great successes drew further and further from that.

But regardless of either version of Zhang Hao that he knows, loves, it’s still disorienting for Hanbin to see him so unsure, to see him so afraid, to see him questioning his own mind. There are still so many unexpected vulnerabilities beneath the surface of Zhang Hao, ones that Hanbin doesn’t feel like he deserves to be privy too, but has been gifted a glimpse of anyway. And he wants to treat him so gently; he wants to tell him that he determines his days and his nights, that he would do anything to stop him from looking so fragile.

“What if I’m misremembering? I was never meant to see that memory, what if it’s not perfect? The password could exist — maybe I just missed it. Maybe I wasn’t focusing on Flamel enough.” Zhang Hao shakes his head in frustration, casting his gaze out of the window out at the dreary evening sky. It looks like it’ll rain again tonight, winter creeping its tendrils over the landscape day by day.

“I remember everything you said. You didn’t mention anything about a password.”

Zhang Hao sighs, rubbing at the middle of his forehead, the candlelight from the chandelier above casting heavy shadows over his figure.

“We can get in his office without him, and then we can confirm for ourselves.” Hanbin knows he’s pushing, but he can’t help it. The thought of allowing Grimsby into this plan, of allowing him to help, of him providing Zhang Hao with something he can’t — it riots in him. “Letting him in on the plan risks too much.”

“I understand,” Zhang Hao says, firmly but not unkindly. And of course he does, because he’s brilliant, because he must have thought about this far more than Hanbin has in the past fifteen minutes. “But what if he’s right? That’s also a risk. If we get in Flamel’s office and we can’t even use the mirror, then all of it would be for nothing.”

Hanbin loathes that he’s making sense. And yet Zhang Hao’s pleading look could get him to do anything he wanted — even something that every fiber of his being is fighting against. He can put aside his hatred of Grimsby for him. After all, he is the moon. “I trust you,” Hanbin finally relents. “And I’ll be there, whether he is or not.”

Zhang Hao seems to marginally relax at that. He shoots him a grateful smile, and Hanbin trails the gentle rise of the mole on his cheek with his eyes.

“Thank you. I haven’t made any decisions yet but … thank you.”

He reaches over, and Zhang Hao lets him take his hand. His fingers are ice cold, and Hanbin runs his thumb over his knuckles, tightening his grip. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know you’re not his biggest fan,” Zhang Hao grimaces.

“Can you blame me?” he asks wryly.

“No, not at all. It’s … complicated between the two of us. I’ll tell you about it some other time, but trust me when I say I know he’s hiding something.”

Hanbin sees the flare of determination in Zhang Hao’s gaze, the slight tightening of his jaw. Some realization pings in his brain: of course Zhang Hao is aware, at least in part, of how Grimsby feels about him. Zhang Hao is perceptive, sensitive to these things just like him. And he wouldn’t just let that potential go to waste. “You think you can get it out of him,” Hanbin deduces.

Zhang Hao’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the look he gets whenever he’s surprised that Hanbin has guessed his thoughts. It’s something Hanbin takes pride in — knowing Zhang Hao well.

“Yes,” Zhang Hao confirms. “I think if I ask at just the right time, if I maybe leverage some sympathy from him, I’ll be able to get him to reveal what he knows.”

And that brings a smile to Hanbin’s face, a sharp slash of teeth and a vulturous stretch of his lips. “So you’re going to manipulate him.”

“Well, yes,” Zhang Hao chuckles, shaking his head at Hanbin’s absolutely feral smile. “You look a bit too pleased with that.”

Hanbin tries very hard to tame his expression, he really does, to no avail. “I think we should absolutely use him if we can.”

“We?”

“We’re in this together.” A surge of confidence, a waggle of his brows. “What’s yours is mine, baby.”

“I don’t think you’d like my memory loss very much,” Zhang Hao deadpans with an eyeroll, though he can’t quite hide his smile.

Hanbin squeezes Zhang Hao’s hand. “I wouldn’t, but I would swap places with you in a heartbeat if I could,” he says, sincerely, somberly.

Zhang Hao blinks quickly, as he does whenever he’s moved. “Thank you,” he says again, visibly choked up.

And even this, Hanbin wishes he could take away. His surprise that someone would care about him this much, his gratefulness that someone would offer. He hates to think that he’s the first person who has — he loves it, too.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Zhang Hao nods decisively, that spark returning to his features, the same sort that comes over him when he’s concentrating on locating a particularly tricky constellation, the same one that had set over his face before he’d walked through a wall of flames. And Hanbin has no doubt Zhang Hao will succeed in this too.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zhang Hao continues. “The best time to get in Flamel’s office might be during the holidays.”

“That doesn’t give us a lot of time,” Hanbin considers. Less than a month — they have the Yule Ball and then the break. He’s already overheard Beauxbaton students chattering about how excited they are to go home.

“No, it doesn’t — and it leaves us with a lot to do.”

“I’ll start looking into information on the Gringotts' vault doors. You said that Flamel uses a similar lock?”

Zhang Hao nods. “I’ve seen him do it multiple times. I’ll see if I can get another audience with him to see it once more. And I’ll try to talk to Gideon as well to see what more he knows.”

“I did a bit of reading on enchanted two-way mirrors during my free period,” Hanbin offers. He preens a bit when Zhang Hao looks at him approvingly. “There isn’t much in the library, just basics on how they work, how to set them up, famous ones that have been used and discovered throughout history, but there might be more in the restricted section. I’ll get a permission slip from Professor Endo to take a look.”

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao murmurs.

Hanbin gives him a censuring look. “If I’m not allowed to apologize anymore, you’re not allowed to thank me. I want to do this.” That immediately earns him a pout, and Zhang Hao is just so cute, lips pushed out and nose slightly crinkled, Hanbin can’t help but giggle.

“Are you okay with staying over the holidays though? I don’t want to keep you from your family,” Zhang Hao says. “If you have to go, I understand. You’ll already be a big help with everything before then.”

“I can stay,” Hanbin promises without a second thought. He really should check with his parents first; he knows his mom will be disappointed that he won’t be coming back for Christmas. But he’ll see them soon enough — at the end of the year, over the summer. He can simply make up some excuse about being behind on his studying due to the Tournament. Which is partially true, despite being TriWizard Champions, their exams and particularly their end-of-the-year NEWTs haven’t been waived.

He can’t leave Zhang Hao alone. He won’t. Not only because he knows if given the chance Grimsby would stay, too. But because Hanbin doesn’t want him to face this alone — he gets the sense that he’s been incredibly alone for a long time, that he doesn’t trust easily, that he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t truly need it. Hanbin doesn’t want him to step back in that office, faced with this great unknown all by himself.

“Thank—”

Hanbin gives him a reproachful look, and Zhang Hao sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are your parents going to mind?” Zhang Hao asks instead.

“My parents will be disappointed, but my mom will understand — we also have the Second Task as soon as we come back. Not much of a chance to prepare for that otherwise.”

Though truth be told, Hanbin has barely thought about it. It seems unbelievable that a month ago the Tournament and the First Task was the main thing on his mind — that and Zhang Hao, always Zhang Hao. But in the past weeks since the Task, things have upended in ways he’d never dreamed they could. But watching as Zhang Hao flips through the page of his textbook in front of him, not really reading or studying as much as the two of them are engrossed in this conversation, in each other, Hanbin can’t help but feel that despite everything, it’s been far more good than bad. And perhaps that’s selfish of him.

“NEWTs at the end of the year, too,” he says.

Zhang Hao grimaces. “Don’t remind me. That’s probably a far greater horror than I can stomach right now.”

Hanbin chuckles. “What are you even talking about? You’re going to do great in them as usual.”

“There is no ‘as usual,’ Zhang Hao grumbles. “I have to study my ass off.”

He gasps. “Not your ass! That’s far too big a sacrifice.”

Zhang Hao snorts, dissolving into giggles that tilt his body forward. “Shut up, you are so annoying.”

Hanbin indulges him with a smile.

They stay there in the small alcove, their own little world, until nearly curfew, until Hanbin hears the loud growl of Zhang Hao’ stomach and realizes they’d missed dinner. But he allows Hanbin to feed him by way of the Kitchen Elves.

“I should probably get back,” Zhang Hao murmurs, holding the bundle of leftovers close to his chest. “Check on Ricky. He’s been acting so strange lately — but I can’t exactly accuse him of avoiding me when I’m rarely in the dorm.”

“What do you mean strangely?” Now that Zhang Hao mentions it, he hasn’t seen Ricky recently. Not that he’s seen much of anyone besides him recently.

“He’s hanging out with Gideon,” Zhang Hao snorts. “He couldn’t stand him up until a few months ago and now they’re spending all their free time together.”

Hanbin thinks back to the last time that he saw him … “I did see them at the Quidditch game together a couple weeks ago.”

“Not surprised,” Zhang Hao sighs. “He doesn’t even like Quidditch that much, but he’s doing all sorts of uncharacteristic things recently.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Hanbin reassures, pushing down the rioling unease that resurfaces at the memory of seeing Ricky walking off with Grimsby. “Maybe this is what they call teenage rebellion.”

Zhang Hao shoots him a droll look. “He’s eighteen.”

“So is Gyuvin, but you wouldn’t know it by how he thinks chocolate frogs are a food group.”

“I’ve noticed,” Zhang Hao chuckles. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Hanbin nods. “I’m helping Professor Endo with some set up in his classroom for a second-year DADA class in the morning, so I’ll see if I can get that restricted section slip from him then. But I’ll see you at lunch probably.”

“Good night, then,” Zhang Hao says, tilting his head to the side, eyes wide and expectant.

And Hanbin feels like he can’t get any credit for being able to read Zhang Hao so well when he’s being so blatant and obvious with it. He leans over to land a quick kiss on his cheek. “Good night.”

“Gather around, everyone,” Hanbin calls, watching as Irma circles back from the far side of one of the stands, and Vance and Patrice pull up short just below one of the goal posts, their Beaters bats loose in their grip.

It’s the first quidditch practice they’ve had in a while — not even Hanbin is relentless enough to make them all fly in the consecutive thunderstorms they’d been having all last week. But today is a rare warm, early December day, and Hanbin is grateful to finally feel the sun on his face. Though that’s not the reason for his slightly pink cheeks. The main reason would be one certain Slytherin boy currently sitting in the stands to his right.

Matthew comes to a stop next to him with a Quaffle tucked under his arm, and he juts his chin out, commenting, “We’ve got quite a crowd for just a friendly practice match today.”

Somehow word had gotten out that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams would be holding practice together today — not an uncommon occurrence given that he’s good friends with their captain Sumi. But what is uncommon is the fact that Zhang Hao, along with Ricky, Taerae, and Violet of all people, is sitting primly in one of the raised stands, which had of course caused a ton of commotion when students heard about it.

Giggles carry toward them on the wind, and Hanbin casts a quick look at the group sitting in a stand on the other side of the pitch. The regulars. Girls, and a few boys, who are Quidditch fans — groupies, some would say — who attend every practice and go all out for the games. Matthew had once told him that they probably hope one of the players go pro in the future and they’ll be able to brag that they were able to witness them in their rookie days.

“Shall we get started?” Sumi asks, her dark cropped hair flapping into her face from the wind at this altitude.

Hanbin nods, the rest of their teams having come to a hover near them as well. “Shall we do a few shorter games?”

“Sounds good. First team to sixty points?” Sumi suggests. Four goals each tend to go by quickly, so it’ll allow them to get in at least three or four different games and change tactics as needed. “And for the Seekers …”

“Whoever catches the Snitch the least amount of times has to treat everyone to butterbeer next time we’re in Hogsmeade,” Matthew crows.

“Shut up, Matthew,” Sumi drones good-naturedly, completely used to his antics by now.

“No, no,” Hanbin grins. “I think he’s onto something. Let’s make this a little interesting, huh?”

“You two always love to give me a headache,” she grumbles.

“You’re not confident in your Seeker?” Hanbin teases, looking over to shoot a friendly smirk at Simeon Keane, new this year after their seventh-year Seeker graduated in the spring.

Sure enough, that’s exactly what gets Sumi riled up. “Of course I am!” she leans forward to get in his face. “Simeon will fly circles around Irma, and he’ll get the Snitch without being knocked off his broom.”

A chorus of ooh-ing and a few boos echo around them, but it simply makes Hanbin grin wider. He looks over to Irma, hovering behind two Gryffindor Chasers.

Irma narrows her eyes at Sumi and then Simeon, who looks a bit sickly green. “If I catch more Snitches, you’ll owe me one butterbeer for each.”

Sumi barely hesitates. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Lee.”

Soon enough, the Quaffle goes up, and the two teams start to play. Even though they have a pretty friendly rivalry with the Gryffindors, it’s still a rivalry, so Hanbin is careful to keep a few strategies to their chest. He tells the Beaters to not hit towards the Chasers as much, not wanting them to get too used to their patterns, and instead to practice intercepting their Bludgers instead. Gyuvin has been expressly told that he is under no circumstances allowed to dive — also because Hanbin does not want to make a second trip to the infirmary over Quidditch-related injuries.

Despite the bright sun, it’s still a fairly cool day, especially when they fly. The rush of air zips by the back of Hanbin’s neck and ruffles through his hair when he turns to throw the Quaffle. Thirty minutes into it, he’s completely flushed pink and breathing hard — and sneaking glances at Zhang Hao every chance he gets. His dark hair is easy to spot between Ricky’s white-blond tuft and Violet’s honeyed-yellow tresses. Even from this distance, all the way up and halfway across the field, Hanbin swears he can see the curve of his cheek, the flash of his rose-red lips. Zhang Hao tilts his head towards Ricky, whispering something, and Hanbin nearly gets hit in the chest by a Bludger.

“Watch it, Sung! I don’t want to send anyone to the Hospital Wing from this practice!” Sumi calls from her spot circling the goalposts.

Hanbin shakes his head, zooming back down the field when a pass between Kama and Rossie gets intercepted by Matthew. Even as he zips further away from where he’s sitting, Hanbin feels the pressure of Zhang Hao’s eyes on his back the entire time. It’s an insistent, heated thing that calls for his attention, that makes him want to direct his broom closer to the stands, that almost feels like a soft caress against his cheek, phantom fingers tilting his chin just-so, so he can see Zhang Hao smirking at him from his seat. He’s playing for his entertainment. That thought makes Hanbin flush hot.

A smattering of cheers rise from the stands whenever one of the teams scores a goal. The tittering of the fangirls is always loud, but this time Hanbin hears a distinct You’re so hot! in the dulcet tones of Kim Taerae when he lobs a Quaffle into a hoop past Sumi. Once, when Hanbin passes close by the stands, chasing their other Chaser Cormac, he hears a high-toned whoop that he’s fairly sure is Zhang Hao’s and nearly wobbles off his broom.

The first game passes quickly with their team winning by a slim margin 60-45. The second game goes to the Gryffindors with a slightly wider margin 15-60, but Hanbin concedes it gracefully and reminds himself to schedule in extra passing drills for the team.

In the middle of the third game, Hanbin throws the ball to Gyuvin, motioning for him to pass to Kama for a straight shot down the field when out of the corner of his eye he catches Irma speeding towards the other side of the field. He trails her Comet 500 as she leans forward and extends her hand, Simeon making a quick-turn and following her when he realizes what she’s doing. But it’s too late. Irma catches the Snitch with a triumphant whoop, and there’s another loud cheer from the fans.

By the time they finish practice, it’s nearing dinnertime, and everyone is haggard and sticky with sweat. The brisk winter evening is starting to close in and with it harsher winds and a sudden drop in temperature. Hanbin raises his sleeve to wipe his forehead as they all drift towards each other in the middle of the field.

“Great games, everyone,” Sumi says, the only one of them all who still looks remotely alive. “What was the final Snitch count?”

Everyone looks over to Irma and Simeon, both of whom are positively drooping off their brooms.

“Three for me,” Irma pants out.

Simeon grimaces. “One for me.”

A collective cheer rings out from his Hufflepuff teammates, and Hanbin throws a smug smile at Sumi.

“Yeah, yeah, congrats. We’ll pay for drinks next time.”

“Good job.” Hanbin exchanges a gleeful look with Irma before turning to the rest of his team. “We’ll talk more in the Common Room tonight, but go shower and head to dinner. Thanks for the practice.” He waves at Sumi.

She gives him a quick salute back, and they all drift down towards the door of the locker room. It’s a scramble in there with slamming locker doors and the sound of water running, everyone rushing to go and fill their stomachs. Hanbin takes a quick shower and puts on the extra shirt and slacks, before heading back out to the main locker room area, where he finds Gyuvin slumped on a bench, pulling a sweet out of his bag and popping it in his mouth.

“Don’t ruin your appetite for dinner,” Hanbin warns. “You need to have a proper meal after practice.”

“Yes, mom,” Gyuvin says automatically, not even looking at him as he chews on his toffee.

Even out of the corner of his eye, Gyuvin looks exhausted. Hanbin frowns. “Not going to shower?”

Gyuvin shakes his head.

“Please sit across the table from me at dinner then,” Matthew says as he walks back from the shower, towel hanging loosely on his hips. “I’d like to keep my appetite.”

Gyuvin pulls another toffee from his robes pocket and flicks it in the direction of Matthew’s back.

“You’ve been showering late at night,” Hanbin observes, turning around after putting on his robes. He opts to shove his tie in the pocket.

“It’s kind of strange that you’re observing other men’s showering patterns, Hanbin,” Gyuvin teases. “What is your boyfriend going to think about that?”

Matthew starts laughing at that, and Hanbin directs Gyuvin to throw another toffee at him.

“All things considered, Sumi should have been chosen as a TriWizard Champion.”

Hanbin mulls that over, probably for a beat too long, because Zhang Hao continues.

“Head girl, Quidditch captain, generally very well-liked by all the Houses even after she demolishes them at Quidditch.”

“She does not demolish—”

“But most importantly,” Zhang Hao raises his voice. “She would be the one going to mandatory dance lessons right now.”

Hanbin snorts.

The Champions have commandeered the faculty tower once more for this exercise. They had been informed by their respective Heads of Houses or Headmasters that they and their date would be expected to practice for their grand entrance and spotlight dance during the Yule Ball after classes. When Zhang Hao and Hanbin arrive and knock on the door, it’s to a flurry of activity in the room. Dew Goldstein from the Daily Prophet and a photographer Hanbin doesn’t recognize are standing in front of the far bookshelf. And with them, looking completely at ease in his natural habitat, which is yammering to a reporter and being the center of attention, is Wesley de Montmorency.

“Good evening, Mister Sung, Mister Zhang,” Professor Trembelay greets them. “Come wait over there with the others. We will begin shortly once the Durmstrang girls arrive.”

“Are we being interviewed again?” Zhang Hao asks, eyeing the reporters in the corner.

“No,” Trembelay says, barely sparing a glance for the pair from the newspaper. “They are simply here to observe. Miss Goldestin said they wanted to do a piece on the Yule Ball and said it was imperative for them to be here, though for whatever reason I cannot fathom. I never did read such tosh as the Daily Prophet anyway.”

Hanbin wants to point out that it’s a fairly reputable publication — regardless of Dew Goldstine’s propensity for sticking them under the limelight — but then they draw closer to the small group by the window, and he feels his mouth instantly snap shut. Violet and Lee are already there, dressed in their Beauxbaton uniforms. Lee stands with a redhead that Hanbin doesn’t recognize, though he assumes she goes to Beauxbaton as well based on the amount of periwinkle blue she’s currently wearing. And next to Violet, is Gideon Grimsby.

The silly list of requirements for Violet’s Yule Ball date that he and Zhang Hao had put together in jest comes back to him clearly: smart and charming and popular. Someone with a good pedigree. Someone who ticks all the boxes. Subjectively, Hanbin would rather drink sludge from the Great Lake than admit that Grimsby is any of that. Objectively, he’s a Prefect and a Quidditch captain from a well-connected Wizarding family. He’s well-liked in the sense that there are a group of Slytherins, and non-Slytherins, who worship him, who think he’s a leader, who likes the sort of power he wields and looks up to him because of that. It’s a rude wake up call to realize that Violet runs in that crowd though.

Zhang Hao also seems surprised to see Grimsby’s broad figure framed against the arched, stained-glass window. The afternoon sun drifts through the panes, landing rainbow petals of light on the two couples. They look good together — and yet Hanbin’s stomach still turns.

“Where are your dates?” Trembelay asks when they come to a stop next to the group.

Hanbin pauses. Couldn’t she have asked them this when they arrived at the door? Of course Trembelay, who never sits in the Great Hall for her meals and is notoriously hard to get a hold of outside her Transfiguration classes and office hours, wouldn’t have heard about the two of them being together. Everyone else already knows though, and he can feel the weight of four pairs of eyes on them as he and Zhang Hao share a look, his panicked, Zhang Hao’s mildly annoyed.

But more potent than his crippling fear of what other people think, and all the whispers and giggles that he can’t seem to ignore when the two of them walk together in the halls, is the utter elation he felt when Zhang Hao had said yes to his Yule Ball proposal, the two of them suspended high above the castle among the stars. And above everything else, he wants to enjoy this, his only chance to go to the Yule Ball with the boy of his dreams.

“We’re going together,” Hanbin says, a tentative smile curling over his lips when he chances a glance at Zhang Hao who no longer looks annoyed and is positively glowing.

“Very well,” Professor Trembelay says in her usual terse, no-nonsense manner, the news of the two of them being together not even seeming to phase her. “We will wait for the other Champions to arrive before we begin. Talk amongst yourselves, children.”

When Trembelay moves away from the group, Hanbin hears a snort from his right, and he tenses once more, thinking it’s over the two of them.

But then Lee’s date, the redhead, folds her arms and smirks at the group. “Who’s going to tell her we’re all of drinking age?”

Hanbin relaxes minutely.

“It’s probably because she’s so old,” Lee offers.

“Yeah, anything below forty is spry for her,” Zhang Hao chuckles.

“Sixty, more like,” Violet says, joining in.

Grimsby’s low laugh blends in with the rest of them, and Hanbin does his best not to stiffen. He hasn’t run into the Slytherin since that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw game. It’s not like they share any classes this year, and it’s not hard to guess why Zhang Hao has kept them off the same Prefect rounds. Every time Grimsby turns towards him, Hanbin braces himself for a sneer, for a derisive comment, even for a faint narrowing of the eyes. But just like when he’d come to find Ricky at the stands, his gaze simply coasts over Hanbin without a reaction, as if he might as well not be here. And that, more than anything, stokes Hanbin’s annoyance and resentment even more.

How dare he say those awful things about him and then stand there casually among their peers, faultless and carefree? It feels unfair that Grimsby can possess so much vitriol and ugliness, and yet mask it so easily in polite company. To come off completely unscathed, to avoid any of the judgment in wider circles, and to save all of his prejudice only for those who will echo it back to him. Hanbin doesn’t even realize he’s balled his hand into fists until Zhang Hao’s fingers gently brush against the back of his hand. He slowly allows Zhang Hao to link their fingers together. Their robes are wide and billowing, their hands mostly tucked between them, but Hanbin doesn’t miss the way Grimsby’s eyes flicker down to their joined hands. Hanbin can’t help his slight smirk.

At that moment the door to the faculty tower opens again and in walks Headmistress Vulchanova along with Milena, Callidora, and two boys. Both of their dates are tall and broad with solid, striking features. They look like they were cut out straight from Witch’s Weekly, and Hanbin would almost think someone had used a Doubling Charm to produce them both, if one didn’t have dark hair and the other didn’t have light hair. Honestly, it could still be true with a bit of transfiguring.

“Now that everyone is here, we can begin!” Montmorency crows from where he’s been talking Dew’s ear off. He claps his hands and heads to the open space in the middle of the room, where chairs and tables have been pushed aside to create a makeshift ballroom dance floor. “If I could have all the Champions and their dates here, please. Yes, yes, spread out.”

Hanbin shuffles along next to Zhang Hao, as they head to an open area on the floor.

“I will have Professor Trembelay assist me with dance instruction this afternoon,” Montmorency declares, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture only for Trembelay to stand there stiffly with a scowl. Hanbin suppresses his giggle, and he sees Zhang Hao press his lips together out of the corner of his eye as well. They share an amused look.

Once everyone is standing in front of him, Montmorency launches into a detailed description of how they will enter the ballroom in pairs, going in the order of schools from Durmstrang to Beauxbaton, and then Hogwarts last. Montmorency pauses for a moment when his gaze drifts over the two of them, as if just registering there are two people supposedly missing, but then he takes it in stride and continues with his explanation, which lingers a bit too much on the extravagant details of the ballroom and not enough on the specificities of what they’ll actually be doing.

As he waxes poetic about what an enchanting and romantic night it will be and reminisces over his own Yule Ball, Hanbin casts his attention about the room. Vulchanova is the only Headmaster here today — come to think of it, it’s been a while since Hanbin has seen Flamel. Not that the headmaster usually makes it a point to interact with students, but not even a wisp of him has been seen throughout the castle since the end of the First Task. Though that isn’t all too surprising either. Flamel isn’t a particularly hands-on sort of headmaster and will often disappear from the castle for official Ministry business as he is special advisor to the Wizengamot, among many other roles. Hanbin wonders if whatever business he’s busy with at the moment has anything to do with what Jiwoong had mentioned.

Hanbin shifts his attention to Dew Goldstein, who stands in the corner of the room. Her quill is poised in the air beside her, occasionally jotting something down on a levitating scroll, as she greedily drinks up the Champions’ selected dates. Hanbin quickly averts his gaze before she can catch him looking, internally wincing. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for him and Zhang Hao to be quite so … public, but her presence pretty much guarantees it.

Though surely this isn’t the first time two TriWizard Champions have gone to the Yule Ball together? Perhaps no one will even care about the two of them. Perhaps they could be treated just like any one of the other couples standing around them. And yet even Hanbin doesn’t believe that. All he can hope is that Goldstein isn’t like Grimsby, or those Ravenclaw’s out on the viaduct. If only it could always just be the two of them without any of the outside world, any of reality, intruding upon the serene, idyllic bubble they’ve made for themselves. Hanbin reaches over for Zhang Hao’s hand again as they listen to Montmorency’s spiel.

“Now, do you all have any questions?” he asks when he finally finishes. Though it seems like none of them had bothered keeping up with his grand retelling of the ‘best night of his life’, so they all simply shake their heads, mute.

“Wonderful! Professor Trembelay, if you would accompany me to the dance floor, then?” He sticks his elbow out for her to take. “And we can begin our instruction.”

It’s quite a mystery to Hanbin how Montmorency managed to win his TriWizard Tournament, though based on word-of-mouth he is actually quite a talented wizard and an excellent, if not flashy, duellist. Perhaps he saves all his intelligence for that part of his life.

“Gentlemen, place your hands up like so,” he instructs once the couples have spread apart a little more to make room for movement.

Both Hanbin and Zhang Hao put up their arms in mirroring poses and, realizing their mistake, giggle at each other fondly.

“Ah, you two,” Montmorency calls over. All the other Champions and their dates look over as well, prickling the skin along the back of Hanbin’s neck. “You will just need to decide who will lead.”

“Have you danced before?” Zhang Hao asks.

Hanbin shakes his head, ignoring everyone else.

“Then I’ll lead,” Zhang Hao offers.

“Have you?” Hanbin challenges.

“Of course,” he says, lifting his arms in the way that Montmorency is demonstrating. “My parents are old-fashioned.”

“Now, ladies and Hanbin, gently clasp your partner’s hand with a light hold; do not grip too hard and rely on your partner for your center of balance, it will throw the whole position off,” Montmorency instructs.

Hanbin follows the steps, placing his palm against Zhang Hao’s, marveling at the way their fingers fit so neatly together. Perhaps they’re holding just a little tighter than Montmorency would want, but it feels just right for him. Montmorency then directs Hanbin’s hand to Zhang Hao’s shoulder, and Zhang Hao’s hand to his hip.

“Now you two should feel equal, as if you are both lifting and supporting each other up. You will endeavor to maintain this feeling while you dance, without losing your balance.”

He adjusts his grip on Zhang Hao’s shoulder and scoots a little closer, looking for that perfect balance of push and pull in their stance. This is the closest they’ve ever been to each other in public. Something Hanbin should be more self-conscious about, knowing that Milena and her date stand just a few feet to their right, that a flash of a camera had just gone off from the direction of the reporters in the corner, that the turn of Grimsby’s dark head just over Zhang Hao’s shoulder is angled towards them. But then they start to dance, and all of Hanbin’s concentration goes to the soft press of Zhang Hao’s hand against his hip, the gentle reassurance of their hands holding each other, and the perfect cadence of their steps as they sync their bodies automatically.

He takes to it quickly. And soon enough the steps feel more natural, allowing Hanbin to properly sink into them, allowing him to lean just a little closer to Zhang Hao.

“You have danced before,” he accuses.

“I haven’t,” Hanbin smiles. “I guess I’m just a natural.”

Zhang Hao scowls, turning them so they shift one spot to the right, exchanging places with Milena and the dark-haired Durmstrang boy. “Show off.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Montmorency claps. He’s stopped dancing at this point, observing the couples as some of them more than others stumble through the simple pattern of steps. “You are ready for music now! Try to match your feet to the rhythm.”

The enchanted piano in the corner of the room suddenly starts with a faint scale and heavy chord, Montmorency waving his wand to direct the pace of the song.

“Callidora, a little lighter on your feet, dear,” he instructs. “And you two,” he turns to Lee and Eudoria. “Please allow your gentleman to lead. You should be like a flower, turning towards the sun.”

Both he and Zhang Hao try to hide their snickers at that. Hanbin takes a step back, letting go of Zhang Hao’s shoulder for a second, spinning out before they come back together. This time much closer than before, this time with their fronts just a hairsbreadth apart from each other, so close that Hanbin is no longer able to focus on the whole of Zhang Hao’s face, instead letting his attention roam from the berry-pink of his lips to the sweet slope of his nose.

Zhang Hao gives him a bright grin as they switch spots with the pair to their right again, this time Callidora and the Durmstrang boy who looks exactly like the other except he has lighter hair. Montmorency seems to be the most concerned about those two, trailing them around the room. He glances briefly at Hanbin and Zhang Hao, but seeing that they are getting on quite nicely, immediately moves on. Hanbin can’t help but notice that Professor Trembelay has distanced herself as far from the dance floor as she can.

“Now when you hear this part of the music, the other dancers in the room will begin to join you, and your spotlight dance will be complete,” Montmorency calls.

Hanbin picks up a melodic run of notes, heavier and played with more intention before it bursts into a few powerful chords and eventually ebbs away into something light and airy again. He’s distracted by the song, also partially keeping an eye on how Montmorency has drifted over to Violet and Grimsby to compliment their “extremely fine and elegant comportment,” so it takes him a while to notice the hand on his hip trailing a little lower.

He only realizes Zhang Hao’s hand is not where it should be when he slides even lower to pinch at Hanbin’s ass. He tries not to yelp, though his entire body jolts. Zhang Hao had timed it just right, they’re perfectly angled away from the rest of the Champions, facing the window side of the room. But still, Hanbin’s eyes grow round and wide at his boldness as a small smirk stitches its way across Zhang Hao’s lips.

“Not fair,” Hanbin squirms, feeling gentle fingers sooth over the sting that had faded quickly. “I hope you’re not planning on doing this in full view of the Yule Ball.”

Zhang Hao hums, the curl of his playful smile sending flutters through Hanbin’s chest. “Weren’t you the one who said we should enjoy it?”

“You’re the only one enjoying it,” Hanbin mutters, though he doesn’t quite pull it off after he lets out another squeak when Zhang Hao really squeezes him this time. “Zhang Hao!” he whispers, scandalized.

“No one’s looking,” he reassures, but out of consideration for the rising color in Hanbin’s ears and cheeks, Zhang Hao moves his hand back to a more appropriate position before they complete another spin.

Shortly after, the song comes to an end and the pairs twirl to a stop.

“All in all, a very grand effort for your first dance. A few of you will need a bit more practice prior to the night, but there is still time, so I am confident that you will all be radiant butterflies by the time you must carry out this incredibly honored and important task,” Montmorency caps his words with an arched brow towards Callidora who steadfastly refuses to make eye contact with him. Hanbin thinks she mutters a few choice words under her breath. “Now, onto the next one!”

At the cries of complaint and dismay, Montmorency titters, waving his hands in the air to settle them. “You cannot expect only to dance once! I will not have you all embarrassing yourselves during the ball when the song suddenly changes and you are all off-beat!”

“I’m going to jinx him,” Milena mutters next to him.

“You will all be expected to partake in the revelry, hm?” Montmorency continues, unperturbed by the less-than-stellar reactions. “Now, back to your partners.”

This time Montmorency names a dance that Zhang Hao isn’t familiar with. “My parents never taught me group dances. Said they weren’t proper,” he explains, and so Hanbin leads.

The steps themselves are fairly simple, the only complication is it involves partner switching with two other couples. They link arms to spin, and then separate again to do a set of mirroring moves. Hanbin is currently stepping side-by-side with Callidora who looks so completely incensed that he thinks she’ll curse him out if he so much as says one word to her — so he very wisely stays silent. He also makes sure to stay out of the way of her stomping feet, breathing a sigh of relief each time they draw further away. He casts his eyes to the side.

Zhang Hao is currently dancing with Grimsby.

Hanbin tries not to let it get to him, to let the tension curling through his chest solidify into anything more than a passing ache. But then Grimsby leans closer and whispers something to Zhang Hao that makes him frown. Hanbin has never felt quite so murderous before. A part of him wants to break dance formation to march over there and yank their linked arms apart; the other, more rational and regrettably self-aware part of him knows that would be an overreaction. But as Zhang Hao’s expression darkens into a fixed scowl, he’s starting to question whether it really would be.

He nearly stumbles in his linked steps with Callidora, who shoots him a scowl of her own, but before he can utter an apology, they switch again — Zhang Hao coming back to his side. He has just enough time to ask, “What did Grimsby say?” before Montmorenecy is waving his arms and telling them to rotate to the other side. Zhang Hao doesn’t get the chance to answer him before he’s already in lock step with the light-haired Durmstrang boy, and Hanbin finds himself next to Violet.

Perhaps seeing Grimsby with Zhang Hao like that had bothered him, left more of an impression, than he had realized. The words spill out of him, unbidden. “I hadn’t heard you were going to the ball with Grimsby.”

Violet glances over at him with faint amusement, but otherwise carries herself with her normal air of grace and perfection as they turn to face each other to complete the dance. “Lee introduced us,” she explains. “They’re family friends.”

Hanbin nods, that makes sense. His mind goes back to the conversation with Ricky and Zhang Hao in the Three Broomsticks what feels like a year ago. “I’m surprised he didn’t make a big deal out of the proposal.”

“He will,” she smirks.

“Do you like him?” Hanbin blurts out.

She gives him a strange look, but then shakes her head, giggling softly, “I think you and Zhang Hao are the only love match here.”

He can’t quite hide the blush that dusts across his cheeks.

“Happy about that?”

Yes, he is. But it’s also too embarrassing to admit out loud. Instead, he deflects, “How come you’re going with him if you don’t like him?”

To which Violet sighs. “You don’t get it?”

But then they separate before he can ask any more, or tell her that yes, he does get it, the pressure to keep up appearances; that Grimsby may seem attractive on the surface but there’s more in life than doing what everyone expects, than being well-liked and well-spoken of. Perhaps it’s lucky that the dance intervened at that moment. After another set of matching steps, Zhang Hao finally returns to his side as the music fades.

“Lovely, lovely,” Montmorency says, drifting back to the front of the room from where he had been adjusting Lee’s footwork. “Well, I can confidently say none of you will fall on your face in the middle of the ball, which is all we can hope for. I do encourage you to practice as time allows though.”

“Over my dead body,” Callidora says, a little too loudly.

Montmorency resiliently ignores her. “Now, I am sure you are all very busy, so I won’t keep you any longer. But remember, you always lead with your left foot!”

They all exit the faculty tower at once, fearing that Montmorency will somehow change his mind and call them back for a foxtrot. Milena and Callidora are the first to go, leaving their dates behind to walk with Vulchanova at a slower pace down the hallway. Hanbin is about to ask Zhang Hao if he’d like to join him for studying this evening when Grimsby beats him to the punch.

“Zhang Hao,” he hears him call, just as he clears the tower. “Do you have a second to talk?”

Zhang Hao’s steps falter next to him, turning to face Grimsby. Hanbin silently wills him to say no. But of course — this, too, is part of the plan. Hanbin perhaps wishes the plan involved pushing Grimsby into the Great Lake.

“Sure,” Zhang Hao nods.

He exchanges a brief glance with Hanbin, and what he sees in his expression, conflict and wariness, at least sets him at ease a little bit, even if he still smarts at the familiar view of the two of them walking side-by-side down the hallway away from him. It’s a little too reminiscent of all the years he’d spent yearning for Zhang Hao from afar only to see Grimsby hovering beside him.

“Jealous?” Violet’s voice trills, right next to his ear.

Hanbin jumps. “N—no.”

She giggles knowingly. “I’m exceptionally good at reading a room, Hanbin. You were watching them while we danced, too.”

“Shouldn’t you be jealous? He’s your date.”

“I don’t care what Gideon does, as long as he makes me look good at the ball.”

“You really couldn’t have found anyone else?” Hanbin grumbles.

Violet lets out another laugh, louder this time. Her pleasant face stretches wide, showcasing teeth sharper than Hanbin had initially realized she had. They look almost … feral. When she catches his stare, she snaps her mouth closed.

“I could have gone to the ball with anyone of my choosing,” she agrees. “But Grimsby is …” she trails off, leaning in a little closer. “Did you know his father is aiming for the Minister’s position? Rumors have it that he’s amassing loyalty, people in high places who will support his run. And well, dating the son of the British Minister does have a certain appeal.”

She shoots him a giddy grin, one that he can’t quite return. “A coup?”

“Nothing as messy as that,” Violet snorts. “I’m assuming it’ll be a seamless transition of power once the Minister realizes all of his friends have turned — like Lee’s father.”

“I had … no idea,” Hanbin frowns. It seems a rather risky thing to simply blab and make idle chatter about. Though perhaps it’s an open secret that he’s just been too unaware or too insignificant in the grand scheme and machinations of the underlying Wizarding political world to be privy to until now. “Why are you telling me this?”

Violet arches her brow. “No offense Hanbin, but I’m telling you because it doesn’t make a difference anyway. What does your father do?”

Hanbin bristles. “My parents own a Muggle cafe.”

“Exactly.”

Something pulls tight behind his ribs, a sick sort of feeling that makes his stomach squeeze and anger run hot up his spine. He hadn’t realized … he hadn’t thought that Violet would be one of those people. She’s always seemed fairly nice, if not a bit vapid. At least he thought she would know better than to judge based on bloodlines.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” She cocks her head to the side. “I didn’t mean any offense, Hanbin.”

“Of course not,” he mutters. She isn’t the first wizard he’s met that’s felt this way — that wouldn’t even be Grimsby. Unfortunately, there are still those among wizards and in this school that regard Muggleborns and Halfbloods as less deserving, as they sit on their high pedestals and apparently pull strings in the Ministry and lounge on all of their privilege.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud, but Violet really is good at reading people, because she seems to get it anyway, sighing, “It’s just the reality of the world, Hanbin. It’s not personal. And who knows, maybe this can help you, too. It’s not too late to get on Grimsby’s good side—”

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” Hanbin snaps, a little more sharply than he intends. It’s contradictory, but he really does think Violet doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just simply been brought up to think this way her whole life. But he’s not interested in being the one to do the work of upending decades of prejudice for her. He’s thankful that the rest of the Champions had emptied the hallway quickly and that this part of the castle isn’t popular among students. He shakes his head firmly. “I’m not interested in playing your games.”

“This isn’t a game,” she scoffs. “This is your future outside of these hallowed halls of learning, studying well and Prefect badges aren’t going to help you out there. It’s Zhang Hao’s future, too. Do you know who he is? His family is pretty important.”

What had just been mild annoyance and stinging realization quickly burgeons into a wave of fury, warming Hanbin’s cheeks, making him stand even taller. “I know very well who Zhang Hao is — and it has nothing to do with his family or his lineage.”

Violet, to his great consternation, giggles. “Calm down, loverboy. Need I remind you, he’s the one who has just run off with Gideon.”

Hanbin grits his teeth. She doesn’t need to know why Zhang Hao would do that — their agreed-upon plan — she also doesn’t need to know just how much it bothers him.

“Just think about it, hm?” she shrugs, as if they just had a pleasant exchange over trying bouillabaisse.

“I won’t.”

“Fine,” Violet adjusts her impeccably neat uniform. “But you’ll certainly agree it’s in your best interest to keep quiet about this, right?”

“Don’t worry, Violet,” Hanbin mocks. “I won’t ruin your plan.”

She grins up at him with her sharp teeth. “I knew I could trust you.”

After Violet leaves him in the hallway, Hanbin has far too much pent up energy to revise Potions ingredients and Transfiguration wand movements. Instead, he takes the permission slip he had gotten from Professor Endo and heads to the library. He gains access to the Restricted Section easily enough — no one would suspect exemplary Prefect and honored TriWizard Champion Sung Hanbin to be up to anything he shouldn't be. He sets his sights on a new section, the organization in here truly dismal, and gets to work.

Hanbin doesn’t turn up any luck in his continued research on enchanted mirrors. Only a few of them have existed in history — not because the magic regarding them is Dark or even complicated, but simply because they were deemed all but obsolete after the Floo Network was established in the early 1800s. Being able to call anyone through the Floo, or even turn up right where they are, made a mirror that could only reach one other person useless.

However, as he reads brief snippets and paragraphs about them — it dawns on him with alarming clarity that due to their unpopularity, there is no branch of the Ministry that oversees them, unlike the Owl Post and the Floo Network. There would be no official log of who owns one, who they can contact, and where they can be found. No exchanges made through the mirrors would be recorded — allowing for ultimate secrecy and for someone to stay completely off the Ministry’s radar. The only people who would know the mirror exists would be the two owners. And if what Grimsby said about a password was true, they would also be the only two in the world who could use them.

His search for Goblin-created vault doors proves to be more fruitful though. And Hanbin quickly jots down the information from those books: the process it takes to create them, the unique variations to each door, the emergency failsafes that make them “the most secure and trustworthy mechanism to protect your worldly possessions.” Which is how Zhang Hao finds him, hunched over three different open books and two rolls of parchment.

“Hanbin, I messed up.”

He stands up immediately, taking in the downturned twist of Zhang Hao’s mouth, the way he fidgets with the sleeve of his robes. “What did he do?”

Zhang Hao is quick to shake his head, though he still looks visibly upset. “He didn’t do anything. But we fought, which we’ve done before, but this one went … poorly.”

Hanbin doesn’t feel reassured until he rounds the table, drawing Zhang Hao closer by his elbows. He peers at his features, taking in the faint speckle of his mole under his eye, the downturned angle of his dark eyebrows, the tension around his lips. And then draws his gaze lower to make sure he has no bodily injuries. Upset and angry — but fortunately, unhurt. He looks back up at him. “Did you talk to him about the mirror?”

“Yes, that’s what we fought about. I thought I could get him to tell me the password if I pushed just a little more, but it didn’t work.” Zhang Hao bites his lip in consternation.

Vindication, ugly and ruthless, burns through Hanbin. He’s glad it didn’t go well — they don’t need Grimsby’s help anyway. But he rubs his thumbs soothingly over Zhang Hao’s arms. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be too upset; we’ll figure it out without him.”

“It’s not that,” Zhang Hao sounds frustrated, agitated, maybe even a little panicked, which Hanbin has never seen before, not even when he’d woken up in the Hospital Ward from the First Task. “I … I think I said too much. I thought that if I made him believe that I already knew the password, if I was getting close, he’d have to cave and agree to help me, but it just made things worse.”

Hanbin pauses. “How so?”

“He got angry — angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. I bluffed that Ricky had told me everything. I went out on a limb and guessed that’s why they’ve been spending all that time together; for whatever reason, I think he’s trying to help Gideon get to the mirror, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Gideon stormed off absolutely livid, and I’m scared that …” Zhang Hao trails off, as if he’s too afraid to say it out loud.

“That he’s going to do something to Ricky?” Though it’s less a question than it is a statement — Hanbin can read Zhang Hao pretty well, even better now than before. And it’s not something that he would ever put above Grimsby to be capable of doing.

Zhang Hao nods nervously.

“Do you know where Ricky is? We should go find him.”

Zhang Hao makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat, breaking away from Hanbin’s hold, shoulders tense. “I already did that — do you think I would have come here without making sure he was fine first?” Almost immediately after he spits out the question, his shoulders slump forward, the most miserable look flashing across his face. Zhang Hao reaches out, latching onto Hanbin’s wrist. “I’m sorry, I—” He swallows, tugging on Hanbin’s hand. “I’m just upset right now, and angry at myself, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

But Hanbin isn’t hurt. This is nowhere near the worst he’s willing to accept from Zhang Hao — a fit of worry, an accidental lashing out — he thinks he would accept anything from him, even his hatred and acrimony if he had to. “It’s okay, I know. You don’t have to apologize.”

“For this, I really do,” Zhang Hao’s mouth twists. He takes a deep breath, drawing closer again, still holding onto him. “I went to look for Ricky immediately after, and he’s just up in our dorm right now with our roommates. I asked Huanjun to tell me if he leaves. I don’t think Gideon would do anything in front of other people.”

“That’s good then,” Hanbin soothes. He rubs gently along Zhang Hao’s arm, watching the way his shoulders relax incrementally with every pass of his hand. “If he can’t get to Ricky right away, it’ll give him a chance to cool off.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “You don’t know Gideon like I do. He never cools off. He just … stays angry until he can let it out somewhere. Usually it’s a shouting match, or he smashes something.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy.”

“Tell me about it,” Zhang Hao mutters.

“I think you should talk to Ricky,” Hanbin offers. “Warn him.”

“I don’t think he’ll listen to me, or believe me. He’s stubborn like that. He’ll probably just think I’m trying to get him to spill the truth,” Zhang Hao groans, knocking his forehead against Hanbin’s shoulder. “Why am I friends with the most pigheaded people on the planet?”

Hanbin draws calming circles along Zhang Hao’s back, letting him grumble and complain into his shoulder. He feels the knobs of his spine through the back of his robe, and resolves to store a few more snacks from the Kitchen Elves in his room for him. “It’ll be fine,” Hanbin murmurs. “We’ll just keep an eye on him for the next few days.”

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath, shuffling forward a bit until he’s fully tucked in Hanbin’s arms. “Okay,” he mumbles into the side of Hanbin’s neck.

He squeezes him tightly. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’ll try talking to Gideon again tomorrow. Maybe I can fix this.”

Hanbin winces, but he knows Zhang Hao can’t see it. “Whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao sighs.

And the pressure against Hanbin’s chest might be because Zhang Hao has fully relaxed into him, leaning into him with the full weight of his body — or it might be because Zhang Hao sounded a bit amazed, maybe even a little choked-up when he had thanked him, like he’s never had someone like this before, like being able to depend on someone is a novelty.

Hanbin tightens his hold and turns to place a featherlight kiss to the crown of his head, making him a silent promise.

Chimaeras are one of the most dangerous beasts in the Wizarding World.

Hanbin remembers studying them back in fifth year. He remembers Professor MacQuoid explaining that it is not so much the hybrid parts of them — lion, goat, and dragon — that make them lethal, but their incredible acuity and ability to plan, to delay gratification, that make them a XXXXX-classified beast according to the Ministry. “They’re diabolically difficult to catch, to tame, to kill,” she had said. “There is no way to bait a chimaera or goad it to strike out in a fit of instinct.”

In one of the most famous cases that Hanbin had read, a chimaera had toyed with a village in Zagoria, Greece for three months, picking the humans off one by one, eluding capture of defeat all the while despite traps and warded spells set up. When the Ministry had sent in a special task force to relocate or subdue the beast, the investigators were dealt with in a similar fashion over a gruesome course of a week. The tale had terrified Hanbin back then. It still terrifies him now, to think of a creature so aggressive, so possessed.

When he had made those assurances to Zhang Hao — he had no idea that Grimsby was much like a chimaera.

It’s late in the evening when the first sign of trouble emerges. Hanbin is sitting in the Great Hall, one eye on the plate of chocolate éclairs and the other on Ricky, who sits with a few other Slytherins at the table across the room. His blond head is bent low, whispering over something with Camden Goldstein. Perfectly fine and perfectly safe. So when Matthew approaches him with a worried frown on his face, Hanbin doesn’t immediately think anything is amiss.

“Hey Mattchu, what’s wrong?” Hanbin asks, patting the seat on the bench next to him in invitation.

Matthew sits down and drops his bag by their feet. “Nothing really — has Gyuvin come down to dinner?”

“Not yet.” Gyuvin hadn’t been in their dorm after classes when Hanbin had decided to come down with Yarkov. He figured he’d find his way here eventually, though it has been awhile since dinner service started. “Why?”

“We were supposed to study for a Transfiguration exam together after class, but he never showed up.”

Hanbin frowns. That doesn’t sound like Gyuvin.

“I thought maybe he just got caught up with something else, it’s not a big deal though,” Matthew shrugs, helping himself to some beef casserole.

“I haven’t seen him since lunchtime,” Hanbin offers. He looks further down the table to where a few fifth and sixth-years are sitting, calling over, “Hey, did you guys see Gyuvin in class this afternoon?”

“Yeah, we had Herbology together last period,” one of the girls responds.

“Did you see where he went after?”

She shakes her head.

“Probably just forgot we agreed to meet,” Matthew says with another shrug. “He’s been kind of distracted lately.”

He has — Gyuvin has never been the most focused, serious guy, but he’s been dropping things a lot more often and getting jumpy at sudden noises. Hanbin chews on an éclair, commenting, “He got hit with a Bludger the other day during practice. Had all the time in the world to dodge, too. Kama felt really bad about it after.”

“Eh, those things happen. Remember when Cormac got knocked in the head last year? That was a nasty one.”

“I still think that was on purpose.”

Matthew shudders. “Yeah, the Slytherin team doesn’t play around.”

Despite what Matthew said, as Hanbin continues eating, he can’t shake a lingering feeling of doubt. “I think I’ll go check up on him, just in case. Want to come?”

Matthew shoots him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’ve got Dueling Club. But I can come find you guys after?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanbin waves him off, cramming the last bite of his éclairs in his mouth and getting up. “I’ll probably find him soon enough.”

“Good luck!” Matthew calls, waving and making himself completely at home at the Hufflepuff table. No one even bats an eye that he’s there anymore.

Hanbin’s first stop is the statue of the hunchback witch. Gyuvin has been getting bolder recently, using the passageway during the day, too. It makes Hanbin worried over his friend and what exactly is driving him to such lengths (even if the lengths are rather harmless) — but every time he’s asked, Gyuvin has resolutely, stubbornly told him that it’s something he’s dealing with on his own and he doesn’t want Hanbin to get involved. So he’s resolved himself to watching Gyuvin struggle through it on his own. He wonders if this is maybe how parents feel when they see their child grow up, making mistakes for themselves out in the world, hoping that they’ve given them the right advice and support so they’ll make good choices. Hanbin snorts to himself for his melodramatic thoughts as he heads down the dark stretch of the tunnel with a glowing wand, but it doesn’t take him long to realize that it’s empty.

He returns to the castle corridor a little more anxious than before. There’s less than an hour to go until curfew, but a quick check back in the dorm tells him that none of his roommates have returned yet. Where could Gyuvin have gone? Hanbin just about to set off towards the library — though there’s a very low chance Gyuvin would be there — and other study areas around on the fourth-floor when he runs into Zhang Hao outside the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“Hanbin!” he calls as soon as he spots him, rushing over.

“Hey,” Hanbin pauses, taking in the slight crinkle between Zhang Hao’s brows. “Were you looking for me?”

“Have you seen Ricky?”

Something heavy lands in Hanbin’s stomach, a sick, twisting feeling of dread. “No … I’ve been looking for Gyuvin.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “Gyuvin is missing, too?”

“Not missing,” Hanbin says. It feels too much like a bad premonition, saying it out loud. “He was just supposed to meet Matthew after class, but never showed, and he wasn’t at dinner earlier either.” But then Hanbin remembers. “But I did see Ricky with your roommate. I thought they would just go back to the dorms together.”

“They did,” Zhang Hao confirms. “I saw him in the Common Room before I went back to our room, thinking he’d come up soon enough. But he didn’t and when I went back to check he’s not anywhere in the dorm anymore.”

Hanbin’s gut squeezes with panic. “Where have you checked?”

“Great Hall and library — basically the entire ground floor, including the boy’s bathroom.”

“I looked in the usual passageway Gyuvin uses, nothing there. I was just going to check the library, but …” His head spins as to where else they could look: fourth-floor lounge areas, Owlery, North Wing study hall. The list is endless, the castle is huge when it wants to be.

Zhang Hao seems to be thinking the same thing. “Let’s split up and take each floor. You start from the seventh, and I’ll start from the first, and we work our way towards each other.”

Hanbin nods. “With any luck, they might just be holed up in a study hall.” Though even as he says it, he can tell that neither of them really believe it. If the heavy feeling in his chest and the worry setting a rapid pace for his heart are anything to go by, neither Ricky nor Gyuvin’s sudden disappearances warrant anything good.

The two of them rush up the stairs to the ground floor from the basement, heading towards the grand staircase where they plan to split up. Hanbin is just about to turn up to the second floor when he spots a small figure on the landing. He’s used to seeing Mrs. Norris roaming about the castle — but this cat isn’t a tabby, it’s chocolate brown.

Immediately, he knows something isn’t right, and that awful feeling in his stomach expands. “Zhang Hao!” he calls. It also catches Zee’s attention, her head swiveling over to him before she hops down a step and meows loudly.

“What is it?” Zhang Hao asks, out of breath after running back over.

Zee meows even louder as soon as she sees Zhang Hao.

“Is she usually allowed to roam?” Hanbin asks.

“She never leaves the dungeons. I barely ever see her out of our room. Zee?” He tries calling for her, climbing up a few steps. “How did you get out here? Are you with Ricky?”

Zee gives them another loud meow before turning and running up the stairs. They exchange wide-eyed looks before chasing behind her, following her all the way up to the third floor. They pass by the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor that Hanbin had searched earlier tonight, but instead of turning towards the library, Zee takes them towards the right to the Charms corridor. She stops in front of one of the empty classrooms, and Hanbin immediately frowns. As far as he knows, this is usually an unused classroom. Why would Ricky come in here? They try the door, and despite the fact— because of the fact that it opens easily, Hanbin has a bad feeling about it.

They exchange another concerned, wary looks, and wordlessly both of them draw out their wands as Hanbin pushes the door further in. It’s a larger room with extra desks lining the walls and a dusty podium; it’s also empty. But Zee immediately zips in as soon as the door is wide enough. They both step in.

“What do you think—” Zhang Hao’s words cut off in a sharp inhale. And Hanbin sees it at the same time too: a pile of robes — a body — lying on the floor against the wall at the front of the room, partially hidden by the lectern.

He gasps, shooting forward and dropping to his knees next to the limp form. “Gyuvin!”

He’s leaning up against the wall, slumped over from a sitting position, head lolling to the side, eyes closed and face pale.

“Help me move him,” Hanbin asks, but Zhang Hao is already reaching for Gyuvin’s arm to help lay him out on the stone floor. Immediately, Hanbin fumbles for Gyuvin’s wrists, but his hands are shaking so badly he can’t get a pulse.

Zhang Hao reaches over, supporting Gyuvin’s head with his palm and places a finger under his nose. “He’s still breathing,” he says after a beat.

Hanbin feels a breath of relief punch out of him. He notices a bit of redness around Gyuvin’s right cheek, spreading up towards his cheekbone and eye. His heart pangs. “How did he end up here? What happened?”

“Do you mind if I run a few diagnostic tests?” Zhang Hao asks. “To make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course,” he says instantly, not wanting to move away, but shuffling back to give Zhang Hao a bit more room to work with. He watches with increasing worry as Zhang Hao mutters a spell that sends a glowing blue light around Gyuvin’s body. Zhang Hao’s expression morphs from confusion to concern.

“What is it? Is he okay?”

“There are quite a few bruises on his body — most notably one on his chest, but there’s also that one on his face and a few along his arm,” Zhang Hao mutters. “There doesn’t seem to be any injury to his head though, so his unconscious state is likely due to a spell, probably stupefy, if I had to guess.”

“Someone hit him with a spell,” Hanbin grits out. Every emotion that had been running through him — confusion, concern — evaporates in an instant as a bolt of white hot anger strikes right down his center. “And then ran away.”

“Maybe, but, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao says, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions until Gyuvin wakes up and can tell us what happened. I’m just … it’s just a guess.”

“There are bruises on him. On his face, his body, he’s obviously hurt and—” Hanbin breaks himself off before he says something he’ll regret in the heat of the moment. Instead he bites out. “He didn’t do this to himself.”

Hanbin glances back down at Gyuvin, and perhaps his anger can make room for one more emotion: guilt. He should have tried harder to get Gyuvin to tell him what was going on; he shouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Maybe if he had, he could have been here to help him, so he wouldn’t have ended up like this. And maybe his anger, the heat that rises in his chest and curls through to the tips of his fingers is his way of sending this guilt. Maybe if he can make whoever did this pay, it’ll absolve him a little of not being able to prevent it in the first place.

At that moment, there’s a faint flutter behind Gyuvin’s closed eyelids, a slight scrunching of his brow. And Hanbin leans forward with a gasp, “Gyuvin?”

Gyuvin’s dark eyes blink open, clearly dazed and unfocused. He looks so young this way, far younger than his seventeen years. Gyuvin frowns, and when that is clearly painful, winces. “Huh?” It’s more a puff of air than a real sound, but Hanbin could nearly cry with the relief that Gyuvin is awake.

“Hey, it’s me,” Hanbin says gently, as he leans over him. “I’m here.”

Zhang Hao leans in closer as well, the two of them hovering over Gyuvin as he slowly comes to. It takes a second for Gyuvin to focus on them both — and then he gasps, getting up so fast that both Hanbin and Zhang Hao lean back quickly to get out of his way.

Gyuvin pushes himself up and backs up against the wall, eyes wide and wild. And then his face crumples in pain. “Ow,” he groans, doubling over and wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Gyuvin,” Zhang Hao shuffles closer, wanting to help, but Gyuvin holds out an outstretched hand immediately.

“N-no! I’m fine. You don’t have to—!” He winces again, pressing his hand against his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Zhang Hao placates, though he doesn’t make another move to approach him. “You’re okay now. It’s just us. We found you here. You’re obviously hurt, just let me take a look at you, and maybe I can help.”

“It’s— I—” Gyuvin’s eyes flicker back and forth between Hanbin and Zhang Hao, and it’s clear that panic is welling to the surface.

Yet again, Hanbin is hit with a double punch of anger and guilt. Over whoever did this to Gyuvin, whoever scared him so badly that he still isn’t willing to tell them what happened after he’s been attacked for Merlin’s sake; over not being a better friend, letting Zhang Hao and all his other responsibilities take precedence. Hanbin thinks back to his and Gyuvin’s last, lengthy conversion in the secret passageway and how he had promised him it wouldn’t be him or Zhang Hao. The emotions hit him, like incessant, neverending waves, and he’s trying desperately not to give in, not to drown under the tides of his own failure. But it’s hard when Gyuvin is so obviously hurting.

“You don’t want to talk about it right now,” Hanbin makes himself say. Even when everything in him demands to know what happened, who did this, so he can rampage his revenge. “But let Zhang Hao take a look. Or better yet, let him take you to the Hospital Wing. You should get checked out. Who knows how long you’ve been here—” Hanbin chokes up, not being able to stomach the thought of Gyuvin lying here cold and alone for hours on end.

Gyuvin hesitates for just one more moment, body strung so tight, Hanbin wonders if he’s even breathing, but then he finally seems to lose the battle within himself, letting out a breath that’s half sigh, half sob. He sinks against the wall, as if he’s lost all energy to keep himself tense; he looks utterly defeated, completely lost.

But he nods, just once.

That’s enough permission for Zhang Hao to scoot over to his side, giving him a soothing, sympathetic smile. “I’ll just take another look before we try to move you to the Hospital Wing.”

“Okay, thanks,” Gyuvin mumbles, letting Zhang Hao push aside his robes and delft undo the buttons of his shirt.

“When I performed a Diagnostic Spell earlier, there seemed to be a lot of internal bleeding around here …”

Hanbin sucks in a sharp breath as soon as Zhang Hao finishes — there’s a vicious purple and red bruise forming in the center of Gyuvin’s chest, clearly where a spell had struck him with some force.

“This is …” Zhang Hao breathes. And Hanbin can tell that his mind is working overtime, putting two and two together behind those shocked, bright eyes. “This wasn’t just a stupefy was it, Gyuvin?”

Hanbin’s chest feels tight as he waits for his answer. Gyuvin gives a singular shake of his head, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Please tell me what happened,” Hanbin implores. He’s not above begging — if only so he can stop feeling so helpless. “I want to help. Maybe we can report this.”

“No!” Gyuvin yells, so loud it bounces around the empty room. “You can’t tell anyone about this. It’ll only get worse if you do.”

“What will get worse?” Hanbin urges. Against his better judgment, he promises, “I won’t tell anyone, but it’s clear you’re out of your depth here—”

Gyuvin’s face twists, and Hanbin knows he’s said the wrong thing. “You think you can solve every problem you come across — because you’re the great Sung Hanbin, right? And I’m always just here waiting to be saved, because I can’t do anything right.”

“Gyuvin,” Hanbin gasps. “That’s not it at all. You’ve been acting strangely for weeks. I want to help because I care about you, not because I think you’re lacking in any way.”

Gyuvin sticks out his lower lip in a pout, his large features drooping in misery. “I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Gyuvin runs the back of his hand under his nose, and even that seems to disturb the injury on his cheek, making him wince again.

Zhang Hao starts redoing the button’s on Gyuvin’s shirt, having watched their brief exchange with a deep frown. “We really should get you to the Hospital Wing first,” he says, looking over at Hanbin. “This doesn’t look good — and while it’s not fatal, it’s quite serious.”

“We can talk more there,” Hanbin agrees, he looks over at Gyuvin until he also gives a nod. He reaches over to squeeze Gyuvin’s hand. “Are you able to walk? Or we can carry you..”

“I can walk …” Gyuvin grimaces as he sits up. “Maybe.”

In the end, they support him between them, with Zhang Hao casting a brief Levitating Spell on Gyuvin when they reach the stairs so they won’t jostle his middle as much. Zee, who Hanbin had completely forgotten about when they found Gyuvin, trails them back down to the ground floor but disappears shortly after, running back to the dungeons, Hanbin guesses. It’s already past curfew by this hour which means, thankfully, the hallways are entirely empty.

Madam Pomfrey is sitting alone at a desk at the back of the infirmary, a flickering lamp next to her as she jots down notes when they burst into the Hospital Wing. She looks up with alarm, and as soon as she sees Gyuvin’s figure propped between theirs, obviously ailing, she rushes over.

“What happened?” she demands, moving Gyuvin over to one of the beds closest to the door.

“Uh—”

“Dueling Club,” Hanbin provides quickly, remembering Matthew mentioning it at dinner. “We were practicing after it was over, and he accidentally … walked in the way of a spell.”

Madam Pomfrey frowns deeply, obviously displeased with their carelessness, but doesn’t ask any more questions as she performs the same Diagnostic Spell that Zhang Hao had cast upstairs, and begins muttering a few healing spells once she’s directed Gyuvin to remove his robe and shirt. Hanbin only recognizes two — a Stamina Spell to help him regain a bit of energy and Ferula. But Zhang Hao seems far more knowledgeable, nodding his head and paying close attention to the way she treats his wounds.

All Hanbin wants to do is sink into his arms right now — to thank him for being here, for taking care of Gyuvin upstairs, for being able to keep his cool when with every wince and groan from Gyuvin as Madam Pomfrey sets out to heal him, Hanbin feels his murderous rage start to build once more. Now that he knows Gyuvin is okay, now that there’s nothing left for him to do, he finds it harder to control.

“Any head pain, dear? Can you tell me what you had for lunch today?”

“No pain,” Gyuvin mumbles. “I think I had a steak and kidney pasty.”

“Good, and who is your Head of House?”

“Professor Endo.”

Madam Pomfrey nods with satisfaction. She takes a step back, glancing at all three of them with a stern look. “Well, it does not look like there was any lasting damage, and your wits still seem to be about you, Mister Kim. But you all must be more careful next time. Dueling Club is only permitted under the supervision of a professor for a reason.”

They nod contritely, silent.

“And you are not, under any circumstances, regardless of practice or a fake duel, allowed to aim a Dark curse on any other student. Are we clear?”

Hanbin freezes — a Dark curse? He has to work hard to maintain a placid, neutral expression as he nods. As soon as Madam Pomfrey turns away to grab medicine, Hanbin turns to Gyuvin with a look in equal measure concerned and angry, but he only gets a quick head shake and a mouthed later in return.

And once again, Hanbin is so grateful that Zhang Hao is here when he manages to convince Madam Pomfrey to let the two of them stay with Gyuvin for a bit. She gives them a strict warning of fifteen minutes and no loud noises before retiring to her rooms at the back of the infirmary.

Hanbin only barely manages to keep his composure long enough for her to shut the door, before he rounds on Gyuvin. “Dark curse?”

“A curse is serious, Gyuvin. We won’t tell anyone, but it’s a matter of your safety,” Zhang Hao adds, looking shaken but insistent as well.

Gyuvin scrubs his hand down his face, the bruise that had been forming there fully healed by Madam Pomfrey. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles. “But swear on your lives, you won’t do anything, okay?”

Zhang Hao gives a quick nod. Hanbin doesn’t say anything. He can tell that it doesn’t go unnoticed by Gyuvin, who gives him a hurt frown.

Hanbin blows out a breath, sitting down at the end of the hospital bed. “Gyuvin, I can’t just do nothing.”

“You have to trust me,” he insists.

“I do trust you. But finding you collapsed in a classroom was … terrifying. If there’s even a chance that you could be hurt again, or if you’re going to be in danger, I’m not going to be able to keep this promise.”

Gyuvin leans forward, as if to argue, but a sudden gasp from the doorway of the Hospital Wing has all three of them whipping around. Hanbin stands up instantly, hand already halfway into his robe for his wand, before he realizes who it is that’s rushing towards them.

“Ricky?” Zhang Hao steps forward, but Ricky brushes past him as if he doesn’t even register that he’s there. Instead, his attention is completely trained on Gyuvin, who sits with his mouth agape when Ricky reaches his bedside.

“Ricky—” Gyuvin’s mouth opens and closes as if he’s struggling for his words.

“I’m going to kill him,” Ricky hisses.

Gyuvin finally manages to find his words. “It’s fine! It’s not a big deal.”

“It is not fine! You are in the Hospital Wing!” Ricky’s words crack at the end.

This is maybe the first time since Hanbin has made his acquaintance that he’s seen Ricky lose his composure — where he truly looks a mess. His pale hair stands up on end, and there’s a tinge of red in the corner of his eyes, as if he’s holding back tears. His lips tremble, and when he reaches out for Gyuvin, so does his hand.

“Okay, someone needs to start explaining,” Zhang Hao declares, arms crossed and frown firmly in place where he stands at the foot of the bed. Concern radiates off of him in spades as he looks between Ricky and Gyuvin. “What is going on?”

But Hanbin has fixated on one thing only. He turns to Ricky. “Who are you going to kill? Who did this to him?”

Ricky looks between both Hanbin and Zhang Hao, but unlike Gyuvin, there’s no panic or indecision in his eyes, only molten fury and a cold sort of determination. “Gideon is looking for a mirror,” Ricky spits.

“Ricky, no—” Gyuvin tries to protest but Ricky shakes his head firmly.

He doesn’t let go of Gyuvin’s hand though, and it’s only there that he shakes, even as he continues with a bleak, steady voice: “And he wants me to find it for him.”

It’s curious. How his anger before had been an uncontrollable, barely contained thing. That he had been so ready to lash out at whoever had hurt Gyuvin. He’d been so full of rage, scathing and combustible, simply waiting for the singular spark of who to blame before he can explode. And yet, now when he has his answer, when he knows exactly who is responsible, his fury is all too easy to control — it’s a cold, lifeless thing that twists into his chest. It’s no less sharp or potent, but it lies dormant, waiting for him to wield it. It settles right next to the crystallized loathing he has for Flamel, that he has for whoever had taken Zhang Hao.

Perhaps he’s exactly like a chimaera, too.

“But what does this have to do with Gyuvin?” Zhang Hao scowls.

“We’re dating,” Gyuvin blurts before Ricky can say anything else.

A wave of shock seems to reverberate around the room — or more accurately, him and Zhang Hao.

“When did this happen?”

“How do you even know each other?” The two of them blurt out at once.

It’s once again Zhang Hao who puts the pieces together: “He’s been threatening Gyuvin to get you to help him.”

Hanbin shifts, the ice of his hatred to sliding along his veins, making a home there. He waits until it settles before he dares to look at Gyuvin again. “Is that true?” he asks. “He’s been … bullying you?”

Gyuvin grimaces, looking pained. “When you put it like that it sounds embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Ricky bites out. He turns to the two of them. “Gideon caught the two of us sneaking back from the kitchens one night during his Prefect patrols. It was my fault … I wasn’t careful. Usually Zee will keep a lookout for us, but I had left her in the dorms that night thinking it would be quick. That’s how he found out. And he’s been using it as leverage ever since. But I didn’t think …” Ricky trails off, looking back over at Gyuvin. “How could you not tell me that it’s gotten this bad?”

“You told me to stay away from you,” Gyuvin pouts.

“To protect you!” Ricky bursts out, his voice still hushed but no less harsh. “If I had known about this, I wouldn’t have left you alone.”

“He’s been threatening him,” Hanbin says hollowly. And perhaps his anger is not as in control as he had thought.

“That’s …” Zhang Hao trails off, a look of horror dawning on his face. “Despicable.”

“I’m not helpless you know,” Gyuvin speaks up. “I can handle him.”

“Even if you can, you do not have to martyr yourself for me!” Ricky hisses, eyes blazing and jaw clenched.

“What good am I to you then if I can’t do anything for you?” Gyuvin shoots back.

“This is not doing anything for me!”

“Stop!” Zhang Hao gets in between the two of them, pushing Ricky a little further from the bed. His hold on Gyuvin’s hand breaks. “Calm down — fighting isn’t going to make Gyuvin better, and Madam Pomfrey is going to hear.”

That at least gets the two of them to cease their arguing. Though through all of this, there is one thing that Hanbin still doesn’t understand. “But why are you two letting him get away with this? Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped — at least we could have made him leave Gyuvin alone.”

“Of course Grimsby doesn’t want anyone else finding out,” Gyuvin says, shaking his head. “It’s not just me he’s using to threaten Ricky.”

“It’s complicated,” Ricky’s mouth twists. He glances at Zhang Hao as if he’ll understand. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Gideon’s father.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “You mean his Minister of Magic ambitions?”

Something about that chafes — the realization that Zhang Hao is also in on this exclusive web of political secrecy. He thinks back to Violet’s goading, his irritated, righteous responses. Had he been wrong for that? He glances over at Zhang Hao. But he looks the exact opposite of smug or scheming, his cheeks are pale, his eyes listless — it’s been a long day.

Hanbin has always prided himself on knowing Zhang Hao well, not because of false confidence or even single-minded obsession; no, he’s always felt that way simply because Zhang Hao had let him see the truth of him all those years ago in a train compartment traveling a hundred kilometers an hour to their future. Because when they came together again this year due to the Tournament, because of the Fat Lady, Hanbin had felt that same kinship, that connection and recognition. Something in him had breathed a deep, echoing sigh of relief, it’s good to see you again.

But it’s possible that Hanbin has been clinging onto the visage of a boy gone with time. That all the things he wills to see in Zhang Hao is all that he does. Perhaps he’s not the moon, and instead he’s some far off, orbiting star — the imprint of which takes years to reach Hanbin, still burning bright in his eyes, but in reality has already blinked out of existence. And yet even as the thought crosses his mind, his entire body rejects the idea. Zhang Hao is exactly as he sees him to be — exactly like he’s always seen him. And Zhang Hao sees him too; it’s what sets off the resonance of their souls, the instant familiarity that has taken hold of them so quickly. Hanbin clings onto that with desperate, clawing hands even in the face of everything else, even in the face of his own doubt.

“I think they’re a bit more than just ambitions now,” Ricky says ominously, snapping Hanbin back into the conversation. “He’s been gaining favor, among Ministry officials, among the Wizengamot. He has too much influence now among our circle.”

Zhang Hao scrunches his nose at that — our circle.

Ricky’s eyes shine bright under the pale glow of the candles around the infirmary, as he stares Zhang Hao down, as he wills him to understand. “After my dad left, all my mother has now are her friends. Everyone who is now under his father’s thumb. It would be all too easy for them to cut us— cut her off. I can’t do that to her.”

“He’s using everyone he cares about against him,” Gyuvin seethes.

“Including you,” Ricky snaps, turning back around to say more—

“Gentlemen,” Madam Pomfrey’s stern, cool voice calls across the empty Hospital Wing. All four of them freeze. “It has been far more han fifteen minutes. Whatever it is that you all are discussing can be saved for the morning, hm? After the rest of you who are not patients have a good night’s rest in your dorms.”

Her tone brooks no argument, and after an apology from Zhang Hao, the three of them scatter out of the Hospital Wing. Before he leaves, Hanbin exchanges a long look with him; he isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling, some mix of anger, frustration, hurt, and helplessness — but all he gets in return from Gyuvin is grief.

Zhang Hao doesn’t sleep that night.

Hanbin knows because less than an hour after he leaves him and Ricky at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons and returns back to his own room — where Yarkov and Hajoon sleep soundly none the wiser as to where their other two roommates had gone off to — the dark velvet curtains of his bed are being brushed aside and a gentle palm is running down his bare arm and he’s blinking up at the twin specks of starlight that are Zhang Hao’s eyes flashing in the dim room, a view that he has grown familiar with over the past week. And despite the exhaustion tugging at him, at the whirling chaos of thoughts in his mind, Hanbin’s heart swells when Zhang Hao folds himself into the mold of his arms and tucks his head onto the corner of his pillow. Even in his sleep-drowsy state, Hanbin knows what this familiarity means.

His own fitful sleep is punctuated by the gentle brush of Zhang Hao’s hands through his hair, the small movements he makes as he tries to get settled through the night, the intermittent sighs that mark every hour of sleeplessness. But even like this, with both of them struggling to tame their rioting thoughts, with neither of them saying anything out loud, Hanbin would prefer a sleepless night with Zhang Hao than a well-rested one alone.

The early morning rays of sun have just barely grazed the castle’s stone walls, but their eyes are already wide open, lying on their sides in the narrow four-poster bed, taking each other in. Zhang Hao’s finger lazily trails the script on Hanbin’s bicep, while Hanbin’s eyes trace from the mole on Zhang Hao’s cheek to the faint, almost brown one just beneath his eye, and back again.

A cascade of owl wings flapping past the window breaks their reverie.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zhang Hao whispers. His voice is faint, hoarse after many hours of disuse. “About how to fix this.”

“How?” It feels like over the course of one night their problems have multiplied tenfold — like the pools of candlelight up in the Astronomy Tower, they expand and flow, overlapping and blending into each other. It feels nearly insurmountable.

“I’m going to tell Gideon where the mirror is.”

That’s not at all what he thought Zhang Hao was going to say, and instantly, everything in Hanbin sharpens. “No—”

“Listen to me,” Zhang Hao insists, his voice almost lulling, quieting him in an instant. It’s as if he’s already resigned to it, as if he’s already made up his mind.

If Hanbin had known this was what he had been thinking about through the night, he would have tried harder to distract him, would have tried to talk him out of this earlier.

“He’s using Gyuvin and Ricky’s family to get him to find this mirror. If I tell him where it is—”

“He’ll get exactly what he wants,” Hanbin argues, voice harsher than it should be against the watery morning light.

“But then there won’t be a need to involve anyone else,” Zhang Hao insists, leaning in closer across the pillow. “Then he’ll stop.”

“He won’t ever stop. He’ll hold this over Ricky to get him to do something else — get in that office, use that mirror, whatever he needs.”

None of that seems to sway Zhang Hao, who lies in the gray glow with large eyes holding Hanbin’s steady, as if willing him to understand. “Which is why, I’ll get him in the office, too, to the mirror.”

“No,” Hanbin rejects, sitting up. “He hurt Gyuvin and left him there. He’s been threatening Ricky and his family.”

“I know,” Zhang Hao sits up as well, his voice still gentle, placating. But his eyes are strangely empty, as if he’s only going through the motions, as if he’s lived out this argument a hundred times through the night. “I know.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Yes, you do.” Even if it’s soft, even if it’s sad, it’s still an accusation. And Hanbin knows he’s letting his insecurities, his own hatred of Grimsby cloud his judgment here. He’s never particularly liked him, even before he overheard that argument between him and Zhang Hao in the Prefects’ bathroom, but it unsettles Hanbin that Zhang Hao still makes space for him in his life that there might be a loyalty there that Hanbin will never be able to supercede. Regardless of how many awful insults Grimsby throws at him, how much he hurts his friends, how horribly and despicably he acts, Zhang Hao will never be free of him. And Hanbin knows it’s unfair of him to make him choose — but a part of him can’t help but be unduly hurt that Zhang Hao isn’t making the choice himself. “I heard him— you. The two of you in the Prefects’ bathroom that day, after the Daily Prophet story on the Tournament came out.”

Finally, a spark of surprise in Zhang Hao’s eyes.

“I heard what he said about me, about my mother — which isn’t true by the way.”

“I know that,” Zhang Hao says earnestly.

“He hates people like me — non-purebloods.”

Zhang Hao presses his lips together. And then he nods.

“It infuriated him that I would be selected by the Goblet over him. That someone like you would ever have something nice to say about someone like me. Isn’t that right?”

Zhang Hao nods again, the corners of his brows turning down in an almost pleading look.

“Why would you even suggest this after everything he’s said, and now done?”

“Gideon has always had a big ego and has a lot of pressure on him that even exceeds that.” Zhang Hao holds his hand up when Hanbin is about to interrupt, he holds his tongue. Instead of dropping his hand though, he reaches over for Hanbins, their palms slide against each other, cool and warm. Hanbin is aggrieved, wounded — fragile. And it’s like Zhang Hao knows, because his fingers are delicate, his hold light, as he fears something breaking. “It doesn’t make what he said right though, and I hate that you had to hear it. I know what he said isn’t true; I said it before when we were both chosen: you’re every way my equal, Hanbin. And in so many more ways, far better than I’ll ever be.”

“That’s not true.”

“But there are also things I’ll be better than you at.” A small quirk of his lips, and yet it somehow still looks sad. “That’s just the way this works, right?”

“Right.”

“This isn’t about Gideon at all. It’s about protecting the people that I care about. And if I have the power to do that — I can’t just sit by and do nothing.” He gives his hand a squeeze. And when he does that, when he looks at him like this, entreating and sincere and vulnerable, Hanbin would let him convince him of anything. Zhang Hao asks, “Do you remember what I said before when you asked me about cheating on our Astronomy charts?”

The question takes him by surprise. But of course he remembers, even if it feels like a lifetime ago. “You don’t like feeling like you owe people. You didn’t want me to do things for you because I felt obligated.”

“Word for word,” Zhang Hao murmurs, the small quirk stretching into an earnest smile. And then he sighs. “I think … I think in this life, the person that I owe the most is Gideon. Our history is complicated.”

He’s heard that before. “You keep saying that, but you never explain. What does that even mean?” And ordinarily, Hanbin would recoil at being so bold, so straightforward in his demands. He’s used to couching himself, his needs, his impulses, in rosy-hues and genteel manners. He never offends; he never crosses the line. But something about Zhang Hao, in his infinite acuity, in his sheer bravery, makes Hanbin want to rise to meet him.

If he’s worried about offending him though, he shouldn’t have. Zhang Hao barely blinks. “I didn’t have the easiest first few years here. I’m sure you remember the rampant rumors about me. I was … unpopular, different, maybe dangerous, and it made me a target.”

Hanbin tightens his grip. He wants to make more demands, who was it, give me their names, I’ll kill them, but he doesn’t, because it’s too late. Just like when Zhang Hao told him everything about his disappearance when they had been in the Room of Requirement, Hanbin feels incredible rage, but also incredible helplessness. There’s nothing that he can do for him, nothing he can be for Zhang Hao — except this. Except what they’re doing right now.

“Gideon … he stood up for me; he made sure no one would dare say those things to my face, even though I know they still whispered it behind my back. But he made it easier for me to just get by back then. When I was terrified and confused and dealing with the loss of my memories, with the reality that I had been taken and I didn’t even know what was done to me — he was there. Not really as a comfort, but at least as something steady and familiar, like a bulwark. He’s always been there for me, and it’s hard for me to not feel like I owe him for that. That I should at least try to understand him, too.”

“I could have been there for you.” Hanbin knows he sounds sullen, petty even. He knows they’re empty words because he wasn’t. Because despite their conversation on the train, they had barely crossed paths that first year. He’d been a coward — too caught up in his own insecurities, with the overwhelming need to prove himself, to navigate this new world — to approach him. Hanbin had thought Zhang Hao hadn’t needed, or wanted him. If only he’d known.

“I wish you had been,” Zhang Hao whispers. But it’s not accusatory or resentful. Instead, he smiles, a bittersweet one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he squeezes Hanbin’s hand back, so they’re clutching at each other overtop the gray and yellow blanket, so Hanbin’s fingers start to ache, but still, he can’t fathom letting go. “I know it’s selfish, but I wish it had been you instead.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Hanbin mutters. “Regardless of what he did for you back then. If he’s making you feel obligated or guilty, that’s on him. He shouldn't expect anything in return.”

“I don’t think he does,” Zhang Hao shakes his head. “Or I don’t know. He’s never said it explicitly, so maybe it’s my own fault for letting him get away with everything all these years. But sometimes I think he’s being sincere, that he’s truly sorry, that he’s also just struggling. But then other times …”

“He’s not,” Hanbin says. “He’s just an awful person. Him being nice to you, making an exception for you, does not negate that. You can’t let him have this- this control over you.”

“He’s not controlling me,” Zhang Hao snaps instantly, his pride smarting. “Is that what you think? That I don’t have a spine, and I’m just doing what he wants? I thought about this all night, Hanbin. I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone here.”

“I just don’t like that he’s going to get what he wants. Maybe there’s another way,” Hanbin urges.

“He’s going to get what he wants anyway,” Zhang Hao’s placid, blank mask finally cracks, expression crumpling into one of frustration and terror. “By hurting Gyuvin, by hurting Ricky, by hurting you. He is eventually going to get to you, and I can’t let that happen. It’s better that we give him what he wants on our terms.”

“Your terms,” Hanbin stresses, and he can tell how much that hurts Zhang Hao by the way he flinches back, the separation, the line in the sand that Hanbin has always been afraid to cross but has never drawn himself.

But then Zhang Hao grits his teeth, digging in. “Fine, my terms. This is what I want to do, Hanbin. And you can stand by me as I do it or not.”

An ultimatum.

A part of Hanbin wants to hurt him, wants him to doubt whether or not he’ll support him, wants him to feel just as unsure and uneasy and unsettled as he does over all of this. But as quickly as that impulse comes, it fizzles out, leaving smoking tendrils of shame. Because he knows this is the worst part of him, the jealous, possessive, vengeful beast that sits encased in ice. Because hasn’t he already decided? That he would be able to weather anything that Zhang Hao wants to do to him, acrimony and anger and all, just to have him? That he would do anything for him, even something he hates? Hanbin slumps forward, eyes on the tangle of their fingers. “You know I will.”

Zhang Hao leans in then, too, as if all the energy had suddenly been knocked out of him at finally getting Hanbin’s agreement, relief and gratitude clear on his face. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hanbin shakes his head. “Don’t think of this as something you owe me for. I’m making my own choices here, too.”

“Which is why I have to thank you,” Zhang Hao says. “Because I know you don’t agree, and I know you would rather not do this, but you’re here for me anyway. Thank you for trusting me, Hanbin.”

“It’s you I trust,” Hanbin emphasizes. “Not him.”

Zhang Hao nods. “Doing this doesn’t mean that I won’t be careful. I know he has his own goals. This really is the only thing I could think of.”

“And if he betrays you?”

“He won’t,” Zhang Hao says, gritting his teeth. “I— he won’t do that to me. Not because I trust him not to, but because I trust myself. He won’t control me, as long as I can control him. As long as I can stay one step ahead. Trust me on this, too.”

He nods — but already a plan starts to form, already Hanbin knows he would hurt Grimsby without a second thought. He knows how the story with the chimaera ends.

Chapter Text

“(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)"
— E. E. Cummings, somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

Zhang Hao

“As soon as Grimsby started threatening him, I told him to stay away. But he was stubborn and wouldn’t agree.”

The courtyard is frigid at this time of the year. Which means it’s thankfully empty, allowing him and Ricky their privacy to talk. The only downside is Zhang Hao might actually catch a cold by the end of this, if the stuffiness of his nose and the sharp wind against his cheeks is any indication. He sniffs. “When did you two even start dating?” Zhang Hao frowns. “How come I didn’t know anything about it?”

“I didn’t keep it from you on purpose,” Ricky mumbles, though he still looks vaguely guilty. “By the time I realized that I liked him, it all just spiraled so quickly.”

“When did you meet?” Zhang Hao huffs, not letting him off the hook. It’s not that he doesn’t have sympathy for his friend, that his heart doesn’t ache every time he thinks about being in the same position as Ricky. If it had been Hanbin injured in that hospital bed— Zhang Hao holds his breath. He doesn’t even want to consider it as a hypothetical. Too superstitious to let that thought finish itself. He crosses his fingers on his lap — it won’t ever happen, he won’t let it, he vows.

“You okay?” Ricky inquires. He also looks worse for wear under the buffeting winds. His hair is blown all over the place, but sadly, that’s not too uncommon these days. Zhang Hao never thought he would wish for the days where Ricky was annoyingly immaculate and permanently put-together.

Zhang Hao nods. “Yes, I’m fine. Tell me everything”

He had known that Ricky had a Hufflepuff friend — he remembers a few mentioned runs to the kitchens, but everyone had friends in other Houses. For Zhang Hao, that was Taerae, and for Ricky, well … he hadn’t thought that things would go beyond that. He and Ricky have always been fairly similar in their thinking, from how they felt about their families to their general disinterest in dating, or at least, their inability to find anyone who genuinely interested them. It’s what had drawn them together over the years, as he and Gideon had drifted apart and as the lines of their loyalties became clearer among their friend group.

For Ricky to do something so entirely uncharacteristic and not confiding in him hurts. Even more so that he would only do so now when he doesn’t really have any other choice.

“We met in Potions class last year,” Ricky starts. “He was really loud and always knocking things over, but he still managed to score good marks in class.”

Zhang Hao snorts.

“I accused him of cheating, and he was determined to prove me wrong. And … we eventually became friends. He ended up helping me with the class, and I gave him some pointers for his Care of Magical Creatures classwork. He’s really clumsy in that class, too, and well, it’s a little harder to get good scores that way.”

“Surprising, considering he’s a Quidditch player,” Zhang Hao smirks, a picture of how the scenario played out solidifying in his mind.

“I’m still not convinced that he doesn’t just flail in the general direction of the Quaffle to block it.”

That finally gets both of them to crack a smile. It feels like the first genuine smile he’s shared with Ricky in weeks. And he’s missed this: Ricky’s constant presence and friendship, his quick remarks and open observations. The way they have the same sense of humor, and also the way that Ricky had come to rely on him as well. Zhang Hao had never realized how much confidence he had drawn from being someone that Ricky looks up to, how, in some way, he also depended on this relationship just as much, being needed, being seen as someone’s bulwark. Which makes it all the more jarring to suddenly be shut out — it feels too much like being tossed aside. “Never thought you would go for that,” Zhang Hao chuckles. “Clumsy boys with big hearts.”

Ricky rolls his eyes, though he still has a goofy sort of smile on his face. A completely uninhibited expression that Zhang Hao doesn’t see often. And as awful and complicated as this whole situation has gotten, he can’t help but still feel happy for him, that maybe he’s found something special, too. Briefly, Zhang Hao wonders if he looks as lovesick and foolish when he’s talking about Hanbin.

“It’s still kind of a new thing. We only, um, started dating at the beginning of this year. Coincidentally, when you started spending more time with Hanbin.” Ricky sets his sights on the archway across the courtyard, to the open hallway that also sits empty. A burst of wind howls around them. His smile slowly drops. “I still think it’s for the best if we end it though.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s already gotten hurt,” Ricky mutters, miserable. “It’s better if he has nothing to do with me, or Grimsby.”

“I’m going to fix this,” Zhang Hao hurries to reassure. “You don’t have to break up.”

“How are you going to fix this?” Ricky turns to him, his perfectly arched brows, dark unlike his bleached hair, pulling together in a frown that Zhang Hao would call disapproving on anyone else, but it’s one that’s wholly unfamiliar on Ricky’s face — at least directed at him. The tips of his ears and his nose have turned a berry-red from the chill. And Zhang Hao doesn’t doubt that his are in a similar state, the prickling along the shell of his ears telling him so.

“Now that I know what Gideon wants, if I tell him where to find the mirror, if I tell him we can get to it together, he’ll stop.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Ricky scowls harder. “We don’t know what he wants with the mirror. What if it’s something bad?”

“I can’t let him do this to you, Ricky.”

“Why does everyone feel like they need to sacrifice themselves for me?” It’s the closest Zhang Hao has gotten to hearing Ricky raise his voice in months. Maybe years. “I’ll figure out a way to get Grimsby to leave me alone. I don’t want this to hurt anyone else.”

“But it will,” Zhang Hao says, calm in the face of Ricky’s outburst. Over the years, he’s perfected the ability to compartmentalize, to prioritize results over his feelings, to hold himself in strict control so as not to let his emotions get the better of him. To instead grasp hold of them with both hands and make them do his bidding. He thinks it’s the only reason he hasn’t gone mad yet, that he’s able to pretend to live his life like normal with the weight of his missing memories hanging over him.

“You don’t know that.”

“It already has,” he refutes. And Zhang Hao knows he’s being ruthless. But Ricky doesn’t know that he’s talking to himself just as much as he is to him; Ricky doesn’t know that it’s his fault Gyuvin ended up like this, at least partially.

If he hadn’t been so hasty, if he hadn’t been so overconfident, he never would have lied to Gideon, would have never insinuated that Ricky had told him more than he was supposed to. It only makes it all the more important that he be the one to fix this. He’s approached this from every possibility he could think of, stressed and worried and griped over it endlessly from the moment Ricky burst into the Hospital Wing. And he’s convinced this is the only thing to do. “We want the same thing, Ricky,” he implores. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of this. But that will only happen when he gets what he wants.”

“I hate him,” Ricky grits out, jaw tight and eyes a little red. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I don't know how you still put up with him.”

He thinks he hears an accusation. Secrecy, disapproval and now censure. And yet, can he blame him? Zhang Hao heaves out a sigh. “I don’t know either.”

“You can’t keep letting him get away with this.”

“I’m not,” he protests, but the trickle of guilt betrays his indignaton.

“You are.” He’s not imagining it anymore. The accusation is there, as sharp and stinging as the chill that bites into their cheeks.

“That’s not fair,” Zhang Hao shakes his head. “It’s not my responsibility to rein him in. It’s not my fault that he does all of these horrible things.”

But even as he argues, his doubt only intensifies. He’s tried to convince himself of this over years, the more out of control Gideon has become, that it has nothing to do with him, that Gideon is making his own choices. That there’s nothing he can do anyway — regardless of how many times he chastises him or disagrees or argues with him. If he won’t listen, there’s nothing Zhang Hao can do to make him change.

But just as many times as he’s called him out on his actions, every time he’s made excuses for Gideon or overlooked his actions weighs on his mind now. There are bits of sincerity there. Every time, Gideon manages to convince him just enough that he’s sorry, that he’s having a hard time, that this isn’t who he truly is; just enough that Zhang Hao relents. Could he have been so wrong this whole time? Is he clinging onto this because of something as ridiculous as his own pride?

“I don’t blame you,” Ricky says quietly. “I know it’s not your fault. Of course, he’s making these choices on his own. But you also have to admit, he only listens to you.”

And his parents. Zhang Hao grits his teeth. Gideon had been right when he said that Zhang Hao wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by his disappearance. He doesn’t know what happened to Gideon in the months that he’d been gone, but it had also changed him. He isn’t the same person that Zhang Hao had grown up with — sometimes he’ll still see brief snatches of that boy, most often during the first few years of their time here at Hogwarts when Gideon had done the most that he could for him, but those glimpses have grown few and far between.

“I’m doing my best,” Zhang Hao says. But even he sounds defeated, worn out and tired, to his own ears.

Surprisingly, Ricky pats him on the back — never one to initiate physical contact before. There have been so many changes between them, ones that Zhang Hao feels like surpass this short conversation. But perhaps they’re not all bad. Zhang Hao turns to meet his eyes, seeing the same sort of resignation in them.

“I know,” Ricky gives him a small, sad smile. “I know you are. You aren’t the same as him.”

Zhang Hao returns his smile, knowing that’s as generous as he’s going to get from Ricky. But it’s his own that doesn’t feel quite as genuine this time. “I owe you an explanation, too,” he admits.

“About that tie stunt you pulled?” Ricky gives him a sly look.

“What?” And it’s completely not what he expected him to say that Zhang Hao blinks at him for a moment before it clicks. And despite the frigid air still blowing around them, he feels his ears turn red. “Not that! That wasn’t on purpose!”

Ricky quirks his brow skeptically.

“It wasn’t,” Zhang Hao mumbles. “We … we didn’t do anything like that.”

“Not in our room, I hope,” Ricky snorts.

He braves the chill to pull one hand out of his robes pockets to shove at Ricky’s side. The brief moment of levity is much needed. It’s always been like this between the two of them, segueing from tragedy to dry teasing. They always balance right on a precarious tip, swaying with the wind, only just managing to tug right at each other to stop themselves from toppling off the peak.

Zhang Hao clears his throat. “What I wanted to tell you was about what Gideon is looking for.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ricky says. And he almost sounds … resigned. “I know you’ve kept your secrets with good reason.”

“Your reasons were good too,” Zhang Hao refutes. “I know you were just trying to protect everyone.”

“I didn’t want to get you involved.”

“Perhaps it could have saved us a lot of hurt if we’d just been honest with each other from the start,” Zhang Hao’s lips curl up with a wry smile. “I want to tell you now.”

Ricky simply shrugs, but Zhang Hao can tell he’s listening by the way he leans in closer.

“The mirror that Gideon is looking for — I saw it when I got stuck in the pensieve during the First Task.”

It’s clearly not what Ricky was expecting. “What? How is that possible?”

That makes Zhang Hao pause. How is it possible? It really is such a strange coincidence … and then his mind returns to Jiwoong’s warning. Zhang Hao gasps, the pieces clicking together, his mind whirring over the implications.

What if Gideon’s search is connected to whoever had tampered with the pensieve? Zhang Hao feels nearly foolish to not have realized it before. What are the chances that both he and Gideon would be after the same mirror? And if so, does this mean that his search for it is playing right into their hands? That they altered the pensieve with the purpose of getting him in front of that mirror, in front of that mysterious man?

Once more, Zhang Hao feels like his life, his choices are dictated by a shadowy they. An unknown person or persons who seems hell-bent on changing the course of his fate. But for what reason? What means?

Frustration wells in him — every time he feels like he’s on the verge of connecting the dots, there are still too many unknowns for him to truly figure it out. But giving up has never been part of his character, and for the first time in years, he knows he’s getting closer.

“You’re right,” Zhang Hao murmurs. “The chances of that happening … it’s not possible.” And suddenly the sunny, albeit brisk day seems all the more bleak, the sunlight pale and haunting, their position here as the only two people in the courtyard make them far too exposed. They could disappear without a trace and no one would witness it.

“What is it?” Ricky asks with concern, watching the revelations flash across his face.

Zhang Hao tells Ricky all of it: what had happened in the pensieve, the conversation between Flamel and the mysterious voice, and what he just discovered, that perhaps everything had been done with intention, that perhaps it’s a trap.

“You can’t tell him,” Ricky insists immediately. “This is … this is larger than we think. I don’t care if Grimsby keeps threatening me, but you can’t let him know where it is. That’s playing right isn’t their hands—”

“What about Gyuvin?” Zhang Hao refutes. “Even you can’t watch over him all the time. And what about after? Gideon isn’t going to just stop at this. You know him too, Ricky. He’s stubborn and, when it has to do with his parents, desperate. He’ll do anything they ask him to, and I’m terrified if I don’t give him this, it’ll only get worse.”

“But if the pensieve really was tampered with — if it wasn’t just the spells not working, if someone showed you that memory with the purpose of luring you there … it’s too dangerous. What if it’s the people who took you?”

But that’s the point isn’t it? “What if it is?” Zhang Hao leans forward, eyes bright, almost manic. “Ever since I woke up after being trapped in that memory — I kept having this feeling that what I saw was important. What if this is finally my chance to figure out what happened to me? To unlock these memories?”

“And what if you get taken again?” Ricky snaps. “And this time, not even Flamel can find you?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Zhang Hao promises — though even as he says so, a tendril of fear curls itself around his heart. He tries to convince the both of them anyway. “I’m more prepared this time. I’m no longer a child.”

“But you still don’t know what you’re up against.”

“This could be my only chance,” Zhang Hao feels nearly frantic. He is so close, finally. “I’m stronger now than I was back then. I know to be careful this time; and besides, I won’t be alone.”

“If you’re asking for my help …”

“You don’t have to risk yourself,” Zhang Hao reassures, insists more like. Even if he’s more than happy to take this leap himself, he doesn’t want Ricky anywhere near this danger. That’s the whole point of telling Gideon — so he’ll stay far away from him and Gyuvin. “I won’t be alone—”

“You can’t possibly trust Grimsby to have your back,” Ricky snaps. “You’re really going to charge blindly in there, Knowing that it could put you in danger with Grimsby as your backup? I can’t lose you again! You can’t do this!”

Zhang Hao has never seen Ricky explode like this before. His face scrunched up in a way that is decidedly unbecoming, his hair wild and flopping over his forehead, his eyes burning with an emotion Zhang Hao is too afraid to name. Not even when Ricky’s father had left had he been this infuriated, this possessed. And all of this is for him. Zhang Hao hugs him. He reaches forward, wrapping Ricky’s bony shoulders in his arms. Ricky is stiff and at first, Zhang Hao thinks he’ll resist, that he’ll pull away and rebuff him with a contemptuous look and more cutting words. But after a second, Ricky crumples into him.

Sympathy has the most curious way of breaking someone open.

“Shh, shh,” Zhang Hao soothes as Ricky’s shoulders shake. “I know. I know it must have been so hard. I know how horrible this has been.”

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Ricky sobs.

“You won’t,” Zhang Hao promises. “What I meant before is that Hanbin will be there.”

And something about saying that out loud seems to return the warmth to the weak sunlight scattering over them, soothes a bit of the fear that had started to seep in. Zhang Hao has never trusted someone so much in his life that the mere mention of them could settle his nerves. How completely scary that is in its own right. Maybe only something equally terrifying could beat back the shadows — except its a fear that Zhang Hao readily embraces. It’s one that makes him brave.

Ricky pulls away, his face dry though his cheeks tinged red. It’s true that when Ricky’s father had left, he hadn’t shown any outward upset. He’d been stoic and cold, as brittle as a sheet of ice. Zhang Hao thinks then that’s when Ricky started caring so much about his appearance, started making extra effort to be meticulously put together, as if being perfect on the outside would fix everything that was hurting within. “You’ve told him everything?” Ricky sounds disbelieving.

“Everything,” Zhang Hao confirms. All except what he’s just pieced together, but he plans on telling him as soon as he can. “He knows about my memories, why they're gone. I told him about what happened during the First Task when I woke up, because I was scared that I was going to somehow forget, and—”

“You’re really serious about this.” And it feels almost like deja vu, though Zhang Hao can’t quite place if Ricky has said this to him before. “I mean, I knew you were, but like … you’re in love with him.”

Zhang Hao inhales sharply through his teeth. It’s not that Ricky is wrong; it’s not that he hasn’t come to this same conclusion already in his mind. But it feels nearly unfair for him to say it out loud to Ricky before he does to Hanbin. So he simply presses his lips together. But Ricky is someone who knows him well; Zhang Hao knows he’ll see his answer clearly. But out loud, he says, “He doesn’t like this plan either. I know I can’t trust Gideon; I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Ricky gives him a long look, the color slightly fading from his face now, that mask slipping into place, though he leaves room in his gaze for sincerity. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Zhang Hao shakes his head, emphatic. “Ricky, no. I didn’t tell you all this because I want you to come with me or for you to put yourself in danger. I’m telling you so you’ll do the exact opposite actually. You deserve to know the reason behind what you’ve been going through. It’s because of me. Somehow this is connected to what happened to me, and I can’t let you get caught up in it.”

“Zhang Hao,” Ricky smirks, shaking his head. “In case you didn’t realize, I’ve grown up too. I’m no longer the kid who trails behind you and follows everything you do, listens to everything you say, anymore.”

Zhang Hao gives him a small, sad smile in return. He’s always felt some sort of pressure from Ricky, not that he thinks it was on purpose on his part. He’s always felt a bit of responsibility to be dependable, to be someone that he could look up to and rely on. But if anything, all of this has shown him that a lot of things have changed. Surprisingly, tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “Of course I know.” And he shakes his head, obstinately. “But I still won’t let you come. Let me do this one last thing for you.”

Ricky shakes his head, rueful and exasperated, but more than anything emotional as well. And this time, it’s Ricky who leans forward to hug him — and he’s the one who clings on a little tighter.

When Zhang Hao arrives at Divination class, it is to rows and rows of flowers, growing out from under the round tables, curving over the circular windows, winding around the legs of chairs and strewn across the floor. He almost would have thought he’d somehow stumbled into the greenhouse if he wasn’t still a little short of breath after climbing the tower stairs.

“What is going on here?” Taerae titters with great excitement as they pick their way over gardenias and roses to their regular table.

“Yule Ball proposal,” Melton explains, already seated at his spot.

“Who?” Taerae asks, as nosy as ever.

“Harry Higgs asked Charlotte Byrne.”

Two Ravenclaws who Zhang Hao isn’t particularly familiar with. But clearly Taerae is because he gasps. “And did she say yes?”

Melton nods over to a table on the other side of the circular tower where a dark-haired girl and shockingly pale boy are seated together.

“How interesting,” Taerae smirks at Zhang Hao as they both take their seats.

“How come?”

“Harry is a fourth-year, so he wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise,” Taerae snickers. “But also, Charlotte was dating Antony Gaunt up until she was caught kissing one Matthew Seok earlier this year.”

Zhang Hao squints at the peonies crowding around the crystal ball on their table as he considers all the intricate layers that make this proposal so scandalous. He’s completely not caught up with the castle rumor mill, because this is all new to him. But one name does catch his attention. “Matthew?”

“Gryffindor Chaser,” Taerae explains as if Zhang Hao has never heard the name before. “He’s also good friends with—”

“Hanbin, I know,” Zhang Hao nods. “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend though.”

“He doesn’t,” Taerae snorts. “And obviously not now that Charlotte is going with Harry.”

It’s a refreshing change of pace to indulge in mindless gossip with Taerae. They both love knowing everything about everyone, more often than not it proves useful down the line. “What about Antony?”

He shrugs. “No idea, but he’s a sixth year, so he should be going with someone … unless he’s going stag.” Taerae pulls a face.

“Going stag isn’t the end of the world.”

“Yeah, says the one with the doting boyfriend who gave him his great grandmother’s necklace.”

Zhang Hao shushes him, not wanting everyone to start gossiping about their proposal. Though this also gives him the perfect opening. “So I’m assuming you’re not going to be going stag?” He gives Taerae a pointed, probing look.

But he doesn’t get the reaction he expects. Instead of looking caught or embarrassed, Taerae looks … smug. “I can’t say all that and not have a date myself, right?”

“What?” This is also news to him, which Zhang Hao is a little bit more put out about. “Who are you going with?”

“It’s a secret,” Taerae smirks with a twinkle in his eye.

“Kim Taerae, if you don’t tell me, I will …”

“What?” Taerae asks tauntingly. “Give me detention?”

“I will …” Zhang Hao struggles to think of an appropriate threat. “Tell everyone you have Scofunglus!”

Taerae bursts out laughing. “You will not!”

“Why are you keeping it a secret?” Zhang Hao whines. He affects his best pout, the one that will get him anything. He even sticks his full lower lip out just for Taerae’s benefit.

“It’s more fun this way,” Taerae chuckles, shaking his head at Zhang Hao’s attempt to sway him. In this, they’re similar as well: they both love being in the know as they lord their knowledge over everyone else.

And Zhang Hao knows the best revenge against these types of people — people like him — is to feign indifference. He sniffs, turning away just as Professor Burbage appears in the doorway from his office. “Fine, don’t tell me. I don’t even care.” Except it comes out more petulant than convincing, since it’s two seconds removed from his begging.

Before Taerae can reply though, Burbage claps his hands in greeting to start class, seemingly not noticing, or caring, about the flowers that have taken over his classroom. What an odd, odd man.

“Lucid dreaming,” Burbage begins as Zhang Hao and Taerae flip to the appropriate page in their textbook. “Is one of the most powerful states of consciousness. Yes, consciousness, even while you are asleep! It is an extremely rare skill, but one that can be honed and practiced. Many of the greatest witches and wizards in history have mastered lucid dreaming in order to actively engage with their dreams and seek answers that may not be possible in the physical world.

“Once you realize you are in a dream state, it gives you absolute control as to what can happen. You can have full conversations with people you’ve neve met before, or even with yourself! All of your subconsciousness suddenly opens up for you to explore at will, a rich opportunity to uncover hidden insights that may elude you while awake.”

Zhang Hao skims the passage in the textbook, not really listening. He’s far more interested in compiling a mental list of everyone he has ever seen Taerae talk to and which one of them he could be taking to the ball.

A Ravenclaw girl at the front of the room raises her hand.

“Yes, Miss Inkwell?” Burbage prompts.

“How do you know what you discover while lucid dreaming is even real though? Like it’s a dream, what you and anyone else says will be completely made up.”

“Ah, I am so pleased you asked. Let us revise what we had gone over last lesson, shall we? A dream is not only a dream. It is a multi-faceted, multi-layered message …”

Both Zhang Hao and Taerae exchange long-suffering looks, groaning underneath their breaths. Finally, after Burbage’s lecture, he gives them time to “practice.”

“Do not be discouraged if you do not dream right away!” he calls. “AAs long as you set your intentions before bed each night and do the exercises, you will one day get it!”

Zhang Hao glances down at the textbook with a frown. “What are we supposed to be doing?”

Taerae tuts at him. “Daydreaming about your boyfriend and not paying attention in class? I’m surprised you're in your own House colors this week, you know.”

He scowls at Taerae, raising his wand in threat, though his friend only snickers at him. Zhang Hao lowers his wand with an imperious look. “And were you daydreaming about your date … Amon Buckling?!”

Taerae cackles, covering his mouth with his hand so as not to attract the professor’s attention.

“Fine, fine it’s not Amon. Stop laughing!” Zhang Hao complains.

Taerae pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, small giggles still escaping him. “Merlin, you’re funny.”

“Amon is a good guy,” Zhang Hao defends his choice.

“Sure, if I’m about to fail my NEWTs and desperately need someone to practice nonverbal spells with.”

“And how are you two doing here?” Burbage drifts over to their table, effectively cutting their conversation short.

“Just fantastic,” Taerae beams up at him, somehow perfect at playing insouciant and teacher’s pet at the same time. “Zhang Hao is really getting the hang of it.”

He shoots Taerae wide eyes behind Burbage’s back. He doesn’t even know what they’re supposed to be doing!

“Ah, excellent, very excellent. I am most looking forward to your progress, Mister Zhang. Which one have you found the most useful?”

Zhang Hao has not gone through seven years of schooling without knowing when to pull nonsense out of his ass when needed. His eyes land on one phrase in the open textbook in front of him. “Reality testing, sir.”

“Ah, of course! What you practice during your conscious state will help you greatly when unconscious, hm?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Very good, very good. Please continue on,” Burbage waves, already sounding distracted as he flits over to Melton’s table.

“Damn, you’re annoying,” Taerae grumbles.

Zhang Hao shoots him a haughty grin. “I could say the same of you.”

Once class ends, the two of them make their way down the tower and over to the courtyard where they usually wait for Ricky after his Transfiguration class. Zhang Hao’s eyes widen as soon as they get to the open corridor. The entire outdoor courtyard is empty of students, because the entire patch of greenery has been completely overtaken by flowers. They are so numerous that he can’t even see the ground anymore. It’s a riot of pinks and oranges and reds, azalea and asters to dahlias and carnations. And standing in the middle, with a bouquet of roses in hand — is Gideon.

“How unoriginal,” Taerae mutters as the two of them are forced to stop by a column.

Zhang Hao nods numbly. Flowers seem to be the theme of the day; it’s easy enough to guess at what this is.

On the other side of the courtyard from them, standing underneath an open stone arch is Violet. A perfectly placed ray of sun shines down on her pale hair and blushing cheeks and fluttering lashes, as if the skies above are in on her plan of an idyllic Yule Ball proposal. They’re too far away to see what words the two of them exchange when Violet walks through the field of flowers to reach Gideon, but Zhang Hao can imagine it’s probably something saccharine and rehearsed, said loudly for the benefit of those fortunate enough to be on that side of the courtyard. Perhaps to anyone else it would seem genuine, but Zhang Hao has already watched them dance for an hour in the Faculty Tower last week.

This is exactly what she wanted: a big spectacle, everyone’s eyes on her and her date. And just as predictable as this big, grand gesture, the students standing around the courtyard are already giggling and chattering and running off to tell their friends about the biggest Yule Ball proposal to date.

“I see she finally picked someone,” Taerae remarks. “There’s going to be lots of broken hearts today.”

“I guess so,” Zhang Hao murmurs, distracted as Gideon and Violet begin to make their way out of the hoard of flowers. Towards them.

As expected, Violet’s steps are still dainty and refined, moving so smoothly Zhang Hao could nearly believe she’s set a Levitation Spell on herself to traverse the blooming flowers. Not even the rough winds are able to ruffle a gleaming strand of hair on her head. When they reach the walkway bordering the courtyard, Gideon reaches back like a gentleman to help her onto the stone. They look, for all the world, like the perfect couple. His dark hair complimenting her light locks, both of their features regal and upturned. Even their heights are perfectly well-matched as she stands just half a head shorter than him.

And yet, as they walk arm in arm towards them, Zhang Hao sees through it all — how her hand barely grazes his arm, careful to keep a significant space between their bodies; how Gideon takes naturally long strides, uncaring of how Violet’s are just half a step shorter from his, making it hard for her to keep up; how Violet’s eyes scan the crowd of students on either side, lapping up their adoration and envy far more than she cares about the man she’s walking with. But they shine so bright they’re nearly blinding, and it’s hard to look at them for too long to discern all these details. Frenzied murmuring passes between the students around them. Zhang Hao spots a group of Gryffindor girls nudging each other, and a couple of Slytherin boys hanging their heads in defeat.

They draw even closer, near even with him and Taerae. And it’s just for a split second. Both Violet and Gideon meet his gaze as they pass. It’s a clash of complicated expressions: Violet’s is some measure of pleased and gloating, Gideon’s determined and yet melancholy. Zhang Hao has no idea what sort of look he gives them in return, if his anger and disgust over Gideon’s behavior shows, if his suspicion and brief amusement over Violet’s victory is plain on his face. But the moment passes quickly, between one step and the next, and the two of them whisk away down to the end of the hall where a few of Violet’s friends are waiting, giggling and ready to give their congratulations.

“They look so good together!” Zhang Hao overhears a girl chattering to her friend as they pass by. And with the relief that people are finally talking about someone else besides him and Hanbin also comes disdain — they’re nothing like the two of them. His eyes trail the back of their heads as they turn the corner towards the Great Hall.

“Jealous?” Taerae’s sneaky voice pipes up next to him.

Zhang Hao turns quickly. “Absolutely not,” he snorts.

Taerae shrugs. The two of them move down the walkway, though the courtyard remains untraversable. “Yeah, didn’t think making a scene was really your style.”

“If Hanbin dared to make a scene I would have said no just out of spite,” Zhang Hao sniffs. He wouldn’t have, not really, as if he could say no to Hanbin under any circumstance. But Taerae doesn’t have to know that.

The crowd of students thin out around them now that the main attraction has passed and lunch service has started in the Great Hall. It doesn’t take long for the two of them to spot Ricky’s light hair bobbing along the wave of students hurrying out of the Transfiguration corridor.

“What happened here?” Ricky asks immediately, pointing to the flowers. A few students have braved the pathway through, but most opt to take the long way around the courtyard.

“Grimsby asked Violet to the Yule Ball,” Taerae explains. “Made a big, flashy show of it, too, obviously.”

Ricky scowls — which Zhang Hao knows is because of the mention of Gideon, but which Taerae takes as disapproval over the silliness of the proposal.

“So glad her penchant for flashiness isn’t a common trait among Veelas,” Taerae snickers.

“I think you like drama the most,” Zhang Hao teases, giving Ricky a few more moments to recover.

“Guilty,” Taerae grins.

The three of them head towards the Great Hall, swept along with the crowd. It’s a silent agreement between him and Ricky to steer Taerae towards the Ravenclaw table today. He can already see Gideon lording over one end of the Slytherin table, Violet perched next to him seemingly talking Lauretta’s ear off about something. They take a seat across from Taerae, who seems to spot a friend by the entrance of the hall and waves him over.

“Do you guys know Gunwook?” Taerae inquires as a tall, dark-haired boy in a Ravenclaw tie makes his way towards them.

Zhang Hao shakes his head, before amending. “Somewhat. We met when he became a Prefect at the start of the year, but I don’t think we’ve properly spoken.”

Before Ricky can reply, Gunwook is on them with his gummy smile and large waving hand. “Hi Taerae, Ricky!” He smoothly folds his large frame onto the bench next to Taerae.

Zhang Hao looks curiously over at Ricky, who explains, “Gunwook is in my Advanced Care of Magical Creatures class.”

“Aren’t you a fifth-year?” Zhang Hao cocks his head to the side, looking at Gunwook.

He looks a little bashful, ducking his head in a way that directly contrasts with the defined muscle pushing at the sleeves of his white buttoned-down shirt. “Yes, but since it’s not a core subject and technically not tested on OWLs or NEWTs, Professor MacQuoid gave me permission.”

“That’s some House favoritism for you,” Ricky smirks.

“Of course not!” Gunwook objects with horror. “Professor MacQuoid is actually quite tough on me. He gave me such low marks when we were working with the Occamies …”

Gunwook trails off when Taerae nudges against his side with a chuckle. “He’s just teasing.”

The four of them start loading up their plates, and while Zhang Hao is used to silence as he eats, Gunwook happily continues the conversation. Taerae and Ricky contribute now and then, but Zhang Hao is distracted by an uproar from the Slytherin table — Warren being rowdy — and only tunes back in when a brief mention of the Demiguise catches his attention.

“What makes it so interesting,” Gunwook explains. “Is that their precognitive abilities should make it much harder for them to be hunted down.”

“But it makes them pretty worthwhile in catching, right?” Taerae asks, waving his pasta-speared fork. “A creature that can predict the future for you?”

“Not really,” Ricky answers. “Unlike the Qilin, the Demiguise isn’t able to see much beyond the immediate future, which isn’t very useful.”

Zhang Hao leans in. “Wait, so why were they hunted? Just for sport?”

“For their pelts,” Gunwook explains, eyes bright at being able to offer an answer to Zhang Hao’s question. “Another one of their abilities is invisibility, and their hair is used to weave invisibility cloaks.”

“Which makes it even more surprising that they were so effectively hunted before,” Ricky adds. “They should have been very difficult to catch.”

“There’s a theory among magical zoologists that the species isn’t in fact endangered, but have adapted over time to being invisible for most of their lives,” Gunwook says.

“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Zhang Hao frowns, putting down his pudding spoon. “That it’s had to hide itself away from the world because people want to kill it and use it.”

“At least it can,” Ricky says.

“That’s very true! I would be quite happy to know that they are still alive, even if they’re invisible.” Gunwook seems to dim a little bit “The poor Graphorns …”

Before he can go on a tangent about another creature, Taerae swiftly changes the subject, and Zhang Hao returns to his pudding. He can’t help but notice that Ricky isn’t eating much, just pushing the food around his plate. At least he’s looking a bit more put together today, his tie neatly done up, his hair styled so one curling lock of hair lies over his forehead, but the luster in his eyes hasn’t returned. He nudges him a bit to get his attention.

“How is Gyuvin feeling?” Zhang Hao murmurs so the other two won’t hear him over their debate on whether Firebolts or Cleansweeps are the superior broom makers.

“He’s fine now,” Ricky sighs. “He’s just staying in the infirmary so he can skip his classes.”

Zhang Hao snorts; it’s not the first time a student has done so. But then he sobers. “He deserves the break.” Even Gideon wouldn’t dare try something while Gyuvin was under the watchful gaze of Madam Pomfrey. Zhang Hao’s throat still closes up whenever he thinks of finding Gyuvin’s body slumped over the classroom, remembering the half-second moment where he and Hanbin had fumbled for a pulse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao spots Gideon standing up from his adoring crowd. His friends — Zhang Hao’s friends — bid him a raucous farewell as he heads for the doors of the Great Hall. Zhang Hao stands up as well. He’s not particularly looking forward to this conversation, especially given how things had ended between them last time, especially given how he doesn’t know if he’s going to hex Gideon if he says something out of line this time — but he’s never shied away from unpleasant, terrifying things. Zhang Hao squares his shoulders, bids a quick goodbye to the group, and hurries out of the hall after Gideon.

But as he enters the entrance hall, Zhang Hao doesn’t spot him anywhere. He turns left and right, peering down the hallways that stretch both ways. How could he have moved that fast? Zhang Hao glances up the Grand Staircase, but there’s no sign of Gideon. It’s like he disappeared into thin air.

The first snow of the season blows in unexpected and light. Zhang Hao is crossing the stone bridge when the initial flurries start drifting down. He glances up in surprise at the thin layer of cloud cover above, diluted sunlight still turning the stone and unearthly pale blue. Clouds gather overhead, casting a ghostly glow over the castle grounds during midday. But Zhang Hao can already tell that the snow won’t make a dent, none of it will stick and before long the sun will resume its tyranny, but it’s still commendable nonetheless how a singular flake swirls defiantly in front of him before dropping off the side of the bridge, and then another comes after, and another.

He sticks out his hand although the small specks of snow are too few and far between for any to realistically land in his palm. Despite the leisurely, winding way they float down from the sky, the air is strangely still. A sudden chill travels down Zhang Hao’s spine, which he attributes to the drop in temperature, and he quickly hurries the rest of the way across the bridge.

As soon as he passes the archway into the building, a burgeoning warmth engulfs him, seeping through even the sleeves of his robes. Had it really gotten that cold outside that fast? How strange. Zhang Hao is just about to turn down the History of Magic corridor — now empty after classes had ended a while ago — when someone calls his name.

“Hao!”

Zhang Hao turns with great surprise to see Gideon rushing up to him.

“Are you okay?” Gideon asks with great urgency when he comes to a stop in front of him. His cheeks seem sallow, almost ashen, as if he’d just gotten a scare.

Zhang Hao frowns in turn. “Yes, of course. It just barely snowed.”

But as if his assurance isn’t enough Gideon does a thorough examination of him; Zhang Hao is still clad in his school uniform and robes. In exasperation, he shakes Gideon off. “I’m fine. What’s gotten into you?” And then he pauses. “Did something happen?”

“No, no,” Gideon quickly reassures, his features forcefully smoothing out into something more casual. “Where are you headed?”

Zhang Hao had thought that it would be harder than this — to confront Gideon, to brace himself for this conversation. But now that it’s here, unexpectedly dropped into his lap, he finds that he’s surprisingly level-headed, that he feels prepared to do what needs to be done. “Just back to the dungeon,” Zhang Hao hears himself replying, neutral and even friendly. This is his chance. “Walk with me?”

Gideon gives a short nod, and the two of them turn towards the staircase at the end of the hallway.

“I was thinking—”

“I don’t want—”

Their words trample all over each other. Zhang Hao presses his lips together and inclines his head to indicate that Gideon should go first. He doesn’t want to show his hand so quickly.

“I don’t want to fight,” Gideon starts. A rather ironic thing to say, considering fighting is all they seem to do these days. Ever since the TriWizard Champions were chosen, Zhang Hao has felt the ever widening chasm between them splitting even deeper.

And the thing is, despite Gideon’s visible reticence, Zhang Hao doesn’t miss his friendship like he did with Ricky — he’s been without it, truly, for too many years for the ache to be fresh. But there’s a certain comfort in routine, in knowing how people around him will act, in being able to maneuver them to his will — say what they want to hear, placate them so they don’t bother him. And that’s what Gideon had become, not a comfort, but an expectation. But what had happened last time they spoke had been a miscalculation on his part. He thinks back to the last threads of their conversation and remembers how Gideon had seemed … almost scared. Not angry or irritated, but fearful.

“What did he tell you?” A sharp tone accompanied by sharp eyes. Zhang Hao thinks the only reason Gideon hasn’t already clutched his shoulders and shaken him is because he’s him.

“Gideon, that’s not the point here—”

“Of course that’s the point! And he’s supposed to be your friend?”

Zhang Hao’s expression pinches together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But it’s like Gideon doesn’t even hear him. “Whatever he said, don’t listen to him. Please, you can’t— I already told you everything I can. This mirror isn’t going to make things better for you.”

“But you haven’t told me why.”

“Why can’t you just trust me on this?” And when silence reigns, Gideon’s face drops incrementally. “You don’t trust me.”

“I—” but his intended denial dies a quick death. “You haven’t been truthful with me either.”

“But you’ll listen to Ricky—” Gideon snarls. He turns away in frustration, movements stilted. And then a coldness envelops his expression, removing all his distress, and replacing it with something unfamiliar, something Zhang Hao has never seen on him before. “He’s going to regret that.”

Zhang Hao is jolted from the memory when a group of girls appear at the end of the hall, their low laughs and casual conversation drifting towards them. Gideon goes silent, waiting for them to pass. He turns back to Zhang Hao when they finally turn down an empty corridor, his mouth pulled down into a frown. “Last time when we spoke, I know I was pretty angry.”

Huh. Pretty angry. That’s certainly one way to describe it.

“But I don’t want you to think I was mad at you. I really do understand why you feel like you have to do this. But I also— you get it, too, right? I’ve always been under a lot of pressure from my parents,” Gideon laughs coldly. “But it feels like it’s gotten even worse ever since this year started.”

It’s like the opening was just handed to him on a silver platter. “I know,” Zhang Hao says slowly, not liking the way the faux sympathy tastes. “And I know much you need to find this mirror. I’ve been thinking since we last spoke; I’ll show you where it is.”

But instead of celebrating his victory, Gideon narrows his eyes in suspicion. He’s always been smart. “Why?”

“Because I was bluffing before,” Zhang Hao admits. “Ricky didn’t tell me anything.”

“You lied.” But it doesn’t sound like an accusation, just a statement. Perhaps a realization.

Zhang Hao glances at Gideon as they descend another level. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for — remorse, guilt, some semblance of proof that he feels sorry for having hurt Gyuvin over nothing? And when he sees it in the tension along Gideon’s jaw, in the slight widening of his eyes, in the way his cheeks turn even paler, Zhang Hao also doesn’t know how to feel. “I did; I hope you understand.”

“I do,” he says, so quietly that Zhang Hao barely hears him. Gideon breaks eye contact as they arrive at the entrance to their common room, whispering the password for the archway to open up across seamless smooth stone.

The common room is decently crowded and chatter hangs loud and heavy in the air when they enter. But thankfully, no one intercepts them as they walk across the low-lit room. And it’s with unspoken agreement that they slip through the door to the boy’s dormitories. “Your room?” Zhang Hao prompts, not wanting to risk a run in with Ricky in his own. Gideon nods as he leads the way.

It’s been a while since Zhang Hao has been in here — actually perhaps he hasn’t been in here at all this year. Which is a strange thought to have, considering he spent more time in Gideon’s room during his first year than his own. He immediately knows which bed is Gideon’s though; it’s neat and precise, the blanket corners turned down just so. Precision and care is required in every part of your life, Zhang Hao hears in Gideon’s mother’s voice.

He takes a short breath and turns — he should just come out and say it. “I know what you did to Gyuvin.”

Gideon freezes, just for a fraction of a second, by the door, before asking, “Did Ricky tell you?” At least he’s not denying it.

“I think we’ve involved Ricky enough in this.” And Zhang Hao can’t quite hide the sharpness of his tone. “But no. I found him, Gyuvin, in the classroom where you left him.”

Gideon winces, looking passably contrite. “I didn’t mean to.” At Zhang Hao’s incredulous expression, he hurries to explain. “I really didn’t. I thought he’d be fine. I didn't think anyone would find him.”

Of course he didn’t, otherwise Gideon wouldn’t have struck out like that. Angry and violent, yes, but impetuous he is not. But apparently, Zhang Hao is. The anger he had thought he had under control earlier, for the purposes of his own ends, to get Gideon to agree to this exchange, bubbles to the surface. “You shouldn’t have cursed him to begin with! How could you- I knew you could be a bully, but this is too far even for you.”

“I shouldn't have done it. I know. It’s just when you told me that Ricky had spoken to you about this … I panicked. I never intended to go that far with Gyuvin, and I regret it.”

He always does this — Gideon always makes it seem like it was simply one mistake, one in a string of many, but still, a mistake that isn’t who he is, but instead just borne from a single moment of weakness. Zhang Hao crosses his arms. “That still doesn’t excuse what you did — not even close.”

“There’s more going on than you know,” Gideon pleads.

“Then tell me,” Zhang Hao presses. “So I’ll be able to understand.”

It’s a gamble. Sympathy has the most curious way of breaking someone open.

Gideon’s mouth trembles. Zhang Hao thinks he’s going to deny him again and again and again. But then — he slumps, his shoulders curve inwards, his face slackens and his eyes drift off to the side. Surrender. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Because I don’t want you to think badly of me; and I know I messed up. But I really—” Gideon’s voice cracks minutely, and even Zhang Hao has a hard time believing that’s faked. “Really just didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

But he won’t budge so easily, not after seeing the horrible aftereffects of the curse battered into Gyuvin’s chest. Not until he actually gets what he wants. “Go on then.”

Gideon visibly steels himself to explain. “You know my father has been working towards the Minister of Magic position for years. Sometime over the summer, things really started to fall into place. I’m not privy to all of it, but from what I understand, a few people in Spavin’s inner circle turned, and now he has enough support from inside the Ministry. The only thing holding him back right now — is the man in the mirror.”

Zhang Hao brows draw together. Yes, he’s known of Reinhold Grimsby’s ambitions for quite some time now. The signs are there for anyone who has the eyes and ears and appropriate suspicions to go looking for them, to piece them together. And Reinhold has been growing bolder, less subtle over the years at their dinner parties. He has never said it explicitly, at least not in front of the ‘children’, but they are also no longer children, and Zhang Hao by nature has become far more observant after his kidnapping. He’s had to be. But— “What does that man have to do with your father’s chances of becoming Minister? Who is he?”

“You think he would tell me?” Gideon scoffs. “All I know is that my father is getting impatient. He wants me to pass on a message.”

“What is it?”

But to that, Gideon remains mum. And Zhang Hao wants to press him for it — to push and push and push and not give a single inch in his ruthless quest for answers. But what happened last time they spoke still weighs heavily on his mind. He won’t make foolish mistakes like that again. He needs to focus. “Why doesn’t he just find him himself?”

“The only person who is able to reach him is apparently Flamel,” Gideon shrugs. “And all my father knows is that the mirror is here somewhere at Hogwarts.”

Zhang Hao can guess the rest: “So he’s tasked you to find it.” But that also begs another question. “Does Flamel know what you’re after?”

“My father has already tried going to him,” Gideon says by way of explanation. “But he refused to help. He … doesn’t approve of his ambitions. It’s come between them in the past, I think. Like I said,” another short, caustic laugh. “He doesn’t tell me much.”

This all makes sense to Zhang Hao — but it also feels a little … too simple. It neatly explains both Gideon’s parents desire for the mirror and the reason for the pressing need to find it. But something is still missing, between the pieces of Gideon’s desperation, in his near plea for Zhang Hao to leave this alone. “But that’s not the only reason you’re looking for it.”

Their gazes clash — Gideon is the first to look away, flicking first towards the door and then around the room, as if wary that someone else could be listening in. Awareness prickles along the back of Zhang Hao’s neck. He knows there’s nothing behind him but a four-poster bed, but he understands the paranoia of being watched, of feeling like he’s being hunted, far too well.

After a beat, Gideon turns and casts both a locking and Imperturbable Charm on the door. Zhang Hao gets this, too — both he and Hanbin had cast the same one around their bed curtains to ensure that their conversations remain private from their roommates. Gideon doing so now indicates that whatever he is about to tell him is far more secret than his father’s request.

Gideon turns back around with his wand clutched in his hand. And Zhang Hao gets that feeling again — that brief moment of wariness and hesitation he’d felt when they’d been doing their Prefect rounds, the split-second notion that Gideon would strike him. But the moment passes just as quickly when Gideon tucks his wand back into the pocket of his slacks.

“I want to talk to him myself. The man in that mirror,” he confesses.

“Why?”

“Because I … I don’t want to do this anymore,” he sighs. “I don’t want to keep being under my parent’s thumb anymore.”

Zhang Hao stares at him in shock. He’s furious that what had been missing in the cracks of this puzzle had been Gideon’s own selfishness — that he had chosen to hide these secrets from everyone else and use his own dangerous means to achieve it. But isn't that what Zhang Hao had been doing all these years too? Except he’s never hurt anyone to get it. But would he have? If what he wanted, his memories, his answers, were so close and just on the other side of a single sacrifice, would he have at least been tempted? The answer comes quickly, like a Stunning Spell right to the center of his chest. No, he wouldn't. He thinks of Gyuvin's body, slumped against the stone floors, limp and hurting. He thinks of the pain in Ricky's eyes as he confided in him. And he struggles to wrestle his rage into some thing he can control. He has a plan; he needs to stick to the plan.

His entire life, he has known Gideon to be loyal to his parents, upholding their family values — however loosely the term values applies to them. Wanting to make them proud and following in his father’s footsteps has been as natural as breathing for him. Zhang Hao had long thought there could be nothing in this world that would shake Gideon's fealty to his blood; otherwise, he would have tried harder, he would have put more effort into changing him, into dissuading him from all the things he’s said and done.

“What’s brought this on?” he sounds almost disbelieving, and he knows Gideon hears it too when his shoulders tense.

“It’s been a long time coming, truthfully,” Gideon speaks slowly, cautiously, but his eyes never waver from Zhang Hao’s. “I’ve listened to them all this time, because I truly thought it was the right thing to do. But recently, I’ve come to see their actions and choices in another light, and given how close my father is to becoming Minister, I feel like this is my last chance to escape.”

“You plan to run away?” That doesn’t sound like Gideon at all. Whenever he’s been faced with a problem, he’s always met it head on, even to his own detriment, even when it meant doing unpleasant, awful things.

“No, I don’t want to spend my life hiding,” Gideon takes a step into the room, a step closer to him, and Zhang Hao tenses. “Whoever this man is, it’s clear that my father is at least wary of him, if not scared of him. He knows something about him, something big enough that it could ruin his chances at being Minister. If I can speak to him, if I can offer to be a spy or to convince him to help me …”

“That’s a reckless plan, Gideon,” Zhang Hao says immediately. It’s really no plan at all. “If your father doesn’t even trust this man, what makes you think he’ll help you?”

“It’s not more reckless than what you’re doing,” Gideon challenges. “You’re running off to look for this mirror on the small chance that it could be connected to your memories.”

When he puts it like that, it’s hard for Zhang Hao to refute him. Despite what he realized during his conversation with Ricky … it’s all still based off of a hunch and supposition. “It’s still a chance. I need to take every one that I can get.”

“I don’t want to get mixed up in this.” That pleading edge creeps into Gideon’s tone again, the same as all the other times he’s asked for Zhang Hao to drop this pursuit. “If this goes poorly for me, I don’t want my father to find you and blame you for it.”

Zhang Hao scoffs. Sure, now he wants to play at being concerned. “What about Ricky? You didn’t think of that when you got him involved?”

Once more, Gideon’s face contorts in apology. Once more, Zhang Hao can’t tell if it’s real or not.

“I haven’t been successful so far, clearly,” he mutters. “So my father has upped the pressure. He has … people watching me here at the castle. I can’t move as freely anymore. I can’t let him get suspicious as to what I’m trying to do. So I needed someone who wouldn’t report everything back to my father like Warren and Leland and the others.” When Zhang Hao stays silent, Gideon implores. “Hao, I didn’t have a choice.”

If he hadn’t said that, perhaps Zhang Hao might have softened, perhaps he might have come around to believing that it had been his desperation and worry and paranoia that had driven him to do all these things. But that’s the thing: despite all that, Gideon has always had a choice. It’s anger sure, but it’s also disappointment that sweeps over him, in having expected — hoped — for something different this time. Zhang Hao works to loosen his jaw before speaking, “You need to leave them, Ricky and Gyuvin, out of this.”

“I—”

“You won’t need them anymore if I show you where it is, right?”

Gideon gives him an incredulous look, as if he can’t believe this is the bargain Zhang Hao is trying to strike. “So that’s why you said you’d show me? What makes you think I’ll agree to this? You still need the password to use it.”

“I can always get to the mirror and take my chances,” Zhang Hao postures. “But without me, who knows if you’ll ever find it. I can get you what you want, without any threats or anyone else getting hurt.”

A pained look. “I’ve only ever really cared if you get hurt.”

Zhang Hao swallows. That makes him furious. For so many different reasons. He fights to maintain the brittle calm he’d found before — as much as he’d like to rage and yell and cry at Gideon, that doesn’t change the fact that he wants something more.

“We can help each other,” he says, hearing the strain in his own voice but hoping Gideon doesn’t. “I just need to see it for myself. And if it has nothing to do with my memories, then I’ll admit that you were right, and I’ll leave all of this alone. But I have to do this.”

The two of them have reached yet another impasse. And he can tell that Gideon doesn’t like it; he doesn’t like it much either.

“Fine,” he says. “We go together.”

Checkmate.

“I was planning on staying here over the holidays,” Zhang Hao says. “Most of the students, plus the visiting schools, and half the faculty will be gone.”

“Over the holidays?” Gideon echoes.

It’s not lost on either of them the haunting parallels of this timeline, that it was this time of the year that Zhang Hao had first disappeared — a few days after Christmas. He shakes off the foreboding feeling the winter always brings. “It’s the best time,” Zhang Hao insists. And then the same reassurance he gave to Ricky: “Nothing will happen. I’m fully prepared.”

“Nothing will happen,” Gideon mutters, almost as if to himself. “Okay, fine, we’ll do this your way.”

Zhang Hao nods. “It’s a deal.”

The passing of time feels like water in his palms. Ever since he strikes the agreement with Gideon, it seems to flow out of his grasp far too fast. Drip. Gyuvin leaves the Hospital Wing, the three of them anxious and nervous, with Ricky barely ever leaving his side. Drip. His scribbled and abused dream journal, their final assignment for this semester, lands on Professor Burbage’s desk. Drip. The Quidditch game between Slytherin and Gryffindor is played out with great drama and tension — Slytherin wins. Drip. Zhang Hao wakes from a full night of sleep, gasping and sweaty with his shirt clinging to his back, Hanbin just shifting into wakefulness next to him. Drip.

Zhang Hao feels light-headed. There’s a ringing noise in his ears and he wonders if he’s about to faint because the edges of his vision have grown quite fuzzy, though the subject of his gaze is pulled into startling, dazzling clarity. He has no problem focusing on the darling fan of Hanbin’s lashes, or the sweet dip of his philtrum as his mouth pulls into a smile. Zhang Hao gets a little weak in the knees when he sees the lines dimple in on his cheeks, so he quickly averts his eyes. Except Hanbin’s shoulders fill out a set of dress robes incredibly well, and that knowledge is certainly not doing anything to prevent Zhang Hao from melting into a puddle on the patterned rug. Hanbin is dressed in an entirely dark ensemble, with long robes overtop a double-breasted waistcoat paired with a subtle gold-thread patterned tie. Only his dress shirt is a crisp snow white, offsetting the black and drawing attention to the glow of his skin.

Zhang Hao draws closer, as if caught in a daze, lured like a moth to a flame. He’s probably stumbling, but he’s lost all feeling in his legs, so he has no idea how he gets there, only that Hanbin’s starry eyes take up his whole world view. They dip low to glance at his robes: dark with silver filigree across the lapel that taper down to his waist. His ensemble below is a traditional black dress shirt and fitted slacks, forgoing a tie.

Hanbin’s dimples sink deeper into his pudding-soft cheeks as he draws his eyes slowly back up to Zhang Hao’s features. They’re close enough now that he sees the slight bob of Hanbin’s Adam’s apple, the slight pull of air through his teeth. Zhang Hao knows he looks beautiful tonight — he’s gone to painstaking lengths to doll himself up. His lips are glossed to perfection, and the glitter around his eyes flash every time he flutters his eyes. Satisfaction buzzes through him as he sees Hanbin’s gaze flit down towards his mouth again. He pouts them into a smirk. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I— you—” Hanbin stutters, his mouth falling open adorably. “I can barely breathe let alone think of something to say.”

Zhang Hao stops himself from giggling insipidly at the compliment. He’s innumerably pleased, but of course, he’s relentless. “Shouldn’t you be spouting poetry about how nice I look?” he teases, lowering his head a little, only so much as to allow him to look beguilingly up with big, shiny eyes at Hanbin. A thrill of satisfaction runs through him when Hanbin’s eyes widen just a little more, pupils blowing out.

“Anyone who can string together two words enough to spout poetry in the face of your beauty would have to be blind,” Hanbin mutters, jerking his chin to the side and averting his gaze as if he can barely think when he’s looking at him.

Zhang Hao does giggle at that. And he moves closer, giving into temptation and reaching out to brush his hand along the clean line of Hanbin’s shoulder. Heat curls low in his belly when he realizes the breadth and straight set of them is entirely natural. He silently thanks Merlin that their school robes don’t fit Hanbin quite as well or Zhang Hao is sure there would be absolutely no learning happening in these hallowed halls.

Hanbin’s eyes are drawn naturally, unwillingly back to him. Zhang Hao knows because he can feel every spot his attention lingers on his eyes, his cheeks, the dip of his slightly open collar like a physical touch — those exact spots growing warmer under Hanbin’s perusal.

“You look,” Hanbin clears his throat. “Utterly enchanting. I think that’s the last time I’ll be able to look away all night.”

And oh, how he loves that. “I almost fell flat on my face coming over here, you look incredible,” Zhang Hao finally admits. Hanbin’s cheeks immediately turn even redder, making him look positively cherubic. Zhang Hao is going to the Yule Ball with an angel.

The other Champions mill around them, as well as the Tournament judges and their headmasters, save Flamel. It seems whatever had taken him away after the First Task has not relinquished its hold yet, and so in his place as a representative for Hogwarts is Head of Hufflepuff House and DADA professor Sorrell Endo. The Durmstrang girls are already here, Callidora in deerskin-brown dress with laurels in her hair and looking mightily put out. Milena is clad in a surprisingly bold red Grecian-style dress that Zhang Hao would not have thought she’d ever entertain. Their dates, which he and Hanbin had a good giggle over earlier, are wearing matching dress robes of brown and black, once again, the only distinguishing feature between them their color.

Jiwoong is in the corner, murmuring with another judge, Helena Nott. Zhang Hao hasn’t spoken to him since their conversation in the Hog’s Head, and when they greeted each other briefly earlier, the former TriWizard Champion didn’t make any indication of what they had discussed. Though Zhang Hao supposes their choices to stay in the competition had been rather clear that night. It would not come as a surprise to Jiwoong that they were still here. He’s dressed in a sharp, modern dress robe that looks similar to a tuxedo — the neat tailoring complimenting the clean lines of his jaw.

“Do you remember who Jiwoong went to the Yule Ball with?” Zhang Hao suddenly wonders, drawing even closer to Hanbin so that the sleeves of their robes brush.

Hanbin follows his gaze over to the fireplace. “I can’t remember, actually. All I remember from that year was the Champion from Beauxbaton.”

“Whose dress caught on fire from the flambé,” Zhang Hao giggles. Of course they hadn’t been old enough to attend the Yule Ball back then, but the incident had been all anyone could talk about for the next week.

Hanbin snickers. “Hopefully we don’t have a repeat performance tonight.”

There’s a sudden crescendo of murmuring outside of the door to the room. They’re currently in the Chamber of Reception — usually where first years wait before they are presented to the Sorting Hat, but which has now been taken over by the Champions and judges prior to their special entrance into the ball.

“Sounds like everyone is arriving,” Hanbin whispers. Not long after the sounds of string instruments being tuned travel through the oak door as well.

Shortly after, the Beauxbaton Champions, their dates, and Headmistress Maxine arrive, along with Wesley de Montmorency. He shuts the door behind him, silencing the loud chatter of voices once more, and takes a satisfied look around the room.

“We have about fifteen more minutes before the official start of the ball” he announces. “Everyone looks absolutely fabulous.”

And Zhang Hao has to admit, they do. Violet is nothing less than an ethereal, dreamlike vision. Her pale blue, gauzy dress floats about her like sparkling mist, the fabric just sheer enough that Zhang Hao is fairly sure Gideon is going to get into a duel by the end of the night. He’s dressed in a white dress robe that would look outdated and smarmy on anyone else, but which he carries with all his ego and arrogance like a king.

Zhang Hao is relieved when they linger on the other side of the room. He’s barely spoken to Gideon since their agreement, and every time he catches a glimpse of him, it’s just an unpleasant reminder for what is to come. And he doesn’t want to think about that tonight.

Surprisingly, it’s Lee who approaches them. He’s wearing a strict and proper dress robe, and on his arm is the redhead Zhang Hao recognizes from their dance practice.

“You both clean up well,” she says by way of greeting, her coral lips pulling wide. “I don’t think I introduced myself properly the last time we met. I’m Eudoria Fawley.”

Fawley. Another old Wizarding family. Zhang Hao actually thinks he’s met her parents before at some function or another, but he hadn’t known they had a daughter. Curious that she would also be attending Beauxbaton instead of Hogwarts. “Nice to meet you,” he says, reaching out to shake her hand. It’s all a bit formal, but it’s also hard not to feel like he’s back in one of those stiff gatherings his parents attend, where he’s expected to be on his best behavior.

“Of course, I already know who you both are,” Eudoria smirks, also reaching over to shake Hanbin’s hand. “You two made quite a scene during the First Task.”

“Not entirely by choice,” Zhang Hao says wryly.

“Oh, I’m not talking about the pensieve ordeal, which was really rather unfortunate.” Her expression folds into a pout of sympathy before it quickly recovers. “But I meant both of you were the first to get through the protega diabolica.”

Ah yes, their rankings, still hung up in the Entrance Hall just next door, proves that.

Eudoria turns to Hanbin. “Who would have known such a simple spell was all it would take? Lee spent ages researching methods and still only managed to place third.”

“Shut up, you wouldn’t have been able to do any better,” Lee grumbles.

“I certainly had some … extra motivation,” Hanbin says, shooting him a small smile. And all the nerve endings in his body light up: he had made Hanbin better.

“I think it’s so cute that you two are together,” Eudoria gushes, not missing their exchange. She unlinks her arm from Lee’s and clasps her hands together in front of her with a dreamy sigh. “How romantic, falling in love in the midst of a grueling competition, wanting to do your best but also wanting to support each other. What an utterly delicious push and pull!”

Zhang Hao blinks. Both of them are a bit flabbergasted — and in his case, flattered — by her very enthusiastic declaration. But Hanbin is the first to recover, ever smooth and charming.

“It’s certainly not how I imagined the Tournament to go,” he offers with an easy grin. “But I think Zhang Hao brings out the best in me.”

Oh, how he loves that, too. He’s so giddy with the praise that he finds himself doing something out of character, leaning closer to Eudoria as if to whisper a secret, a mischievous smirk on his face. “I’m definitely going to beat him though.”

Hanbin scoffs behind him, having heard clearly. “He has no idea that each time he says that it only makes me more determined to win.”

Eudoria looks like she’s about to bubble over with excitement at their exchange — flirtation. Zhang Hao realizes it is flirtation, because as he looks back at him, the only way he wants to wipe Hanbin’s smirk off his face is with his own lips and perhaps a bit of tongue.

“Everyone, it is nearly time!” Montmorency calls for their attention, breaking up their conversation. “If I could get Miss Munter and Miss Koffka in front of me by the door with their dates, please.”

Lee drags Eudoria away with an annoyed look, even as she wiggles her fingers at the two of them and makes them promise her a dance later.

Montmorency lines everyone up with Zhang Hao and Hanbin last in the group, behind Violet and Gideon. As the heavy wooden doors swing open and they cross the empty Entrance Hall, Zhang Hao realizes this is the same order in which they had been chosen as Champions by the Goblet of Fire, with Callidora leading the march. His hand tightens on Hanbin’s arm as the large doors of the Great Hall slowly open to a swell of fanfare and the rich tones of Montmorency announcing their arrival.

The theme for the Yule Ball is always winter-related. Four years ago, Zhang Hao heard that Jiwoong’s ball had been filled with thousands of iridescent ice stalagmites, creating a dark, hushed, and wondrous atmosphere speckled throughout with prism lights. As the two of them set foot into the ball, Zhang Hao gasps at how the Great Hall has been transformed.

Tall, verdant green trees stretch above them, impossibly high. They circle the outer edges of the Great Hall, giving off the illusion that they had just stepped into an enchanted clearing in the middle of the woods. The leaves on the edge of the trees are trimmed a gleaming gold, sparkling and reflecting the shadows and shapes of the students and faculty gathered in the center. It’s a winter forest that is abundant and alive, and Zhang Hao thinks he can smell the sharp scent of pine and the warm roast of cinnamon as they make their way behind Gideon and Violet.

The floating candles that usually take up the sky of the Great Hall have been replaced with a cloudy moon. And despite the low light that it provides, the green of the trees glow with a luminescence that makes the crowd on either side clear and bounces off the deep mahogany of the cello and violin in the corner that begin to play their promenade. Decorations of gold — pinecones, mistletoe, and berries — are tucked among the trees and scattered across the round myrtle green-clothed tables.

Zhang Hao turns to Hanbin, whose mouth is open and eyes wide, gaping at their surroundings — but Zhang Hao likes that, likes that Hanbin doesn’t hold back in expressing all the things that make him surprised and joyous and even frustrated. He watches as Hanbin’s eyes sweep across the sky, around to the towering, lush trees as glints of gold dance around his irises. And then they settle on him with their enthralled glow. Not for the first time, Zhang Hao is struck by how magnificent Hanbin is.

He tightens his hand on his arm and leans in, spellbound. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Enchanting,” Hanbin agrees, his smile dimpling his cheeks as he leans in.

They are probably closer than propriety dictates — both of them having forgotten that they’re surrounded by a room full of their peers. All he sees, all he cares about, is Hanbin, and by the way Hanbin sways closer with each step, by the way his eyes flick back down to his mouth, Zhang Hao knows it’s the same for him. And he feels a bit of pride at that; that he can shine so brightly that Hanbin forgets all about his previous worries and anxieties and hesitations about a public relationship, that despite all of that, Hanbin has still chosen him. He feels nearly lightheaded, heady and drunk with elation, as they come to a stop in the middle of the room.

It’s a testament to Montmorency’s drilling and instruction that all six couples fan out on the floor in an orderly fashion. Similarly to their practice, Callidora and her date stands to their left and Gideon and Violet are poised to their right. Their arms go up, and beyond the satisfying slide of his hand over Hanbin’s shoulder and the thrill of Hanbin holding onto his waist, Zhang Hao hears Montmorency introducing their first dance: a waltz. And then the music begins.

Zhang Hao has danced this dance many times before. He has led this dance more times than he can count. And perhaps what makes their glides across the floor and the turn of their bodies so marvelous, so singularly spectacular is that for the first time in his life, he is not leading as he's always been expected to. Or rather, it’s Hanbin who is leading him. And of course, Hanbin is an incredible dancer, even with so little practice. It’s really quite unfair.

But also, Zhang Hao isn’t convinced that the rousing, bubbly feeling in his chest as they turn around the room is solely due to the reversal of roles. As Hanbin holds him tighter and Zhang Hao presses closer in return, the two of them supporting each other and their feet stepping in unison by design, a feeling of utter perfection settles over him. As if he and Hanbin were always meant to be this way: in sync and orbiting around each other. Zhang Hao can’t remember another moment where he has felt so fulfilled. Not even when he’d been named Head Boy. Not even when he’d been named Champion. None of his past triumphs have ever felt so rewarding as this. Perhaps their initial meeting had set them on a collision course six years in the making. And this is the finale that it has brought them too.

Indeed, it’s easy now to look back and believe that they were always going to come together like this, but Zhang Hao would hardly consider it miraculous. Miracles aren’t fashioned by human hands, aren’t guided by both of their fascinations and willing capitulations. Zhang Hao doesn’t believe in blindly following fate, he had chosen to fall in love. Nervous and wary and slowly, but surely. He believes in a fate ordained by himself, of a path laid out for him that he’s supposed to take but one he gets to choose. And thus, it is not with a measure of wonderment, but one of burning satisfaction, that Zhang Hao dances with Hanbin, lets Hanbin lead him in a spin, leans his body ever closer to his, uncaring of the world.

And as Zhang Hao clings onto Hanbin, watching the play of candlelight across his bright features — he wants to kiss him. The thought comes instantly, forcefully. He wants to turn his head just slightly and close the scant distance between their lips and kiss him. But even he knows that might just be one step over the line, to kiss him so publicly like this. And yet, that’s what truly sparks his desire. Zhang Hao is rather tempted to see if Hanbin will rise to the challenge, or if he’ll demure and blush it away. It’s a testament to just how far gone he is that he doesn’t think he would mind either reaction.

Before Zhang Hao can find out the answer to his question, they turn in their formation so the two of them are closer to the back wall next to the musicians. Zhang Hao gets a good look at the crowd spread out over Hanbin’s shoulder. He quickly spots faces that he recognizes: Lauretta and Warren, Camden Goldstein, Patrice Lambot. He spots Ricky’s white-blond head near the edge of the crowd, standing next to a tall boy with large eyes and a button-nose, Gyuvin. That moment of distraction is apparently all Hanbin needs to smooth his hand down the barely-there curve of his hip and squeeze his ass. Zhang Hao gasps. “Hanbin!”

“I must say you’re right about this,” Hanbin smiles at him, saccharine and decadent. “I am having a good time.”

Zhang Hao scrunches his nose at the pointed remark, even as his heart flutters in his chest. “So glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Unrepentantly, he squeezes again, making Zhang Hao’s lips part on another startled gasp. He doesn’t miss the way Hanbin’s dark gaze slips down to them — and lingers. He wants to kiss him. The music crescendos into a familiar swell, a signal for the rest of the students to join the waltz. The two of them pause, swaying in place as the trample of feet and the swish of skirts buzz with excitement around them. Couples start drifting onto the center of the room, finding open spaces to slot themselves into the dance. And while everyone is preoccupied, Zhang Hao leans in — finally, finally.

He wants to kiss him.

It’s a quick one. Barely a brush of lips; their most chaste kiss yet. And yet it instantly unspools him, his entire being melting in Hanbin’s firm hold. It seems to have the opposite effect on him, his hand tightening around Zhang Hao’s waist, pulling him even closer so there’s barely an inch separating their bodies now, so their hearts can nearly feel each other’s beating. Hanbin tilts his head closer again as if for a second kiss, but manages to catch himself in time, turning his head and glancing his lips gently over the swell of Zhang Hao’s cheek as his smirk begins to form. Though he doesn’t have it in him to tease Hanbin too much right now, not with the way anticipation also sings in his blood. “Later?”

They’re so close now that he can see when the dark pupils of Hanbin’s eyes expand as they take him in. Him and his promise. “Yes, later.”

The dance comes to a close with polite applause and a resounding pronouncement from Montmorency for everyone to “enjoy their evenings!”

As soon as they step off the dance floor, they’re private bubble instantly dissolves. It’s as if something in their dance has invited everyone’s attention, or curiosity. Zhang Hao exchanges pleasantries with most of them, though it’s obvious they just want to see them up close, want to ogle at them under the pretense of polite conversation. They receive congratulations on the first- and second-place finish in the First Task from students who aren’t in their Houses nor in their classes, who haven’t yet gotten the chance to offer them.

There are a couple awkward moments where those that come up try to hedge at the pensieve incident, but that comes as no surprise. No one likes to talk about such tragedies on a jolly evening such as this. That’s something Zhang Hao has learned in the years since his disappearance. The condolences and pity and gentle-handling fades after a while, and anytime it’s brought up again, people act like it's an inconvenience to them.

A few of Hanbin’s Quidditch groupies dare approach, and Zhang Hao clings onto his arm with claw-like hands and shoots all of them haughty glares as they buzz around them like annoying flies. One girl is whining over what a shame it is that the Quidditch games have been cut short due to the Tournament this year when Zhang Hao spots Ricky lingering by the punchbowl. “Excuse us,” he cuts in, dragging Hanbin away. “My boyfriend and I need to go talk to a few friends.”

Thank you, Hanbin mouths to him as soon as their backs are turned, and he giggles. Zhang Hao arrives in front of Ricky in an exceedingly good mood.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” he points out, taking a sip out of his cup.

“Where’s Gyuvin?” Hanbin asks, looking around.

“Bathroom.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes widen with exaggeration. “You let him go by himself?”

“Ha ha,” Ricky comments dryly. “It’s not like he’s in any danger tonight.” He inclines his head towards the dance floor where Gideon has his hands full with Violet, and also a crowd of perhaps seven boys shooting him death glares. “Plus, I can’t keep stalking my boyfriend everywhere. I think it’s getting on his nerves.”

Gyuvin has assured them that he hasn’t so much as even looked in his direction, though that hasn’t stopped Ricky from being overprotective — emphasis on the over. Though despite his teasing, Zhang Hao is relieved that Gideon has left the two of them alone, for now. Even if nothing else goes according to his plan, at least he can feel that the bargain he’s made has been worth it.

“Gyuvin is a bit stubborn,” Hanbin sighs.

Ricky smirks. “Don’t worry. So am I.”

“Hanbin, Zhang Hao! Oh, and Ricky!” The three of them turn to see a shorter boy with golden skin and a wolfish grin beelining towards them in the crowd. As Matthew scoots around a group of girls in large, poofy dresses, Zhang Hao’s jaw drops at who he has in tow, hand in hand.

“Oh, hello,” Taerae greets them a little sheepishly, coming to a stop next to his date. Not in a million years would Zhang Hao have made this guess. He’d been wracking his brain for other Ravenclaws! When did Taerae even have the chance to meet, much less talk to Matthew?! Zhang Hao narrows his eyes at his friend in greeting, but Taerae resolutely avoids his glare.

“You both look great,” Hanbin greets.

Immediately, Zhang Hao turns to him. “You knew they were coming together?” he accuses.

Hanbin gives him a surprised look. “You didn’t?”

“No! Because Taerae refused to say anything!”

“Aw, Taerae, come on,” Matthew whines. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not embarrassed!” Taerae defends, even as he turns a bright shade of pink. He gives Zhang Hao a glare of his own. “Just thought Zhang Hao would like a taste of his own medicine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Now, now,” Ricky placates. “We both know you two are annoying twats who love to keep your secrets, let’s not start an argument tonight.”

Both Zhang Hao and Taerae splutter their excuses at him while Matthew nearly doubles over laughing. Gyuvin returns from the bathroom, and Hanbin makes quick introductions between him and Taerae. The conversation is light and casual, drifting from Quidditch to idle gossip to discussions over whether frozen or regular butterbeer is better. As the group talks, Hanbin idly curves his arm loosely around his waist, and Zhang Hao reaches up to adjust his hair, which doesn’t really need adjusting whatsoever. He just wants an excuse to touch him.

When the conversation turns to everyone’s holiday plans, he and Hanbin share a quick look. Gyuvin talks about how he’s going to take his brothers and sister out Christmas shopping for their parents and Taerae mentions his family has got tickets to see The Weird Sisters perform at a New Year countdown.

“Hanbin’s family and mine usually get together for a meal sometime over the holidays,” Matthew mentions. “We should go back to that pub we went to a couple years ago. The one with the huge pot roast in the window.”

“Ah, yeah, that would be nice,” Hanbin agrees.

And Zhang Hao can’t help but feel a measure of guilt that he’s keeping Hanbin from spending time with his friends and family. His own holiday plans usually consist of an awkward but delicious dinner with his parents, and then an annual Christmas gathering of all the family friends at someone’s elaborate and overdone mansion. Usually Ricky is there, and so is Gideon. “Ricky and I will probably see each other over break as well,” Zhang Hao offers, out of a need to keep the charade going.

He might have told Ricky about his intentions with Gideon, but he doesn’t intend to reveal his plans, knowing that he’ll insist on coming. Having Hanbin there is already more than he wants to risk. If anything happens to him … Zhang Hao doesn’t want to consider it, doesn’t even want to think about the possibility of Hanbin getting hurt. But even with that fear, there’s a part of him that needs him there. And that realization comes with a measure of alarm. Since when has Hanbin become so integral in his ability to do this? His search has always been a lonely one; he’s always been determined to do this alone — and Zhang Hao makes a private concession that maybe Taerae was right about him and his secrets. But now that he knows what it’s like to share his burdens with someone, he finds that he grows weary, and greedy. It certainly does feel nice to lean into Hanbin’s side as his hand hitches a little higher around his waist.

Eventually another song comes on and Matthew drags Taerae and Gyuvin onto the dance floor, which means Ricky trails behind begrudgingly. A few of Hanbin’s Quidditch friends surround them afterwards. They’re loud and rowdy, lobbing him with teasing remarks and lauding Zhang Hao with a hilarious story of when Hanbin accidentally set a Bludger loose from its straps in the box too early and got smacked right in the face as it hurtled up.

“He had a nasty black eye for two weeks from that,” one of the girls, Kama, snickers.

“If you’d been volunteering at the Hospital Wing back then, I’m sure he wouldn’t have been that resistant to going,” Irma, who Zhang Hao remembers from the Quidditch incident earlier this year with Yujin, teases.

The group eventually talks them both onto the dance floor again for a fast song, and Zhang Hao marvels at the way Hanbin moves. Perhaps it’s his innate athleticism, but his timing is impeccable, his movements sharp yet natural, and moreover, the way he brims over with life and enthusiasm is infectious. Zhang Hao finally calls off after three songs — when he doesn’t trust himself to not tackle Hanbin onto the floor and start kissing him right there. He waves off Hanbin’s offer to join him, telling him to have fun with his friends for a while longer.

Needing a moment of quiet, Zhang Hao finds an empty pocket against one of the tall trees and nurses a half-cup of fizzy butterbeer. He watches as Gunwook chatters with a group of his Ravenclaw friends on the other side of the hall before taking to the floor with big movements and great gusto.

“Ah, Zhang Hao!” A voice greets to his left.

Zhang Hao jumps a little at the sudden noise, turning to see Wesley de Montmorency approaching him. He has a cup of his own in hand, but based on the scarlet flush on his cheeks, Zhang Hao thinks it might be filled with something stronger than butterbeer. “Good evening,” he greets.

“No need to be so formal,” Montmorency smiles. “Tonight is for relaxing and celebrating, no?”

Zhang Hao inclines his head, trying not to fall into old patterns. “Are you having a good time tonight?”

“Oh yes, oh yes,” Montmorency trills, ever bombastic even with a simple answer. “Even after all these years and countless parties, nothing quite compares to the feeling of a Yule Ball. Something about it brings such an air of hope and possibility, don’t you think?”

It’s easy to chalk up Montmorency’s verve to his drink, or perhaps just his personality. But Zhang Hao thinks he gets what he means — even amidst his difficult and forced circumstances there’s a certain levity that this night lends, as if he can simply keep staring at Hanbin for the rest of his life and everything would be okay. It’s the atmosphere, the festivity, the feeling of wonder and fortunes being fulfilled. “It’s certainly special,” Zhang Hao agrees.

“Did you know, I attended my Yule Ball with a girl named Clementine?”

Zhang Hao does his best to not let his face drop. He’s really not in the mood to weather through another one of Montmorency’s long tales about his golden days. His meter for socialization is nearly depleted tonight, but still out of courtesy he asks, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Montmorency gives a dreamy sigh. “She was my best friend. We met during the train ride to Hogwarts and were instantly inseparable.”

Zhang Hao’s attention piques at the familiarity of that story. “Is that when you fell in love?”

Montmorency snorts, taking another sip of his drink — brandy, Zhang Hao smells now — and shakes his head. “Merlin, no. She never would have dated an ‘airhead’ like me, her words. We still see each other every year during the holidays, but she’s happily married now to a Ministry fellow. We were always just friends; she was one of the only people who could, who can, put me in my place.” Montmorency shoots him an understanding grin, one that makes Zhang Hao wonder if Montmorency knows what everyone says about him — vapid, showy, frivolous — and whether that reputation is cultivated on purpose. “And are you having fun tonight?”

The sudden pivot makes Zhang Hao startle, but he’s nodding before he can think too much about it. Because he is, having fun.

“You should cherish this time that you have with each other,” Montmorency sighs again, wistful and pensive. “I don’t regret going with Clementine; we had much fun that night, too. But I do regret not having asked the sixth-year boy I fancied at the time.”

“Oh,” Zhang Hao breathes — multiple realizations hitting him at once. But he doesn’t have anything more eloquent to offer than, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Montmorency chortles. “I didn’t have the courage to ask back then, to take that leap. All of this bravado came after, unfortunately.” He chuckles again, this time a little more despondently. “So it heartens me to see you both out on the dance floor.”

Zhang Hao sucks in a sharp breath. He didn’t think anyone had noticed them then. “Did you see …?”

“I have to keep an eye on all my dancing pupils, don’t I?” Montmorency teases with a knowing smile. “I can’t have you missing a step and embarrassing me in front of the whole school.”

He isn’t sure how he feels about Montmorency having witnessed their kiss — though he hadn’t been too worried about being seen back then. He’d just been completely caught up in the moment, in Hanbin. Though now, as the surprise fades, he’s privately glad that out of everyone in the room, it had been Montmorency.

“You both danced very well, by the way,” he compliments, as he empties the rest of his cup and sets it on a table next to them. “All the best in the next Task, hm?”

By the time Zhang Hao finds his voice to thank him, Montmorency is already drifting over to latch onto a very annoyed Jiwoong, who has been fending off a hoard of fifth-year girls the entire evening. Not long after, Zhang Hao decides that he’s had enough of not being next to Hanbin and sets his drink down as well.

He finds him talking with Matthew and Sumi on the edge of the dance floor

“There you are,” Hanbin smiles when Zhang Hao approaches, looping his arm around his shoulder easily. He happily tucks himself back into his side. As if sensing his mood, Hanbin asks, “Are you ready to retire for the night?”

He lays his head against Hanbin’s shoulder. He is … but sleep isn’t really what he has on his mind. He shakes his head, smiling impishly. “Not quite, there was actually something else I was hoping to do.”

Hanbin blinks at him, understanding dawning on his features before a smirk of his own forms. “How presumptuous of you.”

“You don’t want to?” Zhang Hao aims his most mushy pout at him.

Hanbin’s answer is to whisk him out of there immediately, much to his delight. They get waylaid by a few people, but they offer them hasty goodbyes as they hurry out of the double doors, hand in hand. He expects Hanbin to guide them downstairs — to either of their dorms, but instead, he leads him up to the second floor. And then the third. Until Zhang Hao giggles out, “Where are we going?”

“Where else?” Hanbin asks back breathlessly.

They climb all the way up to the Astronomy tower.

Zhang Hao lets out a delighted laugh when they burst through the door to the empty tower.

“Hanbin, what are you—” but he doesn’t even get to finish his question before he’s dragged against one of the tables and pushed right up against it as Hanbin leans in to kiss him.

There’s something about this kiss that Zhang Hao feels keenly in the pit of his stomach, covetous and savage. He’s been wanting to kiss Hanbin like this for hours, and now that he has him right where he wants him, he doesn’t hesitate to fist his hands in his hair, to let Hanbin tug him even closer, to push back against him so he can feel the give of his chest against his own. There’s something about the rough, hurried way that they kiss, without tact or pretense that makes heat curl through him. When they finally pull apart for air one of his legs is hitched around Hanbin’s waist, and Hanbin’s fingers dig into his thigh. A whimper catches in his throat.

His gaze is drowsy, slow to focus, and all Zhang Hao can think about is kissing Hanbin more. More, more, more. He doesn’t know when his thoughts bleed into action, but then Hanbin’s wet, pink mouth is set against his again and he can no longer breathe, let alone think. In each second, Hanbin sates his desire, but then in the next, rekindles it again with a flex of his fingers. The next time they part, Zhang Hao traces the thin line of saliva between their lips up to the intoxicated, hazy look in Hanbin’s eyes. Pride scrapes through him, and he pulls him in again.

He loves the way Hanbin kisses like this. He has long suspected that Hanbin never takes what he wants in life, that he works and works and works for it, but at the last second he can never find it in himself to reach out and snatch it for himself. But when they kiss, when they kiss like this, Hanbin doesn’t ask, he demands. He steals everything from him, the air in his lungs, every thought in his head, any will Zhang Hao has to resist him. Hanbin doesn’t hold back whatsoever. And it thrills him to think that he’s the only one who will ever see him this way, completely unrestrained and uninhibited. That he’s the only one who can strip away all of Hanbin’s propriety.

Eventually the cold winter wind blowing in through the open archways is too much even for the heat that blooms across Zhang Hao’s cheeks. Their kisses turn slow and lazy, and they part as if from a trance. Zhang Hao finds that he had worked Hanbin’s waistcoat open at some point, trying to get to his skin, and Hanbin had seated him fully on the table, with his legs winding around his hips.

It’s a good thing no other students seem to be wandering the halls, because they both look well and thoroughly debauched as they sneak their way back to the dorms. It’s not even a question anymore when Zhang Hao climbs through the round doorway into the Hufflepuff common room after Hanbin. The chairs in front of the fireplace are already empty, most of the students attending the ball having already turned in for the night. But when Hanbin opens the door to his room, there is still a candle on.

Gyuvin whistles low as soon as he looks up at the open door. “I was wondering where the two of you went. You certainly look a mess. Had a run through the Forbidden Forest?”

Hanbin pulls off his tie and throws it in his direction, making Gyuvin snicker. “Have a good night you two. Please try not to make too much noise,” he teases before dropping the curtains around his four-poster bed.

Zhang Hao wants to tell him there’s no chance of anything else happening tonight. If only Gyuvin knew that Hanbin had gotten embarrassed in an empty room with just a cat.

They get ready for bed quietly, and Zhang Hao finds himself tucked under the quilt soon enough, lying on his side watching Hanbin as the dark curtains fall around them. And in the muted hours of the early morning, as he winds down from the revelry of the day, it’s hard not to turn his mind to the few remaining days of school they have left. And with that, what comes after the castle empties: the biggest gamble of his life.

“What are you thinking about?” Hanbin murmurs softly, reaching over to brush a few strands of hair out of his eyes.

“We only have a few days left before …” Zhang Hao trails off, allowing Hanbin’s ability to read him to do the rest of the work. It feels impossible to talk through everything that’s running through his mind. He’s thought this through in every angle, has made sure to be so, so careful. And yet, there are still far too many unknowns that he can’t control: what Gideon will do or say, if the man in the mirror will even entertain them, if all of this will actually bring him the answers he wants.

“It’s not too late for us to tie Grimsby up and torture the password out of him.”

Zhang Hao chuckles, shaking his head and feeling Hanbin’s warm palm cup his cheeks gently before pulling away.

“There’s no use worrying about things that you can’t control,” Hanbin whispers.

“Unfortunately that doesn’t stop me from doing it anyway,” Zhang Haos mumbles.

“Knowing you, you already have a plan for everything.”

And he does know him well. Zhang Hao shuffles a little closer before giving voice to his fears. “What if they don’t work?”

“Then I’ll be there.”

A sudden wave of emotion scrapes through his chest. Hanbin will be there. Hanbin will be there. And it’s like his worries have been thrown a lifeline. Hanbin will be there. Tears press at the corner of his eyes, and Zhang Hao quickly blinks them away. He clears his throat. “Tonight is supposed to be happy — we should talk about something else.” In this sanctuary of theirs, on a night like tonight where Zhang Hao can almost pretend that he’s just a normal boy in love, he wants to extend that fantasy just a little longer.

Hanbin watches him for a moment, considering and steady. Eventually, he hums in agreement, turning onto his back to gaze up at the canopy overhead. “Do you sometimes think about how we could have been together sooner?”

The question catches Zhang Hao off guard. Not because it’s something he’s never considered before, but because it is. And he’s pleasantly surprised that Hanbin shares this sentiment, too. “Earlier this year, when we weren’t together yet,” he admits. “I thought about what it would have been like if I’d met you earlier. Or, I guess, again. If we’d properly spoken again after that train ride.”

“Me, too,” he murmurs. “But I don’t think I would have had the courage to do anything, even if we had. I mean, nothing was really stopping me this whole time. But I still needed the Fat Lady to tell everyone about it before I could approach you.”

“Well,” Zhang Hao smirks, shifting to close the small amount of space between their bodies to hitch his leg over Hanbin’s. “If I remember correctly, it was still me who approached you. Down by the lake.”

“Ah,” Hanbin grimaces. “You’re right.”

“It would have been nice to have had this all these years together. Someone to talk to … I feel like you’re the first person who will take me as I am, flaws and all, who I don’t have to put up a front with. Perhaps I would be a bit less controlling and paranoid if I’d met you a few years earlier,” Zhang Hao chuckles, trying to make light of his confession.

But Hanbin doesn’t laugh. There’s half a beat where he doesn’t say anything, but then he curls back over onto his side, drawing Zhang Hao completely into his front. He goes willingly, happily.

“I often dreamed about what it would have been like,” Hanbin confesses against the curve of his cheek. “All the milestones and memories we could have made together over the years.”

Zhang Hao nods, earnest. He’s thought about them, too. He could have been there to congratulate Hanbin when he made the Quidditch team, Hanbin would have brought him late night snacks and sat up with him as he pored over medical texts, they could have had so many dates in Hogsmeade and spent time together over the holidays. The years pass by in his mind like a blur. Every sleepless night, every small moment of elation, every big challenge — what would it have been like to have been able to turn to Hanbin during all of those?

“But,” Hanbin cuts through his reverie. Their eyes meet, and Hanbin smiles, brilliant and dazzling, like he’s stolen all the magic in the world for this one moment. “We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

The words hit him square in the chest — all the time in the world.

Zhang Hao has never really thought about that before. He’s always been so focused on his past; he can’t remember the last time he sincerely looked forward to something. He has aspirations and plans, sure, but they are all inevitably tied to his missing memories. Everything leaves a trail of breadcrumbs to those months he can’t remember. But this with Hanbin, a life with Hanbin … it trickles through him slowly, like a drug. The thought of time stretching for years and years and years, empty for now but eventually being filled in with Hanbin — it fills him with a joy and anticipation he’s not used to.

The tears come all too fast this time for him to stop them. But instead of being dismayed or confused, Hanbin simply cups his cheeks in his gentle palms and wipes them away tenderly. And perhaps this is the comforting that he’s needed all along — because he knows regardless of what happens, he now has something to look forward to, something more than this relentless search.

“We do,” Zhang Hao eventually manages to croak. “We're going to have so much time now. I'm so glad.”

Hanbin’s smile is warm. “Me, too.”

Chapter Text

“He was prisoned in thought. Memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away.”
— Oscar Wilde, The Picture Of Dorian Gray

Hanbin

“You know exams are over right?”

Hanbin tries not to jump. He straightens casually from his position hunched over the spread of books on the library table, and smiles at Gunwook in greeting. He fights the instinct to quickly shut all the books or move to obscure them from view; Gunwook is shrewd, and Hanbin knows that would only make him suspicious. Instead he leans back casually, crossing his arms. “Just reading up on some things for the next Task.”

Gunwook perks up for a second before he deflates into a sulk. “How could you not tell me?”

“I can’t have you helping me every time,” Hanbin laughs. “That wouldn’t feel fair.”

“I’m pretty sure the entirety of Beauxbatons has study sessions solely to help do research for their Champions,” Gunwook says. When Hanbin raises his eyebrows at the intel, he only shrugs. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Either way, this one is fairly straightforward.”

Which Gunwook can’t refute. It’s pretty much old news now — word had traveled fast around the castle after the First Task. But Gunwook still inches forward slightly, peering at the open book Hanbin had been studying. “So what are you reading up on?”

Hanbin tenses, but tries not to let it show. The book is flipped open to a page on enchanted two-way mirrors. It’s just a small paragraph, barely three inches of text, but it had taken Hanbin hours to find. He hasn’t given up on his research yet despite the limited information. He’s taken to perusing diary entries and biographies for any mention of them. Usually they aren’t logged in the contents, so it’s been a slog of information to get through.

“You think this will show up in the maze?” Gunwook asks, scanning the passage.

“It might,” Hanbin forces himself to shrug. “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“That’s true. They might use anything to throw you all off.” And then Gunwook gasps. “Have you heard of the Mirror of Erised?”

Hanbin shakes his head, which sets Gunwook off on an immediate explanation about a mirror that will show him his greatest desires. Relieved that he’s sufficiently distracted him, Hanbin subtly cleans up his space and suggests they head down to the Great Hall for dinner while Gunwook continues his spiel.

“People have gotten obsessed with the mirror in the past,” Gunwok chatters as they head out of the library. “It’s apparently now in the Ministry’s possession, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they lent it out for the Task. One of their Aurors is a judge after all. It should be quite safe.”

Just like the pensieve was supposed to be, Hanbin thinks grimly. But he doesn’t say anything. He knows Gunwook means well.

The Great Hall is nearly full when they show up right at peak dinnertime. Now that classes are pretty much over for the semester, no students are skipping meals to study, and it’s far too cold out now to hang out in the Quad or by the lake. Not to mention, the House Elves have started making holiday favorites like Christmas pudding, eggnog, marshmallows and crumpets. The smell of a roast pig distracts Gunwook, who bids him a quick goodbye.

Every House table is jam packed, and Hanbin spots Zhang Hao, Ricky, and Yujin sitting at the Slytherin table, on the other side of the table from Grimsby. Good. He briefly considers going over to join them, but then detours to the Hufflepuff table where Matthew, Taerae, and Gyuvin are sitting.

“Where have you been?” Matthew asks as they all shuffle around, squishing themselves a little tight for Hanbin to slip in. “You disappeared right after class.”

“I was at the library.”

Taerae rolls his eyes. “Even I’m not still studying at this time of the year.”

Hanbin uses the same excuse as before as he helps himself to some turkey with gravy. “I was doing a bit of preparation for the Second Task.”

“Ah that’s right, you can’t relax over the holidays like the rest of us.”

“Poor, poor, Hanbin,” Matthew chimes in. “Must be so tiring being such an exceptional wizard.”

Hanbin scowls at both of them. Well matched they are, for sure.

“You’re ranked first — you don’t have to try that hard,” Matthew says, nudging him in the shoulder. Hanbin passes him the gravy ladle for his mashed potatoes once he’s done. “The judges gave you way more points than, say, Milena. I think Durmstrang is already out of the running this year.”

“But Lee and Zhang Hao are pretty close,” Hanbin says. It’s hard to miss, considering the banners with their points are still displayed in the Entry Hall — Hanbin passes it every time he comes up for meals.

“You aren’t going to let your boyfriend win?” Gyuvin asks with a devilish smile.

Hanbin’s glare for Gyuvin is a bit softer; he can’t help it. He’s just relieved that he’s back to his jovial, carefree ways, and that he’s stopped going to Honeydukes every other day. “No,” Hanbin shakes his head. “I want to win.”

And it’s true — he might not have started this all with great conviction, but he’s also done well enough for himself to recognize that if he works hard, he could really, maybe, actually win the TriWizard Cup. He also has to admit there’s a bit of pettiness there too; he wants to win this to prove to himself that he can, to prove to the likes of Grimsby and Violet that he can.

“Zhang Hao is going to have something to say about that,” Taerae laughs.

“I don’t expect him to go easy on me just because we’re dating.” Hanbin grins. “And I won’t go easy on him either.”

The thought has actually never crossed his mind. Out of all the things that he wants to do for Zhang Hao, all the ways he wants to treat him right, to make sure he doesn’t mess this up, to ensure a long and happy future with him, letting him with the Tournament by default has never been on that list. Zhang Hao is an amazing wizard; it would be Hanbin’s honor to snatch the TriWizard Cup right from under him.

He cuts another bite of turkey and waves his fork at the two boys sitting across from him. He’s not the only one who’s going to be answering questions at dinner. “Speaking of boyfriends, what’s going on with you two?”

Matthew, in an uncharacteristic display of bashfulness, squeaks.

“Nothing is going on,” Taerae says, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his robe, steadfastly not meeting Hanbin’s gaze.

“What do you mean?” Gyuvin asks. “Didn’t you two go to the Yule Ball together?”

“Just as friends,” Matthew refutes, his voice two octaves higher than normal.

Hanbin looks over at Gyuvin, the two of them exchanging skeptical eyebrow raises. “Sure,” Hanbin placates, letting it slide for now.

Matthew groans, already knowing what that means — that he and Gyuvin are going to interrogate him the moment they get him alone. Taerae is still diligently not looking at any of them and nearly uses his knife to scoop up mashed potatoes.

The conversation slowly turns to other recountings from the Yule Ball. Having left relatively early, Hanbin had apparently missed some Ravenclaw lower years who had tried to sneak in and “Antony Gaunt shaking ass on the dance floor in a horrifying display,” according to Taerae. It’s familiar and comfortable and effortless. And yet, Hanbin can’t help but sneak glances across the Hall to the Slytherin table. It does nothing to quell his dread at what is to come.

Carriages pulled by invisible thestrals rumble across the pathway in front of the castle. The chatter of students bidding each other farewell, promising to write by Owl Post and wishing each other a good holiday, echo around Hanbin as he watches the dark carriage Matthew had disappeared inside moments before traverse around the Great Lake until it is obscured by the hulking Durmstrang ship, now with its flags fully raised, ready to sail its students back home. The Beauxbaton carriages had left shortly after lunch this afternoon, Hanbin had seen them bobbing through the sky through the Gryffindor Tower windows when he’d been helping Matthew pack last minute.

Most of the students had left this morning on the first train. Technically they have until tonight to clear out, but everyone is eager to get home just a few days before Christmas.

Christmas.

This would be the first Christmas in his life that Hanbin’s not spending with his family. He considers himself lucky that he has a good relationship with his parents. And he’s realized that as he gets older year by year, so do they. Perhaps them more than him now, a startling reversal of roles that he had realized a few years back. When he’d been young, he had been the one to change as each year passed. His parents had been unshakable keystones in his life, and he’s always assumed they’d look the way they did forever. But Hanbin has started to see the wear of years on them and their health, enough that it feels like one missed Christmas is a lot.

And yet … Hanbin turns away from the carriages and heads back inside the castle. His decision had already been made when he had seen the gentle fall wind ruffle Zhang Hao’s bangs that afternoon by the Great Lake.

The day passes quickly, he and Zhang Hao spend most of it discussing strategy, going over their plans. But there’s only so much preparation they can make for the unknown. They have a quiet dinner, with discernible murmurs circling around them from the few other students who had stayed behind. It does seem odd that they would both be here, though for anyone who had asked, they simply used the TriWizard Tournament as an excuse. One Ravenclaw girl had come up to them and demanded if they were planning to elope over the holidays, to which Hanbin had giggled and denied while Zhang Hao simply smirked mysteriously.

It’s later in the evening now, after they had gone their separate ways to freshen up after dinner. Hanbin makes his way up to the fifth floor, the stillness of the castle rather uncanny at this time of the evening where the patter of shoes on the stone was a near constant and all the study spaces were packed with students relaxing after classes. Now only his shadow drifts against the suit of armors. So Hanbin is surprised to find that the mirror in the Prefects’ bathroom is already fogged when he opens the door. He pauses — as far as he knows, there are only two other people in the castle who would know the password. He hopes … “Zhang Hao?”

A brief splash, and then a reply, “Hanbin?”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. He’d been prepared to run out of here if it had been Grimsby. A smile tugs at the corner of Hanbin’s lips, playful and cheeky, as he heads towards the baths, slippers padding quietly on the tile. When he peeks his head around the corner, it’s with a hand covering his eyes, his grin split all the way across his face. “Are you decent?”

He gets a scoff in return. “I’m in the bath, what do you think?”

Hanbin slowly shuffles into the bathroom still with his hand in front of his eyes, which earns him another huff of amusement. And a splash that somehow manages to sound very put out.

“I can’t believe my boyfriend doesn’t want to see me naked!”

Hanbin pauses, only able to see the marble flooring at the moment. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you tried …”

There’s something leading, something whiny in Zhang Hao’s tone that tells him he’s up to something. But the temptation is too much to bear. Hanbin drops his hand — and gets a face full of water for his troubles. He instantly jerks back, and Zhang Hao’s peels of laughter echo throughout the bathing chamber. Hanbin wipes down his face and looks over at him, sat in the tub up to his collar in bubbles. Zhang Hao has a Cheshire’s grin on his face, and the dewy, slender slopes of his shoulders shake up and down with his giggles, an errant drop of water sliding down one slightly pinkened slope.

“How could you?” Hanbin splutters, wiping off a few suds on his cheek.

“You missed your chance,” Zhang Hao sighs dramatically. His shoulders come up enticingly in a shrug, just enough that Hanbin might be able to see— they lower back down into the bubbles, accompanied by a knowing smirk. “Maybe next time.”

“Come on,” Hanbin wheedles, daring to draw a little closer. Past the partition that divides this bath from the others. He pouts and gives Zhang Hao his saddest, most pleading look.

“Oh, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” Zhang Hao snickers. His eyes flash with a delight that Hanbin loves seeing there. He’ll grovel any day if it’ll keep that light in his eyes.

“Please?” Hanbin flutters his lashes.

Zhang Hao’s smile stretches wider. “How about you first?”

He covers his fully-clothed front with a scandalized gasp. “I could never!”

Zhang Hao splashes unhappily. “You wanted to see me naked but you won’t even let me see you?”

Hanbin giggles. Using his own words against him. “Maybe next time.”

And then he darts around the dividing wall between baths to the one next to Zhang Hao’s, but not before Zhang Hao shoots him a shrewd look. “I’m holding you to that promise.”

“So am I!” Hanbin calls back with a giggle.

He bends over to run the water in his own bath, temporarily ceasing conversation between the two of them. He doesn’t often indulge in the Prefects’ bathroom. But he also doesn’t often get a free night like this. As he strips and lays both his clean and dirty clothes out next to the tub, Hanbin becomes increasingly aware of sounds echoing from the chamber to his left.

His cheeks grow progressively warmer as he listens to the gentle drip of water, the occasional louder slosh, the sound of a palm lathering soap onto skin. He might not have been able to see anything, but he can imagine: how Zhang Hao’s chest would be slightly flushed from the warm bath, how that expanse of skin would glisten after being under the water, how a pearl of water would cling right to his rosy nipples. Arousal sinks its teeth into him. So much so that he’s already embarrassingly half hard by the time he lowers himself into the bath, the bubbles tickling his skin and spreading goosebumps along his arm. He lets out a low breath as he sinks fully into the water. Another gentle splash comes from the bath next to him, and Hanbin considers something wicked.

His decision is made for him when Zhang Hao lets out a contented sigh, the acoustics of this room amplifying the breathiness of his voice, the wisp of longing that stretches all the way out to stroke along Hanbin’s spine. He feels that sigh travel all the way down to the pit of his stomach, curling into something hot and heavy. Before he can think too hard about it, he dips his hand into the water and runs his fingers clumsily over himself. Hanbin sucks in a sharp breath. Fuck. That already feels … He shouldn’t do this. Not when Zhang Hao doesn’t know. But he also can’t bear to stop. He inhales deeply through his nose as he circles his fist around his cock. It’s so good; it’s so good. Especially when Zhang Hao lets out another sound of satisfaction followed by more splashing.

Hanbin’s mouth is dry when he manages to croak out. “What are you doing over there?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should not be making conversation when he’s worked himself into a state where he can barely string two thoughts let alone two words together. But also, he needs to hear him. He wants to hear Zhang Hao while he works himself over, while he imagines that he had been bold enough to strip, that he’d gotten into the same tub as him. He rolls his wrist once, just slightly, but it’s enough friction that another crest of pleasure sweeps through him. There’s at least a part of Hanbin’s brain that still insists that he should stop — if only the other part, the ravenous, raving, rapacious part of him would listen.

“I somehow got a neck cramp over the past week,” Zhang Hao murmurs in answer to the question Hanbin had nearly forgotten he’d asked.

His voice is so soft, breathy and low, that Hanbin should barely be able to hear him, but it’s as if his ears are especially attuned to Zhang Hao’s voice. Each syllable lands clearly against them, irresistible and dizzying.

“I blame it on the exams.” Zhang Hao lets out a laugh that has Hanbin tightening his grip.

But he doesn’t move his fist again — he shouldn’t.

“But the hot water is really doing wonders for it.” A trickle of water, like it’s dripping off of an arm lifting out of the bath. Then, Zhang Hao groans.

And Hanbin is completely lost, his eyelids sinking to half mast as he picks up the pace. The steam from the bath rolls over his sensitive skin, fogging up his vision, caressing his skin like the touch of a lover. Tightening his fist and rolling his hips into it, he lets out a soft gasp. Shit. Hanbin freezes, wondering if he had been too loud. But no shocked accusation comes. Instead, there’s a soft, contented murmur that spikes heat through him again. He resumes his movements, rubbing the palm of his hand against the head of his cock and nearly doubling over at how good it feels.

Hanbin can picture what Zhang Hao is doing in his own bath. His long, probing fingers massaging over his lithe neck. Working their way down to the tendons that connect to his shoulders. Tossing his head back in a stretch, showing off the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, the rousing point of his tapered chin. How Zhang Hao’s jaw would flex, as if he was getting another sort of relief, as if Hanbin’s hand was not working himself but Zhang Hao instead.

“Aaah— right there.” Zhang Hao’s satisfied whine carries over the partition, even louder this time, cloying need swirling lower and lower in him.

Hanbin shudders. His thighs tense, and his stomach tightens up. He feels that white hot pleasure right there, right on the tip of his fingers. He’s nearly—

“Hanbin? Are you still there?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hand stills, and he’s caught right on the edge, slick-wet chest heaving with silent pants. “Yeah, of— course.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao purrs. And Hanbin can hear his grin, warm and decadent. “I thought you were ignoring me for a second.”

“Never, I wasn’t—” Hanbin scrambles to make up an excuse, but his lust-drenched brain isn’t very conducive to any thoughts that don't involve begging Zhang Hao to let him take him. “I was just distracted.”

Zhang Hao hums suspiciously, and Hanbin’s heart skips a beat. What if he knows? There’s no way. Right? The thought should spark some sort of shame in him, some sort of hesitance and a reluctant withdrawal of his hand. But it doesn’t. It makes him burn even more.

Hanbin feels almost feverish, and he sinks his teeth into the plush of his lower lip to hold back the rising keen pushing at the back of his throat as he resumes his movements. He thinks about Zhang Hao’s supple, wet body in the bath next to his, he imagines walking right over and slipping into the water, of leaning over Zhang Hao’s lovely frame and spreading his trembling thighs apart to find him already hard too, of capturing his parted mouth in a heated kiss and slowly sinking into him and— Hanbin comes with one quick punch of air, his mouth open on a silent gasp. Zhang Hao’s name trapped on his tongue.

“Hanbin?” The knowing lilt of Zhang Hao’s question jolts him back to reality.

His cheeks are burning. He can’t believe … he can’t believe he just did that. What if Zhang Hao knows? What if he finds him disgusting? What if—

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he rushes out, a little breathless. “I accidentally, uh— put too much bubble bath in.” He laughs a bit unconvincingly, standing up on shaky legs to drain the tub and refill it with fresh, warm water from the spout.

Zhang Hao’s giggle drifts over the sound of the faucet. “You’re so cute.”

Hanbin is tempted to reply with something altogether inappropriate, but now that he’s sated, he’s also feeling a bit less brave. He sits down in the water once it fills the tub again, washing himself quickly in earnest now.

He hears Zhang Hao standing up in the bath next to him, the slow swirling of the drain chugging along. “Do you want me to wait for you?” Zhang Hao asks.

Hanbin tries very hard not to imagine what he might look like now. Perhaps with a towel barely covering the tops of his thighs, maybe he’s pulled on a robe that creates an enticing V down his— Hanbin clears his throat. “No, it’s okay, you go ahead first.” He can’t promise that he won’t combust right on the spot if he were to see Zhang Hao now. Or maybe he’d just jump him.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you in my dorm.”

He nods quickly, before realizing that Zhang Hao can’t see him — thank Merlin for that. “Sounds good.”

“You remember the password?” He asks teasingly.

“Of course I do,” Hanbin huffs out.

Zhang Hao laughs softly. “Just making sure. See you later, Hanbinie.”

Hanbin slides down the side of the tub once he hears the door of the outer bathroom shut behind Zhang Hao. His ears are still burning, in slight shame, in mostly gratified pleasure. Merlin, that had felt … incredible, indulgent, indecent. And if it could be so intoxicating just with his own hand and the soft thrum of Zhang Hao’s echoing voice, how life-changing would the real thing be?

He bathes in record time before his mind can wander again and hurries off to the Slytherin dorms. Strange how he hadn’t felt ready to face Zhang Hao just moments before, but now that they’re apart, he can’t wait to return to his side. The main Common Room is empty when he slips in through the tunnel. There are fewer Slytherins staying over the holidays compared to the other Houses, but Hanbin is still wary of running into Grimsby. Though now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any sign of him since the Yule Ball. Hanbin considers it a bit of good luck. He isn’t sure that if he ran into him in an empty hallway somewhere he wouldn’t be tempted to hurl a jinx at his back.

He makes his way to Zhang Hao’s room, knocking quietly on the door before he enters. Zhang Hao is sitting up against his pillows in a typical position with a book resting on his lap. Uncharacteristically, he quickly sets it aside when Hanbin slips into the room.

But that isn’t what makes him pause. Zhang Hao is wearing the thinnest sleep shirt known to mankind; Hanbin is sure of it. It’s so threadbare that it’s nearly translucent. He can see … well, everything. The tipped peaks of his nipples pushing against the barely there fabric, the swells and indentations of his chest, the slight push of his waist against the band of his pants. Hanbin freezes — and stares.

But if Zhang Hao notices his reaction, he doesn’t say anything. Though there is mirth in his gaze as he asks, “Had a good bath?”

Hanbin nods numbly.

“Come here,” Zhang Hao reaches out a hand, getting impatient that Hanbin is doing nothing but standing halfway across the room.

His feet move him forward, even as his brain continues to spin. Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the bed and Zhang Hao is lifting the covers for him to climb in, revealing — he feels his brain melt a little more — boxers bunched up to his hips. Tonight is completely hell bent on undoing him. He finds his mouth moving before he can control his words. “I, uh, don’t think I’ve ever seen this shirt before.”

“It’s just an old shirt,” Zhang Hao dismisses as he snuggles up right against Hanbin’s side. Their dorm beds are rather narrow, supposedly not wide enough for the two of them, but they always make it work because Zhang Hao always ends up halfway on top of him. Which Hanbin doesn’t mind. Normally. When Zhang Hao isn’t half naked and he hadn’t just masturbated to the thought of him in the bath.

Oblivious to Hanbin’s internal struggle, Zhang Hao continues, “I don’t usually wear it because I get cold easily. But now that I have a personal heater here, it’s not so bad.” He grins up at him, and Hanbin feels the flush rise to his cheeks.

“It—” Hanbin croaks, clearing his throat. “It looks comfortable.”

Zhang Hao laughs. “I don’t know about comfort, but it is very useful.” By the time Hanbin registers his words, Zhang Hao has already clambered fully onto his lap, straddling him in a single, smooth motion. “Don’t you think?”

Hanbin’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth as Zhang Hao’s plush thighs squeeze around his waist and he drapes his arms over his shoulders. “Uh …” he says very eloquently.

“You haven’t been very chatty this evening,” Zhang Hao observes with a smirk.

“I’ve,” Hanbin clears his throat, “just been thinking.” About fucking you, but Zhang Hao doesn’t need to know that!

“We can’t have that,” Zhang Hao tsks.

“We can’t?” Hanbin asks with a slight head tilt.

Which seems to be the perfect opening for Zhang Hao to lean in and kiss him. And it’s one of those kisses. Not a quick peck, or a warm press that lingers in his veins for the rest of the day. It’s the kind that catches fire immediately, consuming him into a beacon of need. Hanbin surges into it, his hands finding Zhang Hao’s hips and his chest pushing up against his. He’s already worked up, the quick satisfaction he’d found in the bath completely inadequate now that Zhang Hao has been dropped in his lap. Fingers tangle into the short strands of hair at his nape, and Hanbin can’t help but lift his hip, searching for friction, for more. And Zhang Hao is more than happy to oblige him, grinding down with a heavy pant and a slick press of his mouth that make both of them groan.

They’ve never really done this before. Sure, they’ve kissed — heavily, passionately, so heatedly that Hanbin had to break it off because Zhang Hao had pulled him into a dark alcove in an abandoned hallway and he did not want to walk into Potions class with a semi. But they’ve never done this, not in bed before, because they couldn’t. Because any bed they’ve shared has been in the same room as three teenage boys. It becomes glaringly obvious to Hanbin that that is not the case now, because one, the curtains are up, and two, Zhang Hao is being incredibly vocal. He whines into Hanbin’s mouth, their kisses now more a frantic overlap of teeth and lips than anything skilled or artful.

Hanbin pulls Zhang Hao flush against him, so there’s not an inch of space between them. He trails his lips over Zhang Hao’s cheek, and he nibbles on his lobe on instinct. With a hiss, Zhang hao tosses his head back, just like Hanbin had imagined less than an hour ago, stealing all the breath from his lungs. But it’s so much better now that it’s real, that the milky expanse of Zhang Hao’s neck is right there for the taking. Hanbin attacks his throat, running his teeth along his pulse, nibbling and sucking as Zhang Hao grows more and more wild over him, hips bucking and hands clutching.

He works his hands beneath Hanbin’s shirt, yanking at it until Hanbin breaks away to let him pull it off him. That brief second of reprieve, where fabric interrupts the view of Zhang Hao’s glassy eyes and slick lips, is enough for Hanbin to come to his senses.

“Wait, wait,” Hanbin pants, once Zhang Hao tosses his own shirt aside.

“Why?” Zhang Hao whines. His hands come up to either side of Hanbin’s face, trying to pull him in for another kiss. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Are we … do you want to …” Hanbin isn’t quite able to finish that thought. Otherwise, he won’t be able to stop.

But his herculean effort is ruined when Zhang Hao’s nails scrape across his nipple and all thoughts abandon him once more. Zhang Hao kisses him again, plundering into his mouth and sucking on his tongue, and Hanbin is utterly gone. He loses himself in him — his hands greedily roaming around the expanse of his chest, skating over his stomach before he reaches the waistband of Zhang Hao’s boxers. Off. It’s less a coherent thought and more of a scream of want. He needs those off. Hanbin lifts Zhang Hao up by his waist, leaning forward to deposit him on the bed so he can work his boxers off.

A sob breaks loose from Zhang Hao as his back hits the bed.

Wait.

Wait. Hanbin sucks in a sharp breath, pausing on his knees. Zhang Hao’s hands scrabble at his side, trying to pull him down over him, but this time Hanbin manages to resist. A herculean effort because he’s completely hard now and he can feel Zhang Hao’s length pressing against his stomach and none of that is important right now. What has captured every ounce of his concentration is the sheen of tears over Zhang Hao’s eyes. “Wait,” Hanbin says out loud, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Hanbin, please—” Zhang Hao reaches up for his shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

“You’re crying,” Hanbin protests, even as he lowers just a bit.

“It’s nothing,” Zhang Hao says, shaking his head. Except a tear escapes from the corner of his eye, trailing down his temple. “I just want this — you — so much.”

But it doesn’t feel like that, not like a greed borne from want. It feels more like Zhang Hao is kissing him because the world is going to end tomorrow. There’s a tinge of panic to it, the quick work of anxiety. Hanbin doesn’t lower any further. “Are you sure?”

Zhang Hao tries to pull him down again. Another tear streaks down over his cheek. It rings alarms in Hanbin’s head. “Yes, I’m sure,” Zhang Hao insists. He’s also working his hips now, trying to press up against Hanbin, knowing that’s what’s going to get him to cave.

“Just, wait,” Hanbin tries to sort out his thoughts. “I don’t want …”

“You don’t want me?” Zhang Hao wails.

“No, no,” Hanbin shifts so he can cup Zhang Hao’s cheeks. Another tear dips past his lashes, staining his thumb. “Of course I do. If only you knew how much.”

Zhang Hao has quieted down under his reassurances, glassy eyes staring up at him. “So why are you stopping?”

“I don’t want you to do this just because you … feel like you have to?” It’s just a guess, a shot in the dark based off of the feeling that something isn’t quite right. There are always signs when it comes to Zhang Hao, in the slope of his eyebrows, in the quirk of his mouth. But even with those, Hanbin has no idea what has suddenly gotten into him. “Is that how you feel?”

“It’s not that,” Zhang Hao mumbles, but by the way he doesn’t meet his eyes, Hanbin knows his guess was close. He straightens up, much to Zhang Hao’s dismay, but he quickly also helps him up, cradling him in his lap. Still distracting, but not as tempting.

“So what is it?” Hanbin asks softly once they’re settled.

Zhang Hao pushes his lips out into a pout. “Do I have to have a reason to want to fuck my boyfriend?”

“Of course not,” Hanbin murmurs. “But just because we have the room to ourselves doesn’t mean we have to. If you’re not ready yet, there’s no rush.”

Zhang Hao groans in frustration. “Sometimes I hate how good you are at reading me.”

Hanbin chuckles. “You once said that I let you get away with too much.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “I never said too much. I also didn’t say I appreciated being called out on it.”

“You’re hard to please,” Hanbin echoes the exact sentiment Zhang Hao had imparted on him. He reaches over and brushes his thumb gently over Zhang Hao’s cheek.

“It’s just that …” Zhang Hao starts. And then stop again, as if embarrassed about what he’s going to say.

But Hanbin is patient.

Zhang Hao blows out a breath, resigned. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in two days. I want to know what it’s like to be with you, in case I—”

“Don’t finish that,” Hanbin interrupts, a little too harshly. He draws his thumb over Zhang Hao’s cheek again to soothe the sting of his words. “You’re going to be fine.”

“And what about you?”

Hanbin swallows. Zhang Hao can’t know what he’s decided. “We’re both going to be fine.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes search his, large and beseeching, as if Hanbin’s word could somehow guarantee it. “I’m scared.”

A surge of protectiveness rises up in him. He hates seeing Zhang Hao like this. He would do anything to rid him of his fear. Except, this time, Hanbin doesn’t know if he can. “Me, too,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That would make me even more scared, sitting here, not knowing what was happening, not being able to protect you.”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“Yes, I do,” Hanbin leans closer, making sure Zhang Hao knows he means it.

“I’ll protect you, too.” Zhang Hao promises, reaching up for him. And Hanbin lets him draw him the rest of the way down, until their lips brush, just lightly, so at odds with their urgency before. It’s the first kiss of the night that settles the uneasiness in his heart.

Christmas morning is the calm before the storm.

Hanbin still marvels at getting to wake up next to Zhang Hao; he can’t quite believe that this is his norm. Well, Zhang Hao rarely sleeps. Hanbin knows because in the brief moments where he rouses through the night, he always feels Zhang Hao’s fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck or he hears the too-quick breathing of someone who is awake and thinking. So on Christmas morning, it is a gift all on its own to open his eyes and for once get to enjoy the portrait of Zhang Hao in repose. His mouth is slightly parted, for once letting out long and even breaths next to him. His eyelids twitch, and Hanbin knows he’s in the middle of a dream — one that will elude him as soon as those pretty, pretty eyes open. The planes of his face are softer, rounder like this, and Hanbin so badly wants to reach out and trace a finger over his cheek and press right against his mole, but he can’t bear to wake him when he knows moments of uninterrupted sleep are so rare.

He gets to watch him for a whole twenty minutes. And when Zhang Hao’s bleary eyes open and he squints at Hanbin and scrunches up his face as if he’s displeased but which probably just means he’s a little disoriented, Hanbin can’t help but give in and reach over to squish his cheeks, which earns him a little grumble that makes him coo.

“What are you doing?” Zhang Hao mumbles his complaint.

“You look so cute when you’re sleeping.”

“Weirdo,” he mutters, though his round cheeks always give him away.

Their exchange of gifts isn’t anything extravagant or grand, just the way they like it. Hanbin beams when he unwraps the lumpy package from Zhang Hao: socks. Hand-knitted socks.

“They’re not much,” Zhang Hao says, blushing.

They’re a little misshapen, but Hanbin loves them. He runs his fingers over the neat lines of purls, feeling a warm glow spread over him. “What are these?” Hanbin asks when he spots small circular patterns clustered around one side of the socks.

“Those are, um, cat paws.”

Zhang Hao looks like he’s two seconds away from diving under the covers and never showing his face in the light again, so Hanbin quickly wraps him up in his arms, laughing gleefully. “I love them!”

“You don’t have to wear them,” he mumbles into his shoulder.

“Are you kidding me?” Hanbin giggles. “I’m going to wear them every day.”

“Please at least wash them,” Zhang Hao rolls his eyes, though it’s clear he’s pleased. “Now where’s my gift?”

“Ah, it was a bit too large to bring, so it’s still in my dorm,” Hanbin says. It had arrived by Owl Post last week and he had a hell of a time lugging it back to his room undetected.

“Let’s go right now,” Zhang Hao urges, nearly pushing Hanbin out of bed.

Hanbin laughs. “Don’t you want breakfast first?”

“No, I want my present!”

They run through the hallways between the dungeons and the Hufflepuff basement in their pajamas, giggling at the novelty of getting to do so. And when Hanbin presents him with his gift, a leather-bound Collector’s Edition set of The Healer’s Helpmate, Zhang Hao’s expression lights up completely, his eyes growing wide and his grin showing off even the gummy parts of his teeth.

“You probably already know everything in these,” Hanbin couches as Zhang Hao hugs him and spins him around the messy floor of his bedroom. “But you always spend so much time reading before bed. You might want these to keep.”

“They’re perfect, Hanbin.” Zhang Hao pulls away, hands coming up to cradle his cheeks. “You’re perfect.”

And the day is perfect: they marvel at how it snowed overnight when they finally make their way up to the Great Hall for a late breakfast; they spend an hour out in the courtyard running through the snow until Zhang Hao complains of the cold and they return back in for a hot bath; they gorge themselves on cider and mint humbugs and curl up by the fire in the Hufflepuff Common Room talking about everything and anything. Everything and anything except what they’ll be doing tomorrow.

Hanbin doesn’t let himself think that this could be the last day. He resolutely believes that nothing is going to happen — nothing bad is going to happen. But that doesn’t stop him from going to bed that night with his heart in his throat, doesn’t stop his sleep from being fitful, doesn’t stop him from waking up at the brink of dawn, panting and sweaty from his own nightmare for once only to have Zhang Hao curl over to soothe him.

The mood the next day, the next evening is distinctly different, distinctly more somber. It’s filled with more serious discussions — though there are only so many contingency plans and clever strategies they can come up with when they don’t exactly know what they’ll face. Dinner is a quiet affair, and even though Hanbin doesn’t have much of an appetite, Zhang Hao makes sure to pile his plate with more food, insisting that he needs his strength. They plan to meet Grimsby near midnight. There isn’t much need for the cover of darkness now that the castle is pretty much deserted, but they had all agreed that it would be better to make sure no other students caught sight of them or where they’re going. They spend the evening in Hanbin’s room, and when the time comes, they don their cloaks and silently make their way downstairs.

But the sight that greets Hanbin when he rounds the last step to the Hufflepuff Common Room stops him dead in his tracks. “What are you doing here?”

Gyuvin turns around quickly, a guilty look on his face. And then two more figures previously obscured by the low couch pop into view.

“Ricky!” Zhang Hao snaps from behind him.

“Gunwook?” Hanbin frowns. He repeats his question, “What are you all doing here?”

“Well,” Gyuvin starts slowly, hands placed out in front of him as if that would hold off their ire. “Don’t get mad, but Ricky told me about Zhang Hao’s plan, and I overheard you two talking about meeting Grimsby after Christmas and- and—”

“We want to help!” Gunwook blurts out, cutting right to the chase.

“And how did you find out about this?” Hanbin turns to him. He didn’t think Ricky would confide in his Care of Magical Creatures classmate like he did with Gyuvin.

“Preparing for the Second Task?” Gunwook quotes, crossing his arms. “I’m not that dense.”

“I thought it was a very believable excuse,” Hanbin scowls.

Zhang Hao walks past him over to the group, shaking his head. “You all aren’t even allowed to be here. What about spending Christmas with your families?”

“We did spend Christmas with them!” Gyuvin argues. “Yesterday!”

“You didn’t miss much, by the way,” Ricky says to Zhang Hao. “Boring and stuffy as usual. Probably even more unbearable this year than the last.”

“And now we’re here to help you guys!” Gyuvin declares.

“No,” both he and Zhang Hao shut him down at the same time.

Gunwook immediately opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but Zhang Hao cuts him off quickly. “You can’t come — I can’t risk anything messing this up.”

“We wouldn’t get in the way,” Ricky says.

“It’s not that. I would worry about you … all of you,” Zhang Hao looks over to Gunwook and Gyuvin in turn. “I already don’t know what to expect when we get there. And if anything happens, it would be my fault.”

“But Hanbin is going,” Gyuvin argues. “Aren’t you worried about him?”

Zhang Hao winces. “Of course I am. Don’t you think I haven’t been worried sick over what is going to happen tonight? That we could be seriously hurt? That maybe I should sneak off on my own to do this?” As if Hanbin would ever let him do that. “I made this deal with Gideon so you two won’t get involved anymore.”

That seems to silence them all. Gyuvin shuffles around guiltily, and Gunwook refuses to meet their eyes.

Only Ricky looks like he’s still considering, the wheels in his mind spinning. “At least tell us where you’re going,” he finally says.

Hanbin glances over at Zhang Hao, and the two of them share a long look; he can tell that they’re thinking the same thing. “As long as you all promise not to follow us there if we tell you,” Hanbin says.

There’s a lengthy pause, but Gyuvin eventually nods. “Fine, we promise.” Hanbin looks to Gunwook and Ricky, who reluctantly echo the sentiment. He glances at Zhang Hao; it’s not his secret to reveal.

“The mirror is in Flamel’s office,” Zhang Hao discloses. “That’s where were headed tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Ricky frowns. “We’ve already looked in there.”

Hanbin balks. “What?”

“Grimsby had us looking all over the castle. Of course we checked the Headmaster’s office.”

“How did he get in?” Zhang Hao demands.

“Grimsby figured it out,” Ricky shrugged. “He hardly explained anything to me.”

This was not part of the plan — Hanbin can tell this was not part of Zhang Hao’s plan as he watches his frown deepen, the crease between his eyes drawing into a deep line. But then he shakes his head. “This changes nothing,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m sure it’s in there.”

Hanbin turns to the group. “We should be back later tonight — I know there’s no point in telling you not to wait up.”

“And if you don’t come back?” Gunwook asks, eyes wide and fearful, looking every bit his age of sixteen despite standing over everyone here except Gyuvin.

“Find Flamel,” Zhang Hao finally says.

Hanbin wants to protest. Flamel is the one who put him in this position in the first place; they can’t trust him. But logically, he also knows it’s their best chance to make it out alive if they run into any danger. Flamel is probably one of the only people who knows who lies on the other side of that mirror. He was also the one who had found Zhang Hao when he had disappeared six years ago.

Zhang Hao must have also come to the same conclusion, because he nods in agreement. “Any of the school owls should be able to reach him. Write him an urgent letter if you don’t hear from us by the morning.”

Finally, Ricky nods, just a single incline of his head. “Okay.”

“And if we do make it back,” Hanbin says, not wanting to part on such a bleak note. “You all are going back to your families — immediately. I don’t even want to imagine what you told them to sneak away.”

Gyuvin rolls his eyes but drops his lanky body back down onto one of the soft couches. “Fine, we will.”

“We’ll see you all later. Okay?” Hanbin asks, a reassurance to them — and himself.

Ricky sits down next to his boyfriend, cracking the first smile Hanbin has seen from him tonight. “Okay.”

“Good luck,” Gunwook bids them.

Hanbin wants to walk over and hug Gyuvin, who won’t meet his eyes, who looks upset still. But that feels too much like a goodbye. The two of them turn towards the round, barrel doorway out of the Hufflepuff dorms. Despite his worry that they’re here, their presence does provide a modicum of comfort. It may not matter in a moment of danger tonight, but at least it means he and Zhang Hao won’t disappear without a trace.

He makes sure his wand is within easy reaching distance in his robes as they head downstairs to the dungeon. As expected, they don’t run into any students, but they still walk quickly, quietly. Hanbin hasn’t seen a hint of Grimsby in these past few days, but Zhang Hao had reassured him that he would be there tonight. They had agreed to meet in the Slytherin Common Room — though Hanbin thinks Grimsby probably doesn’t expect Zhang Hao to walk in through the front door, and with Hanbin in tow. That gives him a small measure of satisfaction.

And indeed, when they pass through the tunnel and emerge into the Slytherin Common Room, there are two shadowy shapes standing there, set against the flickering fireplace. Hanbin tenses, recognizing the other figure next to Grimsby instantly.

“I told you,” Warren’s deep, grating voice sneers.

“What’s he doing here?” Zhang Hao demands as soon as they draw closer on the green and silver carpet.

“As soon as I saw his name,” Grimsby juts his chin towards Hanbin, “on the list of students staying behind for the holidays, I knew what you were planning. A little unfair if I don’t have a friend tag along either, right?”

Three seconds in and Hanbin already wants to hex Grimsby — it’s going to take incredible restraint to make it through tonight.

“We’re working together, Gideon,” Zhang Hao sighs. “It’s not a duel — we don’t need seconds.”

“Then why is he here?”

“He offered to help—”

“And Warren is helping me.”

“It’s fine,” Hanbin says, despite wanting to utter something very, very different. “It won’t make a difference if Warren comes anyway.”

Warren scoffs, but at least he doesn’t say anything else.

“So where’s the mirror?” Grimsby prompts, impatient.

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath. “We’ll go there together.”

He and Zhang Hao had talked about this during their planning: “Someone is going to have to show their hand first.”

If they take Grimsby to the mirror, he could knock them both out with a Stunning Spell before they get to hear the password. But if he tells them what it is ahead of time, they could do the same thing to him and run off without him. It’s clear that whoever relents first will be at a disadvantage. Hanbin doesn’t like the final decision they had come to, but he also trusts Zhang Hao above all. He’s willing to take risks, if it’s with him.

And if all of this is a trap designed by some shadowy figure to lure Zhang Hao like they suspect, then Hanbin is also more than willing to let Grimsby be the bait.

Grimsby gives a short nod. “Lead the way then.”

There are no more words, just a silence brimming with tension and animosity, as the four of them make their way out of the dungeons. Hanbin makes sure to stay close to Zhang Hao, his hand still on his wand at all times, but neither Grimsby nor Warren try anything as the sound of their footsteps echo on the steps up to the West Wing.

Once it becomes clear where they are headed, Warren speaks up. “It’s in Flamel’s office?”

Zhang Hao nods, tense.

“We’ve already checked in there,” Grimsby confirms what Ricky told them. “You’re not trying to trick us are you?”

“I’m not,” Zhang Hao says. “I saw it in the memory. Hanbin was there, too. That’s where we got the Second Task.”

“You saw the mirror?” Grimsby demands, turning to him with a glare.

“No, but it was definitely Flamel’s office.” Hanbin still remembers the eerie, pale figure of the Headmaster drifting across the dark carpet to his desk.

Grimsby grumbles something too low for them all to hear, but Hanbin doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep his temper if he did anyway.

They arrive at the stretch of stone wall framed by two tapestries that Hanbin knows will open up to the office. Zhang Hao turns to Grimsby. “You know how to get in?”

A flash of surprise crosses Grimsby’s face, but he schools it quickly. “Don’t you?”

“Let’s not waste time here, shall we?” Zhang Hao asks impatiently.

Grimsby eventually nods, stepping up to the wall. When he pulls out his wand, Hanbin nearly draws his own, but all Grimsby does is mutter a few spells as he draws a series of shapes against the stone with the tip of it. It undoes the Gringotts-safe lock that Zhang Hao mentioned keeps Flamel’s office hidden. He doesn’t know how Grimsby knows it so well, but Hanbin doesn’t like it. Before those doubts can really fester though, the wall is opening up, the shuffling of stone nearly soundless as it kicks up a bit of dust from the floor. The double doors stand tall before them, dark and imposing.

“After you,” Grimsby makes a motion with his hand.

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath, tension lining his shoulders as he presses down on the door handle — it clicks open without much trouble. They all enter behind him.

Hanbin remembers this place: the high domed stone ceiling, the large wooden desk at the far end, the dark leather chaise where he and Zhang Hao had kissed. He doesn’t let himself linger on that particular memory as the four of them spread out around the office. It’s dark and obviously empty. There’s a light layer of dust on the low coffee table and trims around the candelabras — Flamel hasn’t been in here in a while; no one has been in here in a while. Grimsby directs Warren to light some of the candles. It makes the central area easier to see, and brings into focus the raised desk and also the dark curtains pulled around the alcoves that circle the room.

“So where is it?” Grimsby demands again, standing wide and imposing next to the chaise lounge.

Zhang Hao drifts towards Flamel’s desk. Naturally, Hanbin follows.

“It’s in the alcove behind the desk.”

“We checked last time,” Warren calls over from where he’s lighting the last candle, the room now cast in a warm glow but still somehow clinging onto its gloominess as if it’s an ingrained feature no amount of light can dispel. “They’re all empty.”

“No, they’re not,” Zhang Hao refutes. “I’ve been in one.”

“You mean the memory?” Grimsby asks.

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “Years ago, Flamel had shown me one of the alcoves with a pensieve in it and—” Zhang Hao takes a breath. “It doesn’t matter. I know they’re not empty.”

“That was years ago. All of it is gone now,” Warren insists. “But be my guest, feel free to check.”

Hanbin and Zhang Hao skirt the desk, stopping in front of the dark curtains that separates the alcove from the room. Despite the candles lit at the front of the room, their orange glow doesn’t quite reach this far back.

“Let me,” Hanbin murmurs, looking at Zhang Hao. When he nods, Hanbin reaches out and yanks the curtain open.

It’s empty.

“Told you,” Warren drawls.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Zhang Hao frowns. He marches to the next alcove over and pushes those curtains aside — also empty. And then the next, and then next, until all of them are open, showing nothing but blank walls of curved stones.

“He can’t have moved everything that long ago,” Hanbin considers. Reluctantly, he turns to Grimsby and Warren. “When did you two come before?”

Grimsby glares at him, and Hanbin thinks he will childishly refuse to answer him. But finally he says, “A couple days after the First Task.”

“Maybe he got suspicious,” Zhang Hao whispers, walking over to the sofa and sitting down, almost numbly. But Hanbin can see the thoughts whirring through his mind. “Maybe he didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t see anything else in the pensieve.”

“We’ve been trying to find it for ages … it wouldn’t be this easy,” Warren says, as if trying to console him.

“But it’s here,” Zhang Hao says after a moment, though not at Warren. He turns to look at Hanbin, his dark eyes boring into his, willing him to understand. “I feel it. Just like that feeling I had about this mirror being important.”

“Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.” Grimsby sounds almost relieved.

“It’s not.” Zhang Hao states. “I’m not making this up.”

“Well, we have time now,” Hanbin thinks about their friends in the Hufflepuff Common Room. They had until the morning. “Let’s take a look around.”

The four of them fall into a long silence as they search. Grimsby shuffles around the papers on Flamel’s desk, but makes a dissatisfied noise when all of them turn out to be rote Headmaster correspondence. Warren paces around the bookshelves that line the stone walls between each of the alcoves, and Zhang Hao sits on the couch, unmoving, thinking. Hanbin peers into the empty alcove behind Flamel’s desk, eyes traveling over each of the grooves of the wall, every stone placed, looking for an inconsistency or a clue. He inhales sharply when he finds it: “There’s no dust in here.”

“What?” Warren calls from the other side of the office.

“The floors of these alcoves are perfectly clean. But there’s a fine layer of dust on the candelabras and even on the coffee table there. I assumed it’s because Flamel hasn’t been back here for a few weeks, but if everything was moved out of here before then, why is there no dust?”

“Oh congratulations, you discovered that the House Elves don’t do a thorough job of cleaning this place,” Grimsby mocks.

“No, that’s—” Zhang Hao stands up abruptly, something dawning on his face. “Hanbin is onto something. I’ve been trying to figure out why all of the alcoves are empty. Even if Flamel suspects that I saw something I shouldn’t have, what is the point of ridding even his pensieve that I had seen before?” He gestures to an alcove to the left of the entrance. “I’ve known for years, and after my past experience … it’s not like I would go looking for it.”

“So what does that mean?” Warren crosses his arms.

“It means they’re not gone,” Hanbin explains, picking up on Zhang Hao’s meaning quickly, the two of them coming to the same conclusion.

“Exactly,” Zhang Hao says, a brightness coming into his eyes. He quickly hurries around the desk over to the empty alcove that Hanbin is standing beside, the one that supposedly holds the mirror. “They’re … hidden, obscured, in some way right now. But they’re still there. I read about this in a book on Gringotts: they sometimes conceal the treasures within the safes so even if someone is able to break in past their doors, the burglar will think they’ve walked into an empty vault.”

“Okay …” Warren says slowly, obviously still not understanding. “So how do we get to it then?”

“There should be some sort of counter-charm. Maybe an unlocking mechanism similar to the door around here that will reveal them,” Grimsby says from the other side of the room, casting a wary eye around the office.

They begin scouring the room once more, scoping around Flamel’s desk, shifting books around on his shelves in the hopes of finding some sort of code. Hanbin taps at the walls of the alcove, wondering if it’s like the entrance to Diagon Alley — but nothing happens. He can hear a bump of furniture in the background and then Grimsby’s low voice admonishing, “Don’t fucking take the room apart, Warren.”

Hanbin tenses. Despite their unlikely cooperation now, the air is still electric, tight with tension. They might not have predicted this particular problem, but that doesn’t change anything. As soon as they solve the puzzle, as soon as the mirror is revealed — it’ll be a free for all.

He regards the even grooves of the stone walls once more — he has them practically memorized at this point. The way they overlap with each other, the way a few protrude and dip a little bit more than the others, the rough seals between a few of the blocks. One of them is cracked. It’s just a stone wall. Same as all the others he passes on his way to class; same as all the ones that line the outside of this castle.

It can’t be that easy …

“Do not underestimate the importance of Finite Incantatem, everyone. Though it is a simple spell, it is all-purpose, and when used by a truly powerful wizard can likely counter any curse, jinx, or hex.”

Hanbin draws his wand. “Revelio.”

The rumble starts low and far away, increasing steadily in noise.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Warren snaps from where he was lifting the couch cushions.

“It’s the mirror,” Zhang Hao breathes, eyes shining with awe. And Hanbin feels his chest swell up with pride, with an unnamable emotion. He braces himself as the floor of all the alcoves start to slide up like a lift, revealing another level below which holds tables, a shelf of potions, an empty bird cage, a pensive, and, finally, the mirror.

It hangs suspended in the middle of the space with an intricately carved border and an opaque face. Unlike other mirrors, Hanbin can’t see his own reflection in it, only vague shapes floating amidst the fog within.

“There it is,” Zhang Hao whispers, drawing closer to Hanbin, his eyes not leaving the misty pane for a second, as if he fears it’ll disappear again if he looks away.

Hanbin snaps out his wand as soon as Grimsby takes a step towards them.

Grimsby halts immediately, but draws out his own wand with a speed that tells Hanbin he had also been prepared for this.

“Hey!” Warren echoes, pulling out his wand slower than Grimsby. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Yeah,” Grimsby drawls, casual and easy, even though the tip of his wand doesn’t waver. “I thought we were all working together here.”

Zhang Hao is the only one who hasn’t drawn his wand, though he stands tense and alert by Hanbin’s side. “We’re not fools, Gideon.”

“Neither am I,” he snaps back. “Tell your guard dog to put his wand away before someone gets hurt.”

Hanbin glowers at that, but a hand on his arm eventually gets him to lower his wand. He doesn’t completely relax though, even as Grimsby and Warren also stand down.

“Better,” Grimsby says, smug. “Now, let’s get a look at the mirror.”

“No,” Zhang Hao snaps, which wipes the grin off Grimsby’s face in an instant. “Tell us what the password is first.”

Grimsby scowls.

“Don’t do it,” Warren says.

“We upheld our end of the bargain,” Zhang Hao says. “Now it’s your turn.”

“How do I know you won’t knock us out from there?”

“Does that even matter?” Zhang Hao sighs. “You know where the mirror is now and how to get to it. Even if we did knock you out, what good would that do?”

Grimsby grits his teeth, his jaw tense as his gaze bounces between Hanbin and Zhang Hao.

“Grim …” Warren says in warning, all of them seeing the interplay of indecision across his face.

“Fine,” Grimsby grits out. “Only a pureblood is able to use the mirror. It requires blood before you can use it.”

A sense of dread skitters down Hanbin’s spine. Blood is a potent source of magic — Dark magic. They aren’t allowed to study much about it in their classes, both because of the price that must be paid for it and also the uncontrollable power it yields. Just what kind of man is behind this mirror?

Zhang Hao takes out his wand and points it at the tip of his thumb. A quick utterance of Diffindo causes a small red cut to appear across his skin, a few drops of blood welling to the surface. Even seeing this small self-inflicted injury makes something violent tear through Hanbin, but he reigns it in. He’s fine, he tells himself. It’s just a small cut.

Hope and fear shine in Zhang Hao’s gaze as he reaches over to smear a bit of blood across the smooth surface of the mirror. A sense of foreboding skitters over him as he watches the scarlet drops sink into the smoke. Hanbin doesn’t know what he wishes for more: for this to turn out to be nothing, for the man to not know anything, for this all to have been futile but also guarantee Zhang Hao’s safety; or for this to confirm all of Zhang Hao’s suspicions, to lead him to the answers that he wants, to have been a trap. But even as the two options flit through his mind, Hanbin already knows which one it’s going to be. Zhang Hao is rarely wrong.

Immediately after the blood disappears, the smoke within the glass pane starts to swirl, lazily at first and then faster and faster like a storm. And in the center, a man appears — or the shape of a man. It’s exactly like Zhang Hao had described to Hanbin. There is a vague, dark figure, but his features are obscured. There’s no way for them to make out any details that will tell them who it is. He hovers there for a moment.

And then the man speaks. “My, my, what an unexpected audience.”

The voice is neither old nor young, neither gravelly nor smooth. It’s entirely uncanny. There is something singular and off putting about it, and yet Hanbin is not able to identify a single trait that would make it so. It is like they are speaking to a ghost.

“Who are you?” Zhang Hao demands.

But the man doesn’t answer, instead he seems to pause, his head tilting as if he’s peering over Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “Truly unexpected,” he repeats, something in his voice setting Hanbin on edge. “It is good to see you again, Gideon.”

A pause. As soon as the words settle into the air around them, as soon as Hanbin realizes what it means — he whirls with his wand outstretched.

But Zhang Hao beats him to it, a look of pure fury on his face. “Expelliarmus!”

Gideon’s wand flies out of his hand, smacking against the far wall of Flamel’s office as he stumbles back.

“Stupefy!” Hanbin calls immediately after, aimed at Warren who gets hit in the chest with the Stunning Spell and slams into the back of the armchair, toppling it over.

A soft tut from the mirror has both of them whirling around again, caught between two enemies. “There is no need for such violence,” the man says. It’s hard to discern tone from his otherworldly voice, but Hanbin would guess he’s more amused than disapproving.

“How do you know him?” Zhang Hao asks. “Who are you?”

“I know Gideon, just like I know you, Zhang Hao,” the man rasps. “But it’s such a shame you seem to not have a clue who I am. Would you truly like to know?”

And with those feel words, Hanbin feels the steel bars of the trap close in around them. “Hao,” he warns, inching closer. “He’s trying to bait you.”

Inhuman — that’s what the man’s voice sounds like. The words are familiar, understandable, but his tone is all off, dead and flat, despite his best efforts to infuse some sort of inflection into them. This man is not human. This does not feel like a man at all.

“How do you know me?” Zhang Hao presses.

The sound of shuffling behind them makes Hanbin turn again, alert and at the ready. Grimsby has picked up his wand, but he doesn’t look angry, he doesn’t even look vengeful. No, he looks terrified. He doesn’t even spare a look for Hanbin who has his wand trained on him. His eyes are pinned to the exchange happening between Zhang Hao and the man. Something isn’t right about this.

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time,” the man murmurs. “Though I must say I am not as prepared for our meeting as I would like.”

“Did you tamper with the pensieve?”

A pause, and then a giggle, a sound so unsettling that scrapes across all of Hanbin’s nerve endings. “Ah, but that’s not what you truly wish to ask me, is it? You’ve worked so hard to get here. What is it you really want to know?”

“Hao,” Hanbin says again, reaching for his arm. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Zhang Hao glances towards him, but shakes his head. He can see the determination drawn into every line of his face.

“Come,” the man goads. “Ask me.”

Zhang Hao squares his shoulders in front of the mirror. “Do you know what happened to me? In the months I can’t remember?”

“That’s more like it,” the man gloats. “You are so close to your answers. All you have to do is come to me.”

“How would I get to you?” Zhang Hao asks.

“All you have to do is step through this mirror.”

Zhang Hao hesitates. Finally, he looks to Hanbin, indecision and fear flickering in his expression. Gone is his determination, and in its place is desperation. A war between what he knows he should do and what he has wanted for so long. And Hanbin sees it there on his face, it’s not want. It’s a need. Zhang Hao needs to know what happened to him. It will never let him go, this drive for the truth. And why shouldn’t he know? It’s his life.

But— “It’s a trap,” Hanbin whispers, tightening his hold. It’s exactly what they had expected.

The man laughs. “How trite — we have an interloper.”

But Zhang Hao ignores him, speaking to Hanbin. “I know it’s dangerous and stupid and I shouldn’t go, but he knows what happened to me.”

“He could be lying.”

“But what if he’s not?”

“We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way,” a cold snap of a voice, like a brisk winter wind straight to the face. “You get your answers with me, or you don’t get them at all.”

“Hao, don’t do it.”

The two of them turn — Grimsby, with Warren hovering behind him, has approached the alcove without either of them realizing. Hanbin tenses before he realizes neither of them have their wands drawn anymore. Instead, Grimsby is only looking at Zhang Hao, with a pleading look in his eyes. “Don’t go.”

Zhang Hao scowls. “Like I would trust anything you say again.”

“No, please, you have to listen to me—”

“You lied about all of this,” he hisses, drawing away from Hanbin. His hand falls from his arm. “How do I even know if you’re telling the truth now? If stopping me from doing this only serves some other selfish purpose of yours?”

“Gideon,” the man drawls, with harsh censure that is unnerving. Watching Grimsby flinch back is more so. “You know better than this.”

“Don’t do this.” But Grimsby isn’t talking to Zhang Hao this time, he’s speaking to the man. “We had an agreement.”

“Did you not come because you wished to break it?” A lifeless laugh. “As far as I am concerned — I have no use for you anymore.”

“What is he talking about?” Zhang Hao hisses. “An agreement? You told me you didn’t know who he was!”

“It’s not— I wasn’t truthful, but it’s not what you think. Everything I’ve done was to protect you.”

Zhang Hao laughs, disbelieving and acidic, cruel in a way that Hanbin hadn’t thought he could be. “To protect me? I don’t need your protection, Gideon. Not anymore.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Make your choice, Zhang Hao,” the man demands. “This mirror will not stay open forever.”

And Hanbin loathes to do anything to help Grimsby. But he also can’t let Zhang Hao go. “This is a bad idea,” he urges. “I know how much you’ve been trying to solve this, to get answers. But … this is too much of a risk.”

“Stop meddling!” the man snaps, causing all four of them to jump. The smoke in the mirror whirls like a storm. But as quickly as the flurry rises, it settles once more, clear except for the mist cloaking the man in secrecy. “I will be generous, just this once,” he says, cloyingly. “I will allow Gideon and your … Halfblood to come.”

It’s not a concession at all — he would have followed Zhang Hao through no matter what. All the offer does is tell him that this man, whoever he is, feels confident enough to deal with all of them at once.

Zhang Hao looks towards him, “Hanbin?”

Hanbin knows him well enough by now, knows that look in Zhang Hao’s eyes. His mind has been made up, but he can’t do this alone — not anymore. It’s that potent blend of sheer bravery and urgent need that gets Hanbin to cave. He’d do anything for him. Especially when Zhang Hao is like this: determined and stubborn, and beautiful in the pursuit of the truth. And yet he’s giving him the choice. If he says no, Zhang Hao will back away, will refuse. It could save him. But it could just as much doom him. Hanbin has seen the toll those nightmares have on him — the helpless look he gets when he’s inevitably reminded of what he lost. If he takes this away from him, will he come to blame him for it? He’ll get Zhang Hao those answers — he’ll make sure of it.

His jaw tightens. And then he nods.

Grimsby turns on him then, face contorted into violence. “How could you? You said so yourself, this is a trap!”

But it’s Zhang Hao that strikes first, literally, shoving Grimsby back, snarling in his face. “Everything that has come out of your mouth has been lies! Why would I listen to you now?”

“So you’d rather trust a man you don’t know? Who is luring you somewhere unknown?” Grimsby argues. “Think for a second!”

Zhang Hao scoffs, turning his back on him. “Come if you want to or not, Gideon. I don’t know what your business is with him, but our deal is done.”

And even though Hanbin can’t see the man in the mirror, he has the strange sense that he’s smiling. When Zhang Hao steps up to the mirror, Hanbin stops him with a hand. “Let me go first.”

“No, I should go.”

“You’re the one he wants,” Hanbin reasons. “He won’t do anything to me until you come through, too.”

Another sharp laugh from the mirror. “How cute. Let’s not tarry now that you’ve made up your mind, hm? Let the Halfblood come first if he wants.”

Hanbin grits his teeth, stepping up to the mirror, getting a closer look at the man shrouded in shadows. From this head-on angle, he can see just the barest hint of a shape, of a feature. A proud nose, a dark brow. “Where are you taking us?” he asks, voice firm.

“Not far,” the man replies, as if bored. “But does it matter?”

Hanbin guesses not. As soon as they step through the mirror, they’ll lose the advantage of location. “Are you alone?”

“All of these questions are pointless.” It is clear he is growing impatient; or perhaps he just doesn’t bother with the niceties for Hanbin, a “Halfblood.” The man offers no coaxing, just a flat, lifeless drone. Inhuman — that word flashes through Hanbin’s mind again. “I am alone. Now, come, and I will tell you everything you wish to know.”

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath. Hanbin feels his lungs fill. “I’ll be right behind you,” Zhang Hao promises, his hand reaching out to squeeze Hanbin’s. “Please be careful.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise, I’ll be careful.” Hanbin agrees. “I’ll see you there soon.”

Zhang Hao gives him a firm nod. He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he drops his hand, letting him go. Hanbin takes a step forward, and then another. He braces himself right before he would normally hit the mirror, trying not to flinch because it really seems like he’ll simply walk into glass. But his foot passes through, a cool, floating feeling entering his limb, and he holds back his gasp as the rest of him follow quickly.

It’s like he’s being swallowed up by a freezing lake. For a second, Hanbin can’t breathe, and his lungs squeeze with panic. But then the ice-cold water relinquishes him, and he stumbles across creaky, wooden floorboards, the drop of his feet too loud in the stillness of the night. Hanbin pulls in a sharp breath as he looks around him, eyes adjusting to the darkness after the candlelight of Flamel’s office.

He’s in some sort of abandoned house — more like a shack. There is very little furniture in here, just a rickety wooden chair with a missing leg laying on the floor in the corner and various bundles of dust and cobwebs gathered in the corners. There’s a broken window to his right, the shards of glass cracked and glinting under the moonlight, though the gap they reveal is too small for anything besides a rat to use. The mirror swirls behind him. And in front of him, framed in the doorway to the room, is a tall figure in a dark robe.

He’s just a man. And yet he’s not.

He has dark eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips. He looks like a man. But just like his voice, it’s impossible to place his age from his appearance. He could be only a few years older than them or perhaps just a few years shy of his hair graying. There’s a smoothness to his features that reflects the pale moonlight — eerie and unnatural. Footsteps echo behind Hanbin, and he turns around just in time to catch Zhang Hao as he stumbles through the mirror. And on his heels come Grimsby and Warren.

“Welcome,” that unearthly voice greets them. Now that Hanbin can see the man, he realizes why it’s so odd. The man isn’t speaking at all, his mouth unmoving. He’s using some sort of legilimency to project his words into their minds. And with that revelation comes a thick pour of ice down his spine. “It has been a while since I have had the pleasure of so much company.”

Zhang Hao jolts in surprise when he also gets a good look at the man, pulling away from Hanbin to face him. “You.”

Hanbin’s heart jumps. That tone … “Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him before,” Zhang Hao accuses. “You were at … you’ve been in my home. Who are you?”

“You may call me Eiranaeus. I have waited a long time to see you again, Zhang Hao. I would like to think I am well acquainted with your parents,” he says into their minds. “It is unfortunate that … certain circumstances means we have had to go our separate ways.”

“Were you the one who …” Zhang Hao’s words catch in his throat before he pushes on. “Kidnapped me?”

“No,” Eiranaeus denies easily. “But I know who did.”

Grimsby leaps forward, raging, “You liar—!” But he’s quickly knocked away with a flick of Eiranaeus’s wrist and a nonverbal spell, staggering back with his hand clutching at his chest.

“No, you are the liar,” Eiranaeus sneers as he directs his attention to Grimsby, disdain dripping off of their brains. Without the barrier of the mirror now, his legilimency is much stronger. Hanbin tries not to wince. “How you have disappointed me, Gideon.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted me in the first place,” Grimsby gasps out. Blood has started to trickle out of his nose.

Not a Stunning Spell then — something stronger. Hanbin’s grip is so tight around his wand, he thinks he might crack it.

“I never trusted you,” Eiranaeus hisses. “But I thought you were smart enough to realize when you were outnumbered. To fall in line when everything is stacked against you.”

“You forget that I could reveal your secrets—”

“And you would die for it.”

It’s not a baseless threat. Hanbin can tell that much by the way Grimsby immediately falls silent, his face ashen even if the twist to his lips remains defiant.

Zhang Hao has been watching the exchange with sharp eyes and stiff shoulders. “What agreement do you have? What has Gideon been doing for you all this time?”

Eiranaeus sighs, a puff of air that Hanbin feels slithering through his ears. He can’t quite hold back his shiver this time.

“He has been keeping secrets, as he should have.”

Zhang Hao laughs bitterly. “Don’t I know that much.”

“Gideon is not important right now though. Don’t you want your answers? Come, ask me.” Eiranaeus takes a step forward, his movements stiff, as if he were one of those carnival animatronics that Hanbin remembered seeing as a child when he went to the Muggle fair with his parents, jerky and uncoordinated. Except he is flesh and bone — he thinks. Eiranaeus takes another step forward, and so does Hanbin, slotting himself neatly between him and Zhang Hao.

Another puff of air, this time a semblance of a laugh. “It is useless, Halfblood. I do not wish to harm him.”

“Then consider this just a show to make myself feel better,” Hanbin retorts. He feels Zhang Hao’s hand on his arm, both steadying and reassuring. But he doesn’t move.

“Hanbin, I don’t want you to get hurt …”

“Don’t worry about me,” he jerks his head. “You should get the answers you came for.”

Another squeeze, and then Zhang Hao’s gaze flits past him back Eiranaeus. “If it wasn’t you, who took me?”

“Enoch Fawley and Ignacio Greengrass.”

Fawley. Hanbin tenses, recognizing that last name immediately. But apart from the potential connection to Eudoria, the two names don’t mean anything to him. Yet it’s also immediately clear that they mean something to Zhang Hao, who lets out a breath of air like he’s been punched in the stomach, whose hand slips from Hanbin’s arm. But his moment of weakness, the brief flash of surprise and … hurt across his features are quickly replaced by a stoic mask. “Why?”

“Because you were part of a very rare prophecy.”

“Prophecies aren’t real,” Grimsby spits, now leaning against Warren for support. Red is smeared across his upper lip.

But Eiranaeus doesn’t acknowledge him whatsoever.

“What’s the prophecy?” Zhang Hao presses.

“It’s not one I can repeat.” Eiranaeus leans forward with eagerness, a wicked sort of mania glinting in his pale irises. The first hint of life Hanbin has seen on his face. “But it is a prophecy I can show you.”

Hanbin suddenly realizes what it is about Eiranaeus’s movements that are so strange and yet … somehow familiar. He moves exactly like Flamel. As if he is holding himself tightly, as if with one wrong move he could fall apart. As if he is being kept alive long past his mortal lifespan. Hanbin hasn’t forgotten that the mirror belongs to Flamel. Whoever Eiranaeus really is, there must have been a reason for them to have such a direct, secretive channel of contact. All of the textbooks and recountings of history state Flamel as the only known wizard to have created a Philosopher's Stone. And yet, as Hanbin watches Eiranaeus pull himself to his full height, he wonders if everything they had thought they knew about the stone had been false.

“What do you mean show me?” Zhang Hao asks, wary. His hand returns to Hanbin’s arm, this time tighter. “What are you planning on doing?”

“Oh, you greatly overestimate me. I have never had a knack for Divination.” Eiranaeus slowly shakes his head, but his eyes never leave them, pupils swaying back and forth with every turn of his head until they stop, dead center. “It is something else that will foretell the prophecy. A creature.”

As if on cue, almost laughably so, the sound of metal bars rattling cuts through the heavy air. Hanbin tenses, his wand hand coming up immediately. “What is that?” he snaps.

The words are no sooner out of his mouth than with another flick of Eiranaeus’s fingers, Hanbin’s wand flies out of his hand, a sting reverberating through his wrist. He hisses in pain.

“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao immediately turns to him in concern.

“There is no cause for alarm,” Eiranaeus placates.

Zhang Hao lifts his wand as well, stepping forward. “What are you doing? What is that noise?”

Hanbin’s wand rolls across the uneven wooden planks. He wants to dive after it, but that would leave Zhang Hao too exposed. However, without it, he would be absolutely useless against any sort of attack. Hanbin takes a furtive step towards it, Eiranaeus too preoccupied with Zhang Hao to notice. The rattling of the cage grows louder before clicking to a stop. The silence rings between them. And then — the pattering sound of hooves echo just outside the doorway.

Hanbin brain wracks through his limited knowledge of hooved magical creatures — pegasus, unicorns. But what appears in the doorway is neither of those things. It’s a small creature the size of a fawn with bronze dragon scales glittering between soft patches of pelt along its flank and whisker-like tendrils drooping from its deer-like snout.

“Do you know about Qilins?” Eiranaeus asks, as if making conversation over tea. Except his body is strung tight, his eyes wide and crazed. He doesn’t even blink as he trains his attention on Zhang Hao.

“No, I—” Zhang Hao blinks a few times as if to dissipate something obscuring his mind's eye. A memory? “Yes, I’ve read about them.”

Hanbin bends down quickly to pick up his wand, but he fears drawing Eiranaeus’s attention if he moves back towards Zhang Hao. He tightens his grip, ready for anything.

“I’m glad to hear that Flamel is teaching you some useful things in that school,” Eiranaeus mutters. “The Qilin’s incredible precognitive ability is quite unlike any other creature.”

“So the seer used a Qilin to foretell the prophecy?”

“Not quite,” Eiranaeus croons, making the hair on Hanbin’s arm stand on end. “The Qilin is a seer all on its own. Just watch.”

“No, don’t!” Grimsby yells, as the Qilin takes a step into the room. He staggers away from Warren, and towards Zhang Hao. “Hao, you have to get out of here. It’s going to bow to you and—”

“Be quiet!” The voice that reverberates through their brains is so venomous, so biting that Hanbin nearly drops to the floor. Warren clutches at his head and tries to steady himself against the wall. “There is nothing you or anyone else can do to stop fate. He will be chosen again!”

Hanbin rushes to Zhang Hao’s side. “He’s right. We have to go. Something isn’t right. This prophecy— he’s too eager for it.”

The Qilin doesn’t seem outwardly dangerous. Hanbin tries to remember everything that he might have learned about them. They are exceedingly rare; over the years only a few sightings have ever been documented. However, they are not violent. From what he remembers, their only skills are precognition and … the ability to read a person’s heart. He remembers little about a bow. Was it a show of respect? A recognition of someone’s good heart? Hanbin internally curses at having not spent more time studying Care of Magical Creatures. He can’t figure out what a Qilin’s bow could possibly mean to Eiranaeus. But he knows that it can’t mean anything good right now.

Zhang Hao backs away with him towards the mirror, his bravado slipping. The Qilin takes a few stumbling steps forward.

“Fuck! He’s closed it!” Warren yells from behind them.

Hanbin turns to see him pounding on the mirror, Warren’s fist hitting against hard, dark glass. The intricate frame rattles, no, the wooden wall of the shack that it hangs against rattles. But they’re escape has been thwarted.

“We can apparate,” Zhang Hao says, turning to clutch at Hanbin’s arm.

He knows what that means. They’d talked about this before. In case anything happens, if they have to separate or something goes wrong, they are to meet at the second floor of the Hog’s Head, where they had spoken with Jiwoong that night. Hogsmeade is the closest place to Hogwarts that allows for apparition. He nods quickly. “Let’s go.”

But then everything happens all at once: The Qilin comes to a stop in front of them both. Zhang Hao lets go of his arm in preparation for them to apparate. Eiranaeus moves far swifter, far faster than Hanbin thought he could, lunging forward to clutch at Zhang Hao’s arm.

“No! You will not leave, not until—”

The Qilin bows.

At him. The Qilin bows at him.

“Flipendo!” Hanbin’s knockback jinx catches Eiranaeus in the shoulder, making him let go of Zhang Hao, his body lurching back and jerking unnaturally.

Hanbin reaches for Zhang Hao immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. But Hanbin, the Qilin …”

Both of them look down at it, at its still lowered head, the small stumps of horns on the crown of its head pointed right up at them. No, at him. “I don’t know what this means, but we have to go—”

“You!” Eiranaeus screeches, the scratch of his voice hysterical and savage. “Get them all! Don’t let them leave!”

Eiranaeus lunges forward again, hands outstretched like claws, and Hanbin quickly yanks Zhang Hao behind him, just as the window to their left shatters, glass flying through the air as vicious wraithlike shapes whirl into the abandoned room.

The temperature drops to near freezing just as Eiranaeus's long, bony fingers close in around his forearm. Hanbin hears shouts of alarm from Grimsby and Warren behind him as the figures swoop down on them, spells flying through the air. Dementors. One of them picks up Warren from the corner and slams him into the wall, causing the entire roof to shake and for dust to scatter through the air. Chaos has broken out all too quickly.

“Dispose of them!” Eiranaeus screeches, baring his teeth as he claws Hanbin’s arm. “I only need him!”

Hanbin tries to pull out of his hold, but it’s surprisingly firm, like iron shackles digging into his flesh. He kicks out with his foot, but there’s a brutal single-minded obsession in Eiranaeus’s gaze. He doesn’t even jerk as Hanbin’s foot connects with his leg.

“Relashio!”

Zhang Hao’s spell hits Eiranaeus dead on, and Hanbin finally feels his grip loosen.

“Confringo!” he yells, casts the blasting curse as soon as he rips his wand hand free, but a Dementor swoops down to intercept it. The curse billowing out its cape as it strikes the skeletal figure, creating a momentary barrier between them and Eiranaeus.

“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao is on him in an instant, his face frantic.

Someone yanks on his shoulder, and Hanbin instantly raises his wand to cast another curse when he realizes it’s Grimsby standing behind them with a split lip and even more blood dripping from his nose. His eyes are wide and disbelieving, boring right into Hanbin. “It’s you — he wants you. You both have to get out of here. We can only hold him off for so long.”

“Get out of my way!” Eiranaeus’s scream roars through their minds again before a blast of green flashes in front of Hanbin’s eyes. He turns just in time to watch Warren’s body crumple to the glass-covered wooden boards with a sick thud, his wand rolling out of his hand as soon as it hits the floor.

“Warren,” Zhang Hao gasps.

Grimsby’s eyes widen in horror, freezing completely. A trickle of blood drips off his chin.

Adrenaline is coursing through Hanbin numbing everything, from the scratches on his arm to the sting on his wrist, but the shock, the awful sickening feeling that twines through his gut when he looks at Warren’s limp body lying on the dirty floor breaks through even that. He’s dead. Warren is dead. He doesn’t get an additional second to process.

The Dementors charge down at them, and then ice cold hands are grasping at his robes, a sudden jolt of hopelessness swaps him. But Hanbin fights it off, setting off another blasting curse as his arm gets wrangled this way and that. He hears a loud snap to his left and then a sharp cry, and Hanbin only has enough time to look to make sure it’s not Zhang Hao before a Dementor claws at his back, shoving him to the ground. Hanbin rolls just as a spell cracks against the uneven floorboards where his head had been a moment ago.

“You! You won’t get away!”

The cry rattles his brain, tightening his chest and making his head light. His eyesight grows a little fuzzy as the coldness starts to sink into his bones. Hanbin scrambles around on the floor, looking for his wand. He barely gets his fingers around it just in time to put up a Shielding Spell before another Deprimo is aimed his way. A crash to his left has him jerking his head— Zhang Hao!

A body flies through the air. A Dementor flings Zhang Hao against the wall, his back hitting the mirror before both of them crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs and spray of glass.

“Zhang Hao!” Hanbin yells, scrambling to his feet. No, no, no, no, no. A burst of protective, violent energy consumes him, just like it had on the Quidditch pitch in the middle of that ring of fire. But this time it’s far more potent. It tears through his veins. Bony claws snatch at his cloak, and Hanbin rips it from the Dementor’s hold as he runs towards Zhang Hao, falling to his knees. “Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao!”

His eyes blink up at Hanbin, face contorted in pain but alive. Alive, alive, alive. He nearly sobs with relief.

“Hanbin, get out of here. He doesn’t care about me!”

“He will kill you! Just like he did Warren, and I will not let that happen,” he says, clutching Zhang Hao close to him. He feels a wetness slide along his palm when he makes contact with Zhang Hao’s side and it comes away fiery red. He’s hurt. Fury and worry burn through him.

Eiraneaus’s high voice rings in their ears, “Imperio!”

A white streak of light flies through the air, right at them. He doesn’t have time to raise his wand; he doesn’t have time to counter it. All Hanbin can do is brace himself over Zhang Hao’s form, covering him, protecting him with his body. He prepares for the excruciating impact — but it never comes. Just before the spell hits him, a figure clinging onto and dragging a Dementor flies through the air, intercepting it.

Grimsby crashes to the floor, clawing and kicking at the Dementor that begins to draw on his life force. Wispy flesh-colored tendrils float away from Grimsby’s cheek, deforming the shape of his face. His dark eyes catch Hanbin’s, and his mouth opens in a soundless cry.

But then more Dementors swarm around them, and Hanbin holds Zhang Hao to his chest savagely, firing off spell after spell though they barely do anything to break through the wave after wave of Dementors that come at them, dipping low to rip away a bit of his energy. Hanbin snarls as one tries to go for Zhang Hao.

“Grab him, quickly!” Eiranaeus yells in their mind.

Another sharp blast of light — Confringo — streaks past Hanbin face, and for a terrified second he thinks it’s going to hit Zhang Hao. But it’s going in the wrong direction. Zhang Hao has his wand raised, arm extending out past Hanbin’s shoulder as the blasting curse tears through one of the Dementors, causing it to explode, scattering smoke and twirling bits of dark cloth through the air. It’s freezing in here now, and Hanbin knows that only his adrenaline and sheer will is keeping him from collapsing from the life force the Dementors have stolen from him. He holds Zhang Hao tighter against his chest, fear ripping through him. But not for himself.

“Hanbin, please, please, go,” Zhang Hao begs. “I’m too— hurt to apparate. But you can. You have to leave me.”

Somehow, part of him had known that it would come to this. Hanbin had too much faith, too much trust in Zhang Hao’s conviction. From the moment that he had told Hanbin about the mirror and confided in him that he felt compelled to it, that this could be the thread that untangles the web of his lost memories, Hanbin had known that he was right. And everything along the way, Jiwoong’s warning about the tampered pensieve, Grimsby being after the same mirror, the secretive way Flamel had hidden it away in his office, confirmed it.

He could not have foreseen this exact situation: a ghastly, horrific man; the appearance of a Dementors when their existence had been outlawed in Europe for hundreds of years; a Qilin. A Qilin that had seemingly against all intended plans bowed to him. But Hanbin had been prepared for danger, to fight. He had been prepared to do anything for Zhang Hao; even if it meant endangering his life, even if it meant sacrificing it. That had been his promise all the times he had told Zhang Hao that he would be here, that he wouldn’t let him do this alone.

But now, as Zhang Hao implores for him to leave him here, to save himself, it is with startling, heart-wrenching, horrible clarity that Hanbin realizes Zhang Hao knew that it would come to this, too. And they had both come to the same conclusion, had both made the same decision.

“No,” he gasps. “I won’t leave you, no matter what. I can— I can apparate for the both of us.”

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous,” Zhang Hao insists. “It would kill us both and then where would we be?”

Hanbin’s heart breaks wide open. “Together.”

Another blast of white light flashes through the Dementors, and they both jerk their heads towards it. Grimsby. He’s somehow thrown off the Dementor who had him pinned, but his face is haggard and nearly hollowed out, his cheeks sunken in and his deep-set eyes ringed with sallow bruises. Suddenly, the Dementors break apart, lifting from their relentless attacks, and Hanbin sees him: Eiranaeus standing just behind Grimsby’s hunched over form.

“Behind you!” Hanbin warns, just as Grimsby reaches for something in his cloak. But his wand is in his other hand. What is he doing? Hanbin doesn’t have time to see what it is Grimsby pulls out before he throws it towards them.

“Incarcerous!” Eiranaeus aims the Binding Spell at Grimsby — but he’s too late.

The item sails through the air, skittering across the wooden floor and without thinking, Hanbin snatches it up. There’s a tug at his navel, a harsh jerk against his chest.

“No, no! No!”

Hanbin warps into the portkey, pulling Zhang Hao along with him.

Hanbin’s head knocks against something hard, snapping his teeth together and reverberating pain down his jaw. His body flares hot and his head spins. Zhang Hao rests heavy on his chest, groaning lowly, setting Hanbin’s mind at ease that he’s still alive. Alive, alive, alive. Even if he’s badly hurt. That jolts Hanbin back to his senses, his mind fighting the drag of oblivion. Hanbin sits up quickly, blinking back the dark spots that fade in and out of the edge of his vision, careful to hold Zhang Hao still so as not to jostle his injuries. Pain bites into his back and his arm in turn.

He blames the disorientation when it takes him a few beats to realize that someone is standing over them. Hanbin jerks, clutching Zhang Hao to him and hunching over to keep him protected. His wand! He scrambles around for his wand—

“Mister Sung.”

He finds it a few feet away on the leather cushion and snatches it up.

“Mister Sung!”

Hanbin snaps his wand out, teeth bared.

“Mister Sung, it is I, Headmaster Flamel.”

His brain feels sluggish, but as his eyes flicker over the features — the deep wrinkles, the hooked nose, the near translucence of his skin, it registers familiarity. Hanbin glances around, shocked to find that he has been deposited on the stiff leather couch of Flamel’s office; his head had knocked against the wooden frame atop it. He winces, sitting forward slightly. When he does so Zhang Hao lets out another soft groan, shuffling around a bit before stiffening, his injuries making themselves known.

That’s Hanbin’s first priority right now. “He’s hurt,” he gasps at Flamel. “He needs help. There were Dementors, who likely made him weak. I don’t know how much they took from him. He’s—”

“I have sent for Madam Pomfrey,” Flamel reassures. “She is on her way to the castle.”

But that’s not good enough. Zhang Hao wouldn’t let just any injury keep him down. For him to be like this … Hanbin’s heart seizes with another wave of fear. “He needs to go to St. Mungos. His injuries are serious. He’s bleeding!”

“So are you, Mister Sung,” Flamel says, not unkindly, but not kindly either. “I will await Madam Pomfrey’s discretion on whether Mister Zhang requires a trip to St. Mungos.”

“That will be too late!”

“He will be well enough. The fact that he is awake is a good sign. Relax, you are safe now.”

You are safe now. And all that occurred over the past few hours swarm the forefront of his mind: the mirror, Eiranaeus, the Dementors, Warren. They had received so many answers, and yet Hanbin still feels like there is so much he doesn’t know. That paired with Flamel’s easy dismissal of Zhang Hao’s pain makes Hanbin burn. He raises accusing, murderous eyes: “Who are you?”

Flamel’s expression twists into the shape of a frown, settling unnaturally over his features — just like Eiranaeus. “I am Nicolas Flamel, Headmaster of Hogwarts. You hit your head quite hard, Mister Sung. Do you know where you are?”

“My mind is well,” Hanbin snaps. “I mean: Why do you have this mirror? How do you know Eiranaeus? Were you involved with what happened to Zhang Hao six years ago? You know more than you are letting on, Headmaster.” The title drips with derision from his lips.

There’s a squeeze against his arm, and Hanbin looks down with urgency to see Zhang Hao blinking up at him. “Flamel?” he mumbles. And then his eyes seem to focus, sharpening to lucidity as they flit over his features. Zhang Hao relaxes just slightly. “Hanbin?”

“How are you feeling?” Even as he asks, his hand is still stained red with his blood. Hanbin feels it trickling sluggishly down his wrists. He hopes it ruins Flamel’s carpet. “Were you hit by a spell?”

“Not a spell — it’s the glass from the mirror,” Zhang Hao winces, his voice coming out in wheezes. “The Dementors sucking out my life force didn’t help though.”

Hanbin’s chest tightens. “Madam Pomfrey is on the way.”

“Once I recover a bit, I can probably heal myself—”

“Absolutely not,” Hanbin squeezes his hand. “You shouldn’t tax yourself further.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You are bleeding all over the leather.” Hanbin’s attempt at levity comes out sounding choked.

“You do have a point,” Zhang Hao sighs. He flicks his gaze over to Flamel, who is still standing over them, his face carefully blank — or perhaps that is just his natural countenance, weathered down by time into nothingness.

Hanbin’s own questions are mirrored in Zhang Hao’s eyes, and he opens his mouth as if to demand answers, too, but Flamel places a hand up. “My explanations require you to be well to hear. I will await Madam Pomfrey to see to you, to both of you, before we discuss. You are safe now,” he repeats. “He cannot come here now, especially after the mirror has been destroyed.”

So Flamel does know. Of course he knows. Hanbin glares at Flamel’s back when he walks to the door of his office, presumably to wait for Madam Pomfrey to arrive.

The mirror that had been suspended in the alcove behind Flamel’s desk has fallen to the floor, the glass smashed into pieces as it leans crookedly against the wall. There is no longer smoke swirling in the cracked panes — instead, it reflects the candlelight of the room, the swooping figure of Flamel, the neat organization of his desk. Hanbin catches the reflection of his body curved over Zhang Hao’s, the red that streaks both of their faces, the haunted look in their eyes. It mocks them.

As they wait, Zhang Hao’s breathing grows a bit more shallow, his eyes closing shut as he sinks against his body. Hanbin runs his thumb soothingly over the back of his hand, eyes trained on the brief rise and fall of his chest — that slight movement, one that reminds him that Zhang Hao is alive, alive, alive is the only reason he hasn’t attacked yet, the reason he’s not yelling and destroying Flamel’s entire office. Because he’s livid. But Zhang Hao needs him more.

The door to the room opens, and Hanbin snaps his head around to see Madam Pomfrey hurring in. For the first time, she’s not dressed in her medical robes, and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if not for the shock of short, curly gray hair.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” she mutters as she hurries towards them. “What has happened?”

Zhang Hao’s eyes flutter open, but Hanbin beats him to a brief explanation — about the glass, the Dementor attack.

“Let me get him off you—”

“No!” Hanbin’s first instinct shoots out of him.

“Mister Sung, it will be better for him to be laid on his front, so I can take a look at his injuries. You are also bleeding and should not have additional weight on you.”

Hanbin’s hand spasms around Zhang Hao’s. He can’t let him go. He can’t, he can’t. Everything in him is telling him not to, that something bad could happen to Zhang Hao if he’s not right by his side. Adrenaline still thrums through him, his fight or flight instinct riding his nerves.

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao lifts his free hand up to smooth clumsily over his cheek. “It’s fine. Madam Pomfrey needs to check both of us.”

Reluctantly, he eases Zhang Hao off his lap, though he still stays close, sitting right next to him as Madam Pomfrey performs a diagnostic test on him. Hanbin is no healer, but the slow travel of the blue glow over and the brief flashes of red as it moves over Zhang Hao’s torso doesn’t look good.

“Is he going to be okay?” he asks as soon as she’s done.

“I believe the glass has punctured a few of your organs,” Madam Pomfrey directs at Zhang Hao. “But it is nothing I won’t be able to heal. It will sting a bit though.”

Zhang Hao nods his head, his eyes having fallen closed again. He seems to be growing weaker by the second, stirring even more concern in Hanbin’s chest.

“He will be okay,” she soothes, sensing Hanbin’s hovering. “He’s just weakened by the Dementors right now. Let me help him.”

He watches with intense concentration as Madam Pomfrey gently removes Zhang Hao’s robes, soaked through with his blood; Hanbin’s breath catches when he sees the spread of red through his shirt underneath. He can’t even breathe as she reveals the gashes along his side — they look so deep. Zhang Hao groans as Madam Pomfrey starts applying healing spells and Hanbin jerks, only barely holding himself back from leaping to Zhang Hao’s defense. Madam Pomfrey is here to help.

The room is tense while she works, with only Hanbin’s ragged breathing and the small, plaintive sounds from Zhang Hao that pushes at the edge of his control drifting through the room. As Madam Pomfrey works, Zhang Hao’s skin starts to mend, the beads of sweat along his brow clears, and his breathing evens out. Hanbin has no idea how much time passes, only that it feels tortuously long. But finally, Madam Pomfrey leans back, her own chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion.

“He is stable for now. Once you regain your energy, you’ll continue to heal even better,” she murmurs to both of them.

Zhang Hao’s eyes blink open, this time more alert. “Thank you,” he mumbles, even as his eyes seek out Hanbin, as if to make sure he’s still there as well. He gives him a small smile, and Hanbin feels a bit of the tension in him give.

Madam Pomfrey digs around in the satchel that Hanbin hadn’t even noticed, drawing out a small vial. “Drink slowly, dear, you shouldn’t try to sit up too much yet.”

And then she turns to Hanbin. Now that his adrenaline has faded a bit, the pain that had been a low throb earlier flares up into a heavy ache. Madam Pomfrey performs a diagnostic test on him as well, healing him methodically and slowly like she had for Zhang Hao. Except even as the pain eases, it only draws attention to the lingering feeling of despair that seems to hang over him.

It may be the residual effect of having part of his soul sucked out by Dementors, perhaps it’s the haunting memory of seeing someone die right before him for the first time. He feels so, so heavy. As if sensing his mood, Zhang Hao reaches out to him, the two of them clasping hands over the warm leather. It does little to lift the misery weighing him down. Hanbin wonders if it will ever completely fade.

When Madam Pomfrey finally steps back, wiping at her brow and packing her bag, Hanbin looks up at Flamel with blazing eyes, “Warren is dead. Grimsby is still there. We were attacked by—”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Flamel interrupts him, giving the matron a low nod. “If you would give us a moment of privacy, please.”

Her lips thin as she looks between the Headmaster and the two of them, but finally, she nods. “Do not take too long — they are both still incredibly weak. I will be in the Hospital Wing waiting for them.” Her threat is quite clear: she expects both of them to be down there sooner rather than later or she will come up here to drag them down herself.

Flamel murmurs a reassurance, and Madam Pomfrey gives both of them lingering, concerned looks before turning and leaving the Headmaster’s office. The door shuts with a soft thud.

“I can tell you have very complicated feelings about this, Mister Sung,” Flamel stars, walking slowly over to the armchair and lowering himself into it. He holds his body carefully, as if he is liable to fall apart at any moment. The movement is so singular, so similar to Eiranaeus that Hanbin finds himself flinching, a vivid vision of the man — the monster — lunging towards them flashing through his mind. “I never wished for anyone else to get involved in this.”

“With all due respect, Headmaster,” Hanbin spits with very little respect whatsoever. “If you truly meant to keep anyone safe you would not have kept your secrets.”

Something indiscernible flashes in Flamel’s eyes as he looks at him. And for a brief moment, Hanbin thinks the ever detached and withdrawn Headmaster is about to yell at him. But then, he simply looks away, gaze flattening out, pale and limpid as ever.

“I know to you — to both of you — it will seem like I have caused more harm than good by keeping you in the dark. But as I have assured Mister Zhang many times over the years. He has been kept safe.”

“You call this safe?” Zhang Hao hisses, anger soaked through every one of his words. “In case you didn’t hear before, Warren is dead. Gideon most likely is now too—” his voice breaks, but he continues on, his tone tortured. “I know who took me now. People that I had known. All for some prophecy that has never come true. And now Hanbin is in danger, and I could have accepted this if it was just about me. But now he— he wants Hanbin, and if you thought I have been persistent and relentless until now you have no idea what I am capable of.”

“I understand very well the danger that Hanbin is now in.”

“You do not!”

“I do!” Flamel thunders, raising his voice for the first time Hanbin can ever remember. But his mouth doesn’t move. He hasn’t made a single noise. Those two syllables echo in his mind.

And Hanbin is out of his seat, wand in hand, poised directly at their Headmaster within seconds. “You’re just like him,” he accuses. “Whatever you two are, you are the same. Who are you?”

“Lower your wand, Hanbin,” Flamel says. It does nothing to set him at ease. “Lower your wand, and I will give you the answers you seek. It is no longer prudent for me to keep these secrets. But I can only share them if you do not blast me through my own office.”

Hanbin is tempted to do it anyway. In a split second, he thinks of a number of horrible curses he could lob at Flamel, to hurt him. He barely reigns them in. After a heavy second, his arm slowly lowers, but his guard does not.

“Now,” Flamel starts, folding his veiny hands over his knees. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

“I thought you knew everything,” Hanbin scoffs. It’s childish and petty, but he will not pass up an opportunity to mock Flamel.

“While I am aware of a few things that might have occurred, I would like to know the full of it, before I answer your questions.”

Yet another deal. Hanbin looks over and meets Zhang Hao’s eyes for a brief moment, and he can tell they are thinking the same thing: “Someone is going to have to show their hand first.” And despite his suspicions, despite the great temptation to do exactly as Flamel had said, blast him through his own office, Hanbin isn’t reckless or an idiot. He knows he is no match for him. He grits his teeth so hard he feels his jaw pulse. The two of them come to a silent agreement.

Zhang Hao reaches over to take his hand before turning to Flamel. And then he starts to explain: “I saw you use the mirror when I was trapped in the pensieve. It wasn’t an empty room, like I had told you, instead the memory shifted, and you were in that alcove behind your desk talking to … him. I know the pensieve was tampered with—” Zhang Hao seems to break off, most likely not wanting to implicate Jiwoong. “I suspected that the second memory was planted in there just for me, to lure me here. I came here tonight knowing it was a trap, but prepared to take the risk in order to discover the truth.”

Silence. One where Flamel seemed to want to say: And you were naive to think you could get out of this unscathed. But there is only a slight pause before Zhang Hao continues to speak.

“Gideon told me he was looking for this mirror as well. And we agreed to help each other: I would show him where it was, and he would reveal how to use it. I felt like I needed to talk to,” a sharp inhale, “Eiranaeus, to get the answers that I wanted.”

“And did you get them?” Flamel asks quietly, his voice barely a whisper

“I was part of a prophecy,” Zhang Hao says. “Apparently foretold by a Qilin that had … bowed to me. I assume this is all part of the memories that were taken from me. When I saw the Qilin that he had tonight I got the strangest sense of deja vu, like this was my second time living through these events.”

“Yes, that is part of your lost memories,” Flamel concedes, surprising both of them. Despite what he had said, Hanbin had his doubts about Flamel truly answering all their questions. He still isn’t sure if they’re going to get the whole truth tonight. It could simply be meant to lure them into a false sense of victory — confirm what they already are close to figuring out in order to keep other secrets from them. Hanbin tightens his hold, on both his wand and Zhang Hao’s hand.

“He— Eiranaeus seemed intent on having it bow to me. Again, I suppose. But it didn’t. It bowed to Hanbin. And then the Dementors came.”

Zhang Hao describes the fight as best as he can — choking through Warren’s quick death at the hands of Eiranaeus. The image of the Slytherin’s limp, lifeless body is still carved into the front of Hanbin’s mind.

He speaks for the first time, offering details that Zhang Hao hadn’t seen after he’d been smashed into the mirror.

“At the end, Grimsby threw us something— a portkey,” he says, only just realizing that it should still be here. Hanbin looks around the leather couch, only spotting a gold item lying on the rug a few paces away: a medallion with some sort of crest on it. “Which took us here,” Hanbin pauses, his eyes narrowing and darting back to Flamel’s lifeless face, accusation heavy in his words, “where you were already waiting for us.”

Flamel cants his head in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything else.

“This is when you explain,” Hanbin spits. “Everything.”

“Please, sit down, Mister Sung,” Flamel invites, as if they are simply having a semester check-in. It takes everything in him not to snarl. “This will take quite some time.”

Hanbin allows Zhang Hao to draw him back onto the couch, their hands still held tightly together. Hanbin thinks that touch is the only thing leashing him right now. Though Zhang Hao is just as tense beside him when Flamel finally begins.

“The man that you met was born P. Arnauld de la Chevalerie. He was an alchemist, much like myself. But he gained a considerable following as Eiranaeus Orandus when he began pursuing eternal life hundreds of years ago.”

“So I was right,” Hanbin accuses. “You are the same.”

“In some ways, yes. But if you mean that he also created an Elixir of Life from the Philosopher’s Stone, then you would be mistaken. You are both top students at this school — you both would have studied that I am the sole creator of the Stone, and my wife and I the only ones to have achieved immortality through its means.”

“But he—” Zhang Hao protests.

“He has also obtained a … shadow of immortality. But not in the same way as I. During his research, Chevalerie became obsessed with the idea of immortality through magic. To him, what made us Wizards and set us apart from Muggles, was the key to living forever. In his mind, it only made sense that the ‘superior’ race be allowed longevity. Many alchemists, scientists, researchers, healers,” he looks to Zhang Hao. “Have tried to explain what it is about us innately that predisposes some of us to magic, while others remain without. Squibs, in this instance, have been part of numerous studies and observations to answer this question alone.”

“But there has never been a definitive answer,” Zhang Hao says.

“No, there has not. But during his research, Chevalerie did discover that there are some of us who possess higher amounts of magic, who have a larger store of … energy, let’s say, that makes them naturally better wizards. These are the ones who rise through the ranks of the Ministry, who get selected to be Aurors, and to work in the Department of Mysteries, for example.” And his very purposeful pause makes Hanbin realize that Flamel is not quite so oblivious to Jiwoong’s actions as they might have thought. “And through certain … experiments, Chevalerie also discovered that this excess energy can be transferred. Not from Wizard to Muggle — he could not give the ability to cast magic to someone who does not have that initial spark within them. But to other Wizards, to enhance their power. To extend their life.”

A sick feeling washes over Hanbin. That feeling of hopelessness and despair that has hung over him suddenly intensifies, clouding his mind like the shadow of a Dementor. He knows where this is going — Flamel doesn’t have to say anything more. Zhang Hao’s nails dig into his palm, but he feels almost numb. It’s Zhang Hao who finds his voice first, who finds the courage to ask. “How?”

“He kills them,” Flamel says plainly. As if he is not speaking of horrific crimes. “Death is always the consequence of immortality. No one can live forever without an equal amount of death. He experimented on Wizards, Halfbloods, and Muggles alike for years. And then, many years ago, he discovered the Qilin’s precognition and the signaling of its bow could be used to find those who have enough magic to sustain him.”

“And then he kills them,” Zhang Hao repeats.

“Who did you kill?” Hanbin’s voice is cold as it snaps out.

Flamel’s eyes flick back over to him.

“You said there is no immortality without death. And yet you are immortal.”

“You are astute, Mister Sung.”

“Don’t patronize me. Answer the question.”

“I killed myself.”

Zhang Hao’s hold on his hand is so tight, Hanbin thinks he feels his bones grind together. “What do you mean?” Zhang Hao demands.

“I killed a part of my soul to transcend mortality. That is the price of the Philosopher’s Stone. I live a half life, as does my wife.”

Disgust fills Hanbin, pooling in his chest. No wonder Flamel and Eiranaeus are so similar: Flamel is not quite mortal, and Eiranaeus not quite immortal. Both of them live with one foot in the grave, but are unable, unwilling to die. Cowards. The word comes to him clearly. They’re both cowards.

“And Eiranaeus couldn’t have just made another Philosopher's Stone?” Zhang Hao asks incredulously. “Instead he has to … sacrifice people?”

“Philosopher’s Stones are not so common as that.” Flamel’s lips twitch. It’s not a smile. Hanbin doubts he’s capable of one anymore.

Flamel’s expressions, his movements, the pale mein of his countenance are all too unnerving now that Hanbin knows the truth — or at least part of it. He’s always known Flamel was unnatural. No one is meant to live this long. He is clinging onto reality by a thread, fooling everyone into thinking he is loftier than them all when he is nothing but an abomination.

“And I have never,” Flamel continues. “And will never reveal the secret to create one.”

“Because you want to be the only one,” Hanbin accuses.

“Because this is not a life at all,” Flamel sighs. “It is too dangerous; and the risks are too great. No one else will create a Philosopher’s Stone so long as I live.”

And it goes without saying: Flamel will never die.

Flamel looks back to Zhang Hao, who has grown ever paler. If it weren't for the horror on his face, Hanbin would worry that his discomfort is over his wounds. But Madam Pomfrey did a good job healing him, the only thing Hanbin can be sure about tonight.

“In the pensieve,” Zhang Hao starts suddenly. “In the memory I saw. You were talking to Eiranaeus about a creature that he brought into England.”

“The Qilin,” Flamel inclines his head. “They are very difficult to find for the same reason Eiranaeus needs them. He has not been able to get his hands on another for quite some time. As soon as I was alerted that one had been captured — I knew he was up to something.”

“When was this?”

“Over the summer.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Zhang Hao grits out. “You didn’t think to warn me this entire time?”

“I did not think he would get so far,” Flamel says. “I did not expect you to walk right into his trap. If you had stayed here, you would have been safe.”

But instead of being cowed, Zhang Hao visibly bristles. “How dare you? You know I’ve been searching for my memories. How many times have I asked you to tell me something, anything? Did you not think that giving me what I wanted instead of making me risk my life for it would be safest for me?”

“I thought you would heed my warnings a bit better, Mister Zhang. I have only had your best interests—”

“Do not say that you were doing this for me!” Zhang Hao explodes, shaking. “You were the one who locked away my memories! All these years you have fed me nothing but lies and excuses. You may think me naive and foolish, and perhaps I was, but this mirror is yours. The way you two spoke in that memory was far too familiar for you to have nothing to do with this. You have never given me the answers I wanted because you were protecting yourself!”

Flamel weathers through Zhang Hao’s explosive fury with his usual hollow expression — he sits still, stiller than anything that is alive should. When Zhang Hao finishes, his cheeks burning and his chest heaving, Flamel closes his eyes. For one brief moment, Hanbin thinks he sees pain. But that’s impossible. Flamel said so himself — a half life. One where he does not feel a thing. He opens his eyes. “I can see why you think that way, Mister Zhang. I will not say you are wrong.”

Zhang Hao scoffs.

“But I will tell you the full of it now, if you allow me to.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything, but Flamel takes his silence as agreement.

“I did work with Chevalerie, a long time ago. Before he succeeded in prolonging his life. I had thought if he saw what sort of false life immortality was, that he would eventually give up. I told him it was not too late for him, as it is for me. But my warnings did not work — and well, that is when we went our separate ways.”

Hanbin bites his tongue but he wants to ask: Why did you not stop him? If he wasn’t immortal yet, why did you not kill him? If he is not immortal now, why are you letting him live? But he fears that if he interrupts, Flamel will use it as a chance to tell them less. He waits to hear what he has to say.

“However, over the decades, I have been one of the only people who can set him to heel — or so I thought.”

“Because you’re stronger than him,” Zhang Hao assumes.

“I am a greatly powerful wizard, that is true. But no, he has a level of … respect for me, because in his eyes I am the only man who possesses true immortality.”

Hanbin would like to say that he is no man at all, but he refrains. Blood pools in his mouth.

“I would have categorized it as some twisted form of … worship. Except now, he is trying to become his own form of divine. It has been nearly a century since I have directly dealt with him; I had wrongly assumed that nothing had changed. Even though I had been keeping an eye on him, he has been amassing a following, mainly among purebloods.”

Zhang Hao sucks in a sharp breath.

“The two people who took you. I assume he told you their names.”

He nods.

“Many among the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Flamel dips his head towards Zhang Hao, who looks like he’s going to be sick. “Were once loyal followers of his. They were enticed not necessarily by the promise of eternal life, though he did offer it to those who were exceptionally … loyal to him, who he thought possessed the correct beliefs and proper appetite for it. They were lured by his conviction that those who had magic, who were Wizards, were better than Muggles in every way. That they were the ones who deserved to live forever.”

“You said they once were loyal followers,” Zhang Hao’s voice shakes. He leans into Hanbin, as if he needs the support to stay upright, to finish his sentence. “What changed?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Zhang Hao. Because you were — are — one of them. A pureblood. Sacred. And he was still willing to sacrifice you anyway. It shattered the illusion for many — that they were somehow exempt, that they were somehow special. It became clear then, when Eiranaeus came after you, that none of them were safe from his voracious greed.”

“But Fawley and Greengrass, they took me—”

“Not all of them defected. Some saw it as a test. They believed if they remained loyal, they would be deemed worthy of his shadowed immortality.”

“My parents …” Zhang Hao seems unable to finish the thought.

“That is for you to ask them yourselves.”

Hanbin catches Zhang Hao as he collapses against his side, as if he no longer has the energy, the will to keep himself upright. “That’s enough,” he says, glaring at Flamel. “I think we’ve—”

“No,” Zhang Hao says weakly, even as he leans even harder against Hanbin. “I need to know the rest. I want you to tell me all of it. About my memories.”

Flamel waits a beat, as if he is giving them the chance to change their minds. But neither of them are cowards like him.

“Somehow, and I do not know for sure how you and the Qilin crossed paths when you were thirteen, but you did. He took you not long after, intending to sacrifice you. It is only because of the upheaval that it caused among his followers that you were kept alive for so long.”

Hanbin tenses, his stomach roiling. To think Zhang Hao had come so close to death. That Zhang Hao could have been killed before they ever had the chance to meet, before he knew he even existed, before they could have crossed paths on that fateful train ride one year later. The realization is a smooth blade slipped between his ribs, aimed right at his. Hanbin feels like he’s bleeding out at the thought. And he thinks he would have known; he likes to think he would have sensed it — before he even knew anything of Wizards and Hogwarts. Tears would have sprang into his eyes and he would have known that he had lost something even then, even without knowing what.

“I do not know all of the details of what was done while he had you. All I know is he kept you hidden, with only those he trusted knowing your location. I fear only those still loyal to him have knowledge of the full truth of that time. But I was able to save you. You have been told that much over the years.”

Zhang Hao’s lip curls. “Don’t expect me to thank you.”

Flamel smiles, dead and cold. “I would not expect you to change your ways now.”

“My memories,” Zhang Hao prompts, reaching the end of his patience.

“Even after I found you, the only way for you to truly be safe from his pursuit would be for your excess magic to be taken from you. We did not have much time back then. The only safe way I could determine in the short amount of time, was that by sealing away your memories, we could suppress that energy he wanted.”

Zhang Hao looks like he is going to protest again. But Flamel puts his hand up, continuing. “I do not mean that you have lesser powers — I think it is clear that you are still an exceptional wizard. It is hard to explain what this energy is … only that yes, even as you are now, Head Boy and Hogwarts TriWizard Champion, you would not leave behind a trace of magic after your death enough for Eiranaeus to sustain his life on.”

“Because I can’t remember.”

“Magic and memories are equally tricky things. In order for so much of yourself to be contained, it needed an equally powerful container, or, if you’d rather call it, a sacrifice. Once you were of no use to him, Eiranaeus gave up on his search. The price of your safety was — is — those memories.”

Zhang Hao lets out a low breath and pulls away from Hanbin. “You’ve always said that I would remember once it was safe to do so.”

“That was a lie I thought would placate you. That would serve as a warning for you to not go seeking the truth.”

“I knew you never intended for me to remember,” Zhang Hao says, eyes narrowing.

Flamel nods. “I am sor—”

“Do not say you are sorry! It’s too late for that.”

“Even after all I have said—”

“It does not explain why you had to lie to me all these years,” Zhang Hao hisses. “Why you could not have just told me.”

“Memories are fragile, unstable things, as is the mind, Mister Zhang. I could not guarantee that something happening, the wrong thing said, the wrong thing done, would not somehow unlock them. And then everything would have been for naught.”

“Everything was for naught anyway!” And then Zhang Hao starts laughing, almost hysterically, he leans back over to Hanbin, clutching at him, and Habin holds him tightly as eventually his laughs peter out into shakes, into what Hanbin thinks are sobs, but his eyes stay dry. Finally, Zhang Hao takes in a shuddering breath, pulling away again. “None of your lies worked. Eiranaeus came after me, anyway.”

“I had not realized how much he had changed,” Flamel repeats. “I thought my spell on you would be enough of a warning to deter him from trying again. But then he procured the Qilin, and …” Flamel waves out his hand, as if this consequence, their trauma, is nothing but the intended progress of time. Of fate.

“But it didn’t bow to him,” Hanbin speaks up now, his voice low. “It bowed to me.”

“It never would have bowed to him. As long as his memories remained lost and his energy suppressed, it would not have recognized his heart. The unknown variable here though, was you,” Flamel says plainly, almost banally, like Hanbin being there had simply been a miscalculation.

“So what now?” Hanbin asks. Except he knows — because this had all already happened seven years before.

Zhang Hao reaches the same conclusion as him, gasping. He pulls at Hanbin’s arms, eyes wide, fearful, and flickering over his features as if to make sure he is still here in front of him. “He’s going to come after you,” he whispers in horror. “Everything Flamel said about him needing a sacrifice. It bowed to you, which means you have the magic to sustain him, and— and—”

“Mister Zhang is correct,” Flamel intones.

“I won’t let him take you,” Zhang Hao says, fingers digging into Hanbin’s arms. He darts his eyes around the room, as if he expects Dementors to burst in at any moment, for Eiranaeus to crash through the door.

“I assure you, you are safe in this office, at Hogwarts,” Flamal says. “But as for anywhere outside this school — I cannot guarantee.”

“He is not safe here,” Zhang Hao snaps. “They took me from my bed.”

“I was not in attendance here at the time. It is not a mistake I will make again,” Flamel dips his head. “He will not dare try, not while I am here.”

“You said you were wrong about him before. What if you’re wrong again?”

“I am not wrong about this. You can trust me on—”

“Well, I don’t!” Venom, hatred — hurt.

Flamel shuts his eyes again, but this time his face remains an emotionless mask. Or perhaps not a mask at all. Perhaps that’s just who he is now, emotionless — barely alive. And yet, somehow, he still has his own morals, a sort of twisted honor that he will upkeep. Hanbin wonders if that’s the last vestiges of Flamel’s humanity clinging onto this world. He wonders if in a few more centuries, Flamel will lose that, too. If he will even care to be Headmaster anymore, if he will care about Eiranaeus’s sacrifices and saving young men like them.

Flamel opens his eyes. “The only way for Mister Sung to truly be out of reach is to take his memories, to suppress that energy.”

“No!” Zhang Hao says immediately. “There has to be another way.”

“I have been searching for another way for as long as you have been seeking your answers, Mister Zhang. It was not truly a lie I told you: your memories will unlock once you are safe. But you would only be safe if I was able to find another solution. Alas, I have not.”

Zhang Hao’s face slowly drops. He looks towards him, and Hanbin can see the conflict in his eyes. His desperation for Hanbin to be safe; his fundamental core rejecting the idea of subjecting him to everything that he has gone through himself. And it seems, after all the revelations and horrors of the night, this is what finally breaks him. Zhang Hao begins to cry.

Hanbin reaches for him again, shushing him gently, cradling his cheeks.

“I never …” Zhang Hao sobs. “I would never want this for you, Hanbin. But I can’t lose you.”

And for the second time tonight, Hanbin’s heart breaks right open. He pulls Zhang Hao closer and feels him cling onto him, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Hanbin. I never should have let you come tonight. I should have gone alone. You never would have been there otherwise, and— this is my fault.” Zhang Hao stiffens in his arms and he pulls away. “This is my fault,” he repeats, numb.

And what Hanbin sees in his eyes terrifies him, far more than losing his memories, far more than the thought of being killed at the hands of Eiranaeus. “No, it’s not,” he says, firmly. He needs Zhang Hao to understand this. “This isn’t your fault. I made the choice to come tonight.”

“I should never have asked you.”

“Do you think you could have stopped me?” Hanbin laughs, though he finds little humor in this. “If I hadn’t been there tonight, you would be—” he can’t even finish the thought, “I would have gone with you. Even if I had known this was my fate. That we would end up right here, that I would be in danger. I would choose to go with you every time, no matter what happens to me.”

“If I had been less insistent; if I had just let my fucking memories go …”

“Then you would not be the Zhang Hao that I love,” Hanbin says, softly, gently, heart-rendingly, because even in this moment, the despair weighing heavy over them both is only alleviated by that one word. “If you were not determined and stubborn and so brave and maybe a little reckless but in equal parts brilliant—”

“I am none of those things.”

“You are everything,” Hanbin insists. “I would make every choice that I made all over again, because I got to meet you, know you, like this.”

“I am not worth your life. I am not even worth your memories.”

Hanbin shakes his head, desperate to make him see. He needs to make him see. He needs to convince him of this — it is an imperative, as necessary as the breath that he takes. He has to—

“You must make a choice, Mister Sung.”

Hanbin stiffens. He had forgotten about Flamel. Zhang Hao must have as well, because he also freezes. They both turn at the same time.

But there is no embarrassment, because Flamel does not seem to register any of their emotions, their heartfelt confessions. Because they understand now that he is not like them.

And even after all this, Hanbin finds there is still enough disdain left in him. “You’re giving me a choice?”

“I did not give Mister Zhang one, since it had been a dire situation. But it is one of my only regrets that I did not.”

Hanbin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. One of his only regrets. How completely cruel Flamel is in his immortality.

“I would not have remembered anyway,” Zhang Hao says, accusing. “You are offering him a false choice.”

“Would it have made you feel better, if I told you that you had been given a choice and you chose to lose your memories?”

“I would not have believed you,” Zhang Hao says immediately. “Hanbin will never believe you—”

“But he will believe you.”

How completely cruel of Flamel, indeed, to be so heartless and yet have such an intimate understanding of human nature — because he has watched, like a detached, soulless observer, countless lifetimes come to pass. He may never be able to feel the emotions they do again, but that does not mean he does not know how to control them. Maybe that is what makes him truly inhuman — a monster.

“He would still remember me?” Zhang Hao asks, hollowly, almost hopefully.

“Not much,” Flamel admits. “But he may still feel drawn to you, inclined to trust you. His memories of this entire ordeal will have to be locked away though. And because so much of it includes you—”

“No.” Hanbin doesn’t intend to say it, but it bursts out from somewhere deep inside him. “I won’t forget about him.”

“Is that your choice?”

“No,” Zhang Hao says for him. And then he turns to Hanbin, pleading and desperate. “It doesn’t matter. If forgetting about me means you get to live. I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

“Hanbin, I don’t matter.”

“And I have been trying to tell you that you do.”

“You cannot let me make this choice for you.”

“Is that not what you’re trying to do?”

Zhang Hao winces. “I mean, you can’t make this choice over me. It is your life.”

“But it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Hanbin, please—”

“You have some time,” Flamel cuts in once more, merciless. “But not much. I can keep him at bay for now, but every second you wait is a risk.”

Hanbin frowns. “And what about Zhang Hao?”

Flamel tilts his head, eerie. “What about him?”

“You’ve told him all this tonight. Is he not also at risk?”

“He is.”

Said so easily, simply. Like it doesn’t make Hanbin’s heart seize.

“Telling you all this,” Flamel addresses Zhang Hao. “Has always been an inordinate risk. One that I would not have taken unless given no other choice. But it has become clear to me that it is not only Eiranaeus I had misjudged, but you as well. I had hoped that you would eventually give up on your pursuit. You are successful, smart, so clearly meant to excel. And I thought that would be enough for you.”

For someone who claims to be one of the best Wizards in modern times, it is laughable how little Flamel truly knows. If Zhang Hao had simply given in, thrown his hands up in defeat, lounged in his successes while taking the biggest concession of his life — he would not be Zhang Hao at all.

“But it is clearly not,” Flamel continues. “And it is a far greater risk to have you cross his path again, than to tell you all this now. That is what I meant when I said it is no longer prudent for me to keep my secrets.”

It’s pure, unadulterated hatred in Zhang Hao’s eyes as he looks at Flamel. If looks could kill, even the Elixir of Life would be no match for it. “This could have all been prevented — all of this, if you had just told me from the start.”

“You have had years to meld your mind, to strengthen it, for the gaps to close, for you to change. If I had told you all of this back then … things may have turned out very differently.”

“I am nothing but a calculation to you, am I? You pretend to be so concerned for my — for our — welfare, but this is all just some game to you, isn’t it?”

“I assure you, I do not see it that way.”

But it is hard for either of them to believe him.

“It is late,” Flamel says, his way of dismissing them, of ending this conversation on his terms. “Madam Pomfrey will be up here any moment now, if I do not send you both down to the Hospital Wing.”

“We are not done—”

“Do not take too long to consider, Mister Sung,” Flamel pins him with his faded pupils. “I know you will make the right choice.”

Before Hanbin can get a word out, Flamel and his office blinks out of existence right before his eyes. And in the next, it is the warm, low glow of the Hospital Wing that greets him. His chest feels empty, light in a way a feather drifts down slowly. He immediately turns, seeking out Zhang Hao, the pressure in his chest easing when he spots him in the next bed over.

Zhang Hao scrunches up his face. “Did he just … apparate us here?”

“I believe so,” Hanbin murmurs. He hadn’t even known that was possible. Not just apparition in Hogwarts, but being able to apparate other people — Flamel is truly terrifying.

He’s just about to get out of bed, because he needs to be close to Zhang Hao right now. He can’t stand even this little bit of space between their beds. But before he can move, Madam Pomfrey emerges from her office. “Do not even think about it, Mister Sung,” she snaps, hurrying over.

She fusses over the both of them, checking them for any further injuries, pushing pajamas into their hands and instructing them to lay down in their — separate — beds. Hanbin pulls his on with numb hands and then dutifully lies down in bed. Madam Pomfrey makes sure they are both properly tucked in, before turning away to fetch Sleeping Draughts. “It will help you get a good night’s rest,” she mutters.

Hanbin’s head is still spinning over everything that happened tonight, everything that Flamel said. His mind turns over the decision he has to make — I know you will make the right choice. But is it really any choice at all?

“Please, Hanbin.”

He turns his head to see Zhang Hao staring at him, his expression completely undone. It’s like he knows what he’s thinking.

Madam Pomfrey turns around, and Hanbin loses his chance to respond. She hands them each a small vial. “Drink up, both of you. Your systems are both still worn down by the Dementors; it’s imperative that you rest tonight in order to heal faster. No more talking; am I understood?” She sets both of them with a stern look.

And even as Hanbin nods, in unison with Zhang Hao, he knows he won’t get a wink of sleep.

Chapter Text

“Dim shadows of unrest may dare to grow,
And in the darkness of these sudden hours
Your gentle touch or words might make them go.”
— Pauline E. Soroka, Understanding

Zhang Hao

Zhang Hao doesn’t last ten minutes.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey retires for the night, he shuffles to the end of his bed and throws off his blankets.

“Hao—”

Hanbin isn’t even able to finish his sentence, before Zhang Hao is burrowing onto the bed next to him. He easily moves over to give him room.

“This might not be a good idea,” Hanbin murmurs.

Zhang Hao gives him a hurt look.

Hanbin’s lips almost twitch into a smile. “Because you’re injured. What if I accidentally hit you while I’m sleeping?”

“You won’t.”

“I—”

“I won’t be able to sleep without you,” Zhang Hao insists.

Hanbin doesn’t have any other arguments. But when Zhang Hao scoots closer, he also doesn’t wrap his arms around him like he usually does — Zhang Hao guesses that might be pushing it. His sides do still feel tender, but the physical pains will be taken care of rather quickly; Madam Pomfrey is an excellent healer. It’s the thoughts whirling through his mind, the sinking despair he feels in the pit of his stomach that will take far longer to fade. Zhang Hao doesn’t know if they will ever fade. Maybe just like his lost memories, these discomforts will become a part of him, until they define him, until he defines them.

“Did you take your Sleeping Draught?”

He should have known that Hanbin would have noticed. He shakes his head. “I don’t do well with them. I tried them at first when I was having trouble sleeping, but they just made my nightmares worse, and on a night like tonight …” Zhang Hao doesn’t have to elaborate.

The Sleeping Draughts had always made him physically tired, to the point where he couldn’t even lift his arm. But that had somehow made it worse, because his mind refused to quiet, and it only made him feel like he was trapped in his own body, trapped with something strange and foreign lodged in his brain. He would have nightmares that felt incredibly real — those were the times he remembers snatches of the night sky, of the stars scattered above him. But never anything else.

Hanbin traces his fingers gently over Zhang Hao’s brow, bringing him a measure of comfort. He feels his body sink into the soft mattress just a little bit more. When he focuses on the rough pad of Hanbin’s finger trailing over his brow and then down the slope of his nose, he doesn’t have to think about anything else. He doesn’t have to think about the truths that Flamel revealed — that he still hides. He doesn’t have to think about the horror of Eiranaeus, of seeing Warren— his eyes snap open.

“Sorry,” Hanbin murmurs, lifting his finger.

Zhang Hao holds onto his wrist before he can move too far away. “No, it was helping. It’s … I just can’t seem to stop thinking.”

“I get it,” Hanbin whispers. “Me too.”

Another wave of sadness hits him. “I’m so sorry, Hanbin. I should have never involved you in this. All these years I’ve never told anyone, and the one time I do …”

“Don’t say you regret it.” It’s quiet and soft, but it’s firm. Hanbin’s eyes flash in the relative darkness of the Hospital Wing. There is only the faint glow of candlelight from the back of the room, and it halos around Hanbin as he turns onto his side, shrouding his expression in shadow. “Because I don’t.”

“You will.” Zhang Hao doesn’t mean to voice his biggest fear. Because it’s a selfish thought — in a string of selfish things he has done tonight, this is the worst. Because even if what he said before was true, that he doesn’t matter in comparison to Hanbin’s life, that does not mean he wants Hanbin to forget. That does not mean he wants to lose him like that either.

He takes in a shaky breath. “You might agree now to have your memories locked away. You might even be understanding afterwards, with whatever version of this truth Flamel chooses to share. But in a year’s time, in many years’ time, somewhere further along in your life, you will come to regret your choice. You will come to hate it and everyone involved. Including me.”

That weighty melancholy spreads through him when Hanbin doesn’t immediately deny it. It presses down incessantly, tightening around his heart even as it expands against his rib cage, pushing and crushing everything in him—

“I thought you wanted me to do it,” Hanbin finally whispers.

“I do.” Zhang Hao tries to speak past the block in his chest. “But I don’t want to lie to you. I won’t trick you into making this decision.”

“I’m not going to make it tonight.”

Zhang Hao thinks that might be the first lie that Hanbin has told him. But Hanbin’s soft touch doesn’t waver as it ghosts over his forehead and down to his temples. He allows his eyes to drift shut. It’s easier to focus this way, to stop thinking about everything that has happened and to hone in on the sound of Hanbin’s voice and the soothing way he touches him. “It’s okay if you hate me,” Zhang Hao says in a small voice.

“I could never hate you,” Hanbin denies. But that’s too easy. It’s only unimaginable until it happens.

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything more though. It’s not really a conversation — argument — he wants to have right now.

Hanbin draws his finger over Zhang Hao’s cheek, pressing lightly where his mole fits under his eye and that spot blooms with heat. “Enough about me,” he whispers. “How are you feeling?”

Zhang Hao lets out a low breath. His heart is beating so hard through his chest he wonders if Hanbin can feel it rocking the bed. “I feel …”

Hanbin waits patiently for him to sort out his thoughts.

Except Zhang Hao doesn’t want to sort anything out right now. He just wants to continue to feel the gentle pressure of Hanbin’s finger on his face. If he keeps doing that, then everything else can be held at bay, his tears, his anger, his hurt, his panic, his fear. Everything is being held back by one tenuous touch.

What is he going to do when it’s gone?

The pressure in his chest finally caves in, crashing out in a sob. And when Hanbin’s finger leaves his face, he cries even harder, even as Hanbin so gingerly gathers him into his arms and presses his tear-stained cheeks into the soft fabric over his chest. That warm touch on his face is gone. It’s gone, it's gone, it’s gone. Zhang Hao fumbles around for Hanbin’s hand and clumsily pulls it back. Hanbin spreads his fingers over his cheek, cupping it and wiping at the wetness with his thumb.

He shushes Zhang Hao gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I know it’s been a lot. I know everything has been—” Hanbin seems to choke up himself, or perhaps he also can’t quite seem to sort out his thoughts tonight. Zhang Hao knows he shouldn’t be the only one crying right now. He shouldn’t be the one crying at all. He’s gotten the answers he wanted, hasn’t he? He should be satisfied now, shouldn’t he?

A cruel, bitter thought rolls through him, sounding a lot like Flamel. I thought that would be enough for you.

Is this his punishment? Dooming Hanbin to the same fate as him is the price he has to pay for simply wanting what was his back?

Hanbin draws his thumb over Zhang Hao’s cheek again, bringing a halt to his spiraling. “Stop. I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s my fault,” Zhang Hao chokes out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know this would happen,” Hanbin soothes.

“It’s still my fault.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Eiranaeus’s fault, it’s Flamel’s, it’s everyone who has failed you.” There is so much venom in his words that Zhang Hao nearly flinches back. He would if this was anyone else except Hanbin. Even at his most malicious, Zhang Hao could never draw away from Hanbin. “If they had just told you more, if they had just trusted you, you never would have felt like you had to do this. Flamel has been trying to dictate the situation, thinking that he knows best, making decisions for everyone else.”

A few more tears leak out from the corner of Zhang Hao’s eyes. He sniffles.

But Hanbin isn’t done. “I know you only did this because you felt like you didn’t have a choice, even with Gideon, you only struck that deal to your own detriment because you felt like you had to.”

“I’ve always had a choice,” Zhang Hao blubbers out near incoherently. The words taste bitter on his tongue — it’s the same thing he had told Gideon. He’s never cried this much in front of anyone before — not his parents, not Ricky, certainly not any of his other friends. It’s a horrid sight meant only for Hanbin.

“You wouldn’t be Zhang Hao if you had simply rolled over and conceded control of your life.”

Hanbin had told him something similar in Flamel’s office. The Zhang Hao that I love. It seems his selfishness knows no bounds tonight. “Say it again,” he begs.

Of course Hanbin knows exactly what he means. “I love you,” he says, emphatic. “I love you, because you’ve never chosen what was easy. I love you, because you refuse to change for anyone else. I love you, because I know you, and everything you have ever told me, about your memories, about what they did to you, about how much you’ve fought. On our train ride, you were … otherworldly to me, you were amazing. You were so patient and kind and open, but I could also sense that you were deeply upset. I didn’t realize why until after; I didn’t realize how much until this year. And that has made me love you all the more.”

A fresh wave of tears consume him, so much that he can’t do anything else but sob. And Hanbin gently brushes all of them away, gathering them until his fingertips are just as wet, until they finally diminish into sniffles.

“Better?” Hanbin asks.

Yes and no. He’s unable to answer, but Hanbin seems to get it anyway. They lay in silence for a long stretch, as Zhang Hao’s breathing evens out, as Hanbin’s finger returns to his temple, playing with the short strands of hair there.

“You should sleep,” Zhang Hao finally mumbles through puffy lips.

“What about you?”

“I won’t be able to.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re already doing it,” he mumbles. “But you need to rest.”

Hanbin levies him with an arch look, one that reads you do too, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Both of them know Zhang Hao’s slumber is unpredictable and uncontrollable. Usually with Hanbin beside him, it’s better — but not much can counter the horrors of tonight.

“There’s still a lot for us to talk about,” Hanbin whispers.

He knows. “Tomorrow,” Zhang Hao promises. Unlike him, Hanbin had taken his Sleeping Draught, and he can see in the way that his blinks have slowed that he’s growing tired. Exhausted, more like.

“Tomorrow,” Hanbin promises. When he closes his eyes, long lashes fanning over his cheeks, Zhang Hao leans over to place a gentle kiss to his forehead. But Hanbin has already fallen asleep.

Zhang Hao has no idea what time it is. They had set out for Flamel’s office close to midnight, but the events of tonight might as well have been a week long instead of a few hours. The high windows of the Hospital Wing remain dark, with only the pale sheen of the moon casting silver onto stone. He watches Hanbin and the faint movement behind his eyelids. It’s far preferable to track that than the complicated overlap of his thoughts. But still, it doesn’t keep Flamel’s voice from intruding.

But he will believe you.

It is not only Eiranaeus I had misjudged, but you as well.

Memories are fragile, unstable things, as is the mind.

The price of your safety was — is — those memories.

Zhang Hao keeps his body still so as not to disturb Hanbin’s sleep, even as inside, he veers violently from fury to understanding to a deep, deep sense of injustice. But most of all — ironically, terribly, selfishly, he still wishes he could just remember.

He knows the truth now, or at least as much as Flamel was willing to share and for once Zhang Hao doesn’t think he was being lied to. But if his memories unlock, he has a chance to save Hanbin. Even if it means dooming Hanbin to a life that he isn’t willing to live himself. Once again, despair swamps him. All of his thoughts, every emotion, returns there. Because no matter how hard he tries to think of another way, a different way, he’s thwarted at every turn, by Eiranaeus, by Flamel, by Hanbin’s ardent, infinite love for him.

And also by his own undying love.

Zhang Hao turns, tears staining his half of the pillow as he murmurs to Hanbin’s sleeping form, “I love you.”

A rumble of thunder reverberates through the freezing air as Zhang Hao steps out into the courtyard. He glances up to see dark clouds rolling rapidly through the sky — it’s going to storm. And it’s cold enough that this will likely be the first bad one of the winter. The courtyard is entirely deserted, growing darker by the second as the clouds thicken overhead. Zhang Hao quickly darts out onto the faded grass, the quickest way to the far hallway where he can disappear into the warmth of the stone castle again.

Just as he’s about halfway across, he spots a shadow of movement under the far archway. Zhang Hao draws to a startled stop. His heart, too, freezes in his chest. “Gideon?”

The tall form slumps against the stone pillar, as if he’s having a hard time keeping himself upright. Zhang Hao should rush to help him. He has to be seriously injured; Zhang Hao doesn’t even know how he made it back to Hogwarts. But if he’s here, that means Flamel must know right? Why isn’t he at the Hospital Wing getting checked by Madam Pomfrey? Unless … no one knows. The castle is empty right now without students, Gideon could have made it here without being seen. But the question remains: how did he get here to begin with? He hesitates, though his feet carry him a few more steps closer. Zhang Hao can see him clearly now. He’s pale and there are streaks of dried blood falling from his temple to his cheek, but it’s Gideon, for sure.

“Gideon,” he calls again. “How are you here? Are you okay?”

A rough laugh. But a bit of Zhang Hao’s concern eases as Gideon stands on his own without the help of the pillar, seeming a bit more stable as he casts his dark eyes over him. “Do I look okay?”

“No, you look terrible.” There’s no use sugar-coating it. Zhang Hao takes a few more steps forward. “We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No one can know I’m here,” Gideon shakes his head.

Zhang Hao pauses with suspicion.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Gideon sighs. That familiar, recognizable slant of hurt crosses his features before it returns to a pained grimace.

But Zhang Hao isn’t falling for it. “How can I be sure?”

“Here.” Gideon draws something from his tattered robe pocket — his wand. Zhang Hao tenses, but then he tosses it on the grass in front of them. “Pretty useless without that, right?”

For most wizards yes, but he knows Gideon is also quite skilled with wandless magic. However, it takes a considerable amount of strength and concentration to muster, and Zhang Hao doubts Gideon is in any physical state right now to cast truly dangerous spells without it. He nods, relaxing slightly. He can feel his own wand resting against the side of his leg in his robes. “Why can’t anyone know you’re here?”

“Because I have to go back.”

“What? Why? You’re here now. I can help you, or even Flamel. You don’t have to—”

“They’re watching.” Gideon flicks his gaze up and Zhang Hao’s eyes follow. The tension he had just let go of returns full force. Above them float three dark, cloaked figures — Dementors.

“They won’t attack. They’re just here to keep me in check.”

Despite the darkening sky, the Dementors still stand in stark contrast to the clouds. They’re endless pits of black, a tear in the sky that promises a rain of sorrow and anguish. Zhang Hao shivers, but he doesn’t think it’s from the sudden cold. The temperature has suddenly dropped, and frost forms, too rapidly to be natural, on the grass beneath their feet. It’s not until he sees his breath puff out in front of him and the first few flurries of snow start to fall that it clicks.

“That time on the bridge. Before we made our deal and you came running up to me. There had been Dementors around, hadn’t there? That’s why you were so concerned. That’s why the snow seemed to come so suddenly.” And then Zhang Hao makes another revelation, something he had been turning over in his head ever since it became clear that Gideon and Eiranaeus had far more history than Gideon let on, had some sort of agreement that involved Zhang Hao. “It wasn’t your father applying pressure on you. It was the Dementors. That’s why you needed Ricky to help you.”

Gideon doesn’t need to answer, Zhang Hao can see that he’s right based on his expression.

Yet that still doesn’t explain so much. “But if Eiranaeus was already keeping an eye on you. Why would he try to stop you from communicating with him? Why wouldn’t you be able to freely access the mirror? Flamel? Was it Flamel watching you?” Zhang hao remembers Gideon had said that Flamel didn’t approve of his father’s ambitions, perhaps that had put them at odds as well. But then, who knows if anything Gideon had told him back then had been real. Zhang Hao’s mind spins as he tries to piece together the truth from the little that he has. “Answer me,” he demands.

Gideon suddenly lets out a wracking cough, chest heaving and shoulders hunched over. Speckles of scarlet blood splatter onto the grass between them, already faded and dusted with snow. Zhang Hao takes a tentative step forward. “If you can’t go to Madam Pomfrey, at least let me take a look.”

But Gideon shakes his head, standing up straight again, though discomfort still flashes across his face. “It’s fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“He’s just going to make it worse when I get back anyway.”

“Let me help—”

Another firm shake of his head, and Zhang Hao stops insisting. “Fine,” he relents. “Why are you here then? What does Eiranaeus want?”

“You.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “Not Hanbin?”

A grim smile. “You were the one that got away. And I think it smarts his pride, the fact that Flamel got one over him, always has one over him. It would be a significant blow to him if he were to capture you again.”

“But I’m useless to him without my memories.”

Gideon nods. “You’ll die if he tries to extract your magic now, with none left to sustain his life.” He says it so coldly, so matter-of-factly. It’s clear most of what Eiranaeus said that night was no surprise to him.

“You knew,” Zhang Hao accuses. Any ounce of sympathy that he had for him just a second ago evaporates. Gideon could bleed out in front of him for all he cares. “You knew and you never told me.”

“You heard Eiranaeus — it would have cost me my life.”

“He would have killed you. Or gotten the Dementors to do the job.”

“There’s no need,” Gideon spits bitterly. “An Unbreakable Vow. When my father told me the truth of what happened to you — Eiranaeus was there. My own father served as witness to the oath that took so much of my life away.”

It’s a normal tactic from Gideon. A reminder of his cruel, cold family to garner his compassion. It doesn’t work this time. No, it only makes him furious. “I was just a child!”

“So was I!” Gideon’s voice cracks, and his eyes shimmer even against the murky haze of the storm.

The snow is heavier around them now. Gideon’s blood on the grass nearly covered over, now tinted a sickening shade of pink. Zhang Hao shivers, the cool wind ripping through him.

“I told you not to go looking for answers,” Gideon says. His dark eyes glimmer like obsidian through the flurry. “I said it wouldn’t give you what you wanted. You should have listened to me when I told you to let this go.”

Zhang Hao’s hands fist at his sides. The worst part of this is: he can’t even refute that. Because if he had listened to Gideon, if he had given this up … Zhang Hao briefly imagines the future that had stretched out before him the night of the Yule Ball. All those years that had seemed endless now lie crushed and ruined at his feet. His chest tightens. “You have no idea what it’s like. To feel like a part of you is missing. To be terrified of what has been done to you, what you might have done. To reach out for some part of yourself to find it gone.”

“It was only six months.”

“Do you hear yourself? Only six months? It changed my life. It changed who I am. There is nothing in my life that is untouched by what I lost. Not one day do I forget,” Zhang Hao laughs bitterly. “Not one day does anyone let me forget. Was I really so out of line? Was what I did really that awful? All I wanted to know what had happened to me. Something no one felt I deserved to know. Something you kept from me!”

“Why don’t you ask Hanbin if it was so awful then?”

Zhang Hao flinches. His cheeks are scalding — both hot and cold at the same time. “Hanbin doesn’t blame me,” he bites out. But that somehow makes it even worse. Because Hanbin should blame him. He is the only person that could talk to him like Gideon is doing, and Zhang Hao would just take it. Not just because he’s Hanbin, but because he would be right to be angry, to be upset, to finally, finally crack and let it out. Zhang Hao thinks back to that night in the Hospital Wing bed, when he’d broken down and Hanbin had been the one to comfort him. To tell him he loved him, after he had just ruined his life.

“Well, he certainly will once he loses his memories. Like you said — it changes a person. Nothing in his life will be the same. A part of him will be missing. And you will be the one who took it from him.”

Zhang Hao grits his teeth so hard he feels something crack in his jaw, but it’s the only thing keeping his lips from trembling. “Was this why you came? To make me feel worse? To tell me ‘I told you so’ and that you were right all along?”

“Of course not,” Gideon says, breaking off into another coughing fit.

The snow is coming down in earnest now, starting to rise around his shoes. He’s shaking — shivering — though from the cold or the guilt or both, he’s not sure.

Gideon clears his throat, looking a bit paler. “I said before: I’m here because Eiranaeus still wants you.”

“Why? You said so yourself, he won’t be able to use me.”

“He thinks he’s found a way to undo Flamel’s memory spell.”

Zhang Hao sucks in a sharp breath, a mistake because the air instantly freezes his lungs.

“You’ll finally be able to remember.”

That gives Zhang Hao pause. Regardless of all of Gideon’s lies, the one thing that he has always stayed consistent on is telling him that he should give up on his lost memories. For him to turn around now and try to use them to tempt him … Zhang Hao narrows his eyes. “Why would you want me to remember now?”

Gideon sighs. “Because you’re practically there anyway. None of my warnings over the years have worked. It’s clear you’re just going to do what you want. Besides, don’t you want to save Hanbin?”

It’s like those words were plucked straight from his brain. Without realizing it, Zhang Hao is nodding. Because of course he wants to spare Hanbin — he’s thought about it so many times. But then on the heels of it comes double guilt. It’s also the one thing Hanbin would never forgive him for. “When have you ever cared about Hanbin?”

“I don’t,” Gideon says. “But you do. And I’ve always cared about you.”

It might just be Zhang Hao’s imagination, but the Dementors above seem to be circling lower. Certainly, he’s barely able to hold back full-body shudders now. They’re running out of time.

At that moment, a single snowflake hits his cheek, right below his eye. And it ripples through him. No, not just through him — through the air, like a pebble tossed into a pond. His vision stays completely still, but he can sense it, the disquiet, the surge and swell around him, honed in on the place where the chill seeps into his cheek, so acutely.

It comes to him at once: he’s dreaming.

As soon as Zhang Hao realizes, it all becomes clear. The last thing he remembers is chasing every futile strand of thought in his mind as he lay next to Hanbin in the Hospital Wing. He doesn’t even know how he got to the courtyard. He doesn’t even know what he had planned on doing afterwards. This is Hogwarts and yet it’s not — so clearly now that he’s been snapped back into consciousness. Something about the pillars are slightly off, perhaps there are too many or too few, his brain has never bothered counting and so it can’t recreate it perfectly. And when he tries to peer beyond Gideon, into the yellow glow of the candlelight that promises shelter and warmth, Zhang Hao is quite certain the slant of the walls and the width of the doorways aren’t right for the Entry Hall.

He meets Gideon’s pitch-black eyes. And for a second, Zhang Hao fears that he can tell that he’s figured it out. That the Dementors will swoop down and suck all the life out of him until he wakes, gasping and terrified but from a nightmare he can actually remember this time. But Gideon doesn’t give a reaction. Of course he doesn’t, because he’s not real. Because he’s a product of Zhang Hao’s mangled brain.

Which means this conversation isn’t real. Which means none of this is real.

Yet Zhang Hao can’t help but feel like there are tendrils of truth here: the Dementors, the Unbreakable Vow. What had Burbage said during those annoying Divination classes? A lucid dream. A dream where the dreamer is aware that they are dreaming.

“If you come, he won’t go after him.” Gideon’s voice grates across his senses.

Zhang Hao tries to recall Burbage’s awful, breathy voice. It’s one of the most powerful states of consciousness. No, not that. It’s an extremely rare skill. Zhang Hao shakes his head to try to focus. The wind howls in his ear.

“You won’t come?” Gideon goads. “Not even to save your precious Hanbin?”

He isn’t real, Zhang Hao tells himself. But this conversation feels real. These are all things Gideon would do, would say. The blame, the games, the guilt tripping. For all intents and purposes, even if Zhang Hao hadn’t gotten the buildings quite right, his mind has conjured a near exact replica of Gideon.

Burbage’s voice drifts through his mind again: Once you realize you are in a dream state, it gives you absolute control over what happens. All of your subconsciousness suddenly opens up for you to explore at will.

Is that what Gideon is? A representation of his subconscious? Certainly that’s why his words had hurt so acutely before. Gideon had known perfectly where to strike.

“What if Eiranaeus can’t unlock my memories?” Zhang Hao challenges, his voice barely heard above the whirling storm now. “Am I supposed to believe he’ll just let us both go?”

The options as they stand, are no options at all. Either Hanbin keeps his memories and is hunted by Eiranaeus for the rest of his life — however long that is. Or he relinquishes his memories, so much of this year, everything Zhang Hao has told him, all of the moments they’ve shared where he pours his heart out to Hanbin, where he received Hanbin’s heart in return. And he comes to hate Zhang Hao for it, for being the one to put him in this position. Because between the two, there is no choice. It is his life or his memories. But the latter, in so many ways, is his life, as well.

Or Zhang Hao could betray him — and take the choice out of his hands. Just like Gideon is promising. If he strikes a bargain with Eiranaeus, maybe he can save him. But it’s a slim maybe. It’s not a maybe at all.

He’s trapped. He’s going to lose Hanbin. Unless he can figure something out here.

“He’s determined. He will unlock them,” Gideon promises.

That’s useless to him right now. He keeps pressing. “You said so yourself, he’s always been bested by Flamel.”

“There are other things you can offer him.”

Zhang Hao perks up.

“If you pledge your loyalty to him, even if you never become a sacrifice, you’re a strong enough wizard without your memories. You could still be of use.”

“You mean I could help him hunt other people.”

“You could convince him that you are worth letting Hanbin go. He has the Qilin now — he can find others.”

The thought makes Zhang Hao nearly sick. The fact that he would think like this … or is this just what he thinks Gideon would say? He should have paid more attention in Divination class, fuck. But this isn’t getting him anywhere. None of these are viable answers. So he tries something else.

“Is that the deal you made with him then? That you’ll help him capture sacrifices if he leaves me alone?” And even knowing this isn’t the real Gideon, Zhang Hao still finds his words manifesting in a snarl. Perhaps it’s easier this way, he can rage against him here, in his mind. In this dreamscape, he can take out his disgust and anger at Gideon all he wants, without feeling bad for harboring hatred towards someone who is most likely dead.

“And what if I did?”

“Then that was no favor for me at all,” Zhang Hao spits. “Do you think I would enjoy living knowing that it came at the price of other people?”

“He would go after them whether or not you are alive anyway.”

“So he’ll never leave Hanbin alone,” Zhang Hao whispers, more to himself than to Gideon. That notion nearly makes him laugh. This entire conversation is made up — everything he has said has been for himself. But the horror of his conclusion supplants any delirious humor he can find in this. Because as he utters it out loud once more in his dream, he can feel the truth of it: “He’ll never stop looking for Hanbin.”

The storm suddenly worsens, snow blowing fast and thick in front of him, wrapping him up until he thinks he’ll freeze over. His stomach drops. And the Dementors start to descend.

Zhang Hao wakes up with a loud gasp, heart pounding and chest heaving. It’s nothing new to him. But his despair and panic is amplified by the lingering effects of the very real Dementor attack. And this time, Hanbin doesn’t stir at his side, completely knocked out by the Sleeping Draught. Zhang Hao quickly curls over on his side to get as close to Hanbin as possible, even if it does send a shooting pain up through his ribs. In the pale moonlight, Zhang Hao can make out movement behind his eyelids and his mouth purses into a frown. Zhang Hao reaches over to brush a bit of his hair away from his forehead. He hates that they’re both having nightmares tonight.

And yet his wasn’t just a normal nightmare. A lucid dream, he ponders. More importantly though, he can remember every moment of it. Unlike all the nightmares related to his missing memories that feel like darting shadows in corners that he’s forever chasing, Zhang Hao still remembers the bright red of Gideon’s blood on the snow, the biting cold of the wind against his cheeks. Just thinking back on their conversation plummets his mood so suddenly that Zhang Hao jolts — a Dementor? But a quick look around proves that he’s just paranoid. There are no cloaked shapes bursting through the door of the Hospital Wing and the sky outside the high windows remain cloudless and clear.

Breathing becomes difficult with how heavy his chest feels, but Zhang Hao manages to take slow breaths in, and then low ones out. He pictures Gideon in his mind’s eye again — leaning against the stone pillar of the archway, his mouth twisted into a pained grimace, obviously battered and bruised. Gideon had lied to him. Gideon had lied to him for years. He had known what had happened to him and never tried to tell him. Regardless of the Unbreakable Vow, he could have at least tried to help. He could have done something. Yet even as his emotions dictate this feeling of betrayal, Zhang Hao’s logic tells him that perhaps he wouldn’t have acted differently if he’d been in the same position.

“I was just a child!”

“So was I!”

Numbly, Zhang Hao wonders if this fake conversation with Gideon will be his last. He doubts Gideon is still alive now. Eiranaeus had been dismissive of him, if not downright scornful. He wouldn’t allow him to live after he helped the two of them escape with the portkey. The pressure in his chest becomes unbearable.

“Do you think I would enjoy living knowing that it came at the price of other people?”

Now he’s left wondering if what he’d seen in his dream is the truth or simply imagination, without ever knowing the answer. But even the part of him that has gotten so good at pushing away his emotions, at compartmentalizing all his pain in favor of logic and a goal, crumbles in the face of losing not one but two of his friends tonight. It feels callous, cruel even to question whether or not they’re friends in the wake of their deaths. Regardless of the tension between them and how everything had devolved, they had eaten in his home, he had slept over in their houses, they had suffered through numerous boring dinners and stuffy holidays together and— tears spring to Zhang Hao’s eyes. What a horrible last Christmas together.

He doesn’t have the energy, the will, left in him to struggle on. That can wait until tomorrow, when he can talk about his dream with Hanbin, when he has to explain to Ricky — and Gyuvin and Gunwook — what had occurred tonight. Tonight. It’s the longest night of his life. And despite having gained most of the answers that he has sought for the past seven years, Zhang Hao has never felt more defeated.

The morning comes with a flurry of activity that does nothing but drain Zhang Hao further. It feels like as soon as Hanbin opens his eyes and Zhang Hao reluctantly slips back into his own hospital bed, Madam Pomfrey is upon them, performing another check-up, pushing more vials of potions into their hands, asking them questions over where their pain lingers. Zhang Hao doesn’t have the energy to try to keep up, even though he’s usually rapt with attention whenever she’s doling out her remedies. When Madam Pomfrey casts a Diagnostic Spell over him, she gives him a look that he returns with a small wince and ghost of a smile; she knows he didn’t sleep.

And then shortly after she finished applying poultice to their wounds, there’s the echo of voices and the tromp of feet by the doorway: their friends. It’s a testament to how worried they are that they risk the wrath of Madam Pomfrey and barge in before she’s given them permission.

“Hanbin! Zhang Hao!” Gyuvin exclaims, rushing over. “Are you okay? What happened?”

It’s also a testament to the ordeal they had and the obvious concern on their friends’ faces that Madam Pomfrey does nothing but purse her lips, finish bandaging up Hanbin’s arm and silently slips away with a warning of, “I will be back to check on you both later.”

“How did you know we were here?” Hanbin asks as Gyuvin, Ricky, and Gunwook fill in the space between both of their hospital beds.

“We thought you guys didn’t make it back, so we were on our way to Flamel’s office this morning—”

“This guy had the great idea of going after you two and started pounding on the door,” Gunwook remarks.

Gyuvin ignores him. “He told us that you two made it back last night but that you’re seriously injured and that Madam Pomfrey was taking care of you.”

Zhang Hao stays mostly silent as Hanbin recounts the details of last night. Or, well, some of the details. Actually, very few of the details. All he offers is that after they arrived in Flamel’s office, they found the mirror and had stepped through it to meet the man. After which, they had been attacked by Dementors, and Gideon had thrown them a portkey to make it back to Flamel’s office.

Revisiting all of the harrowing events, even glossed over, resurfaces all the questions still pinging around his mind: how had Gideon gotten a portkey to Flamel’s office? Now that he thinks about it, how had Gideon known how to get into the office so easily in the first place? What was the agreement he had with Eiranaeus? Had Gideon been working with Flamel in some way? Had they both been conspiring to keep him in the dark for the rest of his life?

And yet, instead of rousing his determination and resolve as all his unanswered questions up until this point have before, they do nothing but weigh him down. Zhang Hao feels incredibly tired, so listless he can barely lift his eyes to meet Ricky’s when sits at the end of his bed.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers.

“Not great,” Zhang Hao mumbles. A rather mild way to put it.

Ricky presses his lips together in concern. “Did you get the answers you wanted?”

Zhang Hao nods. But the cost was too great. It’s something he hadn’t thought possible, when he started seeking the truth. He had been prepared to give his life — but he hadn’t been prepared to give Hanbin’s, nor his memories.

“You’re thinking about something quite hard,” Ricky murmurs, gently. It’s not a question, and yet Zhang Hao feels like it somehow demands a response more than if he’d asked one.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” He just wants to rest; he just wants to curl over on his side and go to sleep, even if it means relinquishing himself to the nightmares. Let them take him.

Ricky frowns and scoots closer. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

And normally, Zhang Hao would dredge up whatever little energy he has left to reassure Ricky. To shoot him a smile, to sit up straighter, to pull together a semblance of his brave face for him. He doesn’t want him to worry; regardless of what Ricky said about not being a child anymore, he will always be younger than him, and Zhang Hao will always feel a sense of responsibility in their relationship. And yet, that isn’t enough to move him at this moment.

Ricky has never really been one for words either. Instead, he reaches over and takes one of Zhang Hao’s hands lying over the blanket. Ricky’s long fingers are warm — they’re never warm. His own are simply freezing. They sit silently like that, with their fingers loosely tangled, as Gyuvin and Gunwook listen with rapt attention at the rest of Hanbin’s retelling. They both turn pale when Hanbin mentions Warren’s death. At that, Zhang Hao does manage to give Ricky’s hand a squeeze.

“I can’t say I ever really liked him,” Gyuvin winces. “But that’s … is he really …?”

His wide eyes turn to Zhang Hao, who nods.

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Hanbin cautions.

“Why not?”

“His family should find out first. And be the ones to choose to share it.” A convenient answer — the truth — but also one that is able to conceal the true purpose and discovery of last night’s events. Zhang Hao feels a pang of gratitude to Hanbin, who keeps his secret, now their secret, even now.

Gyuvin and Gunwook nod somberly.

“I’m glad you both are okay,” Gyuvin gushes out, looking between them. “I can’t believe Grimsby was dealing with such Dark Arts. I mean Dementors? I thought they were illegal in England.”

Ricky shrugs. “I can. I never had a good feeling about that mirror — he was obsessed with it, as much as he seemed terrified of it.”

“Did he ever say anything else about it?” Zhang Hao leans forward. He may not ever get the answers that he wants from Gideon, but perhaps he had left behind clues. “Anything about where it’s from? Or why he had to find it? Even if you feel like it’s not important.”

Ricky gives him a long look, but eventually answers. “He wasn’t very forthcoming with specifics. I only got the sense that he was terrified of it because he’d suddenly become more … boisterous, with more bravado, when he was talking about it. As if he felt like he had to put up a front. A dead give away, if you ask me. But he always just said the same thing. That it’s an important artifact he’s tasked to find.” Ricky pauses. “He did say once that he was running out of time. But he never elaborated.”

Gunwook and Gyuvin continue to pepper them with questions. Hanbin answers most of them, careful to leave out anything involving Flamel, who Eiranaeus truly is, and how this affects them both.

Zhang Hao can tell that Hanbin is getting tired towards the end of it, his shoulders drooping slightly, his words wavering a bit. He must be exhausted, too. Not to mention, he’s the one currently in danger. Zhang Hao knows what it feels like to be hunted, to constantly be looking over his shoulder wondering when those who took him will strike. It wears on the nerves, it messes with your mind. A surge of protectiveness rises in him, and he leans forward in his bed. “That’s enough.” Gunwook and Gyuvin’s heads snap his way. “Sorry,” Zhang Hao mutters. “But he’s obviously tired.”

“It’s okay—” Hanbin starts.

But Gunwook shakes his head. “No, Zhang Hao is right. We shouldn’t be bothering you both right now. You should rest like Madam Pomfrey said.”

“It’s fine.” Hanbin looks over to Zhang Hao to reassure him with a small smile. “It’s nice to have some company.”

“We’ll come back around lunchtime to check on you two,” Gunwook offers.

Finally, Hanbin nods. He visibly droops back against his pillows as Gyuvin stands. They bid their friends goodbye even and as soon as they’re gone, Zhang Hao pads over to Hanbin’s bed again.

“Madam Pomfrey—”

“Can physically put me back in my own bed if she wants me to move,” Zhang Hao grumbles, tucking his feet into the covers next to Hanbin.

That at least gets him to chuckle. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted. You?”

“Me, too,” Hanbin sighs. “But you didn’t sleep last night did you?”

Zhang Hao remembers his dream. But before he can bring it up, Madam Pomfrey returns, bustling around the ingredient cabinets and taking notes at her desk. He shakes his head, lowering his voice. “Not much.”

“You should get a bit more rest, if you can,” Hanbin offers, hand coming up to guide Zhang Hao’s head to rest on his shoulder.

Zhang Hao goes easily. At least here, he feels a bit of his despair disappear. Even as the warmth of Hanbin’s side pressing against him reminds him of what is hanging over them. “Have you thought more about your decision?” he mumbles.

But Hanbin simply shushes him, smoothing his hand over his head. And after an indeterminate amount of time, filled with Hanbin’s even breathing and the gentle patting on his head and the sound of Madam Pomfrey shuffling about her shelves, Zhang Hao falls into a fitful sleep. He doesn’t remember if he dreams.

When he wakes a bit later, probably only a few hours based on the slant of the midday light shining down through the overhead windows, Hanbin is flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet next to him. He yawns and shuffles a bit, drawing Hanbin’s attention. Madam Pomfrey is nowhere to be seen when he looks around.

“She went down to the greenhouse to ‘salvage what she can before the worst of the winter gets here,’ she said,” Hanbin explains. “Are you feeling better?”

Slightly. At least he doesn’t feel like there’s a crushing weight over him now, though the thought of getting out of this bed and facing the world, facing everything, still feels like too much. “A little,” he mumbles.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sure Gyuvin and the rest will be up here with far too much food soon,” Hanbin grins. But his smile slides off his face when he peers closely at Zhang Hao. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just feel so …” Zhang Hao struggles to articulate it. “Overwhelmed.” And then he grimaces. “Though I shouldn’t be the one complaining. You’re the one who now has to go through so much.”

“You have every right to feel overwhelmed,” Hanbin comforts. He folds the paper neatly and sets it down on his lap. “Everything we learned last night was about your life. What you’ve been living with for the past seven years.”

“And what about you? How are you feeling?” Zhang Hao murmurs as he pushes himself up. He reaches over to cup Hanbin’s cheek, needing that instant warmth under his palm. Hanbin seems … too composed after everything that’s happened. He worries that he’s bottling everything away.

“Still tired, a little listless, but I think that’s the Dementors’ work. So the only remedy for that is probably time,” Hanbin sighs. He presses his cheek into Zhang Hao’s hand. “I have thought a bit more about my decision, but I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Hanbin—”

“Don’t,” Hanbin isn’t harsh, but he’s firm. “I know what you’re going to say, but I want time to think it over myself.”

Zhang Hao lowers his hand. He can’t help but be a little hurt at that. But he’s already asking so much of him. And so much has already been taken from Hanbin. He can give him this, at least. “If you need help thinking,” Zhang Hao offers, and he continues before Hanbin can protest. “I don’t mean about what I think you should do. But I’ve had my memories taken in the same way. If you ever want to know what that’s like, I’m here.”

Hanbin’s lips part like he wants to say something, but in the end he simply nods, bestowing him one of his softest looks. “Thank you.”

It’s then that Zhang Hao sees an unexpected face on the page of the Daily Prophet laid over the blanket. He blinks, staring down — at himself, beaming out of the page, his eyes glittery and his shoulders and waist perfectly sculpted in a dark dress robe as he twirls around the dancefloor with an equally effervescent Hanbin. “That feels like a lifetime ago,” he breathes.

“Doesn’t it?” Hanbin murmurs, eyes also cast downwards towards the paper. “Dew Goldstein’s article finally came out.” He opens up the paper with a flourish and begins reading with great pomp and circumstance: “As always, the Great Hall is decorated in a most spectacular fashion, but even it pales to the glory of the Champions who fill it. Perhaps, most of all, the two Champions who call Hogwarts home, Hanbin Sung and Zhang Hao. The two made quite a statement that night, and not just with their dazzling looks and jaws that could carve a wand, but with the scandalous reveal of their dates: each other. The gasps were audible across the room when the two walked out arm in arm …”

Zhang Hao giggles, reaching over to snatch the paper away from him. “Please, no more. I feel my brain melting out of my ears already. How do people read this drivel?”

Hanbin smiles at him warmly, and Zhang Hao realizes that was his intention: to get him to laugh. He shakes his head, dropping the paper to the side of the bed before inching even closer to Hanbin. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “I’m more worried about you. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Hanbin swallows, fingers playing with the sheet pulled over them. He seems to be deep in thought, and this time, it’s Zhang Hao who gives him as much time as he needs to think. Finally, Hanbin shakes his head, murmuring, “Have you ever seen someone die?”

Disappointment thuds through him — but he understands. “I don’t remember it, but I must have. When I came back to Hogwarts after my disappearance, I could suddenly see the Thestrals.”

“That must have been horrible,” Hanbin murmurs. “Seeing them and not even remembering what had happened to you.”

“For a long time, I worried that I had been the one to kill them,” Zhang Hao chokes out. “A Priori Incantato on my wand had at least set those nightmares at ease. But, it left all the other horrible options open. I still don’t know what it is that I saw. But now after having experienced Eiranaus — I’m sure it wasn’t anything good.” Zhang Hao laughs humorlessly. “Not that death ever is.”

“I never knew you could see them. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I’ve never told anyone.” Just another thing among many that Hanbin draws out of him, that he trusts only to tell Hanbin and no one else. More than anything, Zhang Hao wants him to trust him back.

“Now, I’ll be able to see them, too,” Hanbin whispers. A small pause. “No one deserves to die like that. Do you think Grimsby— Gideon is also dead?”

Zhang Hao nods. “There’s no way Eiranaeus would let him live.”

“He’s … resourceful though.” Hanbin hesitates, as if it’s difficult to compliment him, even in death. “He might have made another deal.”

“Do you really want him to?” Zhang Hao murmurs. He remembers his dream. About how Gideon had come back to Hogwarts in an attempt to get him to go with him — to save Hanbin and hand himself over in service to Eiranaeus, dead or alive. He shudders. “You’re too kind, Hanbin.”

“If it means he lives, then I would understand if he did anything he could to survive.”

“But if it means he puts you in danger. In even more danger,” Zhang Hao amends. “I would rather he be dead.”

“You don’t mean that,” Hanbin says gently.

Immediate guilt fills him. But he does mean it. And it’s not just his pride smarting, not letting him take back something that he’s said out loud. But he really does. Nothing is more important to him than Hanbin, and as much as he wishes Gideon were still alive, that he hadn’t lost two people in his life in one night, he would not change things if it meant that Hanbin could be safe for a while longer. “Do you really think Flamel will be able to keep him at bay?”

“Do you?” Hanbin returns. “You know him better than me.”

“I don’t trust him,” Zhang Hao grumbles. “But based on what I saw in the pensieve, I don’t think he’s lying this time.”

Hanbin nods. “At least that gives me a bit of time.”

“It’s still dangerous, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao urges.

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

And yet still Zhang Hao worries.

Hanbin reaches over to smooth his thumb between his brows, chuckling. “I can see you frowning.”

“Flamel was wrong about Eiranaeus before. I won’t take the risk that he could be wrong about this, too. Not when it comes to you.”

“You can’t follow me everywhere,” Hanbin reasons.

“Watch me.” Zhang Hao narrows his eyes.

They spend two weeks in the Hospital Wing. But even when Madam Pomfrey declares them adequately recovered to leave her diligent and, frankly, tyrannical care, Zhang Hao doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It will never be enough — the time he has with Hanbin. The brief interlude of peace they have of constantly sharing a bed (because Madam Pomfrey had soon given up on urging Zhang Hao back to his own bed only to turn around and find him in Hanbin’s once more) and taking every meal together and catching brief snippets of rest tucked against each other does not feel like hardly enough if he is going to lose Hanbin at the end of this.

But there is no if, is there? Either way, Hanbin is lost to him. And so Zhang Hao finds himself loath to leave, to face the starting semester with anything besides deep dread.

“Will you two be able to compete like this?” Gunwook asks with a frown on the eve before students are due back for the semester.

It’s a topic that they’ve spoken about, just one of many. Zhang Hao immediately takes the opportunity to say, “I don’t think Hanbin should compete.” Even as they healed, some days better than others, Zhang Hao continues to worry about him.

“And I am not going to let you win that easily,” Hanbin replies smoothly. The color has returned to his cheeks, and he’s, physically, all healed. But sometimes Zhang Hao catches him staring into the middle distance with a blank, uneasy look.

“And I’ve told you, it’s not about winning,” Zhang Hao grumbles. “It’s too much of a risk for you to be in the Tournament.

“Just like it was a risk for you after the First Task,” Hanbin frowns.

They’ve talked about this plenty of times — fought about it plenty of times. And Hanbin always gets him with this line. He hadn’t put up any protest when Zhang Hao had wanted to continue on, even after Jiwoong’s warning with the pensieve; they hadn’t even had to talk about it. Hanbin had just easily accepted it as his choice. Zhang Hao grimaces. He wants to say this is different, it’s no longer just a hunch or suspicion. And yet, he respects Hanbin, loves him, too much to make this choice for him. Even when it is those two same emotions driving his concern.

“I mean …” Gyuvin starts uncertainly, wide eyes flickering between the two of them, not used to seeing the two of them disagreeing on anything. “It’s probably not a good idea for either of you to stay in the Tournament, right? After everything that’s happened.”

Immediately, both him and Hanbin shake their heads in unison.

“I’m seeing this through to the end,” Zhang Hao says with great finality, and that’s the end of that. He can’t quite explain it — perhaps it’s his signature stubbornness, but he refuses to let Eiranaeus, Flamel, any of this interfere with his life. He still has to live, and he won’t hide away and do nothing for the rest of his life just because of it. He’s already lost his memories. He’s about to lose Hanbin. And he refuses to lose anything else.

“Don’t look so worried,” Hanbin nudges Gyuvin. Everyone will be watching, including the judges and Headmasters. “Nothing is going to happen.”

But none of them look particularly convinced.

The weather has continually worsened as they got deeper into January, and by the first day of classes, Zhang hao’s mood hangs at a constant low — exacerbated by having to spend more than a few minutes away from Hanbin for the first time in weeks. Despite his threat, Zhang Hao can’t barge into every one of Hanbin’s courses, he can’t waltz through his Common Room during busy hours since he’s technically not allowed to be there.

The absence of Gideon and Warren don’t go unnoticed, and the whispers start almost immediately. Zhang Hao barely manages to suppress a grimace whenever he overhears yet another rampant rumor about where they’ve gone — “Probably had a bit too much fun on holiday, huh?” he overhears a snarky fourth-year Gryffindor remark by the greenhouse — which get more ridiculous by the day. He knows their families have been informed — he received a letter from his parents in the Owl Post while he was in the Hospital, but had barely been able to read through it once. It sits at the bottom of his trunk now, unanswered.

He finds he has no interest in anyone or anything else besides Hanbin. Part of it is the paranoia, he fears if he doesn’t have eyes on Hanbin at all times he could be snatched away and he’ll lose him forever; and part of it is exactly that, Zhang Hao can’t help but feel like their time together is limited, water slipping between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to keep them cupped. He feels like he’s losing grip on reality, on his sanity.

“Mister Zhang. Do you have a moment?” Professor Burbage’s question stops him in his tracks next to Taerae, who has been shooting him odd looks all throughout class. Though that’s actually quite the norm now. Zhang Hao hasn’t told his friend what happened over the holidays, but Taerae has a razor-sharp precision when it comes to reading people, so he’s obviously noticed that something is off.

Zhang Hao turns to Burbage, wanting to say no. Hanbin is waiting for him. It’s been too long since he’s seen Hanbin. Hanbin might need him. He certainly needs Hanbin. Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin. But he’s been meaning to talk to Burbage, too. And better now when Hanbin will be surrounded by a Great Hall full of students. He reluctantly nods.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Taerae whispers. It’s proof of just how worried he’s grown, because any other time, he would have booked it out of the classroom at double speed and left Zhang Hao to it.

“No, it’s okay,” Zhang Hao says quickly. He needs to speak with Burbage privately. “You and Ricky go ahead without me.”

“Okay, we’ll save you a spot at lunch.”

“Hanbin—”

“Yes, I’ll make sure your boyfriend is sitting with us, too,” Taerae smirks. Zhang Hao’s growing attachment has also not gone unnoticed.

Only after the tower door closes does Burbage turn to him, with an uncharacteristically serious look. “I had the chance to go over everyone’s dream journals over the holiday,” he starts.

Zhang Hao already knows where this is going.

“Yours was certainly … enlightening. I am glad that you took the exercise so seriously, Mister Zhang. It is truly amazing what we can learn from our dreams.”

“I didn’t really dream,” Zhang Hao manages.

“Ah yes, but I was correct in saying that jotting down your thoughts before and after you try would prove fruitful, no? In fact, I would even wager to say that in your particular case, your emotions on the page are worth even more than any that dreams could produce.”

Zhang Hao remembers what he wrote. Scribbles of frustration, of fear, his aversion to sleeping, the pain of being kept up for hours in the middle of the night, the dragging exhaustion, the bouts of rest he does get when his body can’t take any more. He doesn’t think any of it was particularly fruitful. “How so?”

“It’s clear that your subconscious is trying to tell you something,” Burbage says plainly.

Zhang Hao nearly snorts, but he manages to hold back. It’s not Burbage’s fault that he doesn’t know anything.

“But not only that,” Burbage continues. He wanders behind his desk and picks up a slim bound book — Zhang Hao’s journal. “Someone else is trying to tell you something, too.”

“Who? How can you tell that from just my journal?” he asks suspiciously.

“I have been trained for many years in Divination,” Burbage chuckles. “It is there between the lines, in various nuances that indicate there is something warring with you in your mind. But it is clear that when you finally do dream, it will be a highly prophetic one. It will reveal great things about yourself and perhaps even about the world around you. ”

“I had a lucid dream,” Zhang Hao blurts out. “Over the holiday.”

“Oh?” Burbage’s eyes light up. “I thought you said you couldn’t remember your dreams.”

Just my nightmares. But Zhang Hao doesn’t say that. He simply says, “I couldn’t before. Until I had this one.”

“I would love to interpret it with you, if you would care to share.”

Zhang Hao hesitates.

“It is quite alright if it is private, Mister Zhang. Dreams do tend to be that way.”

“How do I go about interpreting it?”

“Dreams are personal matters. You may look up the general meanings of certain events or items that you see — but I have found that the truest divinations always involve your own personal feelings. Think about where you had the dream, perhaps who was in it. Words sometimes have double meanings, think about what they said and if anything particularly stood out to you.”

“That’s not very helpful. How do I know if it was real or not?”

Burbage laughs, a booming, belly-shaking sort of laugh. “Divination is rarely as simple as that. Is it real because it exists in your mind? Or is it only real if you perceive it while awake? And even then, aren’t you processing it through the same mind that would then divulge your dreams to you?”

Zhang Hao’s head spins. Everything that Gideon said rushes to the forefront of his mind. Does that mean all of it is real? Or does that mean it’s only real in the way that his mind has interpreted all the clues that he had received on that horrible night?

Burbage gives him an encouraging look. “Dare I say though, your lucid dream is a very good sign. A breakthrough. Perhaps you may have even more. I suggest you jot them down, if you do.” Burbage hands over the well-worn journal. Zhang Hao takes it.

Before he slips out of the classroom, Burbage calls his name again. Zhang Hao looks back with one hand caught on the door.

“I had thought that this would be the first class you wouldn’t get top marks in,” Burbage says with a twinkle of mirth in his eye. “I am glad to have been proven wrong.”

Zhang Hao leaves with conflicted feelings, the journal heavy in his hand.

There’s an uncomfortable, churning feeling in Zhang Hao’s stomach as he sits in the Champions’ Tent — the same one they had waited in off the pitch for the First Task. Everything about today is so similar to then: the roar and chatter of students outside, the tense anticipation coiling within him, the posturing of the six Champions as they keep to their own small corners. He hadn’t gotten a good look at how the Quidditch pitch had been transformed this time, but based on the excited squeals and shouts of surprise from the foot traffic around the tent, it must be elaborate and impressive — as expected.

Hanbin leans forward, his thumb tugging slightly so the lower lip Zhang Hao hadn’t even realized he’d been gnawing on slips out from his teeth. “You’re going to split your lip at this rate,” Hanbin smiles. “Nervous?”

“How can I not be,” Zhang Hao grumbles.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Hanbin reassures.

“How are you so calm?” Zhang Hao asks, incredulous. While he feels — and acts — like he’s been losing his mind these past few weeks, Hanbin has outwardly not shown any signs of distress. Apart from those moments where he draws quiet, when he thinks Zhang Hao is asleep or not paying attention and gets that contemplative, faraway look in his eyes, Hanbin has continued to be a shining Prefect and darling Hogwarts Champion in front of the masses, with no sign as to what happened over the winter break, with no sign as to his impending decision that draws closer and closer each day. Every time Zhang Hao tries to bring it up, Hanbin simply soothes him and tells him he’s not ready to talk yet.

“I’m actually panicking on the inside,” Hanbin chuckles.

Zhang Hao pinches his cheek, part annoyed, part endeared, and Hanbin giggles some more, the lines of his dimples forming fully, and swats him away.

He had thought that spark of competitiveness, the push and pull of wanting to best Hanbin would have faded after everything — but similarly to his stubbornness to remain in this competition, he finds that he still wants to pit his skills against Hanbin’s fully, completely, and see who comes out on top. No one else has challenged Zhang Hao quite like him; there have been those who have gotten close, who are also good wizards, but there’s just something about Hanbin and the utter power he has, the skillful way he fights — just like he dances: precise, sharp, without any superfluous movement — that is full of life. Zhang Hao’s heart squeezes. Even without the Qilin, he should have known.

“What are you thinking about?” Hanbin prods him in the side, soothing it immediately with a curving palm.

Zhang Hao shakes his head to clear his mind of superfluous thought. It’s too dangerous to be distracted right now, especially going in so unprepared. They never had time to actually do research for this Task. He turns to Hanbin. “I’m thinking about how much I want to beat you.”

Hanbin laughs. “You always surprise me.”

“I never surprise you, that’s the problem,” Zhang Hao mutters.

“You do,” Hanbin insists.

Before Zhang Hao can say anything else, Montmorency enters the tent with his usual flourish and extravagance. “Champions!” he calls with his arms as much as his mouth. “The Second Task will begin shortly. I hope you are all prepared to bring your best! What a show it will be!”

Violet stands a little straighter, fluffing out her hair; Milena scowls at Montmorency and flexes her wand hand, as if ready to strike him. Zhang Hao feels the warm weight of Hanbin’s arm around his waist disappearing as they head over to the opening of the tent to file out in their usual formations.

He watches the back of Violet’s bobbing head with great curiosity, as they wait for Montmorency’s final signal. He hasn’t spoken to her since the night of the Yule Ball. He hasn’t spoken much to anyone these past few weeks. But he can’t help but wonder how much she knows about what happened to Gideon. Is she heartbroken? He doubts it. They were never really in love, just together for mutual benefit. But even then, she wouldn’t be so heartless would she? She must at least be slightly concerned. And yet as she tosses her shoulders back and marches in front of him with her head held high and a bright smile on her face as she demures and flirts with the crowd high up in their stands — once more gathered to cast judgment on them — he doesn’t see a shadow of hesitation or worry in her features.

Zhang Hao switches over to scrutinize Lee, marching next to her with a rigid, straight spine. He must know more than he’s letting on. He must. There’s a suspicious, niggling doubt in the back of Zhang Hao’s mind that tells him so. Or maybe that’s just his paranoia acting up again. And yet, he can’t help but wonder how many of his peers had actually known what had happened to him? How many of them had secretly laughed as he had struggled? Had smirked behind their palms and thought poor Zhang Hao who doesn’t have a clue, who doesn’t know anything while he lost his sleep and his sense of self. It hurts. It burns. He wants to launch forward and tackle Lee off his feet. He wants to rage and set the world on fire. He doesn’t do either of those things — he can’t. So instead, he sets one foot in front of the other, so precisely it feels like he’s walking a highwire act. And he lets the flames kindle his ambition.

Hanbin reaches over to link their hands, and maybe Zhang Hao clutches onto him harder than he should. It’s like Hanbin knows that he needs this. And with that familiar weight in his grasp, Zhang Hao finally allows his eyes to drift up and out towards the Quidditch pitch, higher still to the imperious panel of judges in their exclusive stands, and around to the hoard of curious, hungry eyes as they cheer and jeer and whistle and shout. But unlike the First Task, the spectators aren’t the greediest ones on this field anymore; that would be him.

Most of the pitch ahead of them is obscured from view by two large tall hedges. There is a gap in the middle: the tunnel into the maze. A harsh, cold wind blows across their group as they spread out in a line to face it. Zhang Hao mourns the loss of Hanbin’s hand in his.

Above them, Montmorency’s disembodied, amplified voice rings out. “Welcome, everyone, to the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament,” he booms. “Of course, it is I, Wesley de Montmorency, who will be your announcer this fine winter day.” He makes a quick introduction of the other judges and Headmasters that receive a smattering of applause. When he names the Champions, that receives quite a bit more enthusiasm.

Zhang Hao lets the noise fuel him as he peers into the entrance. He catches a shape moving within, though the tunnel makes everything dark and hard to discern. He shifts impatiently on his feet.

“As you can see, we have an intricate maze of mirrors that is designed to test not only the Champions’ skills, but also their instincts and cunning.”

If one thing can be said about Montmorency, he really knows how to rile up a crowd. Zhang Hao can feel the tension building in the air, everyone hanging onto his every thunderous word.

“Through a neat little enchantment, the maze is larger than it seems, spanning several miles across what we have packed into this neat pitch for you all. It will be a race to the center of the maze for our dear Champions. And be warned, only the first to reach it will receive an incredibly valuable object that will aid you in the last Task of this Tournament. Just to make it a little more interesting.” Zhang Hao can practically hear Montmorency’s wink.

“Champions, prepare yourselves!”

The crowd roars to a crescendo above him. It makes his heart race; it makes his shoulders tense. Zhang Hao reaches into his robe pocket for his wand, and he runs through a list of quick spells off the top of his head that might be useful: the shielding charm, Protego; counter charms for Colloportus; Aparecium to reveal what may be hidden inside the mirrors. He has no idea what to expect — but his biggest concern of all: Hanbin. If Eiranaeus uses this as a chance to attack, it won’t just be defensive and unlocking spells that Zhang Hao will need. His grip around the smooth wood tightens.

“Five!” Montmorency and the crowd chants, counting down. “Four!”

In the midst of the tense countdown, Zhang Hao feels an intense focus on the side of his face. He immediately darts his gaze over to Hanbin. Their eyes meet, a clash of worry, suspense, anticipation, resolve, and fear. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“Three!” The crowd roars, nearly drowning out Montmorency’s own call.

“Be safe,” Zhang Hao mouths to him, knowing Hanbin will understand even if he can’t hear above the cheers. “Please.”

“Two!”

“You too,” Hanbin whispers. And Zhang Hao swears he can hear the sweet caress of his voice even as Montmorency and the crowd yells above them —

“One!”

Hanbin dashes forward immediately; Zhang Hao just half a step behind him. As soon as he enters the tunnel, it’s like he’s been sucked into a vacuum. The shouts from the stands fade and the harsh breaths of his fellow competitors swirl around him, their heavy footfalls ring through his ears in the narrow space. Zhang Hao sees Lee and Callidora exit the tunnel first, followed by Milena and Hanbin just a half-second later. And then he breaks out into the maze, the muffled noise of the crowd crashing around him again. Lee and Callidora are already out of sight, having darted through one of the various pathways around them. He sees Milena running to his left and Hanbin to his right.

Everything in Zhang Hao is screaming at him to follow Hanbin. Don’t leave him alone, his brain yells. The part of him that panics every time Hanbin is out of sight blares its alarms. His feet take him two steps to the right, before he jerks his body around, darting through the opening straight ahead, his own reflections chasing him down the hall. Every step that he takes away from Hanbin spikes a sharp protest in his heart, but Zhang Hao can’t just follow him through the entire Task. All he can do is make it to the center as quickly as possible — and hope that Hanbin does the same.

He draws to a stop at a fork in the path and takes in his surroundings properly for the first time. The maze is indeed made of mirrors — of all shapes and sizes, some with intricate wooden trim, some with rough metal frames. They all loom larger and taller than him, but vary in every other aspect: round, square, thin, wide. The largest one that Zhang Hao can see is to his right, probably three times as wide as he is tall. But it’s not the mirrors that really catch his attention, it’s his reflections. Six, twelve, eighteen of them all staring back at him with wide eyes and mussed hair.

A flash of blue out of the corner of his eye has Zhang Hao jumping, raising his wand in preparation for an attack. But when he whirls around, his heart in his throat, he faces his own frantic reflection. In the distance, he hears a sharp high-pitched yell, maybe Milena or Violet. It’s fine, everything is fine, Zhang Hao wills himself to take a deep breath. Another spell sparks in the distance, glowing over the tall wall of mirrors, and he barely holds himself back from flinching. His nerves are already shot and it hasn’t even been five minutes into the Task yet.

At least this tells him something he’s suspected: these aren’t just regular mirrors. The yell had sounded more like one of surprise than true danger, so Zhang Hao forces himself to relax marginally, glancing to his right and left, trying to pick a route. He heads left — deeper into the maze.

The sky above is bright even though the air carries the chill of deep winter. Zhang Hao tunes out the chatter and shouts from the students above as he jogs past his own face. Some of the mirrors are distorted ones, stretching and melting his features in silly and grotesque ways. He only spares the judges one glance; it’s too hard to make out from this distance, but he thinks Flamel is looking right at him. Zhang Hao quickly looks away. He eventually arrives at a dead end and frowns. He could double back, but he has the sense that it won’t get him far.

“Appare Vestigium,” he whispers, waving his wand in an arc around him to cast the Tracing Spell.

A spray of gold circles his vicinity, and Zhang Hao watches carefully to see where the small tendrils lead. There! Zhang Hao steps three paces back to a nondescript looking mirror sandwiched between a tall gilded frame and a rickety wooden one. This mirror is of an average height and width, nothing remarkable. And yet the golden light of his spell lingers, gliding across the glass surface before disappearing.

Zhang Hao walks right up to the glass, his reflection doing the same until he’s inches away from himself. He almost expects for the mirror version of him to break away, to wink, to wave, but it only raises the same hand he does, reaching forward until his palm touches the glass. He nearly shouts when it suddenly ripples. Zhang Hao leaps back in alarm. But nothing runs out at him, instead the surface of the mirror settles back into stillness.

Montmorency’s voice drifts over the maze in the background: “Callidora seems to be running in circles, oh dear! Meanwhile, Lee has gotten himself into a bit of a bind.” Self-satisfied chuckles drift across the sky.

Zhang Hao places his hand on the mirror again, and once more it ripples from his touch. But it feels like glass beneath his palm, and when he pulls his hand away once more it comes back dry.

“Zhang Hao hasn’t made much progress into the maze,” Montmorency comments.

He grits his teeth.

“But this early in the Task, it is still anybody’s game!”

Tuning out Montmorency’s commentary, Zhang Hao tests the mirror once more. This has to be a clue of some sort — a pathway that he simply needs to unlock. “Aguamenti,” he murmurs, and a stream of water bursts forth from the tip of his wand, but it simply slides off the pane of glass. It doesn’t even ripple.

Scowling, Zhang Hao paces the length of the corridor once more, wondering if he should double back and take another path after all. However, he fears that the maze was constructed this way on purpose, to eventually lead all of the Champions to dead ends where only solving a puzzle or riddle will allow them deeper into the maze. Montmorency had said this Task would test more than just their abilities to cast spells.

Zhang Hao stops in front of the mirror again, testing a few more spells against it: Aqua Eructo, the Bubble-Head Charm, a Scuba-Spell. All to no avail. The water effect has to be a clue though. He’s just missing the correct spell … and then it clicks—

The mirror is already water. What he needs is something that will remove it.

He quickly murmurs the incantation for a Drought Spell, gasping when the water — and the face of the mirror — slowly starts to dissipate into the tip of his wand, revealing a doorway through the now-empty frame of the mirror. He hurries through, barely reveling at his victory even as Montmorency’s voice rings overhead: “It seems like Zhang Hao has cracked it, everybody!”

Once more picking a random path, Zhang Hao takes rapid turns through the twisting maze, doing his best to avoid his own reflection, doing his best to not flinch every time he thinks he sees a smooth face, dark eyes, and thin lips stretching into a snarl, to gasp when he catches a glimpse if Gideon’s broad back and proud brow out of the corner of his eye. Tricks, his mind tells him. They are all tricks. Just his own fears and the recollection of the two-way mirror preying on his mind in moments of vulnerability. This had happened back then as well after his disappearance — he had begun seeing shadows that weren’t truly there, horrors waiting in the dark, getting the foreboding feeling of being watched. Though now that he knows more of the truth … he wonders how much of that had truly been his imagination.

A sharp cackle to his right makes Zhang Hao pull to a sharp stop, his wand already up, an attacking spell on the tip of his tongue, when a body hurtles around the corner towards him. He only barely manages to reign back his curse when he recognizes Callidora’s tall figure and dark hair, not to mention the sharp slashes of her eyes as they flash at him, noticing his fighting stance.

“Whoa,” she raises her hands up. “Where do you think you’re pointing that wand?”

Zhang Hao lowers his hand, scowling and trying to calm the racing of his heart. “I thought you were a … monster.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be that far off. I just had to subdue a hoard of Fire Crabs.” Her mouth twists.

He also scrunches up his nose. Nasty little things — not particularly dangerous unless someone happened to be dumb enough to wander into a whole nest of them, but definitely a nuisance to deal with. Now that she mentions it, Zhang Hao notices that the bottom edge of her robes are slightly singed.

“You see anything that can get us out of here?”

Zhang Hao raises his brow.

“Fine,” Callidora sniffs, turning her pointy chin away. “Don’t tell me. And I won’t tell you what I know.”

Zhang Hao figures there’s nothing to lose here and shakes his head. “I haven’t seen anything yet. I figured it’ll be much like the first mirror — dead ends until we can solve a puzzle.”

Callidora nods in agreement. “After I trapped the Fire Crabs, I was able to move forward, but I’ve walked through nearly all of the corridors in this section now, I reckon. It leads us in one big circle.”

Zhang Hao blows out a breath. Makes sense that it’ll only get more difficult from here on out. Briefly, he wonders where Hanbin is. Montmorency hasn’t mentioned him yet. “Have you seen anyone else?”

She shakes her head. “This maze is massive though — they’re likely stuck in different parts of it, to stop us all from congregating in one area. To keep it interesting.” She sneers the last bit.

Unlike Violet, Zhang Hao had always gotten the impression that neither of the Durmstrang girls cared very much for putting on a show. But like Violet, Zhang Hao also suspects they have their own reasons for wanting to be a Champion, wanting to win. Perhaps simply just for glory, for the bragging rights. But something tells him it’s more than that.

“Miss Munter and Mister Zhang are having a nice little chat — but they better get a move on if they want to catch up with the rest of the Champions!” Montmorency trills, as if purposefully taunting them.

Both of them scowl up at the sky at the same time — the sun shining down on them, making the glare off the mirrors particularly hush. Zhang Hao catches bits of jeers and the rising tide of murmurs from the crowd, though they’re too far away for him to make out any singular comment.

“Annoying bugger,” Callidora mutters.

He snorts. “Montmorency isn’t too bad — I have a feeling he’s playing a role more than anything.”

“Well, he’s doing a damn annoying job of it.”

“He’s not wrong though,” Zhang Hao glances around them, hating the way the mirrors reflect back eight different versions of them both. “It’s time to go.”

“Well …” Callidora waffles for a bit, as if not sure how to leave a parting jab. Finally she settles on, “I’ll get there before you.”

Zhang Hao snorts. “Good luck.”

She tosses him a look — challenging and defiant. But as she turns and heads back the way she came, Zhang Hao gets the feeling that challenging and defiant might just be her way of being friendly. He heads the opposite way.

Callidora hadn’t been wrong though, after more running and hearing Montmorency’s crowing commentary in his ears (“It seems like Violet is having a bit of trouble!”) and a burst of spells from somewhere further away in the maze bouncing and echoing back to him, Zhang Hao determines that he is indeed trapped in a loop. But he doesn’t cross Callidora’s path again — does that mean she’s made it through to the next part of the maze? Frustration and worry and bitter determination eats away at him as he turns and sprints and searches to no avail.

And through it all, he continues to catch a glimpse of Eiranaeus, of Gideon out of the corner of his eye. Leave me alone! He wants to yell. But it seems the faster he runs, the more often he sees them — he’s started losing track of whether they’re the same mirrors or different ones as he speeds through the corridors, taking turns and doubling back. Finally, he comes to panting stop in front of a large wooden-framed mirror. One that he had sworn he’d seen Eiranaius’s leering, wretched figure in before, but now only reflects his own rising chest and pink cheeks. He’s just about to turn away, when his reflection starts to waver.

Zhang Hao freezes.

His own face fades away from the mirror, and he gasps when it morphs into someone familiar. He leaps up right against the glass. “Hanbin!”

Hanbin’s face shows an equal measure of shock as he steps forward, placing his palm up against his side of the glass, and Zhang Hao quickly does the same. Hvve feels none of the familiar warmth that he knows comes with Hanbin’s palm. Instead, he feels cool, smooth glass.

“Hanbin?” He calls again.

He watches as Hanbin’s mouth moves — no sound travels through the glass. But he doesn’t seem to be in danger, which calms Zhang Hao down a bit. After the shock of seeing him fades, Zhang Hao realizes that the view behind Hanbin looks entirely familiar. This isn’t a mirage or illusion, he’s seeing Hanbin in real time, both still stuck in the maze. They must have somehow activated a matching pair of mirrors in the maze — simply one of many tricks that the judges have added to keep them on their toes.

Zhang Hao. He can read his own name off Hanbin’s lips easily enough — he’s watched him say it so many times. And even just this vision of him makes Zhang Hao’s heart pang, his yearning to be there with Hanbin even stronger now that he’s given the false reality of it.

“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.

Hanbin understands him well enough because he nods quickly. He says something else, but Zhang Hao isn’t able to make it out exactly — he thinks he’s asking where he is.

“I’m stuck in a loop,” Zhang Hao says, he swirls a finger in a circle in order to better communicate his meaning.

Hanbin nods again. He points at his own chest. Me too.

“Do you think this mirror will get us further in?” Zhang Hao furrows his brows. It might just be a fancy distraction.

Hanbin shakes his head and makes a switching motion with his hands.

That’s quite possible as well. But now that he can see him, now that Hanbin is practically here with him, Zhang Hao can’t make himself move. And it’s not like he’s found any other mirror that could be another clue. He shakes his head in turn. “I think this is the only mirror in this area that’s enchanted.”

Hanbin frowns, not quite picking up what he’s saying.

Zhang Hao raises his wand anyway. “We should try.”

What spell? Hanbin raises his shoulders cutely.

Zhang Hao pauses. How tricky. They would need to know the spell or charm cast on these two sibling mirrors in order to figure out the right countercharm to break through. He nibbles on his lower lip as he considers the options. But then a tapping against the glass breaks his concentration. That and Montmorency’s booming yell of, “And Milena is blasted back! Valiant effort from our Durmstrang Champion though — everyone please give her a round of applause!” but Zhang Hao pays it no mind as Hanbin seems to be pointing at something just off to the side of his mirror.

Zhang Hao glances to his left, and his eyes widen when he sees something being carved into the wood of the frame. He lets out a small giggle when it proves to be a lop-sided heart. He looks back at Hanbin who is shooting him a cheeky smile, dimples pressing into his cheeks. Oh, how he wishes he could reach through the glass and pinch them.

Even as he melts a little over the gesture, Zhang Hao is immensely impressed. Hanbin has figured it out. These mirrors are connected by a Protean Charm, a certain charm that links magical objects together so any changes made to one will be made to all of them. Hanbin must have carved the heart into the frame of his own mirror. It’s a difficult N.E.W.T-level spell, and so is its countercharm. Zhang Hao shakes his head with a small smirk. They’re really asking a lot of them aren’t they?

Hanbin shoots him a questioning look and then mouths what Zhang Hao assumes is the incantation for the countercharm. He’s read about it of course, along with the appropriate wand movements, but he’s never had a chance to put it into practice. Hanbin is already prepared with his wand drawn though, and Zhang Hao finds that he wants to rise to the challenge. Besides, it won’t work if either of them fail to cast the countercharm.

Zhang Hao copies Hanbin’s stance with his wand raised, and he can’t help the smile that lifts the corner of his lips, the lightness that streaks through his heart for the first time in a few weeks as he and Hanbin both say the incantation, their wands moving in the exact same, opposite patterns — a wide arc followed by two expert swishes of their wrist. He feels near breathless when they’re done. And then the mirror shatters.

He flinches back as the glass flies around him, dissolving in the air before the shards can hit the ground. When Zhang Hao turns back to the mirror, his heart sinks. Hanbin is gone — and in his place is once more another open doorway deeper into the maze. He sees his own reflection on the other side of the new corridor, crestfallen and slightly dazed. Like a puppy whose favorite toy has just been hidden from view.

“And look, Hanbin is making a run for it!” Montmorency’s voice shouts above.

That gets Zhang Hao to move. He runs, determined to find the center of this maze, to get to Hanbin. All of the Champions are closing in on their destination now, and Zhang Hao thinks he hears the sound of feet running behind him, to his right, just on the opposite side of the mirrors, but he never runs into anyone else as he turns sharp corners and casts another golden Tracking Spell to try to figure out which mirror will lead him to the end. But the maze feels like it’s gotten a lot bigger. The corridors are never ending and unlike the first few sections he had found himself in, Zhang Hao doesn’t think he sees any of them for a second time.

After minutes of sprinting, he slows to a quick walk. A bright burst of golden dust in the distance tells him that the other Champions might be equally stuck. Zhang Hao reaches another fork in his path, his own reflection staring at him as he peers right and then left. There’s nothing down either that would signal which is the correct one to take.

“Why, hello, handsome.”

Zhang Hao nearly screams, taking hasty steps back in shock.

“Oh, come on now. No need to be shy. Let me get a good look.”

He places a hand to his chest, right over his racing heart as he gapes at the mirror right in front of him. He’s still looking at his own reflection. But that voice is most definitely not his.

Suddenly, with a sharp high-pitched ring like struck glass, the three pathways, to his right, left and the one he just came from, are blocked off as mirrors swing into place to pen him in. Zhang Hao whirls in a panic, clutching his wand. He hadn’t known that the mirrors could move — but of course they could. No wonder this portion of the maze had seemed never ending. But now, he’s trapped. He turns to face the large, gilded mirror before him. It stands nearly three times his height, making his own reflection so small. “Who are you? What do you want?” he challenges.

When it speaks, it’s with a melodic twinkling similar to a wind chime. “You don’t need much help from me at all, dear. Though perhaps you might consider some glasses? Could really bring out your eyes.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t let himself relax just yet. He hadn’t expected to come across a talking mirror here. They’re rather common things — he’s heard the Ravenclaws have one in their dorm bathrooms to help advise them. There’s also another in Madam Malkin’s in Diagon Alley. It had given him rather unsolicited advice as to his footwear during a shopping trip in his fourth year. “I’m not going to get glasses, unless it’s going to get me out of this maze,” he mutters.

A faint tinkling like scattered pieces of glass knocking against each other on the pavement drifts around him. “Very astute, Champion.”

Zhang Hao tenses as the voice seems to morph, growing a little more gravelly, a little more cloying. The gold around the frame of the mirror starts to melt, running in rivulets off the wood, and Zhang Hao takes even more steps back until he’s nearly touching the mirror behind him to avoid the shimmery gold drops as they land on the grass beneath his feet and then begin to coalesce into a shape.

“A Sphinx,” he whispers, in fear and awe, once the form is unmistakable. Though not a real one — the gold from the mirror has created an outline of a prowling lion with a human head, its eyes flashing a glimmering yellow.

“I know very well your pursuit,” it purrs. “To reach the maze’s end, you must prove even more astute.”

Zhang Hao knows the Sphinx’s modus operandi: it’s highly intelligent with a knack for puzzles and riddles. He’s read that some Sphinx’s are used to guard a few of the vaults in Gringotts, though many times it goes wrong with the Sphinx growing far too protective of its hoard and constructing riddles that are impossible for even the rightful owner to solve.

“I’ll open a path to your heart’s true desire — if you can weather my riddle’s trial by fire,” the golden Sphinx murmurs.

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, Champion, then it will no longer be a matter of your victory, but whether or not I’ll allow you to flee.” The Sphinx’s hollow teeth snap at the air just a meter from his face. Zhang Hao tries not to flinch.

So he’s stuck then. It’s most likely been designed this way so that whoever comes across the faux-Sphinx won’t be able to refuse. There’s no fun in that after all. His thought is confirmed by the loud, familiar voice that drifts overhead and the exclamations of the crowd above. This altercation — and entrapment — has not gone unnoticed, and Zhang Hao feels the vultures’ eyes pinning him to the spot even more so than the Sphinx’s glowing gaze before him. He tunes them all out. He needs to think. I’ll open a path to your heart’s true desire. Clearly that means the end of the maze, what all the Champions desire now that they’re in here. “I’ll answer your riddle,” he accepts.

Even as a phantom, the Sphinx’s eyes flash with something similar to cunning. “Wise choice, my dear. Now watch closely, only once will this riddle appear.”

Zhang Hao tenses as the Sphinx lops away towards the large mirror, taking one bounding step and then another before leaping into its own reflection. He half-expects it to shatter the glass, but whatever golden matter it’s made of scatters across the smooth surface instead, fanning out back to the frame, and returning it to its original lustrous state. And from where it had struck the mirror floats lines of text. Zhang Hao reads it quickly:

Here but not, absence is what defines me.
To tears and suffering, I am the key.

I have felled beggars and kings alike.
And blossomed at the end of a fatal strike.

I have before thus written my name.
Something that you experienced in flame.

As soon as Zhang Hao whispers the last lines, the text fades and all he’s left with is his own pale face and dark eyes in the mirror, no trace of the Sphinx or the riddle besides the fact that all his paths are still blocked. Overhead, Montmorency moves on to chatter about Lee, who seems to be battling a mirrored version of himself. Zhang Hao shakes his head, regaining focus on his Task.

He turns the various lines over in his head — muttering them under his breath. Sphinx’s are known for their difficult riddles, not only because they’re obscure and hard to decipher, but because each of them are personal. No one person will ever receive the same riddle from a Sphinx, and it is exceedingly difficult for someone else to solve another’s riddle. That is the trick. The Sphinx relies on its intellect and some natural form of Divination in order to craft a riddle where its victims associations, beliefs, and biases are all used against them. Thus, the answer is determined by how he would interpret and associate these words to meaning.

Zhang Hao starts to pace, back and forth in the small, sectioned off space afforded him. The first stanza points to death, he surmises. The second could also easily mean death. But the last part stumps him. I have before thus written my name. Written, not said. The only thing that was written would be the words of the riddle. And yet, Zhang Hao doesn’t think that the answer would so easily be something in the previous lines, such as kings or suffering. And neither of them quite fit with the meaning of the riddle either. Something that you experienced in flame.

Zhang Hao freezes. What had the Sphinx said even before the riddle? I’ll open a path to your heart’s true desire — if you can weather my riddle’s trial by fire. What if … his heart races. What if the riddle itself had not just been what was on the mirror? Trial by fire is a direct link to the First Task. Zhang Hao spins on his heels and his footsteps quicken as his mind begins to spin.

What had he experienced in the flame? What was the trial he had weathered? What had he given up? What had he lost?

He pulls up short. Loss. That’s the answer. The thing that is defined by absence, the key to tears and suffering, and— Zhang Hao laughs, but it comes out choked. Blossomed: I have before thus written my name.

Of course this riddle would be blindingly, painfully personal. The loss of his memories still continuing to haunt him, even now. A small, twisted part of Zhang Hao wonders if this was all Flamel’s plan, a final I told you so. But he quickly sets it out of his mind. That wouldn’t help him now. No, what will give him what wants, the victory the Sphinx had mentioned, is to get through this maze as fast as possible. Zhang Hao turns sharply so he’s staring defiantly up at the tall mirror, his hands on his hips and his words loud and firm. “The answer to the riddle is loss.”

“Well done,” the tinkling voice returns, once more taking on the persona of a harmless talking mirror. “You have earned your prize. Follow the golden path, only for your eyes.”

The mirror to Zhang Hao’s right suddenly snaps back along the wall of the maze, opening up the path for him. He sees a glittering trail of dripping gold along the grass, and he doesn’t hesitate, his feet carrying him into a run immediately. He’s close — he can feel it.

His heart is racing as he speeds down each maze corridor, wondering if someone else — Hanbin — has already made it to the center before him. Zhang Hao is so focused that he barely makes out Montmorency’s frenzied announcement above him along with the crescendo of cheers and shouts from the spectators. His legs burn by the time he turns the last corner and then there it is — at the end of the line of mirrors is is a wide open patch of grass.

Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin. With each last pound of his feet, Hanbin’s name echoes in his mind. He’ll be waiting for him there, Zhang Hao is sure of it. He gasps as he bursts past the last two mirrors, the crowd’s cheers above him nearly deafening, but he pays it no mind. Because there he is.

He nearly sobs as he throws himself into Hanbin’s arms. He’s so relieved, so happy to be back with him that he doesn’t even care what his presence here means: that he got here before him. Hanbin’s arms envelop him in a crushing hold, as if he had missed him just as much. Zhang Hao feels his sweaty temples brush against his own, and he only clutches tighter to Hanbin’s robes.

And then it finally strikes him, when he’s bundled up against Hanbin’s chest, face pressing into his neck — that’s when Zhang Hao gets it.

I’ll open a path to your heart’s true desire.

How cruelly, horribly personal the riddle truly was.

The faux-Sphinx had not been talking about the center of the maze, had not been talking about winning this Task at all. What it had meant was Hanbin. And the answer of loss was not the loss of his memories, which happened over seven years ago. No, what he had eventually lost — will eventually lose — from that trial by fire where he first saw the mirror in the pensieve is also him: Hanbin.

Zhang Hao tightens his arms around him, wanting to crawl right into Hanbin’s chest, wanting to shed his physical form and meld into one being with Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin, to be so integral to him that no spell or magic could ever separate them. He doesn’t just want to exist only in his memories or even as a snapshot in his eyes, but as something more vital, more fundamental. He wants to run in his veins and twine himself around his bones. Zhang Hao holds him unbearably tight, so much so until it hurts. And then he cries, softly, quietly, into Hanbin’s shoulder as the crowd continues to roar around them.

Hanbin has started having nightmares.

Which only compounds Zhang Hao’s guilt, which only worsen his fears. Despite having learned the truth about his memories, that doesn’t stop the nightmares from coming, that doesn’t stop whatever it is that his mind seems to want to tell him from trying to break free. And so Zhang Hao is already awake when Hanbin starts thrashing. He quickly sets aside his scrawled-over dream journal when Hanbin lets out a sharp cry, body jerking to the side. As if dodging a spell, Zhang Hao thinks somberly. He wonders if Hanbin is dreaming about something real, or if his mind has conjured up even worse horrors to plague him with. Either way, his heart pangs over his suffering. He shouldn’t have to face this, the nightmares, the fear, any of it.

Zhang Hao reaches over with a gentle hand, instinctively smoothing his thumb over the ridge of Hanbin’s brow. His skin is hot and dry, and Zhang Hao lays the back of his hand over his forehead to gauge his temperature. His touch seems to calm Hanbin somewhat, and Zhang Hao leans over, murmuring soothing nonsense over him. So many times, mostly when he was younger, his mom would come in just like this to wake him from a nightmare with feather-light touches and a warm voice. His heart pangs again. He gently glides his hand lower to cup Hanbin’s cheek when suddenly his eyes flutter open, dark and wild, his mouth opening in a gasp. Zhang Hao drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hanbin blows out a rough breath, dilated eyes scrambling in the darkness to fasten on him. “It’s okay. It’s … probably better that you woke me up.”

“A nightmare?” Zhang Hao asks, even though he already knows.

Hanbin nods silently, blinking a few times and then reaching over to Zhang Hao. He lets him take his hand easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zhang Hao asks. But he also already knows the answer to this.

“No, it’s nothing,” Hanbin murmurs like he always does.

“It’s normal to have nightmares after what happened,” Zhang Hao soothes, even though he hates this for him.

“I know.”

A spark of annoyance — not at Hanbin, at himself, for being unable to help, being unable to offer more. Zhang Hao huffs, parroting back at him his own words, “You know in the Muggle world, there’s something called therapy.”

Hanbin lets out a choking sort of laugh, turning over on his side, letting go of Zhang Hao’s hand in favor of tugging him so he’s lying down on the bed next to him. “Maybe I’ll go see one when I’m home.”

“You’d rather talk to a stranger than to me?” Zhang Hao doesn’t know if he’s jesting anymore. Perhaps he’s slightly hurt.

“Sometimes that’s easier,” Hanbin whispers, even as he pulls Zhang Hao closer with an arm around his waist.

“But I want you to talk to me,” he murmurs — whines — against the hollow of Hanbin’s throat.

A warm hand travels up the center of his back. He senses that Hanbin is in the middle of deep thought — or perhaps just reliving the horrors of whatever dream he had — and he tugs him even closer, so there’s not an inch of space between them.

“I want to talk to you about it,” Hanbin finally says, his voice quiet even though the curtains are drawn around them and Zhang Hao’s roommates won’t hear. “But I don’t know how to do it without making you feel guilty. I don’t blame you but … I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter if I feel guilty. I already do, anyway.” A confession.

“But I don’t want you to. I hate both of my choices here. And I’m just so terrified of making a mistake.” A confession in return. Hanbin would never leave him to be vulnerable all alone. “And I already know it’s so much more than you ever got. But … I still can’t help but feel like there’s not much of a choice here. And that it’s so unfair.”

“It is,” Zhang Hao whispers, choking up. “And it sucks, and I wish I could tell you that you’ll be fine after but just look at how I turned out.” Zhang Hao laughs hollowly.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Hanbin says immediately, vehemently, even.

“Hm, and that’s why we’re both up in the middle of the night.”

“Well, this time it was because of me, not you.”

“I’m always here, whenever you decide you want to talk.” And even if you never decide to. But he leaves the last bit silent, still hopeful. “I know it takes time.” He snorts. “It took me nearly seven years to open up to someone.”

“But I don’t have the luxury of time.” Hanbin’s words drop like a stone in a lake of still water.

They both know why — because he’s not safe, not like him. Just thinking it, acknowledging it, feels like a curse. The darkness around them grows heavier, the temperature around them dropping until he feels a chill crawl up his spine. Though he’s sure that’s just his imagination. Paranoia has been a longtime companion of his, comforting like a shadow, ominous like one, too.

“I won’t take too long,” Hanbin whispers. “Just give me a little longer.”

Zhang Hao’s heart seizes at the thought of giving Eiranaeus such an opening. The longer Hanbin waits, the greater the threat. Yet he also doesn’t have it in him to rush him. Not when Zhang Hao knows what is waiting for him on the other side: more nightmares, an empty feeling, and ceaseless whispers. However, Zhang Hao doesn’t doubt that Eiranaeus is not as patient as Flamel — he will know the options available to Hanbin just as well as they do. And he will not let a second sacrifice slip through his hands. He tenses at the thought. Wordlessly, Hanbin gently rubs his hand over his back until he relaxes again. Though when Hanbin eventually falls back into a half-sleep, Zhang Hao stays awake.

It’s strange, how the world continues to spin: that students continue to chatter and complain about their classes; that the Great Hall is served with meals three times a day; that the real first storm of the season blows in late this winter, drenching the castle and its grounds in numbing cold. Zhang Hao has never felt so detached from his body at the same time that he feels everything so viscerally. How could everyone continue to live their lives so normally when he’s about to lose himself? He feels like a ghost, watching his own hollow body walk these halls; he feels buried beneath his own flesh and bone, his screams trapped behind the secrets that threaten to suffocate him.

Yet, as unnatural and strange and disconcerting it is, it does. Continue to spin. And Zhang Hao needs to quickly orient himself to it.

As usual, when he spots Hanbin’s dark head among the crowd crawling out of the Charms classroom, he breathes a low sigh of relief. But then his chest tightens when he sees the very noticeable frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” Zhang Hao asks, as soon as he draws closer.

Hanbin sighs. “It’s nothing.”

At Zhang Hao’s reproachful look, which may or may not also be slightly hurt, Hanbin gives him a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “Really. Matthew is just mad at me. I tried talking to him this morning, and he completely blew me off.”

The two of them squeeze their way through the overcrowded corridors and down the moving staircases to the Great Hall. “Because you’ve been spending so much time with me?” Zhang Hao prompts. Hanbin had once before confided in him about Gyuvin’s worries.

“Not quite,” Hanbin winces. “Maybe. He’s mad that I didn’t — I haven’t — told him what happened over Christmas.”

Zhang Hao frowns. It’s unfair for him to be annoyed at Matthew. But if only he knew what had happened, he wouldn’t be so demanding of Hanbin, so upset at him.

“He’s a good friend,” Hanbin murmurs, noticing Zhang Hao’s displeasure. “To him, I was the bad friend.”

“But it wasn’t your fault,” he refutes.

“I know that,” Hanbin mollifies, voice soft. He pauses when it’s clear some Slytherin third-year is trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Zhang Hao sighs and steers them away from the more crowded, and most convenient, paths until they reach a corridor with less people.

“I know logically that what I did was right,” Hanbin starts again. “That if I told him what we were planning he would have insisted on staying and helping, and he could have gotten seriously hurt, even … even killed. But now, I think I’ve really hurt him.”

“You don’t know what to tell him,” Zhang Hao guesses.

Hanbin nods. “He knows me too well to know when I’m lying.”

“You’re not a very convincing liar,” Zhang Hao agrees, deciding to gloss over the part where Matthew knows him too well. He’s already not being entirely generous to Matthew in his mind, after all. No need to make it worse.

“I owe him some sort of explanation, but I can’t tell him everything.”

“Why not?”

Hanbin looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. “Because it’s not my secret to tell. It’s … I couldn’t betray your trust like that.”

But Zhang Hao is already shaking his head before Hanbin is done. “It’s not about me anymore, Hanbinie. I trust you to tell him what you think he needs to know about what happened to me, but also, this is about you now. If you’re going to—” Zhang Hao finds it’s too difficult to say it out loud. Words, once spoken, hold too much power. “You need to eventually start telling people. Matthew, Gyuvin, your parents and sister, anyone else you feel like should know about it. This is now your secret to tell, too.”

Zhang Hao catches the wobble in Hanbin’s lip before he turns his face away. And he wants to pull him back, but he knows he should give him his space. Hanbin is … far more sensitive than he had thought, and also far more private, closed off. Though Zhang Hao should have expected this when he had to literally corner him during a Prefect patrol to get a proper confession out of him all those months ago.

Once Hanbin seems to pull himself together, he turns back to Zhang Hao with a watery smile. “Thank you.”

“No more thank yous,” Zhang Hao declares with finality as they arrive at the entrance to the Great Hall — all the tables inside are filled after they had taken the long way here.

Hanbin pauses on the threshold. “I should go look for him.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes carry over to the Gryffindor table, but he doesn’t spot Matthew. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Hanbin shakes his head. “Better not. I think he’ll be more receptive if it’s just me.”

“So he does hate me,” Zhang Hao whines.

“No!” Hanbin reassures, a little too loudly. “He’s just prideful. He won’t want anyone else to see.”

Everything in Zhang Hao is telling him not to leave Hanbin — that impetus only getting worse by the day, a compounding act of wanting all the time with Hanbin that he can get, his Hanbin, the Hanbin who still remembers and loves him, and knowing that Eiranaeus will only wait and plot for so long before striking. Water slipping right through his fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” Hanbin reassures, rubbing his hands up and down Zhang Hao’s arms.

And it’s only because he doesn’t want to become a burden to him, just another thing for him to worry about, that agrees. Because he knows if Hanbin thinks he’s truly bothered, he won’t do what he needs to do. “Okay,” he says reluctantly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t pout,” Hanbin cajoles, squeezing his arms.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” He knows he sounds too petulant.

“It’s cute.” Hanbin giggles. And to Zhang Hao’s incredible surprise, because they’re still in full view of everyone sitting in the Great Hall, leans down to peck him ever so lightly on his pushed out — and pouting — lips.

“Go eat,” Hanbin urges, when he pulls away, his hands dropping. “I’ll see you later.”

But Zhang Hao doesn’t go — not until Hanbin turns the corner at the far end of the hall, presumably heading up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower.

Zhang Hao doesn’t spot any of his friends in the hall, so he eats quickly, making mumbling small talk with those in his House who want to ask him about the Second Task, or about his holiday, or about his boyfriend. He gets up as soon as he’s done.

“Where are you headed?” Tobin, Yujin’s roommate with the annoying owl, asks with great interest when Zhang Hao scrambles off the bench.

“Uh, I forgot my coat in the dorms.”

“You can borrow mine.” The girl sitting next to Tobin who Zhang Hao has forgotten the name of pipes up.

“I’m taken,” he quickly demures.

“I know that!”

“It’s fine,” he quickly waves them off, hastily walking backwards. “I have time to grab it anyway.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t wait for their reply before he’s already speeding out to the hall. He pauses in the corridor for a second, his eyes trailing up the grand staircase to the upper floors of the castle. He wonders how Hanbin’s conversation with Matthew is going, if they’re done yet, if maybe he should go to the Hufflepuff dormitory to wait for Hanbin — but sneaking in there during the day is riskier. And besides, he really does need his coat. Why they have to continue taking Herbology in the winter is absolutely beyond him. With heavy steps, Zhang Hao turns in the opposite direction and heads down to the dungeons.

There are a few stragglers in the Common Room. However, his room is thankfully empty when Zhang Hao steps in. His thick coat is exactly where he remembers leaving it — under a few neatly folded shirts in his trunk. This was quick enough that perhaps he does have time to go find Hanbin. It can’t hurt to just ask someone if he’s returned back to the dorns. But a knock on his door has him jumping and spinning around, heart hammering. Hanbin? Hope fills him as he hurries to the door.

But his elation is short lived when it is not Hanbin’s dark-head and dimpled smile that greets him when he opens the door — but one that’s strangely not too different either. “Oh, hi Yujin,” Zhang Hao greets.

“No need to sound so disappointed.” Yujin rolls his eyes, giving him a bit of his deadpan snark even as he shuffles from side to side, unsure.

“What is it? Did you need something?” He tries to sound a bit concerned, so as not to come off as impatient.

But Yujin still sees right through him, eyes flicking down to the coat in his hand. “Nevermind. It’s not really important.”

Guilt threads through his chest. Yujin is just a kid, and he really does look troubled. “You can talk to me about anything,” Zhang Hao encourages. He steps back and tosses his coat back on his bed, waving Yujin in.

Yujin looks briefly hesitant before he enters and shuts the door quietly behind him. Zee darts out immediately, nosy over the stranger who has entered the room. Yujin is barely able to graze her back in a pet before she runs off again, disappearing under Ricky’s bed.

“So what’s on your mind?”

After failing to entice Zee out from her cave with clicking noises, Yujin straightens, brushing off his robe. He looks slightly conflicted, before finally opening his mouth and saying, “We missed you during the holidays.”

Zhang Hao barely holds himself back from wincing. “Ah, yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t there this year.” He doesn’t have the heart to lie to him even more than that.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously, lowering himself to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I know something happened,” Yujin says with a brashness that can only be charming at his age. “That night there was a dinner at the Rosiers’. Gideon’s parents got an Owl, and right after reading it, his mother looked like she was about to faint. They left in a hurry after, but you know how the adults are, they like to talk.”

Zhang Hao stiffens. “What did they say?”

Yujin’s eyes are curiously blank when they meet his. He’s getting too good at hiding his feelings. He’s just a kid. “I know Grimsby and Warren aren’t just away on vacation.”

Zhang Hao swallows. “And what makes you think I know what happened?”

Yujin gives him another long empty look. Well, not entirely empty, he does look a bit hurt. And scared. “Is this related to what happened to you? When you went missing, too?” he asks, his voice small. Yujin had been too young back then to truly know what was going on. But unfortunately not young enough to forget it, to not piece it together slowly over the years.

But at least for this, Zhang Hao can tell him the truth. “It’s not the same as what happened to me.” It’s probably worse.

“So where did they go?”

“It’s better if you don’t know, Yujin.” The truth is horrible, terrible. And he doesn’t want him to have to shoulder that burden if he doesn’t have to.

Yujin blows out a frustrated breath, and for a second Zhang Hao thinks he’s going to stamp his feet. “You never tell me anything,” he accuses. “Is it going to put me in danger?”

“I don’t think so,” Zhang Hao says haltingly. It’s not like having this sort of excess magic is contagious. Briefly, Zhang Hao shoots a prayer up to whatever higher being is out there that Yujin is just an entirely normal Wizard, that he’ll never, ever, ever cross paths with Eiranaeus.

“So why can’t I know?”

“Because it’s unpleasant,” Zhang Hao winces at how tame that sounds. “And it’ll upset you unnecessarily.”

“I can handle unpleasant things.” Said with a naivety that can only be endearing for someone his age.

“Even if you can, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you. You should ask your parents, or—”

“I trust you more than anyone.”

It’s the raw, unfiltered sincerity from Yujin, who is normally so cheeky and coy and willingly distant, that nearly makes Zhang Hao fold. “You’ve never cared about Gideon this much before,” Zhang Hao tries to hedge. Even saying Gideon’s name brings a twinge of pain to his chest. Gideon, who he’ll probably never see again. It’s hard to hold bitterness towards someone who is dead.

“It’s not just Gideon. You’ve been different since we came back. You’re tense all the time. You keep looking around like you expect someone to jump out at you. When you’re with Hanbin, you can barely take your eyes off of him. I know something is wrong.”

As usual, he’s far more perceptive than Zhang Hao gives him credit for. He thought he had been doing a good job of hiding it all — certainly no one else has accused him of acting strange, besides Taerae, who was born with his nose in other people’s business.

“I want to help you,” Yujin’s voice cracks slightly, his normally smooth features falling.

“Oh Yujin,” Zhang Hao says softly, patting the spot on the bed next to him. The mattress dips slightly when Yujin sits, a little closer than he normally would. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Someone has to,” Yujin mumbles.

“But it doesn’t have to be you.” He says it not out of mockery or derision, but out of love. “You shouldn’t get caught up in all this or worry about it too much. You should enjoy the rest of the semester. Enjoy the Tournament, focus on Quidditch, make sure you get good marks in Transfiguration this year.” All the plain, boring, mundane things that Zhang Hao would do anything to worry about.

Yujin shakes his head mutely, stubborn. Zhang Hao’s heart squeezes, because he sees so much of himself in him. Because when he had been his age, when he’d been even younger, he had been the same: insistent on the truth and bitterly angry at anyone who kept it from him. And even if it hurt, even if it came at a price that he hadn’t been willing to pay, well … Zhang Hao sighs. “It’s unpleasant,” he warns again, giving Yujin one last out.

But as expected, he doesn’t back down.

“You were right that there was an … incident over the holidays. I won’t go into details.” When Yujin shoots him a frown, Zhang Hao shakes his head. “It isn’t all mine to tell.”

“So what happened?” Yujin urged.

“I was with Gideon — and Warren and Hanbin. I was able to find out a little bit more about what happened to me in my first year, and why I don’t have my memories anymore.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Zhang Hao wishes he could share his optimism. “There’s no gentle way to put this.”

He shoots him a droll look — so much like his own that Zhang Hao momentarily blinks in shock. Yujin’s next words knock him out of it. “I know only you and Hanbin made it back.”

He takes in a deep breath, deciding at the last minute not to tell him about Warren. At least with Gideon there’s still a little bit of hope — however slim that is. “You’re right. Gideon is with the person who took me back in my first year.”

“So it is the same,” Yujin accuses.

“He wasn’t taken. This time, it was just … bad timing. Gideon got left behind when we were trying to escape,” Zhang Hao finds himself choking up, but he doesn’t want to cry in front of Yujin.

There’s a lengthy pause, and then: “So he’s dead?”

“We don’t know.”

“His parents. No wonder his mother looked so upset.” Yujin frowns. “And Warren?”

Right, far more perceptive. Zhang Hao presses his lips together. But his silence is enough of an answer. Neither of them are coming back.

Yujin’s chin wobbles, just slightly. But otherwise he manages to keep it together.

“You can let it out,” Zhang Hao says softly.

“It’s probably horrible of me to say, but I’m not really upset,” Yujin says slowly. The bright sheen over his eyes bely his words, but Zhang Hao doesn’t call him out on it. “It’s just strange. It’s hard to think that they’re just gone. Warren was teasing me about my wand movements just the other day — I guess that was a month ago now, but it could have been yesterday.” Yujin cuts himself off, like he knows he’s rambling.

Zhang Hao runs his fingers gently through his bangs, brushing them from his face. Yujin immediately shakes his head so they fall back into place, in front of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Are you okay?” Yujin throws back at him.

He should have expected that. “Not really.”

“Are you still in danger?”

“No.” Not a lie. But Zhang Hao won’t betray Hanbin’s confidence either by telling Yujin any more. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m safe.”

And it feels weird to say that out loud. He’s been told that for so many years, and he’s never truly believed it. But now, he knows for sure. And yet the painful irony is, Zhang Hao would do anything to not be — to take Hanbin’s place. But Yujin doesn’t know all that.

“But you’re sad.”

So naive, so simple a phrase. So completely accurate that it cuts him to the bone. He is sad. He’s unbelievably sad. “I am.”

Yujin leans over to rest his head against Zhang Hao’s shoulder. A touching piece of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Zhang Hao finally lets his face crumple. “Me, too.”

Chapter Text

“I am not even a religious person, I am hardly a person at all
except when I look at you and think
that this life with you must go on forever”
— Ron Padgett, The Absolutely Huge and Incredible Injustice in the World

Hanbin

He’s never done this before. He wasn’t even sure how to go about it at first. In the end, he ended up sending Flamel an Owl.

Hanbin doesn’t want Zhang Hao to be here when he meets with the Headmaster. Not that he wants to hide it from him — not that he even can — and not even because of whatever it is that’s preventing him from talking to Zhang Hao, fear, guilt, concern, the echoing chasm of loss that already stretches between them that will soon be unbridgeable. But because Hanbin knows this will only hurt him more. And it’s obvious that Zhang Hao is hurting right now.

And perhaps the real reason Hanbin hasn’t talked to him about this: he doesn’t know how to make it right. He doesn’t know how to stop him from hurting. So he does nothing. And he’s never felt more helpless in his life. He’s never shied away from any difficulty he’s been presented with, regardless of how challenging or arduous it is. But this problem isn’t something that he can solve just with time and diligent persistence.

He doesn’t know what to do.

No, that’s not true. He does know. But he hates it all the same.

This time when Hanbin turns into the hallway to Flamel’s office, the door is already visible, neatly set against the stone of the castle wall, like it’s always existed there. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think back to the last time he had been there, and raises his hand to knock.

The door opens soundlessly, and Hanbin steels himself before stepping into the cavernous office with its suffocating high ceilings and cold disarray. He barely manages to keep the memories at bay, closing the door behind him and turning around to see Flamel sitting behind his towering wooden desk. Hanbin grits his teeth. His steps are firm, confident, as he walks across the room.

“Mister Sung,” Flamel greets, his voice raspy. It causes shivers to run up Hanbin’s spine — he’d forgotten how unsettling it is.

“Headmaster,” Hanbin murmurs, scared that he’ll stutter if he tries to say anything more. But his feet don't falter until they bring him to a stop on the other side of the desk.

“Please, take a seat,” Flamel inclines his head towards the two high-backed chairs.

Hanbin sits.

“What did you wish to discuss today?” Flamel’s voice scrapes across him.

He cuts right to the chase. “I’ve decided.”

Flamel nods sagely. “It’s a wise choice you’ve made, Mister Sung.”

“I haven’t told you what I’ve decided yet.”

Flamel’s head tilts imperceptibly to the side, as if Hanbin is some curious creature he’s observing. A corner of his mouth tilts up, rickety and pushing into the folds of his face. “You being here is clear enough — I think you would have tried to go far, far away if it was the other option.”

Option, Hanbin thinks bitterly. How generous a word for what it really was. “It’s not like that was ever feasible.”

“Like I said,” Flamel rasps with a bit of smugness. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

And Hanbin thinks he has gotten just a taste of what Zhang Hao has had to put up with all these years. Because he wants to leap across the desk, pummel and rage and yell at Flamel — he wants to lay all his problems at his feet and set them on fire and somehow make him hurt as much as he currently is. Hanbin lets the frustration, the rage burn in his eyes. He keeps his back ram-rod straight in the chair. Because the awful truth is he also needs Flamel. And now, he needs to muster up the humility, swallow his pride enough to ask, “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

“I don’t like to speak in absolutes.” Flamel steeples his hands together. “But if there is some other way to rid you of the energy, then I have not yet found it.”

Flamel doesn’t have to say the rest. They both know he does not have the luxury of time.

“So, shall we?” Flamel beckons.

Hanbin’s heart races. The instant, screaming refusal blaring through his mind with panic. He’s not ready yet. He’ll never be ready. He had come in here with a plan, intending to strike an agreement with Flamel. He had practiced how he would go about it in his head over sleepless nights and the drone of Professor Binn’s lecture on Emeric the Evil. But all of his preparations go out the window as he blurts, “Give me until the end of this year.”

Flamel tilts his head again. Hanbin hates the way his translucent skin pulls across his high cheekbones, the blankness of his pale irises as he regards him. “You wish to wait?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I need more time to …” be with Zhang Hao, to soak up everything about him, to find some other way where I won’t forget him, to tell him how much I love him, “get my affairs in order,” is what Hanbin ends up saying. “I haven’t even spoken to my parents.”

“Would you like me to inform them?”

“No,” Hanbin shakes his head. His father wouldn’t take well to an official notice from the school instead of hearing from his son. He can’t even think about his mother; his mother with her slowly graying hair, with her mittens tucked under her arm as she punches numbers into the cash register, with her slowly mellowing voice and with the ever encroaching grooves of her smile slowly transcending her lips to take over every part of her face. Merlin, he doesn’t even know how to break it to them. “I’ll tell them myself.”

Flamel inclines his head. “Given the precarious nature of your safety, I would not recommend visiting them in person. But you may use my Floo, if your Muggle home has such a contraption, if you would prefer to speak to them face to face. ”

That takes Hanbin aback. “That’s … very kind of you.”

“It is imperative that we are able to do this as soon as possible.”

The faint smile drops from his face. “Even if I’m able to speak with them, they’ll need time to process. I’d still like to wait until the term is over.”

“That is an unnecessary risk, Mister Sung.”

“You are taking away my memories,” Hanbin stresses. Of course Flamel is eager to get this over and done with, to wipe his hands of this situation and have everything set to rights. So he can sweep his own mistake under the rug. “Because of your oversight, I will be losing everything.”

“Because of the risks you and Mister Zhang had chosen to take.” Flamel’s volume doesn’t rise, but his works punctuate the air more heavily than if he had. “It is only some of your memories. Not all of them.”

Hanbin wants to punch him.

“Let me ask you this,” Flamel leans forward. “Do you think Mister Zhang, who he is as a person, has been significantly changed because of his lost memories?”

“I never knew him before he lost them,” Hanbin bites out.

“But you know him very well now,” Flamel presses, his eyes eerily unblinking, pinning Hanbin to his seat like a pixie to a board. “Do you think that who he is, not the events of his life as such may have been changed by Eiranause, but his morals, his personality, the core elements of who he is, are any different than how they were intended to be?”

He knows what answer Flamel is leading him to. And Hanbin would give anything to not give him what he wants — except he cannot tell a lie about Zhang Hao, one that would discredit everything that he has done, everything he has achieved and worked so hard not to lose. And Flamel knows that. How infuriating it must have been for Zhang Hao to sit in front of him year after year, setting his wits against one of the greatest wizards of their time, of the time before theirs, and most likely, of the time after, too. Hanbin has never better understood the near violence of Zhang Hao’s determination as he sought the truth. In fact, Hanbin thinks he had shown a rather lot of restraint.

“No,” Hanbin grits out.

“I am not rushing you out of callousness, as you might want to believe,” Flamel intones flatly, no harshness, nor empathy. “Zhang Hao’s safety has always been paramount in my considerations, and that is no different when it comes to you.”

“You said that you would be able to keep him at bay.”

“I have so far.”

That gives Hanbin pause. “Has he already tried to come for me?”

Flamel watches him carefully, but he doesn’t answer directly. “Hogwarts is safe.”

So a non-answer. He should have expected that. But of course he knows it’s dangerous — he can’t turn a corner without his breath hitching slightly in fear that he will be waiting for him; his sleep is plagued by nightmares of Eiranaeus striking out to kill him, to kill Zhang Hao, of long, knobby fingers scrabbling at his cloak and dragging him into an endless, dark pit; and even in quiet waking moments, his mind is consumed by the memories of Warren’s lifeless body, of Zhang Hao’s blood staining his hands, of this loss he has to come to grips with. “You can take my memories,” Hanbin starts, unwilling to yield on this. “After the term is over. If anything happens to me before then, that will be on me.”

“This is a foolish decision,” Flamel warns.

But he hasn’t denied him. Hanbin already knows all the reasons why this is a bad idea. Is a few more months with Zhang Hao like this really worth potentially risking his life? “He has no need for Zhang Hao anymore, right?”

Flamel regards him with a knowing look. “Unless Zhang Hao somehow regains access to his own memories, then no, he will not come for him. The failure of his plan with the Qilin will more than likely assure he will not try again.”

Then that’s all that matters. As long as Zhang Hao is safe — then Hanbin’s answer is yes, it will always be worth it. “Then that’s my decision.”

Hanbin is well aware, as he sits across from Flamel, that Flamel does not need his permission, that he could strip him of his mind right here. Hit him with a Stupefy so strong he wouldn’t have a hope of breaking it and snatch his memories, and his magic, out of him. There is nothing Hanbin can do. He is well aware that he is a mouse, bargaining with a lion with his maw wide open. And that makes him so infinitely angry. These are his memories, his life. Who is Flamel to tell him when he should give it up?

“Very well,” Flamel relents.

And Hanbin has to hold himself back from breathing out a sigh of relief.

“I know you think me heartless, and perhaps even cruel, Mister Sung.”

He won’t deny it.

“That you think I do not understand the follies of young love, nor the all-consuming nature of it.”

“Your point, Headmaster?” Hanbin bites out. But he doesn’t deny this either.

“I make my decisions based on countless years of experience. Because I have seen love such as yours before. Because I know what it can and cannot withstand. But above all, I know how precious life is. A natural life, one untainted and unmarred by the Darker parts of magic. I wish you could have continued to live such a life, Mister Sung.”

The words spin through his mind. A threat? A promise? A guarantee? He’s too on edge and tense at the moment to truly parse through what Flamel means, so he simply nods.

There’s a stretch of silence, where Flamel slowly leans back in his large, stately chair. “You will have to restart this year again. Even if you complete your courses, you will likely not be able to take the N.E.W.T.s.”

“I know,” Hanbin acknowledges. But that isn’t the reason he wants to complete this year.

The TriWizard Tournament had been but a small consideration. But he wants to do it, finish the tournament — with Zhang Hao. It’s no longer about winning; it hasn’t been about winning for a while now. But Hanbin can so clearly see Zhang Hao on the other side of the mirror, their palms pressed against the glass, their perfect reflections in sync. He had known then, all of it, all of this, is for Zhang Hao. He wants to finish this together with him. It might be one of the last things they’ll get to do together, as this version of themselves, the ones that fell in love. And even if he forgets, he wants it etched in stone, written in a history larger than the two of them, that they had been fierce rivals — if only people knew.

But of course he doesn’t share this with Flamel. Not that Hanbin doesn’t think Flamel suspects, has probably known since Hanbin named his stipulations, but he won’t confirm it. Flamel doesn’t deserve this part of him, too.

“Very well. Then that is all that we need to discuss today,” Flamel nods, dismissing Hanbin with the same efficiency as when he had been battered and bleeding on his leather chaise lounge. Steady and consistent — Hanbin wonders if Flamel had always been this way, or if this was just another product of too much time

But he decides he doesn’t care. “Good day, Headmaster,” Hanbin mutters as he pushes back his chair to stand.

Before he turns, Flamel flicks his faint eyes back up to meet his gaze. “Mister Sung.”

“Yes?”

“Please inform me if you change your mind.”

He won’t. “I will.”

He can’t get out of Flamel’s office fast enough.

Hanbin had not been the first to reach the center of the maze.

As he’d rounded the last row of mirrors, sweat trickling down his temple, he’d been greeted with the sight of Lee Bernard dashing out from the opposite end of the clearing — he’d beaten Hanbin by only a few seconds. And been rewarded with a most curious and wholly unexpected prize: a tuning fork.

A rather outdated item. Hanbin would even go so far as to say a Muggle item. There’s no need for it when a simple spell will automatically tune any instrument in the Wizarding world. However its specific use remains a mystery, as unlike the previous Tasks, they’ve been given no clue as to what the final one will be.

Chatter surrounds Hanbin as he pauses in the Great Hall, glancing over at the hourglasses that had been installed next to the traditional, larger ones of the four Houses. The rankings of the Champions had been adjusted last week, according to the judges' points. Lee had reached the center of the maze first, followed by Hanbin, Zhang Hao, Callidora, Violet, and Milena in quick succession. However, as like the First Task, the final rankings are based on their overall performance while in the maze, because although Lee leads the pack in first place, Callidora had lept above him and Zhang Hao to place second.

Hanbin is not the only one to have noticed the change in rankings. A couple of Durmstrang girls nudge each other and grin on their way to the Great Hall. A Gryffindor fifth-year shoots him a sympathetic frown when he catches Hanbin looking, which really just annoys him more than anything. It’s not a big deal, Hanbin tells himself, casting his eyes away from the hourglasses.

As he follows the flow of traffic into the Great Hall, Hanbin can’t help but overhear the conversation of a pair of Ravenclaws next to him.

“I would be mad, too, if it was our House,” one of them, a light-haired tall girl, says to her friend. “Skipping school to do Merlin knows what and basically tank the team’s chance of winning.”

“Yeah, but it’s good for us,” her friend says. “Slytherin was the only House with two wins. They would have been tough to beat, even if they lost their last two games. But now, whoever wins the next match will be tied with Gryffindor.”

Hanbin grits his teeth. They’re talking about—

“Maybe we ought to send Grimsby a gift basket,” the tall girl snickers.

“Only if we win the next match! Otherwise, we’re sending him slugs,” her friend giggles, their voices merging with the general cacophony of the Great Hall as the two of them pull away towards the left.

He shuffles slowly over to the Hufflepuff table, having lost his appetite. Is that what people think? That Gideon and Warren are away on an extended vacation? Of course Flamel hasn’t gone public with what happened — he must have told their families, but Hanbin guesses they aren’t eager to spread the truth either. Especially Gideon’s father. Hanbin briefly wonders if he’s upset over this because it’ll further risk his precarious gamble for Minister of Magic. Probably. But it can’t be kept secret forever. Eventually people are going to wonder why they aren’t coming back, if not this year, at least next year for Warren who had only been a sixth-year. Hanbin’s stomach turns — he’d only been seventeen. He’d been Gyuvin’s age.

Hanbin drops onto the bench at the Hufflepuff table, grateful that none of his friends are here yet. These days he feels like he’s barely treading water. There’s so much he needs to tell— everyone. His friends. His family. Zhang Hao. There are so many impossible decisions he’s being forced to make, and on top of all of that, he’s far too aware of how little time he has left.

Everything has simultaneously become less important and more important — every moment somehow too trivial to matter but also of paramount importance because it may be the last time he gets to experience it as him. Every meal, every inane conversation, every lecture is all so unimportant, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but also maybe the last time he’ll get to do these things, maybe the last time he’ll remind Patrice to lock the Bludgers in correctly, or remind that pesky group of second-years about curfew, or dock points from a Gryffindor for magic in the hall. Somehow, every small interaction he has with someone, his friends, his teammates, his classmates, his professors, strangers from other Houses, regardless of how trivial, suddenly feels monumental.

And Zhang Hao — Hanbin grits his teeth. Every second he spends with Zhang Hao feels far too short. Every hour that passes between them is another strike against his heart. This isn’t enough; this will never be enough. A whole lifetime with Zhang Hao like this wouldn’t be enough, let alone the few measly months until the end of the school year. And he still has to tell him, though Hanbin suspects that he already knows. He suspects that Zhang Hao has already started his own version of mourning.

“Hanbin.”

He startles, nearly toppling off the bench. He whips his head around to see him: the person of his desires, the subject of all of his waking thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Zhang Hao asks as he slips onto the bench next to him. “You were just staring at the table.”

It’s silly that one short conversation between two fourth-year Ravenclaws would be the thing to break him. But it’s simply one thing too many.

And it’s like Zhang Hao sees the subtle shift in his eyes, the barest trembling of his lip, because even before the first tear slips past Hanbin’s lash line, Zhang Hao is cupping the back of his head and pulling his face into the crook of his neck. Protecting him — from all the sharp eyes around the hall. Comforting him — with the brief press of his lips against his temple and the slow rubbing of his palm against his back. Hanbin cries silently, barely. Being held like this feels like a reprieve, one that he has been so hungry for, so Hanbin lets himself sink into it. Waiting until all his brief tears have dried before pulling away.

When he does, Zhang Hao’s concerned eyes dance over his features.

“I’m fine,” Hanbin murmurs.

“You are not fine,” Zhang Hao’s words are sharp even if they’re delivered with a low murmur. “I’ve noticed the way you get so quiet and still, like you’re retreating into your head. I’ve given you time, and,” Zhang Hao swallows like it pains him to say it, “I’ll give you more, if that’s what you want. But you can’t continue on bottling everything in like this. It’s clear that you have to talk to somebody, even if you don’t want it to be me.”

Hanbin’s heart pounds in his chest. He hates this. He hates that by trying to shield Zhang Hao from this, he’s hurt him anyway. He hates that he’s going to lose him before it’s ever truly sunk in that he had him. He hates that no matter how much he researches, every potential solution lands him at a dead end. He hates that he feels so fucking out of control recently. But most of all, Hanbin hates the way that Zhang Hao is looking at him right now — as if he’s already starting to lose him.

He’s suddenly too aware that they’re sitting in the middle of a Great Hall that is gradually filling up. The candles above seem to flare inconsistently bright, casting a spotlight down on them. Hanbin abruptly stands, pulling Zhang Hao with him.

“Hanbin?” Zhang Hao asks with surprise.

Hanbin can’t speak right now. He thinks if he does he’ll scream, from all the way the voices around him are bouncing off his skin, from the glaring candlelight above that threatens to burn him up, from the chaos writhing in him that will all come out and turn this room to rubble if he lets it. Instead, he pulls Zhang Hao with him, out of the Great Hall and up the stairs, heavy breaths — he realizes belatedly that they are his own — echoing in his ears as he concentrates on setting one foot in front of the other.

Zhang Hao is also out of breath by the rapid pace he set, closer to a run than a steady walk, by the time they stop in front of the statue of Gunhilda de Gorsemoor on the third floor. Hanbin hadn’t intentionally come here. He hadn’t really known where he was going, perhaps the Room of Requirement, maybe the Astronomy Tower. But now that they’re here, with the scrunched-up face of a witch sneering right at them, it feels right.

“You want to go to Honeydukes?” Zhang Hao asks, so gently like he thinks Hanbin will break.

It’s not necessary though — Hanbin has already shattered. He is just barely keeping the pieces from clinking like razor-sharp porcelain to the stone floors. He nods, jerky and stiff. Zhang Hao reaches around him to tap at the hump of Gunhilda’s back with his wand, murmuring the password so the stone begins to turn.

“Okay, let’s go then,” he says, not questioning Hanbin one bit. Zhang Hao simply holds his hand between tight, cold fingers and leads him into the darkness.

Hanbin doesn’t even realize he’s crying again until they’re more than halfway down the tunnel. When he does, he draws to a sudden stop. And then he starts to shake. Before his sobs can truly break through though, Zhang Hao is holding him again, the bulwark to which all of his emotions can safely break against. Only like this, in the dark, all alone with him, does Hanbin truly feel like he can let go.

“Let it out,” Zhang Hao whispers into his hair, as Hanbin clutches onto him and buries his face into his shoulder. Zhang Hao shushes and soothes him. “It’s okay. Cry as much as you want. I know it’s been hard.”

He cries until his throat feels raw and sticky, until the back of his eyes burn, until the beginnings of a headache develops in his temples, until he can no longer breathe through his nose. He must look a mess when he finally turns away, but Zhang Hao doesn’t hesitate before drawing his sleeves over Hanbin’s cheeks to dry them and then cupping them in his palms. Hanbin no longer has the energy to keep himself up, and it’s like Zhang Hao knows that too, as he slowly guides them until they’re sitting in the dusty, dirty walkway. Hanbin wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Sniffles fill the shadows as they sit in silence for a moment, Hanbin trying to gather the remnants of his sanity, Zhang Hao idly combing his fingers through his hair.

“There has to be another way.” Hanbin’s voice is hoarse and scratchy when he finally speaks.

“I’ve been doing some reading …” Zhang Hao’s words trail off.

He looks over at him, not daring to hope. But what he sees there confirms what he’s slowly come to realize. “You haven’t found anything either,” he murmurs through a clogged throat.

The corners of Zhang Hao’s mouth turn down, and he shakes his head. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not out there.”

“We don’t have time.”

Zhang Hao's silence speaks volumes.

Hanbin takes in a shaky breath. He fears he’s not as much like Zhang Hao as he had thought. If it was Zhang Hao in this position, he wouldn’t give up so easily. “I spoke to Flamel.”

He doesn’t have to expound on what he means. Just like Flamel had said, his presence that day, just like his admittance here, is answer enough. Another sob breaks past the flimsy barrier of his chest. “I don’t want to forget you.”

It feels like betrayal. It feels like a betrayal to choose to live and forget. It’s why Hanbin wouldn’t — couldn’t — talk to Zhang Hao about it even as he slowly came to his decision. And even now, Hanbin doesn’t know if it’s worth it. His heart seizes with the gravity of his choice, with regret and hesitation. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe he can still go to Flamel and tell him that he’s changed his mind. That he’ll risk a hunted life simply so he doesn’t have to lose this — lose him.

“You won’t,” Zhang Hao says, with such conviction that it momentarily stems Hanbin’s tears. Zhang Hao’s jaw is tight when he stares at him, his eyes blazing with a surety that could burn through the stone walls of this castle. “I won’t let you.”

His brave, stubborn, beautiful Zhang Hao. A tiny ember of hope starts to burn. “I don’t want to give up,” Hanbin whispers.

“It’s not giving up,” Zhang Hao affirms. “We’re not going to give up. One day we’re going to find another solution — and then you’ll remember.”

“We’ll both remember,” Hanbin promises.

“What’s yours is mine, baby. Remember?”

He does.

Zhang Hao sighs. “I never wanted this for you,” he whispers, his hands reaching for his cheeks again.

They’re in near darkness, without the illumination of even a Lumos spell, but Hanbin can still make out Zhang Hao’s sad eyes, his parted mouth, so clearly.

He doesn’t need to see him to know it’s him; Hanbin can tell by the knobby shape of his fingers, by the small hitch in his breath that he gets whenever he’s overwhelmed and trying not to show it, by the familiar smell of him, which is always faintly sweet like dew and airy like a spring breeze. He knows Zhang Hao just by the way he naturally takes up the space next to him and the tangible shift in the air, as if suddenly electrified, as if suddenly illuminated, whenever he’s near. It’s not something that Hanbin ever needs to see; he thinks if he were to lose his sight he would unerringly be able to find his way to Zhang Hao.

“Will you tell me about it now?” Hanbin asks, his own hand coming up to trap Zhang Hao’s hand to his cheek. “What it’s like?”

He trusts that Zhang Hao will know what he’s asking — not what other people believe, not about the nightmares, not about anything that he’s already shared, that Hanbin has already devoted to memory. He’s asking for all the painful, vulnerable parts that Zhang Hao has never said out loud. That no one else has ever been able to relate to, until now.

It takes him a second to start. Hanbin reaches out in the dark to grasp Zhang Hao’s other hand. He can feel the thump of his heart in his wrist. Their pulses beating in tandem in a never ending loop.

“There were minutes, hours even, where I would forget that my memories were gonee,” Zhang Hao says, voice low and slightly shaking. “But that was almost worse. Because it would hit me when I was most unprepared. It’s like you forget there’s a stranger in your house, and then you get up to go to the kitchen, or you turn around to pick up your wand, and they’re standing right there, not making a sound but also unignorable.”

“It was exactly like that — like there was a stranger in my mind. That’s how I thought about it for a long time, anyway. That there was a second version of me that remembers, who for those six months looked like me, and talked like me, and thought like me, but wasn’t — isn’t — me. It was like someone had taken control of my body for six months, and I had no control over it. It was disconcerting, terrifying. It still is at times.”

And it’s like once Zhang Hao started, he can’t stop, because the rest pours out of him in one go. Like he’s been waiting for years for someone that he trusted enough to share this with, who cared about him enough to listen without judgment: “It made me feel like I didn’t know who I was anymore. Didn’t know how to act. Because who am I if not the culmination of all my experiences and memories? It didn’t help that at the time, everyone was so terrified of saying the wrong thing to me. They were all acting like I had somehow changed even though they insisted I hadn’t.”

Hanbin draws his thumb in gentle patterns along the soft pad of Zhang Hao’s palm, skating over the rapid beat of his heart in his wrist. Zhang Hao’s fingers do the same along his cheeks, pressing gingerly and rubbing tenderly. As if both needing the confirmation that they’re here, that they’re real.

“Sometimes I would sit on my bed all night, trying to remember,” Zhang Hao continues. “I would do nothing but sit there with my eyes closed. Trying to tunnel into my mind. It felt like walking right off the edge of the Earth.”

A slight pause. And Hanbin, who had been looking down at the shadowy shapes of their intertwined hands, feels the press of Zhang Hao’s gaze on his features. He looks up.

“I don’t say all this to scare you,” Zhang Hao murmurs. There’s a dim flash of teeth.

“I’m not scared,” Hanbin whispers. And he’s not. All of this only hardens his resolve: “I won’t give up.”

Another smile, this one more true. “Me neither.”

The frost comes on quickly.

One moment, his cheeks are heated from crying and the overlap of both their hands. The next, a sheen of ice crawls across the dirty, stone wall next to them. The crackle of it so ominous and sudden that Hanbin jolts. And then comes the eerie, foreboding rustle of a cloak that chills the blood in his veins more than the drop in temperature could. Zhang Hao gasps, feeling it too. They both turn at the same time, seeing three dark, swooping figures, barely discernible in the near blackness racing towards them.

Too close, Hanbin’s brain screams. If they can see them they’re too close. The two of them scramble up; Hanbin cutting his palm on the rough stone of the wall. And then they’re running. But Hanbin fears they won’t be fast enough. How could he not have realized? Somewhere along the way down this tunnel, they had unknowingly waltzed right across the castle’s invisible wards.

The air is so cold around them that Hanbin can see his own breath in front of him in dimness. He hears Zhang Hao sprinting next to him, and he wills both of them faster, faster. Hanbin thinks he feels the tangle of claws in the back of his robe, but he doesn’t dare turn to check. If they catch him, it’s all over.

And despite the burn in his legs, the way he’s pushing his muscle and bones to the limit, it’s like a nightmare. Hanbin feels like he’s running through sludge. Even as his heart races in his chest and his mind screams at him to keep going, he feels the sudden exhaustion, that terrible numbing agony weighing down on him. That’s how Dementors catch their prey, by sucking all of the energy and life out of them, so by the time they catch them, they’re already half-dead anyway. And knowing that they most likely won’t kill him isn’t any consolation at all. He knows what awaits him is far worse.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees something reach out of the darkness, a thin gray arm with an indent where the bone splits. One of the crooked fingers snags on the sleeve of Zhang Hao’s cloak, and he wastes precious time stopping to jerk his arm out of its hold. Hanbin isn't willing to leave him behind. He’s not the one that they want.

“No! Hanbin!” Zhang Hao gasps, lurching forward and pushing Hanbin out of the way just as another gnarled hand swipes through the shadow of the tunnel. Hanbin hauls him close, pulling him as they begin to run again.

Faster, faster.

The two of them crash against the curved wall of the staircase.

But even then, Hanbin doesn’t dare slow. He shoves Zhang Hao ahead of him up the stairs. His thighs are on fire when they finally squeeze through the gap in the statue, clinging to each other and falling to the hard floor of the corridor.

The silence rings in Hanbin’s ears. Or maybe it’s the residual adrenaline, fear. Rough hands reach for him, turning him over, and Zhang Hao’s terrified expression fills his vision. They both take each other in for extended beats, their breaths coming out in rough pants. Zhang Hao’s shoulders are shaking above him. Slowly, Hanbin sits up and reaches out to put his hands over them, to steady them. “Are you okay?”

Zhang Hao nods quickly. But he hasn’t stopped shaking. And Hanbin knows it’s not from the cold. “I didn’t think they’d be so close,” Zhang Hao mumbles. “They were lying in wait for us to slip up.”

Hanbin would have known, but of course he didn’t. “It’s my fault.”

Zhang Hao makes a noise in the back of his throat, a mix between a whimper and a scowl. “It’s not.”

“I was the one who led us to the statue.”

“I had just as much a part in this as you,” Zhang Hao insists. “I should have been more careful. I was so stupid.”

Hanbin reaches out to cover Zhang Hao’s mouth. He can’t bear to hear him speak like that, not about himself, and he knows it’s just because of the terror that still trembles in the air around them.

The corridor is empty. The moonlight shining in from the high, arched windows does nothing to expel the feeling that they’re being watched. No dark shapes marr the sky outside, but now Hanbin knows better. They’re there. Biding their time out of sight. He takes in a shaky breath, and Zhang Hao reaches over to pat his chest. It only soothes him a little.

“Come on,” Hanbin finally murmurs. He stands, and reaches down to help Zhang Hao up, not liking how he’s still slightly trembling. “The windows are creeping me out.”

Zhang Hao’s shudders subside as they wind their way up the staircases, holding hands. Hanbin’s thumb draws over the back of his hand almost absently, a well of bitterness slowly filling him up. Tonight was a stark reminder of how little time he has, of the choice that he’s being forced into. There’s no chance of him surviving out there if he keeps his memory intact. The knowledge that he only continues to live now because of Flamel’s protection abrades his every sense.

A squeeze against his fingers brings Hanbin back to the dim hallway they’re walking down. The candles here are only lit every few light sconce, no one comes up to the seventh floor past class hours. Wordlessly, they both know where they’re headed.

The Room of Requirement opens easily after their third pass, though the room that they walked into is entirely unexpected. Hanbin gapes, trying to figure out how this had happened. He hadn’t really been thinking about anything specific — no, he’d been frustrated over his lack of power, his lack of control. He’d been wishing for anything that would keep all this at bay for just one night, to allow him to have more time with Zhang Hao without fear and loss and preemptive mourning getting in the way. This wasn’t what he had expected though.

This being a room set up for romance: rose petals strewn across the lush beige carpet, leading a trail to the giant curtained bed on a raised dais in the far side of the room, and on the other side is a golden, sunken bathtub, already filled to the brim with bubbles that smell faintly of fragrant jasmine and peach and a deeper, enticing musk. Candles flicker from a giant chandelier above, somehow lighting every corner of the room, but keeping the illumination at a romantic glow.

“What were you thinking about?” Hanbin chokes out.

“I-it’s not like that,” Zhang Hao splutters.

Every detail that Hanbin takes in makes his ears heat even more: the bouquets of tulips, daisies and roses that cover nearly every available surface; the gauzy sheerness of the curtains around the bed, suggesting that even when drawn closed, seductive shadows and shapes will still seep through; and is that the dulcet tune of a piano Nocturne drifting through the air?!

“What were you thinking about?” Zhang Hao seems to recover enough to shoot him a knowing, smug look.

He is absolutely speechless. And as if taking that as a sign that he should take the lead, Zhang Hao slowly walks backwards towards the bed, fingers trailing across Hanbin’s palms before their hands eventually separate. But Hanbin is all too eager for that connection again, following him in a trance until Zhang Hao is sitting on the bed with Hanbin standing so close his knees settled on either side of his thighs.

And as Hanbin stares down at Zhang Hao’s upturned face, so beguiling, so open, he wonders at how danger has the oddest way of begetting lust — perhaps because they both make him feel acutely aware of being alive, so desperately on the edge of something, even if those things are incredibly different. And right now, the fear still simmering low within him feels strangely like want.

“Kiss me.”

Impatience tinges Zhang Hao’s tone, but Hanbin takes his time. He slowly curls his hand into Zhang Hao’s hair, combing them through the soft strands, tilting his head just so his devastatingly sharp chin and tender cheeks are perfectly angled. Hanbin’s fingers trail from his temple down to cup his face, drawing a spine-tingling, goosebump-raising path. And all the while, his gaze doesn’t stray from Zhang Hao’s expression. He wants to make sure that he’s okay before they do anything.

Zhang Hao makes an impatient sound, a half whine and half grunt. But Hanbin doesn’t let him rush him. He squeezes lightly, loving the way Zhang Hao’s cheeks bunch up before smoothing his hands back down to his neck. Zhang Hao arches up just a little, as if he can tempt him.

Of course he can tempt him.

Hanbin dips down to land a brief, quick peck to his lips. The twist of Zhang Hao’s mouth when he stands again tells him that he’s dissatisfied.

“Kiss me properly,” Zhang Hao complains, lower lip pushing out in a pout that has Hanbin’s hands trembling as he smooths his way lower over his narrow shoulders.

“I don’t want our first time to be out of fear,” Hanbin says quietly. It’s the same reason he stopped that evening, what feels like a lifetime ago, before Zhang Hao discovered the truth, before Warren died, before Hanbin realized that he, too, would have to die a little bit in order to live. Even now, on the heels of the very real reminder of what little choice he has, that voice in the back of his head prods him incessantly: is it truly worth it? What kind of life would it be to not feel like this, to not have this, to not know Zhang Hao in this way?

“I just want a kiss.”

And he sounds so forlorn, so absolutely hapless, that Hanbin is leaning down before Zhang Hao even finishes his sentence. Sometimes, the suspense in the air just before their lips meet is as good as the kiss itself — Hanbin savors the palpable buzz between the thin layers of their skin, in the barely there separation as he closes in little by little. It’s a rich, sumptuous sort of tension, one that sets his heart pounding, one that clears his mind of anything or anyone else, one that lights up his entire body and has his fingers digging a little tighter against the smooth muscle of Zhang Hao’s shoulders. It’s the moment that Hanbin thinks every moment in his life has built up to — that’s what the second before kissing Zhang Hao is like.

Hanbin waits just a little too long, and Zhang Hao lurches up the last centimeter to close the gap. Their mouths fuse together, lips gliding in a fierce press immediately. Neither of them have it in them for soft and steady right now, not after how much he’s teased them both. Hanbin feels a pull against the fabric of his robes until his knees hit the bed, one after the other, and Zhang Hao’s legs are winding around the back of his thighs. Hanbin’s hands return to Zhang Hao’s face, pulling him up as Hanbin bends even lower, needing to get closer, always, always needing to get closer than is physically possible.

There is a pious urgency to the way they push off each other’s robes, tug at each other’s ties, roam their hands all over each other’s face and shoulders and chest — different from the frantic edge of Zhang Hao’s panic, closer to their ardent, amorous makeout atop the Astronomy Tower during one of the most perfect nights of Hanbin’s life. Somewhere between their second and sixth kiss, his back hits the mattress, sans robe and tie. A ruinous angel with messy hair and wet lips intent on undoing his shirt overtop him.

Hanbin lets Zhang Hao undo his shirt, all the way until his legs bracketing Hanbin’s hips gets in the way. It doesn’t matter though, Zhang Hao’s attention is quickly diverted to the three inked symbols across Hanbin’s collarbone instead. He gasps when Zhang Hao leans down to attack them with his teeth. He has never thought his neck was a particularly erogenous zone, but with Zhang Hao pulling his skin into his mouth, tongue brandishing over that concentrated area over and over, Hanbin feels like he’s going to explode. Blood rushes right down to those few inches of skin bestowed with his attention, sliding thick and warm through Hanbin’s chest down to where Zhang Hao is insistently not touching him.

Hanbin squirms slightly, his hands, which had been lying on the bed, suddenly finding the motivation to grip onto Zhang Hao’s hips. But no matter how he angles and pushes, Zhang Hao doesn’t lower to sit where Hanbin needs him to. Instead, he drags his teeth up the vein of Hanbin’s neck, making him suck in another stuttered gasp.

And then Zhang Hao sits up, his self-satisfaction marred slightly by how breathless he is. “What are you doing?” he asks innocently, too innocently.

Hanbin freezes, the curve of Zhang Hao’s waist burning his palms. “Uh,” he mumbles. “What do you mean?” He’s fairly impressed that he manages to string more than three words together.

Zhang Hao’s eyes glance pointedly down to Hanbin’s hands still clenched around his hips, looking both demure and arrogant at the same time.

“That’s nothing,” Hanbin says quickly. “Ignore it.”

“It’s a little hard to ignore, Hanbinie,” Zhang Hao smirks, drawing his eyes back up to meet his.

The double entendre isn’t lost on Hanbin. But even as he feels his face heat — even more than it already is from their kisses — Hanbin forces himself to maintain his casual expression. Which is immediately counteracted by the squeak of his voice. “I’m sure it won’t be that hard if you, uh, continue what you were doing.”

Zhang Hao lets out a burst of laughter — a sound so wonderful, so beautiful, and so rare these days that Hanbin flushes with something other than desire. It takes him a while to realize: it’s happiness, potent when it rings from above him like this. There haven’t been many occasions for joy such as this recently. Not only because both of them have more than enough on their minds, but because any sense of levity feels unearned, is always full of guilt. Hanbin doesn’t wait for Zhang Hao’s expression to darken with that inevitable backlash; he doesn’t think he’d be able to bear that right now. So before it can, he cups the back of his neck swiftly, pulling him down for yet another kiss.

This time, he’s the one taking Zhang Hao apart. Nibbling and licking and murmuring sweet nothings against his lips until Hanbin knows he has sufficiently distracted him, until he feels Zhang Hao’s hips twitch in his hold. And it’s Hanbin’s turn to be the one to deny him. He rips his mouth away on a rough groan, voice hoarse and shaky as he asks pointedly, “What are you doing?”

He expects Zhang Hao to play the part, to deny the gentle sway of him above Hanbin, the tell-tale squeeze of his knees against Hanbin’s thighs. What Hanbin doesn’t expect is for him to lean down, murmuring right against his kiss-swollen lips, pouting in that well-practiced, undeniable way of his. “I’m trying to grind on my boyfriend until we both come. But he won’t let me.”

Hanbin blacks out. There’s a thunderous roaring in his ears and a sudden dizziness at the forefront of his mind, and he thinks he hears someone squeal, but then his entire world is spinning and the next thing he knows Zhang Hao is beneath him, their hips completely flushed together, and he can barely breath for how hard, how good he feels against him. Hanbin’s eyes blink open as Zhang Hao rocks up, the press, the smooth, gliding pressure nearly making him moan. One hand reaches down to grip Zhang Hao’s chin so Hanbin can properly kiss him, the other wraps around Zhang Hao’s lush thigh, pushing it further back into the mattress to make room for Hanbin to roll his own hips down. That moan finally escapes as their slick lips crash against each other.

His shirt slides off — is wrestled off — his shoulders, and Hanbin hears the faint rip of fabric, but he doesn’t care. He works his hands under Zhang Hao’s shirt, too eager and clumsy to properly work the buttons through, shucking it up in one rough shove until it’s bunched against his trembling jaw and Hanbin can lean down to nip, bite, suck against a nipple so pretty pink that he nearly sobs. But it’s Zhang Hao who is the one who cries out, nails scratching at the back of Hanbin’s head, hips circling in a way that might thrash someone less used to riding brooms in tempestuous weather off. Hanbin bears down on him, his thighs flexing, and his feet digging into the sheets.

Zhang Hao drives him crazy. Zhang Hao makes him feel like he’s going to explode out of his skin. So much so that Hanbin doesn’t have any time to be self-conscious, to remember that he’s never done this before, to hesitate and wonder if he’s doing this right. Mostly because Zhang Hao’s whimpers and drawn-out groans tell him that he is — doing everything right, doing everything that he wants him to. And that’s all that matters.

Fingers tighten against the back of his neck just as firm thighs do the same around his hips, allowing Zhang Hao to grind up while simultaneously drawing Hanbin lower. They fall into a delicious, natural rhythm. And perhaps they are both pent up, both so full of tension, that it doesn’t take long for Hanbin to lose himself. Here, no one else can touch them. Here, all of his bitterness and worries and constant anxiety has no control over him. Only one person holds any sort of power here, only one person can get him on his knees with a hand around his throat, right here. Only Zhang Hao, flushed underneath him, mewling and writhing and panting his name, letting out cries that make Hanbin ache.

He’s close — both of them. More than he realizes. All it takes is Zhang Hao shuddering beneath him, his eyes scrunching closed and his mouth falling open, for Hanbin to fall apart.

He won’t think about it. As the two of them pant against each other, their chests rising up and pushing down in tandem, Hanbin resolutely won’t think about it. Because he doesn’t want to forget this. If he doesn’t let all of the horrors intrude, then he won’t lose this. If this has nothing to do with immortality, sacrifices, and other Dark, unspeakable things, then he’ll get to keep this. And Hanbin so, so desperately wants to keep this.

Zhang Hao’s slim fingers thread through Hanbin’s hair, damp at the roots, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. Hanbin rubs his lips against the rise in Zhang Hao’s throat and then rolls off him, worried about crushing him. But Zhang Hao simply turns with him. They settle with Hanbin on his back, and Zhang Hao with his arm and leg splayed out carelessly over his torso.

“I’ve never done that before,” Hanbin whispers, too lightheaded and kiss-drunk to be embarrassed over his admittance.

Perhaps Zhang Hao is also a little winded, a little stunned, because he only lets out a low hum. That at least tells Hanbin that he’s pleased. The light dig of Zhang Hao’s nails into his bare chest, causing another twinge of arousal to circle low in his belly, tells him he’s very pleased. “Good,” Zhang Hao practically purrs. And then a little softer, full of contentment: “Me too.

Hanbin has the urge to dig his nails into something as well, namely Zhang Hao’s ass, which had just been pressed up against him, which he has seen hints of, wrapped in enticing pajama bottoms and their school-regulation slacks, but which he’s never gotten the chance to properly feel. And suddenly that is an imperative. It is so important that he gets to with the limited amount of time he has left. Without thinking too much about it, Hanbin reaches over, squeezing playfully.

Zhang Hao squeaks in surprise. But he doesn’t complain. Instead, he teases, “What? Couldn’t resist?”

“Something like that,” Hanbin laughs. He lets his palm slide off slowly, reluctantly, so they can clean themselves up with quick, efficient charms.

Once they’re sitting back on the bed again, Zhang Hao leans forward, bracing his hand on Hanbin’s knee to give him a sweet, almost chaste, kiss. Zhang Hao needed this, Hanbin realizes. And he did as well, maybe more than Zhang Hao. Because Hanbin has been thinking about this all wrong. If he only has until the end of this year, if he only has a few measly months with Zhang Hao left, exactly as they are, then he’s going to live it for all its worth, for more than that.

Hanbin has never been truly greedy before in his life. He has always catered to what everyone else needed, wanted, expected. And while those small sacrifices have never felt like true concessions, for the first time, he feels emboldened to toss them aside, to take and take and take, everything, anything that he wants. Because he deserves it if this is all he’s going to get. And of course, everything, anything, all he wants is Zhang Hao.

“You’re thinking very hard over there,” Zhang Hao murmurs. His tone is playful but his expression is serious when he pulls back.

“I—” Hanbin doesn’t know how to put the revelation, the decision he’s just made — far more important perhaps than the one that he told Flamel — into words. But for Zhang Hao he wants to try. He doesn’t want to waste a single second on second-guessing, on unsaid things. “I want to date you, openly, publicly, without reservation. I want to kiss you in the middle of the Great Hall, so even if I don’t remember it, everyone else will. I want to spend every moment with you, so many that there’s no way they could all be erased. I want to complain about courses and talk your ear off about Quidditch and plan out our future after school. I want to buy you hundreds more books and only ever wear the socks you make me. I want to pretend like this isn’t it. I want everything with you.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes are glazed over, shiny with unshed tears by the time he’s done with his declaration. His mouth is slightly open, lips still slightly pink, pursed in that natural way of his that makes Hanbin want to kiss him. So he does. And when they part again, his eyes aren’t the only ones that are slightly dazed.

But Zhang Hao recovers a little faster than him. “I don’t know if we could really fit hundreds of books in a small London flat.”

He giggles. “An Extension Charm will take care of that.”

“Hm, so prepared are you?”

Hanbin tilts his head in question.

“To make a life with me.”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t hesitate to nod. “Of course. Even if you’d like a thousand books.”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes, even as his lips turn up in a blinding smile. “Now don’t get carried away. Isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Bubbling with a strange sort of giddiness, Hanbin scoots closer, pulling Zhang Hao into his arms, the two of them leaning up against the huge, oak headboard. “What’s unrealistic is thinking we’d be able to afford a flat in London.”

“I’m going to make good money once I’m a Healer-in-Charge of a ward at St. Mungos,” Zhang Hao sniffs. “And until then, we’ll have to live off of the money you make as … a professional Quidditch player.”

Hanbin snorts. “We’re going to be destitute.”

“You’re good!” Zhang Hao argues. “What do you want to do after school then?”

“I’m not sure.” More truth than he’s admitted to anyone else. Hanbin had been toying with the idea of going into the Ministry, only because that’s easy, but that prospect of that has never really been appealing, even less so now after everything they’ve learned this year. He wants no part in the machinations of old Wizarding families, to be a pawn for the rest of his life. “Maybe I’ll work for Gringotts, become an Arithmancer.”

“You hate that class.”

Hanbin does.

Zhang Hao eyes him with a scrutinizing look. “What about a professor?”

“A professor?” he echoes in surprise. “You think I’d be good at that?”

“You were really good with that third-year girl in Hogsmeade, doing up her coat.”

It takes Hanbin a while to remember. And when he does — he marvels that Zhang Hao had been looking at him then, had already been paying attention to him.

“I think you’d make a wonderful teacher,” Zhang Hao encourages, his eyes lighting up like he’s really warming up to the idea. “You’re patient; you never get frustrated with me even when I plot the wrong constellation for the third time.”

“That’s because it’s you,” Hanbin laughs.

“You wouldn’t have the heart to yell at a poor, little first-year.”

And he’s right, Hanbin wouldn’t. That would probably bring him to tears, nevermind the first-year. “What would I teach?” he plays along.

“Astronomy,” Zhang Hao says confidently. “Or DADA, since that is your best subject.”

Once more, warmth spreads through Hanbin’s chest — of being known, of being seen.

“Maybe Charms as well, though you’d probably have to duel Professor Flitwick for the post.”

Hanbin laughs. “You want me dead. Professor Flitwick is ruthless. Who assigns thirty-six charms over the course of two weeks?”

“Which is exactly why you need to steal his job,” Zhang Hao says solemnly. “Only you can save the poor students from an equally terrible fate.”

The two of them dissolve into nonsensical giggles. They plan out their future in exceedingly gentle murmurs and bubbling laughter: Hanbin wants their own Owl, while Zhang Hao insists there is nothing wrong with using the ones from the Owl Post to save themselves the trouble of cleaning up bird droppings; Hanbin talks Zhang Hao into allowing a Muggle television in their home, insisting that he would love all the reality TV; Zhang Hao convinces Hanbin of the wonders and convenience of being connected to the Floo Network.

And by the time they lay their heads down properly, and Zhang Hao whispers a spell to dim the candles in the room, Hanbin has been lulled into such a state of blissful contentment that he drops off to sleep immediately. For the first time in two weeks, he doesn’t dream.

“The Minister is here!”

Hanbin overhears the furtive whisper in the middle of Potions. He pauses his mortar and pestle, straining his ears so he can eavesdrop on the two Ravenclaw girls to his right.

“I saw him arriving by carriage this morning when I was coming back from the greenhouse,” Patsy Inkwell whispers.

Hanbin pretends to bend down to check the temperature of his cauldron, trying to get a little closer.

“Do you think he’s here for the Third Task?” her friend asks.

Patsy shrugs. “I’m not sure. But you know Clarisse? Her father works at the Ministry in the Improper Use of Magic Office, and she said that there have been loads of firings in the past few months. He’s been doing a lot of overtime to make up for the lack of staff, could barely make it back for Christmas.”

Hanbin frowns.

“Firings? Why?”

“Beats me.” Patsy’s voice lowers even further and Hanbin can barely hear it over the burbling of his potion.

“Maybe he’s here to ask Flamel for help then.”

Hanbin tries to seem busy, pouring his grinded moonstone into the liquid and stirring with his ladle.

Patsy snorts, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The Minister’s reliance on Flamel has always been fairly well-known, deferring to him early on during his tenure for advice on how to deal with a catastrophic case of mass Muggle Obliviation. It’s why, despite only being a Headmaster and not even officially part of the Wizengamot, serving only as an advisor, Flamel continues to hold so much power in the way of Wizarding World politics.

“Even he can’t do the work of an entire department though.”

“It’s not just one department,” Patsy whispers conspiratorially. “Apparently there are big changes afoot in the Ministry.”

At that moment Professor Zhou prowls closer to their tables, effectively ending their conversation. Zhou makes some sort of remark regarding the portion of dragon’s blood in Patsy’s brew, and she nods quickly, rushing back to the storage room.

Hanbin is acutely aware of his stare as he adds in the two drops of Syrup of Hellebore and then begins to slice up the Murtlap tentacles. Professor Zhou drifts past without comment. But much to Hanbin’s disappointment, when Patsy returns, the two girls turn their chatter to celebrity gossip and their plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

Forty minutes later, the bell toll for the end of class rings overhead, and Hanbin rushes to clean up his table. He sets his vial of Wolfsbane Potion on Professor Zhou’s desk before hurrying out of the classroom. He spots Zhang Hao immediately, and a tension that he didn’t even know he’d held in his chest abates.

“How was class?” Zhang Hao asks, bobbing forward with a grin.

“It was fine,” Hanbin smiles back. His mind returns to that conversation between the two Ravenclaws, not sure if it’s worth mentioning. Even if the Minister is here — what would they do about it? Besides, Hanbin doesn’t want to marr the short time that they have between classes with furtive talks and unsubstantiated rumors.

“What is it?” Zhang Hao asks, instantly noticing his mood.

“Nothing,” Hanbin shakes his head. He leans closer, so he’s whispering against the shell of Zhang Hao’s ear, so close he can nearly feel the fuzz against his upper lip. “Zhou’s going to quiz you on the temperatures for Wolfsbane Potion.”

When he pulls away, Zhang Hao is smirking. “Didn’t I say I don’t like owing people?”

“It’s not cheating if I don’t tell you the answer, right?” Hanbin laughs. “Besides, I think we know each other too well now for that.”

Zhang Hao sighs dramatically. A full body one that makes Hanbin’s grin widen. He internally celebrates whenever he’s able to bring out the cute side of Zhang Hao like this. This, just this, is a far better use of the time he has left.

The bell signals the five minute warning for the start of their next class.

“I have to go,” Hanbin sighs regretfully. The Charms classroom is too far away. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Zhang Hao nods. “See you later, Hanbinie.”

He turns away, but before he can get too far Hanbin catches his hand, reeling him back in quickly to place a brief peck on his lips. Zhang Hao’s lashes flutter, his cheeks rising into a smile that makes Hanbin lose his breath more than the quick kiss did. He leans in to steal another quick kiss, uncaring of the Slytherins walking past them into the classroom. And with that, Hanbin hurries away down the hall, lest he ends up staying here forever kissing Zhang Hao — which, with each passing second, sounds like a far too tempting reason for him to miss Charms.

Hanbin doesn’t think again about the conversation he heard in Potions class until he’s hurrying down the stairs to lunch, when he spots a familiar figure heading through the doors ahead of him.

“Taerae!” he calls.

The Ravenclaw turns, eyes scanning until they land on Hanbin. He waits by the large double doors for him to catch up. “What’s up?”

“I’m looking for some information,” Hanbin starts off.

Immediately, Taerae’s eyes light up. “You’ve come to the right person.”

He links his arm through Hanbin’s, marching both of them over to the Hufflepuff table. Only half of the morning courses have been let out in order to stagger everyone’s lunch times, so it doesn’t take them long to find a more secluded section of the table. Taerae sits down across from Hanbin, folds his fingers together, and sets his chin atop them. “So what can I help you with?”

Hanbin knows he needs to tread carefully here. Taerae isn’t aware of what happened over Christmas, anything about Zhang Hao’s past, nor the danger that Hanbin is in. And he wants to keep it that way. The less people who know about Eiranaeus the better. But Taerae is also smart, too nosy and too astute for Hanbin to get away with blatantly lying. “I heard during Potions this morning that the Minister is here,” he starts. “Have you heard anything about that?”

Hanbin can tell by the instant sparkle in Taerae’s eye that he knows something. But then his grin turns sly, and Hanbin suddenly feels like he’s made a mistake coming to him.

“Maybe. But what will you give me in exchange?”

Hanbin groans, emulating his best Zhang Hao expression: wide eyes with a darling pout. “You can’t just tell me out of the goodness of your heart?”

Taerae chuckles, wagging a finger. “No can do.”

“What do you want then?” Hanbin sighs.

“Two week’s of Prefect patrols.”

Hanbin is skeptical. “Is what you know really worth that?”

“Only you can decide the price you want to pay,” Taerae shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter to him whether Hanbin takes the deal or not.

“But I don’t even know what it is!”

“Or …” Taerae trails off purposefully. “You could tell me where Grimsby and Warren have really gone off to.”

Hanbin stiffens. Too late, he realizes his mistake.

“I knew it!” Taerae exclaims, palms slapping onto the wooden tabletop in between them, clattering a fork off its dish. “You do know what’s happened to them!”

Hanbin leans forward, shushing him when a few third-years shoot them both curious glances from further down the table. Gritting his teeth, Hanbin mutters, “I’ll do the patrols.”

“Fine,” Taerae sniffs. “Keep your secrets. I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

Said in a way that is utterly terrifying. Hanbin leans back, shoulders tense, even as Taerae picks up one of the pasties and places it right in the center of his pristine plate.

“So what do you know about the Minister?” Hanbin finally prompts when Taerae starts to eat.

Taerae wipes the corner of his mouth primly before nodding. “Right, Amon saw Spavin arrive very early this morning in a carriage. He came alone, and apparently looked extremely haggard.”

He frowns. “Is that all?”

“Of course not,” Taerae smirks. “Shortly after Spavin arrived, so did Helena Nott and Jiwoong Kim. They were all ushered to Flamel’s office. Amon didn’t really see them go in, but they haven’t been spotted elsewhere in the castle, so it’s a fairly good guess. A group of Gryffindor girls saw them in that corridor on their way to class.”

Hanbin isn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. The appearance of the judges most certainly made it a matter of the tournament. It does give him the perfect alibi though. “So they’re here for the Third Task,” he surmises.

“Not necessarily,” Taerae muses.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s curious that only two of the four judges are here, right? Knowing Montmorency, he’s a busy-body. He won’t stand for being left out.”

Hanbin snorts. “That’s true.”

“Besides, I doubt the Minister’s schedule is so free that he’ll bother personally with tournament details. No offense.”

He shrugs.

“It must be a Ministry matter,” Taerae says. And something about his tone makes Hanbin think he still knows more than he’s letting on. “Nott and Kim are the only two among the judges who work there.”

Hanbin nods slowly, deciding to offer a bit of his own information. “I heard there have been a lot of staff shake-ups there recently.”

“So I’ve heard, as well,” Taerae confirms. “They apparently started shortly after the holidays. How curious, right? What could possibly be the reason?”

A corner of Hanbin’s lips turn up. “Something tells me you know more about it than me.”

Taerae laughs gleefully. “That is going to cost you a bit more though.”

“Three weeks?” Hanbin winces. He doesn’t want to give up that many nights with Zhang Hao.

“I know when not to push my luck,” Taerae smirks, as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

Or perhaps the way Hanbin keeps darting his eyes towards the door is a dead giveaway. His potions class should have let out by now.

“I’ll tell you the rest if you just answer one simple question,” Taerae offers.

It’s a trap. Hanbin can sense that immediately, but he also wants to learn what Taerae knows. “One yes or no question,” he bargains.

“You’re one tough negotiator, maybe look into becoming a lawyer after you graduate,” Taerae grumbles. And then he sighs like this is one great big inconvenience for him. “But fine, one yes or no question. Deal?”

Hanbin slowly nods.

“Did you know there are Dementors circling the school?”

Hanbin sucks in a sharp breath.

Taerae’s eyes narrow, as if going in for the kill. As if that reaction is all he needs to know. And yet Hanbin can’t feel an ounce of relief that he doesn’t need to answer, because that means Taerae knows. Perhaps not the whole of it, but more than he should.

“How did you know?” Hanbin whispers.

“I’m very well-read,” Taerae shrugs. “I can tell the signs. Whyever they’re here, they haven’t been overly subtle.”

Unease and worry thread through Hanbin. Even he hadn’t known that they were so close to castle grounds. Not until yesterday evening, not until they’d nearly had him in their grasp. Hanbin shudders.

Taerae takes his fear as something else. “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone else has noticed yet, or there would be an uproar within the student body.” He cocks his head to the side. “You might want to check on Gunwook though.”

Hanbin makes a mental note of that — and Ricky and Gyuvin.

“Anyway, a deal is a deal,” Taerae claps his hands together, getting them back on track. “I heard this from a few of the Beauxbaton students who have family in the Ministry, but apparently Spavin is ‘cleaning house’, so to speak. Getting rid of anyone who isn’t loyal to him in the Ministry.”

Hanbin scrunches his nose. “That sounds a little too much like a …”

“Dictatorship?”

“I was going to say monarchy.”

“Same thing. But that’s what all the firings are about. A few of them are rather surprising — high up figures in the Ministry, a few names from old Wizarding families. You didn’t hear it from me,” Taerae leans further in, voice dropping even lower. He shifts his eyes furtively to the side to make sure no one is paying them any attention before continuing. “But apparently Lee’s father is one of them.”

Hanbin stiffens. All of it comes swirling to the forefront of his mind: Violet’s cloying voice as she had so smugly informed him of Gideon’s father’s Minister of Magic ambitions, the Pureblood wizards that are in Eiranaeus’s inner circle — it all overlaps. He feels sick.

“Alright there?” Taerae asks, eyes probing his features, taking in every minute shift of his expression.

Hanbin schools his features into something less horrified. “Yeah.” It comes out as a croak. Hanbin clears his throat and tries again, “Yeah. It’s just that we met him, Lee’s father, at the beginning of the tournament.”

“Oh, what was the Head Auror like?” Taerae pauses. “Or, I guess if rumors are to be believed, former Head Auror.”

Hanbin flicks his gaze towards the large double doors, beyond which they had gathered with the Minister and his officials. “He seemed very strict,” Hanbin recalls. “A no-nonsense type. He didn’t say much, just gave us a basic rundown on the security around the tournament and the safeguards that the Auror’s had in place against any sort of magical accidents.”

“Anything else?” Taerae wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know if I read it correctly. But he seemed pretty … dismissive of Lee. He barely even looked at him, which I found quite odd.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Taerae grins. “Perhaps there’s some love lost between father and son?”

Even if there was, Hanbin doesn’t see how it involves the Minister coming to see Flamel. His head spins — Hanbin feels the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“Are you okay?” Taerae asks again, a concerned furrow working its way between his brows.

“Yeah, I’m just … trying to figure out what it could mean.”

Thankfully Taerae misunderstands. “I doubt it’ll really interfere with the tournament anyway, so you can rest easy. Unless your plan was to go into the Ministry after graduating, that is.”

Hanbin snorts. “I wasn’t considering it, but thanks.”

“Good to know you have some sort of sense,” Taerae teases, except there is a serious thread there that Hanbin isn’t sure if he’s ready to pull yet. Thankfully in that moment, a spill of students rush through the double-doors. Taerae grins. “Ah, here comes your lover boy.”

Two months ago, that remark would have made Hanbin blush from the tip of his ears to the collar of his shirt, but now, all he does is perk up, turning towards the open doors of the Great Hall — and there he is. Zhang Hao with his tie slightly crooked, heavy coat over his robe, and the barest brushes of pink dusting his cheeks. Beautiful.

Taerae tuts from across him. “Oh, young love.”

Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor.

Hanbin walks into the Great Hall on Saturday morning full of trepidation. Not only because this is a vital Quidditch game if they want any chance at the House Cup, but also because Matthew is still determined not to talk to him. He winces when he thinks back to their conversation last week — perhaps he should have gone in there a little bit more prepared, or maybe he had just underestimated Matthew’s hurt.

A familiar dissonance washes over him as Hanbin takes his spot at the Hufflepuff table. He’s surrounded by his teammates and the handful of early risers already clad in charcoal and honey scarves, holding badger signs, and sporting striped knit hats with yellow pompoms. The regular group of Quidditch fans, the giggling girls who choose a new player to trail after each week, have also started gathering by the doorway, palms up to their whispering mouths and dreamy, saccharine looks in their eyes. All of this should feel small, insignificant in the face of everything else going on in his life. But once again, his choice has given Hanbin a new appreciation, a renewed hunger, for every little thing that he will never get to experience again: this particular breakfast with this particular group of people, and most importantly, this particular boy sitting at his side wrapped up in his House scarf and boldly wearing the tie that he had pilfered from him months ago.

“He’s glaring,” Zhang Hao murmurs, cheeks round with a bite of his pancakes.

Hanbin sighs. “I know.” He can feel Matthew’s attention from all the way across the mostly empty hall.

“What did you say to him last week?”

Hanbin spears a piece of sausage with his fork, not really in the mood to eat, but knowing he needs to keep up his energy. “I told him that the reason I didn’t tell him about … everything was because I was helping you, and they weren’t my secrets to tell. But then I accidentally slipped up and mentioned Gyuvin, and, well, you can imagine how well it went after that.”

“So he’s mad at you, me, and Gyuvin now.”

“Something like that,” Hanbin mutters. “He said that if our years of friendship meant so little that I couldn’t even trust him when I was in trouble, then I didn’t have to put in the effort to pretend to be his friend anymore.”

“Ouch,” Zhang Hao winces.

“Yeah,” Hanbin mumbles, sullen. Matthew knows something is wrong, that there’s more he isn’t telling him. And it eats away at Hanbin’s conscience. But he isn’t ready yet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready. Yet the sand in his hourglass is running out far too quickly. He swallows and the food sinks like a stone to the pit of his stomach.

“You look a little green there, Captain,” Irma chirps as she walks behind them. She slaps him on the back, which makes him start coughing. “Not nervous are you?”

“Are you trying to kill him?” Kama snorts from across the table.

Zhang Hao rubs his back gently, and Hanbin reaches for his cup of pumpkin juice.

“Sorry,” Irma laughs, not sounding particularly sorry.

“I’m not nervous,” Hanbin says, though the tears in his eyes don’t make it very convincing.

“Of course you aren’t,” Irma waves. “This is just the most important game of our season. Otherwise we don’t stand a chance at the House Cup this year.”

“Whose side are you on?” Kama narrows her eyes at her over the table.

“I’m just saying: it’s a good opportunity now that Slytherin are pretty much out of the running.” Irma shoots Zhang Hao a cheeky, semi-apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“It’s okay. I’ve never really been into Quidditch,” Zhang Hao shrugs. He doesn’t quite realize that it’s a completely laughable thing to say while decked out head-to-toe in Quidditch team regalia, complete with streaks of yellow and black across his cheeks that Gyuvin had applied for him with glee this morning.

Breakfast wraps up quickly once the rest of the team arrives — Gyuvin’s hair looking a little more mussed than it had when he’d woken up (a feat Hanbin didn’t think was possible) and Ricky looking a little too smug when he flounces away with Zhang Hao to go find a spot in the stands.

The atmosphere in the changing room is tense; in place of friendly banter and casual chatter is a simmering awkwardness and heavy restlessness. It’s like the unspoken tension between him and Matthew has permeated both teams. Hanbin pulls on his Quidditch robes in silence, and Gyuvin keeps shooting both of them wide-eyed looks, but even he senses that this would be a bad time to crack one of his jokes.

Sumi catches Hanbin just as they’re about to head out onto the pitch. “What’s going on with you two?” she hisses, tugging him to a stop. Hanbin doesn’t have to clarify who she’s talking about. “He’s been in a mood ever since last week, and it’s messing with my team.”

Another twinge of guilt. “Sorry, we got in a fight.”

“If this is deliberate sabotage, I don’t appreciate it, Sung.”

“It’s not,” Hanbin sighs. “I don’t want him to be mad at me either.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s complicated,” Hanbin mumbles, feeling a little like he’s seven again being told off by his mother for not properly watching his sister and letting her play in the mud.

Sumi gives him a long look, the weight of her hand on his arm heavy. Finally she says, “You don’t have to deal with everything yourself, Hanbin.”

Hanbin blinks. Has he been so transparent this whole time?

Apparently he has, because Sumi laughs, shoulders bobbing. “It’s pretty obvious you’ve always taken on more than you should. A lot of people look up to you, and you’re a good leader, a good Captain.”

“Thank you.” It means a lot coming from her — someone who he’s always thought was all of those same things.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re infallible, or even that you need to be.”

He swallows. Hanbin knows she’s right, but acknowledging it and doing something about it are two different things. “Thank you,” he says again, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Hanbin thinks Sumi is going to say something else, but finally, she just pats his arm. “Good luck out there. May the best team win.”

The weight of her words feel far heavier than her hand had. Hanbin follows her out of the changing room — stepping onto the dazzling greenery of the pitch for the second time in two weeks with a sense of dread.

As soon as Madam Hooch’s whistle blows to start the game, Hanbin pushes himself right to the edge. By the time the first fifty points have been won, twenty to Gryffindor and thirty to Hufflepuff, Hanbin’s thighs are burning, and despite the shouts and yells reverberating around the stadium, all he can hear is his own harsh panting.

Hanbin intercepts a pass between Sumi and Cormac, narrowly missing a collision with the back of the Gryffindor boy’s broom. He cuts a sharp corner on his broom, feeling the jolt against his hip, but the adrenaline and his intense drive numb him to the pain almost immediately. He loops up, dodging a Bludger aimed at his legs, and lobs it through the hoop.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff! They have a significant lead on Gryffindor now,” the announcer’s voice carries over the grass, momentarily disorienting him. Her high-pitched voice so different from Montmorency’s.

“Kama! Here!” Vance yells as he speeds past Hanbin on the right, which snaps his concentration back to the game.

By the time the score tally is at a hundred points, the back of Hanbin’s throat hurts from breathing so harshly, and his fingers ache from gripping his broom. He’s pushing himself too hard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that. He’ll be paying for this game with bruises and aches and a ringing headache tomorrow morning. But for some reason he can’t stop. Especially not when he sees Matthew flying ahead, Quaffle tucked under his arm. A Bludger from Patrice sails right towards Matthew. He lowers his broom at the last second to dodge, but it makes him drop the ball.

Hanbin tightens his legs around his broom, shooting forward so fast that he feels the rush of air snapping at his cloak as he snatches the Quaffle midair. It’s too easy to imagine knobby, skeletal fingers in place of the wind, a sharp cackling instead of the yells of his teammates as they try to get him to pass the ball. Hanbin clutches the ball to his side as he swerves past Gryffindor’s Beaters. He senses Sumi pulling closer to his right, her broom keeping pace with him despite his breakneck pace.

“Sung!” she calls. “Hanbin!”

But her voice quickly gets swallowed by the howling wind, carrying a deep winter chill that plunges Hanbin back to that night. His stomach is tight and his legs are locked as he tries to go faster. If he goes faster, they won’t be able to catch him.

He leans just a little too far forward. And Hanbin catches the subtle tilt, the small but vital tip in balance too late.

He hasn’t fallen off his broom since he started flying in first year, and even then he hadn’t taken too many tumbles during Madam Hooch’s class. He’d been a natural, had picked it up effortlessly and easily, despite never having been particularly inclined to any Muggle sports. And so Hanbin doesn’t know what to do when he pitches forward on his broom, as he wobbles in mid-air and his head lurches forward until he’s nearly upside down in the air.

He loses his grip on the Quaffle first, and he distantly registers the leather red ball dropping the hundreds of meters to the ground below; Hanbin briefly realizes that his body is about to follow it down a split second before he loses grip of his broom. It all happens so fast. One second he’s whipping through the air, running, always running, and the next he feels his stomach drop as starts to fall. Hanbin lets out a scream—

A body barrels into him. The collision is so jarring that it punches Hanbin’s shoulder back, traps his breath in his throat. The world, the sky, is sideways as he lays awkwardly across the rider’s lap, their knee digging into Hanbin’s side. Madam Hooch’s loud whistle pierces through the air, set against the backdrop of collective gasps and chatter and shouts from the stands. The broom rider lands on the ground and the two of them tumble onto the grass. Hanbin’s vision spins, gradually righting itself as he lies on his back on the ground. He squints against the sun and the noise buffeting against him from all sides.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asks frantically, concerned face swimming into focus in Hanbin’s vision.

But he doesn’t get a chance to answer before Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey, and both teams are upon them.

“Hanbin!” Gyuvin calls, full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Bloody hell, that was some catch!” Another voice overlaps with Gyuvin’s.

“Are you alright?” Sumi asks, helping Matthew up.

Tall bodies momentarily crowd around Hanbin, but Madam Pomfrey’s sharp glare quickly shuffles all of them back and gives her enough room to crouch down next to him. Hanbin tries to shoot Gyuvin a quick smile over her shoulder, as he’s herded away by Madam Hooch. Apart from the momentary scare, he doesn’t feel too bad. His head has stopped spinning at least.

Madam Pomfrey quickly turns to him, muttering various diagnostic spells. “Don’t move, Mister Sung, until I can determine if anything is broken,” she mutters. As she watches the glow float around his body, her expression lightens somewhat.

And then she bends down and shines the light from the tip of her wand into his eyes. Hanbin tries to flinch away from the blinding glare, but she gently takes hold of his chin, tilting his face this way and that, and then asking him to follow the light with his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as she finally moves that infernal light away. “Does anything hurt?”

Hanbin tries to take stock of his body even as the rush of adrenaline numbs any aches and pains; he winces when he tries to roll his shoulder. “My shoulder,” he says. “I think I hit it when Matthew caught me.”

“Mm, yes, I see,” Madam Pomfrey confirms from her readings. “The good news is that it’s not dislocated, just a small sprain. Nothing I can’t fix with a quick spell, though it may continue to be sore and bruised.”

She hovers over his shoulder, nimble fingers pressing and lifting gingerly to assess the damage. And then she murmurs a healing charm. “How does that feel?”

“Much better,” Hanbin mumbles. And it’s true, the discomfort had faded now, no longer throbbing and more of a tender ache.

“Everything else looks to be in order, thankfully. You may have some bruising along your sides, and there is a splinter in your finger.”

Hanbin looks down in surprise, not having registered the faint throbbing on the side of his thumb until Madam Pomfrey pointed it out. She takes care of it quickly.

“Thank you,” Hanbin murmurs.

“Not a problem, dear, just stay there and rest for a second, okay?” Madam Pomfrey prompts, getting up and shuffling over to ask Matthew a few questions and perform a Diagnostic Spell on him as well.

Hanbin sits up slowly, and tests out his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Madam Hooch approaches once Pomfrey is done, glancing at both Hanbin and Matthew, who didn’t seem to require any healing.

Hanbin flexes his hands. Everything seems to be fine. “I’m good to play,” he confirms.

Madam Hooch looks over to Madam Pomfrey for her assessment.

“No severe damage,” Madam Pomfrey says, though she’s frowning down at Hanbin. “It’s very lucky that you didn’t sustain any head injuries.”

Hanbin nods — he knows.

“But he is well enough to play,” she confirms to Madam Hooch.

“Very well then, we will begin again shortly,” she nods. “But Mister Sung, I will dock points for reckless flying. Understood?”

He bites his lip, appropriately chastened. “Understood.”

Madam Hooch blows her whistle. And Hanbin hears the light voice of the announcer ring out overhead. “Hufflepuff Captain Hanbin Sung has been cleared of any injuries. The game will resume shortly!”

As soon as Madam Pomfrey toddles away, Hanbin is swarmed once more by his teammates. First of whom is Gyuvin, who reaches down with a hand to help him up.

“Are you okay? I mean, I know you are, because Madam Pomfrey said so. But are you?” Gyuvin babbles. “What happened? How did you fall? You never fall.”

“I was just going too fast,” Hanbin placates, turning to smile at the rest of the Hufflepuff team as well. “But I’m fine. You guys don’t have to worry.”

“I saw you going down from across the pitch. That was terrifying,” Patrice says, shaking her head.

“You’re bloody lucky Matthew caught you, man,” Vance says. “That could have been bad.”

From a distance away, Hanbin catches Matthew staring at the group with a deep frown on his face. But before Hanbin can approach him to thank him, or at least reassure him that he’s alright, Madam Hooch calls, “Everyone, mount your brooms!”

Hanbin quickly mutters a spell, his broom flying over from where it had ended up floating near one of the far stands. He checks it over quickly, but it seems to be in good form. It really just had been an accident then … Hanbin tries to use that to reassure himself as he climbs on.

Another short whistle from Madam Hooch has all of them kicking into the air. As Hanbin does, his eyes quickly flick over to the Slytherin stands. He instantly spots Zhang Hao, standing at the front of the stand box. He has a white-knuckled grip on the railing in front of him, his body leaning forward precariously. Their eyes meet, and even from here, Hanbin can tell that Zhang Hao’s are filled with worry. He can feel the press of his concern, the sharp flare of his anxiety like physical strokes against his cheeks, brushing over his injured shoulder. I’m okay, he mouths quickly, hoping that Zhang Hao will see.

A shrill, sharp blast from Madam Hooch’s whistle. And they’re off again.

“Sung Hanbin!”

A slap on his arm — the good one.

And then Hanbin is being pulled into a narrow chest, tight arms wrapped around him.

“How could you?!” Zhang Hao is shaking as he holds him, squeezing so hard that Hanbin can barely breath. “How could you do that to me? I nearly died! You nearly died!”

“I’m fine,” Hanbin wheezes, his own arms coming up to hold Zhang Hao’s trembling back. He rubs his palms in the dip between his shoulder blades, hauls him against his chest even tighter because who needs to breathe?

“Oh, you better be fine!” Zhang Hao fumes, yanking himself away to glower at him.

He looks furious. He looks completely frazzled, one side of his hair sticking up like he’d nearly pulled it out while sitting in the stands. Hanbin has never seen Zhang Hao so visibly disconcerted before, at least not when his life isn’t in danger, and perhaps even then. Even while all the horrible rumors about him were circling around during their first year, even with all his sleepless nights and the needless stress and pressure he has been under every year since then, Zhang Hao has never been anything but coldly handsome and unflinchingly composed whenever he’s publicly walked these stone halls. Except now.

“Are you even listening to me?” Zhang Hao snaps.

Which makes Hanbin realize that while he had been musing over the disarray of Zhang Hao’s bangs and the bitten swell of his lower lip, Zhang Hao had been berating him over giving him such a scare and not being more careful and getting back on that bloody broom like you have to prove anything!

“I’m fine,” Hanbin repeats, reaching for Zhang Hao, but he lurches away, shooting Hanbin another quivering glare.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“I won’t.” Hanbin tries to maintain a solemn expression even as his delight threatens to push the corners of his mouth up. He doesn’t think Zhang Hao would really appreciate that right now.

Zhang Hao’s eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms. “Is this funny to you, Sung Hanbin?”

He knows he’s in trouble when he uses his full name — in the proper order. Only so many people call him Sung Hanbin. “No, not at all,” he says quickly. “Not funny.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao snips. “Because nearly falling off your broom and giving me a heart attack and having the gall to continue playing like everything is fine is— is— how dare you!”

At that, Hanbin can’t quite help but let a small chuckle escape. Zhang Hao is ferocious, indignant, incredibly adorable in his fury. And it feels good. His concern, his care, to be fussed over. Hanbin has never had someone quite so worried about him before, perhaps besides his own mother. Even Gyuvin had gotten over the scare quite quickly, when it was clear that Hanbin was in fine playing form. He had slapped him on the back in the locker room and told him how lucky it was that he wasn’t injured in the fall — Hanbin had scored the difference-making point for their win.

“Why are you laughing?” Zhang Hao’s tone spells murder.

But Hanbin can’t stop. He reaches forward again, too quickly this time for Zhang Hao to properly dart out of reach and wraps his arms around him to pull him close again. Zhang Hao turns his chin away in defiance. But Hanbin is undeterred when he leans over to plant a quick kiss to his cheek, so dewy and plush despite the rest of him being sleek lines and sharp angles.

“I’m fine,” Hanbin emphasizes. “Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t have cleared me to play otherwise. It was nothing but an accidental fall.”

Zhang Hao grumbles something under his breath.

Hanbin dips his ear to his mouth. “What was that?”

“You were pushing yourself too hard,” Zhang Hao chastises in a low mutter. “You didn’t need to go that fast. No one else could even catch you. You wouldn’t have been able to aim with a Quaffle at that speed anyway.”

Hanbin melts a little, the same time he feels his first twinge of shame. He doesn’t know what had gotten into him. It had been a strange blend of desperation and fear — thinking that perhaps if he just went fast enough he’d be able to outrun time itself, paired with the pulse-thundering fear of being chased that kick-started something instinctive in his brain, even as he logically knew it was just a friendly Quidditch game. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, sincere. “I don’t know what came over me.”

At that Zhang Hao relaxes a bit. A few members of the Gryffindor team exit the changing room next to them, and that’s when Hanbin realizes that they’re still in the narrow hallway, in full view of anyone that passes by. His cheeks grow a little warm, but also — let them see if they want to.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zhang Hao mutters. He pats at his chest gently.

Hanbin nods. He was fine while playing. Though now that the adrenaline is fading, he does feel the ache in his thighs, the building soreness along his arms. It’s been a long time since he’s gone all out like that, even in previous games, and neither of the TriWizard Tasks so far have been especially strenuous. “Just sore,” Hanbin explains. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Don’t worry.”

“Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?” Zhang Hao still asks with concern. “Just to double check?”

“There’s no need,” Hanbin reassures. His smile turns teasing. “Not when I have a boyfriend who practically has a full healing kit in his dorm.”

“And you are so lucky for that,” Zhang Hao grumbles.

“I am,” Hanbin grins, meaning it with all his heart.

Zhang Hao takes his hand, dragging him up the hallway that connects the changing room to the rest of the castle.

Somewhere along the way, they stopped really trying to sneak into each other’s dorms. It’s not like anyone would tell on them anyway, with Zhang Hao being Head Boy and both of them being seventh-year Prefects. Besides, the Hufflepuff Common Room is so packed with revelers celebrating their win right now that Hanbin doubts anyone would think Zhang Hao, still wrapped in a honey and charcoal scarf, looks out of place, anyway.

Hanbin almost immediately gets swept up in a wave of students who want to congratulate him (“That last shot was brilliant!”) or who want to relive his terrifying fall (“Literally everyone around me gasped and lept to our feet!”). He keeps Zhang Hao’s hand firmly in his own, as they slowly work their way to the fireplace, where the rest of the team seem to have started holding court. Gyuvin is talking to a couple giggling fangirls next to the high-back chair, and Patrice is retelling the story of how she intercepted Cormac’s pass with a well-timed Bludger.

“That’s really what gave Rossie enough time to get the Quaffle,” she boasts with a wave of her hand, a group of third-year Hufflepuffs hanging onto her every word.

Hanbin sits on the loveseat with Zhang Hao and weathers through the party for the next hour or so. He tries to keep up genial conversation with those that flit up to them, letting them do most of the talking, and tossing them encouraging smiles and brief commentary. As is the norm whenever they’re together, Zhang Hao is happy to let Hanbin do all of the socializing, while he sits there looking oh so distracting. All the while, Zhang Hao’s tapered, skilled fingers work over the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder, rubbing away the lingering stiffness. But that’s not what is truly distracting. It’s the way he looks at him, with his low-lidded gaze and tiny smirk. Hanbin can’t help but glance at him every three seconds or so, utterly entranced by how lovely he looks.

When Hajoon and Yarkov, who had been busy reliving the entire first half of the match, move off to the side of the room for more Butterbeer, Hanbin is finally offered a bit of a reprieve.

“Having fun?” Zhang Hao teases. “My boyfriend is so popular.”

Hanbin chooses to ignore him, in favor of tugging at the silk tucked between the wool of Zhang Hao’s scarf. “You never gave this back to me,” he accuses playfully.

Zhang Hao glances down to see Hanbin’s tie neatly knotted against his throat. And then he looks up, even more coy and smirking than before, if that’s possible.

“It must have slipped my mind,” Zhang Hao smiles, coquettish and irresistible.

“That’s hardly fair. I gave yours back.”

“Would you prefer for me to give you one of my ties again?” Zhang Hao leans forward. “So you can stash it under your pillow while you sleep?”

“I don’t need a tie when you’re in my bed every night now anyway,” Hanbin grins.

“Oh, so I’m just a done deal to you now.”

Their heads are bent so close to each other, perhaps to anyone else they look like they’re kissing. And a part of Hanbin hopes that they do — think that they are. He hopes that they look just as caught up in each other and intertwined as—

“You two are absolutely gross.”

They both snap their heads to the side to see Gyuvin standing in front of them with a pulled face and hands on his hips.

“I don’t think you and Ricky are any better,” Zhang Hao glares.

“We’ve never sucked face in public before,” Gyuvin announces a little too loudly.

“Well, perhaps you don’t understand the true meaning of romance!” Zhang Hao shoots back, indignant, also a little too loudly.

Hanbin sets out placating hands before either of them says anything that’s going to become the new line of gossip going around the castle. “We were not sucking face,” he defends.

“Looked like it to me,” Gyuvin mutters under his breath.

Before Zhang Hao can retort again though, Ricky materializes from the crowd with a cup for Gyuvin. He glances at Zhang Hao’s miffed expression and decides to ignore it in favor of smiling at Hanbin. “Congratulations on the win.”

“Thanks,” he smiles up at Ricky. “Though are you sure you should be saying that? We’re tied now for the Cup.”

“We lost any chance at it with Gideon and—” Ricky falters. “Yeah, with them gone anyway.”

It feels callous, caustic even, to speak about their deaths this way. As if it’s an inconvenience — especially because at least among the four of them, they know what really happened. And yet life inconceivably, unimaginably goes on. It’s an inevitable reality that they need to face, that they need to acknowledge, all in their own way. Briefly, Hanbin wonders if that is what it’s going to be like once he loses his memories of this moment. If he’ll be spoken of as a casualty, if his name dropped in the middle of a conversation will have an equally heavy sobering effect. You’re not going to be dead, Hanbin berates himself. His fate is far better than Gideon or Warren’s. He should be grateful for that at least.

By the time Hanbin tunes back into the conversation, the topic has switched to the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. And Hanbin suddenly realizes that he won’t be able to go; he’ll need to talk to one of the other Prefects about taking over his third-year group.

The celebrations carry on well into the night, up until the chimes sound for curfew. It’s mostly Hufflepuffs left in the Common Room now anyway with the exception of Zhang Hao and Ricky, who quickly bids them goodnight and tows his boyfriend away. Hanbin turns to Zhang Hao with an apologetic look. “I have Prefect rounds tonight.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “I didn’t put you on for tonight.”

“I know, but I swapped with Taerae.” He hasn’t told Zhang Hao everything he’d learned from the Ravenclaw yet, mostly because Hanbin isn’t yet sure what to make of it. It could be nothing. And yet, that thread remains dangling in the back of his mind, just waiting for him to pull on it.

Zhang Hao’s frown deepens. “I could come with you. You must be tired.”

“It’s okay,” Hanbin leans forward, pressing a quick kiss against his lips. And when he still doesn’t look entirely convinced, Hanbin adds, “I’ll be quick.”

“Okay, hurry back,” Zhang Hao pouts, knowing it’s the best guarantee that Hanbin will shirk his Prefect duties and return to him as quickly as humanly possible. “You should get as much rest as you can tonight.”

Hanbin doesn’t bother telling him that he hasn’t gotten much rest as of late — he already knows.

He’s on rounds with Lauretta Bell tonight. When she shows up in the North Wing hallway, Hanbin can tell that her eyes are slightly puffy and red-rimmed, even under the dim lighting of sparse candles. He’d nearly forgotten — that she’d been dating Warren. He briefly wonders who had told her. If her parents were in on it, too, if she was. If she had sent Gideon and Warren off that night and waited in vain for them to come back.

Hanbin has always kept a wide berth around Gideon’s group of friends. When it became clear that none of them knew of his connection to what had happened — whatever version of events they ended up hearing about and spreading amongst themselves — Hanbin had been relieved more than anything. Lauretta’s expression is purposefully blank and detached when she spots him standing outside the classroom.

“I switched with Taerae,” Hanbin offers as an explanation, in lieu of a greeting. He wrestles with whether he should say anything else, an I’m sorry, or even an Are you okay? but he thinks both would give him away. He hates Eiranaeus even more in this moment, for stripping him of his decency. Instead, he asks, “Shall we split up? We’ll be able to cover more of the castle. I can take the towers and the outside courtyards.” He can at least do this.

She gives him a skeptical look — knowing he’ll be walking nearly double the distance if he takes the areas that he’s claimed. It would only leave her the quick job of the classroom corridors from the fifth to ground floors. But as if she’s too tired to argue, or, in classic Slytherin fashion, never one to turn down an advantage, she nods. “That’s fine with me.”

Hanbin watches her pivot on her heel back down the corridor towards the staircases. He waits until she’s out of sight before heading in the opposite direction towards the West towers. He does a sweep of the Owlery first, which is empty even of owls as they take advantage of the darkness to hunt for food in the Forbidden Forest.

When Hanbin reaches the top of the Astronomy tower, he casts a fond look towards his and Zhang Hao’s usual table. There’s clearly no one here either, so he’s just about to turn back down the stairs when the heavy awareness of being watched hits him. Hanbin stiffens. He knows Filch is a fan of scaring new fifth-year Prefects. But he doesn’t bother with the older ones. And besides, there’s no telltale tapping of Mrs. Norris’s paws nor her distinctive meow.

It can’t be the Dementors, Hanbin tells himself. Even though his body is a little slow to follow that logic, still tense and on edge. He takes a full look around, jolting when he realizes who — or what — had been staring at him.

Perched on the furthest alcove railing is a snowy owl. It’s one that Hanbin hasn’t seen before. Even the school’s snowy owls have at least a few specks of black and gray, but this one is so pristine and perfectly white that Hanbin almost thinks it’s an illusion. But then it ruffles its feathers and lifts one of its legs — a letter.

Hanbin draws forward. “For me?”

Of course the owl doesn’t answer, but it does lift its legs once more. Hanbin approaches the ledge with great caution. The only person he ever receives letters from is his mother, and even then, they’re rare. They don’t own an owl at home — it’s difficult while living in fully Muggle apartments — and so she always has to go out of her way to the store in Diagon Alley.

Hanbin thinks back to their quick correspondence prior to the holidays, when he’d informed them he wasn’t going to return for Christmas. Had something happened since? His heart seizes: had she somehow realized what was going on? A mother’s intuition? That brings an unexpected pressure against the back of his eyes — but he won’t cry. The owl cooperates patiently as he unlatches the letter from its leg. As soon as it’s off, it takes off with a barely audible flutter into the dark night.

But when Hanbin flips the beige envelope over, there is no writing or address on it. So not from his mother. The tension returns as he sticks his finger under the flap, separating it easily with a bit of pressure. Inside he finds just one simple piece of weighty parchment:

I have new information for you.
Let’s meet at the same place, same time.
- KJW

Chapter Text

“only the mornings of your eyes and the day
of our faces to be together”
— W.S. Merwin, Before Us

Zhang Hao

The back of the portrait swings open to a view that Zhang Hao is loath to describe as familiar. The upper-floor of the Hog’s Head is as dingy and decrepit as ever. Grime still covers the darkened windows; a horrifying amount of dead bugs litter the corners of the room, competing for space with cobwebs; and Zhang Hao is fairly sure the couch is now missing one more leg, completely propped up on one side by a rickety mound of discarded books.

Jiwoong made the wise decision to remain standing.

“Good evening,” Jiwoong greets him, stepping forward with a quick nod. His brow furrows when he notices that Zhang Hao is alone. “Hanbin isn’t coming?”

The two of them had talked about this all last night. Zhang Hao had known something was wrong as soon as Hanbin had returned from his rounds. Jiwoong hadn’t given them a lot of time. The same place obviously meant the upper floor of the Hog’s Head, but same time had given them pause. It had taken a while for them to remember the exact day they had met him — Thursday, today, or, more aptly, tonight.

“He can’t leave the castle right now,” Zhang Hao says. It’s a risk to even tell Jiwoong this much, but there isn’t much that they can do about it. He lets out a quick breath of relief when Jiwoong doesn’t seem to question it. Or perhaps that means he knows more than he’s letting on?

“So it will just be us tonight,” Jiwoong concludes — incorrectly.

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “He’s waiting for us, if you’ll follow me back to the castle.”

That had been the final solution they’d come up with, not particularly creative, but well-prepared for.

Jiwoong hesitates. “It’s not … secure in the castle. At least if we want to remain undetected. Flamel is able to tell whenever someone breaches the wards.”

“He can tell who comes and goes?” Zhang Hao stiffens.

“He’s more concerned about keeping certain people out than in.”

How interesting. Zhang hao smirks. “You don’t think I’d believe that you’re one of those people he’s keeping out?”

Jiwoong chuckles. “Certainly not. But he’ll know I’ve returned when I have no business with him.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we’ve asked the Room to remain Untraceable.”

“I should have known you two would be prepared,” Jiwoong chuckles, shaking his head.

Zhang Hao doesn’t say a thing, just lets him decide on his own.

“Fine, I trust that two have taken the precautions.”

“If anything, you could lie and say you’re giving us tournament tips.” Zhang Hao turns and taps on the frame of the portrait. Stepping into the dark tunnel once it opens again.

Jiwoong chuckles, following him into the passageway. “That might actually be worse.”

Their walk is silent and quick, Zhang Hao eager to return to Hanbin. Already he feels the anticipation of seeing him again. When they push open the portrait of Ulick Gamp, Hanbin quickly stands from where he’d been sitting on the couch.

“Jiwoong,” he greets. “That was fast.”

“Good evening, Hanbin,” Jiwoong smiles. “I was told you can’t leave the castle.”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Hanbin grimaces.

Jiwoong looks around the large room — taking in the sitting area, fireplace, and the large portrait of the previous Minister they had just exited out of. “I don’t think I’ve ever used this room when I was a student.”

“The Room of Requirement?” Hanbin queries.

Jiwoong chuckles. “Oh no, we got plenty of use out of the Room. But just not this iteration of it. We mostly used a dingy and empty cell to practice dueling for fun. Not nearly this comfortable.”

Zhang Hao drifts over to sit next to Hanbin. “So what was it that you needed to tell us so urgently?”

Jiwoong settles on an armchair in front of the fireplace. The orange flames behind him flicker across the smooth planes of his cheeks, tinge the tips of his hair with a golden glow. When he glances at them both, his eyes are shadowed, serious. “I know who tampered with the pensieve.”

Zhang Hao freezes. Jiwoong knows about Eiranaeus. That must be who he means. Eiranaeus had all but admitted to being the one behind the incident that night — it had simply been a ploy to deliver Zhang Hao into his clutches once again. But of course, Jiwoong has no idea that they already know.

“A lot has happened since we last spoke,” Zhang Hao starts. “I think we know as well.”

“Enlighten me,” Jiwoong says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“What happened with the pensieve was connected to my lost memories,” Zhang Hao shares. Though they didn’t have many years of overlap in school, Jiwoong must have been a fifth year when he had disappeared; he would have heard about it, along with the fallout of Zhang Hao’s memories. But if Jiwoong already knows who was behind it, he should already know all of this. And yet, Zhang Hao still explains, “Whoever tampered with it was the one who took me back then.”

Jiwoong’s frown deepens. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” None of this is making any sense.

“Are you sure you know who it was?”

“Yes, fairly sure,” Zhang Hao says bitterly. The pensieve, the mirror, that horrible, horrible night is unfortunately all too real.

But Hanbin leans forward, also sensing that something is off. He asks, “Who do you think it was?”

Jiwoong snorts. “I don’t just think; I had my suspicions for a while, but I only recently had the chance to confirm it. As you both should know, everyone’s wand gives off a slightly different energy. It’s a mix of the type of wand you own, along with your own unique magical signature. It’s how Aurors are able to detect and trace magic from a scene of a crime.”

“We know,” Zhang Hao says.

“Right. So remember how I said that there were additional spells cast on the pensieve, both to counter the protections but also to hex it?”

They both nod.

“It took a bit of work, but I was able to get a good reading as to the energy and signature of who cast those spells,” Jiwoong pauses, glancing between the two of them. And Zhang Hao wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. If this is some sort of test. But then Jiwoong dips his head, as if willing to concede. “It was Lee Bernard.”

The revelation rings in Zhang Hao’s chest, pinging around in confusion, in disarray. Lee Bernard? This was not even close to any name that he thought Jiwoong would say. He’d even been prepared for it to be Gideon. But Lee? They’ve never interacted much outside of the Yule Ball, and even then, it had only been brief, cordial conversation between Champions. He’d never gotten the sense that Lee posed any sort of threat — which makes this all the more surprising, all the more horrifying.

Jiwoong takes in both of their shocked expressions with a guarded look. “I see this is unexpected news. I was not able to compare the energy on the pensieve to his magic until I saw him cast a spell again — which he did during the second task. But now, I’m sure that they are the same signatures. He has a very distinctive wand.”

Zhang Hao’s head spins with what this could mean. Has Lee known all along? Has he been working with Eiranaeus this whole time? Had he known about the mirror in Flamel’s office? He must have in order to manipulate that memory into the pensieve. Despite Jiwoong’s skepticism, there’s no one else who could be behind it. An old haunting thought creeps up on him, taps him on the shoulder, freezing up his spine and making him terrified of turning around — how many other students in this castle knows what happened to him? How many are working for Eiranaeus?

“You okay?” Jiwoong peers at him with concern.

He shakes himself out of his terror, something he’s become too accustomed to doing. Zhang Hao tucks it away in the corners of his mind, fuel for the nightmares tonight. “Does Flamel know about this?”

Zhang Hao isn’t sure which he would prefer. It would just be like Flamel not to tell them the whole story, to not warn them of the dangers that lurk so close, too confident in his ability to control those around him. But also, it’s terrifying to think that Lee might have been able to get away with it without Flamel’s knowledge. Proof that the Headmaster isn’t as all-knowing, as powerful as he thinks he is. Zhang Hao is acutely aware of Hanbin sitting next to him, so full of life, so impossibly fragile, and the promises that Flamel made them both. All Zhang Hao cares about is Hanbin’s safety.

Jiwoong shakes his head. “I haven’t told him; I don’t have proof.”

“But you just told us that the magical signatures match,” Hanbin argues. “Isn’t that proof enough?”

“The pensieve has been destroyed,” Jiwoong confesses, shaking his head. “I was never supposed to look into it when it was returned to the Department — it was meant to be dealt with as a malfunctioning piece of magic after the incident.”

“Does Flamel not trust you?” Zhang Hao narrows his eyes.

“It is not just Flamel that we must consider — it would be a bold accusation to make. There would be consequences, in the Tournament, with his school. For him to be expelled from the Tournament or given an appropriate punishment, Headmistress Maxine would accept nothing less than definitive proof. She would not just take my word for it. And of course, Lee will lie. It will look as if I am playing favorites as a judge.”

Zhang Hao narrows his gaze at Jiwoong, still backlit by the fire, his shoulders nearly filling out the full breadth of the armchair. What a mystery he is — seemingly intent on helping them both but so unwilling to tell them any more beyond that. “Why are you doing this?”

Jiwoong seems taken aback at his question. His lips lilt up in a crooked grin, almost like he’s humoring him. “What do you mean? I want to help you both. Especially after what happened, you two could be in danger.”

“But am I right to assume you haven’t told either of the Durmstrang Champions about this?”

The tick in Jiwoong’s jaw is highlighted by the glow from the flames. “Perhaps it’s just school loyalty.”

“Perhaps.” And yet Zhang Hao doesn’t quite believe it.

“I am not the enemy here,” Jiwoong says gently, so quietly that Zhang Hao almost misses it. But the reassurance has the opposite of its intended effect.

“If you haven’t told Flamel about this,” Hanbin’s low voice breaks through the tension, though he’s been taking in their back and forth with a watchful, considering gaze. “How come you were at the castle earlier this week? Students said they saw you arriving with the Minister and Helena Nott.”

“That was just Ministry business. It doesn’t concern either of you,” Jiwoong says, in a manner that makes clear he has no desire to expound.

“Does it have anything to do with nearly half the Ministry losing their jobs?” Zhang Hao challenges.

Jiwoong sucks in a sharp breath. It’s petty of him, but Zhang Hao is a little bit vindicated that they’re able to catch him off guard too.

“How do you know about that?”

“Students gossip,” Zhang Hao laughs. “You haven’t been away from Hogwarts long enough to forget that.”

Jiwoong sighs, and rubs at his temple, weary. “The Minister is going to make an announcement tomorrow.”

When neither of them seem satisfied with that answer, Jiwoong shakes his head.

“I’m already going out on a limb telling you guys that in the first place. I can’t say any more.” He stands from the armchair, hands idly wiping at his tight slacks. “I should get going as well. It’s best not to linger.”

Zhang Hao watches as Jiwoong approaches the portrait. He taps on the frame and the portrait swings open soundlessly, the former Minister’s surly face temporarily obscured from view. Before Jiwoong steps into the passageway, he looks back at the two of them, still sitting on the sofa. “I know you both have already made up your minds to stay in this Tournament, but take caution with the Third Task. I wouldn’t suggest confronting Lee about this directly. But I figured you had the right to know.”

And that at least, Zhang Hao is grateful for. You had the right to know. How laughably rare that phrase has been in his life. But he doesn’t make Jiwoong any promises. And neither does Hanbin.

Head Auror Bernard out as Spavin institutes Ministry shake up

The headline at the top of the Daily Prophet the next morning is accompanied by a moving photograph of the Minister standing under an arched doorway of the esteemed building from which he reigns. Reigns, Zhang Hao thinks, is an apt word, and certainly the message Spavin seems to want to send. That he’s invincible, that he’s not to be crossed. That he can fire anyone that he wants to even at the detriment of the Ministry.

And it’s clear, too — that this is hurting the Ministry — based on the article. Despite her propensity for fluff and drama, Dew Goldstein knows when to write with a cutting shrewdness that gets right to the point: In a press conference this morning, the Minister said he was “entirely confident” that these motions would only improve Ministry operations and allow the institution to “efficiently serve and better the lives of those in the Wizarding community”. However, the Minister has yet to provide an answer regarding the backlog of reports, tasks, and inquiries that officials say have started to bog down various understaffed Departments. As of last month, senior Ministry officials have said the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Aurors’ office, has been slashed by nearly half with only a handful of workers handling improper magic use and Muggle artifacts—

“What do you have there?”

Zhang Hao’s glances up, slightly disoriented. While he had been reading the Great Hall had started to fill up, and as more owls drop more copies of the Daily Prophet around the large room, he can hear chatter start to pick up about the news.

(“Slashed by nearly half it says! Bloody hell that has to be nearly a hundred workers, right?”

“I heard about this a couple weeks ago. Phineus Bradley said his cousin was just hired this year and already lost her job.”

“How is this going to improve the efficiency of anything?”

“Has the Minister gone mad?”

“He’s going to be knocking on Flamel’s door any day now to ask for his help.”)

Zhang Hao picks up the paper to show Ricky the front page.

Ricky pulls a face. “So I’ve heard.”

“What do you think about it?” Zhang Hao asks, curious.

Both of them are without their boyfriends this morning, losing them to Advanced courses. Anxiety still eats away at him whenever he’s apart from Hanbin, but he’s working on it. He doesn’t want to cage him, just wants to keep him safe. And he’s mollified by the fact that there’s probably nothing dangerous happening in History of Magic besides a lecture-induced coma.

Ricky tilts his head to scan the paper, finally snorting as he takes a seat. “I think this is bad news for Reinhold Grimsby. He must have gotten found out. About time, too, it’s not like he’s been very subtle about it.”

“No, but he’s always been careful. He only ever spoke about it at gatherings with those he trusted, his friends,” Zhang Hao notes, making sure to keep his voice pitched low. Although the general din of the Great Hall guarantees that anyone would have to get pretty close if they wanted to eavesdrop. A flutter of wings cascade from one of the round clerestory windows as more mail arrives, adding to the general hubbub.

“He must have slipped up somehow,” Ricky shrugs. “Maybe spoke to someone at the Ministry he shouldn’t have, or trusted the wrong person.”

It was bound to happen at some point. It’s hard to keep a hostile takeover of the government a secret, not when it gets as large as it has. Zhang Hao considers the Daily Prophet piece again. “It seems like the Minister is getting rid of anyone he even suspects of being involved,” Zhang Hao murmurs, scanning the rest of the piece.

Of course there are no mentions of Reinhold Grimsby and his coup — but anyone who knows what is going on behind the scenes would be able to read between the lines. These firings aren’t for “efficiency” or “bettering lives”. They’re a desperate ploy by Spavin to keep his position.

“Good thing neither of our parents work in the Ministry,” Ricky drawls with dry humor. He picks up a knife and dips it into the pot of butter, the morning light glints off the sharp edge. Ricky nods towards the paper. “This is going to make Spavin wildly unpopular though. I can’t imagine he’ll get re-elected.”

“Not unless things get better,” Zhang Hao agrees.

Ricky snorts. “Not unless someone bails him out by re-hiring new staff for half the Ministry.”

Zhang Hao gasps. “That’s it!”

Ricky raises an arched brow in an obvious question.

“Why Spavin came to see Flamel!”

“Spavin came to see Flamel?”

“Yes, please keep up here, Ricky. Spavin came earlier this week along with a couple judges. And we’ve been trying to figure out why.”

“I’m assuming ‘we’ means you and your besotted boyfriend?”

“Yes, but that is not the point.” Though it really is the point, always. “We assumed it was because Spavin needed help getting things done at the Ministry. But he might be thinking even further, he wants to secure Flamel’s support so he doesn’t lose his position.”

Ricky seems to consider this new information for a moment, and then he nods. “There wouldn’t be any need for a coup if Spavin becomes so unpopular that Reinhold can gain power legitimately through an election.” He snickers. “By doing all this, Spavin has given him the perfect opening, actually. Maybe that was the plan all along.”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I doubt it. Even if he ran now, he’d be extremely unpopular. Maybe even moreso than Spavin.”

“There are those who would vote for him simply because he’s a pureblood,” Ricky points out with a long look.

“There are also those who wouldn’t for the same reason,” Zhang Hao counters.

It’s true. The intermingling of students at Hogwarts dulls it down somewhat — although never completely — but blood purity in the Wizarding World has always been a heightened, polarizing topic. And with the current Minister, with the past few Ministers, having been Halfbloods, it has set a precedent that some are desperate to keep, and others would do anything to reverse.

Finally, Ricky concedes the point. “I would wager they are the majority though.”

Zhang Hao nods. It all makes sense — fortunately, or unfortunately.

“Do you think Flamel will really support him?” Ricky asks.

He shrugs. “It’s not like I know Flamel well.”

“I think you are the singular person in this school who has spent the most time with Flamel,” Ricky snorts.

Zhang Hao grimaces. “I’m sure he spends more time with the faculty.”

“He spends more time away from Hogwarts than with the faculty,” Ricky scoffs. “Off doing whatever it is important Wizards like him do.”

“Gideon once told me that Flamel didn’t approve of his father’s ambitions.”

It never quite gets easier, saying his name. It’s not like Zhang Hao forgets he’s gone, but sometimes it’s almost too easy to set it to the back of his mind, which brings up a dredge of guilt in and of itself. But saying Gideon’s name every time is like realizing it anew. A fresh reminder that he’s gone. Zhang Hao hates discomfort, but he hates admitting defeat and giving into weakness more. So he doesn’t allow himself to flinch as he continues, “So I’d assume that Flamel does support Spavin somewhat. If only as the only other choice at the moment.”

“How interesting,” Ricky considers.

Zhang Hao feels like those two words have come up a bit too often lately.

“Flamel could probably be Minister himself if he wanted to.”

“I don’t think he cares enough,” Zhang Hao laughs, shaking his head. “And if Spavin comes running to him at every slight inconvenience, well, he’s practically got the power without any of the public pressure that comes with it. He’s free to do as he pleases, which I’m sure suits him just fine.”

They both share a look that screams: Such as keeping Dark magic mirrors in his office. It’s one thought that occasionally lurches to the front of his mind, that groans and creeps and terrifies him if he looks directly at it: The fact that Flamel had kept the mirror for so long, despite claiming that he hasn’t spoken to Eiranaeus for many years. That contradiction doesn’t sit well with Zhang Hao, along with a great many things about their esteemed Headmaster. It makes all this business with Spavin even more disconcerting. It’s clear now that whatever Gideon’s family is mixed up in, it’s interwoven into a complicated knot of Dark magic, blood sacrifices, and immortality.

Minister of Magic — forever. What a horrible, enticing promise.

“Hey,” Ricky reaches across the table. “You okay?”

Zhang Hoa folds up the Daily Prophet and tucks it into his bag to mask how his hands are shaking. “Yeah, of course.”

“You looked like you had seen a ghost for a second. And I don’t mean Nearly Headless Nick.”

“Don’t say his name, you might accidentally summon him and then we’ll be stuck here listening to a retelling of the First Wizarding War.” Zhang Hao forces out a laugh that rings hollow.

But he can tell Ricky doesn’t fall for it by the stubborn crease between his brows, the way he takes a bite of his scone while keeping a wary eye on him. Like he’s waiting on Zhang Hao to crack, like he’s planning on ways to get him to. What an ironic reversal of roles from earlier this year.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Zhang Hao sighs.

“Like what?” Ricky feigns innocence.

“Like I’m keeping secrets from you.”

“Are you?”

“Of course I am,” Zhang Hao sets his shoulders back. “It would be ridiculous if I told you everything. Like how Hanbin has a strange obsession with my ass and likes to grab it when we—”

“Okay! For Merlin’s sake, do not tell me any more.”

Zhang Hao snickers.

The bell sounds above them, a toll that warns them of impending tardy slips and detentions if they don’t get a move on to class. Gunwook approaches to walk with Ricky to their Care of Magical Creatures course by the Groundskeeper’s cabin. “Huddle for warmth” is the exact words the Ravenclaw grimaces out, and Zhang Hao looks out the tall windows on the far side of the hall. Snow has started falling in thick waves, swirling through the air so the Great Lake and the rolling grasses outside are obscured from view. If Dementors lurk out there, it would be impossible to tell.

The lights this far back in the library are turned low, especially at this time of the night. It’s post-dinner on a Friday, which means the wooden tables and narrow walkways between the towering shelves are completely empty. Apart from Hanbin and Zhang Hao as they sit across from each other with scrolls of parchment, ink pots, and a ridiculous amount of books spread out before them. Anyone walking by might think them studious, two Prefects who scored top marks in their O.W.L.s and who are hard at work with essays and homework ahead of the weekend, but only they know what they’re really doing — trying to break a curse.

It’s not really a curse, Zhang Hao knows that logically. But it feels like one. For all intents and purposes, it might as well be. A curse that has plagued him for seven years; a curse that promises to take Hanbin away from him. Zhang Hao can’t help but feel like this version of him, flaws and all, was meant to meet Hanbin, just as he is, too. He wouldn’t change a single thing about Hanbin, can’t think of a way in which he would be even more lovely, even more someone who Zhang Hao has always wanted, needed — even with his own flaws, too. And he won’t let go of it so easily.

They’ve been spending their evenings this way recently: poring over books from the Restricted Section, blowing dust off of old scrolls, and researching as much as they can about Flamel’s history — as a human — and P. Arnauld de la Chevalerie. But there have been no mentions of the supposed alchemist anywhere they’ve looked, and Zhang Hao can’t help but feel like it’s futile. That Flamel would have purged any text related to either of them from the halls of Hogwarts. But sitting around doing nothing has never been either of their styles.

The dust from the tome Zhang Hao is currently flipping through billows out in a cloud, and he turns his scrunched up face away to sneeze.

“You okay?” Hanbin asks, looking up from jotting down notes.

“Just fine,” Zhang Hao sniffs, eyes watering a little. “At least until I contract Dragon Pox from these books.”

Hanbin shoots him a small smile at his attempt at humor.

Their first few sessions had been mired in a rushed intensity and hopeless sense of doom, but they’ve been at this for a bit now, and while both of those things are still there, especially towards the end of the night when they pack up no closer to the answer they seek, there are still pockets of warmth, little shafts of light that peek through the low-hanging clouds of a bleak destiny that threatens to consume them both.

Hanbin lets out a soft sigh — not his first of the night, and Zhang Hao shuts his book with an audible bang. Hanbin jumps slightly.

“What’s been bothering you all evening?” Zhang Hao asks, turning to him with a frown.

He’s been waiting for Hanbin to broach the cause of his obvious dejection all evening, but he should have known that he would never come out and say it on his own. They’ve been at this for at least a couple hours now, and what little of his patience has run out. Zhang Hao has always been the type to go after what he wants without hesitation.

Hanbin plays with the edge of the scroll of parchment he’s been reading. “Matthew still isn’t talking to me,” he confesses. “I tried approaching him a couple times after the game, even just to thank him for saving me, but he always manages to avoid me. I think … I really messed up this time. What if he never forgives me?”

A fight is always awkward, and always awful, and doesn’t always have a definitive resolution. Zhang Hao has learned that the hard way. But he’s confident when he reassures Hanbin. “He will. I might not know Matthew well, but I know you, and the type of friends you keep, and the people you would deem worthy of being considered such. I think he’ll listen. But are you willing to tell him everything?”

Hanbin sighs again, forlorn and heavy. “It’s been weighing on my mind the more our fight drags out: how much I still have to tell him. How I possibly can. And it’s not just him, everyone else, too.”

If Zhang Hao knows anything about Hanbin, he would choose to never tell them. Except it’s not really an option — unless they find a way to lock away their supposed excess magic without linking it to their memories. A tall order for the three months that they have left. The thought nearly paralyzes Zhang Hao with fear, seizes his heart in a grip so tight it nearly stops beating. “Only when you feel ready,” Zhang Hao gentles.

A shaky breath. Hanbin looks at him hesitantly. “We’d have to tell them what happened to you as well, or at least some of it.”

“I’m okay with that,” Zhang Hao concedes. Perhaps meeting Hanbin had changed him into a creature more accepting of vulnerability. Or perhaps he would simply do anything for Hanbin, including this.

“Will you be there?”

“Of course,” Zhang Hao says without hesitation.

“I was thinking of talking to them after the Hogsmeade trip.”

“Gyuvin and Ricky?”

“And Gunwook,” Hanbin says. “Probably Taerae, too, I’ve been terrified this whole week that he’s going to figure it out himself.”

Zhang Hao snorts. It’s just the sort of mind games Taerae is so great at.

“And Matthew,” Hanbin sighs. “We’ll have to somehow get them all together. The Room of Requirement is probably the best place to talk without interruption.” Or nosy eavesdropping.

“You let me handle all the others. You just get Matthew there.”

Hanbin visibly melts, and Zhang Hao wishes they didn’t have at least three stacks of books between them so he could lean forward and pinch his cheeks.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” Zhang Hao groans. “I feel like I’m going cross-eyed reading all these.”

It’s important work — he knows it. The dread keeping his nerves right on edge tells him so. But it also makes him impatient, it makes him feel like they aren’t really doing anything useful at all.

Hanbin chuckles. “Yeah, it’s nearly curfew anyway.”

The mood is quiet and somber as they walk to their dorms, the portraits hung up on the walls peering down at them from their gold frames, the suit of armors stretching their long shadows over their heads. Zhang Hao drops Hanbin off at the Hufflepuff Common Room with a quick kiss and the promise that he’ll come to bed after his bath.

When he enters his own dorm room in the dungeons, Huanjun looks up from his book with a quick smile. Despite the chime for curfew ringing when Zhang Hao had entered the Common Room moments before, both Ricky and Camden’s beds are empty.

“Hey,” Huanjun greets. “Did you hear about the team’s new captain?”

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise. With Gideon … gone, even though the team’s chances are pretty much moot at this point, they still need to play the rest of their games. “No,” Zhang Hao says, opening his trunk to get his pajamas. “Who is it?”

“Leland.”

“That makes sense,” Zhang Hao says noncommittally. Another one of Gideon’s closest friends — followers — besides Warren. He’s also been the team’s Keeper for two years. “Did they fill the spots on the team?”

“Yeah, there were plenty of reserve members. I think Tobin and Myrtle will be playing in the next game against Ravenclaw based on how practice is going.”

“Good for them.”

Huanjun doesn’t say any more, and Zhang Hao makes the mistake of lowering his guard, thinking this conversation is over. He turns toward the door, but before he can reach for the handle, Huanjun speaks up again.

“Do you know what happened to them?”

Zhang Hao freezes. “Who?” He knows who, but he needs the extra second to think.

“Grimsby and Warren.” Huanjun says their names so casually, in a way that Zhang Hao is almost envious of. How lucky that he doesn’t yet know they’re dead. “I mean, the rumor is they’re just off on an extended vacation. Someone even said they were spotted in Rome, but I don’t know. Isn’t that kind of weird? Grimsby still has his N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year, too, and it’s been a month now. I was just wondering if you heard anything. Since, you know, you’re family friends.”

Of course Huanjun wouldn’t know that Zhang Hao hasn’t spoken to his parents since before Christmas. That his mother keeps writing to him, but after her first letter, all of them have sat unread in the bottom of his trunk. Right next to his discarded dream journals. But outright denying that he knows anything would be too suspicious. It’s not like Zhang Hao hasn’t been bracing himself for this — someone to ask him about them.

“They’re not on vacation,” Zhang Hao explains slowly. At least, he’ll be glad to settle that rather stomach-turning rumor to rest. “But there was a … family emergency over the holidays, so they haven’t been able to return to school yet. They might not for the rest of the year.”

He knows Huanjun is going to eventually find out that he’s lying. It’s a secret that can’t, won’t, stay as such for long. All around Zhang Hao are clocks that threaten to run out.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Do you know what happened?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I didn’t go back home for Christmas this year.”

“Maybe it’s lucky you didn’t.”

Huanjun is just making conversation; he doesn’t know what happened, Zhang Hao reminds himself. But still, what he says nearly makes him flinch. The memory of Eiranaeus standing over Gideon as he’d thrown the portkey looming large in Zhang Hao’s mind. “Yeah,” he croaks. “I guess I was quite lucky.”

Zhang Hao’s nightmares that night are plagued by him: Gideon. But he never has another lucid dream; no matter how much Zhang Hao continues to write in his journal, having filled up the first one and moving to a second one now, he has not been able to replicate that dream. His nightmares have returned to being the same ones that he’s had for years, sinking their claws into him before he violently rips himself awake, panting and sweaty. The only thing that has changed is now, Hanbin is there with his murmured assurances and warm hands when Zhang Hao wakes.

Between his own and Hanbin’s nightmares, Zhang Hao only got about two hours of rest. So he doesn’t even blame Hanbin for turning over and burrowing back under the duvet when Zhang Hao finally gets up for the Hogsmeade trip. For obvious reasons Hanbin can’t go and had received permission from Flamel to stay behind. But Zhang Hao, unfortunately, doesn’t have that luxury. He has a full day with the third-years to look forward to.

By the time he washes up and returns back to the room to grab his thick coat, Hanbin is sitting up at the edge of the bed, his boxers rucked up high on his thighs, the line of paler skin that it shows draws Zhang Hao’s attention — before it’s snagged by his tattoos peeking out of his sleeveless shirt. All of Hanbin is so enticing to him. Zhang Hao masks his need with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand how you can still wear so little in the middle of winter.”

“It’s not too bad,” Hanbin mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. He rubs his eyes. “Are you heading out?”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao sighs with remorse. “I have to round up all the third-years at the Entrance Hall.”

Hanbin reaches over to pull him closer, thumbs smoothing over the double layer of Zhang Hao’s robes and coat. “I’ll miss you.”

Zhang Hao feels himself melt a little. “Try to get some more sleep.”

But Hanbin shakes his head. “I’ll head to the library, maybe do a bit more research.”

“You really should rest.” He knows Hanbin wouldn’t have gotten much more sleep than he did. And he hates that there are two of them now with insomnia.

“I don’t want to wake up without you here,” Hanbin murmurs softly, unknowing of how it turns Zhang Hao’s insides into mush. The dark, murky water of the Great Lake outside plays across Hanbin’s lips, his cheeks.

Zhang Hao bends down to kiss both with a reverent intensity that he knows won’t be lost to Hanbin. “I’ll miss you, too. I’ll be back soon.”

Hanbin’s hands tighten around Zhang Hao’s hip bones, and he looks up at him with a sober expression. “Stay safe.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Zhang Hao murmurs.

And yet Hanbin still doesn’t let him go. Zhang Hao watches the interplay of frustration and anxiety cross Hanbin’s lovely features, the perfect dip of his philtrum, the puffiness under his eyes, the curl of a strand of dark hair over his forehead. Zhang Hao’s eyes land on Hanbin’s mole, a darling speckle between the corner of his lips and cheek that falls with his frown.

Zhang Hao’s thumb comes up to stroke it gently. “I’ll be careful,” he reassures.

Hanbin slightly nudges him backwards, and Zhang Hao dutifully takes two steps so give him space to stand. He watches curiously as Hanbin shuffles around the small pile of clothes atop his trunk. When he finally turns, he has a scarf in hand. Not his House scarf, a regular brown tartan one that Zhang Hao has seen him wearing on the weekends.

Silently, Hanbin drapes the scarf over Zhang Hao’s shoulders, careful to tuck it between his neck and the collar of his cloak. “There,” Hanbin grins. “Do you feel warm enough?”

“Simply toasty,” Zhang Hao smiles. He tightens Hanbin’s scarf just a little, the comforting scents of milk and sandalwood rubbing against his cheek. Zhang Hao leans forward for another quick kiss, and then heads out of the room before he can’t bear to go anymore.

Most of the other House Prefects are already in the Entrance Hall when Zhang Hao arrives, and he quickly conjures a green and silver flag from the tip of his Ash wand, waving it around half-heartedly as he spots a few familiar third years walking out from the Great Hall.

“Third years!” he calls. “Slytherin third years, over here!”

He swears he sees a blond head quickly darting away after coming up the stairs to his left. Zhang Hao is just in the middle of silently counting heads when Yujin approaches. He gives him a small smile. “In case you forgot, you’re a fourth year now.”

“I know that,” Yujin sniffs. “Professor Zhou wanted me to give you something.”

Surprised, Zhang Hao turns. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yujin shrugs. He pulls out a small, nondescript satchel from his robe pocket. The velvet cloth is dark, and it’s tied with a simple pull-string.

“You didn’t sneak a peek?” Zhang Hao smirks.

“Fine, I did, but I don’t know what it is. Is it a collection thing? Or for your class?”

The bag is about the same size as Zhang Hao’s palm when he takes it from Yujin. It’s slightly heavy. He quickly pulls on the opening, peering in — and Zhang Hao nearly drops it on the floor. But he’s careful to keep his surprise from showing.

“Uh, yeah, it’s for class,” Zhang Hao mumbles, quickly shutting the pouch and tucking it into a secure inner pocket of his robe.

“What class?” Yujin asks skeptically.

“Divination,” Zhang Hao says quickly. “I requested it from Professor Zhou last week.”

Zhang Hao is rescued from any more of Yujin’s questions by a tearful young Slytherin girl who approaches them saying she’s lost the pocket money her parents had given her for Christmas. Zhang Hao turns to help her look, and Yujin quickly takes that as his chance to leave, heading out the large open doors towards the carriages that are waiting to take them to the village.

It’s not until they all arrive at Hogsmeade and Zhang Hao has given his safety and protocol spiel once more to the tiny third-years that he allows himself to think about the item weighing down his pocket: the medallion — the portkey.

Zhang Hao has no doubt that it was Flamel who had given it to him. And Zhang Hao has no doubt what it means — what it does. In case anything happens, touching the medallion will drop him safe and sound and hopefully unharmed in Flamel’s office. Zhang Hao had kept a wary eye out for any signs of Dementors during the carriage ride to the village, but the sky had remained free of any looming dark shapes, if just a little cloudy. And now as he walks down the cobblestone path, he can’t tell if the cold wind whipping his cloak against him is simply just bad winter weather or something more nefarious.

He quickly ducks through a snow-lined alleyway between a flower and herb shop and Scrivenshaft's Quills. It’s shortcut to the far side of the village, where he plans to search in Tomes and Scrolls for any books regarding Eiranaeus or excess magic. He’s nearly through to the other side of the alley, when a sudden shadow falls across his path. Zhang Hao tenses, heart leaping, before a feminine voice calls out. “Hao?”

Standing on the other end of the alley is Eudoria Fawley, her red hair tucked into a fur-trimmed light blue cloak. It is clasped tightly up to her pointed chin, with wispy bits of her curly, bright hair peeking out of the edges. She smiles and waves at him.

Zhang Hao almost wishes he’d encountered Dementors instead.

“Eudoria,” he greets stiffly, taking a few short steps out into the small back road. Unfortunately, they are alone.

When Zhang Hao looks at Eudoria’s wiry hair and dark emerald eyes, all he can see now is her father. In the weeks after Eiranaeus’s revelation, the faces of his kidnappers have seeped into his nightmares. Of course he doesn’t remember the kidnapping, but Enoch Fawley and Ignacio Greengrass are no strangers. Zhang Hao remembers a thick, plush carpet, the rich blue lines on the porcelain vase in the entryway, as he glanced from the sideboard up at Enoch Fawley’s bushy eyebrows and salt-and-pepper hair. He must have only been eight or nine back then, but he remembers Enoch already being older than his parents. He remembers the scar along his cheek scaring him. It had just been a vapid, unsubstantial instinct of a child, but perhaps he had known even then not to trust him.

“Hao?” Eudoria squints. “Everything okay?”

“It’s Zhang Hao.”

“What?”

“Everyone calls me Zhang Hao,” he explains, blinking away the overlay of cropped, faded ginger hair.

“Ah, I’ll remember next time,” Eudoria giggles. She makes a big show of looking behind him before asking, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Hanbin stayed behind in the castle,” Zhang Hao explains. He doesn’t offer any more though. It’s hard for him to tell whether or not he can trust her. She’s close to Lee, who had performed those hexes on the pensieve, who clearly poses a danger and a threat even just as someone who will do Eiranaeus’s bidding. And who knows if she’s aware of what her father did; she could know everything about his kidnapping, his memories. Her bright eyes and friendly smile could all just be a ruse. A trap, his mind tells him. Zhang Hao is no longer able to differentiate his paranoia from the truth.

“It’s rare to see the two of you apart,” Eudoria comments. “I feel like whenever I spot you in the castle, you’re always stuck to each other. It’s cute.”

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao murmurs. Normally, he’d be happy, delighted, maybe even preening at a comment such as this. But now, all he feels is anxiety and dread: Why would she have cause to keep such a close eye on them? How does she know that he never goes anywhere without Hanbin? Has she been waiting for them to be separated to strike? But to what end? Zhang Hao can’t quite keep his eyes from drifting up to the sky.

“Where are you headed?”

“Stitches and Draughts to grab a few things,” he lies. Because the potion store is on the other side of the village from where they are, from Tomes and Scrolls. It feels important that she doesn’t know where he’s really going.

But before he can use this as a segue to leave, a low, smooth voice calls from the other end of the short street. “There you are! Where did you go?”

Zhang Hao stiffens. He recognizes that voice — mellow and with a slight accent. He turns to see Lee hurrying over down the narrow side street towards them. He’s also wearing a pale blue cloak similar to Eudoria’s, though his doesn’t have the fur trim. The near-white of it sits in brilliant contrast to his dark skin, making his eyes nearly glimmer. Is that triumph? Excitement? Zhang Hao braces himself as Lee draws closer.

“I just went to get some clothes,” Eudoria says, lifting the bag that Zhang Hao didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“What sort of clothes could you possibly find here?” There’s a note of derision in Lee’s voice. He’s nearly upon them now, and Zhang Hao feels his muscles tighten up, his fight or flight instincts kicking in. Something is telling him not to let him get too close.

But it’s too late. Lee reaches them and smiles in greeting, “Zhang Hao. I hope she hasn’t roped you into her shopping misadventure.”

He’s all casual and genteel, as if this is just a coincidence. Lee is the perfect type of suave that Gideon had always tried to emulate — but which he had been a bit too forceful, a bit too harsh at times to truly pull off. Though that had given him his own sort of magnetism as well, at least enough to gain popularity and a significant following among their House. Zhang Hao isn’t sure which he would prefer, a spell whispered behind his back or one striking him in the chest. Lee shoots him a charming smile.

He doesn’t hold a candle to Hanbin whatsoever.

“No, we just ran into each other,” Zhang Hao says dryly. “It’s rather odd that we did, really.”

“How do you mean?” Lee tilts his head, an amused smile playing across his lips. The picture of innocence.

And Zhang Hao isn’t sure what it is that drives him to say what he does next. Perhaps it’s frustration, or even anger; perhaps it’s because, like Gideon, he is also a little too rough around the edges, a bit too blunt to be poised and composed and play the part of a wealthy, pureblood son to perfection.

“It’s just strange that Eudoria would be here after shopping at,” Zhang Hao pauses to glance at the label on her bag, though he is sure he hadn’t misremembered the logo, “Gladrags Wizardwear, when that is on the other side of Hogsmeade.”

Eudoria regards him with an almost quizzical look. But it’s Lee who speaks. “We are just unfamiliar with this village,” he shrugs casually. “It’s easy to get mixed up in these back streets.”

Zhang Hao glances behind him, to the main thoroughfare that he had ducked out from. “A helpful tip: if you’re lost, the High Street is probably easier to navigate.”

“Right,” Eudoria giggles again, any sign of confusion disappearing from her pretty features. Too quickly? Or is she simply trying to smooth over an awkward situation? “I just never pay attention to where I’m going.”

“Is everything alright?” Lee asks. The easy smile on his face doesn’t slip, but something in his eyes falls flat.

He shouldn’t press this. Zhang Hao knows that it’s irrational and won’t do him any good. They don’t know that he’s on to them yet — Lee has no idea that Jiwoong has told them Lee is the one who hexed the pensieve. If Zhang Hao is being smart, he won’t show his hand. But he’s always been too impulsive for his own good. “Of course, everything is fine. I just don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“What do you mean?” Eudoria frowns. “What are we lying about? You were the one who bumped into me.”

And she says it so convincingly that Zhang Hao almost believes her. How persuasive and enigmatic she is that she nearly makes him forget what happened just ten minutes ago: she had been the one to call out to him from the other end of the alleyway. That zap of awareness, that something isn’t quite right, hits him again. He’s right to be suspicious, everything in him is telling him so. Zhang Hao flicks his gaze up to the sky again — a mistake.

Lee’s eyes narrow. “We’re lucky that today is such nice weather,” he comments. “Would be such a shame if it were to get any colder.”

A chill travels down Zhang Hao’s spine at the thinly veiled threat. “I know you—”

“There you are!”

The shout from down the small side street has all three of them whirling around, the tension crackling around them. Violet stands at the end of the street with her fists on her hips. Her pale hair is so resplendent that it creates the illusion of a halo and wings, that even Zhang Hao, who holds not one bit of interest in her is struck dumb for half a second. Veela, indeed.

It would be comical how this plays out exactly like Lee’s appearance if Zhang Hao wasn’t violently aware that they are all accounted for now — Lee whose father has just been ousted from his position at the Ministry over supposedly being involved in a plot to overthrow Spavin; Eudoria whose father had been one of the men to kidnap him seven years ago; Violet who had so readily attached herself to Gideon and his family because she thought Reinhold would become Minister of Magic. And he just might yet.

Zhang Hao pretends to tighten his coat around him, moving his hand into the inner pocket of his robe. Velvet brushes against the tip of his finger. He braces himself to use it.

But when Violet finally reaches them, Zhang Hao realizes that she wasn’t speaking to Lee and Eudoria. No, she was speaking to him. Her thin fingers wrap around his arm with a surprising urgency and ferocity. “Your friends have been looking for you,” Violet tells him, her eyes wide. “They’re over by Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Zhang Hao frowns. He hadn’t made plans with any of his friends; he figured Ricky would want to spend time with Gyuvin, and he’d planned to spend all his time scouring Tome and Scrolls before he had to round up the third years.

“We’d just bumped into each other,” Lee cuts in, a distinct edge in his tone that’s surprising to Zhang Hao. Gone is his veneer of civility as he cuts Violet a glare.

But she ignores him completely, tightening her hold on Zhang Hao’s arm and even tugging slightly. Her gaze is insistent and serious. “You should go find your friends.”

It feels more like an order than a suggestion, and Zhang Hao isn’t quite sure he understands what’s happening here, but he’s quick to take the escape that is offered. He turns to Eudoria and Lee with a curt nod and an easy lie. “As you can see, I’m running late to my plans with my friends. Hope you all enjoy your—” his gaze drops pointedly once more to the bag that Eudoria is holding loosely in her hand, “shopping.”

He doesn’t wait for their goodbyes before he’s hurrying away in the opposite direction. All the while he feels a distinct pressure against his lower back, as if someone is watching him — but the skies remain clear. Wherever the Dementors are hiding, Zhang Hao is sure they can’t be too far off if Lee’s threat was anything to go by. They’re just being careful. Though he wonders if creatures like them can even possess those sorts of instincts on their own. His spine stiffens at the possibility that they’re being controlled by someone close by.

Zhang Hao only allows himself to relax when he finally reaches one of the wider roads and spots a group of Ravenclaws coming out of Spintwitches Sporting Goods. He’s not sure if what Violet said was true, or just a thinly veiled ploy to get him away, but Zhang Hao turns towards Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop anyway. All the while, he ruminates on the tense and strange exchange: it’s clear that Lee, and perhaps Eudoria, had been planning something. Whether it was to corner him and hand him to the Dementors, or simply to threaten him to lure Hanbin out, he isn’t sure.

But the short conversation was enough to confirm what Jiwoong had told them: Lee knows exactly what is going on. And that thought makes Zhang Hao as nauseous as he is furious. He should have hexed him down that side street. Regardless of how skilled of a wizard Lee is, Zhang Hao feels confident that he can take him in a duel. But he also knows why he didn’t: it wouldn’t have been a fair fight, at least not when the Dementors arrived.

Zhang Hao shudders at that thought, picking up his pace. There are plenty of people around him now, mostly students, but also residents from the village. Hogwarts days are always bustling, and everyone uses it to their advantage to make sales, and sometimes to have families come visit and spend the day with students. But despite the crowd around him, Zhang Hao still feels incredibly cold, incredibly alone. He misses Hanbin already.

The chimes above the door to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop tinkles when Zhang Hao pushes it open. In all his years at Hogwarts, he has never come in here before. It has a reputation — one of sickly sweet couples and fumbling second-year boys on first dates and giggling girls who order many galleons worth of sweet cakes.

He finds himself in a large tea room that looks as if the color pink had vomited all over it in various shades. The only other color that breaks up the incessant brightness is an even more blinding shade of teal that lines the trimmings of the ceiling and alternates with the scarlet and blush pink in tiles on the floor. The shop is rather full, with couples giggling and batting goo goo eyes at each other over round tables. All of the booths that line the right wall are also filled.

Zhang Hao already feels a headache coming on after being in this shop for two seconds, so he’s about to turn right back around, sure that his friends would not be caught dead among the couples sipping from china cups and dabbing their mouths with lace napkins, but then — he spots them.

Ricky nearly leaps from his booth seat when their eyes meet. The shop is so loud that Zhang Hao can’t hear him, but he sees his mouth move as he says something to someone next to him. And then Gunwook is towering up out of the booth as well, waving a frantic arm. Zhang Hao hurries over to them before they can do anything brash, like yell across the room.

“What are you two doing here?” he asks as soon as he arrives.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re here!” Gunwook exclaims.

“Violet told us to wait,” Ricky answers.

“We were looking for you!” Gunwook scrambles to add. “Are you okay?”

Zhang Hao frowns in confusion. “Why were you guys looking for me?”

Gunwook is about to answer, but Ricky puts a finger up to his lips, looking around the shop as if afraid that someone might be eavesdropping. None of the starry-eyed couples even glance their way. Ricky reaches over and yanks Zhang Hao down onto the squeaky booth seat next to him. He half falls, half sits down with a startled shout. And then his head is being pressed low, both Gunwook and Ricky also ducking close to the table.

“What is going on?” Zhang Hao demands.

“There are Dementors here,” Gunwook whispers with wide eyes. “I’ve been seeing signs of them around the castle recently, but I thought I was just being paranoid after everything that happened over Christmas. But then when I was coming out of Ollivander’s earlier, I saw them. Well, just one. It was pretty far away in the sky and it left so quickly, but I’m sure of it. They’re looking for you and Hanbin.”

Goosebumps break out along Zhang Hao’s arm despite the warm air in there. For a Dementor to get close enough that people might see it … “Hanbin isn’t here,” Zhang Hao assures them, relieved as well. “He stayed in the castle today.”

“Yes, but you’re here. We were worried they would try to take you again,” Ricky says. And it’s only now that Zhang Hao realizes Ricky’s hand is slightly shaking where it rests on the faux-marble table. “When we couldn’t find you, we thought they already did.”

A pang of gratitude, followed by a more painful prick of guilt.

“I’m sorry I made you all worry,” he says. “But don’t worry, I’m fine. I was heading to Tome and Scrolls when Violet found me.” He opts not to tell them about Lee and Eudoria — there’s no reason to alarm them even more now.

Zhang Hao makes sure to lower his voice when he divulges, “I know Dementors have been lurking around the castle.”

At Gunwook’s gasp and Ricky’s frown, he quickly tells them about the incident in the secret passageway.

“They’ve been lying in wait for Hanbin to leave the castle. But they don’t dare attack where Flamel has placed his wards.”

“But what about you?” Ricky asks.

Back in the Hospital Wing, Hanbin hadn’t told them about the Qilin, about Zhang Hao’s locked memories and what it all means. All Ricky, Gunwook, and Gyuvin know is that the mirror took them to the man who had kidnapped him all those years ago, and then they were attacked by Dementors, barely managing to escape when Gideon had thrown them the portkey. It’s all the truth, but it’s not nearly the whole of it.

Tick, tick, tick.

“They don’t want me anymore,” Zhang Hao promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?” Gunwook asks skeptically. “Why would they be hanging around here if Hanbin is back in the castle then?”

“I don’t know either.” An unnerving and strange realization. Despite his reassurances, perhaps he hadn’t been safe — not until Violet had stumbled upon them. But that also isn’t quite right, is it? Zhang Hao has the sense that everything that had happened hadn’t been a coincidence at all. But what frustrates him is he doesn’t know what it all means.

If Violet truly is an ally, then why had she gotten involved with Gideon? And yet, was Gideon truly so awful if he was the one who helped him and Hanbin escape? Once more, all of Zhang Hao’s unanswered questions swirl around him without an answer — he feels so close to seeing the full picture, but he’s just missing crucial pieces of the puzzle. Ones he fears he’ll never get now that Gideon is gone.

“Thank you both for looking for me,” Zhang Hao says, eyes softening.

“It’s not just us,” Ricky says. “Taerae and Gyuvin are searching the other side of town. We didn’t want to leave and tell them in case you showed up here.”

“Taerae?”

“I kind of ran up to him in a panic asking if he knew where you were,” Gunwook grimaces. “He caught on pretty quick.”

Tick, tick, tick. The last drop of water slips between his fingers. Zhang Hao lets out a small breath, steeling himself before looking between Gunwook and Ricky, gauging their worry, their curiosity, their confusion. And then he says: “There are things we need to tell you — all of you — when we return to Hogwarts.”

The portrait of Minister Ulick Gamp glares down at the assembled group, the lines on his face distinct despite the painter’s attempts to smooth them over. He sits imperiously in his chair, shoulders back and chin up, as if he highly disapproves of the conversation they are all about to have.

The crackling fire flares warmth against Zhang Hao’s back as he stands at the front of the room with Hanbin. Gyuvin and Ricky are sitting in the chaise lounge, Gunwook is perched on the large sofa next to Taerae, and Matthew sits with his arm crossed in the high-backed armchair, turned around to complete the semi-circle. All of their gazes are trained on him. Zhang Hao feels like he’s on trial.

Hanbin steps closer, and Zhang Hao can also tell that he’s nervous. He wonders if he’s prepared a speech — though he doesn’t think Hanbin needs one. He’s always been eloquent and emotive, somehow perfectly balancing charming and whole-hearted. It’s what makes him a natural leader. Zhang Hao, on the other hand, feels like he’s suddenly forgotten every word he’s ever learned.

He’d only come to terms with sharing the full of his story with Hanbin years after it had happened — and now he’s about to be laid bare before many others. Even if it’s not the same sort of vulnerability, it’s far more than he’s ever shared. As someone who has had so much taken from him, it’s not easy to willingly let go of the little he has.

The silence lies heavy over the room — and Zhang Hao knows he needs to start. That’s what they’re all here for. That’s what they’re all waiting for. He knows he needs to say something. Tick, tick, tick.

Hanbin sets his hand against the small of his back, effusing him with a warmth that’s different from the crackling fire. It bolsters Zhang Hao just enough to open his mouth.

“So,” he says, slightly awkwardly. He claps his hands together which doesn’t really improve the mood. “We’ve gathered you all here today because—”

“Don’t tell me you two are getting married,” Taerae interrupts.

Zhang Hao blinks quickly, his cheeks growing hot. “W-we are not getting married!”

“Yet,” Hanbin chimes in with a perfectly casual smile. Which only makes Zhang Hao blush more.

“Congratulations?” Gyuvin says. He looks at the rest of the group. “Was that an announcement or not? Do we congratulate them?”

“That was not an announcement!” Zhang Hao wails miserably. “He was just joking.”

Though the smug, serene smile that plays across Hanbin’s lips tells a different story, he doesn’t refute him.

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath, drawing strength from the light pressure of Hanbin’s fingertips against his back. “What we wanted to talk to you all about,” he starts again. “Is what happened over Christmas.”

Instantly the mood in the room shifts.

“A few of you already know a part of it. But we haven’t been entirely truthful with any of you. And it’s not because we didn’t trust you or felt like you wouldn’t keep our secrets, but because we— I was scared. I’ve been scared for what feels like a good majority of my life, at least for the past seven years. And I’m still scared now, but,” he pauses, his voice coming out small and hoarse. “I fear we’re running out of time.”

Hanbin’s hand rubs comfortingly along his back.

“What do you mean running out of time?” Ricky asks.

“There are certain … deadlines that we can’t control. It took us this long because we didn’t want to put any of you in danger, and it’s still best that none of you get involved. But I think we’ve all learned this year,” his eyes settle on Ricky and Gyuvin first, and then drifts over to Matthew who has a deep frown on his face, “that sometimes it’s the secrets that hurt the most.”

“So what happened?” Taerae’s question cut rights to the core of it with a deep frown of concern.

“It’s a lot to get into,” Hanbin steps forward. “But it all began with that First Task.”

It takes nearly an hour to explain everything. And all throughout it Zhang Hao feels tense, wavering between relief and regret. Hanbin does most of the talking, though Zhang Hao interjects more often in the beginning, explaining about the mirror and how it was connected to his memories. They mention their meetings with Jiwoong and his warnings about the Tournament; the death of Gideon and Warren; and finally, the Qilin and what that means for Hanbin.

Matthew looks horrified when they finish — actually, they all do. Gyuvin is visibly holding back tears, and Gunwook’s face is so pale Zhang Hao is a bit concerned that he'll pass out.

“Well,” he claps his hands together again, exhausted and somehow back to being awkward. “That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Taerae echoes hollowly after a beat. “That’s all? I can’t believe you two … what you’ve been … this is horrific! Illegal, probably! How could Flamel let any of this happen? How could the Minister? He surely knows after what happened.” He turns to Zhang Hao, and his anger and shock morphs into something painful, something kind. “I know this doesn’t mean much from me or now, but I’m sorry.”

Sympathy slips through Zhang Hao’s brittle defenses like a knife between the ribs. And that’s all it takes for him to bleed out. The tear slips down his cheek before he realizes, and then another follows that he’s quick to wipe away. Almost immediately Hanbin’s arms come around him, and Zhang Hao allows himself just one second, one moment of weakness in front of everyone because he’s earned this much at least, hasn’t he? After baring it all to them? After coming clean?

But to his surprise he feels the press of another body against his back, and he nearly jumps, but then he recognizes Ricky’s familiar sharp and sweet cologne. Ricky isn’t much of a hugger, and so, it’s okay for him to allow it, right? And then another arm drapes across his shoulder, this one unfamiliar to Zhang Hao, and then someone is pressing Hanbin in from the back as well, until all six of them are standing in the small space in front of the fire, their bodies overlapping, their eyes shut tight and just feeling — sadness, anger, frustration, pain, sorrow, grief.

Zhang Hao has never felt quite at home in the middle of a crowd — no matter how much he’s been bred and trained for it. But like this, he draws comfort from it for the first time. Amidst all of the unpleasant, distressing emotions, he finds a thin sliver of peace, and he slips into it. It feels a lot like Hanbin’s arms; it feels a lot like his friends’ care.

“Gunwook, you are getting snot on my shoulder,” Gyuvin points out softly, breaking the moment with gentle laughter and quiet sniffles.

Zhang Hao waits for their arms to drop before he pulls away from Hanbin as well. Hanbin smiles at him, and seeing the lines of his dimples already makes Zhang Hao feel better. Now that the cathartic release is done with though, he feels completely depleted, nearly as exhausted as when the Dementors had sucked the life force out of him. He gently pulls Hanbin over to the sofa, sitting down next to Gunwook; Taerae remains standing, pacing in front of the fireplace.

It’s obvious that their friends still have a lot of questions, that they want to know what happens now. But perhaps both of their weariness is too plain, because none of them ask. Instead, Gyuvin fills the silence with some chatter about professional Quidditch results, and Gunwook recites everything he’s ever read up about Dementors as well as a few additional magical creatures, and Taerae complains about the twelve inch essay that Flitwick has assigned for Monday that he hasn’t yet completed. It’s a disjointed conversation; it feels odd to be talking about mundane things — but it’s somehow more necessary than ever. Like an extension of their embrace, Zhang Hao feels their concern and grace thrumming through the air.

All the while, Zhang Hao leans his head on Hanbin’s shoulder, holding one of his hands in both of his own, gently pressing his thumb into his soft palm, half massage, half caress.

In the background, Gyuvin is bickering with Gunwook with both Ricky and Taerae looking on with great amusement and pride, as if they’d been the ones to start the argument in the first place.

“Hanbin?” Both of them look up to see Matthew standing next to the sofa.

Hanbin pats the cushion on his other side, and Matthew hesitates for a moment before he sits, biting his lip in consternation.

“What is it?” Hanbin asks softly.

“I know it must have taken a lot for you to share — both of you,” Matthew starts.

Hanbin shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It really wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It’s just … I had a lot on my mind at the time. And I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

“I could have helped, if you wanted someone to talk to.”

Zhang Hao bristles at that — for no discernable reason. Matthew is just being a good friend.

“It was something I needed to do on my own,” Hanbin explains.

Matthew sighs, shooting Hanbin an understanding but berating look. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself. It’s okay to lean on your friends sometimes, you know?”

“I know that now,” Hanbin says generously. Too generously, Zhang Hao thinks. Perhaps he’s just being overprotective, but he doesn’t like seeing Hanbin upset — and regardless of if he was hurt first, Matthew had hurt Hanbin too.

Hanbin looks at Matthew, the catch of his voice earnest. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Matthew’s shoulders slump. “Of course, I can. How could I not after everything you told us? You’re going to lose your memories …” Matthew trails off and grows a little paler under the soft firelight.

“If it helps, I don’t think it’ll change anything between us. It’s mostly going to be my memories of, um, Eiranaeus and everything that’s connected to him.”

It’s not fair. It’s entirely unfair, and Zhang Hao knows Matthew doesn’t have any more control over it than them, but it makes him so hurt and angry that he’ll get to keep his Hanbin. That Hanbin won’t treat him any differently. But Zhang Hao will lose everything. He doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s holding onto Hanbin’s hand until he squeezes back, lightly. Zhang Hao reluctantly loosens his hold, shuffling around with impatience.

Their little exchange must have drawn Matthew’s attention, because when Zhang Hao glances over again, he’s looking at him.

“I’m sorry as well, for what happened to you,” Matthew says sincerely. His eyes dance between the two of them, before realization dawns onto him. “If Hanbin loses his memory, that means you two …”

“We know.” Hanbin’s hand tightens around Zhang Hao’s.

“There has to be some other way to suppress your magic.”

The three of them look up at Taerae, who had drifted over to their conversation, leaving Gunwook, Gyuvin, and Ricky to their bickering.

“We were hoping you’d help,” Hanbin says. “Zhang Hao and I have been searching in the library for weeks, but we haven’t found anything useful — or even anyone else who has had the same phenomenon happen to them.”

Taerae purses his lips.

“Of course, I know you guys are also busy with schoolwork but—”

“Oh nevermind schoolwork,” Taerae tosses his head. “Of course I’ll help. I’m just trying to think. It’s good that you two have scoured the library, but I doubt Flamel would keep something like that here for anyone to come across by accident.”

“Is there anywhere else that we can look?” Matthew frowns.

Zhang Hao leans forward, speaking up for the first time since their long spiel. “Flamel says that he’s also been seeking another way to suppress our magic, but he hasn’t been able to yet.”

“So it’s impossible,” Matthew bemoans. “If Flamel can’t even figure it out.”

“But we can’t give up that easily,” Taerae insists. “This might be a longshot, but my cousin’s wife works in the Archives in the Ministry. Let me send her an Owl and see if they’re able to find out anything about this.”

“Is that allowed?” Hanbin frowns.

“I was the one who set the two of them up,” Taerae says, all smug. “So they owe me.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Taerae waves off. And then he smiles, gentle and soft and utterly wide in the genuine way that he does only when he truly likes someone — which isn’t often. It warms Zhang Hao in a way he doesn’t expect that Hanbin has earned his friend's approval. And then Taerae’s smile morphs into his more signature smirk. “After all, we all want to attend your wedding.”

The Astronomy Tower is freezing at this time of the year. Zhang Hao thinks it constitutes abuse to require students to come up here to complete their coursework. He’s currently wearing his robe, his coat, Hanbin’s cloak, and two scarves as he huddles with his feet drawn up on one of the stools, watching Hanbin fiddle with the telescope.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“It’s a little chilly, but it’s not too bad.”

“Do you want your coat back?”

Hanbin turns to give him a small smirk. “Are you going to give it back to me?”

“Absolutely not.”

He snorts.

“We should finish this some other time.”

“It’s only going to keep getting colder,” Hanbin reasons. “Besides, we’re almost done.”

“I am going to freeze to death,” Zhang Hao pouts.

Hanbin grins at him indulgently before picking up his wand and casting another Warming Charm over him — which helps for a couple minutes, until a rough gale of wind whips through the tower, causing him to shiver again. The corners of their maps, which they’ve weighted down with various textbooks from their bags, flaps uselessly. In actuality, Hanbin had told Zhang Hao he should go and take a warm bath and that he could finish up both of their charts, but of course, despite losing feeling in his lips, Zhang Hao would never leave him. Regardless, it wouldn’t feel right — having Hanbin complete his work when he’s not even here.

And besides, the Astronomy Tower is too exposed, the night outside the windows too dark. That paranoia that he’s honed through the years has become a habit that’s hard to shake. Regardless of Flamel’s promises, Zhang Hao still doesn’t fully trust his protection. The hoot of an owl rings clear across the silent night as it flaps its wings, swooping gracefully down to the snow-covered lawns by the Great Lake, spotting prey.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Zhang Hao asks gently.

Hanbin straightens from looking through the telescope, but he doesn’t turn around. He fiddles with one of the dials on the side of the instrument as he replies, “I sent an Owl when you were at Hogsmeade.”

“I’m sorry you can’t go see them.”

Zhang Hao watches Hanbin’s shoulders inch up towards his ears, and then lower again, slowly. He hears his deep breath in. Zhang Hao stands up from the stool. He knows Hanbin can hear the rustling behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. Zhang Hao approaches him slowly, unclasping his cloak and draping it over his shoulders.

“I’m not cold,” Hanbin says quietly.

But Zhang Hao doesn’t answer, he just slowly sets his hands on Hanbin’s shoulders and turns him around so he can see his face. He’s not crying, just barely. But Zhang Hao doesn’t point that out either. Instead, he just pulls Hanbin’s cloak closed around him, large and billowing enough to cover his broad shoulders, and does up the first few buttons so it won’t slip off. Once the fourth brass button slips through the hole, Zhang Hao darts his eyes up again to see Hanbin watching him with shiny, dark eyes. “Hanbin,” he prompts.

“Yes?” It’s barely a breath. So quiet that Zhang Hao only hears because the night is silent and still, and they’re standing rather close.

Zhang Hao adjusts the collar of Hanbin’s cloak slightly, making sure it covers his neck. He draws a little closer with a small smile. “I love you.”

This hadn’t been exactly how he’d planned to tell him, not that he ever really had a plan. As much as Zhang Hao thinks grand gestures can be flattering and even romantic if done correctly, it’s the quiet, lulling moments in the day to day where he feels the most loved. When Hanbin pulls his scarf a bit tighter around him before they head out to the open walkway; when Hanbin slips small pieces of cut steak onto his plate during dinner without Zhang Hao having to ask; when Hanbin asks him silly questions about his medical texts and pretends to understand simply so he can continue to talk. Love is small moments like this.

Hanbin’s lashes flutter prettily, his mouth parting slightly on a sharp, surprised breath. He is so lovely, so luminescent under the dim candles and the pale shine of the moon.

Zhang Hao smirks. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

Hanbin’s lip trembles slightly when he takes another deep breath in. The dimples in his cheek, right above his faint mole, make themselves known as he grins, playful and soft, “Like all the times you’ve said it back?”

“You—” Zhang Hao splutters, secretly reveling in Hanbin’s boldness, so different from when they first met, so much a part of him now that Zhang Hao can’t imagine him without it. “You must have known how I felt. It was hardly a secret.”

Hanbin giggles. “I know. It’s why I let you get away with it for so long.”

“Let me?” Zhang Hao takes mock offense to that, knowing full well that Hanbin would have waited for him forever. “My feelings can’t be rushed.”

“Says the guy who cornered me during prefect rounds to get a confession out of me.”

Zhang Hao is flustered once again, but he still goes willingly when Hanbin’s hands peeks out from the gap in his coat to reach for him. He’s cold — that’s all. He presses his cheek against Hanbin’s shoulder. For warmth, of course. “You had already confessed to the Fat Lady all on your own,” he points out.

“That was supposed to be a secret,” Hanbin says sullenly.

Zhang Hao laughs. “None of the portraits can keep a secret. I’m convinced they tell Filch about students out of bed.”

“I was so embarrassed back then.” Hanbin’s chest rumbles against his when he laughs. Zhang Hao loves that feeling.

“Why?”

“Why?” Hanbin echoes incredulously. “We’d barely spoken, and I was sure you never thought twice about me. And suddenly it’s the talk of the school that I have this huge, massive crush on you.”

“That’s not true; of course, I thought about you. You out-scored me in DADA.”

Hanbin pinches his side teasingly, and Zhang Hao jumps back with a burst of loud laughter. So uncouth. But there’s no one up here to hear except Hanbin.

“I’m just kidding,” he giggles, backing away when Hanbin goes for him again.

“I think you were being entirely serious,” Hanbin insists with a wicked grin, lurching forward again, too quick this time for Zhang Hao to escape. He picks up with arms wrapped around his waist until his feet leave the floor and he’s gasping with mirth, begging for mercy.

Hanbin lowers him only to take hold of his side, tickling him until Zhang Hao is all but a squirming, panting mess in his arms. And then he kisses him.

Zhang Hao is gasping for breath and pliant in his arms when they pull away. “If you wanted me to …” he huffs out a breath. “…capitulate, you should have started with that.”

Hanbin hums with a pleased grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hurry up, so we can go to bed,” Zhang Hao urges, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Hanbin’s once more. He reveles in the rough brush, the warmth that tingles all over his cheeks and down the back of his neck from that single point of contact.

Hanbin finishes the last constellation quickly, though Zhang Hao is confident that it’ll be correct. They’re heading down the staircase back to the ground floor arm in arm, when Hanbin brings up the topic again.

“Have you read the letters your parents have sent?”

Zhang Hao tenses. He had received one more this morning — which he had tucked away out of sight quickly like all the others. “Not since the first one.”

“Was it that bad?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Zhang Hao’s mouth twists. “It just wasn’t anything. No answers, no apology. I’m not interested in hearing vapid placations and assurances that they’re doing this for my own good. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

He still remembers every line in his mother’s short Owl:

My dear Zhang Hao,

I never meant for you to find out this way. We have only ever wanted you to be safe and happy. Please believe that. I cannot express my relief and joy that you are unharmed.
We await your return at the end of term so that we may speak of this — as a family. For now, Hogwarts is the safest place for you.

With love,
Your Mother

“She might have written more in her other letters,” he says softly.

“I know she hasn’t,” Zhang Hao says with derision. “She wouldn’t risk secrets like that in an Owl. Not when she’s worked so hard to keep them.”

Hanbin reaches for his hand, drawing his thumb over the back of Zhang Hao’s hand for comfort. “Maybe once you talk to them, things will get better.”

“Don’t do that,” Zhang Hao says, ripping his hand away from Hanbin’s hold. He paces to the other end of the hallway, thankful that it’s one without portraits. He doesn’t need the baseless rumor about the two of them fighting halfway across the castle by the morning. “Don’t make excuses for them. What they did … they’re just like Flamel. My parents, the Minister, Reinhold, Eiranaeus. They are all working towards their own ends. And they have always only used me as a way to soothe their egos, to cover for their mistakes, to help them sleep better at night because at least they’re helping poor little me. When they were the ones to do this to me in the first place.”

His chest is heaving by the time he’s done; his cheeks pink and the corner of his eyes prickling.

“You are not poor little anything,” Hanbin says, low and firm and with the air of a threat, though Zhang Hao doesn’t feel an ounce of fear as Hanbin takes one deliberate step forward. And then another. “You are incredible and resilient and so smart and brave, and you have never been and never will be anyone else’s pawn or puppet.” He stands toe to toe with Zhang Hao. They’re nearly the same height; it forces Zhang Hao to see the blazing conviction in his eyes. “You don’t have to forgive your parents — but I think it’s high time you demand your answers from them, too.”

That night, Zhang Hao writes back. He tears through all the letters that he’s received since — even in total. All of which are just as brief as the first, all of which are frustratingly loving and painfully hollow. He writes and writes and writes, pouring out every thought he’s had that he has never dared to speak out loud. How betrayed he felt by them, how much they’ve hurt him, how he no longer trusts them and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive them — and still, how much he loves them.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever send it.

March arrives with yet another snowstorm — and the bleak realization that the cold isn’t going away anytime soon.

But it also brings news. The seven of them are sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table enjoying a late Saturday breakfast when a Tawny Owl lands on the table, rattling Matthew’s bowl of oatmeal. It deposits a neatly folded and addressed letter next to Taerae’s plate.

“Thanks, Sorrel,” Taerae says around a mouthful of toast, picking off a bit of the corner and feeding it to his owl before it flits away.

“Is that …?” Gyuvin asks, peering down at the envelope.

Taerae picks up the letter and turns it around, nodding. “From my cousin, finally.”

The Great Hall is relatively empty now, most of the early risers already cleared away, and those who are sleeping in are still in bed on this snowy morning. But they all lean forward instinctively and lower their heads as Taerae sticks his finger under the flap and pulls out the folded piece of parchment. He scans the letter quickly, a frown forming on his face.

“What does it say?” Gunwook prompts.

“She says there have been a few Ministry documentation of certain witches and wizards who have had so-called ‘excess’ magic,” Taerae reads slowly. “But their magic has always manifested as unfortunate accidents: setting off a spell in their sleep or their high emotions causing things to fly or explode around them. It’s never intentional, but they obviously drew the Ministry's attention because they risked the threat of exposing us to Muggles.”

“That doesn’t sound like our case,” Zhang Hao murmurs. His magic has never been uncontrollable before. In fact, he doesn’t think his excess magic has ever manifested itself in any way — unless him being a good wizard counts. But there are plenty of good wizards in the world, and he doubts all of them are like him and Hanbin, otherwise Eiranaeus would not have such a hard time finding sacrifices.

“It’s likely the Ministry only has these few cases on file because they’re the ones that required their intervention,” Taerae reasons. “There may be more, but they wouldn’t know about it.”

“Wait, why does she think you’re asking about this?” Ricky suddenly realizes.

Taerae scowls. “Of course I didn’t tell her the truth. I said it was research for an extra-credit essay, so she wouldn’t get suspicious.”

Matthew coughs “nerd” into his fist, which earns him a light slap on the arm from Taerae.

“There’s one last thing,” Taerae says, eyes traveling over the lines of the letter once more. “She said most of these cases are from decades ago. But there is one recent case. Well, recent by comparison, from around fifteen years ago. The man in the record — he’s still alive. He apparently moved to Wales a decade or so ago, which is when the Ministry stopped keeping records of him. But she does have his last known address.” Taerae looks up at everyone around the table. “She suggested that I write to him, if I had more questions.”

“I don’t think we should write to him,” Hanbin says. All eyes immediately turn to him. Gyuvin seems about to protest, but then Hanbin continues, “I think we should go pay him a visit.”

A beat of silence.

And then multiple people start speaking at once:

“What do you mean pay him a visit? You can’t even leave school grounds!”

“How would we get to Wales?”

“That’s too bloody dangerous. We don’t even know who he is!”

Hanbin quickly shushes everyone, and it’s only after Matthew sits down again that he explains: “We can’t afford to wait around for an Owl that might not ever come.”

He looks over to Zhang Hao and their eyes meet — they’re both feeling the incessant press of time, the harsh reminder breathing down their necks that they only have a handful of months left.

“If it’s nothing, it’s better for us to find out right away. But if it is something … we’re going to need all the time we have.”

There’s a bit of grumbling, and a few exchanged looks. No one can really refute him.

But then Zhang Hao speaks up, “You still can’t leave Hogwarts.”

Hanbin turns to him with a hurt frown.

“You can’t,” Zhang Hao stresses, implores.

“They won’t expect me to turn up in Wales. I doubt Eiranaeus will have Dementors there,” Hanbin argues.

“But to get to Wales, you’ll need to leave the castle first. And the second you step foot out of Flamel’s wards, they’ll be there.”

“What if just a few of us go,” Gunwook suggests.

“Okay, so me, Zhang Hao, and Matthew, done,” Taerae concludes.

Immediately, the table breaks out in loud complaints and people talking over each other again:

“Why does Matthew get to go? I want to go!”

“We should all go together. What if something bad happens?”

“I am not being left behind again!”

“Everyone be quiet,” Hanbin orders — it’s not forceful or even particularly loud, but with an authoritative tone that immediately gets everyone to shut up again.

Zhang Hao definitely, certainly does not find it very hot.

“We should talk about this somewhere else,” Hanbin whispers, subtly nodding toward a few girls on the other end of the table casting the group furtive looks — though it could simply be for the fact that both Zhang Hao and Hanbin are present. Apparently, their relationship is still of great interest and gossip among the students, not that Zhang Hao has paid much attention recently.

The group quickly agrees to meet back at the Room of Requirement. Zhang Hao and Hanbin are the first to arrive, and they make themselves at home, lighting the fire and breezily greeting Minister Ulick despite his annoyed silence and ever darkening scowl at being disturbed once again. Ricky arrives soon after, followed by Gyuvin a few minutes later, who dumps enough sweets on the low table to feed a small army.

Taerae arrives next with Matthew, to which Zhang Hao doesn’t point out, because any time any of them brings up the fact that they went to the Yule Ball together and innocently inquires if they are dating, Matthew gets red in the face and Taerae makes an excuse to leave.

The last to arrive is Gunwook, looking a bit harried and pink in his cheeks.

“What happened to you?” Ricky drawls, opening the flap to a chocolate frog box. He tosses his card on the table and the drawn, ashen face of Flamel peers up at them, unmoving despite it being a magical photograph.

“Some girls needed help with their Transfiguration assignment, so I got held up,” Gunwook explains, ducking his head and quickly sitting down on the long sofa next to Gyuvin. He blushes a darker shade of pink. “They were quite … flirty.”

Zhang Hao and Taerae snicker, which makes him turn a blistering tomato-red.

Gunwook quickly changes the subject, indicating the pile of chocolate and candies on the table. “Are we planning on living here for a week?”

“Sweets are essential for any secret meeting,” Gyuvin asserts grandly. “Especially if it’s to plan illegal activities.”

“I don’t think going to Wales is illegal,” Taerae points out.

“But we are breaking out of school!”

“Did your cousin say anything else about the man?” Hanbin asks Taerae.

“Not really. Just his name and address. Though it only has his last recorded one with the Ministry, which is a few years ago. He might not even be there anymore.”

Taerae reaches into his robe pocket to pass over the letter. Zhang Hao scans it over Hanbin’s shoulder.

Rowen C. Leveret. Zhang Hao reads the name in Taerae’s cousin’s loopy scrawl. It doesn’t ring a bell whatsoever, but Leveret is likely just a regular wizard. His case wouldn’t have even been big enough for a brief mention in the Daily Prophet.

“It’ll still be a good place to start. Even if he moved, maybe someone in the area will know where to,” Gyuvin suggests.

“Okay, but we still don’t know how we’re going to get there yet,” Matthew says, leaning over to grab a pack of Ice Mice. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“Wait,” Zhang Hao says with a frown, looking around at everyone. “You’re not all going.”

“Of course we are,” Taerae says breezily, like it’s already been decided.

“You all could get in a lot of trouble,” he warns.

Silence.

“And,” Zhang Hao stresses, when he feels like they aren’t fully grasping the gravity of the situation. “It could be dangerous. What if this guy still has excess magic that he can’t control?”

“That’s even more reason for us to go,” Ricky insists. “I’m assuming you’re not including yourself in this, and that you’ve decided you’re going to go no matter what.”

Zhang Hao presses his lips together — that is what he’s decided, but his pride isn’t going to let him prove Ricky right.

“If you’re going, then so am I,” Hanbin says in that way his that makes Zhang Hao fear that he’s finally met someone more stubborn than he is.

“The second Hanbin steps off school grounds, Dementors will be all over us,” Taerae says.

“We could Floo?” Gyuvin suggests.

But Hanbin shakes his head. “The only Floo available in the castle is in the Faculty Tower, and I’m guessing it’s heavily monitored anyway.”

“How about this,” Matthew suggests, looking over at Zhang Hao and Hanbin. “You both stay here, and we can all stop worrying—”

“No way.”

“Absolutely not.”

Ricky snorts, picking up another chocolate frog.

“If only there was a way to leave directly from the castle,” Gyuvin muses, biting his lip.

“It’s impossible to Apparate to and from Hogwarts, everyone knows that,” Gunwook shrugs.

As everyone considers the problem at hand, the conversation dissolves into silence, only occasionally broken by the rustle of a wrapper and Wesley de Montmorency’s excited shout when Ricky pulls his chocolate frog card. Taerae gets up to pace the long carpet behind the sofa, and Gyuvin drifts over to the shelves lining the back wall, reading the spines while chewing on a Salt Water Taffy.

“Maybe there’s some way to disguise Hanbin before we leave,” Gunwook pitches, setting his feet down from where it had been propped up on the table. “Like a Polyjuice Potion. Dementors aren’t really smart enough to distinguish between people like that. According to all known sightings, they usually just attack any wizard they see — though in this case, it’s clear Eiranaeus is somehow controlling them.”

“I had that thought in Hogsmeade too,” Zhang Hao frowns. “That someone close by is controlling them.”

The thought causes tension to crawl up his spine, makes him more aware of all the shadows lurking around the room.

“We could distract whoever is controlling them so Hanbin has the chance to escape,” Taerae considers.

“That would take too much time — to not only find out who, but figure out how to even incapacitate them,” Matthew counters.

Another stretch of silence. More of the sweets get snatched from the table and the steady thump-thump of Taerae’s loafers on the carpet is starting to get to Zhang Ao.

“I’ve got it!” Hanbin snaps his fingers, startling all of them. “What about the Apparitions classroom?”

“What about it?” Ricky asks.

“We can Apparate in there,” Hanbin says, like that should explain everything.

Ricky frowns. “Yeah, but only from one end of the room to the other.”

Matthew groans. “I’ve memorized Professor Trembelay’s warning. She's said it so many times: Don’t even think about going anywhere else. This room has been enchanted to prevent any accidents.”

Something in Matthew’s mimicry sparks a realization in Zhang Hao, and he shoots up from his slumped position in the loveseat. “No, I think Hanbin is onto something!” he gasps. “Professor Zhou said the same thing: that the classroom is enchanted.”

“But that still means we can’t leave,” Matthew points out.

“We might be able to if we’re not in the classroom,” Zhang Hao counters, his heart starting to race at the implications. He thinks back to when he took the course last year, reciting, “Apparition doesn’t inherently have any constraints. So either we can Apparate or we can’t. There’s no half-Apparate, or only Apparate if you meet certain requirements. You just have to do the spell. So the limits of the class must be applied to the room itself and not the wards, which have to be down to begin with to allow for any Apparition at all.”

“You’re losing me here,” Gyuvin grumbles, rubbing the center of his forehead as if this whole thing is causing him a headache.

Taerae, who has paced closer as Zhang Hao spoke, leans over the back of the sofa. “Simply, it means the wards are down. That’s the only way we can even practice in the classroom in the first place.”

“The gap in the ward wouldn’t be big,” Hanbin notes, immediately catching on.

Zhang Hao nods. “It would have to be precise and only when there’s a class happening.”

Gunwook taps his chin, the muscles in his arm bunching underneath his robe sleeve. “So we need to infiltrate the class?”

“No, the point is we can’t be in the classroom,” Taerae says with consideration. “Maybe there’s a broom closet or hidden passageway nearby, within the bounds of the open ward that they’ve overlooked?”

“It’s in a fairly remote tower of the castle,” Zhang Hao recalls. He remembers it had been so far from the DADA classroom that he was nearly late every time. “I’m sure it was selected for this reason.”

Zhang Hao wrings his hands together, trying to find some sort of loophole — but no matter how many options he turns over in his mind, he can’t. It’s the entire reason why Hogwarts feels safe enough to offer the course to begin with, they wouldn’t make such a big oversight.

“Maybe it’s not—” Taerae begins, when Hanbin suddenly jumps up from the loveseat.

“This room!” he exclaims. “The Room of Requirement.”

As soon as he says it, Zhang Hao knows he’s right.

“It becomes whatever room the user needs,” Matthew says slowly, a smile widening across his face. “Including exactly where we need to be.”

“We can get this room to be small and close enough to the Apparitions classroom when the wards are down,” Hanbin concludes.

“So when’s the next class?” Gyuvin asks, a gleam in his eye.

It’s not the most foolproof plan in the world.

They spend the rest of the day figuring out how they’re going to pull this off. Based on their various knowledge of House schedules, they determine that the next Apparitions class will be on Wednesday morning. They’ll arrive while everyone is busy with breakfast and get in place before the class starts.

“We should practice,” Matthew says. “To make sure if it can even be done — get a room between the classroom and the wards.”

“We’ll do it after curfew,” Zhang Hao suggests. “We can test out different requests with the Room, but ultimately we won’t know if it’ll work until Wednesday.”

“The class is only forty-five minutes long,” Taerae points out. “So we have to go and come back within that time. Someone will need to carry a Tempus-charmed watch.”

It also becomes increasingly obvious that someone has to stay behind.

“Someone needs to make sure the room remains untampered with so we can all get back,” Hanbin mentions.

“Gunwook,” Ricky points at the tall boy who has a very distinct frown on his round face.

“Why can’t I come?” he whines.

“Because you haven’t even learned how to Apparate yet,” Taerae chimes in, playfully flicking the back of Gunwook’s head. He darts out of a reach with a small pout.

“It’s very important, Gunwook,” Hanbin says solemnly, looking up at him. “If the room changes, or even moves, we won’t be able to Apparate back to Hogwarts.”

Immediately, the enormity of his task seems to dawn on Gunwook, his face growing a bit pale, even as his dissatisfied frown morphs into an expression of utter seriousness. He nods quickly, with large, earnest eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

As they discuss detail after detail, answer questions, and address worries, Zhang Hao can’t help but feel like there are too many uncertainties with this plan. Not even the plan — the purpose. All of this for just a chance that Rowen Leveret will know anything. Zhang Hao suspects Leveret’s case is different from theirs. Otherwise Eiranaeus would have already found him. The foreboding thought crosses his mind, chased on its heels with another, even worse one that sends a smattering of goosebumps across his arm: Maybe Eiranaeus has already killed every other person who could help them.

Zhang Hao glances around the room, at Gyuvin loudly reciting everything he remembers about how to Apparate, and Taerae and Matthew whispering between each other, heads bent together in a way that reminds Zhang Hao of him and Hanbin, and — Hanbin, who is looking right at him with glassy eyes that reflect every one of his own emotions. Worry, fear, hope. The trifecta of his life, pretty much.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Zhang Hao asks, quietly so no one else can hear them. He knows Hanbin won’t lie to him.

“No.” The word falls like a lead weight between them, heavy with the truth. “But I can hope that it will.”

“I don’t want them to risk this for us if it won’t.”

“Have a little faith in them,” Hanbin says softly, scooting even closer on the sofa and taking his hands. “They know what they’re getting into. And they want to help. Let them.”

It’s a foreign concept to Zhang Hao, who has shouldered his burdens all on his own for so many years before he met Hanbin. When the two of them had been recounting everything to their friends, Zhang Hao had kept waiting for that familiar seed of judgment to take root. The type of I told you so that his lucid-dream Gideon had so righteously sneered, that Flamel had so imperiously condemned him for. Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now? And yet none of that censure had ever come. Instead he’d gotten sympathy and sorrow and anger — all of which smarted against his pride in its own way, but all of which had broken him down just a little bit more, picking at the crumbling pieces of his walls that had already been imploded by the sheer force of Hanbin’s care.

“Let them,” Hanbin repeats, brushing a piece of hair off Zhang Hao’s forehead.

And Zhang Hao wants to. Let them. Let Hanbin. Especially Hanbin — have all of him.

Zhang Hao wouldn’t necessarily label himself as a rule breaker — he can see the logic, the utility to most of them. But he also wouldn’t call himself someone who is afraid to bend them a little, especially if it’s for his own interests. It’s always been a surprise to him that he got the position of Head Boy, though Zhang Hao figures his top marks in nearly all subjects, not just among his House but in his year, had been a big factor in it.

And perhaps his Head of House had taken Zhang Hao’s general distaste for causing scenes to mean that he’s docile and rule-abiding. His appointment to Prefect status had been a given considering his grades, but the honor of Head Boy had been a signal. One that means he’s gotten away with it, that he’s somehow gained the trust of his professors and his peers despite never really being who they think he is. It had been quite the ego-boosting revelation to make: to know that he had tricked them all.

Zhang Hao wakes on Wednesday morning with that same sort of childish thrill. Nerves and anticipation buzzing through him at the thought of what they have planned. It might be nothing, he cautions himself. But an even smaller voice, one that has been nearly buried under his many dead hopes, still dares to long for some solution. Zhang Hao allows it to bubble up in him momentarily, for one shining moment, before squashing it down again.

As is the norm every morning, Zhang Hao has the duvet wrapped around his body like a cocoon while Hanbin only has a singular corner of the blanket draped over his middle. Hanbin has insisted that he’s fine this way and that the fires of the castle keep him warm enough. And indeed, he still emanates heat as Zhang Hao snuggles a little closer against his side.

He smiles to himself as he leans over to shake Hanbin awake. He loves this, watching him blink his doleful eyes open for the first time in the morning, watching the hazy half second before Hanbin fully focuses on the world. But his favorite part is when they grow warmer, darker when he pulls into view in Hanbin’s eyes. It’s one of the things that has been stolen from him as of late, so he savors this while he can.

“Good morning,” Zhang Hao whispers gently.

And there it is: the batting of obscenely long lashes, the dewy sheen of sleep still clinging to them; the syrupy slide of them into wakefulness that drags a crooked smile across Hanbin’s lips.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his hands instantly reaching for Zhang Hao. “Is it time?”

“Yes,” Zhang Hao says softly. Neither of them move for a good long while, basking in the cozy squeeze of each other’s hearts.

Once again, they don’t arrive at the Room of Requirement all at once.

Even in the early hours of the morning, there are overachieving students lurking about, wanting to get a head start on their days, rushing off to their Advanced courses. They had practiced all of Sunday night to make sure that each of them are able to make the correct request. For their efforts, they got a cramped, little room barely wide enough to fit Gunwook’s shoulders, barely tall enough that Gyuvin doesn’t need to duck. It’s just enough space that all seven of them are able to fit side by side. This is the first time Zhang Hao has tried to move the Room from its specific spot behind the seventh-floor wall. They’re about to find out if it has worked.