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Chapter Text

LEO

Here’s a fun fact about Lee Leo: he was a fantastic liar.

Case in point: the Exploding Potion from his fifth-year final had not, in any technical sense, exploded. It had done something far more disgusting, congealing into a quivering, fleshy blob that smelled like a sad, burnt secret.

But Leo knew a story was only as good as its ending, and a quiet fizzle was a terrible ending.

“So the whole cauldron just goes,” Leo said, his voice a theatrical boom that carried over the Gryffindor table’s din. He threw his hands wide, nearly knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice. Anxin, sitting beside him, snatched it out of the way with a practiced flick of his wrist. “I mean a real bang. Shrapnel. Master Justhis’s mustache was smoking for a full ten minutes.”

The third-years he’d trapped at the end of the Gryffindor table ate it up, their laughter fueling his ego. He grinned, feeding on the sound. This was his element. The roar of the Great Hall, the warmth of a hundred floating candles, the rapt attention of his audience. He felt the familiar pressure, the pleasant weight of being the sun everyone orbited. Keep it bright. Keep it loud.

Anxin, who had the unfortunate burden of knowing the truth, rolled his eyes. “His mustache was singed, you menace. And you spent an hour scrubbing that goo off the floor.”

“Details, Anxin, boring details,” Leo shot back, waving a dismissive hand. “The point is, I faced death in that dungeon. I am a hero.”

Just then, the great oak doors at the end of the hall swung open with a resounding thud that silenced the chatter. Principal Kim rose from his seat, his expression serene, but the magic in the air shifted. It thickened. The low hum of anticipation that had simmered for weeks finally began to boil.

This was it.

The first delegation to enter was a wall of heavy, dark red furs and stern expressions. Durmstrang. They didn’t walk; they marched, their heavy boots striking the flagstones in a single, intimidating rhythm. They looked severe, carved from ice and iron, their eyes sweeping the hall as if already claiming territory. Leo felt a thrill, a primal spike of competitiveness. Alright, bring it on. They were built like bludgers, all of them, a pack of wolves looking for a fight. They settled at the Slytherin table, a dark, brooding mass that immediately lowered the temperature of the room.

The great doors began to close, then swung open once more.

If Durmstrang was a storm, Beauxbatons was the unnerving calm that followed. A procession of students in pale blue silk flowed into the hall. They moved as one, a serene, gliding river of discipline that made the raucous energy of Hogwarts feel brutish and unkempt. Leo leaned forward, propping his chin on his fist as his eyes swept over them. After the wolves, now the peacocks. They were all posture and polish. Competitors of a different sort. His gaze flicked from one impeccably groomed head to the next, assessing, dismissing. He was ready for this. Born for it. The Champion of Hogwarts had a nice ring to it. A legend in the making.

His survey stopped.

It wasn't a halt. It was a collision.

Amidst the sea of curated perfection, one boy stood with an impossible stillness. He wasn’t performing for the crowd. He wasn’t posturing. He was simply watching, his dark eyes taking in the spectacle of the enchanted ceiling with a quiet, analytical grace. He had fine, sharp features, silver embroidery glinting at his collar, and an air of composure so profound it seemed to suck the very sound from Leo's world. The roar of the hall faded to a dull, distant thrum. His heart gave a painful thud against his ribs, a single, heavy beat.

What the hell, the thought wasn't a sentence, just a static shock in his brain. He's unreal. Like he was painted.

The Beauxbatons students were directed toward the Ravenclaw table. As they passed, the boy’s path brought him within a few feet of the Gryffindor bench. The proximity was a physical force, pulling the air from Leo’s lungs. Without thinking, without his usual internal filter, the words just fell out of his mouth, too loud in the sudden quiet of his head.

“You look too perfect to be real,” he said.

The boy turned, his movement fluid. His dark eyes, startling up close, found Leo’s. There was no flicker of amusement, no hint of a smirk. Just a placid, unnerving focus.

Leo, feeling a flush creep up his neck, tried to recover with a grin. “Blink twice if you’re enchanted.”

The boy just blinked once. A slow, deliberate motion. Then he turned and continued walking, leaving Leo sitting in a pool of stunned silence. A few Gryffindors snickered. Anxin elbowed him, hard.

“Smooth,” his friend muttered.

Leo didn't hear him. He was watching the boy take his seat, watching another Beauxbatons student, the tall, handsome one everyone said was their champion, lean over and whisper something. And Leo saw it, a flicker of something he almost missed. The faintest touch of color rising on the painted boy’s cheeks.

The world tilted back into place, but the ground beneath him felt irrevocably changed.

SANGWON

The air outside the Great Hall was cool and still, a final, blessed moment of silence Sangwon held onto like a precious secret. He stood in formation, his posture a line of practiced perfection that he hoped concealed the nervous flutter in his chest. He smoothed the front of his silk uniform, a small, needless gesture to give his hands something to do. Through the heavy oak doors, he could hear the sound of Hogwarts at dinner, a dull, intimidating roar that sounded impossibly big.

Madame Kany gave a single, sharp nod. The doors swung inward.

The sound hit him first. A physical wave of laughter, shouting, and clattering plates that felt like a slap. Then came the sensory chaos: four long tables bleeding color into one another, a thousand bobbing heads, the overwhelming smell of roasted meat and damp wool, and above it all, a galaxy of floating candles that threatened to drip wax on the students below. It was a beautiful, magnificent, undisciplined mess. An assault on the senses.

He kept his expression neutral, his chin high, and his gaze fixed forward as they began their procession. This is a performance, he reminded himself, the thought a calming mantra. Just a performance. Every step was measured, every glance calculated to convey a serene, unshakeable grace. We are Beauxbatons, Madame Kany’s voice echoed in his memory. We do not falter.

His eyes, however, were cataloging everything. The enchanted ceiling, a breathtaking imitation of the twilight sky, was a masterful piece of charm work. The house banners, with their garish lions and snakes, were less so. His gaze swept over the tables, a flicker of professional curiosity assessing the local population. Hufflepuff, a sea of boisterous yellow. Ravenclaw, more subdued, their eyes bright with an unnerving intelligence. Slytherin, coiled and watching with predatory stillness.

Then, Gryffindor.

It was impossible to miss them. They were the source of half the noise in the hall, a bonfire of red and gold. And at the very heart of that fire was a boy holding court, his hands gesturing wildly as he spun some undoubtedly exaggerated tale. His hair was an untamed mess, his tie was askew, and his laugh, a loud, unrestrained bark, cut through the surrounding cacophony. He was the epitome of everything Sangwon had been trained to suppress: loud, artless, and utterly chaotic. An aberration.

Sangwon’s carefully constructed composure felt a crack run through it. He found he could not look away.

As their paths converged, bringing the Beauxbatons delegation near the Gryffindor table, the boy’s story came to an abrupt end. His head turned. His eyes, a startlingly warm shade of brown, locked directly onto Sangwon’s. The world suddenly narrowed to a single, disruptive point of focus. The boy’s mouth opened.

 “You look too perfect to be real.”

The words landed as a soft, stunning blow. Sangwon’s mind went completely quiet. He simply stared, trying to parse the declaration. This boy had just called him out with something that sounded like… awe.

The boy grinned, a flash of startling white. “Blink twice if you’re enchanted.”

Another strange command. Sangwon processed what the boy meant, found it wanting, and responded with the most minimal possible action. He blinked. Once. It was a clumsy, deer-in-headlights motion.

He turned away, the performance resuming on autopilot as he continued toward the Ravenclaw table. He could feel the boy’s gaze on his back, a strange, prickling heat. He took his seat beside Jiahao, his movements a little too stiff.

“Are you alright?” Jiahao murmured, his voice low. “Your ears are red.”

The words sent a wave of heat through Sangwon’s entire body. A blush. An uncontrollable, mortifying blush that betrayed every bit of the composure he tried so hard to maintain. He was mad with himself. He had faltered. And all because of a loud, messy Gryffindor with chaos in his eyes.

Chapter Text

LEO

Halloween at Hogwarts had never felt less like a party and more like a fuse burning down to a bomb. The entire day had been a fever dream of whispered names and frantic, last-minute bets. Every corridor conversation was a debate over odds, every glance a sizing-up of potential champions. Now, as the remnants of the feast disappeared from the golden plates, a heavy, charged silence fell over the Great Hall. The pumpkins grinned their empty grins, but no one was looking at them. Every single eye was fixed on the dais, where the Goblet of Fire waited, its blue flames pulsing with a quiet, terrifying power. It felt like the whole castle was holding its breath, waiting for the explosion.

The magic in the Great Hall tasted like burnt sugar.

Leo could feel it on his tongue, a hum that vibrated up from the stone floor and settled deep in his bones. Any minute now. Any second. He bounced his knee under the table, a frantic, jittery rhythm only he could feel. Outwardly, he was a study in lazy confidence, leaning back so far in his seat that the legs of his chair groaned in protest.

“If I get chosen,” he said, pitching his voice to carry over the nervous chatter, “I’m demanding a personal house elf. To polish my wand.”

Anxin snorted into his pumpkin juice. “They’d take one look at you and unionize.”

“I’m charming,” Leo insisted, flashing a grin at a pair of fourth-year girls who were openly staring. They giggled and looked away. He felt the familiar warmth of being watched, the comfortable weight of expectation. He was the Gryffindor champion in all but name. The golden boy. He’d put his name in the Goblet with a flair that had earned him fifty points and a detention. Of course it would be him. It had to be.

But his eyes kept betraying him.

They scanned the room, a restless, searching sweep that skipped over the anxious faces of his housemates, past the calculating stares from the Slytherin table. They were looking for a sliver of pale blue silk. A flash of silver embroidery. He was searching for the prettiest face he had even seen.

Ever since that first night, Sangwon had been an enigma. He moved through the castle with a quiet, infuriating grace, always surrounded by his fellow Beauxbatons students, a placid island in a sea of blue. Leo had tried to catch his eye in the corridors, in the library, on the grounds. Nothing. It was like trying to catch smoke. He got polite, distant nods. He got infuriatingly blank stares. He got nothing.

His gaze found the Ravenclaw table. And there he was.

Sangwon was sitting perfectly straight, his attention fixed on Principal Kim at the front of the hall. He wasn't talking. He wasn't fidgeting. He was just… watching. Waiting. The sight of that impossible stillness sent a fresh jolt through Leo’s system, a chaotic mix of irritation and a desperate, aching need to make him look. To make him react.

Principal Kim raised his hands, and a hush fell over the hall. The Goblet of Fire, sitting on its dais, pulsed with an inner light, its blue-white flames licking at the air.

This is it. Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. Pick me. Look at me. He wasn’t sure which command was meant for the Goblet, and which was a silent, desperate plea sent across the crowded hall.

SANGWON

Sangwon observed the proceedings with a detached calm. The Great Hall, moments before a sea of agitated whispers, had fallen into a profound silence, the air thick with the weight of a hundred collective hopes. The Goblet of Fire was the focal point, its ethereal flames casting long, dancing shadows that made the familiar hall seem strange and ancient. This was a ritual, and there was a comfort in its predictability.

The fire surged, turning a violent red, and a single charred piece of parchment flew from its heart. Principal Kim caught it. “The champion for Durmstrang is He Xinlong.”

A wave of thunderous applause from the Slytherin table. Xinlong rose, a figure of stoic confidence, and disappeared through the side door.

The flames surged again. “The champion for Beauxbatons,” Principal Kim announced, his voice echoing in the hush, “is Zhang Jiahao.”

A swell of pride, cool and satisfying, rose in Sangwon’s chest. He joined the polite, unified applause of his schoolmates as Jiahao stood, offered a graceful bow to Madame Kany, and followed Xinlong. It was the logical choice. Jiahao was their best. The ritual was proceeding as it should.

Now, only Hogwarts remained. Sangwon’s gaze scanned the expectant faces at the four long tables. He noted the older students, the ones with serious expressions and the aura of prefects and Head Boys. Those were the logical candidates. His eyes flickered, briefly, to the Gryffindor table and the boy he had tried so hard not to notice for the past week. Leo. He was leaning forward, practically vibrating with a raw, undisguised wanting that was almost indecent. Sangwon dismissed him as a possibility. The Goblet would choose strength and discipline, not just volume.

The Goblet’s flames roared a final time, a pillar of brilliant, blinding fire. The last piece of parchment shot into the air. Principal Kim caught it, his expression unreadable as he unfolded it. A deep silence fell.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he declared, his voice booming across the hall, “is Lee Leo.”

The name struck Sangwon. It was absurd. Of all the students, of all the potential champions, the magic had selected the agent of chaos. The boy with the messy hair and the laugh that broke every rule of decorum. The Gryffindor table exploded in a primal scream of shock and elation, but Sangwon heard nothing. His world had narrowed to the sight of Leo, pale and stunned, being shoved to his feet.

Leo’s head swiveled, his gaze frantic, sweeping across the crowd. And his eyes found Sangwon’s.

In that instant, Sangwon did not see a champion. He saw a disruption. A beautiful, terrible, illogical complication that the universe had just placed directly in his path. He did not cheer. He did not smile. He simply watched the boy who felt like a mistake take his place in a destiny that now felt terrifyingly unpredictable.

LEO

The trip to the antechamber was, for Leo, a chaotic blur of back-pats and disembodied roaring. He was pretty sure someone had tried to lift him onto their shoulders, and he’d narrowly avoided being decapitated by a doorway. He was floating, a glorious, disoriented mess, on a sea of pure, unfiltered adrenaline. I’m the champion, his brain kept helpfully supplying, a thought that was equal parts terrifying and awesome.

He stumbled through the doorway into the champion’s room and the sudden quiet was like hitting a wall. The room was mostly occupied by a crackling fireplace and two other boys who looked about as thrilled as if they’d just been handed a tax bill.

The Durmstrang champion, a boy named He Xinlong with sharp features and a world-class scowl, was leaning against the mantelpiece. He didn't look nervous; he looked like he'd been carved from granite for this exact purpose. Leo’s internal assessment was immediate: Scary. Looks like he eats rocks for breakfast. Avoid.

The Beauxbatons champion, Zhang Jiahao, who he saw accompanying Sangwon EVERYWHERE, was the polar opposite. He stood with perfect posture, offering Leo a small, polite smile that was so genuinely kind it was deeply suspicious. No one was that nice. It had to be a trick. Leo’s brain filed him under: Secretly scary? Investigate later.

Leo, trying to project an aura of ‘I totally belong here and am not freaking out at all,’ gave them what he hoped was a cool, champion-worthy nod. Hopefully it did not come across like a nervous twitch.

“So,” Leo said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “We’re the champions, then. Cool.”

Xinlong’s scowl deepened. Jiahao’s polite smile remained firmly in place. The silence that followed was so awkward it was practically a physical object. Leo was just about to say something else monumentally stupid when the door swung open again.

Principal Kim entered, followed the two other headmasters. The shift in atmosphere was instantaneous. The awkward tension curdled into heavy, formal dread.

The lady from Beauxbatons spoke first, her voice smooth and resonant. “Champions. You now carry the honor and legacy of your schools. Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

Leo felt a ridiculous puff of pride in his chest. Honor. Legacy. I can do that.

The Durmstrang Headmaster stepped forward, his eyes hard as flint. “Glory is forged in conquest. Victory is all that matters.”

Glory, Leo thought, a thrill shooting through him. Yeah, I definitely want that.

Finally, Principal Kim looked at them, and his expression was far more serious than the others. “What awaits you will test your courage and your character. It is who you are in the darkness that defines you.”

That one landed a little differently. Courage, sure. But character? Leo suddenly felt like a complete fraud.

“Your first task will be revealed in one month's time,” Principal Kim continued. “Until then, you are to speak to no one about the nature of the tournament. Tomorrow morning, you will attend a press event and the Weighing of the Wands.”

Leo’s brain snagged on one thing. Press event. He was going to be in the Daily Prophet. The thought was a dizzying mix of absolute horror and giddy, narcissistic excitement. He was going to be famous. Or famously dead. The jury was still out.

“Rest well,” Principal Kim finished, his tone suggesting it was an order, not a pleasantry. “You will need it.”

And with that cheery little pronouncement, he gestured for them to exit. The three champions, now united in a shared sense of impending doom and a future full of nosy reporters, walked out of the room.

Leo walked out of the antechamber with his head buzzing. One part of his brain was screaming I’m going to die, while the other, much louder part was screaming I’m going to be FAMOUS. The combination of mortal terror and giddy excitement left him feeling floaty and a little unhinged. He needed to anchor himself to something.

And then he saw him.

Lee Sangwon was standing a little ways down the corridor, perhaps waiting patiently for Jiahao. He looked like an island of calm in the sea of chaos, his hands clasped politely in front of him. For Leo, whose internal world was currently a category five hurricane, that stillness was a magnetic force. All the grandiose thoughts of glory and press events and impending doom evaporated. There was only one mission now.

He strode over, his champion status a brand-new suit of armor he was still figuring out how to wear. He aimed for charming. He probably landed somewhere near ‘concussed orange cat.’

“So,” Leo began, his voice still too loud for the corridor. He directed his words entirely at Sangwon, completely ignoring Jiahao who was standing right there. “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. Try to contain your excitement.”

Jiahao offered another one of his polite, diplomatic smiles. Sangwon simply looked at him, his dark eyes giving absolutely nothing away. There was no surprise, no anger, not even a flicker of the blush from the first night. It was infuriating.

“Congratulations on your selection, Lee,” Sangwon said. His voice was quiet and formal, each word perfectly placed. He used Leo's last name like a shield, a deliberate wall of politeness.

Leo’s grin faltered, but he pushed on, charm being the only weapon he knew how to use. “Lee? So formal. I think ‘future winner of the Triwizard Tournament’ has a better ring to it, don’t you?”

Sangwon’s expression didn’t change. “It is a dangerous competition,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I hope you will be careful.”

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat. It was a dismissal. It was the kind of polite, empty sentiment one offers a stranger before backing away slowly. It was, in a word, devastating.

Jiahao put a gentle hand on Sangwon’s arm. “We should go.”

Sangwon gave Leo a final, tiny nod and turned, walking away with Jiahao at his side. He didn’t look back.

Leo stood there in the corridor, the cheers from the Great Hall still faintly echoing around him. He was the champion. He had been chosen by magic, celebrated by his school, and was about to be famous. And he had just been so thoroughly and completely shut down that the victory, so brilliant and fiery only moments before, now tasted like ash.

Chapter Text

LEO

An hour before he was scheduled to have his wand professionally inspected in front of a crowd of strangers and a gaggle of nosy reporters, Leo was having a crisis. It was not a crisis about the structural integrity of his wand, nor was it about the life-threatening tournament he was now legally bound to compete in. It was a crisis of aesthetics.

“Does this collar say ‘effortlessly confident champion’ or ‘I’m about to throw up on the Minister for Magic’s shoes’?” Leo asked, his voice tight with anxiety. He was staring at his own reflection in the back of a silver teaspoon he’d swiped from the Great Hall.

Anxin, who was attempting the Herculean task of making Leo’s hair look intentionally messy instead of just-rolled-out-of-a-broom-closet messy, did not look impressed. “It says you’re choking. Loosen your tie, you lunatic.”

Leo ignored him, practicing a smile in the spoon’s distorted reflection. He was aiming for charming. The spoon-version of himself looked like he was suffering from a painful intestinal blockage. This was not going well.

“It’s just… a lot,” Leo admitted, finally dropping the spoon with a clatter. “The press. And everyone watching. And him watching.”

Anxin paused, comb in hand. He didn’t need to ask who “him” was. Leo had been vibrating with a new, specific brand of nervous energy ever since the champion selection, and it all pointed in the direction of a certain quiet, ridiculously pretty Beauxbatons student.

“Look,” Anxin said, turning Leo around to face him. “You’re the Hogwarts Champion. All you have to do is walk in there, let them look at your stick, smile for the pictures, and try not to trip over your own feet. You’re a professional at two of those three things. The odds are in your favor.”

It was the closest thing to a pep talk Anxin was capable of giving, and Leo felt a surge of genuine gratitude. He took a deep breath, straightened his now-loosened tie, and tried the smile again, this time without the aid of cutlery. It felt a little more convincing.

“Okay,” Leo said, clapping his hands together. “Okay. I’m the champion. He’s just a boy. A very quiet, very judgmental boy (and a very pretty one at that) who probably thinks I’m a complete moron.”

“Well,” Anxin said, steering him toward the portrait hole. “You can’t control what he thinks. But you can try not to prove him right.”

SANGWON

The room designated for the ceremony was smaller and more formal than the Great Hall, packed with Ministry officials, professors, and a swarm of photographers whose flashbulbs popped with blinding, intrusive flashes. Sangwon found a seat near the back, a strategic position that allowed him to observe without feeling like part of the spectacle. He was here for Jiahao, a silent pillar of support, and he clapped politely as his friend handled the inspection of his wand with a calm, practiced grace. He watched as the Durmstrang champion, Xinlong, did the same, his expression a mask of grim indifference.

Then it was Leo’s turn.

He walked to the front of the room with the easy, practiced stride of a boy who knew every eye was on him and loved it. He grinned at the crowd, a dazzling smile that seemed to light up the entire room, and offered a casual wave. Sangwon’s breath caught. It was the same boy from the Gryffindor table, the one who burned with an unrestrained, joyful light. Watching him now, so completely in his element, Sangwon felt a familiar pang of something that felt strangely like envy. Leo was a force of nature, and Sangwon was just… quiet.

The inspection of his wand was quick, and then the press descended. A woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper quill pushed her way to the front. Ryu Hwayoung, a notoriously vicious reporter for the Daily Prophet.

“Mr. Lee!” she called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Such a charismatic choice for Hogwarts. Some would say your selection was a victory for style over substance. How do you respond to critics who believe a more... serious-minded champion would have been a safer bet for the school?”

Leo’s smile didn’t falter, but Sangwon, watching with an intense, focused stillness, saw it. A tiny, almost imperceptible tightening at the corners of his eyes.

“The Goblet chose a Hogwarts champion, not a librarian,” Leo replied, his voice smooth and just a little sharp. “I think a bit of style is exactly what this tournament needs.”

The comeback earned a few chuckles, but Ryu just smirked. “We shall see if style is enough to keep you alive.”

The charming facade flickered. For a split second, the brilliant smile became a shield, the easy confidence a practiced defense. Sangwon saw the boy from the corridor, the one who had looked at him with such open sincerity.

He looked cornered, his defining quality being twisted into a weapon against him.

LEO

The moment the last flashbulb popped, Leo was moving. He muttered a vague excuse to Principal Kim, plastered on a grin that felt like it was cracking his face, and practically dove into the nearest empty corridor, away from the suffocating crush of bodies and questions.

He leaned against the cool stone wall, the silence of the corridor a blessèd relief after the roar of the crowd. The adrenaline from the press event drained away, leaving him feeling hollowed out and exhausted. The charming champion mask fell away, and for a moment, he was just Leo, a seventeen-year-old boy who felt like a complete and utter fraud. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his whole body aching from the effort of pretending to be brilliant and unbothered.

He turned to head back to the common room. And stopped dead.

Sangwon was standing at the other end of the short corridor, having clearly had the same idea of escaping the throng. An invisible wire of pure panic pulled taut in Leo's chest. Oh, great. Perfect. The one person I don't want to see when I feel like a deflated balloon. He braced himself, his brain scrambling for a witty remark, a defensive joke, anything to put the mask back on.

But before he could open his mouth, Sangwon spoke.

“That reporter was cruel,” he said. His voice was quiet, stripped of the cool formality from the champion’s selection. It was just… soft. “You handled it well.”

Leo’s brain, which had been preparing for a battle of wits, received this statement and promptly shut down. He could only stare. Sincerity. He had no protocol for sincerity.

Sangwon gave him a small, almost shy nod, then turned and slipped out the other end of the corridor before Leo could reboot his entire operating system.

He was left standing alone in the quiet, the echo of those two simple sentences ringing in the air. It wasn't a victory. It wasn't a defeat. It was something far more confusing. It was, impossibly, a flicker of hope, and for a boy who thought he had everything figured out, it was the most terrifying and wonderful feeling in the world.

LEO

"It's like trying to flirt with a brick wall," Leo announced, slumping dramatically over the arm of a squashy Gryffindor armchair. "A very pretty, very polite brick wall that just blinks at you."

Anxin, who was attempting to finish a Potions essay, looked up with the pained expression of someone who had heard this exact complaint for three days straight. "Maybe the prettiest wall does not care that much."

"He has to!" Leo insisted, sitting up. "I'm the Hogwarts Champion. I'm charming."

"You're a disaster," Anxin corrected him gently. "You've been circling him like a nervous puppy. He's not a puzzle box you can solve with a stupid grin, Leo. He's a person. Try using actual words. Go over there and say, 'Hello, Sangwon, I think you're cute, let's get lunch.'"

Leo stared at him, horrified. "Are you insane? I can't just say that."

"Why not?"

"Because my brain will melt and leak out of my ears, Anxin, keep up."

Despite his protests, the seed of Anxin's terrible, logical idea had been planted. A new strategy was needed. Fired up with a fresh wave of ill-advised confidence, Leo spent the rest of the morning on a casual, definitely-not-stalking patrol of the castle grounds until he found him.

Sangwon was in one of the quieter courtyards with Jiahao, practicing wand movements. He moved with a fluid, focused grace that made the simple act of a Shield Charm look like a work of art. As Leo watched, Sangwon finished a particularly complex sequence with a final, elegant twist of his wrist--a flourish.

This was his chance. He strolled over, aiming for casual.

"That was some nice spellwork," he said, directing the comment to Sangwon. "Nice flourish at the end."

Sangwon startled, his eyes going wide for a fraction of a second before his polite mask slid into place. Jiahao just smiled. "Leo. Good morning."

"I was just thinking," Leo said, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs like it wanted out. "I'm heading to lunch. You guys should join me. And Anxin. Us. Join us." Nailed it.

There was a beat of silence. Leo watched Sangwon’s throat work as he swallowed. For a moment, a tiny, agonizing moment, he thought he might actually say yes.

"That is very kind of you," Sangwon said, his voice impossibly soft. "But Jiahao and I have to review some theory in the library. Perhaps another time."

"Right. Yeah. Cool." Leo said, the rejection landing with a dull thud. He forced a grin. "Library. Important stuff. Catch you later."

He turned and walked away, the feeling of failure a familiar, bitter taste. He was halfway across the courtyard when Anxin, who had been shamelessly lurking behind a statue, fell into step beside him.

"You're an idiot," Anxin said affectionately.

"I'm aware."

"But," Anxin added, nudging him. "Did you see it? The blush. He was totally blushing."

Leo stopped. He had seen it. A faint, almost imperceptible dusting of pink across Sangwon's cheeks as he'd turned away. It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't nothing.

Later that day, the corridor outside the Charms classroom was a chaotic flood of students. Leo was caught in the current, letting the crowd carry him along, his mind still stuck on a loop. A blush. He'd blushed. But he still said no. What does that even mean?

He was so lost in his own head that he didn't see them until they were right in front of him: Jiahao and Sangwon, heading in the opposite direction.

There was no time to think, no time to put up a shield or flash a stupid grin. The space was too tight. He angled his body to let them pass.

A brush of wool from a passing robe.

Then skin.

The back of Sangwon’s hand against his.

A jolt.

White-hot. A lightning strike that shot up his arm, straight to his chest, and detonated behind his ribs. His breath hitched. His heart slammed once, a painful, echoing thud.

Gone.

The moment was gone. They were already past him.

But the feeling wasn't. A hum. A burn. A tingling echo of impossible warmth left on his skin. He stopped walking, oblivious to the students bumping past him. The entire world narrowed to that single, fleeting point of contact.

What the hell, his brain managed a single coherent thought. What the hell was that?

SANGWON

The brush of their hands in the corridor was not a burn. It was a jolt, a sudden and overwhelming surge of energy that was not his own. It left Sangwon feeling shaky, his own quiet frequency completely disrupted by the chaotic hum of another. He continued walking beside Jiahao, trying to settle the tremor in his hands, to find his own calm center again. It was like trying to find a single quiet note in the middle of an orchestra.

“Sangwon?” Jiahao’s voice was gentle, pulling him from his daze. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Sangwon said, the words coming out a little too quickly. “It’s just… it was crowded in there.”

Jiahao was quiet for a few steps, and Sangwon knew the excuse was laughably thin. They reached a less populated corridor, the distant noise of the crowd fading behind them.

“It wasn’t the crowd, was it?” Jiahao said, his tone still kind, but with a knowing edge. He stopped walking, prompting Sangwon to do the same. “It’s the Hogwarts champion. He has a very… strong presence.”

Sangwon leaned against the cool stone, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to find his equilibrium.

“I don’t understand him,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. The words weren’t a complaint; they were a quiet, vulnerable admission of utter confusion.

“He’s so… loud,” Sangwon continued, trying to find the right words. “And so bright. Everyone is always looking at him. But today, at the ceremony… I saw his smile change. It didn’t reach his eyes. It looked… heavy.”

He was quiet for a moment, remembering the flicker of vulnerability he’d seen. It had resonated with something deep inside him.

“And when he’s near,” he added, his voice even softer, “everything feels… too fast. Too loud. Like I can’t keep up.” He looked at Jiahao, his expression earnest and a little lost. “It’s not a bad feeling. It’s just… a lot. I don’t know how to breathe around him.”

Jiahao listened to the venting without interruption. When Sangwon finished, he didn't offer a lecture or easy advice.

“Breathing is overrated sometimes,” Jiahao just put a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder. “He shines very brightly,” he said. “It’s okay that you can feel the heat.”

Sangwon let out a shaky laugh, a sound of pure relief. Jiahao simply smiled. It wasn't a big smile, just a small, knowing, and deeply kind expression that told Sangwon everything he needed to know: that he saw, that he understood, and that he was on his side.

Chapter Text

LEO

In the weeks following the Weighing of the Wands, Leo discovered something fundamental about training for a life-threatening tournament: the official methods were dreadfully boring. The theory was dense enough to stun a troll, the recommended shield charms were about as exciting as watching paint dry, and the whole affair was conducted in the stuffy, silent halls of the library. It was, in a word, a criminal waste of his natural flair.

So, he improvised.

He laid claim to one of the castle’s forgotten courtyards, a wide, flagstoned space enclosed by old stone walls thick with ivy. It was the perfect stage. Here, under the crisp blue of an autumn sky, he began his own training regimen. This regimen, unsanctioned and likely quite dangerous, consisted of seeing how many different ways he could make fire look cool. His efforts quickly attracted a small but devoted following of younger Gryffindors, who would perch on the low walls to watch, their gasps and cheers a far more satisfying measure of progress than a perfectly executed Deflecting Hex.

“Alright, watch this one,” Leo called out, grinning at his small audience. He flourished his wand, a dramatic, circling motion that was entirely for show. “Serpensortia Ignis!”

A serpent made of brilliant orange flame erupted from the tip of his wand, coiling and hissing in the air. It was a ridiculously flashy piece of magic, a bastardization of two separate spells, and it served no practical defensive purpose whatsoever. But it looked amazing. The Gryffindors applauded, and Leo took a small, theatrical bow. He was just about to escalate to a flaming badger when a flicker of movement near the far cloister caught his eye.

His breath hitched.

On a stone bench, a good fifty yards away, half-hidden by the dappled shade of a gnarled old tree, was Sangwon. He had a thick, leather-bound book open on his lap, but his head was lifted, and his gaze was fixed right on Leo. He wasn't cheering. He wasn't smiling. He was just watching, his stillness a stark, captivating contrast to the noisy chaos Leo had created.

The fire-serpent, forgotten, sputtered into a sad puff of black smoke.

The world tilted. The cheers of the Gryffindors faded into a dull, distant buzz. The crisp autumn air suddenly felt thick in his lungs. Every thought in Leo’s head--about the tournament, about his fan club, about the Transfiguration essay he was spectacularly failing to write--evaporated. There was only one thought left, a bone-deep, and profoundly idiotic imperative that took over his entire being: He’s watching. Do something cool.

His training plan, flimsy as it was, went right out the window. Control was for lesser wizards. Subtlety was for Hufflepuffs. Sangwon was watching, and Leo needed to give him a show. He needed to be as bright and as powerful as the sun, a force so brilliant it couldn't possibly be ignored.

He took a deep breath, purposefully deafening the tiny, Anxin-shaped voice in his head that was screaming “THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA.” He raised his wand again, not to conjure another party trick, but to attempt the Fire-Whorl, a ferociously powerful and notoriously unstable charm he’d only ever seen illustrated in a textbook. He focused all his energy, all his desperate need to be seen, to be impressive, to finally, finally get a real reaction out of the quiet boy on the bench, and poured it all into the spell.

A torrent of raw, untamed flame erupted from his wand, roaring with a hungry, concussive force that was nothing like his playful serpent. It was bigger than he expected. Hotter. And as it began to spin into a chaotic, swirling vortex of heat and light, he felt the magic buck and pull against his grip, a wild thing straining at its leash. This, he realized with a sudden, cold spike of terror, was a truly terrible idea.

SANGWON

The book resting on Sangwon’s lap was a fascinating text on advanced transfiguration, but he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. His attention was held captive by the scene across the courtyard. He had told himself he was merely enjoying the autumn air, but the truth was, he was watching Lee Leo. He had been watching him for weeks.

There was a quality to Leo’s magic that Sangwon had never seen before. It wasn’t just powerful. It was joyful. Flames danced from his wand not like weapons, but like extensions of his own boisterous, brilliant personality. The fire-serpent he’d conjured was technically sloppy, a messy fusion of charms, but it was also beautiful, full of a wild, unrestrained energy that made Sangwon’s own careful, precise magic feel… muted. He watched, captivated by the sheer, unapologetic brightness of it all.

Then, Leo saw him.

Sangwon felt the weight of that gaze even from fifty yards away. It was like a switch had been flipped. The playful energy in the courtyard instantly intensified, becoming something sharper, more desperate. The small crowd of Gryffindors no longer seemed to be the intended audience. Sangwon felt a prickle of secondhand embarrassment heat his neck as Leo straightened up, his posture shifting into that of a performer taking center stage.

He saw Leo raise his wand, saw the fierce concentration on his face, and felt a surge of unfamiliar magic fill the air, hot and heavy. A torrent of raw flame erupted, spinning into a vortex that was terrifyingly unstable. It was not joyful anymore. It was violent. Sangwon’s hands tightened on his book, his knuckles white. The spell roared, bucking against Leo's control, and then it happened. The whorl of fire collapsed, lashing back towards its caster.

Leo cried out, stumbling backward to avoid the main blast, but a tongue of flame caught the edge of his sleeve, and he crashed to the flagstones in a tangle of limbs.

The world seemed to slow down. The gasps of the Gryffindors, the roar of the dying spell, the frantic beat of his own heart--it all faded into a sharp point of focus. Leo. On the ground. Hurt.

Before he had even formed a conscious thought, Sangwon was on his feet, the heavy book tumbling forgotten to the grass. His body moved on unthinking instinct. He ran, his polished Beauxbatons shoes slipping on the stone, his heart hammering against his ribs with a force that was purely and terrifyingly fear.

He reached Leo’s side just as the younger Gryffindors were hesitating, unsure what to do. The sleeve of Leo’s robe was smoldering, and he was cradling his wrist, his face pale and tight with pain beneath a forced, shaky grin.

“Just… warming up,” Leo gasped out.

Sangwon ignored the ridiculous comment. He dropped to his knees beside him and gently, carefully, took Leo’s wrist. The skin was an angry red, the start of a nasty burn. Leo flinched, but didn't pull away. Sangwon’s touch was impossibly soft as he turned the arm over to inspect the damage. He brought his own wand to the injury, the smooth willow a cool contrast to the heat radiating from Leo's skin.

“Vulnera Sanentur," he murmured, the healing charms a soft, whispered rush of familiar magic. A cool, blue light emanated from his wand tip, sinking into Leo’s skin, soothing the angry red to a faint pink.

He was so focused, he barely registered Leo speaking, his voice rough with pain but still laced with that infuriating, breathless charm. “Wow,” Leo breathed. “Did you just… fall for me?”

The words broke through his concentration, and Sangwon felt a violent blush creep up his neck, a betraying wave of heat that had nothing to do with the fire. He met Leo’s eyes, wide and dazed and entirely too close, and for the first time, he didn’t look away. He didn't drop his hand. He just stayed there, his fingers gentle on Leo's skin, the cool blue light of his magic a silent, steady comfort.

His mind was a maelstrom of confusion, a frantic question echoing in the sudden, deafening quiet of his own thoughts. Why do I care?

LEO

Leo’s world had narrowed to a few key, overwhelming sensations: the scorched-earth smell of his own failed magic, the cool, calming pulse of Sangwon’s healing charm sinking into his skin, and the impossible fact of Sangwon’s slender fingers still resting gently on his wrist. His friends, Anxin included, were hovering a few feet away, but seeing that their champion was not currently on fire, their alarm was quickly giving way to a deeply unhelpful and very obvious curiosity.

The silence was thick and mortifying. Leo’s brain, running on unfiltered panic, defaulted to its only known defense mechanism: saying something stupid.

“Well,” he managed, his voice still a bit rough. “That’s one way to get you to hold my hand.”

He expected a blush, a flinch, maybe another one of those polite, soul-crushing dismissals. He did not, under any circumstances, expect Sangwon to laugh.

It wasn't a loud sound. It was soft, a breathless little huff of air, but it was undeniably, miraculously, a laugh. The sound hit Leo with more force than the backdraft from his own spell. It was the first real, unguarded thing he had ever heard from him, and it completely short-circuited every nerve in his body. His own stupid, flirtatious grin faltered, replaced by a look of stunned, open-mouthed awe.

The laugh faded, but a small, genuine smile lingered on Sangwon's face, transforming his features from something beautifully distant into something breathtakingly close. He finally let go of Leo's wrist, the loss of contact a sudden, sharp pang.

Sangwon looked away from him, his gaze falling on the blackened patch of grass his spell had created. “I don’t think I would be very good at this,” he said, his voice quiet.

Leo, whose brain was still buffering from the laugh, just stared. “Good at what? Nearly setting yourself on fire? It takes practice, but I can give you some pointers.”

“No,” Sangwon said, a hint of that smile returning. He shook his head. “The tournament. All of this.” He gestured vaguely at the courtyard, the training dummies, the lingering smell of magic. “The competition. The crowds. I hate it.”

The confession was so simple, so sincere, it knocked the air out of Leo’s lungs. He had built up a hundred different versions of Sangwon in his head--the aloof prince, the polite enigma, the blushing secret--but not one of them was this. A boy who could look at the glory and the roaring crowds and the promise of eternal fame and just… not want it.

In that moment, standing on a patch of scorched earth with a tingling wrist, Leo looked at Sangwon and didn't see a puzzle to be solved. He saw a person. A quiet, soft, and unbelievably brave person. And the frantic, chaotic need to impress him was suddenly replaced by a much deeper, much more terrifying feeling. The need to know him.

Chapter Text

SANGWON

The noise was a physical thing, a great beast with a thousand voices that pressed in from all sides. It was a roar of anticipation made from the stamp of countless feet on stone, the riotous clash of house chants, and the shrill, magical screech of enchanted banners whipping through the November air. From his seat in the Beauxbatons section, a neat rectangle of periwinkle blue amidst a sea of scarlet and gold, Sangwon was an island of stillness in the storm.

His classmates chattered around him, their French a low, musical hum, but the seat beside him--the one that should have been occupied by their champion, Zhang Jiahao--was conspicuously empty. Its vacancy was a constant reminder of why they were all here. Sangwon’s gaze was a prisoner, fixed on the flapping canvas of the champions' tent at the far end of the grounds. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap. He registered the pomp--the ministerial speeches from a high balcony, the roar of the crowd--as distant, meaningless sound. His senses had narrowed to a single point of dreadful focus: Leo.

With every gust of wind that carried the scent of pine and something else, something acrid and primal like burnt iron, he flinched. He saw the excitement on the faces around him, the casual thrill, and felt a chasm open between them and him. They were here to watch a spectacle. He was here to witness a reckoning. He kept seeing it in his mind, a flash of reckless hair and a grin too wide for its own good, swallowed by a torrent of flame. The image was a splinter, lodged deep and sharp beneath his ribs. He was not watching a tournament. He was keeping a vigil.

LEO

The air inside the tent tasted of ozone and damp canvas, thick with the metallic scent of fear and the acrid smell of dragon hide. He Xinlong, the Durmstrang champion, was a monolith of stern focus in the corner, stretching his thick arms. Zhang Jiahao stood with perfect posture, offering Leo a small, polite smile that was so genuinely kind it was deeply suspicious.

Anxin, who had managed to slip past the officials with an uncanny knack for being overlooked, was a frantic whisper at Leo’s side.

“You have to use the Blinding Hex,” Anxin hissed, his hands gesturing wildly. “It’s classic. You get the eyes, then you can just summon the egg. Simple. In and out. Don’t try anything flashy, Leo, I swear to Merlin…”

Leo’s head tilted, a sign he was listening, but his eyes were unfocused, staring at the canvas wall as if he could see right through it. His focus was already outside the tent. He was scanning the stands from memory, trying to pinpoint where the pale blue uniforms of Beauxbatons would be. He wasn't preparing to fight a dragon for glory. He was preparing to put on a show for an audience of one.

The official, a grim-faced wizard from the Ministry, strode into the center of the tent holding a small, silken bag. “Champions. It is time.”

One by one, they reached in. Jiahao drew a perfect miniature of the Common Welsh Green. Xinlong, the fiery Chinese Fireball. Then it was Leo’s turn. He plunged his hand into the bag, his fingers closing around the last dragon. It was warm to the touch. He opened his hand.

The Hungarian Horntail stared back at him, all black scales and malevolent yellow eyes. A collective, sharp intake of breath came from the officials. Anxin made a choked, strangled sound.

Leo just looked at the tiny, perfect monster in his hand. A slow, reckless, almost feral grin spread across his face. This was not a problem. This was an opportunity. The most dangerous dragon. The biggest possible spectacle. He closed his fist around the miniature, its tiny struggles a satisfying pulse against his skin.

After the official took his miniature Horntail, Leo was left alone in the sudden, suffocating quiet of the tent. One by one, the other champions were called. First Jiahao, then Xinlong. Each time, the canvas flap would open, admitting a deafening roar from the crowd that was just as quickly sealed away, leaving Leo in the muffled silence.

He couldn't see anything, but he could hear. The sounds were a distorted, maddening symphony of the unknown. He heard the deep, guttural roar of a dragon, followed by a high-pitched wave of sound from the crowd--was that a cheer or a scream? He started pacing, the confined space of the tent feeling like a cage. He could hear the faint, sharp crack of spell-work, then another roar, this one angrier. He imagined Jiahao, calm and collected, gracefully dodging a blast of fire. He hoped he was alright.

Then came Xinlong's turn. The sounds for him were different. More violent. The dragon's roars were sharper, more frequent, and the crowd's response was a series of staccato gasps. Leo clenched and unclenched his fists. The waiting was worse than the fight. It was a poison, seeping into his bravado, leaving a cold dread in its place. His mind, unanchored, drifted. He thought of Sangwon in the stands, watching all of this. What was he seeing? What expression was on his face? The need to put on a show for him warred with the rising fear that he might not even survive the opening act.

The tent flap opened one last time. A grim-faced Ministry official stood there. “Lee. It’s time.”

“The champion for Hogwarts, Lee Leo!”

The announcer’s magically amplified voice boomed across the arena, and the sound that answered it was a physical force. The Gryffindor stands erupted in a tidal wave of scarlet and gold, a primal roar of support that shook the very stone beneath Sangwon’s feet. Leo stepped out from the tent, a small, determined figure against the vast, rocky expanse of the enclosure. He looked impossibly young.

Then the dragon was revealed. The Hungarian Horntail was a nightmare of black scales and bronze spikes, a living mountain of muscle that dwarfed its handler. It let out a guttural shriek, unleashing a torrent of fire that scored a black, glassy scar across the arena floor. A collective gasp of terror rippled through the crowd.

Leo didn't flinch. While the other champions had used clever transfiguration or complex lulling charms, Leo’s approach was pure audacity. He raised his wand, not to cast a shield or a hex, but to shout a single, clear spell: “Accio Firebolt!”

The broomstick shot into his hand, and he was airborne in a heartbeat. His flying was not elegant. It was a series of breathtakingly dangerous dives and rolls, a raw display of a beater’s nerve that had the crowd screaming in a mixture of terror and delight. He wasn't trying to outsmart the dragon, he was trying to out-fly it, to anger it into making a mistake. He skimmed the ground, pulling up at the last second to avoid a sweep of its spiked tail, then soared high, taunting it from just outside the reach of its flame. It was Gryffindor audacity in its purest form, a reckless, brilliant dance between a boy and a monster.

This was never about a plan. A plan was for Ravenclaws. A plan was boring. This was about instinct, a gut-deep feeling that burned hotter than the dragon's own fire. He saw the opening--a heartbeat of a chance, stupid and perfect--and he didn't think. He grinned.

This was the show.

He wasn't just a boy on a broom anymore. He was a scarlet blur, a human cannonball aimed at the heart of the inferno. The heat was a physical blow, a monster’s breath that tried to cook him alive in his own robes, but he just laughed, the sound swallowed by the wind and the roar of the flames. He was beyond that now. He was pure momentum, pure nerve, his eyes locked on the prize with a predator’s focus. The dragon’s head, a fortress of black scales, began to swing back towards him. Too slow.

He leaned, his body a hair's breadth from the superheated rock of the nest, and his fingers closed around the golden egg. Got it. Got you. Easy. A surge of pure, brilliant, egotistical glory shot through him. He had done it. He had looked a monster in the eye and stolen its treasure.

The tail came out of nowhere.

It wasn't a whip--it was a wall of spiked iron moving at the speed of a curse. The impact wasn’t just pain. It was an explosion, a full-body concussion that turned the world into a silent, white-hot flash. The roar of the crowd, the shriek of the dragon, his own breath--all of it vanished, replaced by a deafening crack as the blow connected, launching him into the empty air.

He was falling, tumbling through a nauseating vortex of sky and stone. The egg was still in his hand, a dead weight of victory. His Firebolt, his other half, was spinning away. He roared, a wordless sound of pure defiance, and lunged. His fingers, numb and clumsy, snagged the tail-bristles. The jolt was agony, a scream of protest from every bone in his arm, but he held on.

He didn't climb back on. He wrestled the broom back into submission, forcing it to obey through sheer, stubborn force of will.

The ground was coming. He wasn't going to land. He was going to arrive. He bent the crash into a controlled skid, a brutal but deliberate slide across the rocky earth that sent shards of stone flying. He tumbled once, twice, then forced his body into a stop, planting one knee on the ground in a mockery of a hero’s pose. His head swam. His arm was on fire. But clutched in his fist, held high for the whole world to see, was the golden egg.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then the sound returned, not as a wave, but as a physical explosion. The roar of the crowd was a solid thing, a wall of noise that hit Leo with enough force to make him stagger. He felt it in his bones, in the rattling of his teeth. Scores flashed in the air, perfect tens from judges whose faces were just distant blurs. In the Gryffindor stands, a tiny, frantic figure he knew was Anxin was jumping up and down like a madman. It was all white noise.

He pushed himself to his feet, the golden egg a heavy, solid anchor in a world that was spinning. The pain in his arm was a distant, secondary thing, a dull throb beneath the overwhelming mission that had taken root in his soul. His head lifted. His eyes, burning with adrenaline, began their frantic search. He scanned the sea of faces, a chaotic tapestry of scarlet, green, and gold. He bypassed them all. His gaze swept over the Minister’s box, over the professors, over everything and everyone that was supposed to matter. He was looking for a sliver of pale blue, a quiet island in the storm.

Then he found him.

Across the vast expanse, his eyes locked with Sangwon’s. And the world stopped. The roar of the crowd dissolved into a dull distant hum. The pain in his arm vanished. There was nothing but the silent, raw, and desperate question that screamed from Leo’s very being: Did you see that?

Sangwon, a statue of stillness amidst the chaos, gave an answer he didn't even know he was giving. It began in his eyes, a sudden, brilliant light, and then it broke across his face. It was not a polite, practiced thing. It was a smile of pure, unguarded, breathtaking relief. It was the sun coming out after a storm, a radiant burst of light that transformed his beautiful, composed features into something impossibly alive. Blood rushed to Sangwon’s cheeks, a hot, mortifying flood of color. His hand flew to his mouth as if to physically shove the smile back inside.

Several rows away, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons lowers her elegant opera glasses, her expression unreadable.

Chapter Text

SANGWON

Sangwon stood so abruptly his chair scraped against the stone. A few of his classmates turned, their faces a mixture of celebration and confusion.

“The air,” Sangwon managed, the words a breathless murmur in French. “It is… too much. I need some air.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He fled, slipping through the celebrating crowd, his polite apologies a string of meaningless sounds. He ignored the path leading back toward the castle where the victory celebrations would be starting. His feet, moving with a will of their own, carried him down the winding stone steps toward the champions’ enclosure. Toward the medical tent.

He found Leo just outside of it, leaning heavily against a thick tent post. The mediwitch was trying to argue with him, but Leo just shook his head, a stubborn, weary gesture of dismissal. The swagger that had carried him through the fight was gone, stripped away by pain and exhaustion. His face was pale under a sheen of sweat, his shoulders slumped, and he cradled his burned arm against his chest as if it were a fragile, broken thing.

The mediwitch finally gave up, disappearing back into the tent with an exasperated sigh. Leo was alone. He closed his eyes for a second, his face tight with a pain he was no longer trying to hide. Then his eyes opened, and he saw Sangwon.

The world seemed to fall away. There was no roaring crowd, no distant sound of celebration, no lingering smell of dragon fire. There was only the heavy silence that stretched between them. Leo didn't grin. Sangwon didn't offer a polite word. They just stood there, looking at each other, caught in the quiet, charged embers of the aftermath.

He broke the silence not with a word, but with a decision. Sangwon closed the distance between them, his movements fluid and certain. He drew his willow wand, and without asking for permission, gently took Leo’s injured arm.

Sangwon’s touch was hesitant, a feather-light brush of cool fingers against the angry, weeping skin of the burn. His hand was trembling, a minute tremor that betrayed the calm on his face.

"Que l'eau apaise la flamme," Sangwon murmured, his voice a low, melodic whisper. May the water soothe the flame.

The tip of his wand began to glow, not with the harsh, sterile light of a standard medical charm, but with a cool, pearlescent silver that seemed to hum with a life of its own.

LEO

Leo didn’t pull away. He didn’t move at all. The searing pain began to recede, but it was replaced by something far more potent. A strange, magnetic warmth spread from Sangwon’s touch, a subtle magic that quieted the frantic energy in Leo’s blood. He watched Sangwon’s face, the fierce concentration in his dark eyes, the soft, determined line of his mouth. It was the Veela hair in his wand, Leo vaguely registered through a haze of fascination. A magic as captivating as it was healing.

The silver light from Sangwon’s wand faded, leaving the cool twilight to settle around them once more. Under his gentle touch, the angry red skin had already begun to knit itself together, the burn receding until it was nothing more than a faint, pinkish memory. The deep, throbbing ache in Leo’s arm was gone, but the strange, magnetic warmth from Sangwon’s magic lingered. The silence returned, heavier and more fragile than before.

Leo’s voice, when he finally spoke, was a rough, low sound, stripped of all its usual joking arrogance. “Thanks, pretty boy.”

The nickname was the same one he’d used before, but the tone was entirely different. It was not a flirtatious jab. It was soft, sincere, and heavy with an unspoken admission.

The sound of it made Sangwon’s breath hitch, a tiny, sharp gasp in the quiet. His fingers, still resting on Leo’s wrist, tightened for a fraction of a second in an involuntary clench before he could stop himself.

He finished the spell, pulling his hand away as if the contact had suddenly become too hot to bear. He made a move to stand, to retreat, but he couldn't quite meet Leo's gaze. The physical wound was healed, but a new, more complicated one had just been laid bare between them, trembling in the space his touch had left behind. In the quiet aftermath of the dragon’s fire, the lion had fallen, hard, and the rose was beginning to realize he could not escape the pull of his gravity.

LEO

The Gryffindor common room was a roaring inferno of celebration. Music blared from a charmed gramophone, students were dancing on tables, and the air was thick with the triumphant smell of butterbeer and burnt-sugar fireworks. At the very center of the blaze was Lee Leo, who was being hailed as a conquering hero. He was propped up in the best armchair by the fire, a dozen people chattering at him at once, their voices a chaotic, overlapping wave of praise. He grinned, he laughed, he accepted back-pats and ruffled hair with the easy grace of a boy born for the spotlight. It was everything he had ever wanted. And it felt completely hollow.

His victory grin was an aching mask. His gaze kept flicking toward the portrait hole, a nervous, searching tic he couldn't control. He was scanning for a whisper of pale blue silk, listening for a quiet voice that would be swallowed whole by this glorious, suffocating noise. But Sangwon wasn't here. After the quiet intensity of their moment in the medical tent, after that whispered "Thanks, pretty boy" had hung in the air like an unfinished spell, Sangwon had simply vanished back into the fold of his own school, his face unreadable.

"Another butterbeer for the Dragon-Slayer!" a sixth-year bellowed, thrusting a foaming mug into his hand.

Leo took it automatically. The noise was starting to feel like a physical pressure against his skull. The victory tasted like ash. He couldn't do this anymore.

"I'm out," he said suddenly, shoving himself out of the armchair.

Anxin, who had been gleefully recounting Leo’s most reckless aerial maneuvers to a group of wide-eyed first-years, blinked at him. "Out? Out where? The party's for you, you lunatic."

"Fresh air," Leo said, the excuse thin. "My head's gonna explode. You're coming with me."

Anxin’s face fell. "Leo, I am five seconds away from convincing them to build a statue of you in the courtyard. A very flattering one."

"Come on," Leo insisted, his voice low and urgent. He was already moving toward the portrait hole, his need to escape a physical pull. He needed quiet. He needed to think. He needed to find the one person who made the world feel quiet.

Anxin sighed, a long, dramatic sound of martyrdom, but he was already on his feet. "Fine," he muttered, grabbing his cloak. "But if we get caught after curfew and I get detention, I'm telling everyone you cried when that dragon singed your eyebrows."

They slipped out into the empty, silent corridors of the castle. The sudden quiet was a relief so profound it made Leo’s ears ring. The moonlight streamed through the high arched windows, painting the flagstones in stripes of silver and shadow. They climbed the spiraling staircase to the Astronomy Tower, their footsteps echoing in the stillness.

"Alright, I'm here, I'm an accessory to your post-curfew brooding," Anxin whispered as they reached the final landing. "What's the master plan? Stare moodily at the moon? Write some bad poetry?"

Leo didn't answer. He pushed open the heavy door to the topmost parapet. The cold night air hit him, crisp and clean. The sky was a vast, dark velvet sheet, littered with the impossible sparkle of a million stars. And there, sitting on the cold stone ledge with his back to them, was a solitary figure. He was wrapped in a simple grey cloak, a sketchbook open on his lap, his head tilted up toward the constellations.

Anxin stopped dead, his quippy retort dying on his lips. He looked from the still figure to Leo's face, which was suddenly stripped of all its practiced bravado.

It was Sangwon.

Leo’s throat went dry. He had imagined a hundred different ways he might find Sangwon again, but none of them were this. Not this quiet, not this still. Anxin, beside him, seemed to understand instantly. He clapped a hand on Leo’s shoulder, a silent, firm squeeze of encouragement, then gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation and genuine affection.

“Right,” Anxin whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “That’s enough fresh air for me. My eyebrows are getting cold. Don’t do anything I would do.” He winked, a flash of his usual chaos, before slipping back through the door, leaving Leo alone on the precipice.

The soft click of the door closing seemed to echo in the vast silence. Sangwon still hadn’t moved, apparently lost in the cosmos. Leo took a hesitant step onto the parapet, his boots making a soft scraping sound on the stone. The noise, small as it was, broke the spell. Sangwon startled, his head whipping around, his eyes wide in the moonlight. For a second, his face was a mask of pure, unguarded surprise, before his usual composure slid back into place.

“Leo,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He snapped his sketchbook shut. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry,” Leo found himself whispering back, his usual booming confidence deserting him. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He walked closer, stopping a few feet away, feeling awkward and oversized in the delicate quiet Sangwon had created. “What are you doing up here? It’s freezing.”

Sangwon looked away from him, his gaze returning to the star-dusted sky. “I hate noise,” he confessed, the words soft and simple. “Here, it’s… quiet.”

Leo followed his gaze, looking up at the endless, silent drift of the stars. The roar of the party in the common room felt a universe away. The pressure in his own head, the frantic buzz of needing to be something for everyone, finally stilled. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, a slow, grateful exhale.

“You make it quieter,” Leo said, the words slipping out, softer and more sincere than he intended.

Sangwon’s head turned sharply, his dark eyes searching Leo’s face in the dim light. Leo’s heart gave a painful thud. He had to break the intensity of that gaze, had to do something other than stand there and drown in it. He took a half-step closer, pointing a slightly trembling finger toward a bright cluster of stars.

“That one,” he said, his voice a little rough. “That’s Canis Major. My dad showed me. See the really bright one? That’s Sirius. The Dog Star.”

He leaned in, just slightly, to better point out the formation, his shoulder brushing Sangwon’s. He was suddenly aware of everything: the faint, clean scent of Sangwon’s robes, the warmth radiating from his body in the cold night air, the soft sound of his breathing. Sangwon went utterly still, his own breath catching in his throat. Leo could feel it, a tiny, hitching sound that was louder than any shout he’d ever heard. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, Sangwon leaned back, pulling away from the touch, but his eyes never left Leo’s.

The quiet stretched, thin and fragile as spun glass. In that small space Sangwon had created by leaning away, the entire universe seemed to rush in. Leo watched him, the moonlight catching the sharp, elegant line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. He saw the boy from the Great Hall, the one who looked like he was painted. He saw the boy in the courtyard, the one whose laugh was the most incredible sound he had ever heard. He saw the boy in the medical tent, whose gentle touch had soothed a burn far deeper than the one on his skin.

And as he stood there, under the silent, watchful eyes of a million stars, a thought bloomed in the center of Leo’s chest, terrifying and undeniable. It wasn't a crush. It wasn't a flirtation. It was a terrifying, gut-wrenching, free-fall of a feeling that felt an awful lot like the first half of love.

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through him. It was a feeling so immense it threatened to swallow him whole. This was not the plan. The plan was to be a champion, to be charming, to win. There was nothing in the plan about this, about wanting to catalogue the constellations in another boy’s eyes.

He had to say something. Anything. He had to break the spell before he did something stupid, like tell the truth. His brain, seizing on the only defense mechanism it had, dredged up a line that was unfiltered bravado.

“Don’t tell anyone I can be romantic,” Leo said, his voice a little too loud in the sudden quiet, a forced, jaunty grin plastered on his face. “Ruins my reputation”.

Sangwon blinked, the soft, open expression on his face flickering into one of faint confusion. The fragile intimacy between them shattered, replaced by a familiar, awkward distance.

“Right,” Sangwon said slowly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. He stood, brushing off his robes. “It is late. I should go.”

“Yeah,” Leo said, his grin feeling brittle. “Me too. Big day of being a champion tomorrow. Very important.”

Sangwon gave him a final, unreadable look before slipping past him and disappearing through the door, leaving Leo alone on the tower with the cold stars and the roaring, thunderous silence of his own terrified heart.

Chapter Text

LEO

For two days, Leo had been a storm cloud in a scarlet jumper. He was currently slumped in an armchair near the Gryffindor fireplace, glaring at a half-finished Charms essay as if it had personally insulted his entire family. The essay was supposed to be about the atmospheric effects of the Meteolojinx charm, but his brain had all the focus of a stunned gnat. All he could think about was a quiet rooftop, a sky full of stars, and the paralyzing terror of almost meaning something he said.

Anxin dropped a heavy book onto the table beside him, the loud thud making Leo jump. “Alright, out with it.”

“Out with what?” Leo grumbled, not looking up from his parchment.

“The moping. The pouting. The general aura of a kicked puppy you’ve been projecting for forty-eight hours,” Anxin said, plopping down on the arm of the chair. “You won the First Task. You’re a hero. You’re supposed to be insufferably charming right now, not… this.” He gestured vaguely at Leo’s entire being.

“I’m thinking,” Leo said defensively. “About atmospheric effects.”

“No, you’re not,” Anxin countered cheerfully. “You’re thinking about him. The pretty one. Did he finally curse you? Did you find out you’re secretly related? Is that it? Because the wizard families are a mess, you could totally be third cousins.”

“We are not third cousins,” Leo snapped, his face flushing. “And I’m not thinking about him.”

“Liar,” Anxin said, his voice sing-song. He leaned in. “You went all soft and romantic on him in the Astronomy Tower, didn’t you? And now you don’t know how to talk to him without your brain melting. Am I close?”

Leo threw his quill down in disgust. “It’s not my brain,” he muttered, finally admitting defeat. “It’s my mouth. It’s broken. The words don’t work right when he’s around.”

Anxin’s eyes lit up with the terrifying glee of a man who had just been handed a sacred mission. “Oh, this is good. This is a real problem. This requires a grand romantic gesture!” He stood up, pacing with renewed purpose. “You don’t need to talk to him. You need to write to him!”

Late at night, long after the fire in the Gryffindor common room had dwindled to a soft, orange pulse, Leo was locked in a battle more terrifying than any he had faced in the arena. His opponent was a blank sheet of parchment, and it was winning.

His desk was a disaster zone, a graveyard of crumpled-up failures. He smoothed out a fresh sheet, dipped his quill, and tried again.

To Lee Sangwon,

I saw you in the Great Hall and my brain stopped working. This happens a lot.

Leo scowled, slashing a violent line of ink through the words. It sounded like he had a medical condition. He crumpled the parchment and tossed it onto the floor, where it joined a dozen others. He started again.

Dear Sangwon,

Your face is a problem I would like to solve with my own face.

He stared at the sentence, horrified. It sounded both idiotic and vaguely threatening. Another crumpled ball joined the pile. He rested his head in his hands, groaning in frustration. It shouldn't be this hard. He was Leo. He could talk his way out of detention, charm a Boggart into confusion, and fly like his bones were made of air. But the simple act of trying to explain the chaotic, supernova-sized feeling Sangwon had ignited in his chest felt like trying to bottle a thunderstorm.

He took a deep breath and made one last desperate attempt, the words spilling onto the page in a messy, slanted script.

You’re distracting in a way that makes me want to duel Merlin. Your silence is louder than the entire Great Hall, and I am not brave enough to exist in it for much longer without knowing if you can hear me, too.

He read it back, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was too much. It was too honest. It was the truest thing he had ever written. He was just about to set it on fire when a voice behind him shrieked.

The shriek belonged to Zhou Anxin, who was standing by the arm of the chair Leo had just vacated, holding the still-uncrumpled piece of parchment. His eyes were wide, scanning the messy script with a look of pure, unadulterated horror.

“What in Merlin’s saggy left--” Anxin began, then his eyes found a specific line. He read it aloud, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “‘Your silence is louder than the entire Great Hall’?” He looked up at Leo, a grin spreading across his face. “Leo, this is the worst love letter I have ever read. Are you trying to get a howler sent back?”

“Give me that,” Leo hissed, lunging for the parchment.

Anxin danced out of the way, still reading. His grin faltered as he took in the full sentence, his expression shifting from mockery to dawning, wide-eyed shock. He read the final words in a hushed, awestruck whisper. “…’without knowing if you can hear me, too’?”

He lowered the parchment, his eyes huge. The usual witty comeback, the easy joke, was gone. He just stared at Leo, who had frozen mid-lunge, his face burning.

“Oh my,” Anxin breathed, the realization hitting him like a Bludger. “You’re in love with him.”

“I am not in love with him,” Leo repeated, his voice now a low, desperate hiss as he tried to snatch the parchment back.

Anxin danced out of reach, holding the letter aloft like a trophy. A terrifying, analytical gleam had entered his eyes. “Okay, fine, you’re not in love. You’re just suffering from a terminal case of ‘wanting to duel Merlin over a quiet boy’s cheekbones.’ A common ailment. The cure? Action.”

“What are you talking about?” Leo demanded, finally giving up and slumping into an armchair with a groan.

“You can’t write to him, obviously,” Anxin said, tapping the letter. “This is a cry for help, not a love note. So, you really have to talk to him. Just walk up to him tomorrow and say…” Anxin cleared his throat, puffing out his chest in a terrible imitation of Leo’s usual swagger. “‘Are you a Golden Snitch? Because you’re the finest catch I’ve ever seen.’”

Leo stared at him, utterly horrified. “I would rather be eaten by the Giant Squid.”

“Tough crowd,” Anxin mused. “Okay, how about this? You find him in the library, you lean in real close, and you whisper, ‘My love for you burns brighter than Incendio.’”

“I will hex you, Anxin, I swear,” Leo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He’s not… you can’t just use a line on him. He’s different.”

Anxin’s playful expression softened. He sat on the arm of Leo's chair again, his tone becoming serious for the first time. “Okay, you’re right.” His eyes lit up again. “But a gesture! A grand, romantic, anonymous gesture. Something that says, ‘I’m thinking of you,’ without you having to actually form a coherent sentence.” He snapped his fingers. “Flowers.”

Leo looked up, intrigued despite himself. “Flowers?”

“Yes! Enchanted ones. Anonymous. It’s perfect. It’s romantic, it’s mysterious, and most importantly, it requires zero talking from you.”

The next morning, in a deserted corridor behind a tapestry of dancing trolls, the exchange took place. Leo nervously handed over the small, perfect bouquet of pale blue roses he’d painstakingly enchanted the night before.

“Okay, the target is Sangwon,” Leo whispered, feeling ridiculous. “He has Charms with us third period. Just find a way to get these onto his desk. Quietly. And anonymously.”

Anxin didn’t take the flowers. Instead, he looked left, then right, before leaning in close. “The package is secured,” he murmured, his voice a low, dramatic growl. “The eagle is in the nest. I repeat, the eagle is in the nest.”

“What are you talking about? There is no eagle,” Leo hissed. “Just take the flowers, Anxin.”

Anxin finally took the roses, cradling them like an unexploded potion. “Phase one is complete. Phase two will commence at 0900 hours. I’ll create a diversion near the front of the classroom--a staged fainting spell, perhaps--while you provide air support.”

“Air support? It’s a classroom, not a battlefield!”

“At the moment of peak chaos,” Anxin continued, ignoring him completely, “I will activate the delivery mechanism. The package will arrive. Mission accomplished.” He gave Leo a single, solemn nod, then turned and strode down the corridor with the deadly seriousness of an Auror heading into a raid.

Leo was left staring after him, a cold wave of dread washing over him. He had just entrusted a delicate, heartfelt romantic gesture to a complete and utter lunatic. This was going to be a disaster.

SANGWON

Professor Seokhoon’s Charms classroom was in controlled chaos. The visiting Beauxbatons students, Sangwon included, sat on one side of the room, their posture perfect and their notes immaculately organized. On the other side, the Gryffindors sprawled, whispering and occasionally dropping a Fanged Frisbee under their desks. It was a shared class, and the cultural divide was a tangible line down the center of the room.

Sangwon was trying to focus, his quill scratching softly as he copied the precise wand movements for a Weather-Modifying Charm. Then, a single, pale blue rose petal drifted down from the enchanted ceiling, landing softly on his open textbook. He blinked. Before he could brush it away, another followed. In a silent, impossible bloom, a small, perfect bouquet of delft-blue roses materialized on his desk.

He froze. He darted a quick, panicked glance toward the Gryffindor side of the room, terrified he would meet a pair of warm, chaotic brown eyes, but no one seemed to have noticed. The roses were a secret meant only for him. He leaned closer, pretending to read his notes, and caught the scent of rain and honey. It was then he heard it--a soft, humming melody emanating from the flowers, a half-forgotten French lullaby his mother used to sing.

A hot blush crept up his neck. With trembling fingers, he carefully gathered the roses and slipped them between the pages of his journal, hiding them away like a precious, dangerous secret. He tried to return his attention to the lesson, but he could still feel the soft hum of the lullaby vibrating through the pages of his book, a secret song pressed against his heart in a room that suddenly felt far too crowded.

The Beauxbatons’ quarters were a sanctuary of serene order. The air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender, and the light that filtered through the high, arched windows was a soft, silvery blue. It was a world away from the chaotic warmth of the rest of Hogwarts. Sangwon sat on the edge of his perfectly made bed, his journal open on his lap. He reached between the pages and carefully drew out the enchanted roses. In the quiet of the room, their magical lullaby was a clear, sweet melody that made his heart ache with a strange, unnamed emotion.

He traced the edge of a single, impossibly blue petal. He knew, with a certainty that terrified him, who had sent them. No one else at this school would think to find a melody from his childhood. No one else was so chaotically, relentlessly, sincerely focused on him.

The door opened, and Jiahao entered, his movements as quiet and graceful as ever. He paused when he saw the roses in Sangwon’s hand, his expression lit up with understanding. Sangwon found Jiahao with a complex diagram of what looked like a mermaid's larynx in his hand.

“Is it for the Second Task?” Sangwon asked quietly and Jiahao made way to sit beside him.

Jiahao nodded. “A Bubble-Head Charm is simple enough, but the merfolk’s song is the real challenge. It is designed to disorient. I need to find a counter-charm that will not offend them.”

“You will,” Sangwon said with a quiet confidence that was absolute.

Jiahao had a small weary smile on his face. “Thank you, Sangwon.” His gaze sharpened slightly as he took in Sangwon's expression. “But you are the one who looks disoriented.”

“They are beautiful,” Jiahao said gesturing at the roses, his voice a low murmur.

Sangwon couldn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the flowers, his knuckles white as he clutched their stems. “He’s too much,” he whispered, the words a raw confession. “He’s too loud, too bright. It’s… a lot.” He finally looked at Jiahao, his own confusion swimming in his dark eyes. “But… he’s kind.”

Jiahao listened, his gaze gentle. “Kindness is not a weapon, Sangwon.”

“It feels like one,” Sangwon admitted. “It feels like it’s trying to break down a door I have kept locked for a reason.”

Jiahao was quiet for a moment, letting the words hang in the still air. Then he reached out and gently touched the petals of one of the roses. “You don’t have to be afraid of joy,” he said softly. He looked at Sangwon, his eyes full of a peacefulness that seemed beyond their years. “It is not a crime to want to be chosen.”

The words landed with the quiet resonance of a perfectly struck chord. To be chosen. The thought was a revelation. All this time, he had seen Leo’s attention as an assault, a chaotic force to be weathered. He had never once considered that it might be a gift, something he was worthy of receiving. He looked down at the roses humming softly in his hand, their secret song sounding, impossibly, like a promise.

LEO

"I’m tired, Leo. Just go talk to him," Anxin had said, shoving Leo toward the doors of the common room. "The worst he can say is 'no.' Or, you know, curse you into oblivion. Fifty-fifty, really."

Fueled by that less-than-reassuring pep talk, Leo was a mess of nerves as he walked toward the Great Hall. His hands were sweating, and his brain felt like a shaken bottle of fizzing whizbees. Just be cool. You eat dragons for breakfast. You can talk to a pretty boy.

And then he saw him. Sangwon was walking out of the Great Hall, his expression distant and thoughtful, his dark hair catching the light from the enchanted torches. The sight of him was a blow, and every coherent thought in Leo’s head evaporated.

He stumbled into his path, his carefully planned, impossibly cool greeting dying on his lips. "Your hair," Leo blurted out, the words a clumsy mess. "It's... doing that thing. The, uh, the shiny thing. It's nice."

Sangwon stopped, pulled from his thoughts. He blinked, his dark eyes focusing on Leo with an expression of confusion. He was clearly still processing the roses, Jiahao's advice, and now this sudden, nonsensical compliment. He tilted his head, his gaze analytical. "You’re strange," he said, his voice soft and certain.

For a split second, Leo’s heart plummeted. Strange. He thinks I'm strange. But then, the sheer, unfiltered honesty of it hit him. Sangwon wasn't being mean. And he hadn't walked away. A slow, brilliant, idiotic grin spread across Leo’s face.

"That's practically a love confession," he declared, beaming.

Sangwon’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. He was left standing there, utterly bewildered, as Leo walked past him with a newfound swagger, feeling like he had just won the entire tournament all over again.

Chapter Text

LEO

The Great Hall was humming with its usual evening rhythm, a comfortable chaos of clattering plates, overlapping conversations, and the occasional enchanted paper bird soaring toward the rafters. Leo was in the middle of a heated (and entirely fictional) retelling of his fight with the Horntail for a captivated group of second-years when Principal Kim rose from the head table. A quiet, expectant hush fell over the hall.

“Your attention, please,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that commanded silence. “As part of a time-honored tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, and to foster bonds of international magical cooperation, Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball on Christmas Eve. As is tradition, the ball will be opened with the Champions’ Dance, led by our three champions and their chosen partners.”

For a fraction of a second, there was silence. Then, the hall erupted. An explosion of sound--gasps, excited shrieks, and panicked whispers--rippled through the student body.

Leo, who had just taken a large gulp of pumpkin juice, promptly choked. He coughed, sputtering, his eyes wide with a terror so strong it momentarily eclipsed his memory of the dragon. A ball. With dancing. And dress robes. And people. And a mandatory, public, first dance where everyone would be staring directly at him and whoever he somehow convinced, or jinxed, to go with him.

Across the hall, at the Ravenclaw table, Sangwon’s reaction was the opposite. He didn’t make a sound. He simply went rigid, his posture becoming a line of defensive stillness. His eyes unfocused slightly, his expression one of quiet dread as he pictured the noise, the suffocating press of the crowd.

Beside Leo, Anxin was practically vibrating. His expression was one of chaotic opportunity, like a wolf who had just been shown a field full of particularly slow, delicious-looking sheep. He leaned over, his eyes gleaming with a terrible, brilliant light. “Well,” he whispered, a grin spreading across his face. “This changes everything.”

In the days that followed, Hogwarts was transformed. The corridors were now high-stakes arenas for public romantic declarations. Every corner turned revealed a new, agonizing spectacle: a fifth-year Hufflepuff stammering a request to a girl while dropping all his books; a Ravenclaw boy presenting a complex, enchanted scroll as an invitation; a pair of Slytherins negotiating partners with the detached air of a business merger.

It was a nightmare. For Leo, it was a very specific, personal nightmare.

“Oh, a classic bumbling approach,” Anxin murmured as they watched the Hufflepuff’s disastrous attempt. “Points for sincerity, but a total failure in execution. Two out of ten.” He took a bite of a licorice wand, observing the scene with the critical eye of a professional.

Leo just winced, his own stomach twisting into a knot. Every public success and every humiliating failure he witnessed felt like a preview of his own impending doom.

“Look at that one,” Anxin said, pointing with his chin. “A bold, direct approach. He’s just walking right up to her. I respect the Gryffindor nerve.” He turned to Leo, his eyes gleaming. “Getting any ideas, champ? Or are you just going to hide in the dorms until Christmas Eve and hope a date materializes out of thin air?”

“I’m not hiding,” Leo grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m strategizing.”

“It looks a lot like hiding,” Anxin chirped. “You’d better come up with a strategy soon. The good ones are getting snatched up.” He nodded toward the end of the hall, where Sangwon was walking with Jiahao with a calm, infuriating grace, completely oblivious to the social warfare raging around him. Anxin nudged Leo hard in the ribs. “Your move, hero.”

Sangwon hadn’t asked anyone. That much Leo had noticed with shameful speed and frequency. No rumors, no murmurs, no sightings of him in the courtyard surrounded by suitors. Just Sangwon--quiet, composed, and vaguely terrifying--walking from class to class with his eyes politely unfocused. Untouchable. Unbothered. Alone.

“Maybe he’s already got someone waiting for him back in France,” Leo muttered one afternoon as they watched a group of second-years stage a broom-formation spelling “Be Mine” over the courtyard.

“Maybe you’re waiting for him in Scotland, and you just haven’t figured out how to say it,” Anxin replied without looking up from his Transfiguration notes. Leo groaned and let his forehead collapse into the common room table.

“Maybe,” Anxin added, “you’re slowly imploding and it’s really fun to watch.”

“I hate you,” Leo mumbled into the wood.

“Lie better.”

The truth was, Leo didn’t want to ask Sangwon in front of people. Not because he was afraid of being rejected--well, he was, obviously, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this thing, whatever it was, whatever stupid fragile maybe-tension existed between them--it didn’t deserve an audience. It deserved silence. Space. A corridor. A breath. A moment.

And yet here he was, surrounded by grand gestures and glittering disasters, waiting for the kind of magic that couldn’t be summoned with a squirrel choir.

SANGWON

The Beauxbatons’ temporary quarters were cool and quiet. Here, the frantic energy of the Hogwarts corridors faded, replaced by the soft rustle of silk and the scent of lavender. Sangwon retreated to this space whenever the noise of the castle became too much, which, in the days following the Yule Ball announcement, was constantly. He was sitting by a window, trying to read, when a younger student from his delegation approached, her hands clasped nervously.

“Lee Sangwon,” she began, her French a polite, formal whisper. “I was wondering if you had considered a partner for the ball?”

Sangwon offered her a small, gentle smile. “That is very kind of you,” he said, “but I have not yet made any arrangements.” His refusal was so soft and definite that she could only nod and retreat.

Jiahao, who had been observing from across the room, walked over. “You will turn down every person in the castle, won’t you?” he asked, his tone amused but not judgmental.

“I do not enjoy crowds,” Sangwon said, his gaze returning to the window. It was a simple statement of fact. “A ball is simply a crowd with music.”

The Yule Ball had cracked Hogwarts open like an overripe fruit. Every hallway was perfumed with nerves. Beauxbatons girls were already designing gowns by committee. Durmstrang boys compared dress robes like they were armor. He’d seen three dramatic rejections in the courtyard before breakfast and a fourth almost-proposal staged with a flock of bewitched origami roses. All of it--the noise, the movement, the expectation--made something in him recoil. His body didn’t want to be looked at like that. His name already hung in the castle’s air like fog. He didn’t want to breathe it more than necessary.

“As a champion, I feel an obligation to attend and represent our school with dignity,” Jiahao said, adjusting the cuff of his robe. “But even I find the search for a suitable partner… tiring.” He looked at Sangwon, his expression knowing. “You plan to hide, don’t you?”

“I plan to find peace,” Sangwon corrected him softly.

“Are you sure they are not the same thing for you?” Jiahao asked.

“Why don’t I just go with you if it means you’ll stop with the questioning?” Sangwon huffed.

Jiahao let out a laugh, “Will you say yes, though? Given you’re not expecting a question from me.” He left the question to hang in the quiet air between them before returning to his own preparations.

LEO

Anxin's dare echoed in his head: "I bet you ten galleons you won't do it by sundown." It was a stupid, childish bet, and it worked perfectly. Leo, now ten galleons poorer in spirit, saw his chance. Sangwon was alone, tucked into a quiet alcove in the library, a shaft of dusty afternoon light illuminating the pages of his book. It was now or never.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird as he walked down the long, silent aisle of bookshelves. Each step felt both too loud and too slow. He reached the alcove and stopped, his throat suddenly bone dry. Sangwon looked up, his expression one of calm, mild surprise.

“Leo,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur that was still somehow the loudest thing in the room.

“Hey,” Leo managed, his voice cracking. He gestured vaguely at a shelf. “Just… looking for a book. On, uh, defensive fungi.”

Sangwon’s eyebrows drew together in faint, polite confusion. “I see.”

“So,” Leo began, his brain short-circuiting. Just say it. Just ask him. The worst he can do is hex you. “The ball. It’s a thing that’s happening.”

“Yes,” Sangwon agreed slowly.

“And I was wondering if you--I mean, you’re probably busy, or going with someone, but--on the off chance--”

CRASH!

A dozen books from a high shelf suddenly flew through the air, propelled by an unseen force, and slammed into the opposite wall. The cackling laughter of Peeves the Poltergeist echoed through the library, followed by the furious shouts of Madam Hyolin. Sangwon jumped, startled by the sudden chaos. He looked from the mess of books back to Leo.

“We should probably leave,” Sangwon said. He gathered his things with a quiet grace and slipped past Leo, leaving him standing alone in the alcove, his unspoken question hanging in the dusty air.

Leo trudged back into the Gryffindor common room and collapsed into an armchair, the very picture of dejection. Anxin, who had been waiting by the fireplace, took one look at his face and let out a theatrical sigh.

“Let me guess,” Anxin said, strolling over. “You choked. The great dragon-slayer, the hero of Hogwarts, defeated by a quiet boy in a library.” He held out his hand. “Ten galleons, please.”

Leo just groaned, shoving a hand into his pocket and tossing the heavy coins to his friend. “He was right there,” Leo muttered into the velvet upholstery. “The words were in my mouth, and then… Peeves.”

“You’re blaming a poltergeist for your own cowardice? A new low, even for you,” Anxin said, though his voice had lost its mocking edge. He sat on the arm of the chair, looking at Leo’s genuinely miserable expression. He sighed again, this time with a hint of sympathy. “That’s fine. It was never your style anyway.”

Leo looked up, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Anxin declared, his eyes suddenly sharp. “Go back out there, idiot! You’re a Gryffindor. And you are out of time for ‘strategy.’” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Stop trying to be clever. Stop trying to be charming. Just go find him and be honest before someone else does.”

Anxin was right. He was supposed to be brave. He’d faced a dragon with less fear than he was feeling right now, and for what? The possibility of a boy saying no? It was pathetic.

He shot to his feet, a frantic, renewed energy surging through him. “Where is he?”

Anxin was already unfolding a familiar, worn piece of parchment. He tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Ink spread across the map. Anxin scanned it for a moment, then pointed. “Where he always goes when he wants to be alone. Top of the Astronomy Tower.”

Leo was already moving. He didn’t say thank you. He just ran.

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs, each beat a frantic drum of please be there, please be alone. He burst through the final door onto the windswept parapet of the Astronomy Tower and stopped dead.

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the stone. It was cold up here, the air crisp and sharp. And there, leaning against the railing and looking out over the grounds, was Sangwon. He was a still, quiet silhouette against the winter sky, having clearly escaped the suffocating buzz of the castle pre-ball preparations.

He turned at the sound of Leo’s frantic entrance, his expression unreadable.

Leo stood there, panting, his chest heaving. All the clever lines, all the charming jokes, evaporated in the cold air. There was only the truth.

“I tried,” he gasped out, the words tumbling over each other in a messy, breathless rush. “In the library. I was going to ask you, but Peeves showed up and then you were gone, and I know I’m supposed to be this brave champion or whatever but the thought of you saying no is actually more terrifying than a dragon, which is stupid, I know.” He took another ragged breath. “The ball is in a few days. And I have to have a partner. And I don’t want one. I want you.” He finally stopped, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline, his eyes wide and pleading. “Will you… go with me? Please?”

The silence that followed was absolute. The wind whistled softly around the turrets. Sangwon just stared at him, his dark eyes searching Leo’s face. Leo could feel the frantic pulse in his own throat. He had never felt more exposed.

Then, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of Sangwon’s mouth.

“You are very loud when you are nervous,” he said, his voice impossibly soft. He looked away for a second, out toward the darkening Forbidden Forest, then met Leo’s gaze again. The smile was still there, a small, secret thing. “Yes, lion. I will go with you.”

Leo’s brain promptly shut down. He was sure he’d misheard. He must have. He just stared, his mouth slightly open.

Sangwon’s smile widened a fraction. “I was hoping,” he added, his voice barely a whisper, “that you would find me again.”

And just like that, the world came roaring back to life. Leo broke into a grin so wide and so sudden it felt like it might split his face in two. It was an idiotic, triumphant beam of pure joy. He let out a whoop of laughter that echoed off the stone, the sound utterly out of place in the quiet serenity of the tower.

He didn't move closer. He didn't dare. He just drank in the sight of Sangwon, a faint blush now coloring his cheeks in the golden light, and burned the moment into his memory.

“Okay,” Leo said, his voice still breathless but bright with victory. “Okay. Cool. I’ll, uh… see you there, then.”

He backed away, still grinning like a fool, and nearly tripped over his own feet turning to leave. He didn’t care. As he clattered back down the spiral staircase, he felt ten feet tall. He had faced his dragon. And the dragon had said yes.

LEO

Somewhere in the world, someone was having a worse day than Leo. Probably.

It just wasn't anyone inside the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, which currently looked like the aftermath of a minor magical explosion and smelled like hair gel, nerves, and betrayal.

“I swear to Merlin, Anxin, if you suggest one more time that I should ‘just slick it back’--”

“It’s called classic charm,” Anxin retorted, brandishing a jar of suspiciously pearlescent goo like a weapon. “You’re wearing velvet. You need hair that says ‘elegant,’ not ‘stupefied owl.’”

Leo ducked the offensive potion and flopped dramatically onto his bed, nearly taking a red velvet robe and three forgotten socks with him. His dress robes were criminally tight across the shoulders, the deep Gryffindor scarlet making him look like a cursed Valentine’s Day card. Somewhere, probably in a Beauxbatons marble hallway, Sangwon was gliding around in ethereal silk, glowing like moonlight personified. And Leo? Leo looked like a tomato with body image issues.

“This is it,” he groaned into his pillow. “This is where my reputation dies. At the hands of French fashion and a sentient hair product.”

“Your reputation died the day you tried to impress the Charms class by setting your eyebrows on fire,” Anxin said, entirely unbothered. He tossed a crumpled sock at Leo’s head and then ducked as Leo chucked a shoe back. “Also, you're stalling. You know you're stalling.”

“I’m getting ready,” Leo insisted, now halfway under his bed and rooting around for his other shoe like it was a horcrux. “Grooming is a sacred act.”

“Mm-hm. And what are you getting ready for, exactly? The dance? Or him?”

Leo’s head hit the bedframe with a dull thunk. “Don’t. Start.”

“Oh no, I’ve already started,” Anxin said with a devilish grin. “You’ve been vibrating since breakfast. You couldn’t even look at the goblets without seeing his reflection.”

“I was checking my hair.”

“You were simping. Loudly.”

Leo reemerged, shoe in hand, robe wrinkled, hair slightly more chaotic than before, and a flush creeping up his neck. He knew it. He could feel the embarrassment rising like heat from a badly cast fire charm.

“This is the most important night of my life,” he said, straightening his tie with the gravitas of someone about to go into battle. “And not because of the dancing or the decorations or the fifteen-course dinner.”

“Oh?”

“It’s because tonight is the night I finally figure out,” Leo whispered, pointing to his own chest, “whether he looks at me like this--” he made a heart with his fingers, “--or like this.” He made a small, deflated balloon noise and mimed his heart popping.

Anxin blinked. “What the hell was that?”

“Symbolism,” Leo said flatly.

There was a beat of silence. Then Anxin doubled over laughing. “You are so far gone.”

Leo flopped backward onto the bed again. The ceiling of the Gryffindor dorms--cracked, golden with age--blurred slightly around the edges as he stared up, heart going about a thousand beats a minute.

“Anxin,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“What if I look ridiculous and he regrets his choice?”

There was a pause. A rare one. The kind where Anxin was quiet enough for the honesty to slip through.

“Then he’s an idiot,” he said simply. “But you’re not dressing up so he notices. You’re dressing up because you already noticed him. That’s braver.”

Leo blinked. His throat felt too tight. His tie was probably cutting off oxygen to his brain. “…That was uncomfortably insightful.”

“I have layers,” Anxin said smugly, tossing Leo the hair comb again. “Now put on your brave face and fix that fluffball disaster before I use a Severing Charm.”

Leo sat up, tugged at his collar, and faced the cracked dorm mirror. His reflection grinned back at him--hair still too messy, tie a little loose, but eyes bright and fierce. Tonight, he was a champion. Not of Hogwarts, not of the Triwizard Tournament. But of his own ridiculous, hopeful heart. And if Sangwon looked at him even once, just once, the way Leo had been looking at him all year?

Then maybe this cursed, tight, glorious, Gryffindor-red velvet robe was exactly the right choice.

SANGWON

Sangwon stood still while Jiahao buttoned the final clasp of his robes.

The dormitory was silent save for the rustle of fabric and the gentle lapping of the enchanted lake against the windows. Pale silver light filtered through the tall glass panes, illuminating the soft shimmer of his Beauxbatons dress uniform--a tailored silk ensemble in the softest powder blue, stitched with threads of moonlight and embroidery so fine it could only have been woven by wand.

He did not feel beautiful. He felt like a reflection, something carefully arranged, something not quite real.

“You’re trembling,” Jiahao said quietly.

Sangwon blinked. He hadn't realized. “It’s the fabric,” he murmured. “It’s thin.”

Jiahao’s hands stilled on the collar. He gave Sangwon a look that held no mockery, only a steady kind of knowing. “The fabric is charmed to hold warmth. But I understand.”

Sangwon lowered his gaze, watching his own fingers press and smooth the folds of silk at his sides. “I shouldn’t be nervous. It’s not like I’m the spotlight.”

“There’s always a spotlight,” Jiahao said gently, “when the person you care about is in it.”

Sangwon went still. Jiahao didn’t press. He never did. He just reached for the final accessory, which was an elegant sash in silver, and laid it gently across Sangwon’s shoulder, fixing the pin with a flick of his wand.

Outside, the lake glimmered, enchanted lanterns beginning to flicker beneath its surface. Snow had started to fall, soft and silent, each flake catching the fading twilight. Somewhere across the castle, music was tuning up, and footsteps echoed down long, echoing corridors. The Yule Ball was beginning.

Sangwon turned toward the mirror and didn’t quite recognize the boy reflected there. His face was calm, his posture perfect. His hair was pinned with quiet precision, the silk of his sleeves falling like water at his wrists. But in his eyes was a question he was afraid to ask.

He didn’t know what Leo would wear. But he knew stupidly that he would notice.

He reached for the rose pin tucked carefully in the drawer of his nightstand. The one Jiahao had returned to him after the enchanted bouquet vanished. The one he’d never shown anyone else. He didn’t pin it to his chest. He simply slipped it into the inside pocket of his robe and pressed his hand to the place where it rested. His heart was just beneath it.

“Tonight, maybe… try not to hide from joy.” Jiahao said from behind him.

Sangwon didn’t answer. Instead, he smoothed his sleeves one last time and nodded.

If Leo, if bright, chaotic Leo in whatever mess of a suit he’d surely conjured, looked at him tonight like he meant it, like he had in the corridor, and on the tower, and in the silence between their words, then Sangwon might, just once, allow himself to look back.

LEO

The Great Hall had been transformed. Leo stood just inside the threshold, blinking up at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. Which, in a way, it had. No one had warned him the enchanted snow would actually fall. It was snowing indoors. Indoors.

Thousands of crystal flakes drifted from the bewitched sky overhead, disappearing just before they could touch the floor. Everything glowed in a soft, ethereal light, pale blue and silver like the inside of a snow globe. Icicles glittered from floating chandeliers. The four long house tables had vanished, replaced by small, circular ones draped in velvet and trimmed in frost.

It was stupidly beautiful. Offensively romantic. The kind of place that made your stomach tie itself in a double knot if you were trying very hard not to lose your mind over a boy.

Leo took a breath. It fogged faintly in front of him. Somewhere to his left, Zhou Anxin whispered, “Ten Galleons says you forget how to walk when you see him.”

Leo didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because at that exact moment, he walked in. And Leo’s world stopped.

Sangwon moved like he wasn’t touching the ground. Pale blue silk, soft as sky, flowed around him with every step. His robes were tailored within an inch of perfection, silver thread catching the candlelight, and his dark hair was swept back just enough to reveal the gentle line of his cheekbone, the full shape of his mouth.

He looked, Leo’s brain failed to supply a better word, unreal.

No. Not unreal. Unreachable.

Their eyes met across the snowy hush of the Hall. Just for a moment. A flicker. A second-long crack in the ice. Leo’s heart gave a dangerous thud against his ribs.

“Okay,” Anxin muttered beside him, breathless. “You saw him. Now breathe, you lunatic.”

Leo didn’t. Couldn’t. His lungs were staging a protest. His thoughts were melting like the snowflakes that never quite touched the floor.

Sangwon turned to say something to Jiahao. He smiled just a little, soft and sideways, and it wrecked Leo more than any fire charm ever could.

The students were still filtering in, but a space near the front of the Hall was being kept clear. The champions were assembling. Jiahao was already there, his partner on his arm. The Durmstrang champion stood waiting, looking bored. It was time.

Leo’s entire body was screaming one word, over and over: now. He had to go to him. Cross the floor. This was it. The moment their private agreement in the quiet of the tower became stunningly, terrifyingly public.

The first note of the waltz cut through the snowfall like a spell. Leo’s hands were shaking. He took one step forward. Then another. His velvet robes swished around his ankles. His boots clicked against the stone floor. The Great Hall had not gone silent, but it might as well have. Every footstep echoed louder in his chest than in the room.

A wave of whispers followed his path. He wasn't walking toward a popular girl from Gryffindor or a pretty Ravenclaw. He was walking directly toward the Beauxbatons delegation. Directly toward Lee Sangwon.

Leo could hear Anxin wheeze out something like “you go, bro” behind him. He could feel Jiahao notice. The slight adjustment of his stance.

Sangwon was still. Frozen. Like the eye of the storm. He stood in that ridiculous perfect silk, haloed in soft snowlight, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly as Leo approached, and then stopped. Right in front of him.

Leo’s heart was beating so loudly. He grinned. Or tried to. It came out crooked.

“Hey,” he said, voice pitched way too casual for someone whose soul was currently threatening to exit his body via dramatic explosion. Sangwon blinked. Leo cleared his throat, shifted his weight, and shoved his hands deep into his robe pockets to stop the trembling.

“So we’re here,” he said, louder now, just loud enough for the nearest ten people to hear, which meant everyone would hear. “Should we go?” He held out his hand.

A pause. A universe of whispers and stares hung in the balance. Then… laughter. Not cruel. Just shocked, delighted, scandalized. The Beauxbatons girls behind Sangwon clutched each other’s arms like they were watching a live play. The secret was out.

But Leo’s world had narrowed again. Only Sangwon mattered. His face, his beautiful face, was entirely still, except for the way his lips parted. And the blush. Merlin, the blush. It rose like a sunrise, slow and soft and stunning, from his neck to the tips of his ears.

Sangwon looked at him. And looked. And looked. Then he placed his hand in Leo’s. It was a surrender and a victory all at once.

“That’s why I’m here,” Sangwon said.

Leo barely heard the words through the roaring in his ears. But he felt it. It hit him like a spark.

Principal Kim moved to the center of the dance floor. “May I have your attention,” he announced. “It is time for the Champions’ Dance. Please welcome our champions and their partners!” The orchestra swelled. And the whole world changed.

He had never been more aware of his feet. They were suddenly enormous. Made of stone. Possibly cursed.

“Left,” he muttered to himself. “Right. Other left. No- Bloody hell…”

Sangwon’s hand was resting in his. Light as breath. Warm, despite the shimmer of falling snow. Leo’s other hand was hovering just above Sangwon’s waist, too scared to actually touch him in case it triggered a reality check and the entire universe collapsed.

They were dancing. Technically. Mostly it was Leo stumbling in a slow circle, trying not to step on Sangwon’s ridiculous shoes, which were pale and perfect and completely unsuited to panic-induced Gryffindor flailing.

The snow kept falling. And Sangwon… Sangwon moved like the music had been written for him. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just effortless. His steps were smooth, his posture graceful, his gaze fixed just to the side of Leo’s shoulder like this was a drill, a duty, a test. Until Leo stumbled. Again.

A full, clumsy near-trip, saved only by Sangwon’s hand tightening around his. Their chests brushed. Leo’s heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted out. And then Sangwon leaned in. Not a lot. Just enough to whisper it. Soft, close, almost scolding.

“Don’t look at your feet.”

Leo turned his head and met his eyes. They were dark and deep and absurdly close. There was snow in Sangwon’s hair. A soft, delicate flake clinging just above his eyebrow. His cheeks were still pink from the blush. His lashes were dusted with light. His mouth.

Leo swallowed hard.

“I’d rather look at you,” he said. The words just fell out of him. No planning. No flair. No joke.

Sangwon’s eyes widened. A breath caught in his throat. His ears turned bright red. And then, finally, finally, he looked at Leo. Really looked. No polite mask. No diplomatic reserve. Just Sangwon. Breathless. Blinking. Blushing. Real.

The snow spun around them, slow and sparkling. The rest of the Hall faded. The music swelled and dipped, but Leo barely noticed it now. All he could feel was the weight of Sangwon’s hand in his. The press of their palms. The warmth between them.

They moved together now. Hesitant, then smoother. A gentle rhythm. The sway of shoulders, the slide of boots. Clumsy at first, but honest.

The music slowed. The world didn’t. Their hands were still joined, fingers laced loosely now, warmth soaking into Leo’s skin like magic. The enchanted snow continued its lazy descent, catching in Sangwon’s hair and along the folds of his collar. His breath came soft and quiet, just visible in the cold shimmer of the Hall. The waltz had long since shifted from formal steps into a kind of gentle sway, almost a shared secret. They weren’t dancing anymore, not really. They were just moving together. Close. Closer. Close enough to feel the brush of wool against silk. Close enough for Leo to hear the slight hitch in Sangwon’s breath when Leo’s thumb brushed gently over his knuckles.

Neither of them spoke. Words would only rupture the spell of it--this fragile stillness where everything made terrifying, perfect sense. Around them, the crowd seemed to vanish. There were still bodies swirling through the dance floor, laughter echoing across candlelight, the rustle of robes and the clinking of goblets. But Leo only saw Sangwon. And Sangwon was looking at him.

Not like he had to. Not like he was performing politeness. But like he wanted to see. Really see. His eyes lingered on Leo’s mouth for half a second too long, then flicked up again, startled like he’d caught himself in a thought he wasn’t supposed to have.

Leo’s heart stuttered, misfired, then caught again in his throat. He leaned in.

Not far. Just enough that the space between them dropped into something dangerous. Their foreheads nearly touched. His free hand hovered near Sangwon’s waist again, then slid up the line of his robe, resting lightly against his side. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Sangwon’s breath. Could feel the way Sangwon stilled, barely blinking, his gaze falling to Leo’s lips and staying there this time.

Snowflakes drifted past their cheeks, weightless and slow. The music melted into a final lingering chord.

Leo didn’t move. And neither did Sangwon.

And Leo knew without question, without panic, that if the world gave them one more breath, one more measure of music, one more inch, Sangwon would meet him there.

He tilted his head the tiniest bit, his nose brushing Sangwon’s.

And then--

Something exploded.

It wasn’t loud at first. It was wet.

A low, sickening squelch followed by a sudden splatter that felt like it came from everywhere. Then the noise--a muffled pop followed by the shriek of magical alarms, a brief flash of green and gold light, and then the unmistakable sound of something goopy hitting a wall.

Screaming. Laughter. Gasps. A girl from Beauxbatons shrieked as pudding dripped down her braid.

Leo blinked. Sangwon jolted back an entire step, as if shaken from a spell, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment as something sticky splattered near his boots.

“What the-” Leo started, twisting around just in time to see Anxin standing over what used to be the dessert table, holding what appeared to be the charred remains of a firework tube and half a spoon.

“I thought it would be a controlled burst!” Anxin yelled over the chaos. “It was for the mood!”

“What mood involves detonating a pudding?!” someone shouted back.

Snow still fell, but it no longer felt romantic. It was falling on half-screaming students, smeared icing, and what looked like a half-melted éclair embedded in the side of a decorative ice sculpture.

Leo turned back, just in time to see Sangwon step quickly away, one hand flying up to cover his face.

His ears were burning. Not just pink. Red. Bright and panicked, like someone had lit a charm behind his skin. His expression was unreadable, but the tension was unmistakable. He was mortified.

Leo’s heart plummeted. He opened his mouth and wanted to say It’s okay, wait, don’t go, I didn’t mind, but Sangwon had already turned, muttering something under his breath, brushing pudding flecks from his sleeve with trembling fingers. Jiahao had appeared beside him like magic, hand on his back, gently guiding him out of the worst of the chaos.

Leo stood in the middle of the Hall, snow catching in his hair, blinking pudding from his robes, and smiling like a man who had just walked out of a war zone holding the flag.

Anxin made it over to him a moment later, breathless, slightly singed, and entirely unapologetic. “That went well,” he said.

Leo didn’t even look away from the spot where Sangwon had been. “Best night of my life,” he said, voice bright with ridiculous joy. “I was so close.”

Anxin glanced at him, then at the mess. “You’ve got cream on your ear.”

Leo just kept grinning. “I don’t care. He didn’t turn away.”

Chapter Text

The air in the small, stone chamber off the Great Hall was thick with the scent of old tapestry and unspoken dread. Outside, a pale January sun did little to warm the grounds, its light thin and watery. Inside, the three champions stood before the headmasters and a stern-faced Ministry official, the silence stretching thin between them. Leo bounced on the balls of his feet, a nervous energy thrumming just beneath his skin that was impossible to suppress.

“Champions,” Principal Kim began, his voice echoing slightly in the cramped space. “By now you should have discovered the clue hidden in the dragon egg retrieved from your first task. Your second task is underwater. In one hour, you will enter the Black Lake. Your objective is to retrieve that which you would miss the most.”

A cold knot formed in Leo’s stomach. He glanced at Jiahao, whose expression remained placid, and then at Xinlong, who looked, as always, like he was mentally preparing for a bare-knuckle brawl.

The Ministry official, a man with a tightly wound face, stepped forward. “Your ‘treasure’ has already been chosen for you by the binding magical contract of the tournament. You will not be given a name. You have one hour. The magic will guide you. That is all.”

The magic will guide you. It was so simple, so infuriatingly vague, and yet for Leo, the answer was as clear as the enchanted sky in the Great Hall. His mind didn't even entertain another possibility. It snapped instantly to one person: Zhou Anxin. Who else could it be? His partner in crime, his strategic advisor, his moral compass when it went haywire, which was often.

He had spent the previous morning with Anxin to prepare for the task he knew would take place underwater, a frantic, buzzing energy making him louder than usual. His jokes were a little too sharp, his laughter a little too forced, a fact Anxin noted with a raised eyebrow but had the grace not to comment on. Their mission was Gillyweed.

“Are you sure Professor Longbottom said we could have this?” Anxin whispered, his voice echoing in the humid air of the greenhouse. He held a slimy, grayish-green bundle of the plant between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a dead rat.

“He said I could have whatever I needed for the tournament,” Leo replied, stuffing his own portion into a charmed waterproof pouch. “He just didn't specify I’d be needing it from his private stores at seven in the morning. Details.”

He slung an arm around Anxin’s shoulder, pulling him into a rough, one-armed hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back on dry land before you even have time to miss me.”

Anxin rolled his eyes, but a small, worried smile touched his lips. “Just try not to get eaten by the giant squid, you idiot. I’m not explaining that to your parents.”

Leo grinned, the expression feeling tight and brittle. This was just another adventure. He was ready.

Contrary to Leo, Zhang Jiahao prepared with a different kind of certainty. He checked the warming charms on his robes and reviewed the incantations for a Bubble-Head Charm, his mind clear and focused. The "thing he would miss most." The magic would, of course, choose the person who anchored him here, the one who represented the very heart of Beauxbatons’ honor and grace. It would choose Sangwon.

The task was daunting, but the objective for him was blessedly adn logically clear. He would be swift. Efficient. Sangwon was in his care, as he had always been. He would enter the lake, he would retrieve his best friend, and he would win.

At the time came, all three champions walked toward the shores of the Black Lake, utterly oblivious to the magic had waiting for them in the silent depths below.

Leo stood at the edge of the platform, the Gillyweed a disgusting, rubbery clump in his palm. The crowd was a distant roar, a wall of sound that felt miles away. All he could see was the lake. It was a vast, unforgiving sheet of black glass, its surface barely rippling in the frigid air. He popped the Gillyweed into his mouth and chewed.

The taste was vile, like swallowing a handful of slugs and pond scum. He gagged, forcing it down, and then the magic took hold. It was a horrifying sensation. A searing heat spread through his throat, down to his lungs, followed by an agonizing feeling of his skin stretching, becoming slick and cold. Gills sprouted from the sides of his neck, fluttering painfully in the air, and his fingers and toes elongated, webbing together in thin, translucent membranes. He gasped, but no sound came out. He could no longer breathe air. He was a creature of the water now, and the need for it was a screaming instinct.

Without another thought, he dove.

The shock of the icy water was so cold it felt like fire. But then his new lungs drew in their first breath of water, and the world shifted. It was an alien, silent kingdom. The roar of the crowd vanished, replaced by the low, gurgling hum of the deep. Sunlight struggled to pierce the murky green depths, illuminating swaying forests of kelp and strange pale weeds that reached for him like grasping fingers. It was tense. It was terrifying. And he was utterly alone.

His mission surged to the front of his mind: Anxin. He propelled himself forward with powerful kicks of his webbed feet, his new body clumsy but strong. This was no place for finesse. A thick curtain of kelp blocked his path, so he drew his wand.

“Confringo!” The Blasting Curse erupted from his wand as a violent, concussive bubble of force that tore a ragged hole in the vegetation. The move was brutish, messy, and loud.

From the murky shadows, figures emerged. Merpeople. They were not the beautiful creatures from storybooks. Their skin was a sickly gray-green, their eyes a flat, dead black, and their teeth were like needles. They held sharp, triton-like spears, and they pointed them at Leo, their mouths opening in silent, hissing warnings. They were territorial, and his chaotic magic was an unwelcome intrusion.

He ignored them, pushing deeper. A Grindylow, a small water demon with brittle fingers and a vicious grip, shot out from a cluster of rocks and latched onto his ankle. Leo didn't bother with a spell. He just turned and punched it squarely in its bulbous face. The creature let out a silent shriek of bubbles and darted away.

He was making progress, but the lake was a disorienting maze of rock formations and strange, glowing flora. He paused for a moment, treading water, trying to get his bearings. The silence was unnerving.

A shimmering figure was drifting out from behind a large moss-covered boulder. Moaning Myrtle. She floated before him, her ghostly form translucent against the green gloom.

She let out a watery, dramatic sigh that sounded like a drain backing up.

“So much thrashing about. No one ever comes to visit me so violently. It’s not very romantic, you know.” She floated in a slow, lazy circle around him. “It’s a shame. He’s been waiting all alone down here in the dark. So pretty, and so lonely.”

So pretty. The phrase snagged in Leo’s mind. He thought of Anxin, clever, loud, loyal, good-looking Anxin, but “pretty” was a word that had never applied to him. He dismissed it instantly. Myrtle was mad. Everyone knew that. She was probably talking about a particularly attractive Grindylow she’d befriended.

He gave her what he hoped was a dismissive look, turned, and kicked off again, pushing deeper into the waiting dark. But as he swam, her words echoed in the quiet of his mind, a confusing seed of doubt planted in the heart of his resolve.

Pretty.

After what felt like an eternity of swimming and shooting fire through the disorienting gloom, Leo saw it. A faint, bioluminescent glow pulsed ahead, illuminating a clearing in the underwater forest. He pushed forward, his webbed hands parting the dark water, and emerged into the heart of the merpeople’s village.

It was an eerie, ancient place. Crude dwellings were carved into a massive rock formation, and in the center of the clearing, three figures floated in a state of suspended animation, tethered by thick, enchanted kelp ropes to a great, moss-covered monolith. Merguards with stony faces and sharp tridents hovered nearby, their dead black eyes watching him with cold indifference.

Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. Anxin. He scanned the captives, his eyes searching frantically. He saw a young girl with dark hair--that must be Xinlong’s sister. He searched for Anxin's familiar, perpetually messy hair, his Gryffindor robes...

And then he saw him.

Floating serenely between the other two, his silk uniform billowing around him like a cloud, was Sangwon. His eyes were closed, his face placid and impossibly beautiful in the strange, watery light. He looked like a prince from a forgotten fairytale, asleep for a hundred years. Leo’s mind stalled, refusing to process the image.

As if in answer, a shimmering thread of light materialized in the water. It was Gryffindor red-gold, warm and brilliant against the murky green, and it stretched from the very center of Leo’s chest, a direct line of undeniable magic, connecting him not to where Anxin should have been, but directly to Sangwon.

The choice was not his. The magic had made its declaration.

Leo froze, treading water, his new gills working uselessly. His thoughts were chaotic. No. No, no, no. Come on. This wasn't a game or a flirtation.

A blur of movement to his left. Jiahao swam into the clearing, his Bubble-Head Charm casting a clean sphere of air around his head. He moved with an efficient grace, his eyes immediately finding Sangwon. He swam directly toward his friend, wand extended, clearly intending a swift rescue.

He reached out to touch the kelp ropes binding Sangwon. The moment his fingers made contact, a violent, invisible wave of force erupted from the enchantment. Jiahao was thrown backward, tumbling through the water, his calm expression finally cracking with shock. The magic was absolute.

Jiahao recovered his balance, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with a new understanding. He looked at Sangwon, then at the stunned, horrified expression on Leo’s face. He followed the shimmering red-gold line connecting them. Then, his gaze shifted, and he saw it--a second thread of light, this one a pale blue-silver, connecting his own chest to a figure tethered just behind the monolith. It was Anxin, looking utterly terrified.

He gave Leo a single unreadable nod, and, without another moment’s hesitation, he turned and swam toward his correct target, quickly cut through the ropes to rescue Anxin, leaving Leo utterly alone with his choice.

The sight of Sangwon, so still, so vulnerable, extinguished the last embers of Leo’s panic. The mission was Sangwon. He had to get him out. Now.

He moved. He swam forward, his new body finally feeling like an extension of his will. The merguards watched him, their spears held ready, but they did not intervene. He drew his wand, and carefully whispered.

“Diffindo.” The Severing Charm emerged as a quiet silver blade of light, and he worked it carefully against the thick magical kelp, his movements precise, gentle, a form of magic he was entirely unused to.

The last strand parted. Sangwon’s body drifted free.

Leo caught him, gathering him into his arms. The contact was a shock. He was impossibly cold. It was a lifeless cold that had nothing to do with the lake and everything to do with the stillness in his arms. A fresh wave of fear, sharper and more real than anything he had felt before, seized him. On instinct, his hand slid up to cup the back of Sangwon’s neck, a desperate, protective gesture to shield him from the dark water.

He began his ascent. It was slow. Deliberate. He kicked upward with steady strokes, shielding Sangwon’s limp body with his own, his being focused on a desperate prayer: wake up, wake up, please wake up.

They broke the surface.

The world came back as a roar. Sound, light, and air hit him all at once, a brutal, overwhelming assault after the silence of the deep. The roar of hundreds of spectators, the sharp, cold wind on his wet skin, the blinding glare of the pale winter sun. He trod water, his own lungs aching as the Gillyweed’s magic began to recede, his arms trembling from the cold and the weight of his burden.

On the platform, medics were shouting, brandishing thick woolen blankets. But Leo barely saw them. His world had narrowed to the face resting against his shoulder.

Sangwon coughed.

It was a small, choked sound, a splutter of lake water and a gasp for air. His eyelashes, dark and wet, fluttered against his pale cheek. Then his eyes opened. They were dazed at first, unfocused, blinking against the harsh light. They found Leo’s. For a suspended moment, there was only confusion.

Then, awareness.

He was awake. And he was in Leo’s arms. And the entire world was watching. The moment was impossibly intimate, some unintended vulnerability broadcast to hundreds of staring eyes.

They were on the platform. A thick, warm blanket was immediately thrown over Leo’s shoulders, another one wrapped around Sangwon. The world was a cacophony of cheering, the popping of magical flashbulbs, and the frantic questions of the mediwizards. But Leo was deaf to it all. His senses had narrowed to the boy in his arms, who was shivering violently, his dark eyes wide and dazed as he took in the overwhelming chaos of the surface.

In that moment, Leo’s mind, running on the fumes of adrenaline and terror, resorted to damage control. He saw the crowd’s ecstatic faces, saw them pointing, saw them cheering for the couple from the Yule Ball. They thought this was a love story. They thought the magic had chosen Sangwon on purpose, as a grand romantic declaration. And he saw the look of pure, deer-in-headlights horror on Sangwon’s face as he realized it, too.

He leaned in close, his mouth near Sangwon’s ear, his voice a low, dumbfounded whisper meant only for him.

“Sorry,” he breathed, the word a clumsy rush of air. “This is a mistake. It was supposed to be Anxin I should rescue.”

The words struck Sangwon. A mistake. His blood ran cold, a chill that had nothing to do with the lake. The dreamlike memory of being held, of feeling safe, turned into glittering pieces. The public display, the intense, protective look he had seen in Leo’s eyes, the wild, burgeoning hope in his own chest that had dared to believe this was real, an error.

He was baffled. The world tilted, the cheering of the crowd becoming a high-pitched, mocking whine in his ears. Have I been assuming everything? The question was a venomous seed instantly taking root in the fertile soil of his own self-doubt. Had he mistaken a Gryffindor’s careless warmth for something it was not meant to be?

The shame was a weight that made it hard to breathe. He wanted to disappear. To simply cease to exist under the weight of a thousand scrutinizing eyes.

He barely registered the sharp, cutting voice of his headmistress. Madam Kany had swept onto the platform, her face a cold fury. She was staring down a flusttered-looking Ministry official.

“A disgraceful, humiliating spectacle,” she said, her French accent making the words sound like shards of ice. “To allow one of my students to be used in such a fashion, without consent, for the entertainment of this chaotic school. I will be lodging a formal complaint.”

Her tirade was the cover Sangwon needed. He flinched away from Leo, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as if it could make him invisible. The warmth of Leo’s arms, which had felt like a sanctuary only moments before, now felt like a cage of lies.

Jiahao was there suddenly, his face etched with concern, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Sangwon’s face was a pale, blank mask of confusion and shame. He couldn’t look at Leo. He didn’t say a word. He just let Jiahao and a furious Madam Kany guide him away from the platform, away from the noise, away from the boy who was the source of it all.

Leo watched him go. The crowd was still roaring his name. He had finished the task. And as he stood there, shivering but smiling, he was completely, blissfully, and tragically oblivious to the fact that he had just delivered the cruelest blow of all.

Chapter Text

LEO

The Great Hall was filled with the sound of clattering forks and cheerful noise, but for Leo, it all played in mute. He was watching the doors. Just watching. Every swing of the heavy oak brought about a nervous twitch in his gut. His own housemates were laughing like a distant hum. His shepherd's pie sat untouched, a cooling evidence to his complete lack of appetite.

Then, they entered. A river of pale blue silk, elegant and serene. The Beauxbatons moved with a liquid grace that always made the Hogwarts students look like clumsy trolls by comparison. Leo’s eyes found him instantly. It was like a spell, an invisible string pulling his gaze to the one person in the room who mattered.

For a half-second, a stupid, hopeful firework went off in Leo’s chest. Sangwon’s eyes swept across the hall, a brief, unreadable glance towards the Gryffindor table. Leo straightened his spine, a grin already forming on his lips. See? It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

But the glance passed over him. It lingered on nothing. Sangwon turned, the line of his back a straight declaration, and walked not to his usual spot, not even to the middle of the Ravenclaw one where he often sat with Jiahao, but to the farthest possible end.

The firework in Leo’s chest fizzled into smoke. The ache wasn’t sharp. It was a slow, hollowing scoop, leaving a crater where his dinner should have been.

He couldn't stand the quiet. The silence from across the hall was louder than the Gryffindor noise. He had to drown it out.

“--and then,” Leo boomed, turning to his friends with a manic energy that made them jump, “the giant squid told me, swear on my mother’s ink sac, that the Grindylows are starting a synchronized swimming team.”

Anxin choked on his pumpkin juice. A few fourth-years giggled.

“No, I’m serious!” Leo insisted, grabbing a chicken leg and using it as a conductor’s baton. “They’re holding auditions next week. The merpeople are furious. Apparently, it’s a total political nightmare.”

He launched into an elaborate, ridiculous tale of underwater politics, his gestures growing wilder, his grin stretched so wide it made his cheeks hurt. His friends were howling, egging him on. But with every punchline, his eyes would betray him, darting across the hall for a fraction of a second.

Nothing.

Sangwon hadn't moved. He was listening intently to the girl beside him, his head tilted slightly, a small, polite smile on his lips. He hadn't flinched. He hadn't turned. It was as if Leo didn't exist. As if the loudest boy in the entire castle was nothing more than a buzzing fly.

The burn in his chest intensified. The laughter of his housemates started to sound sharp, like broken glass. The performance stalled. He dropped the chicken leg onto his plate with a greasy thud. The story died in his throat.

“I-I’ve got to go,” he mumbled, shoving his chair back. The screech of wood on stone was grating.

“Leo? You haven’t eaten,” a concerned voice said.

But he was already moving, stumbling away from the table, away from the warmth and the noise that now felt like a mockery. He could feel eyes on his back, but he only cared about one pair. And he knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in his stomach, that they weren't watching him at all.

In the Gryffindor common room, Leo threw himself onto a squashy armchair near the hearth, the scarlet velvet swallowing him whole. He didn’t want company. He wanted to marinate in the miserable, echoing silence Sangwon had left in his head.

Footsteps at the portrait. Of course.

“That was a truly spectacular implosion,” Anxin announced, dropping onto the rug by Leo’s feet and beginning to methodically untie his boots. He didn’t look at Leo, which somehow made his presence more infuriating. “A masterclass in public pining. Ten points to Gryffindor for dramatic flair, minus fifty for subtlety.”

Leo grunted, sinking deeper into the chair. “Piss off.”

“Gladly, but you look like you’re about to set the tapestries on fire with your mind, and I quite like the one with the narwhal.” Anxin finally looked up, his expression devoid of pity. “What, in the name of Dumbledore’s saggy left sock, was that?”

The question uncorked something volatile inside Leo. The frustration, sour and hot, erupted. “What was that? That was me trying to have a normal dinner while he-he just sits there!” He shot up, pacing now, his hands carving agitated shapes in the air.

“Ever since the second task, it’s like I’ve got the plague. He avoids my gaze, he vanishes when I enter a room. Am I an embarrassment to be with? Is that it? Because I thought--Merlin, I thought we had something.”

Anxin listened, his face impassive like a judge hearing a particularly flimsy case. When Leo finally ran out of steam, Anxin asked a question. “Did you tell him?”

Leo froze mid-pace. “Tell him what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Anxin said, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “That you like him? That you’re catastrophically smitten? That his existence has somehow rewired your entire brain? Did you, by any chance, use actual words to make your feelings clear?”

“It’s obvious!” Leo exploded, his voice cracking. “The way I look at him, the things I said, how can he not get it?”

Anxin let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. It was not a kind sound. He scrambled to his feet, his good humour entirely evaporated, replaced by a scalding honesty.

“Leo, are you listening to yourself? The universe does not, in fact, revolve around your magnificent assumptions. You can’t just launch yourself at people like a human cannonball and expect them to decipher the emotional shrapnel.” He jabbed a finger toward Leo’s chest. “You are reckless. You think your grand gestures and your stupid, charming words have no consequences, that everyone should just be grateful you’ve noticed them. That’s not confidence. That’s arrogance.”

Every word chipped away at Leo’s anger until only the raw, aching hurt was left.

Anxin’s voice softened. “Well, I don’t know how you want this to play out,” he said. “But from where I’m sitting, it looks to me like your pretty boy doesn't fancy that anymore.”

Silence. The fire crackled, oblivious. The words hung in the air, shimmering in sorrow. Leo collapsed back into the armchair, the fight draining out of him in a rush, leaving him limp and hollow. He stared into the flames, seeing nothing.

“I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone,” he whispered, the admission costing him more than he could have imagined. “I don’t know what to do.” He finally looked at his friend, his eyes wide with a desperate, childish honesty. “So I just did what I’m best at. Sweeping potential problems under a rug until they magically become no problem at all.”

SANGWON

While the Gryffindor tower echoed with the fallout of Leo’s anguish, a different kind of quiet had settled inside the Beauxbatons carriage. Sangwon sat by a window of spun glass, watching the Scottish landscape blur into a watercolor of greens and greys. He was so still he might have been part of the carriage’s elegant upholstery.

Jiahao watched him from across the polished table. He observed the tension in Sangwon’s shoulders, the way his fingers were pressed white against the window ledge.

“You build such strong walls, Sangwon,” Jiahao said, his voice soft but clear, cutting through the carriage’s gentle rumble. “They are high and elegant, and no one can get in. But you forget that they also prevent you from getting out.”

Sangwon did not turn from the window. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Jiahao leaned forward. “Your silence is also a wall. You are letting your own fear write the end of a story that has barely begun. You dislike talking about what you want, and what you fear, and you keep assuming the answers to questions you were too afraid to ask.”

Sangwon’s stillness was disturbed by a slight tremor that ran through his shoulders.

“But I don’t want to hear an undesirable answer,” he whispered. It was always the core of him: the perfectionist, the planner, the boy who could not bear a result he had not anticipated and approved.

Jiahao’s face softened. He rose from his seat, rounded the table, and enveloped Sangwon in a firm, encompassing hug. He pressed his cheek against Sangwon’s hair, his voice a low murmur against his ear. “How many times must I repeat? Everything wrong with you is just as precious as everything right with you. You have to believe that first, before you can ever expect him to.”

He pulled back just enough to look Sangwon in the eye, his expression fierce. “And to hell with Leo if he cannot appreciate you for exactly who you are.”

Later that night, long after the carriage had settled into a sleeping hush, Sangwon sat with a piece of pristine parchment. The words flowed from his quill, uncharacteristically clumsy, beautifully honest. An apology for his retreat. A confession of his fear, his paralyzing habit of overthinking until all potential for joy was dissected into risk. It was the most vulnerable he had ever been on paper.

He read it over once. Twice. His thumb smoothed over the ink.

Then, with a decisive motion, he crumpled the parchment into a tight ball. He held it in his palm for a long moment before letting it fall into the darkness of the wastebasket. Mind as well say it face-to-face.

LEO

The training grounds were damp, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and approaching rain. A perfect day for a duel. Or it should have been. For Leo, the world had been leached of its color, leaving only a palette of greys.

...your pretty boy doesn't fancy that anymore.

Anxin’s words. They’d been looping in his head for two days, a relentless, echoing torment. They clung to him now, heavier than his training robes.

He faced Kim Junmin, a fellow seventh-year with more enthusiasm than aim. A simple warm-up. Block and return. Easy.

Junmin raised his wand. “Ready, Leo?”

Leo nodded, his own wand feeling foreign in his hand. Heavy. Useless.

... arrogance.

He saw Sangwon’s back. Turned. The polite smile aimed at someone else. The hollowness in his gut yawned into a chasm.

“Expelliarmus!” Junmin yelled.

The jet of red light was slow. Comically slow. A week ago, Leo would have sidestepped it in his sleep, probably while juggling. Today, he barely got his own wand up. His counter-charm was a pathetic fizzle of sparks, and the spell slapped into his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

Junmin looked horrified. “Sorry! Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Leo grunted, his teeth clenched. Shame was a hot flush on his neck. He was the champion. He was supposed to be brilliant. Effortless. He wasn't supposed to be this. A clumsy, heartbroken oaf.

They reset. Junmin looked nervous, hesitant to cast.

Come on, Leo. Focus.

He tried. He really did. He pictured the spell movements in his head. The wrist-snap for a shield charm. The sharp jab for a stunner. But his mind was a swamp.

Sweeping problems under a rug...

Junmin, gaining a sliver of confidence, cast again. “Flipendo!”

A Knockback Jinx. Not a big nuisance. But Leo wasn't there. He was across the grounds, across the lake, lost in a memory of pearlescent light and a whispered name. His shield charm Protego formed a half-second too late. It was sloppy. Weak.

The jinx didn't just sting. It hit his unstable shield and ricocheted with a nasty crack, the force of it amplified. It felt like a physical punch to the gut. The impact threw him off balance.

He heard shouts. His name, maybe. It sounded far away, submerged.

The grey sky spun.

The wet grass rushed up to meet him.

Cold.

Sangwon. His face, beautiful in the dark.

Then, nothing. Only black.

SANGWON

Sangwon was moving through a corridor on the third floor, the book on advanced water charms held loosely in his hand, when the words snagged him from the air.

“…Leo again, I heard. Took a nasty jinx in training. To the Hospital Wing. Quite weak of him…” The voice belonged to a passing Hufflepuff, her tone laced with panicked gossip.

That night, at the Hospital Wing, which was warm, still, smelling faintly of dittany and clean linen, Sangwon slipped through the heavy oak doors like a thieve, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He saw him immediately. Leo, asleep in the bed nearest the window, looked small. The boisterous energy that usually surrounded him like an aura was gone, leaving him pale and unnervingly still.

Sangwon approached the bed, his movements soundless. He stood for a long moment, just watching the slow rise and fall of Leo’s chest. A lock of messy black hair had fallen across his forehead. Without thinking, Sangwon reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he brushed it back.

He drew his wand, the supple willow, warm and familiar in his hand. He took a deep, steadying breath and began to murmur the words, the old, soft spell from his grandmother’s tongue. A gentle pearlescent light bloomed from the tip of his wand, shimmering with the faint, opalescent colors of Veela magic. The light sank into Leo’s skin, coaxing the bruises to heal.

Under the gentle warmth of the magic, Leo stirred. His brow furrowed, and his eyelids fluttered. Sangwon froze, his heart seizing in panic, but it was too late to pull back.

Leo’s eyes opened. They were hazy with sleep, but they focused on the beautiful, shimmering light, and then on the boy who held the wand. He blinked once, slowly, a flicker of memory in his gaze.

“That’s…” he murmured, his voice a low, sleep-roughened rasp. “Veela hair, right?”

Sangwon was surprised by the attention to detail.

“It’s my grandmother’s,” he managed, the words barely audible. “She was one. I am… a quarter.”

Leo’s expression was one of simple awe. “Wow,” he breathed. The word was soft, a puff of air. He was quiet for a moment, Sangwon could feel Leo’s eyes searching his face. The awe faded, replaced by the same confusion that had haunted him for days. His voice was quiet, hesitant, stripped of all its usual bravado. “Did I… say something? To make you unhappy?”

Sangwon flinched at the gently question. “No,” he said, but the word was weak, unconvincing. “It wasn’t you. It was me.”

“Then what was it?” Leo pushed, his voice still soft, pleading. “Please, just talk to me, Sangwon.”

“You don’t-” Sangwon started, but Leo opened his mouth to ask again, and something inside him snapped.

“You don’t understand!” The words burst from him, a torrent of breathless frustration. “Why don’t you think? You speak and you move and you pull people into your orbit and you never seem to consider the consequences! You say these enormous, life-altering things as if you’re merely commenting on the weather, and I’m supposed to just… what? Know what’s real? Know what’s a joke and what’s not? I can’t live like that, Leo. I need structure. I need a plan. With you, there is no plan! There is only chaos and a brilliant, blinding light and I was terrified. Terrified of what you meant, and terrified of what I felt when you said it, and even more terrified that I was misinterpreting everything. So I did what’s least scary,” he finished, his voice cracking, the words finally spent. “I ran.”

Throughout the entire, messy, desperate speech, Leo had remained utterly still. He didn't interrupt. He didn't defend himself. He just listened, his eyes fixed on Sangwon’s face, absorbing every ounce of his fear and frustration.

When Leo finally spoke, his voice was thick with a regret so genuine it made Sangwon’s chest ache. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “For being reckless with my words. For not seeing all these questions I was putting on you. For making you feel like you were in it alone.”

A tear pricked at Sangwon’s eyes. “Me too, I am sorry,” he whispered, the apology tasting of shame and relief. “For my silence. I should have communicated. It was cowardly.”

The confessions settled in the quiet, moonlit air, dissolving the tension that had held them captive. In the space that remained, Leo slowly, tentatively, reached out and took Sangwon’s free hand. His touch was warm, gentle, a question in itself.

Leo’s voice was barely a breath. “Do you feel this is something?”

A small, watery, but genuine flicker of a smile touched Sangwon’s lips. “I don’t know yet.”

Leo’s thumb stroked a soothing line over Sangwon’s knuckles. “Then I guess we’ll figure it out together.”

Sangwon looked down at their joined hands, Leo’s, strong and sure, wrapped around his own. He didn’t pull away. Slowly, with a resolve that felt both terrifying and right, his fingers curled into Leo’s palm.