Chapter Text
He feels constant pressure of eyes on him, drilling into his back.
Hanbin walks down the corridor, shoving his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook into his satchel as he turns around the corner. His class had just finished, and he’s currently heading to the Great Hall for lunch. The whispers and mutters follow him, drifting in the background, too faint to understand. He ignores them, keeping his face straight. He assumes they’re still gossiping about the First Task, which was six days ago.
After all, he had won.
He still remembers Zhang Hao’s expression, as clear as day, when Professor Kwon declared him as the winner. Eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, his jaw set in a tight clench, a tendon tensing up in his neck. Hanbin scored twenty eight points out of thirty, with Zhang Hao following close behind at twenty seven. Jiwoong was awarded twenty five points, placing him at third.
One point difference. One. And that difference was the judges thought that mastering the Animagus transformation was more impressive. It was learnt, not inherited.
Victory never tasted so sweet.
Zhang Hao left the arena without saying another word or glance at Hanbin, which was fine. It’s not like Hanbin was waiting to talk to him anyways.
The Great Hall is teeming with students on their lunch break, trays of food popping up on the table once a student sits down on the bench. He cranes his head over the mass of people, looking for his friends. After a while, he spots them.
He wouldn’t have recognized them huddled at the end of the Slytherin table if it wasn’t for Gyuvin’s crudely knitted scarf, their backs turned towards him. Gyuvin had insisted on carrying it around, saying it’s a gift from his younger siblings. They seem to be hunched over something that is hidden from Hanbin’s view, so he hurries over for a closer look.
“Hey guys, class was a pain. What are you looking at?”
Taerae jumps. Gyuvin coughs. Yujin’s knee hits the table, causing him to choke out a pained sound. Matthew frantically stuffs something behind him, which doesn’t look suspicious at all.
“Oh, um,” Matthew smiles, his eyes wide with trepidation. “It’s nothing. Just that chocolate frogs came out with a new flavor.”
Hanbin raises an eyebrow, his gaze falling on Gyuvin’s hand where he was drumming nervously on the table. He then looks at Yujin, hoping he will explain.
One, Hanbin counts in his head. Two. Three. Four—
“Okay,” Yujin blurts out, caving under his stare. “Just don’t freak out.”
He moves out of the way, revealing a newspaper laid out on the table. The Daily Prophet. Hanbin knows that owls usually deliver newspapers in the morning, but he had missed it today since he skipped breakfast and went straight to class.
Lovers Caught on Opposing Sides of the Triwizard Tournament? The Hogwarts Champion’s Alleged Secret Affair with the Beauxbatons Champion, it reads right there, on the front cover in bold black letters.
Oh. So that’s why people are ogling at him and whispering behind his back.
Below was a moving picture of him with Zhang Hao on the couch right before the First Task. His head, hovering over Zhang Hao’s. His hands clutching, knuckles white at Zhang Hao’s collar, hauling him closer. His own face, captured with an intense stare.
Hanbin wasn’t aware of how profound Zhang Hao had looked, his expression open and vulnerable as he studied Hanbin. His mouth was slightly parted, as if he was hit with a realization, something he has never considered before.
“It’s fine,” Hanbin swallows. “I know about this.”
“We all know it isn’t true anyways, don’t worry.” Taerae reassures, patting him on the back gently.
“It’s not you guys that I’m worried about.”
He runs a finger down the printed line of Zhang Hao’s face, watching the moment loop over, and over again. Forever immortalized on paper. He’s viewing it again from a third perspective, like an out-of-body experience, and noticing things he was too agitated to care about at that time. Why is Zhang Hao looking at him like that? Had Zhang Hao always looked at him that way? Were their faces really that close? Have Zhang Hao’s eyelashes always been this thick?
I don’t, Zhang Hao had whispered, when Hanbin asked him if he understood back in the tent, just before their confrontation had been interrupted. What had he meant?
“What happened that made you react like that?” Gyuvin asked.
“Just some stupid argument about dragons,” Hanbin lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not important. We knew a picture was taken right after, and now it is taken out of context. Just ignore it, if we don’t talk about it, people will move on. It’s absurd anyways, anyone can see we dislike each other.”
“Sure, if you say so,” Matthew eyes him skeptically. “Moving on. Have you thought of who you’re taking to the Yule Ball?”
“Uh.” He didn’t think of that.
The Yule Ball is a formal celebration held along with every Triwizard Tournament to celebrate Christmas with the other two schools in a show of goodwill. It will be a night full of dancing, socializing, endless flow of drinks (non alcoholic) and hors d'oeuvres. The Champions are put in the spotlight since they will lead the opening dance.
“Look how he’s hesitating, I bet you he didn’t,” Taerae teases, giggling behind his hand.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if Hanbin just shows up with our Head Girl, Karina?” Yujin pipes up. Hanbin makes a face at that suggestion, as he sees her as a sister. Hell, she had even vented her girl troubles to him when they were on duty last week.
“Nah, that won’t happen,” Gyuvin shakes his head. “Karina is already going with Giselle.”
Oh? Hanbin is relieved that her girl troubles have been resolved.
“You won’t have to worry. Plenty of people would want you to take them, since you’re a Champion,” Matthew tilts his head nonchalantly. “In fact, I see Bak Doha eyeing you right now from the corner of my eye.”
Hanbin has to remind himself to not look around.
Doha is quite obvious with his crush on Hanbin. Ever since Hanbin had comforted a crying Doha during their tutoring sessions on Transfiguration in his fifth year, he had been getting little notes here and there, and an anonymous box of chocolates every year during Valentines. Hanbin is familiar enough with Doha’s handwriting so the anonymity didn’t fool him. He has no feelings for the younger Hufflepuff, but couldn’t find the chance to reject him since it was all anonymous.
Hanbin dreads the moment Doha asks him to the Yule Ball.
That moment comes sooner than he expects.
He is tying his letter for his sister to the leg of a delivery owl in the Owlery when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He spins, coming face to face with Bak Doha, nose red from the cold and bundled up in a thick coat.
Hanbin has a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knows what will happen.
“Hi, Hanbin,” Doha says, shuffling his feet. “It’s been a while, isn’t it.”
“Hello, Doha. Yeah it has been. How is Arithmancy treating you? Hopefully you’re not coming to me for more lessons.” Hanbin smiles.
“Oh no, it’s been fine. My grades are doing well.” Doha peers up at him, crossing his hands behind his back. “I want to say congratulations on winning the First Task!”
“Thank you, all the practice in Transfiguration has paid off.” Hanbin says, glancing off to the side awkwardly. “So, what brings you here?”
“Oh.” Doha adjusts his coat and clears his throat. “I was wondering if I can take you to the Yule Ball?”
There. The dreaded question is out, hanging mid air, waiting for Hanbin’s answer. The Yule Ball is a week away, and Hanbin doesn’t have a date yet but he doesn’t want to take Doha to the event. Doha looks at Hanbin hopefully, his eyes round with anticipation, and Hanbin hates to be the bearer of bad news.
Hanbin sighs. “Sorry, Doha, I’m already going with someone else,” he lies through his teeth.
“Oh. I thought I had a chance,” Doha’s shoulders slump. “May I at least ask who you are going with?”
Shit.
Hanbin’s mind kickstarts into a frenzy, scrambling for any name he could use. Under the pressure of Doha’s forlorn gaze, he can’t think of any. His hands begin to sweat, his face burns in the cold wind, and he wishes he’s anywhere but here.
What can he say? What should he say to throw Doha off his back?
Just then, the person he least expects to see passes through the arched entrance of the Owlery.
“Zhang Hao,” Hanbin quickly arranges his face into a solemn look, coming up with an escape plan on the spot. “Uh, there you are, I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”
“Sung Hanbin.” Zhang Hao greets him indifferently. He eyes Hanbin with a suspicious look, and doesn’t approach any further. Hanbin could almost hug him, he doesn’t believe he can feel this relieved from seeing his face.
“We have a score to settle.” Hanbin says and runs over to grab Zhang Hao’s wrist, dragging him out of the Owlery. “Bye, Doha!”
Their footsteps thunder down the stairs, taking them away from the Owlery. Hanbin pulls Zhang Hao along forcefully, weaving and dodging students who are lingering in the hallway outside. Their commotion causes a scene, as they’re the only people running in the corridor.
No running in the hallways. It’s a school rule, and Hanbin as the Head Boy should know better because he enforces them. But right now, he doesn’t care.
“Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao hisses, yanking his wrist back, but Hanbin’s grip is iron tight. He tries digging his feet into the ground, but it is fruitless. “What do you think you are doing? People are looking.”
Hanbin glances back, catching his expression. He’s staring daggers at Hanbin’s profile; his tie flipping over his shoulder, his hair ruffled by the wind. “Come with me, I’ll explain later.”
He yanks Zhang Hao into another hallway, one with fewer people. There, on the side of the corridor is a small dip into the wall and a wooden door that leads to a janitor’s closet. He jiggles the doorknob open, pushes Zhang Hao inside, gets in and closes the door behind them.
The closet drops to pitch black. Hanbin could barely see a thing, could only hear their harsh pants, gasping for air after all the running they’ve done. The space is cramped, he feels the wooden door behind him and the solid form of Zhang Hao’s body in front of him, his knees digging into the sides of Zhang Hao’s thighs and his hands clutching his shoulders for balance. He staggers as he trips over an object, and a pair of hands come up to his waist to steady him.
Hanbin feels his stomach swoop. He shakes himself out of it and pets along the wall for a light switch.
“I have a letter to send,” Zhang Hao says in disbelief, his hot breath fanning across Hanbin’s cheek. His voice rumbles through his chest where it’s pressed up against Hanbin’s arm. “And you interrupt me by dragging me into this dusty closet with you?”
“We’ll wait here for a few minutes until Doha leaves. Fuck, where’s the switch?”
“You’re hopeless.” Hanbin feels Zhang Hao’s hand leave his waist to rummage around his own pockets. “Lumos.”
A burst of light sprouts from the tip of Zhang Hao’s wand, illuminating the tight space. The closet is filled with shelves of janitor supplies, and he thinks he sees a cobweb or two hanging from the corners of the shed. Hanbin blinks sharply, tipping his head up to avoid looking into the blinding light.
He comes face to face with Zhang Hao, the tip of his nose inches from the mole on Zhang Hao’s cheek. If Zhang Hao turns his head a little, Hanbin’s lips would be touching his skin. He smells like white musk with floral undertones, as if he had taken a swim in a lilypond. The air is suddenly sucked out from his lungs, and it feels hard to breathe.
Zhang Hao’s eyelashes have always been thick.
“Alright. Now explain.”
“Um,” Hanbin starts off, turning his face away to calm his beating heart. “Doha was asking me to the Yule Ball.”
Zhang Hao nods. He seems quite attentive for someone who doesn’t have to care about Hanbin. “And you pulled me along because?”
“I needed an escape plan.” He replies, letting words fall out, unbidden. It feels easier to talk like this, when he isn’t looking directly into Zhang Hao’s eyes as he spills the embarrassing incident. “I didn’t want to go with Doha so I said I was going with someone else, when in reality I don’t have a date yet. And when Doha asked who I just panicked—”
“And used me to get away, I see.” Hanbin hears the start of a smile in Zhang Hao’s voice. “Not gonna lie, that was quick thinking.” Zhang Hao, smiling, because of something he did. Zhang Hao gave him a compliment. This isn’t real. He glances at him to double check and sure enough, the corner of his lips is curled up.
“Oh. Thanks.”
There is a lull in silence. Hanbin runs his eyes along the worn wooden beam on the ceiling. He knows Doha would probably be gone by now, but for some reason he doesn’t want to leave yet. Zhang Hao bites his lip before he opens his mouth again.
“So. You’re a hamster Animagus.”
They’re having their long overdue conversation in a janitor’s closet, hiding away from one of Hanbin’s admirers. The one that should have happened right after the First Task. Hanbin could laugh at the ludicrousy of it all, who knew they would end up here, in a musty closet of all places?
“Yeah,” Hanbin hums, watching the way the glowing blue tip of the wand casts shadows on Zhang Hao’s face, sculpting out its contours. “And you’re fireproof. Must be convenient.”
“Comes in handy when I’m stoking the fireplace, or roasting marshmallows.” Zhang Hao tilts his head in mock consideration, saying amicably. “At least I’ll know what to do to defeat you next time, I’ll just feed you to one of the owls in the Owlery.”
A sound escaped Hanbin’s lips. A wheeze. It sneaks up on him, slowly turning to full blown laughter, catching him off guard. He muffles the sound into the palm of his hand, peering through his lashes at Zhang Hao. It catches him off guard, this feeling of harmony he has never shared, would never thought he would share with Zhang Hao. Is he making a joke? Is Zhang Hao trying to make him laugh?
Zhang Hao is looking at him, and it confuses him. Zhang Hao looks at him without the hint of disdain and irritation that he’s oh so familiar with, being met with it every time he sees him. It reminds him that his default face isn’t the haughty expression he wears around him but rather a softer, thoughtful look that smooths out the harsh lines of his face.
“You’re not gonna catch me,” Hanbin rebuts, wiping off a stray tear from his eye. “If I can outrun a dragon, I can certainly outrun you.”
“Yeah, you ran from Doha pretty quick.”
They dissolve into another fit of hysterics, ducking their heads to the side to giggle. Hanbin is laughing so hard that his stomach is starting to hurt, cramping up from tensing so much. He could feel Zhang Hao’s shoulders shaking with mirth, his hand grasping at Hanbin’s robes to keep himself upright.
Whatever this is, Hanbin is going to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Who are you going with to the Yule Ball?” The question falls out of Hanbin’s mouth before he can stop it.
“Oh I already have a date, no need to worry about me,” Zhang Hao says breezily, clearing his throat. “I’m going with Jiwoong.”
It doesn’t sit right with him.
“Bro,” Hanbin slides down on the bench. “I need your help.”
“Where’s the body?” Matthew asks, munching on a pumpkin biscuit. The crumbs are scattered all over his Potions homework.
“It’s nothing like that,” Hanbin steals one of his biscuits from the plate on the table and begins to crunch on them. “Although I’ll come to you first thing if that ever happens.”
Matthew hums, jotting down another sentence with his quill as he focuses on his essay. “What is it then?”
“Go to the Yule Ball with me.”
Matthew drops his biscuit. He faces him, eyes wide with shock.
“Hanbin, my dude, I don’t see you like that—”
“Yes, I know,” Hanbin reassures, waving his hand in the air. "I'm sick of looking for a date.”
Matthew frowns. “What do you mean? You don’t have to look, plenty of people will ask you out—” Realization hits him as he talks and Hanbin watches when his expression changes in real time. “Oh. Unless you don’t want to go with any of them.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to go with any of those people.”
Hanbin pushes down the nagging thought that has been bothering him as the sentence falls out of his mouth. His mind flashes parts and fragments of a clear memory, of enclosed spaces and knees knocking into each other. Blue light highlighting the sharp jaw and the curve of a plump lower lip. He wills those thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on them any longer.
“We’re going as friends,” He reiterates, persuading Matthew. “There’s a catch for you if you agree.”
“Like what?”
“The attention and honor of being the date of a Champion, of course. And I’ll lend you my notes in Potions whenever you need, you know my Professor is way better than yours.”
Matthew’s hand which is writing his essay pauses.
“Okay, I’m sold.” He turns towards Hanbin, mouth set in determination. Hanbin feels the weight on his shoulders lessen, his body relaxing into the bench. “Let’s do this, baby.”
It doesn’t sit right with him.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Hanbin waits for Matthew, who is planning to meet him at the entrance when the Yule Ball starts. He arrives early out of anticipation, dressed in formal cream white robes that feel a bit tight around the collar. A silver chain adorns the lapel of his robes, connecting to the left breast pocket.
Taerae had chosen it for him, in their prior visit to Hogsmeade. He pulled Hanbin into the tailor’s shop saying the dress robes he had chosen for himself were horrid and this would be an early Christmas gift from him.
Maybe Taerae is right. These robes definitely look better than the one he bought from Diagon Alley.
The rest of his friends are arriving with Matthew, so he has some time to spare for himself before they arrive. Students trickle into the Great Hall, on the arm of their dates, chattering excitedly about what the night brings. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jiwoong who has also arrived greets his peers, shaking hands with them. The scarlet red of his suit is a stark splash of color amongst the soft and muted colors students had chosen to wear, a black leather band goes across his chest to secure a cape lined with fur on his left shoulder, the ends barely brushing the floor.
He looks dashing, handsome even. Hanbin could understand what Zhang Hao sees in him. He hasn't found the chance to talk to Jiwoong yet, maybe he will get that chance tonight
A hush falls among the crowd, heads turn towards the top of the stairs. Hanbin turns as well, curious what garnered such awe.
Zhang Hao stands at the top, his posture elegant. His black attire fits snugly to the frames of his shoulders. His suit has a triangular cut out emphasizing the chiseled contours of his chest, sheer mesh panels partly covering the strip of skin. It tapers at the waist, highlighting its litheness. A gossamer thin black cape drapes delicately over his shoulders and over his arms, giving it a strong, angular form.
He descends down, step by step, his cape brushing the stairs. Zhang Hao adjusts it so he won’t accidentally step on it, and as he looks back up, his eyes fall on Hanbin.
Hanbin’s throat goes dry.
He’s beautiful, it dawns on him, with absolute conviction. The sudden epiphany isn’t new, Zhang Hao has been known for his ethereal visuals due to his Veela charm, his beauty is the first thing Hanbin notices about him. But what is new, is that despite him knowing how Zhang Hao’s personality is behind that face, he still finds him attractive.
He’s stubborn, and he’s arrogant. Sometimes, his very existence annoys Hanbin to the core, making Hanbin want to tug his own hair out of frustration. He picks apart very word that comes out of Hanbin’s mouth, and somehow finds another rebuttal that goes against it; and Hanbin knows that he’s doing it out of pettiness, out of the obligated rivalry of the Tournament, because there’s no way a person can disagree on so many topics, even ones that aren’t controversial.
The bet they made felt like a long time ago. It stemmed from Hanbin’s rare moment of impulsiveness to stand up for his school, and to prove to Zhang Hao that he’s more than his position as a Head Boy. Maybe he should start applying the same principle to Zhang Hao, because Zhang Hao had been facing him head on in the Tournament with grit and resilience, and kept up to him stride for stride. It takes guts to accept Hanbin’s bet, and Hanbin hasn’t seen him back down yet. So far he has given his all, and he doesn’t show signs of stopping any time soon, even after his defeat in the First Task.
He’s so much more than just a pretty face.
Perhaps they’re more similar than he thought. Perhaps Hanbin has found himself a worthy opponent.
Zhang Hao holds Hanbin’s gaze, then it slides away as if Hanbin isn’t there, over his shoulder to where Hanbin knows Jiwoong is standing. Hanbin can’t fully comprehend why his lungs feel like choking as he watches Jiwoong take Zhang Hao’s hand when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, bending slightly to place a gentle kiss on the back of it.
Zhang Hao slowly smiles, a genuine quirk of his lips. Hanbin recognizes it, because it is the same smile that he offered him in the janitor’s closet.
There’s a black, sludgy feeling pooling at the pit of his stomach.
Hanbin should look away. If he has any self preservation for himself he will, and spare himself from the sight of Jiwoong and Zhang Hao being cozy. Almost like a picture perfect couple. Yet he continues to watch, half hidden behind one of stone pillars outside the hall.
They look good together, and it has nothing to do with him. Then why does it feel like he took a step, only for the carpet to be yanked underneath him?
He watches as they line up in front of the door, preparing for the entrance of the first dance. Jiwoong cups a hand around Zhang Hao’s ear and whispers something to him, probably something funny; and Zhang Hao laughs, throwing his head back.
When did they get so close?
“Hanbin! Look at that, you tidied up good,” Matthew approaches him, giving him a dramatic scan from head to toe. He’s wearing a standard formal black dress robe, completed with a bow tie at his neck. Their friends bid them farewell, not before Gyuvin giving him a cheeky smack on the butt, and head into the Great Hall first. Hanbin smiles weakly, partly because of their antics and drags his eyes away from Zhang Hao.
“You look good too. Ready? Let’s line up.”
It doesn’t sit right with him.
They take their places on the dance floor, Hanbin’s hand on Matthew’s back, their remaining hands clasped together. Behind Matthew, Zhang Hao mirrors his pose, placing his hand on Jiwoong’s shoulder. Hanbin can’t see his expression from his angle, and he wonders if he’s looking at Jiwoong with the same glittering doe eyes he did to Hanbin in the tent.
The first note of the music starts, and they glide across the dance floor. Hanbin keeps his head up, his gaze pinpointed over Matthew’s shoulder, marveling at the decor. The Great Hall has been transformed into a silvery wonderland, with metallic drapes decorating the windows and pine trees dusted in white snow placed at the edge of the hall. The ceiling that is charmed to look like the boundless night sky is no longer woven with stars, but drifting snowflakes that swirl in the air with every round they turn.
It’s easy to fall again into the familiar headspace he does whenever he’s dancing, no matter which style he’s performing. Ballroom dance to him is rather soothing, his feet guiding Matthew as they waltz in a clockwise direction. Left foot forward, right foot parallel. Left foot connects to the right, and the right foot steps backwards, followed by the left. Then repeat, like drawing out a square. He lets the rhythm of the music take him away, lacing his arm in the middle with Matthew as they spin in a circle before parting.
His eyes stray towards Zhang Hao, taking in the way his cape flows as he moves fluidly. He dances like a fish takes to water, without the awkwardness of a beginner. His back is straight, elbows the same level to his shoulders, an example of refined dignity. Zhang Hao keeps his eyes on Jiwoong as he lifts him into a jump, before landing deftly on his feet.
“Hanbin, are you okay? You seem a bit off.” Matthew whispers, his voice barely audible above the winding melody of the flute. “Do you need to take a breather?”
“No, I’m good, Seokmae.” Hanbin turns back to reassure him, giving his hand a squeeze. “The song is about to end anyways.”
Waltzing doesn’t require much thinking, so he drifts off in his head. It’s the same movements, repeating over and over again. He glances sideways to catch a glimpse of Zhang Hao, who is bumping his elbows with Jiwoong gently in an elaborate gesture, then places his hands on Jiwoong’s shoulders again.
How would it feel to be in Jiwoong’s shoes, waltzing with Zhang Hao? His hand clasped in Hanbin’s, callused from years of violin training. Their hands are roughly the same size, with Zhang Hao’s fingers being slightly longer. Hanbin knows this because he has been watching those hands press against Jiwoong. The curve of his waist would fit into the cusp of Hanbin’s palm, with his thumb pressing into the soft give of his skin through his dress robes.
Would he gaze at Hanbin like he did in the closet, fond yet with a hint of playfulness?
The music fades out, and he bows to Matthew out of formality to end the dance. “Let’s find our friends,” Hanbin says as he follows him off the platform. “I heard Gyuvin is taking Ricky? How did that happen? Can’t say I saw that coming.”
“Long story,” Matthew huffs out a laugh, his eyes searching over the crowd of students. “One that Gyuvin should tell you himself. Oh, I think I see them.”
“You go ahead first, I’ll go get us some drinks and join you later. Eggnog for you?”
“Yes, please.”
They parted ways, and Hanbin beelines for the drink station. There’s a tower of red currant mocktails stacked together in a pyramid in the center of the table, and Hanbin gingerly lifts a glass from the top. His hand trembles, mindful of the liquid from spilling over.
“Careful with that, wouldn’t want it to topple over your white dress robes.” Jiwoong’s teeth glint under their silvery surroundings as he dips past him to get his own glass of red currant mocktail. Hanbin didn’t hear him approach.
“Jiwoong.” Hanbin nods his head in greeting and glances over his shoulder at the dance floor, wondering over Zhang Hao’s whereabouts. He spots him twirling on the dance floor with his friend Kuanjui, dipping the blonde boy backwards with a dramatic flair. “It’s nice to finally catch you.”
“Yes, yes, it’s good that we finally get proper introductions,” Jiwoong nods and looks down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Somehow I didn’t manage to see you around on school grounds.”
“Truthfully told, our schedules are rather different because Durmstrang students take classes with Slytherins. You must know my good friend Taerae then,” Hanbin says.
“Yeah, I know Taerae, he’s in my Arithmancy class.” Jiwoong busies himself with looking for a napkin, his tone is amicable when he speaks again. “Say, Hanbin, I heard something interesting the other day.”
Hanbin hums, leaning on the table to face him. “About what?”
“About the bet you have going on between you and Zhang Hao.”
The temperature of the air drops. Jiwoong’s eyes flicker up. He slips one hand into his pocket, the image of casual difference juxtaposes with the thinly veiled steel seeping into his voice. Their conversation is straying from friendly small talk into a much strained territory, and Hanbin is caught off guard.
Hanbin takes a deep breath. “And what about it?”
“Whatever that goes on between you two doesn’t matter to me, but I want to put it out there that I refuse to be underestimated.” Jiwoong says, the smile on his face has vanished; replaced by a guarded look. “You might think that your only competition is Zhang Hao, but this is a Tournament between three champions.”
To confront him in a hall full of people, let alone during a festive celebration is a questionable choice. It’s one of the most blatant ways to declare a challenge.
If Jiwoong wants to fight, Hanbin will give him one.
He keeps his tone even, taking a sip of his mocktail. “Is this a threat, Jiwoong?”
“No, just a friendly reminder. It’s always respectful to acknowledge your competitors.” Jiwoong downs the rest of his red currant mocktail in one go, dapping at the red liquid excess that dribbles past his lips with a napkin. “I see Zhang Hao waving at me over the couches, I better get going.”
He leaves without a goodbye. Hanbin doesn’t watch him go.
Jiwoong might have felt left out in the rivalry he has going on with Zhang Hao, and it must’ve been a big hit to his pride. It’s not a good feeling to be overlooked in a competition with only three participants. The reputation of their schools rides on their shoulders, and with The Daily Prophet broadcasting the events, the pressure is tangible. He just doesn’t want to let his school down.
Hanbin heads back to his group of friends where they’re loitering near the window.
“—And so I was trying to catch Ricky after his class, but somehow he’s nowhere to be seen,” Gyuvin shares with them, with Ricky next to him, a lingering hand on his back. Ricky glances at occasionally, enamored, judging by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners whenever Gyuvin mentions him. “So I left him a note on the Beauxbatons carriage door to tell him to meet me at the Astronomy Tower around nine at night, but then I kept waiting, and waiting, and no one came. He ghosted me.”
“I didn’t ghost you, I got lost!” Ricky cuts in, playfully squeezing Gyuvin on the waist. His demeanor is a complete switch from Hanbin’s first impression of him in front of the Goblet of Fire, and Hanbin is trying to wrap his head around it. “I told you the numerous towers in Hogwarts made it so confusing.”
“There are only five towers in Hogwarts. And the Astronomy Tower is right next to where we have Charms.”
Hanbin slips in and hands Matthew his drink, who is giggling at the other two. “Matthew, here’s your eggnog.”
“Hanbin, you’re finally back! What took you so long?” Matthew grins at Hanbin appreciatively, only for his drink to be snatched up by Taerae for the first sip. There’s a small mustache of white foam after he’s finished.
“Was just catching up with Jiwoong, nothing big. What are you guys up to? Taerae,” Hanbin motions vaguely at his own mouth. “You got a little something on your lip.”
“Huh.” Taerae wipes the corner of his lips, only catching the end of the foam streak.
“No, there’s still a bit.” Matthew cups Taerae’s cheek, swiping the foam off with his thumb. He pops it into his own mouth, sucking it clean. “There.”
Taerae is too stunned to speak, his eyes pinned at Matthew’s mouth where his thumb had been. He gapes like a fish.
Hanbin shoots Gyuvin with a knowing look, in which he raises his eyebrows back in response.
“Gyuvin was just sharing how he asked Ricky out to the Yule Ball,” Yujin says, oblivious to what had just occurred as he was watching the dance floor. “Gyuvin, can you start from the top again? Hanbin doesn’t know the details.”
“Ugh, fine. It’s not like I repeated this twice already. So, it all started with a book I needed as a reference for the Charms essay—”
“Gyuvin, studying? That’s unheard of.” Hanbin fakes a gasp, covering his mouth.
“—I was about to pull it out of the bookshelf, when Ricky arrived with a slip of paper in his hand saying that he reserved it. The book was the last one in the library, and the essay was due the very next day, so naturally I panicked and asked Ricky to share.”
“He begged me to share it,” Ricky interjects.
“I asked very politely for Ricky to share it, and to my surprise, he did. So we’re sitting in the library—”
Hanbin’s eyes roam over the Great Hall as he listens, sipping at his drink. The mocktail tastes sweet and citrusy on his tongue, with a hint of sour lime. He watches the mesmerizing twirl of satin dress robes, a kaleidoscope of colors swirling together. Arms poised, arched above heads in elegance before coming down in sync as the dancers glide across the floor.
Zhang Hao is looking at him.
He’s standing at the edge of the platform, alone, watching people dance just like he was. Jiwoong is nowhere to be seen, neither is Kuanjui. He bores into Hanbin’s from across the hall, over the moving figures on the dance floor.
“—Ricky didn’t realize that he left his notebook with me, so I had to ask around for his whereabouts to give it back to him. I still couldn’t find him, so I decided to give it back during Care For Magical Creatures class which was the next day.”
Hanbin’s eyes flit away, self conscious of his own staring. With the way Zhang Hao had treated him at the start of the Yule Ball, he thought that they wouldn't get to acknowledge each other for the whole night, all because of one wretched news article.
That time in the closet seemed to have unlocked a part in him that craves sympathy. He wants someone to understand the pressure of carrying the title of a Champion, to look past the honor and glory that comes with it. Zhang Hao is going through the same process as him. He wants to talk to him again.
“—And do you know what he did?” Gyuvin continues on with his story with Ricky. “He held my hand and pulled me back. I would’ve stumbled into the Fire Crab that was brought in for demonstration if he hadn’t done that.”
“I made you swoon, didn’t I?” Ricky teases, smiling at him.
Gyuvin’s eyes are soft. “Yeah, you did.”
These two are so insufferably sweet that it will cause Hanbin a toothache.
He glances back at where Zhang Hao is standing, only to find the space empty. Where did he go? He was just there a minute ago. Hanbin whips his head to scan the hall, searching for his tall stature.
He finishes the rest of his drink, and motions at his glass. “Excuse me, I’ll go put this back. Carry on without me.”
There’s a vortex situated near the entrance of the Great Hall that teleports all dirty dishes thrown in to the kitchens, where the house elves would take care of them. It looks like an unassuming container the size of a pizza box from the outside.
Since the Hufflepuff common room is close to the kitchens, Hanbin sneaks in whenever he’s craving for a snack during the middle of the night. The house elves are nice enough to heat up some of the leftovers for him.
He whispers a brief thank you into the glass before throwing it down the bottomless chute, hoping it carries his sentiments.
“Who are you talking to?”
Someone is peeking over his shoulder. Hot breath puffs against his nape. He knows who it is without turning around.
Hanbin smiles to himself, dipping his head. “It’s not what you think it is.”
Zhang Hao hums in dissent next to his ear. “Hm. I’ll be the one to judge, because to me it looks like you’re talking to an empty garbage can right now.”
Hanbin finally spins around, facing Zhang Hao. He looks even better up close, his perfectly coiffed bangs falling on his forehead. Hanbin sees his own reflection in Zhang Hao’s eyes, close enough to make out each individual lash. “You’re partly correct. I’m just wishing the house elves down in the kitchens well.”
Zhang Hao raised an eyebrow. “That’s one way to do it. I doubt sound can travel that far.”
“It’s not that serious.”
There’s a lull in silence as they both stand in front of the garbage disposal, tension thick in the air despite them doing nothing. Another student shoulders past them to dump their plate down the vortex, shooting them a curious look. They move out of the way, and Hanbin opens his mouth to break the blanket of silence between them, saying the first thing that comes to his mind.
“So. I see you looking at me from across the hall.”
“Yeah, I was just looking. No big deal.” Zhang Hao says, his tone seems nonchalant.
Hanbin reads between the lines, sensing there’s something more. “Out with it,” he frowns. “Is there something you want from me?”
Zhang Hao bites his lip.
“Yes,” he blurts out, voice carrying a hint of fervor, as if the words are scrambling to escape from his mouth. “Dance with me.” His gaze softens, running a hand over his ears to swipe away his hair. Hanbin notices that he does this habit whenever he seems to be flustered.
Zhang Hao, flustered? Oh, this is a sight to see.
Hanbin feels giddy on the inside. Hell, he feels like he just won the lottery. He bites back a smile, because Zhang Hao is thinking about dancing with him too. He wants to accept, but there’s a pressing concern at the forefront of his mind that he needs to address.
“But the article—” Hanbin stops, tilting his head in question. “Aren’t you worried about people watching? We don’t want more attention on the rumor.”
“You know what?” Zhang Hao throws his hands in the air. “I don’t care what they think anymore. We’re just dancing like everyone else here, I don’t see a problem.” He dips his head in the direction of the dance floor and smiles. “Come on, I’ll go easy on you.”
“You don’t need to go easy on me, I know how to dance.”
With a hand on his waist and another taking his hand, Hanbin pulls him onto the dance floor, falling in step with the music. Time has suspended, the dancers around them are frozen in position, intertwined with their partners as he guides Zhang Hao into a spin, moving slowly to the center of the platform. He feels the burning stares of the crowd focusing on them, two Champions from rival schools caught in a scandal; he pays them no attention, looking deep into Zhang Hao’s eyes.
It feels unreal.
“Where did you learn it?” Zhang Hao asks breathlessly, meeting his movements with equal amounts of eagerness. Despite not getting along with him at the start, their chemistry fits perfectly on the dance floor. Hanbin knows where to step for Zhang Hao to follow, and Zhang Hao knows which way to turn without trampling on Hanbin’s toes.
“A Muggle dance studio near my house. I trained in styles called tutting and waacking, if you know what that is, but I also dabbled in the classics,” Hanbin replies. “You don’t seem to be an amateur either?”
“Back in Beauxbatons, ballroom dancing is a class that you can sign up for after school hours,” Zhang Hao says. “I also know a little bit of ballet.”
“Makes sense,” Hanbin hums.
“How so?”
“I see the way your arm extends into a perfect line, disciplined from hours of practice. The posture you have.” Hanbin runs his hand up the slender curve of Zhang Hao’s back, stopping at the sharp crook of his shoulder blades. He can feel the way the muscles beneath his skin tenses up, moving with every dip of his elbow.
“Your arms are perfectly angled. You glide across the dance floor like you’re floating.” His other hand comes up to trail down Zhang Hao’s underarm, feeling the soft material underneath his fingers. He feels the buzzing static of tension between them, but his gaze never wavers.
“And,” Hanbin lifts him up above his head in one movement, his arms tensing underneath Zhang Hao’s body weight. “You dance without hesitation, without second guessing your next step. The confidence you have makes it very obvious that you had some type of training before.”
It feels like the crowd has faded, with only two of them in the Great Hall, twirling under the gentle shower of snowflakes. The lights have dimmed, and a spotlight falls on them. Zhang Hao looks down at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Hanbin doesn’t think he could look more beautiful than this, his hair haloed against the harsh light like an angel, if they ever exist. He looks up at Zhang Hao and sees him for who he truly is.
A good dancer. A smart wizard. An adequate Champion to represent his school.
He sets Zhang Hao down, his face inches from his. He thinks it might be a trick of light, that Zhang Hao’s gaze drops to his lips before they part. They circle each other, an arm outstretched, pressed against the other’s upper back.
“You’re genuine.” Zhang Hao murmurs, dazed.
“Yes I am, I have to admit.”
It settles in his chest. The feeling that has been bothering him ever since Zhang Hao announced to him that he’s going to the Yule Ball with Jiwoong, has vanished. He feels content, waltzing in the Great Hall with Zhang Hao in his arms. It feels right.
He smiles from the heart, looking at the boy from Beauxbatons.
“Listen, I owe you an apology.” Zhang Hao states, sincerity leaking into his tone. He takes both of Hanbin’s hands in his as they slowed to a stop in the middle of the platform, with people still waltzing around them. “For that time in the tent.”
Hanbin opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly gets cut off.
“I shouldn’t have provoked you like that. It was rude of me to tease you when you’re clearly uncomfortable and annoyed. I failed to consider your feelings and I should’ve been nicer about it, and I’m sorry.”
Hanbin gazes at him, surprised. He recognizes the seriousness in his tone. It’s not like he thinks that Zhang Hao is incapable of apologies, but he feels like it would be the last thing on his list, that he would apologize after the Tournament is over.
“I accept,” he hears himself say.
“Don’t get this wrong though, Hanbin.” The corner of Zhang Hao’s mouth lifts up. “You’re still my sworn rival. Prepare to eat dust in the Second Task.”
Hanbin wants to kiss him.
He wants to take Zhang Hao’s lips between his, and lick the infuriatingly smug smile off his mouth. Turn his teasing jabs and comments into moans instead, and shut him up with a soft nip on his plush lower lip. He wants to push him against the wall and kiss him until his knees are shaking, until he can’t hold himself up.
“No,” he whispers. “You’re mine as well.”