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Three very important things happened on the day Jungkook became Ravenclaw Seeker:

First, he had to fill out forms. The first day of new Ravenclaw Seekers should have been filled with swooping and sweeping, brooms and Snitches, not droll forms about liability of injuries. Jungkook scrawled half-hearted signatures until the last page, where he had to designate a single Hogwarts student as the privileged visitor to his bedside if he became incapacitated. The hospital wing of Hogwarts had cracked down on visitor policy after the Second Wizarding War, forbidding the sad crowds that flocked to the bedside of their fellow students and soldiers.

Personally, if Jungkook got knocked hard enough with a Bludger, he wouldn’t care if the Minister himself came to squat at his bedside. But he hesitated, quill quivered near his nose, because he couldn’t figure out who to list. There was Namjoon, the Gryffindor prefect, and Seokjin, Gryffindor captain. Both had taken him under their wings. Hoseok and Taehyung had always been good to him, too, though the Hufflepuffs became less friendly to outsiders after the war. He liked them all, very much, but equally. For some reason, this unsettled him slightly, so he settled for Taehyung, who was the closest to his year.

Second, outside the empty classroom, he heard a group of Slytherins whisper to each other in front of the floating bulletin board.

“The dance class must be Muggle dancing,” someone said. “Can you believe it? Dancing with a mudblood?”

“Disgusting. You’re not going to do it, are you, Jimin?”

“No. I’m not allowed.”

A nasty bunch, Jungkook thought. He leaned back far enough in the classroom to catch sight of the last student, a dark-haired boy who stared at the bulletin board with some regret. Somehow, he noticed Jungkook and caught his eye. He wasn’t unhandsome, looking surprisingly young and thoughtful, with gentle slopes and a softness to his eyes. His silver earrings glittered under the luminescent light. The boy, Jimin, considered him for a moment, broke into a small smile, and walked down the hallway to join his friends.

The third very important thing was that the Ravenclaw restroom changed locations, and Jungkook nearly fell off the tower in the middle of the night.

*

Seokjin bought him a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans box on the train. (“The green is just green apple, and they can’t afford real troll boogers anymore,” Seokjin reassured him, and then made a face. “Oh, no, vomit…”) On his quest to share his pain, Seokjin had given an earwax-flavoured bean to Namjoon and introduced them together. Namjoon, famed prefect, had scored the highest in all his classes and won all the awards. Namjoon was the only one he personally knew to read Hogwarts: A History, and would go on long speeches during breakfast at the Great Hall.

“Take, for instance, Gryffindors,” Namjoon said, over a dish of sausages and fried eggs. “If I see someone who needs my help, I think I’d do it. But I’d feel compelled to do it because it’s the right thing to do. But Hufflepuff, on the other hand-”

Hoseok and Taehyung had been quietly talking in the corner, but at that, their heads popped up. Hoseok wore a giant grin on his face, but Taehyung seemed more nervous to have been interrupted from stuffing extra sausages into his sleeve.

“And this is the quintessential Hufflepuff, not that everybody’s the same. But they might do it because they believe in fairness.” Namjoon nodded. “And Ravenclaw, even more complex, maybe because they’ve already constructed their own morality and believe in fulfilling what they’ve determined to cause the least cognitive dissonance to what they hold as true. This isn’t to say the quintessential Slytherin wouldn’t help, but they might think, what’s in it for me?”

“And is that so bad?”

Jungkook almost stopped eating his bread and butter at the sound of a new voice. He recognised the Slytherin hovering near Namjoon’s shoulder. Yoongi, or something like that, who had partnered with Namjoon in a shared Gryffindor-Slytherin Potions class. Beside him was the same boy he had spotted in the hallway with the same small features. In the daylight, his features came into sharper view, and Jungkook could have sworn he had seen that quality of handsomeness on adverts about wizarding chocolates and flowers. Jimin caught his eyes again and smiled. Jungkook ducked his head back to his food.

“Not that we consider all Gryffindors idiots who rush into their doom for empty honor,” Yoongi continued, “but if Slytherins think critically before they act, is that so wrong?”

Namjoon had spoken at length about post-war wizarding society, especially in consideration that Hogwarts had been a battlefield mere years beforehand. Hufflepuff, in response to Cedric Diggory, had become more guarded and hostile to those they presumed to use their generous friendship. It wasn’t quite resentment, but Hoseok and Taehyung squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder down the halls. And Slytherins- they were treated by the other houses with wariness, and like Jungkook heard in the hall, the Purebloods from the older, richer estates skewed even more to their older, richer tastes. “The scars of the past run deep,” Namjoon had said, “but with enough forgiveness of each other and ourselves, they can be overcome.”

Of course, Jungkook had frantically been copying Hoseok’s old botany homework, and nodded absent-mindedly as his Mandrake sketch turned out more like an old limping man with wispy leaves for hair.

“It’s not empty honor,” Namjoon said, grinning at Yoongi’s engagement, “but a significant moral compass. I think what I appreciate most about Slytherins is their general aspect of ambition. Remember, during that sleeping draught concoction, you spoke about how you’d sacrifice everything in order to become a potions master?”

“It sounds like you consider that dangerous,” Yoongi said.

“You’ll get what you want, no matter who stands in your way,” Namjoon said. “You don’t consider that a frightening aspect?”

“Sit down already, you guys are making me tired just watching you,” Seokjin said, lanky over his chair. It was Jimin who sat first in a neat swoop of robes, and he sat beside Jungkook. He said nothing at first, watching him eat, and then leaned forward until only Jungkook could hear him.

“I watched your game,” Jimin said. He had a light, distinguishable voice. “It was brilliant, how you caught the Snitch in the first few minutes.”

Jungkook didn’t know what to say to that, with his mouth full of baked beans. So he only nodded once. Jimin studied him, slow and steady, but something must have pleased him because he smiled again.

“Is this how you always show you’re happy?” Jimin asked.

*

Jimin was a fan of Quidditch. When Jungkook sailed through the air before the game, looping around the Quidditch pitch, he’d see Jimin sitting with the Slytherins and gazing up at him.

“Do you play?” Jungkook asked him.

“I can’t,” Jimin said. “I get dizzy in the air whenever it’s shaky. I can barely get off the ground.” He laughed as he said it, but it wasn’t without regret. When he caught Jungkook’s eye, though, he said hurriedly, “Don’t be sad, I’m used to it. I never thought I’d be a Quidditch player, anyway. Going to the Quidditch World Cup is enough for me.”

“I went last year with Seokjin,” Jungkook said. “Bulgaria played well.” He’d had awful seats, of course, because Quidditch World Cups were expensive already without the allure of Veela mascots for the crowd. But being a Seeker meant studying other Seekers, too, and he’d turned his old set of Omnioculars back and forth to analyze both the Bulgarian Seeker’s defense and Seokjin dropping a hot dog on his robes next to him.

“Right...” Jimin stared at the ground. He forced himself out of his stupor, though, and offered, “So what’s your favourite Quidditch play?”

Jimin also regularly ate with them during their meals. Surprisingly, it was Yoongi who attracted the most wariness at the Gryffindor table. His ‘at all costs’ to achieve a high enough score on the O.W.L. exams had apparently been worthy of both respect and fear. Jimin, the Gryffindors seemed to regard with mere caution. As Jungkook watched Jimin place his portion of chips on Hoseok’s plate, he could see why.

“I don’t mind,” Taehyung told Jungkook, “but don’t you think the Divinations professor will suspect something when your divination sounds the same as the ones I wrote the year before?” Still, he pulled out the parchment with his tea leaves predictions, which Jungkook pulled from his hands and had already begun copying before Taehyung finished.

“No way, it’s called science. Confirmation bias is the professor’s problem, not yours,” Hoseok said. Hoseok had two Muggle parents and lived outside the wizarding world, so he was one of the most well-versed in technology. Given that cell phones and WiFi didn’t work at Hogwarts due to magical interference, he filled his days with buying toys from Zonko’s Joke Shop at Hogsmeade to ruin some innocent’s day. Jungkook had also lived in the Muggle world, and he also had assumed there would be WizardFi or encrypted spells or something technological modern, and not just a particularly ornate canopy bed with hand carvings of soaring eagles in his room, which he neither wanted or needed.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was from a wizarding family. Jimin and Taehyung had apparently been friends since their pre-Hogwarts days, though Jungkook could tell that Taehyung’s robes were more frayed than Jimin’s usual pristine green tie and white collars. Jimin never spoke of his own blood status, but perhaps that was more self-preservation in the post-war era.

“It won’t be word for word,” Jungkook protested.

“It better not be, or else Professor Ylaw might start looking into why two students were predicted to die by a shower of frogs.”

“You don’t really care for divination?” Jimin asked, leaning on his arm. Jungkook dipped his spluttering quill into more ink, but Hoseok answered first.

“He basically just likes Quidditch,” Hoseok said. “He doesn’t care about the other classes that much.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook said. “I like my Defense Against the Dark Arts class. And Charms.” He liked figuring out spells and learning how to really cast them. It wasn’t just pronunciation, but the emotions and feelings behind them. To construct a spell, too, was more complex than it seemed.

“Did you have to go against the Boggart?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “It was easy. Just a broken broom.” The greatest concern of his mind that day was that he didn’t want his new Nimbus 3000 to break. But he could sense the Boggart about to turn into something else, something like seeing his friends dead or something horrific like that, so he dispensed of the Boggart quickly. Jimin, however, nodded like a broken broom was the most common fear in the world.

It would be impolite to ask Jimin what his Boggart had been, but Jungkook was still curious. Jimin watched him fondly for a moment, and then broke out into a small smile. He leaned close enough to Jungkook that his whisper could only reach his ear.

“Mine was a mirror.” Jimin laughed the way he did when he was embarrassed, under his throat and a little too loud. “It’s not very cool, I know.”

Jungkook’s sleeve had been covered with hidden ink splotches, but he could see where Jimin had placed his forks and his knives separate and straight, his soup spoon distinguished from his dessert spoon. He didn’t think Jimin was without fears, but he had to wonder what Jimin could fear so much in himself. When he raised his eyes, he saw Jimin looking at him quietly and without judgment.

*

“Impervius.” No matter how many times Jungkook cast the charm, the rain still fell on his face and blocked his view of the pitch. He did enjoy soaring above the green, but the rebuilding of the Quidditch pitch had left some of their wooden landmarks still burnt and leaning. The rain hit even harder, so he descended his broom down to the stands where he’d left his things. Someone was sitting there now under an umbrella, Jungkook’s book bag in his lap. Jimin tilted up his umbrella and regarded him as Jungkook landed with precision on the steps.

“Good morning,” Jimin said. “You’ll get sick if you practise in the rain.” His umbrella, a pale green with an inlaid silver handle, floated above them. Jimin waved his wand, steaming dry Jungkook’s dark blue robes. His wandwork was precise in the smallest details, a fluidity where each swoop lead to the next like pages falling open in a book, even if his evocations still had a tinge of doubt. Jungkook, for some reason, found this endearing.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Jimin asked, tucking his wand into his sleeve.

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I’m not a mind-reader.” Jimin laughed. Jungkook reached for his bag, but Jimin hugged it to himself, still smiling. “Tell me, and I’ll give it back.”

“I can make you give it back.”

“Yeah?” Jimin’s hands were smaller than he remembered, clutching the leather straps, and his eyes glittered with more of an alluring challenge than he had recalled. Jungkook’s chest pattered quickly, the heat rising to his ears, before he swallowed all this down and plopped down on the steps to begin shirking off his knee pads in quick, harsh yanks.

“I was just thinking about spells,” Jungkook said. “I’d like to make my own.”

“You can’t.”

“Anybody can. Any wizard or witch,” Jungkook amended, but Jimin had already hunkered to kneel in front of him with a severe look on his face. His usual slow soft smile was gone into a keen frown.

“Creating your own spell is dangerous,” Jimin said. “People have gone into St. Mungo’s for tinkering even just a bit with it. You have to know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not looking into anything bad. Here-” He grabbed his bag and scrambled over his bookmarked dictionary to his notebook, where he’d scribbled down wand movements and words in the diagrams he’d actually learned in Charms. “Look, it’s an Accio spell, but specifically for finding lost things. Like a TomTom GPS tracker, so even if you can’t Accio your thing, you’ll know the direction of it at least.”

“GPS?”

“Like a map for your mobile.”

“Mobile?” Jimin’s brow doubled in creasing.

“I’ve gotten the farthest with the healing spells. I think every major healing spell has a specific move, and if you incorporate it with other incantations, you can do so much more. We’ve already made so much progress with healing spells after the war, but more than just patching together wounds, we haven’t gotten too far into anesthetic magic. Taking away pain.” Jungkook stopped flipping through the notebook when Jimin stiffened at the hearing of war.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said.

“No.” Jimin shrugged. “Not all Slytherins are the same. Not all of us had Death Eaters in the family, but when it’s common, you don’t bring up the war too much in the dorms.”

“Is it tough?”

“I didn’t ask to be sorted into Slytherin, if that’s what you’re asking.” Jimin pulled himself up to sit beside Jungkook. He always sat close to him, their knees touching, despite the wide room across the whole bench. Even when Jungkook pulled away, Jimin would absently follow, until Jungkook finally decided to get used to it. Calling attention to Jimin’s habit might make him stop, and whatever Jungkook wanted, it wasn’t necessarily that.

“I didn’t want to be sorted into Ravenclaw, either.” Jungkook stretched out his long legs. “I wanted to be in Gryffindor, like Namjoon. He seemed really cool.”

“I like him. He always has a lot of thoughts,” Jimin said. “And he doesn’t have a vendetta. He seems to seriously to consider all those… things… about post-war victims and economies and something about snakes.” Jungkook felt slightly relieved he wasn’t the only one who sometimes half-listened to Namjoon’s lengthier speeches.

“And Seokjin, I wanted to play on the same team as him.”

“He’s a good Captain. Sometimes I can’t understand how he can act so.” Jimin hesitated. “Happy? Even if he’s sometimes forcing himself. But just watching him teaches you how to live a healthy life, I think.”

“Yeah. But I got Ravenclaw, even though I thought really hard that I wanted Gryffindor.” Jungkook tilted his head back. “I don’t always get along with my roommates.”

“How so?”

“They always seem to be thinking about different things. Studying, how to get good grades. I don’t really care about all that stuff. I want to think about fun things.”

“I’ve always thought you were really intuitive about things,” Jimin said, and then protested before Jungkook could speak, “No, I don’t watch you all the time, no, it’s just, like how you seem to know where to find the Snitch and how you know what I’m thinking and how you’re always watching people when they talk, but I don’t mean in a bad way.”

“I didn’t take it as a bad way,” Jungkook said.

“Oh.” Jimin lowered his hands. “Good.”

“I don’t really think of myself as really smart. It’s not the first thing I think about myself.” The rain that fell on Jimin’s umbrella, he saw, revealed a hidden pattern on the underside. A rotating image of a small bird flapped through the sections between the wire frame, appearing only when the rain illuminated the features. He didn’t know why he was saying all this, that he hadn’t even told Seokjin, who used to teach him how to fly with his broom in the middle of the night, but Jimin leaned forward and his knees touched his thigh and so he said, “I know I’m good at things and I’m happy about that, but I work hard for everything I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“They said Rowena Ravenclaw didn’t want anyone to know her daughter stole her diadem,” Jungkook said. “So she cast magic on another one, a fake that was almost the same to fool the other founders. It still made the wearer smarter, but that’s what I don’t get. Being smart just to get smarter. Not because you like it, or because you want to discover something. You just want everyone to know you’re the smartest.”

“I’m sure she had her pride,” Jimin said.

“Seokjin said that pride wasn’t really good for anything.”

“He’s a good Gryffindor,” Jimin laughed, but sombered quickly. “I don’t think of you as someone who wants to be smart to show off, and I’m glad you have other friends outside of your roommates, but I do worry about how much you stay inside your head sometimes. I know you enjoy it, and you’ve worked hard on all of them, but don’t actually try any of your spell creations. Any little thing is off, then you’re in the hospital or worse.”

“I won’t.” At Jimin’s glowering, Jungkook added, “I promise.” The temptation had been fleeting in his mind. He had confidence in his abilities, and even if his calculations were off, he could compensate for the oddities. But in the end, the reason for his spell concoctions wasn’t even here, and he had to face the reality of having Quidditch practise and potions lessons and Jimin sitting with him in the courtyard, laughing at the sound Jungkook had made when he discovered he’d forgotten his quill again.

“Good,” Jimin said, and his relief and affection was almost palpable beneath their shared umbrella.

*

“Your sleeve is burnt,” Jungkook told Taehyung, who yanked back like his sleeve was still on fire.

“I can fix it,” Jimin said, holding out his hand.

“Oh, no,” Taehyung protested, but Jimin didn’t waver until Taehyung shirked off his outer robe and handed it over. Jimin left the courtyard apparently to fetch some sewing tools, leaving Taehyung and Jungkook alone on the bench for a moment. In the cold, Taehyung hunched over in his sweater, tucking his hands underneath his armpits for warmth.

“It’s, the burn, it’s from a candle,” Taehyung said. “From the dining table.” Most of the candles had been enchanted not to burn any stray student reaching for pot roast, but Jungkook only nodded. Taehyung seemed visibly relieved that Jungkook didn’t pursue the topic, shoulders relaxing back.

“Jimin’s been a lot happier lately,” Taehyung said, like this was Jungkook’s reward. “It must be because of you.”

“Me?” Jungkook blinked, and then when his mind caught up to his reaction, “Isn’t he always like this?”

“He used to be. When we were younger, he’d come to my house and cry when my parents de-gnomed the yard.” Taehyung tugged at his sleeves. “Something changed after the war. He left the country for a while before he came back, and he was quieter.”

“He always seems happy around you, too.”

“Well, we’ve been friends for a long time.” Taehyung swung his head around, looking for any eavesdropping bugs nearby, and lowered his voice. “Also, I think he knows what happened to your brother. He’s been asking about you even before he met you.”

Jungkook whipped around, startled. Nobody Slytherin should have known anything about his brother. The secrecy of St. Mungo’s was bound in secret-keepers and oath spells. Seokjin knew, he had to know because he used to Apparate with him for visitations when Jungkook couldn’t himself. And he had told Taehyung out of almost necessity, because Taehyung had sharp eyes. But the events that happened should have only been truly known by his family. He was about to say something, anything, but he heard light footsteps behind him.

“I fixed it,” Jimin said. He’d approached from the south wing, almost beaming when he showed Taehyung the mended robe. “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook said, at the same time Taehyung said, “Winter break.”

“Are you going home for the break?” Jimin asked, helping Taehyung pull his robe back on.

“No, I can’t,” Taehyung said. “I’ll be staying.”

“Me too.” Jungkook’s parents were busy enough, and staying at Hogwarts had become an almost tradition. He’d sent them an owl last month and only received the hooting, preening return a few days before.

“Oh, me too.” Jimin smiled, but when he caught Jungkook’s eye, his eyebrows inclined together slightly. Jungkook opened his mouth slightly, ready to interrogate him, but he found himself lacking in the right words. Of course he was curious and even a little upset to find out that Jimin knew something about his brother. But at the moment, he didn’t want to disturb what they had, which was futile and strange and he couldn’t quite describe it with any emotions he had in the past.

Something cold and wet fell on his nose. When he looked up into the fleeced clouds, the snowflakes drifted down in a dizzying array of white. They didn’t melt when they landed on their dark robes, but stayed in their delicate formation.

“First snow,” Jimin said, and Jungkook nodded with his mouth closed.

*

“There’s nobody around during Christmas,” Jimin had told him. “Everybody’s gone home to their families, and it’s not like a professor’s going to punish us on Christmas day.” Which was how Jungkook lurked outside the Slytherin dungeons, watching Jimin touch the stone wall.

“What’s the password?” Jungkook asked. Probably something nasty, like pure-blood.

“Slytherin Rules,” Jimin whispered to the wall. He looked back, abashed. “I wasn’t the one who chose the password, all right?”

Jimin had been correct. Unlike the smattering of Ravenclaws remaining, the Slytherin common room was emptied out. Jungkook only knew Yoongi had stayed as well, the rumour being that he’d heard Hoseok couldn’t return home, though he wasn’t sure about the veracity of the statement. But the Slytherin room was different than Ravenclaw’s. Lurked deep beneath the lake, the windows cast a greenish-blue light onto the dark upholstered chairs. The iron grills on the windows looked sinister, as were the swimming shadows beyond, but the room itself was simple. A few chairs, a Wizarding chess game that had been left in mid-play, a Christmas tree with floating lights and a toy train ornament chugging around towards the muted star on top.

“You look nice today,” Jimin said, but the way he said it was different than the way Seokjin would say it, with doting affection. Even if Jimin couldn’t do anything without being affectionate, his eyes looked him up and down, appreciative. For the small dinner of the remaining students, they’d been requested to put on their dress robes, and Jungkook had been forced by Hoseok to put on his dark blue robes. He still wore the crown he’d gotten from a cracker, the paper that had unfolded into a delicate silver crown with a fake blue sapphire in the etching.

Jimin’s present to him was wrapped in red with a black flower ribbon. When Jungkook touched the petals, the ribbon unfolded and the small box emerged into his palm. Twilfitt and Tatting’s logo was etched on top, and Jungkook knew he probably could never afford something like that even if he saved up for a year. But he opened it to see the long dangling earrings, and Jimin eagerly crushed into him with his knees tangled against his thighs and Jungkook’s chest burned.

“See, you can clip them on easily,” Jimin said, hands reaching up and already pressing them onto the lobe of Jungkook’s ear, palm resting gently on his jaw. “You don’t have to pierce them or anything, but since you play Quidditch, I didn’t want them to get caught, so if anything hits them, they’ll become studs - and actually, I have an opposite pair, so if you want to find me, you can just touch it and they’ll become warm if I’m wearing them nearby, and your face is really red, are you hot in here?”

Jungkook had stuffed his gift in a bag he’d gotten from Potage’s Cauldron Shop when he’d bought the pewter scales for potions. He’d gotten his gift on sale at a good price, and it was an older model. He’d also splurged on the case, a happy yellow dog with grinning sunglasses, which seemed even more absurd now that he was sitting in the Slytherin room full of antique rugs and luxury Regency chairs, but Jimin’s eyes lit up all the same.

“Is it a plate?”

“It’s a phone.”

Magic apparently had poor data service, so it was really only a glorified camera. Jungkook had to remove the SIM card and rewire the battery to run on a small battery-like artefact whose original purpose was to keep a running stream for fairies. But Jungkook had put in his cell phone number as well, just in case Jimin ever stepped foot in the Muggle world and needed someone to call. Besides, even as an older model, it had the amazing specs in regards to image sharpness and pixel rate. He had to blink when Jimin turned the camera on him instantly and took a picture of him. Jimin struggled to pull up the first picture, apparently thinking Prior Incantato was the best way, but he again crushed into Jungkook to show him the picture of Jungkook’s face and laugh as he zoomed in.

“Brilliant,” Jimin breathed, and Jungkook watched him take pictures of the Christmas cake slices they’d brought from the kitchen. When Jimin was finished with his intense zoom on the strawberry, they finally began eating, though Jimin cradled the phone in his lap. Not that Jungkook was much better, his earrings still dangling from when Jimin pressed them onto him.

“Have you started thinking about your N.E.W.T.s?” Jimin asked, playing with his phone again.

“Not really.”

“Have you thought about becoming a professional Seeker?”

“Maybe. Or a Curse-Breaker. Or an Auror.”

“You’re a thrill-seeker,” Jimin laughed.

“I’m sitting here on Christmas, aren’t I?”

Jimin paused, and Jungkook regretted saying anything about it. But if Jimin knew about his brother, then he would know that Jungkook had been born to a Muggle father and a witch mother. If any Slytherin other than Yoongi came into the room, Jungkook couldn’t say how he’d be treated. Namjoon had talked about fairness and equality acts passing through the Ministry, but the reality was that Death Eaters still remained with their Dark Marks hidden.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Jimin usually spoke in a quieter, slower cadence, but there was something soporific in his tone now. Jungkook could see how Jimin could be that intimidating Slytherin down the hall. His hair had been swept to the side, his eyes harder, face drawn into severity, shadows from the lake cast down upon his black dress robes with the hint of aristocratic green. Slumped in his chair, he resembled more of a languid prince on a throne than a student who’d stolen an extra strawberry for his slice of cake.

Jungkook wanted to retort. Harsh witticism lodged in his throat, because wit beyond measure was man’s greatest treasure. A part of him wanted to demand ‘how,’ another part wanted to laugh and say like Jimin could do anything. But he got the feeling that they both knew promises like that were like magic spells. Jungkook had waited outside that hospital room for hours, their wing so close to the emergency ward that he’d heard the shouting about boils and warts and terrible burns from wizards, witches, vampires, trolls, magical creatures and long-robed humans alike rushing back and forth and he felt alone and useless. He had known then about the futility of such statements, just as he knew the strength to make those same statements in the face of the abyss.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Still.” Jimin gazed at the fireplace. Jungkook was so used to seeing him laugh and smile that Jimin looked like a different person, reserved and unhappy. Jungkook wanted to reach out to him and touch his face or hips, but he didn’t. “Sometimes I wonder if I fit into Slytherin more than I think. My family, from my father’s side, they’ve all been Slytherins too. Everyone’s different, but Namjoon’s right. My friends, I think they want things, like status or power, and they’ll do anything to get it.”

“You’re kinder,” Jungkook said. “You’re not like that.”

“Is it so bad to be like that?” Jimin wasn’t looking at him. A stir of bubbles hit the east side of the common room, and Jungkook wondered if it was the Great Squid, passing by in slow undulations of the tentacles. Jimin and Yoongi were friends, and Yoongi was like that. Jungkook liked Yoongi, too, and Yoongi took care of them in his own way.

But still, he had to say, “Namjoon and Seokjin, when I had nobody else, almost raised me. I think a lot about what they think.”

“That’s fair.” Jimin swept back his hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead. His austere air of silence wasn’t broken until he seemed to push away, saying, “Well, it doesn’t help that Salazar Slytherin wanted a pure-blood haven, really.”

“The founders wanted all different things. It’s amazing that they got the school built,” Jungkook said. “Though it’s not without secrets.”

“The seven mysteries of Hogwarts?” Jimin smiled. The fireplace was toasty warm, but by the end of the night, Jimin ended up snuggled beside Jungkook, learning about the wonderment of selfies and airbrushing.

*

“A letter to my mother,” Jimin said, “but I can’t find the owlery.”

“Well, don’t go down that hall,” Jungkook said, meeting him halfway down the stairs. “Hoseok cleaned the floors and he wouldn’t like any footsteps on it.” The paintings went about their day as he descended the stairwell, the knights riding into the distance and the ladies yawning above their board games. Jimin looked a little worse for the wear, having wandered around Hogwarts without his willing participation.

“I’m used to the stairs changing by now,” Jimin said, “but the rooms shouldn’t change, should they?”

Jungkook gripped the stairwell bannister. “The rooms have been changing on you, too?”

“I do get lost easily…” Jimin said sympathetically. Jungkook had noticed that when they walked together in a group, Jimin listed at the end, usually preoccupied with the walking snowman or leftover New Year’s confetti still dashing in the air. Just because he was reminded of that, and nothing else, he took Jimin’s hand to lead him towards the owlery.

“Rooms shouldn’t change.”

“It’s called magic,” Jimin said, “so it’s not really a surprise.”

“The staircases make sense, because they’re just changing the routes, but there’s no real reason for the rooms to change. The kitchen, beneath the Great Hall, it never changes. The owlery shouldn’t change either, by that logic. But things are shifting around and I think it’s because-” Jungkook pulled Jimin closer when he drew towards a painting of a fresh egg. “It’s because Hogwarts is alive, and it’s trying to heal.”

“Hogwarts is alive,” Jimin repeated. “Then should we really be stepping on the ground?”

“I don’t think it’s alive in the way you and I are alive, but it’s alive and repairing itself. Things are resurfacing that haven’t resurfaced for years.” Jungkook turned towards him, and he could tell by the reflection of Jimin’s rarely-worn glasses that his eyes were glittering in excitement. “We could find the second diadem. We could be heroes. We could find the lost treasure of Hogwarts!”

“I really just want to mail a letter to my mum, first…”

The owlery hadn’t been refurbished since the first day Jungkook had climbed the steps. He’d forfeited his sweater for just his plain dress shirt and tie, which whipped in the billowing gusts into his face. The owls were still tucked away in the dusk, heads buried into their chest feathers as the moon crept across the sky. Jimin approached a smaller, snowy owl, who pecked at him despite his gentle coaxing.

In the meanwhile, Jungkook approached a window. Without any glass, he could stand right at the edge, hand pressed against the hard stone.

“I just want to let her know that I’m doing okay,” Jimin was saying, tying the scroll to the owl’s leg. “She worries about me, even when I tell her everything’s fine.”

A forgotten Firebolt leaned in the corner. The expensive broomsticks, like Jungkook’s Nimbus, stayed in the dorms, but the older models passed through many hands. Jungkook tested the broom, letting it float to his side in a steady hover.

“If it was just eating and sleeping, it’d be fine, but she always asks about boys. ‘Make sure you don’t fall for a boy who’d just use you,’ it’s very difficult, sometimes.”

The drop into the unknown, especially at night, was endless. The owls were stirring and hooting, ready to make their rounds. Jungkook stood at the very edge and straddled the broomstick.

“I guess she’s always afraid that dozens of boys will throw themselves on me, but really, if she knew what it was really like, she wouldn’t worry, and what are you doing-”

Jungkook kicked himself off the edge, but not before he felt a frantic weight on his back. He barely had time to think before the broom struggled and began descending, a sharp drop that drove his stomach into his throat as he burst through the clouds. The wind really whistled against him now and gravity yanked them past the windows until the tower was a blur and the ground was fast becoming a reality. He didn’t know when Jimin had thrown himself onto the broom, but he’d managed his hands across Jungkook’s waist and chest, grabbing onto him with abandon as they cartwheeled closer to the cobblestone rocks.

His hair was pushed all the way up and they spun reckless downwards until he finally kicked in his heels and the broom was spinning with centrifugal force, enough that he urged the trusty Firebolt to rise into the clouds where the wet droplets broke on his face. The thrill excited him, adrenaline hot and scorching in his veins, heart loud enough to hear in his ears. He rose over the top of the owlery, dodging the owls that came flapping into the night. The parliament of owls came flocking like stars, dappled and feathered, soundless as they soared in droves.

Jungkook rose above them, too, until the moon was low and hanging over their heads. He breathed easy. Jimin’s hands had somehow managed to slip under Jungkook’s thin shirt, a hand curled tight over Jungkook’s abs and the other over his chest. Jimin wasn’t moving, head buried into Jungkook’s shoulder blades.

“Jimin?” He tried to crane his head over his shoulder.

“Have you ever considered,” Jimin said in a soft, sad voice, “taking up a regular hobby, like knitting?”

“Never.” Jungkook let them drift in the cooling wind. “You get broomsick, don’t you? Why’d you hop on?”

“I didn’t see the broom.” Jimin finally seemed well enough to shakily raise his head to rest on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Stay like this a little longer. You’re very good, very steady, and if we go back down right now, I’m going to be sick all over your back.”

Beneath them, the school sparkled with twinkling firelight. He could see the long bridge and the dark lake. Someone decked in Hufflepuff yellow raced towards the bestiary. A crowd of students made their way back from a late night lesson. A ghost danced down the Hall of Hexes. Jungkook kept a hand on the tip of the broom and tried not to think too much about how he liked Jimin’s hands on him, the way he sometimes kept them curled and other times laid flat and warm against his bare skin. When Jimin gave a tiny nod, Jungkook lowered them down past the owlery and into the overarching bridge, closer to the dorms. He steadied his feet on the ground, and lowered the broom even closer to the steps when he didn’t hear Jimin’s feet do the same.

“I think if we’d done without that first bit, it’d be fine,” Jimin said, weak. “You’re very good with the brooms. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be sick.”

He was, into the bushes, and slumped against the steps with his head in his hands for a few moments afterwards. Jungkook hovered, guilt gnawing at his stomach, but Jimin swatted him away and only accepted his helping hand when he couldn’t walk in a straight line.

“I’m fine,” Jimin said. “I did this on my own. I just need to sit down, you’ll see.”

The Ravenclaw dormitories were closer, so Jungkook propped Jimin up with his arm and pulled him down the hall. Jimin was remarkably light, and easy to lead. The eagle knocker had a new riddle. ‘I have cities but no houses. I have forests but no trees. I have oceans but no water. What am I?’

“Difficult,” Jimin moaned into Jungkook’s shoulder. “A pain in Merlin’s nethers.”

“Yes. Or a map.”

A few students stayed in the low benches of the Ravenclaw common room, a light airy room with white marble and thinking statues. The structure had more of a Greco-Roman flair in the pillars, plenty of books nestled in the rounded bookcases. Barely anybody glanced up from their studies and Jungkook safely took Jimin back to his room. They were generally shared rooms, but the canopy bed had a curtain that Jungkook drew over and cast a quick Muffliato to hide Jimin’s soft groans.

“I’m fine,” Jimin said, after Jungkook offered Aguamenti water to him. “Really. I’ll be out in a moment.” He reached up to unknot his tie, hiding the blatant green into his pocket so he just looked like an unassuming first year who wanted to wander outside.

Jungkook smoothed down Jimin’s hair and tried to will his guilt back down again, because it wasn’t like he intended to take Jimin for a ride, but it wasn’t his fault that he did, and also, Jimin had said he hadn’t even seen a broom, which meant he had just jumped when Jungkook had jumped, and Jungkook didn’t know what to do with that fact other than to sit on his bed and wipe down Jimin’s forehead.

Jimin had sweated through his shirt, enough that Jungkook could see old scarred writing on Jimin’s rib. Jungkook must have been staring because Jimin cracked open an eye and smiled mildly at him, even through the paleness draining on his face.

“I tried to burn it off,” Jimin said. “It didn’t work.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“It’s too old for that.” Jimin touched the burn, covering the vague outline of his scar. “I know Namjoon is interested in things like reparations and victims, but it was just a different time, when it was during the war and you didn’t know who to trust. Things just happened and you had to deal with it.”

“Did it come from the war?” But Jungkook wanted to really ask, did it come from a battle, did it come from an attack in the middle of the night into a Muggle household.

“In a way. Like I said, my father’s side was always sorted into Slytherin. We knew people who knew people, who weren’t good people.” Jimin lolled his head back, hair fanning against the pillow that Jungkook breathed against. “It’s like you said, smartness for smartness’s sake. Everyone wanted something and would tell on their friends and family to get it.”

Jimin studied him with heavy eyes, and suddenly laughed. “Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You scrunch up your nose when you’re thinking.” Jimin brushed his fingers over the crease of Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook hadn’t realized he’d crept up to sit beside him so close, hands splayed over his covers and deepening the folds. Sometimes, he was swept away by Jimin’s seeming innocence, the clumsy way he didn’t recognize how the top of his unbuttoned shirt opened up to reveal the swath of skin underneath, still glistening and drawn sharp with his collarbones. He was close enough that he could reach out and touch him, like Jimin had touched him, except he wouldn’t be clinging onto him.

Or maybe it would be exactly the same, falling in mid-air and trying to grasp onto something warm and tangible. He could push him down and kiss his jaw and cheeks and maybe Jimin would grab onto his robe and bite down on his mouth and grab him by the back of his neck, like he was a mischievous child that he would indulge. But he couldn’t play this game.

Sometimes, there was something so deliberate and strategic about Jimin’s sweeps of hair, the neat arrangement of his clothes. For him to be so disheveled meant he was playing a game of Wizarding chess except Jungkook hadn’t even gotten his pieces out yet. When Jungkook drew back, Jimin only smiled, but the heaviness of his eyes never lifted. His gaze followed Jungkook even when he opened up the canopy curtain to pretend to fetch another glass of water.

Jimin wanted something from him. And Jungkook hated the part of himself who wanted to see how far Jimin was willing to go to get what he wanted.

*

Technically, Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be visiting Hogsmeade. But technically, the post-war generation had left more orphans than Hogwarts policy had anticipated, and if the famed Seeker of Ravenclaw who was single-handedly leading them towards the House Cup wanted to grab a bite at the Hog’s Head, nobody said very much. Sure, a strickler professor might look down their horn-rimmed glasses at the blatant favoritism, but parts of Hogwarts still had to have been roped off from where former professors had fallen in battle to protect their students and taken chunks of walls with them. So nobody said very much.

“What is it?” Seokjin was asking, holding the phone in the air. Jimin sat with his back to the crowd, smirking over his butterbeer.

“A present,” Jimin said languidly. “From Jungkook.”

“What!” Seokjin nearly dropped the phone, which sprang Jimin from his smug throne to frantically try to catch it. His reward for his efforts left a goose-egg on his forehead when he bumped into the nearby wooden column.

“Jungkook doesn’t give presents,” Seokjin said, gaping. “I’ve known this kid for years and the last thing he gave me was a rotten egg jelly bean he said was marshmallow!”

“They taste the same,” Jungkook said.

“They do not,” Seokjin said.

The way Jimin was looking at him, soft and surprised, made Jungkook rest his hand on the back of his neck and look towards where the other crowds of students had taken to their tables. He hadn’t thought about that, but Seokjin was correct. He just wasn’t big on giving gifts. But he had seen Christmas on his calendar and he’d thought about his ongoing project to tinker enough with technology and everything had come together too naturally.

“Did you slip him a love potion or something?” Seokjin asked Jimin. Perhaps Jimin was about to answer, but a small gaggle of Gryffindors passed by and Jungkook heard a whisper of ‘the nerve of that Slytherin’ and they were out the door. Jungkook paused with his lips to the glass. Seokjin must have heard it too, because he’d already climbed half out of his chair and Jimin was frantically pressing him back. It was true that Slytherins had taken less frequently to Hogsmeade. They weren’t exactly welcomed, and neither were any other house into Slytherin space, save purebloods.

“It’s okay,” Jimin said. “You guys must have heard worse.”

“You’re welcome here, all the same.” Seokjin leaned back, his long form now almost defensive from the other bar-goers. As far as Jungkook knew, Seokjin had a wizard father and a witch mother, and others had assumed he’d been born into a traditional austere house. The reality was that Seokjin still got excited over sales and deals, and the sparkly quill he carried around had been enchanted himself from a library book spell.

“I’ll stay with you,” Jungkook told Jimin, which must have been slightly too affectionate because Seokjin eyed him again. ‘Love potion,’ Seokjin mouthed, but snapped back to a placid smile when Jimin turned to look at him, too.

“If Hoseok was here, he’d probably take off after them,” Seokjin said. “I invited him and everything, but he said he was busy.”

“He’s probably helping Taehyung,” Jungkook said. “I think Taehyung’s raising a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Jimin said, mouth slack-jawed. This was news to Seokjin too, who swiveled around.

“He didn’t tell me,” Jungkook said, “but that’s what I think. All the signs are there. We saw him go to the bestiary at night and everything, probably to get more supplies.”

“‘We,’” Jimin repeated questioningly, obviously having no memory of anything but a whirlwind fall from their broom ride together.

“That’s pretty serious,” Seokjin said. “Can’t he get into serious trouble for that? Also, what kind of dragon? I hope it’s an Antipodean Opaleye. They’re pretty.”

“I’m guessing he’s not in a situation where he can give up the dragon easily. He seems the type to put the dragon’s safety first, so he must think he’s the best person for the situation.” Jungkook finished his drink and wiped his mouth. “Hoseok knows, too, probably. He’d step in if he thought it wasn’t in Taehyung’s best interest.”

“You’re so smart, figuring all that out,” Jimin said, awed.

“He’s very smart,” Seokjin said proudly. “Did you know, in the early days, I used to bring him along to Side-Along Apparate, and how quickly he picked it up?”

“You really should wait for your license before doing that,” Jimin said, but he also added, “though that’s very impressive of you.”

They split up outside because Seokjin had to lead his Quidditch team’s training. Jimin had no such obligations, so Jungkook found himself walking down the snow-laden streets to the quaint shops. The heavy drifts still blanketed the rooftops and a powdery snow crunched under their feet. Zonko’s Joke Shop called for Jimin, obviously, and he wandered between the aisles with a puckish grin. He’d taken to the sugar quills, but settled for a small box of hiccough sweets, and didn’t even look at the price tag before he placed it onto the shop counter.

The reason for Seokjin’s obsession for love potions stemmed from all the aggressive adverts for Valentine’s Day. “Ignite the Fire of His Love!” with decadent perfumes in the shape of glass dragons, boxes of chocolates filled with luscious sweet flavours only found in mountain caves, and bunches of roses, moondew, and sneezeworts. The lurid signboards stood out from the usual wooden and bronze decorations in the shops, inscriptions glowing with an effervescent light.

“You must be popular,” Jimin observed. People looked at them when they passed, not just because Jimin was a sole Slytherin. Jungkook caught the admiring gaze of plenty of students who recognised him from the games. He usually would have averted his gaze, but Jimin’s presence encouraged him to return a few smiles here or there, to the delighted gasps of others.

“I got a few chocolates already,” Jungkook said.

“But you didn’t eat them, did you?”

“Why not?”

“You heard Seokjin. They could be filled with Amortenia.” Jimin gawked at him.

“But if they give it to me, I want to eat it.” Jungkook was sincere, but he was just as sincere to see Jimin puff out his cheeks in frustration. Even he knew better than to indulge in mysterious chocolates so close to the day when love potions flew off the shelf, concoctions that bewildered and beguiled. They passed by a potions shop that had heard enough of the love potion ban to sell rose petals innocently by the palmfuls.

“They’re awful things. They should be considered a dark arts artefact, like the Black Quill, or the Mirror of Erised.”

“The Mirror of Erised isn’t part of the dark arts.”

“Of course it is. Though it’s my favourite one of the lot,” Jimin said wistfully. “It kills them with kindness.”

Jungkook didn’t want to dwell on that statement, especially by the churning of his stomach, so he said, “Any potion could be bad in the wrong hands.”

“But love potions are always terrible. It’s like those awful people don’t understand what it would be like if you were forced to love someone against your will, a mindless puppet under a light-hearted Imperius Curse. You’d never know your true feelings, you’d act violently without any control of your actions.” Jimin’s mouth drew into a sharp line. “You’d be horrible.”

Jungkook wanted to hug him, suddenly. Because Jimin had a smaller silhouette, he sometimes seemed swamped in his green scarf and dark robes against the white of the snow. His well-worn boots left light footprints behind him, not reflect the weight on his slumped shoulders. Jimin stopped beneath a street lamp and looked at him, small and frail, with his soft eyes, and Jungkook took his hand.

Jimin’s small hand fit into his palm. His fingers were cold and Jungkook squeezed harsh warmth into them. Jimin didn’t look at him, but Jungkook could see the flare of red at the tips of Jimin’s ears. Jungkook squeeze harder.

“I know you didn’t use a love potion on me,” Jungkook said. “You wouldn’t do that to anyone.” Whatever was bothering Jimin didn’t leave, but Jimin nodded slowly and he exhaled a long, visible breath. The vapor rose into the air and wisped away in the streetlamp.

“No,” Jimin said. “I wouldn’t need any magical help to make people fall in love with me.” He touched his cheek with a coy flutter of his eyelashes, and then grew embarrassed by his own boldness and covered his face. Jungkook laughed, though, and wrapped his arm around Jimin’s shoulders and buried his face into the nape of his neck.

The next morning, the owls came to the table as part of the Valentine’s Day rush. The chocolate boxes piled up beside his scrambled eggs, but two gifts in particular stood out to him:

The first, a pretty slim box from a preening snowy white owl with dappled gold, who combed her feathers and gazed at her reflection in the floral vase. When Jungkook opened the box, a necklace that looked like it was made of ice dropped in his hands. Held to the light, the ice glittered like diamonds. The pendant, an antiquated bird that occasionally flapped its wings, fit into the hollow of his collarbones. The note, scrawled, said, “A family heirloom - JM.”

The second: a picture from the previous day, near the shop where Jungkook had gazed at the ashwinder eggs. A group of students were looking at where he and Jimin were shopping, but Jimin had caught sight of them when they approached and his glare wasn’t anything Jungkook recognised, cold and disinterested. In the picture, Jimin’s hand moved to lightly grasp Jungkook’s waist, drawing him closer even as the picture Jungkook leaned closer to the display.

In big block letters underneath, it said, “DO YOU KNOW?”

*

Of course, Jungkook hung the picture up in his dorm. He liked the angle of his own face, and Jimin looked particularly cutting and dashing.

He did get a brief look of Jimin’s disgust when they passed by the Slytherin dungeons and Jimin was looking at his phone again. He’d taken a picture of Jungkook he’d particularly liked, so Jungkook walked him through the steps to make that picture a wallpaper, which delighted Jimin.

“It’d be nice if you moved in the picture, too,” Jimin said. “It’s like that one painting near the Muggle Studies classroom. A bit weird that you’re so still.”

“Well, I’ll introduce you to videos and gifs later.”

Someone on the opposite side of the stairs said, “Half-blood.”

Jungkook didn’t look. He kept the grin at a stiff angle on his face, trying to focus on Jimin. Like a slap to his face, the insults always took him slightly off-kilter. He hadn’t known how much his Christmas gift would pronounce, loud and ugly, that he’d been raised in a non-magic environment. A cell phone had been a good idea at the time, but no wizard would have knowledge of low-brow technology. He didn’t know what grief it had given Jimin, who never seemed to be far from the device. But Jimin must have heard the words too, because his face twisted into something heart-rending, and he abruptly turned.

Yoongi swept down the steps between the two of them and grabbed their hands. “It’s not worth it,” he murmured, and took them down to the lowest steps.

“I know,” Yoongi interrupted when Jimin tried to speak in the quiet corner. “But what were you going to do? Challenge them to a duel? That’d be stupid. You’re not good at charms.”

“I could have taken them,” Jungkook said, which was the wrong thing to say, because Yoongi turned on him with a withering glare.

“You probably could have,” Yoongi said. “And ended up in a hospital ward. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Jungkook said. But he said it too meanly, harsh and grating on his tongue. He just hated it. He hated to be haunted by that long hallway, where he could hear inhuman moans on the other side of the hallway and human screams behind the door. He loved his parents and he loved his brother, and this tormented him as long as he stepped foot in the castle.

Jimin had ducked between him and Yoongi, and said, “Don’t upset him.” Yoongi’s expression softened, though Jungkook could tell Yoongi was thinking about something else by the critical angle of his eyebrows.

“You said you wanted me to look up something for you in the Restricted Section,” Yoongi said abruptly. “So I did.”

“Really?” Jungkook got excited in spite of himself, and Yoongi laughed with a lightness rarely seen.

“Really. I bumped into Namjoon in there, too.”

“Namjoon? What did he want?” Jungkook asked.

“Nothing from me. He’d seen some new paintings around school he’d liked.” Yoongi looked like he was warming up to the subject, which rarely boded well. Jungkook had been faintly interested when Namjoon and Yoongi had discussed, over dinner, about the economic state of Slytherin houses who had been forced to sell much of their actual wealth to keep up appearances. He’d been busy copying down Jimin’s former herbology answers, but he’d learned two things. First, Yoongi may have been from one such family, but Jimin obviously had heirlooms to spare that he could just take with him to school. Second, Jimin wasn’t very good at herbology.

“What did Jungkook want?” Jimin asked.

“Some things about Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.” Yoongi unrolled a parchment with scribbled notes, pictures of vials showing it was an old potions homework that Jungkook may one day yet copy. “Had to look through a few books. One almost bit off my thumb. Couldn’t give anybody thumbs up anymore.”

When nobody laughed, Yoongi continued, “Anyway, looks like you’re right. The original diadem had been enchanted to fuck. Layers of complex spells, woven together. When Helena stole that from her mother, there was some time when nobody knew about the theft because Rowena still had some kind of crown.”

“It’d be a lot of easier if Helena’s ghost was still here,” Jimin said, but even if her ghost still lingered, Jungkook wasn’t going to drag Jimin around the hallways in the dead of night. Jimin always grew visibly sadder when he pondered about the ghosts of dogs and cats.

“There’s not much about the second diadem. Just that it wasn’t the smarty-fart pants enhancement of the original. Rowena didn’t leave the castle in her final days, and I’ve never heard of it on the black market.” Yoongi passed the scrolls to Jungkook, who pored over the scribbles eagerly. “Be careful. Old magic can be dangerous magic, so if you actually find something, get Namjoon or me.”

“Did you want to come with us?” Jimin said. Jungkook bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to treasure-hunt with Yoongi.

“Nah,” Yoongi said. “I have to study. I’ve got special Occlumency lessons.”

“Really?” Jungkook blinked. “Can you read my thoughts right now?”

“You’re thinking about socks.” Yoongi grinned unexpectedly when Jimin gawked at Jungkook. “No, I’m not that good. It’s just defense stuff, against Legilimency. It’s infuriating sometimes, to know there’s naturally strong Legilmens out there who don’t even know it.” He said the last part slowly, and rolled back his shoulders to shake out an imaginary crick in his back.

“Well, you kids have fun.” Yoongi lumbered off down the hallway towards the Slytherin room. They watched his back recede into the shadows, and Jimin took Jungkook’s arm, as if he was suddenly wary of something in the dark.

*

“Rowena Ravenclaw was so smart,” Jimin said. “I don’t think we’ll ever find her treasures.” He was lying down on the carpet, stretched out like a cat, beside the perfectly suitable chair and bed. Jungkook had several textbooks open, hovering quills descending and marking particular passages for him to pursue. He had called this a real life ctrl + f, and Jimin had stared at him vacantly.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said. “But it’s still fun to look. That’s a whole part of the magic of Hogwarts, isn’t it? You explore, you find mysteries, you pet three-headed dogs.”

“Oh, that’d be nice.” Jimin had extended his arms above his head, exposing a small sliver of skin beneath his white dress shirt. “That’s three times as many head-skritches.”

“Besides, it’s not like she would have hidden it well. Her daughter had just run away, and passed away. To know someone you love was in real pain, that’s hard.”

“I guess,” Jimin said vaguely, having found a regular pen from Jungkook’s floor. He held it above his head to the Ravenclaw dorm’s natural lighting from the window, and jerked back when the end of the ballpoint clicked. “I just don’t see why the diadem would be that interesting. What if we found gold instead? Or a bunch of sweets?”

“If you’re hungry, you can just say so.” Jungkook opened his drawer and pulled out a liquorice wand Seokjin had bought him. He had to snicker when Jimin looked offended.

“I’m not hungry,” Jimin protested. “But what’s the point of having the diadem when you’re already so smart?”

“Maybe to help you with your homework.” Jungkook had been sitting on a chair, so he leaned down to dangle the liquorice wand above Jimin’s head. Jimin tossed him a scathing glare, but still obliged in inclining upwards and nibbling at the end. Jungkook swallowed down another snicker.

“I’m not that bad…” Jimin mumbled, chewing. He was that bad. Jungkook had to give up on copying on his homework because Jimin had bumbled his way upwards through most of his classes. His scores on potions was particularly devastating, as Yoongi had told him once that Jimin had turned his hair pink for days, and seemed to have really taken to the shade.

“Besides, if I have the diadem, maybe I can complete the spells I’m making.” Jungkook’s notebooks about his spells were also splayed out, and Jimin raised himself on his elbows to take another bite and glare at them. He parsed through them with suspicion, flipping from one page to another.

“You’ve been working on them,” Jimin accused.

“For fun.” Jungkook pretended not to notice Jimin’s scowl. Already a natural late owl, he stayed up into the depths of nights to work on the scripts. He was close, he knew it, but he couldn’t quite manage through the last few steps of his pain-relief spell. Just enough of a spell to create a magical anaesthetic for magical pain, that was all he needed. Jimin finished flipping through the full notebook.

“You lift weights for fun,” Jimin said. “You’re doing this for something else.”

“Did you know, even Patronus is a recent spell.” Jungkook took up another book about Rowena Ravenclaw’s life. “Sometimes magic feels like an arms race between the spells invented to hurt and the spells invented to defend. I’m not looking for the diadem to do anything bad.”

Jimin opined by biting another scowling chunk from the liquorice wand. “Well, I’m not good at runes or secret passages. All I know is that Rowena Ravenclaw was a witch.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook said. And then, “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to say it twice.”

“No, I mean it. Thanks.” Jungkook leaned back on his wooden chair, the creaking loud. “I forget how much it’s ingrained in wizards and witches, that magic is just like breathing. If she was a witch--and she was--then it’d make sense that she would have hidden her last things in a place that was inherently magical.”

“All right,” Jimin said.

“I’ve never thought she’d put it here, in her quarters, but it must be a short distance away. If we overlay spells over the map of Hogwarts--” Jungkook grabbed a book from mid-air. “But which spell? What wand movement would she have thought about, that could be traced along the corridors?”

“Wingardium Leviosa?” Jimin guessed.

“Remember, she was in a lot of pain. Nothing too complicated. If she’s thinking about her daughter--maybe--” Jungkook snatched another parchment from the air, and turned abruptly. “You said you saw a painting near the Muggle Studies classroom, didn’t you? Had you seen it before?”

“No, it was new.”

Jungkook pushed the rest of the liquorice into Jimin’s mouth and grabbed his hand. Jimin stumbled after him as they emerged from the Ravenclaw common room and into the hallway. Technically, it was after curfew, but the professors hadn’t taken to patrolling the corridors just yet. Jungkook slipped under the shadows of the dark, twisting and turning in the corridors. When they arrived closer to the classrooms, Jungkook slowed down enough for Jimin to stop stumbling after him.

“Where is it?” Jungkook asked. Jimin panted, and pointed to a painting beside a doorway.

He could see why the painting had struck Jimin as strange. First, the painting certainly didn’t move, even as Jungkook approached it. Unlike the stairwells full of paintings that ducked into each other, the solitary painting featured a woman with long, dark hair, leaning down to pet a cat. In the idyllic background, the green hills slumped towards a small cottage. Second, of course Jimin would be touched by such a friendly painting.

“There wasn’t a Muggle Studies course back when the founders occupied the school, so there’s no reason a painting wouldn’t move,” Jungkook said. “Like I said, I think Hogwarts is healing. Where it doesn’t have enough materials, it’s literally bringing up things from its hidden spaces.”

“Is this like a Portkey?” Jimin touched the frame of the painting.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook traced his fingers over the gilded frame as well, following the cold spirals. “Alohomora.” Nothing happened. Jimin glanced at him in the light of the flickering candle sconce. No footsteps currently resounded, but Jungkook knew the groundskeeper would wander by soon enough.

“Was that the spell that Rowena Ravenclaw used as a map to here?” Jimin asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, she was losing a family member. Her daughter had stolen her treasure, she had run off, she was dying. She was losing a person she loved because of a broken relationship. When you’re in that position, you just think of simple things.” Jungkook pressed his palm against the sharp corner. “She used Reparo.”

The lady in the painting raised her head.

Jimin leapt back, grabbing onto Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook didn’t move, staring into her large, sad eyes. The lady, draped in dark blue, took her yawning cat in her arms. With slow, deliberate movements, she turned her back to them. Her figure diminished as she walked down the cobbled road to the cottage, which she opened and disappeared into its darkness.

“This is it,” Jungkook said. He wasn’t even thinking when he pushed his fingers against the painting, but where he’d expected to feel the bumpy harshness of the oil, his fingers slid into the scenery like water. He had to brace a foot against the bottom of the frame, but he climbed into the painting, leaving ripples of distorted green and blue behind.

The world of the painting was quiet. It wasn’t the creaking of Hogwarts or the soft rustle of nature in the Forbidden Forest. He could not feel the wind on his back or the sun on his face. He simply existed, like a two-dimensional figure.

“I don’t like this,” Jimin said. His entrance into the painting world hadn’t been as neat, and he was still on the ground where he’d rolled. “I think we should get Yoongi.”

“We won’t go far. Just a peek,” Jungkook said.

Jimin dusted off his trousers from the imaginary specks. “You’re reckless,” he said, but he didn’t move to go back through the floating empty frame. Behind them, the hallway of Hogwarts reflected like a distortion. Ahead, the cottage’s door was open wide. Just a peek, Jungkook thought.

They walked through the silent landscape. At the door, Jimin gripped Jungkook’s hand. He didn’t look well, especially under the false light. He had paled, his collar sticking to his neck, and he inclined his head back to where the painting of Hogwarts innocently floated.

The cottage opened into a wider space, bigger than it should have contained. Small high windows let through thin streams of light into the cluttered space, filled with artefacts colliding into each other. A golden gyroscope spun above an engraved cupboard, a silver statue of a pegasus reared in the corner with ruby necklaces draped around its neck, a bookshelf held potion bottles of glowing green and floating purple specks, a bust of an elderly wizard had been tilted into one of the many stacks of parchments and books that rose like clumsy staircases to the windows.

“Lumos,” Jimin said. He’d already pulled his wand from his sleeve, and lit up the darker spaces inside. The light glinted off an empty birdcage, covered in cobwebs, and a small chunk of a treasure chest.

“It doesn’t look right,” Jungkook said.

“None of this looks right.”

“It looks…” Jungkook hesitated. “Like it’s reflected.”

“Oh. Yes, it does.” Jimin inched into the room and picked up a book. When he peeled open the decaying pages, the writing inside was indecipherable. It had been flipped, the spells barely recognisable with a few of the rounder letters.

“Maybe that’s how Rowena Ravenclaw tricked the other founders for a while,” Jungkook said. “She reflected the diadem, and maybe the whole Room of Requirement.”

“So this is like the Mirror of Erised.” Jimin gazed at the crowded room. “An enchanted reflection.”

“It’s not what I thought it’d be like.” Jungkook wandered through the aisles of abandoned chairs and wizarding hats.

“No, me neither.” Jimin crept behind him. “I always thought I’d just see myself shaking the headmaster’s hand… I’ve won the House Cup…”

Jimin’s light took them deeper into the room, where Jungkook spotted it. He’d been training a long time ago to spot small bright objects, even when flying on a broom.

“Is that it?” He pointed to the top of the pile where a shining small crown rested. It looked like the diadem he’d seen in the pictures, but slightly wrong, slightly wrested in a different way. Jimin bit his lip, worry scrawled over his gentle features.

“It could be a different crown,” Jimin said. “Something that’s cursed. We shouldn’t touch it.”

“I won’t put it on,” Jungkook said. “But we won’t remember where it was. I want to just bring it back.”

Jimin didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then in a hurried move, he took off his robe. “Wrap it in this,” he said. “Don’t touch it directly.”

“Thanks.”

“I know you love your brother, but you’re what’s important to me.” Jimin set his mouth in a grim line. “Hurry. I don’t want to stay here.” A hint of whininess had entered his tone, and he stood like a statue while he watched Jungkook climb.

A few glass orbs rolled by him, but Jungkook easily found sturdier handholds to dig into and pull himself up. By the time he glanced down, pausing while hanging onto a stuck chair, Jimin’s figure was angry and small below him. The papers were the worst, sliding down when he tried to shove his feet into the mountain. He could hear the harsh rasping when they fell onto the floor, the only sound in the room other than his heavy breathing. He reached high enough to finally see the diadem at eye-level, a glittering, austere decoration.

He took Jimin’s robe in his hands, feet wedged against a lodged iron chest. The cloth smelled like Jimin, somewhat sweet. He wrapped the ends around his hands and touched the diadem. It was strange, he remembered thinking when he touched the ends, but if everything in the room was reflected, why did the silver eagle on the diadem’s front still turn the correct way.

The moment he touched the artefact, the silver eagle turned its head to face him. A flash of white light hurtled towards his face. A cold chill abruptly wrapped around his throat and he heard a shrill, inhuman cry, a faint image of a cruel-beaked bird rising from his necklace to absorb most of the blast, long scaly wings disintegrating in the light.

The blast knocked him from his perch and he tumbled down. He faintly thought he felt a dull pain on his shoulder, more serious than any Bludger, and then he flattened on the ground. His ears were ringing too much to hear anything, but in his blurry vision, he could see Jimin mouthing something frantically.

I’m okay, Jungkook tried to say, but something warm trickled from his mouth instead. He looked down to see, where the bird could not protect him from the blast radius, part of his chest and shoulder had become shredded. Like a raw hamburger, he thought distantly, and Jimin was pressing his robe against the wound. The sick, metallic scent of blood filled the air and soaked easily into the cloth.

He felt cold, but he could tell his skin was clammy. Still, he tried to say something, anything, but he felt fainter by the second. Jimin was waving his wand, saying spells that did not knit his bone, did not heal his wound, did not mend his skin. Healing magic could only be taken so far.

Is this what you wanted, Jungkook thought. But he must have somehow said it through his gurgles of blood dripping down his chin, because Jimin stopped in mid-spell and looked at him, filled with pain and hurt. Jungkook wanted to apologise, but the world spun around him and he dropped his head back to the hard floor.

*

The owl had come in the morning with the letter for Hogwarts. A tawny bird with a wax-sealed letter. Jungkook tore himself from his laptop, scrambling over their couch to look at the sharp-eyed bird. His father took the letter in his hands, over where he’d been reading the news on his tablet. His mother, already dressed for her workday, sat down heavily on the chair.

“Is it for me?” Jungkook asked, hopping up and down to look at the quill scritches.

“It’s for your brother,” his father told him, and put a hand on Jungkook’s head, as if trying to hold onto something he knew.

His father had been a wizard. He still was a wizard, technically, but he had met and married into a Muggle family, and turned his back on the wizarding world. He later told Jungkook that they had suspected Jungkook would have to go to Hogwarts one day, since his magic had manifested at an early age, but they had assumed his brother had such little magic power, the Ministry wouldn’t have detected that.

Jungkook didn’t understand why anybody would turn away from a world of magic, until a group of dark-robed wizards and witches arrived on their doorstep at night. The Knight Bus took them in a leap to St. Mungo’s, and Jungkook held his mother’s hand when they stepped through the doors.

*

He awoke to a groggy sense of pain. A white-robed witch was peeling off his bloody bandages. The hospital ward was quiet, and he couldn’t see past the heavy white curtains. His lips were dry, too, brittle even when he swiped his dry tongue to try and moisten them.

A small hand slipped an ice chip into his mouth. Jungkook sucked at the relief, the small bit of water almost spilling from his mouth in his eagerness.

Jimin passed a hand over Jungkook’s eyes, and Jungkook fell asleep again.

*

The Healers at the hospital wore lime-green smocks. This was apparently something normal. Jungkook sat on the chair and listened to his parents argue inside the room.

“How did this happen?”

“They found out. They found out, about his parentage-”

“Death Eaters? What are Death Eaters?”

“There’s something called purebloods, that’s what they believe- they think only purebloods should- they look down on those with Muggle blood-”

“How could this have happened?”

The room was close to the corner corridor. Jungkook watched a vampire with a cast around his arm skulk around the corner. A troll with bandages around his nose was speaking to a Healer with great passion. A goblin limped into a room and walked out, completely healed, and Jungkook knew this wouldn’t happen to his screaming brother inside.

*

When he awoke again, it was night. It was a manageable pain. Dull, throbbing, and bone-deep, but he wasn’t screaming. When he tried to wiggle his fingers, that changed into a sharp pain, so he didn’t wiggle his fingers. He suspected, deep inside, some of his fingers wouldn’t have been able to move.

On his bedside were get well cards, the projected images of hugging bears and wagging dogs subdued when the cards were kept closed. Several bouquet of flowers had been placed in vases, lilies and roses, vibrant snapdragons accompanied by baby’s breath.

Jimin was sleeping on a chair near the corner, lit up by the moon. His face seemed more pale and drawn than Jungkook last remembered, and occasionally scrunched up in phantom pain. The hood of his robe had been drawn over his head, but his normal dark hair now seemed almost silvery, white. He looked almost sinister, but then his face scrunched up and his fingers grasped his elbow in a spasm and he looked much younger, like a child. Jungkook tried to draw closer to him, but the dull pain transformed into a thousand harsh stabs into his chest and he fell back, gasping.

Exhaustion took over him again.

*

They had a family meeting in the cafeteria. Jungkook ate his chocolate bar. His mother’s hair had been messily tied back into a sloppy bun.

“There are things called Unforgivable Curses,” his father said. “They hurt people. Very badly. There’s one, called the Cruciatus curse. If it’s done for a long time and with other painful spells, it can- change a person.”

“But they can fix him, right?” Jungkook asked. “There has to be a spell. It’s magic. Magic can do anything.” His father straightened out his jacket, trying to brush back Jungkook’s hair.

“There is a spell,” his mother said softly. “But it comes at a very big cost.”

*

Mid-afternoon, he suspected. Something heavy on his bed. When he looked down, he could see Jimin curled up beside him. His hood had been dropped back. His black hair had really turned pale, a whispery white that could have been blond under certain light.

Now that the pain had receded enough, Jungkook had enough mind to feel like something was strange. Like he was missing something, but there was now something else in him. He had never felt like that before. But when he rested his immobile hand on Jimin’s shoulder, it felt right.

It felt right to touch Jimin’s face, like this was a part of what was his. No, more than right, it felt good. Euphoric pleasure, especially when he buried his face into Jimin’s neck. He could smell him and he could taste him under his mouth. Jimin must have awakened at some point because he wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s shoulders, drawing him in, nestling his head against his neck.

But he needed more. He needed to touch Jimin’s bare skin, along his arm where he could raise his sleeve, and then even that wasn’t enough. He was confused and angry, that Jimin would keep such a secret away from him, that touching him felt so good. He had to kiss Jimin’s mouth, and he almost gasped when he slid his hands up Jimin’s shirt. He could tell Jimin was feeling good, too, leaning up to his warm touch. He had to touch him, had to feel the hard muscles underneath him, the abs, all the way up until he reached the scabbed, burnt scar on Jimin’s chest, and then he stopped like cold water had been thrown on him.

Jimin stopped, too. Jungkook didn’t know at what point he had climbed on top of Jimin, but Jimin’s hair had been fanned out against the pillow and his eyes were big, chest heaving in soft pants. Jimin studied Jungkook’s face for a moment, and then he closed his eyes. A small tear began to form at the corner of his eye.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jimin shook his head, and now he was fully crying, burying his wet face into Jungkook’s good shoulder. “I did this. I did it. I did it wrong. I couldn’t fix you right.”

Jimin’s soft sobs were the last thing Jungkook remembered when he slid back into unconsciousness again.

*

Taehyung was wearing dark-rimmed glasses.

“Am I dead?” Jungkook asked.

“Why is that the first thing you ask?” Taehyung took off his glasses and slipped them into his pocket. He closed his book about dragon-tending and scooted to the edge of his chair. “You scared all of us. Hoseok was furious when he heard you got yourself hospitalised.”

“Sorry,” Jungkook said. He struggled to sit upright on the bed. The pain in his chest radiated outwards, but he favoured his good side and leaned on the plump pillow. Taehyung crossed his hands together.

“So what happened?” Taehyung asked.

“What do people think happened?”

“The official word from the professors was that there was a spell accident. Unofficially, you and Jimin got into a duel. Everybody’s very impressed by your valour.”

“Where’s Jimin?” Jungkook glanced around the room, which looked much the same, with the exception of a folded pile of his clothes on a nearby chair.

“He’s been missing for a day.” Taehyung smiled wryly. “That’s why I’m here now, actually. If you see him, can you tell him that I’m sorry that I didn’t help him sooner?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you after you tell me what happened to you.” Taehyung’s grim smile disappeared. “Hoseok was seriously mad, I’m telling you. He was almost ripping out his hair. Not that Namjoon and Seokjin were any better. You should take better care of yourself.” Hufflepuffs, to him, had always seemed like they were only concerned to take care of their own. But, Jungkook reflected as he pushed his head back into his pillow, he had been wrong about a lot of things recently.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Have some chocolate, you must be hungry.” Taehyung pushed himself out of the chair. “They’re going to be letting you out later tonight, if all checks out. But I’ll let you get some rest, you look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“Really,” Taehyung said, “you should take care of yourself.” He rested a hand on Jungkook’s head for a moment, and then grinned softly. Jungkook echoed this back.

“So what’s with the glasses?”

“Why are you so worried about this?”

When Taehyung left, Jungkook reached for his pile of clothes. He rummaged through his pockets until he found the small box. The earrings slid onto the lobes of his ears easily, and warmed when he pressed them.

“How’d you get into the Ravenclaw commons?” Jungkook asked, leaning back onto the pillow. In the corner, the imperfect invisibility cloak drooped. Jimin wandered to where Taehyung had vacated his chair, and sat down stiffly, not moving his neck and back independently of each other. He stared at Jungkook’s light blankets.

“I should have given you something else as a gift,” Jimin said.

“Only you would have known where I keep my clothes in the drawer.”

“I guess so. I had to wait outside and trick a Ravenclaw second year into answering the riddle. I pretended to be a lost first year. You’re right, your housemates are more excited to be smart that they don’t see what’s in front of them.” Jimin smiled emptily. “The knocker said, I open at the close. I thought for sure it was a Snitch.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t get inside, but I took off my tie so they’d think I was Ravenclaw.”

“I mean, what happened to me?”

Jimin didn’t move from his chair. “You were hurt. I dragged you out into the hallway and called for help.”

“I was dying. I should have been dead.” Jungkook touched his chest, which felt raw, but still whole. “I was missing parts and in shock.”

“The Healer here is very good.”

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“You’re the one who hasn’t told me everything,” Jimin said, lashing out with his hand. “Why would you think I would like to see you hurt? Are you out of your mind? What if those were your last words?”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, “but don’t you already know everything?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re a Legilimens.”

This stopped Jimin, who gaped at him. His eyes widened, mouth slack, though his face couldn’t grow any more sickly in colour. He raised a hand to run through his pale hair, the strands falling back down on his face and forehead again.

“What?” Jimin said, quietly.

“You know things you can’t know. Yoongi thinks so, too. He sent me a warning. But you know about my brother, and you know how I Apparated back and forth before I got my license, and you know, always know, how I’m feeling, even when I don’t say anything. Maybe you don’t know you’re an emotional Legilimens, but it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jungkook leaned forward, shoulders square to him. Jimin stared at him, and then shook his head.

“I’m terrible at charms,” Jimin said, bewildered. “Why would you think I’m suddenly very good at this one thing?”

“But how else would you know?” Jungkook raised his flexible hand to count off his evidence, heated and determined. “You know when I’m happy, but everybody says they can’t tell what I’m thinking, but you can, which means you’re some kind of mind-reader.”

“I can tell when you’re happy because it’s obvious!” Jimin stood up, but apparently too quickly, because he crumpled back down with a wince. “I’m not a Legilimens. I’ve always thought you might be, a little bit, but that’s definitely not me.”

“Me? I’m not a Legilimens.”

“You’ve always been a little more sensitive to other people’s emotions, but you’re right, you don’t always talk about it. But I can tell.” Jimin held his elbow to his side. “And it’s not because I can tell what you’re thinking about, not at all.”

“Then how do you know so much about me?” Jungkook spread open an arm. “I’ve never told anyone about my brother, but you know things.”

“I know because I was there!”

Jungkook inhaled a sharp breath. “So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you, or your family, were part of the Death Eaters who attacked my brother.”

“No! My family is not associated with Death Eaters!” Jimin now jumped up despite his pain and barreled over to the bed, face reddened and eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think? That I got close to you because I read your mind and knew your brother had been attacked by my family, and I felt guilty about it?”

Jungkook tried to say something in his defense, but nothing came out. Jimin stared at him with ragged hurt, and then abruptly began to pull up his shirt. He exposed his stomach and then tugged the hem higher until his scar was visible. The harsh burn looked like one long scar at first, but when Jungkook looked longer, he had to jerk away. Underneath the scarring, there was a pucked word visible.

HALF-BLOOD.

“The Death Eaters hated my family,” Jimin said. He dropped the edge of his shirt back down. “But you’re right. My father was from a wealthy family, and I may have relatives who were Death Eaters. We got away lightly. All I had to do was carve--that--into my skin with a Black Quill, to make sure nobody would ever think I was actually a pureblood. It didn’t heal, so my father took me to the hospital. The ward for magical creatures was right next to the wizarding ward, and I saw you waiting outside your brother’s room. That’s how I know. That’s where I saw you.”

Jungkook reached out. Jimin didn’t flinch when Jungkook traced the scarring through the thin shirt. The ridges crested beneath his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said.

“Well,” Jimin said. “I also think you’re a very good Seeker, so I wasn’t lying when I first approached you.”

Jungkook closed his eyes. Wit beyond measure. He had looked so much down upon those who pursued intelligence, but the shame overwhelmed him now. The images struck him like a photo reel, all those times that Jimin had offered him affection without reserve, and how he had always viewed this through a lens of mistrust. He did like Jimin, of course he did, but this was always in spite of his thoughts.

The bed tilted. When he opened his eyes, Jimin had climbed onto the bed. He had to squeeze on the side, but he rested his head on Jungkook’s stronger shoulder.

“You really were dying,” Jimin said softly. “It was old magic. Cruel. I think, in her last days, before her last regrets, Rowena Ravenclaw must have cursed the diadem with hatred.”

“The scars of the past run deep,” Jungkook murmured. Jimin nodded.

“None of my spells worked. You were bleeding out. I think it was a curse that slowed the healing down enough that people would bleed out, wouldn’t mend in time. But the thing is, I had your notebook.”

Jungkook turned his head slowly. His room smelled like flowers with a tinge of sweet. Jimin didn’t look at him from where he entangled his limbs over Jungkook’s chest and legs.

“You didn’t,” Jungkook said softly.

“There was a spell you had written down. To share pain.” Jimin’s fingers rested at a crooked angle on Jungkook’s broad chest. “I just needed to take enough to stop the shock. I had to drag you back out into the hallway. You were bleeding and dying, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jungkook said, shaking. “You know- more than I did- that those spells aren’t tested. They were just fantasies.”

“I’m guessing to share the pain with your brother,” Jimin said distantly. “How is he, by the way? Do you still need to use this spell?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He’s an analyst, he’s perfectly well.” Jungkook draped his arm around Jimin’s shoulders, pulling him close enough that Jimin’s shoulders protruded against his side. “Pain spells were too rudimentary. Even after they healed most of him, the pain still got him, and knowing that this could happen to him again in the future. They Obliviated his memories of being a wizard.”

“I’m sorry.” Jimin had a way of speaking, soft and mumbled, that soothed him.

“It was stupid of me to try and make a spell to bring him back to the wizarding side. He’s happy, out there, hidden. But I wanted my brother back, even if I already had him.”

“That’s reasonable,” Jimin breathed. “You were just trying to help him. That’s all. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did. You said my spell went wrong.” Jungkook swallowed. He felt fine, but Jimin was different.

“I didn’t think you’d remember that.” Jimin laughed, but the fake laugh he did. “Yes. You’re right. It went wrong. Maybe it was the way I did it. I think you’ll be fine, but I might have to leave.”

“Why?” Jungkook suddenly clutched at Jimin’s shoulder again, harder, to pull him close. From his angle, the wisps of Jimin’s pale hair was more visible than ever.

“The thing is, when you cast that spell, it splinters the soul. There’s a part of the soul that goes into each other. Except, if you cast that spell when you’re a human, it might kill you. If you’re only part human, it’ll just make you less human.” Jimin raised his head to stare into his eyes. “In my family, males are supposed to be recessive Veelas.”

The heirloom necklace had been laid in front of a particularly brash arrangement of asphodels. The bird pendant had been cracked in half.

In Bulgaria, squished in the seats between the woman beside him and Seokjin, he’d watched the Veelas dance on the field. He remembered rising half from his seat, but Seokjin had grabbed him by the belt and yanked him back down. But in Jimin’s features, where he’d been gentle and pretty, something dark and alluring laid underneath now.

“But it did work,” Jimin said. He smiled brightly and raised his sleeve, where a distorted scar ran like a lightning bolt down his arm. When Jungkook touched the tips of Jimin’s fingers, he recognised the immobility of his fingers as his own. Shared pain, just like he wanted, when he had closed his eyes outside his brother’s room and had thought, it should have been me.

“Don’t go,” Jungkook said, catching his hand fully. “This was my fault.”

“I’m not the person you think I am.” Jimin struggled to pull away from his grasp, but he didn’t try hard, and eventually sank into him again. Jungkook did not let go. “They didn’t want me by your bedside. For one thing, everybody thought I’d been the one who decked you. For another, apparently you said only Taehyung could stay with you.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s Hogwarts life had been filled with copying homework, so he was honestly taken aback from the one original form he had filled out.

“But you were hurt, I had to be by your side. I told Taehyung and Hoseok I knew about his dragon. Yoongi doesn’t want to mess with my family, so he didn’t say anything. I charmed Seokjin to convince Namjoon to tell the professors to let me stay. I cheated, I lied, I stole, I did everything despicable I told myself that I was better than, and I did it for you.” Jimin’s shoulders slumped down. “I’m a Slytherin, after all. I would do anything to be loved by you.”

Jungkook laughed, though he slowed when Jimin glared at him.

“Nothing,” Jungkook said quickly. “Just that I’m not the only one who thinks they’re so smart.”

“What do you mean?” Jimin’s glare turned into a curious gaze.

“You heard Taehyung right now. He sounds like he’s more annoyed at himself for not trusting you in the first place, and probably Hoseok too. And Yoongi can’t be intimidated by you, he sent me a note about you, probably because he thought you were hurting by lying. And Seokjin is immune to Veela charms, and even if he wasn’t, Namjoon thinks for himself. And more than that, more than anything.” Jungkook regarded him. “When we graduate, we’re just going to be humans. More complicated than any single house.”

“But you don’t understand,” Jimin said, again with the whining tinge. “I was never supposed to be an obvious Veela, and I can’t control it. Can you really trust someone who could charm you into loving them?”

“You’ve never needed any magical help for that.” And he still wouldn’t, if Jungkook had anything to say about it. “I was angry when I first came to Hogwarts. I didn’t trust people, I kept them at a distance and analysed them, like I was so smart. But I’m dumb. I think I’m the dumbest person I know, sometimes.”

“Of course you’re not,” Jimin said, blinking.

“When all my classmates are doing great things, I can’t even be bothered to learn about mandrakes on my own. But then someone came along and loved me and trusted me, even when I couldn’t give that back.” Jungkook touched Jimin’s cheek, heart pounding. “If you have a part of my soul in you, then you have to know what I feel.”

“Are you thinking about socks?” Jimin asked, bewildered. He really was terrible at occlumency.

“My feet are a bit cold,” Jungkook admitted. “But try harder.”

Jungkook did like Hogwarts. He would like to finish his years there, and continue playing as Seeker for his team. But he was greedy and ambitious, and wanted Jimin by his side, laughing until his sides hurt, slipping a pranked lemon drop into his stash and watching Jimin burp out bubbles, to fly over the field with Jimin shaking at his back.

Jimin must have come to a conclusion, because he hesitantly took Jungkook’s face into his hands. And then he leaned forward to kiss him, at first lightly, and then Jungkook grabbed him by the back and pressed him inward, ignoring the mutual pain blossoming and instead focusing on the hearty flush rising to his cheeks and the heartbeat loud in his ears, and kissed him fully on the mouth.

There were parts of him that still lingered in that hospital, but when he cast his mind back there now, the screams were almost muted, like a fact he recognised but did not have to take as stab wounds to his heart. If he only looked up, he knew a boy would be watching him from down the hall, a boy who would be terrible in his classes and trip over the stairs, but who would give part of his soul for him.