Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all starts with the treacle tart. Harmless at first glance, but Donghyuck should have known better than to think with his stomach before his gut. 

The thing is, he couldn’t really have refused the dessert. After all, it was being offered by Mark Lee, a seventh year and the head boy, not to mention captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, and who was Donghyuck to reject a seemingly delicious pastry? 

He stares at the golden confection for a solid moment before looking back up at Mark. The head boy had a look on his face, a look Donghyuck knew well, a look of disapproval. Donghyuck thought Mark also looked nearways to soiling his pants (which is utterly hilarious for reasons he’ll think about more deeply later), and the frown on his face had only been getting deeper the longer Donghyuck left him hanging, standing before the rest of the sneering Slytherin table. Jaemin elbows him right in the ribs before he realizes he actually does have to respond instead of gaping like a fish out of water. What was the appropriate response to the head boy handing you a tart when he looks like he’s being held against his will to do so in the first place?

“Um. Right! Thanks, Mark. For the tart. I guess.” 

His words came out as clipped phrases, mostly out of confusion. 

There hadn’t exactly been much of an explanation provided from Mark. He had simply waltzed up to Donghyuck near the end of dinner with a slice of the tart and offered it to him, all with that uneasy look on his face. It was quite odd for Mark to be approaching the Slytherin table to begin with, much less Donghyuck directly if it isn’t for a sincere scolding. Though the most peculiar thing was, treacle tart hadn’t even been on the menu that night. There wasn’t a trace of it on any of the tables. 

Beside him, Renjun lets out a poorly restrained snort at Donghyuck’s bewildered reply and Jaemin gives the boy a hearty shove to the ribs as well. He had always been the more considerate one of the bunch.

“D’ya got one for me too, Mark?” Renjun inquires with a sickeningly sweet smile. Donghyuck nearly spits up his dinner at the sight of him. 

“Uh, erm, no. Sorry. I’ll see you in Transfiguration, Donghyuck,” Mark mutters right before he practically shoves the plate into Donghyuck’s hands and scurries away straight out of the Great Hall. 

“What the hell was that about?” Jaemin asks once the rest of the hall has resumed eating and pretending to mind their businesses, despite Donghyuck hearing his name pop up in one too many conversations from the direction of the Hufflepuff table.

“I… don’t know? Early birthday present?” Donghyuck gives as his half baked explanation. Donghyuck’s birthday was about seven months away.

The absurdity of it all doesn’t stop Donghyuck from digging right into the golden confection. Everything is going rather well. Treacle tart is one of Donghyuck’s favorites, and it’s the perfect decadently sweet ending to a hearty and savory dinner. His fork glides down, sinking into the pastry beautifully. Its aroma is sweet and buttery, making Donghyuck’s mouth water. Renjun and Jaemin look to him in anticipation, for they too enjoy treacle tart and are likely waiting for an opportunity to steal a bite. 

Donghyuck brings the fork to his mouth and his lips close in on the first bite. The texture is nice, the filling rich and thick, the pastry wonderfully flaky. He chews once, twice, and then the flavor hits. 

It’s so pungent, it could knock a man out cold. Bitterness sweeps over Donghyuck’s tongue, mingling with something sour, and then the taste of pure ocean salt. Donghyuck gags around the half chewed bite and then spits it out into the nearest napkin he can reach before grabbing a glass of water and downing it. 

Jaemin makes a confused noise and Renjun curiously reaches his own fork toward the tart. Donghyuck deflects it with his hand, to which Renjun protests loudly.

“Don’t. It’s absolutely foul,” Donghyuck wheezes, motioning Jaemin to help refill his water. Jaemin is laughing at him, but he still fills his glass. 

The tart tasted as if sugar had been replaced with salt and the bread had been comprised of the sourest sourdough a baker could find. But it looked rather spectacular, innocently harmless in presentation and texture. This had been a prank, and Donghyuck had been dumb enough to fall for it. He blames it on the delivery, how out of the ordinary the situation was that Mark Lee was sharing his favorite dessert with troublemaker Donghyuck. He was caught off guard, that’s all. And he would not be letting it happen again.

Renjun relents, setting his fork down on the table with a pout, but Donghyuck still catches him glancing longingly at the dessert as Jaemin rambles on about the cute fifth year he’s been tutoring in Charms. Donghyuck leaves the Great Hall first, fuming about Mark Lee’s tart. If he hears Renjun’s fork clang onto a plate just before the sounds of him retching into Jaemin’s lap, that’s none of his business.

The Quidditch pitch isn’t exactly Donghyuck’s favorite place on the grounds. There are not-so-fond memories here of being hit in the head by stray bludgers and his hair being positively ravished upon by zooming broomsticks. And not to mention the ungodly heights of the stands. It made him queasy just looking up at them, even more so than the treacle tart did.

Mark is here, of course. He’s whizzing about on his broomstick, yelling advice to rookies and directing his team through mind numbing drills. He’s in his element here, confident voice and strong demeanor a stark contrast to how fidgety and nervous he had looked in the dining hall.

“Hey, Lee!” Donghyuck yells from the ground. 

Anybody but Donghyuck would not have been heard over the commotion of the practice. Most if not all eyes are turned toward him and a bludger flies straight into the gut of a distracted fifth year, who groans and nearly falls off his broom.

Mark freezes from where he floats up against the clouds and Donghyuck scowls at him. For a boy who was capable of such a blatantly direct prank, he sure was clamming up rather badly. 

“Uh, keep on running drills,” Mark calls to his teammates who do just that, albeit a little quieter to try and listen in on the drama.

Mark descends slowly until he’s hovering just above the ground and right in front of Donghyuck.

“Hello, Donghyuck,” he greets hesitantly. “Did you… enjoy the tart?”

Donghyuck scoffs at him, eyes rolling in annoyance.

“That was a petty little trick you played, Mark. If this is about the time in Potions when I slipped a live lizard into your robes causing you to knock your cauldron over and spill Fungiface Potion all over Yerim so she fired a Slugulus Eructo at you that lasted nearly an hour, well I already paid the price for it by losing us fifty house points and sitting in detention with Professor Jung for a week.”

Mark looked hilariously puzzled, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Donghyuck could practically see his mind swimming with confusion through his eyes.

“What?”

“The treacle tart? The terribly awful treacle tart you hand delivered to me not thirty minutes ago? The one that just made Renjun throw up even after I warned him it was an abomination?”

Donghyuck expects Mark’s expression to turn a smug, he expects him to look pleased with himself with the knowledge that his little ploy was successful in disgusting the infamous troublemakers of the Slytherin house. Instead there is a flash of hurt in Mark’s eyes, and he deflates a little from his Quidditch captain confidence high. It’s Donghyuck’s turn to be confused, although he doesn’t let it show on his face like Mark.

“Awful? Horrid?” Mark questions softly. He takes a deep breath and builds himself back up again, now flush with anger and possibly embarrassment. “You know what, Donghyuck, just forget it!”

Mark rushes off on his broom, leaving a flustered Donghyuck behind in a cloud of sand. He stands there sputtering for a  moment before storming off himself.

Hate is a strong word. Which is why Mark would likely have no qualms about using it to explain how he feels about Donghyuck. After all, it was Donghyuck’s wand that had directed a Rictusempra at him in second year Charms class and caused him to fall over while laughing so hard he actually soiled himself, even if it was an accident and definitely meant to be casted on Renjun. Safe to say, the head boy never lived that one down despite his otherwise spotless reputation. Donghyuck can understand the disdain, especially because Mark became the easy target of every other prank he could think up after that.

Donghyuck is the type of boy who leaves a trail of destruction in his wake, and anyone who has the misfortune of being in his path is left in ruin too. Someone had told him as much when he was still small, still a growing wizard learning of his powers every day. 

Yoon Sanha was a chubby little half-blood boy with even chubbier cheeks than Donghyuck’s. He was the closest thing a trouble child like Donghyuck had to a friend. Their parents would have tea in the sitting room while the children played Exploding Snap in the backyard. Neither of the boys had wands yet, using their short little fingers to tap on cards. Donghyuck was rather skilled at Exploding Snap, whereas Sanha was slow. Eventually Sanha had grown tired of losing again and again. He suggested they play another game to pass the time, a muggle game called Hide and Go Seek. Donghyuck had been rather unfamiliar with the mechanics of it all, but agreed because his mother had been teaching him about hospitality. Sanha was a guest before anything else. 

Long story short, Donghyuck grew weary of stumbling around in a fruitless search of the other boy, so he simply gave up. It wasn’t until much, much later when Mrs Yoon was leaving that Donghyuck remembered their game. Sanha emerged from one of their kitchen cupboards red faced and paranoid, all while yelling all sorts of madness about how Donghyuck was a horrible little brat and that no one would ever love him because he was terrible. It was a wee bit dramatic for a six year old, but Donghyuck had never really heard such belittling from anybody before. It all stuck in his head, and it’s been stuck there ever since.

Still, Donghyuck isn’t one to disagree with any of it. If anything, he’s grown into the role. Pranks were first introduced to him through Liu Yangyang, his roommate since year one and his first friend made at Hogwarts. 

The first ride to Hogwarts on the Hogwarts Express is critical. It’s the make or break of one’s entire wizarding career—the foundation of their social climb. From the moment the rambunctious boy had burst into Donghyuck’s previously solitary compartment, he knew they were destined to be partners in crime. 

He had introduced himself in a frenzy of different languages before sitting down right beside Donghyuck and offering him a Fizzing Whizzbee, which he took gratefully. Together, they had floated about the compartment giggling. They were fast friends. After a short while of them chattering amongst themselves, another boy had hesitantly knocked on the door before sliding it open and peeking his head in. 

He introduces himself as Lee Jeno, muggle born. Yangyang doesn’t exactly hold a prejudice toward muggle born wizards himself, but his older brothers expect him to uphold family values. He elbowed Donghyuck a few times before holding up a bar of Shock-o-Choc, an infamously spicy confection. Donghyuck gaped for a split second before schooling his expression at Yangyang’s mischievous one.

“Hey, Jeno,” he said to catch the other boy’s attention. Yangyang broke off a square of chocolate and held it out to him. “Want some chocolate? It’s famous.”

Donghyuck tried his hardest to stifle the bubbling laughter rising from his stomach as Jeno took the chocolate and placed it into his mouth without a hint of suspicion. The boys watched as his face turned from pleasant to scandalized. Jeno’s jaw dropped open as he took deep breaths and fanned at his rapidly swelling tongue.

“Hot!” Jeno screamed, eyes looking toward Donghyuck and Yangyang in search of a reaction from them to receive nothing but them laughing at his peril. 

Offended, Jeno took his bags and stormed out of the compartment, tongue still swollen and the boys left still cackling in their seats.

It’s a miracle he and Yangyang were assigned roommates as well.

He runs into aforementioned boy on his way back to the dungeons. 

“You’re the talk of the town, Hyuckie,” Yangyang exclaims, slinging an arm around Donghyuck’s neck. 

“So you heard too?”

“My dear boy, the entirety of the school heard. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Slow down. Tell me what exactly you’ve heard.”

They swing a right to a stretch of stone wall, walk twenty paces down it and Yangyang utters a “Basilisk fang.” The stones slide away to reveal the narrow staircase leading into the Slytherin common room where Renjun and Jaemin are lounging about. 

“I heard you and the head boy had a bit of a blowout on the Quidditch pitch. And earlier in the Great Hall, some kind of… exchange? I got back to our table after Renjun hurled all over Jaemin’s lap. Didn’t wanna ask.”

“Well, you’re not too far off the mark. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t really know what happened on the pitch,” Donghyuck confesses, still feeling frustrated over the entire exchange. “I confronted him about this prank he pulled on me at dinner and he looked at me like I had just cursed his grandmother, or something, like I was in the wrong.”

Yangyang snorts in disbelief. “A prank? Head boy Mark Lee pulled a prank on you? That’s not very… Mark of him.” 

“Don’t believe me? Ask Renjun,” Donghyuck says, collapsing on a cushy armchair as Yangyang stands behind where Renjun is seated to ruffle his hair. Renjun swats at his hands.

“Mark is trying to poison me with treacle tarts!” Renjun pronounces boldly. Yangyang laughs at him.

“I would sooner believe that Mark was in love with Donghyuck,” Yangyang jests. 

“Don’t be utterly ridiculous!” Donghyuck retorts with a scoff. He chucks a throw pillow towards Yangyang who giggles as he avoids it, running off to their shared room.

“Is it really that ridiculous?” Jaemin voices from the corner where he’s laying sideways in a velvet armchair, tossing and catching a hackysack over and over again.

“Yangyang would really rather believe that head boy Mark Lee has a stupid schoolgirl crush on you?” Renjun questions, the words head boy leaving his lips like a curse. 

Donghyuck grimaces at the implication. “Of course not! He’s an idiot.”

“Actually, he said Mark was in love with Donghyuck,” Jaemin corrects.

“Do you hear yourself? Have you gone completely mad?” Donghyuck challenges.

“That’s just how I see it, no need to get so worked up about it. I mean, why else would he be making your favorite pastry and sharing with you? Even if it was—for lack of a better word—horrid,” Jaemin says with a shiver, recollecting his indirect experience with the pastry in question.

“He’s just… I don’t know. Getting back at me for all these years of tormenting him and the entirety of the Hufflepuff house.”

“Taking time out of his busy schedule to make you a shitty treacle tart? I didn’t know the head boy to be so petty,” Jaemin laughs. 

“Maybe he’s been saving it all for his last year. Y’know, all that pent up frustration, that hatred towards Hyuck building up like a flood dam. He’s watching you slowly be poisoned by his toxic treat!” Renjun narrates before breaking out into a fit of laughter himself. Donghyuck chucks another pillow at his head to shut him up. It was certainly enlightening to know that Jaemin seemed to think Mark was infatuated with him while Renjun still believed Mark hated his guts. Although, one of those realities is evidently more likely than the other. 

“I hate to admit it, but your guess is probably the best one of anybody else’s. I was talking to Yerim and she figured Mark must have chosen me to be his test guinea pig on his tart because I would be the most honest about my review of it,” Donghyuck confesses. 

Jaemin laughs again, a sharp and boisterous sound.

“If that were really true, he would have gone directly to Renjun.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Renjun asks with a sour expression. “That tart made me vomit. On you, might I add.”

“I didn’t forget. I just meant you don’t know how to sugarcoat things—hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s not even a bad thing!”

There’s a bit of bickering that goes on between his two friends, which is just the right time for Donghyuck to tune out of the conversation and head to his room. Yangyang is already fast asleep in his bed, snoring away and mumbling lowly about pickling slugs. 

Renjun had certainly planted a seed of an idea into Donghyuck’s head. Mark Lee was by no means a miserly fighter, but he does hold a certain amount of pride which makes him dangerous to an equally if not more prideful boy as Donghyuck. That much is clear from how he holds himself, how he struts down the halls calling any and all students out on any miniscule rules they may be breaking. Donghyuck has been on the receiving end of this more often than not, losing a total of 70 house points in one week once.

Mark likes to play fair. Which is why the treacle tart prank hadn’t made any sense to him, the blow up at the pitch even less. But Renjun had a point. Perhaps Mark was through with Donghyuck’s shenanigans. Perhaps he was weary of his very presence and indeed trying to get rid of him. Donghyuck would not be going down without a fight.

Donghyuck falls asleep to the satisfying thought of Mark suffering.

Breakfast is by far the best part of Donghyuck’s mornings, only because every other aspect of the morning is so blatantly terrible in comparison. 

Donghyuck wakes up groggy and to the incessant croaking of Yangyang’s toad, affectionately named Flubber. He pats the amphibian on the head to cease it’s calls, like one would an alarm clock. 

Yangyang himself is nowhere to be seen in the room, probably off to the Ravenclaw dormitory to walk Dejun to the Great Hall, the reason he had tucked in so early in the first place. It was quite obvious that the Slytherin boy was pining over him, but even if Dejun is a witty Ravenclaw, he is frustratingly oblivious to Yangyang’s pursuit of him. 

Donghyuck showers and dresses before dragging himself to the Great Hall. He passes Yangyang, who’s talking rather animatedly to Dejun at the Ravenclaw table around a mouthful of cornflakes. It’s kind of endearing. When he takes his usual spot, Renjun and Jaemin are already there. 

“I have a plan,” is what he says in place of a greeting. Renjun barely looks up from his plate of eggs and sausage. Jaemin has the decency to look interested.

“For? Passing your N.E.W.Ts?” Jaemin inquires mockingly.

“As if. I mean a plan to get back at Mark Lee!”

It’s a good plan, despite it being a little half-baked—a culmination of last night’s hate-fueled dreams and today’s grumpy morning thoughts. 

In theory, it’s simple. There’s a Quidditch match coming up this weekend, Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, which means Mark the chaser and team captain would be there before the judgeful eye of the entire student body, the most opportune time for Donghyuck to enact his revenge. He’s had a handful of Quidditch related jinxes up his sleeve for a while now, courtesy of a long graduated Slytherin who coincidentally also hated a Quidditch captain and also helped in teaching he and Yangyang everything they knew about ruining somebody’s day. 

He retells this all to his friends who shrug at him, too used to his antics to really care anymore. Though Renjun is just slightly more enthused than Jaemin.

“Chittaphon really taught you how to do that?” he asks for reaffirmation.

Donghyuck smiles smugly. 

“Of course he did. I was his favorite, you know.” 

Renjun ignores his arrogance, knowing if he were to play along it would only get worse. 

“So, would you teach me?” he urges with a hopeful expression.

“Only if you’d use it as part of my master plan.”

Renjun just scoffs and goes back to his breakfast, clearly not interested in indulging Donghyuck’s ego even a little. Jaemin has already began talking about his Charms tutee for the millionth time.

His plan is solid, he’s sure, even if his friends are mildly disinterested and unwilling to put their efforts in. So much for loyalty. 

Donghyuck runs over it in his head as he attempts to drown out Jaemin’s chattering and shove at least three buttered rolls in his mouth before breakfast ends at the same time.

Transfiguration is awkward to say the least. Where Mark would usually be stealing odd looks at him from the front of the room (which in itself, regardless of how he looks, is already quite strange from how Donghyuck sits in the back and Mark is forced to turn his entire body around in the most obvious way possible), he completely ignores his presence, even when Donghyuck tries to greet him first with a snarky, “Morning, duffer.”

Donghyuck would accept a glare, or maybe a grimace. Mark doesn’t even react, walking past him with even less care he would a moving portrait.

The lesson drags on slower than normal, Donghyuck staring holes into the back of the Hufflepuff’s head until the bell. 

“Mark!” he calls over the sea of students making their way to their next lesson, the boy in question only fifteen paces away from him, but about forty students. Donghyuck isn’t sure what compels him to seek Mark out, perhaps it's withdrawl from not seeing his usual vexed expression yet that morning. He sees the head boy hesitate before pushing through the crowd and racing off.

The sight of Mark running away from him should feel gratifying, like he’s already won, but it leaves him feeling rather empty. He’s finally come out on top, so why did he feel like the butt of the joke?

This feeling of defeat follows Donghyuck through the rest of the week, right up until Saturday the day of the big match where he would unleash his masterplan. 

He arrives at the pitch bright and early with an agenda. The Hufflepuff team is zipping about, practice in full gear in preparation for the match to come.

Mark has switched on his captain mode, shouting plays and commands Donghyuck can’t even begin to decipher. He’s definitely in his element, wind whipping through his black hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion and the cool autumn air. Despite the temperature and the big match looming over his head as the captain, he looks happy, a wide smile on his face when he sees a play executed well or a teammate trying their hardest even at a team practice. It’s a stark difference to how he’s ever looked at Donghyuck, especially since the tart incident.

Donghyuck nearly lets himself be distracted by Mark’s reliable demeanor, but he remembers the task he had set out to complete, the reason he had woken up so early on a weekend to drag his sleepy self outside and to the dreaded Quidditch pitch for to begin with.

In spite of his distaste for the sport, Donghyuck does know one or two things about Quidditch. He knows there are plays and strategies. He knows every player has a style. He does not know Mark Lee’s style of playing, which is why he’s sitting in the stands, alone and shivering despite the double layer of robes he was wearing. He had stolen Yangyang’s in hopes that more fabric would help in concealing his identity. Donghyuck wouldn’t be caught dead at a Quidditch match, much less a practice for a house that he doesn’t even belong to. He pulls the hood up tighter around his head and hones in on Mark again, this time paying close attention to the mechanics of his broom. 

Once he’s had enough of the frigid air biting at his nose and the dreadful panic he feels when a bludger gets a little too close, he slips away back into the castle. 

Donghyuck takes his time walking through the corridor and fine tuning his plan in his head, dragging his feet knowing he now had to wait for the actual match to begin in the afternoon to do anything. There’s a rush of footsteps that come closer and closer until they’re right up behind him, and they stop. 

Donghyuck pauses and turns around to investigate. To his surprise Mark Lee is there, hands on his knees as he gulps down oxygen like he had just ran a marathon. 

“Donghyuck,” he says after he’s gotten his barings back. His eyes are swimming with unsaid words, but Donghyuck can’t read any of it. Even though Mark is the type of boy to wear his heart on his sleeve, he’s unexpectedly guarded, at least to Donghyuck. 

“You were at practice.”

It’s a statement, not a question or an accusation. Just plain, true and now out in the open. So much for Yangyang’s robes. 

“And what about it?” Donghyuck asks crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Mark doesn’t say anything for a while, just frowns at him in the most frustrating way. Practice is far from over, Donghyuck knows as much, and yet Mark is standing here staring at him instead of running through drills and loosening his muscles for the game. Maybe it was some kind of Gryffindor-esque gloating, like he didn’t even have to worry about practice in order to win, like he was making a big show out of it. But Mark isn’t as prideful or reckless as a Gryffindor, no. He’s a Hufflepuff and he’s kind to a fault, even kind enough to notice when Donghyuck is acting out of sorts, kind enough to check up on him oblivious to the fact that he was plotting Mark’s demise. As much as it made Donghyuck giddy with sadistic excitement, it make him feel kind of bad. 

“How come?”

Donghyuck almost feels worse for lying, but he can’t just tell Mark that he’s been observing him to ruin his Quidditch match later. 

“Just… wanted to wish you good luck?” he tries alongside an unconvincing attempt at a dismissive chuckle. If possible, Mark’s frown deepens.

“Huh?”

“Is it that crazy to believe in me being good natured towards you before a big event?”

“Yes?”

“Fair enough.”

“Just tell me what’s up, Donghyuck.”

“Nothing!” he exclaims defensively. “Listen, you should get back to practice. Good luck at the game later. Really.”

And Donghyuck speedwalks down the corridor straight to the dungeons. He throws off Yangyang’s robes and burrows himself in his sheets. He sets an alarm for when the match starts and takes a nap.

When he wakes up, it’s to the fleeting memories of a dream. It’s so far out of his grasp, he doesn’t even bother reaching for it. All he knows is that it leaves him feeling unsettled.

He makes his way down to the Quidditch pitch for the second time that day, blending into the hoards of students also making their way there. The match has already began. The Slytherin section is full, but unenthused. Most were sneakily placing bets on which house they thought would win. Had it been their own house competing, there would be a lot more smack talk. 

Donghyuck shuffles past a group of students playing an intense game of Exploding Snap on the stands and spots Jaemin.

“Donghyuck?” Jaemin exclaims in surprise from seeing him at a sporting event that isn’t for Slytherin. Usually, he would be cooped up in his room trying and failing to study. It’s hard to hear him over the cacophony of whooping and cheering of the other houses, but Donghyuck can sense the astonishment loud and clear.

“Why are you so shocked to see me? I already told you my grand plan on Tuesday!”

“Admittedly, I was not paying attention. Just as you don’t to me,” Jaemin explains haughtily. 

“Jaemin, I don’t know how to tell you this, but even if I did care for your love life, I hate talking about fifth years.”

Donghyuck takes a seat next to his friend to which he is immediately shoved over. 

“I don’t care much for yours either! And I’ll have you know the fifth year isn’t involved in mine,” Jaemin huffs. 

“Really?” Donghyuck asks befuddled. From the way he would drone on and on about how adorable the kid was, one would think so. 

Jaemin turns back towards the match and sighs. “He likes some other kid in his year, some Gryffindor.” 

Donghyuck grimaces at the word then his expression softens, feeling pity for Jaemin.

“That is utter rubbish,” he tells him with a light pat on the back. “You’re much better than any conceited Gryffindor. You know what would cheer you up, though? Give you a good chuckle? Helping me prank the head boy.” 

Jaemin laughs and finally relents.

“Fine. I’ll help you. But only because it’s the first Quidditch game you’ve come to since year two. And you owe me a butterbeer.”

Jaemin doesn’t always show it, but he’s sharp, possibly as much so as Renjun. He grins devilishly once Donghyuck lays out his plan for him. 

The addition of Jaemin would make things a lot less obvious for Donghyuck. They would wait until the players are slightly more worn out to enact their scheme in hopes that it would make it even slightly less obvious. Jaemin would be taking control of one of the chaser’s brooms to act as a diversion, while Donghyuck takes control of Mark’s to sway it just enough that he flips upside down and makes a fool of himself, maybe even fumble the Quaffle while he’s at it.

In the meanwhile, they snack on Jaemin’s chocolate frogs and watch apathetically as the teams zip around one another. The Ravenclaw captain calls a time-out after they score a point and Jaemin nudges him with a knowing expression.

As soon as the match is back, Jaemin takes out his wand and raises it just enough to aim but not call attention to himself. He picks a random witch from Ravenclaw, eyes locking onto her zipping about and Donghyuck does the same, pointing it right at Mark. Jaemin goes first, subtly swaying the witch’s broom in odd directions. Then he starts getting a little more fancy, swirling her around in a loop-the-loop and whizzing her around the entire diameter of the pitch and people around are appalled, some even standing up to inspect the rogue chaser. The time was now.

Donghyuck hones in on Mark who has also noticed the strange broom behavior. He looks so earnest flying about, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and confusion all at once. He’s sweaty and focused and determined and in that moment, Donghyuck falters.

“W-wait,” he calls to Jaemin, who turns his head to look at him in shock. His wand still sways around, controlling the poor witch like a puppet on a string.

“What?” Jaemin questions. He must make a rather large motion too because the spectators all gasp.

“I can’t,” Donghyuck confesses panickedly. 

“Why? Wasn’t this your pl—” Jaemin is interrupted by yet another collective gasp, this time it’s even bigger and when Donghyuck finally turns his attention back to the game, the witch Jaemin had been manipulating is floating in the air next to an empty broom, one of her arms reaching down toward the ground. Donghyuck knows that broom. He had been watching it closely just this morning. 

Donghyuck follows everyone else’s gaze down to the ground and to his horror, Mark’s unconscious body is laying there.

“Aw shit,” Jaemin swears.

The entire student body watches their head boy get whisked away on a gurney.

“He’s okay, right?” Donghyuck asks Madam Pomfrey for the seventh time within the hour. He and Jaemin had been found out from the students behind them in the stands overhearing the plan and snitching on them the moment it all turned south. They both received firm reprimandings and lost 50 house points each, along with earning two essays on the dangers of broom manipulation and pranks versus murder attempts. Once that was all hashed out to them, Jaemin’s first stop was the library to get started on his essays while Donghyuck’s was the hospital wing.

It’s not the first time Donghyuck has ever seen Mark Lee looking pitiful, it’s just one of the first times that he himself has ever felt pity for him. 

Mark looks small, sinking into the cot adorned with his casts and the bruises on his face. Mark looks up at him in shock, which fades into something neutral and guarded. Donghyuck probably wasn’t on the top of Mark’s wanted visitors list.

“Don’t look at me like that, Donghyuck,” Mark says after a while of Donghyuck staring.

“Like what?” Donghyuck huffs before sitting down beside him.

“Like you’re feeling sorry for me. It feels… wrong.”

“Aren’t I allowed to feel sorry for you? Cause I do.”

“Then why did you do it in the first place?” Mark asks, no longer looking small and instead looking disappointed. Donghyuck feels trapped, a mouse cornered in a cage.

“I stopped. At the end, I stopped, but it was too late. And now I’m… here.”

“And you’re sorry?”

“I really am.”

Mark gives a resigned sigh and closes his eyes for a brief moment before snapping them open and peering through to Donghyuck’s soul through his eyes.

“It’s okay.”

“What?”

“It’s okay,” Mark repeats with a barely-there smile.

“No it’s not. Look at you. It’s not okay, Mark. You don’t have to pretend like it is. I’m sorry.”

“Listen, Renjun came in earlier to wish me well… Just before he told me I had it coming from how disgusting my treacle tart was. But in my defence, I did taste it beforehand and it really wasn’t that bad.”

“But Mark… You don’t deserve a broken leg and dislocated shoulder just because you can’t bake.”

“And yet here we are,” Mark says shrugging, then immediately wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

“I’m being honest, Donghyuck. I’m not angry at you. I accept your apology.”

Donghyuck looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“But your injuries. You won’t be able to play anymore. And what about your classes?” Donghyuck mutters, eyes raking over Mark’s battered body and feeling tears well up in the back of his eyes.

“Donghyuck,” Mark says sternly, forcing Donghyuck to look at him and really listen. “It’s okay. Pomfrey said my blood pressure was running kind of high. This will be… a good break for me.”

Donghyuck elects to believe his words, allowing himself to feel a bit of relief that Mark doesn’t completely resent him. As he had been walking to the infirmary, that dreadful feeling had come back from Transfiguration when Mark had first ignored him like he was nothing but a stain on the wall. 

“But if you really, really want to make it up to me,” Mark starts, still sensing the turmoil swirling around in Donghyuck’s stomach like a hurricane.

“Yes? Anything,” Donghyuck urges.

“You could make me some chicken noodle soup.”

Donghyuck has never been in the kitchens before, but Jaemin sneaks down there to cook yummy somethings often enough that Donghyuck feels as if he has. The door is a heavy metal one that creaks obnoxiously when he pulls it open. Unlike the cold and unwelcoming door, the inside of the kitchen is rather warm, temperature wise and from how the fire at the far end of the room illuminates everything else. There are four long tables just like the Great Hall and house-elves along the perimeters of each, all hard at work in preparing and cooking food for the next day. 

“Who are you?” one of the elves asks as he approaches one of the workstations.

“The name’s Lee Donghyuck, sixth year,” he introduces, offering a hand to the elf who takes it gladly. “I hope it’s alright that I’m here, you see my friend is bedridden and wants nothing more than to eat a home cooked meal.”

“As long as you clean up after yourself, you’re more than welcome to use whatever you’d like.”

Donghyuck sets to work immediately, collecting an armful of ingredients from an icebox bigger than he is. The elves around him are all preparing ingredients with magic, chopping and dicing with a snap of the fingers. Donghyuck has always been rather inept when it came to food related charms. He picks up a chef’s knife and takes a deep breath before starting.

The recipe he knows by heart even if he’s never cooked it himself, he’s seen his grandmother make it enough that he could follow along asleep. The only problem is his skill level.

His cuts are all uneven, and each vegetable manages to slip from his grasp mid slice a dangerous amount. He belatedly wonders if there were any potions that could help him grow an entire finger back.

“Stupid Mark,” he mutters under his breath as he accidentally drops an onion on the ground. “Why couldn’t you have wanted something that makes sense. Like a package of instant ramen.”

“Mark?” a house elf chimes in from across him. The elf’s voice is low and gravelly, almost grating to listen to. 

“Yes, Mark Lee, head boy. Do you know him?” Donghyuck asks as he looks back at his pile of roughly chopped aromatic vegetables. 

“Oh yes, all of us do. Good boy. Came down to practice.”

“Practice?” Donghyuck emphasizes. “Practice what?”

“Cooking. Every night for a fortnight. Same dish.”

“What dish? Why?”

“Treacle tart. Says he was getting ready to confess. To a Slytherin boy.”

Donghyuck slices into a particularly hard carrot and almost cuts his finger. 

“Confess what?” he asks wearily, adjusting his grip.

“His feelings.”

“Dear elf, you must be mistaken. Mark harbors no feelings towards any Slytherin boys. Nothing but detestment.”

The elf pauses his own vegetable chopping to frown at him.

“Ginger is sure. He has heard Mark himself many times. He does not stop rambling about this underclassman of his. He says they even share the same surname.”

Donghyuck lets the knife fall from his hands onto the cutting board.

“Mark is a strange boy. He complains heavily about this boy. But his eyes when he is baking the tart, they are filled with fondness. That is the secret ingredient to all dishes. Love,” the elf continues and Donghyuck can only stare blankly at him. He couldn’t believe his own ears.

“Stop. Hold on just a moment,” Donghyuck says as holds up his hand for dramatic effect. “You mean to tell me Mark Lee came down here and practiced tart making for an entire two weeks to give to m—someone—as a declaration of love.”

“Is that not what Ginger said?”

“So… What became of this? Did he succeed? Did he tell you all?”

“Came down the night after it happened. Came down to taste his tart. Said it was awful. Left right after, sullen. But Ginger knows. Another boy, he cast a spell on it. Couldn’t tell Mark before he left.”

The story baffles Donghyuck even more than finding out Mark had a cr—never mind. He would have to get back to that later.

“A boy? Cast a spell on it? Do you know who?”

“Yes. I saw him. I know the boy. He comes down often.” The house elf talks lethargically, croaky words dripping from his mouth so slow Donghyuck begins to feel frustrated.

“And the color of his robes?” 

“He’s in Hufflepuff as well, I’m sure.”

“His name, do you know that?” Donghyuck urges, eyes bulging out of their sockets as he tries his hardest to express his urgency.

“Tall boy, freakishly baby looking face… Surname Yoon.”

Donghyuck scowls at the name. Of course.

He thanks the elf for the information and asks him to dispose of his vegetables which are more scraps than edible and swipes a few treats on his way back to the dungeons to give to Yangyang before slipping right into his sheets and thinking. He needed to go to bed, Mark’s soup be damned. Perhaps all the new information was making him crazy, possibly even reckless, he didn’t know for sure. What he did know was that the sooner the morning came, the sooner he could confront the culprit and this could all be over and done with. And he has a hunch on where they’ll be.

He gets up at the bright and early hour of 11 and rushes right to the library. Renjun, who was in the common room, went into hysterics when Donghyuck told him where he was headed and told him he sounded crazy. Way to confirm his descent into madness. Donghyuck decisibly ignored the jab at his academic career and kept on his merry way.

The library is desolate on the weekends, only the usual Ravenclaws occupying any of the tables. Though, sometimes there were the oddballers who came to finish essays and scour for a good read. Just as he had suspected, Sanha is there in a far corner table furiously scrawling on some parchment.

“Is it true?” Donghyuck asks as he approaches him, making the Hufflepuff jump in his seat.

Sanha frowns at him in favor of responding. Donghyuck takes that and runs with it.

“So, it is?”

“What are you going on about, Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck stalks around the desk and slides into the chair beside the other boy. He stares him down, but Sanha doesn’t budge, obviously peeved about being interrupted when he was on a roll.

“I’m talking about you sabotaging Mark Lee and his endeavors in the kitchens two weeks ago,” he finally says once he realizes Sanha doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about.

There’s a fleeting flash of recognition that appears in Sanha’s eyes, lasting only for a brief split second, but it’s more than enough for Donghyuck to work off of.

“Ah ha! So you are the one behind it!” he exclaims, almost bursting out of his seat from the joy of unraveling his own mystery.

He settles himself down once he hears a harsh shushing from the librarian.

“What is your problem, Yoon Sanha?” Donghyuck resumes in an aggressive whisper.

“My problem? You’re joking, right?” Sanha demands, frowning at Donghyuck. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Donghyuck gives him a blank look.

“Donghyuck, just last month you somehow charmed my cat to fall in love with Yangyang’s stupid toad.”

“It wasn’t personal!”

“So what about the time you found out I had a crush on Minhyuk so you tripped me into him while he was holding a vial of Jawbind and I had to walk around catching flies in my mouth for five hours? I couldn’t even eat dinner that day! It was my favorite...”

“Purely coincidental. I have no beef with you, Sanha. Even if you did get me in trouble with my mom when we were six years old and I’ve never forgotten the mean things you said to me that day, even if you had a right to be angry at me because I had you sitting in a kitchen cupboard for several hours. I swear it’s not because of that!”

Sanha puts his head in his arms and screams, garnering another aggressive shushing. 

“Alright. So what if I did cast a little Putridum on Mark’s tart? You don’t deserve happiness, Lee Donghyuck! I don’t know how you did it, but you don’t deserve a nice boy like Mark crushing on you! I was just doing him a favor.”

Donghyuck grumbles a little at that because he can’t exactly deny that everything Sanha was saying was completely true.

“Whatever. Have fun with your stupid essay,” Donghyuck mutters as he stands up and walks out of the library.

He had finally cracked the code. He’s figured out the rise and downfall of the treacle tart, and even indirectly confronted his childhood trauma. Now he has time to sit down and really think about the situation at hand. Mark likes him. Mark? Likes him? Mark Lee who is a nice boy who abides by rules and hates his troublemaker antics and is currently hospitalized from one of Donghyuck’s stupid pranks has a crush on him. Maybe he should listen to Yangyang more.

It’s unnatural. It goes against the rules of the universe. Donghyuck had always thought Mark would settle down with a nice witch who reminded him of his mother and took care of him just as good too. Donghyuck can’t take care of Mark—he can barely take care of his owl. He can’t even make a proper chicken noodle soup. But maybe he was going about this wrong. Maybe Mark didn’t need to be taken care of. Maybe Mark is a responsible boy with his head screwed on right. Mark is always one step ahead of the rest, but always humble about it, reaching back to try and pull others up to where he is. Mark is endlessly giving and forgiving, choosing to look past a person’s past to help their present. And Donghyuck is no exception in any of this. He definitely takes Mark’s kindness for granted.

He rushes back to the kitchens and, as kindly as he can, asks for chopping tips from a few of the house elves. It’s not anything compared to the entire two weeks Mark had spent baking and perfecting the same dish over and over again, but he’s sincere about it. And the elves are a big help too.

It’s lunch when the elves finally have to kick Donghyuck out of the kitchens to actually focus on doing their jobs, only convincing him that his food is fine once each and every one has tried it and given their honest opinions. So he stalks back up to the hospital wing, the food in his hand as he creeps past empty cots to where Mark is.

“Donghyuck,” Mark greets as soon as he sees him peeking at him from behind the curtain. He immediately sits up from where he was slouching and reading from a textbook. 

“Hi,” Donghyuck replies awkwardly. He takes a deep breath before holding out the plate towards the Hufflepuff. “This is for you.”

“Uh?”

“Wow, this is really a lot harder than it seems. No wonder you messed it up,” Donghyuck says through an exhale.

“Is that a—”

“Treacle tart. Yeah.”

Donghyuck pulls up a chair next to Mark and sits down before placing the tart into the boy’s lap. Mark looks at the dessert for a long while before looking back up at Donghyuck panickedly.

“Does this mean—”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Aw crap,” Mark groans, dropping his book and turning cherry red. “You’re making fun of me now, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Donghyuck exclaims. “Mark, I made this. For you.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks cautiously.

“Are you really going to make me say it? When you couldn’t even say it?” Donghyuck complains. He puts his face into his palms and inhales deeply once again.

“Mark, I like you,” he confesses into his hands.

Mark makes a confused noise and reaches out to pry Donghyuck’s hands away from his face.

“What? Say it again. I couldn’t hear you properly”

“No!”

“That’s so unfair, Donghyuck. Please?”

“I can’t,” Donghyuck cries, his own face blooming red.

“But Donghyuck, I like you too.”

Looking up to match Mark’s gaze is a complete and utter mistake because Mark’s eyes have always been huge and kind of adorable in that baby animal sort of way, but now they’re looking at him with so much adoration and vulnerability, Donghyuck suddenly finds it hard to breathe. He gulps.

“Okay. Arghh! Can we not talk about this? I think I’ll implode and I would rather not make Madam Pomfrey scrape me off the walls and rescontruct me. Can you just shut up and eat the tart already, I spent like three hours on it just now.”

Mark laughs at him and it sounds boyish and absolutely giddy. He releases the grip around Donghyuck’s wrists and puts his attention back on the pastry.

The fork glides down smoothly. Everything is going well so far. Donghyuck watches closely as Mark’s lips close down on the bite and he chews, once, twice, before swallowing.

Mark doesn’t say anything for an entire minute, just sits there contemplating and hesitating.

“Well? Get on with it!”

Mark’s face colors again and Donghyuck starts feeling uneasy.

“To be honest,” Mark starts. “It’s really terrible.”