Work Text:
July 7
His story begins with a letter: To Sawamura Eijun, resident of the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He thinks it’s a prank at first --- the contents in the letter are absurd, ranging from acceptance to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to a shopping list of items such as cauldrons, wands, and robes. It’s ridiculous, so he throws it away, of course, until his grandfather comes bursting into his room, spluttering out something about “magic” and “Professor Takashima Rei is here to see you.”
Eijun scoffs, but runs down to the living room anyway. He's not sure what he expects - perhaps an old man with a long beard cloaked in robes (after all, wasn't that how the famous Merlin dressed?), but certainly not the prim and fastidious woman that sits at the dining room table, clothes of the regular sort, as if she were just an everyday white-collared employee: navy blue suit paired with modest black heels and tight-fitting skirt. If anything, Eijun almost feels disappointed by the sight.
Adjusting her glasses, she smiles and says "Sawamura Eijun, I presume. I do believe you got your Hogwarts letter?"
Eijun stares blankly at the woman. "Uh....yes? Oh, yeah, I'm Sawamura Eijun! It’s nice to meet you, Professor Takashima. I-I might've...thrown the letter away?" He laughs sheepishly. "Because this must be a joke, right? Magic doesn't really exist! I bet my friends put you up to this." His tone is dismissive and light, and he waits for the woman to burst out laughing along with him.
Instead, the professor frowns before pulling a stick - a wand? - out of her pocket. Murmuring an incantation, she taps it gently against the teacup that had been served to her earlier.
Eijun furrows his brows in confusion (after all, what could a stick be any good in a situation like this?) until the teacup slowly transforms into a rat. His mouth gapes open, and he's stunned silent. The rat scampers along the table for a few minutes, until the witch taps her wand against it once more, reverting the spell.
Professor Takashima looks at him expectantly, but nothing comes out from the boy. It takes several minutes before he finds himself able to fully function once again.
"W-Whoa. Did you see that? I-I...” Eijun scrunches his nose in confusion. “There’s no way that just happened.”
“What you saw indeed did just happen. And if you had deigned to read the contents of the letter carefully, you would know that I am here today to assist you with your shopping in Diagon Alley, Mr. Sawamura.” Her words are beginning to tinge with impatience --- Rei understood disbelief, but was beginning to doubt whether the boy had read the contents of the letter at all.
“Oh. Okay. Sure.” The eleven year old, never one for persisting a matter unless it happened to be about baseball or manga, has his eyes still fixated upon the teacup. Rei sighs, a hand reaching up to adjust her glasses. She couldn’t remember why she had volunteered for the Headmaster to introduce Muggleborns into the wizarding world. The job was normally casted onto the Todoroki Raizou, whose boisterous, if not crass personality was far more effective in dealing with eleven year olds in general.
She pulls out her pocket watch, noting the time; it’s 10:15 in the morning, which left them a little under 4 hours to finish shopping for uniforms, books, and equipments. Then, it was onto the next Muggleborn child --- who she sincerely hoped had read the letter unlike the child she was dealing with at the current moment.
“How are we going to get there?” Golden eyes stare up at her, wide-eyed and curious.
Rei sighs. She really wasn’t cut out for handling children. She offers an arm out. “Hold it tightly, unless you want to lose a limb.” Strict brown eyes peer out from the thin frames of her glasses. Eijun nods emphatically, and grips her arm with tight, tight fingers.
Closing her eyes, she envisions the pub that doubles as an entrance to the wizarding shopping area. She wrinkles her nose. Leaky Cauldron, one of the most popular pubs both the London area for both Muggles and Wizards, had never appealed to her.
She hopes that a Side-Along Apparition wouldn’t be enough to scare a child.
♚
Eijun finds that magic is everything he expected and more. It comes as a bit of a shock at first: first at Diagon Alley, where he’s greeted by moving bricks and yelling speakerphones advertising various items, and when he's told by Professor Takashima to run towards the column that lies in Platform 9 of King’s Cross. "No," he says adamantly when prompted by the teacher, "I'm dumb, but not that dumb."
He glares at the witch, arms crossed and mouth set in a pout. The sight of the pair sticks out sorely within the crowd: a young child cloaked in robes and a woman in navy blue dress pursing her lips in slight annoyance. Together, they create a tableau, standing still in a place where time is never enough.
“Really, Sawamura. It won’t hurt to give it a try.” Takashima gives a curt smile, but her eyes narrow slightly. She glances down at her wristwatch, noting each tic that brings the hands closer to eleven. “Might I remind you: this is the only transportation to Hogwarts. If you miss it, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
Eijun gives a heavy sigh, before taking a couple of deep breaths. His fists are clenched so tightly on the handlebars of the cart that his veins are starting to become visible.
Hesitation still bites at him. “You promise?” A lithely raised eyebrow from Takashima quickly shuts him up. “Okay, okay.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his body forward to create momentum. Here goes nothing, Eijun thinks to himself. He breaks out into a run, a contrast from the fast-walking people around him.
He braces himself for impact, already mentally preparing himself for the incoming pain.
But there is none.
Instead, his ears are filled with the chattering of voices, the squeaks and caws of animals: cats, mouse, owls, toads. The brunet opens his eyes hesitantly, Even more was the amount of people there were on the platform. What was is that Professor Takashima had told him?
Ah, right. “A small community, not too many wizards left around."
Of course.
He makes his way towards the train, more often bumping into others than not. He offers a few quick shouts of “Sorry, coming through!” and “I’m so sorry!”, and quickly makes his way inside the train and into a compartment after unloading his luggages. His late arrival into the platform guarantees the absence of empty compartments, so Eijun shuffles around until he finds one seated by kids who seem to be around his age.
He gives a hard knock against the glass window of the mahogany door, before pushing it open. Two heads swivel up to look at him: one, dark-haired with tired eyes; the other, a shock of bright, pink hair. “Hi!” Eijun waves, “Mind if I sit here?”
The raven boy eyes Eijun for a brief moment, before giving a noncommittal shrug and resting his head back against the window, the movement of the train lulling him back to sleep in a heartbeat.
The smaller boy gives Eijun a timid smile, and waves a hand to invite him in. “Sorry about him, he’s not much of a talker. I’m Kominato Haruichi, and the polar bear over there is Furuya Satoru. We’re both first years, here.”
Eijun laughs, and settles into the plush seat across from the boy. “I’m Sawamura Eijun! Nice to meet you, Harucchi; I’m a first year as well!” Haruichi stutters, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. “H-harucchi?”
“Yeah! We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Eijun flashes the tiny boy a grin.
“O-oh. I suppose so.” If it was possible, Eijun would have sworn that the boy’s cheeks flushed even brighter, almost matching the colour of his hair. He watches as the boy curls back into his seat, eyes returning to the thick book in his hands, fingers thumbing the pages one by one.
Eijun squints at the name: A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. The name seems vaguely familiar --- there must have been a place where he came across the book. He frowns, and leans his head against wall of the compartment. He opens his mouth to ask, but then decides that it was probably better if he didn’t. Neither boy looked particularly keen to talk at the moment.
Sighing, he shifts his body into a comfortable position and closes his eyes.
The train ride would take a total of eight hours and fifteen minutes.
He was sure they’d find some other time to talk.
♚
He watches as his newfound friends are called to the podium, one by one. It’s a slow process, each eleven year old stumbling their way to the front in front of hundreds of older kids. And although Eijun doesn’t get nervous easily, he finds that this current situation seemed more daunting than he had originally imagined.
“Sawamura Eijun!”
By the time he’s called, the crowd had diminished substantially --- only a few students were left: a tiny boy with a scar lining his cheek, another one with long, lanky legs, a couple more with indistinguishable features.
He takes a deep breath, before making his way to the dilapidated hat. It looks so battered that he’s reluctant to put it on his head in fear of it suddenly falling apart into pieces. Nevertheless, a swift glance up at the professors seated at the Head Table is enough to scare him, so he quickly tugs the hat on and sits on the stool.
He takes a few deep breaths, expecting for the hat to promptly announce the house that would determine the rest of his years spent at Hogwarts. However, what he does not expect is to hear a soft muttering in his head, the voice almost slimy in its texture. The words are too soft to discern, so he pays no particular mind to it. His eyes catches Haruichi’s, who, along with Furuya, had found their place within the house of lions.
The boy gives Eijun a reassuring smile, putting a thumb up as if to say Don’t worry, you’ll be here too. Eijun sighs, just as the hat on top of him twitches and screams out his house.
“Gryffindor!”
♚
March 15
The smell of spring grass and rain permeates through the air. Any other year, and this would have been the time where the Muggle world would begin their baseball tourneys, with him as a participant among many others.
This year, however, he's desperately trying to find a quiet place to study, away from the cacophony of sounds that exists in the once-deserted library.
“This is ridiculous,” the fourth year grumbles. The one year where he decides to study, happens to be the one year where everyone else makes the effort to do the exact same thing. He couldn’t recall seeing anyone in his year ever put any effort into studying for their finals -- except for Haruichi, whose inquisitive mind and willingness to help was the only thing that kept Eijun and Furuya from failing. It was almost a pity that his pink-haired companion hadn’t been sorted into Ravenclaw. However, Eijun certainly thanked his lucky star to whatever god wizards worshipped for putting the boy in the same house as him.
He makes his way through the courtyard, the sound of his shoes crunching on dewy grass resounding through the air. It was silent, if only because everyone was cooped up in either their Common Rooms or the library. Of course, there were a few first years chattering away here and there, but his year-mates were no where to be seen.
It takes him a while to find the perfect place: he’s tried the spot in a shadows under the willow tree, but the wind makes the pages of his textbook flap incessantly. The bench of the lake was no good as well: too sunny, too many mermans trying to strike up a conversation. Eijun would get carried away in a heated debate with one who had a particularly bright pair of fins, and it’d distract him until he snapped himself out of his reverie.
It’s not until he settles down in the stands of the Quidditch pitch where he’s finally able to study in peace. Not the most ideal place to study perhaps, but he was beginning to run out of options. He lies down across one of the benches near the viewer towers, and sets his textbooks in front of him, slowly organising them in alphabetical order --- if only to procrastinate a little more.. “Transfiguration or Potions?” he murmurs to himself. Neither subject particularly appealed to him --- his personal favourite would have to be Defense Against the Dark Arts ---, but Eijun’s long-track record of failing those classes was starting to make him worry about his O.W.L.s.
Practicals were okay, but Merlin, just thinking about the upcoming essays was enough to make him shudder in disgust.
“I just need an Acceptable. A, A, A…” Eijun mutters to himself. He grabs a quill and parchment paper from his bag in an almost careless fashion. The parchment crinkles as it’s vehemently removed from its folder.
He decides to settle on Transfiguration. He’s botched enough tests so far throughout the past three years that he’s almost too embarrassed to face Professor Takashima in class at this point.
Groaning, he flips open the cover of his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration, and starts scanning the page. Golden eyes pause at a series of diagrams depicting the transformation of owls into opera glasses.
This. This was the reason why he despised the subject so much. Turning owls into bloody opera glasses. It was ridiculous. There was never going to be a time when he would need to know how to apply that knowledge. Never.
Except for the exams, of course.
Fuming, he slams the textbook shut, ending his study of only six minutes.
(He was never one for studying, anyway.)
Eijun sighs and lays his head on his arms. A soft breeze ruffles the brunet hair.
He closes his eyes, and the world slowly fades to black.
♚
“Hurry up! We haven’t got time to waste.” The loud voice that booms from the entrance to the pitch is enough to rouse Eijun from his nap. Golden eyes blink open, the world muted and blurry for a few brief moments. It takes him a while to register that the wind blowing his hair is not the fan in his dorm, nor the heat against his back a strange result from one of Furuya’s more unfortunate experiment mishap.
“We’ve only got a few weeks until the finals! And this year, we have to beat those filthy Gryffindors, or I swear to Merlin…” The threat hangs precariously in the air, tangible in all its maliciousness.
Rubbing his eyes to clear his foggy vision, Eijun swings his legs down from the bench, and peers over the edges of the spectator stands. He’s greeted with the image of emerald robes and Quidditch gear: a chest filled with balls of various sizes and colour, arm guards strapped onto the players and the array of broomsticks that clutters the ground of the field. A quick scan across the Slytherin Quidditch Team helps him identify the owner of the loud voice: a tall --- and if not rather fat --- seventh year by the name of Azuma Kiyokuni, whose name was only known by Eijun due to the fact that the Quidditch player had been drafted into the Chudley Cannons. It had been talk of the school earlier in the year, the gossip finding its way from conversations inside the Great Hall to the top of the Astronomy tower while students stargazed.
If anything, he thought the captain of the Slytherin team was a tad too...fat to be an athlete. How the broomstick even supported his weight was a pure enigma to Eijun.
But that was neither here nor there, he supposed. Although his knowledge of Quidditch was next to nothing, he was aware that Beaters tended to be more stocky in body size. Perhaps the Slytherin's body size was included in this...category.
One by one, the Slytherins mount their brooms and rise into the air in almost perfect synchronization. Eijun feels a twinge of jealousy: when he had first read about Quidditch and flying brooms in his first year of Hogwarts, he had nearly burst from excitement prior to the Broom Flight Class. However, his dreams had been quickly dashed when his first attempt of riding a broom had left the ever stoic Furuya in a laughing fit.
He could ride a broom decently, now (he’d been forced to take the class until he could fly without falling out of the air every few seconds), but had never felt the same desire for Quidditch.
He turns away from the field, picks his Transfiguration textbook back up, and flips to a page. Sighing, he puts a finger to a paragraph and starts skimming.
“Kawakami! What the fuck was that?”
He’s only read a paragraph (this time, on the Vanishing Spell) when he’s interrupted by a loud roar from the pitch. The brunet flinches slightly at the sudden sound, and peers up from his textbook. He’s greeted with the sight of a red-faced Azuma facing a smaller, mousy-looking boy. “S-sorry,” the boy stammers, before softly guiding his broom down to the grass to pick up the red Quaffle ball that had been dropped.
Eijun critically eyes the Slytherin team. Much like the news of Azuma’s draft into professional Quidditch, the seventh year’s temper was also something of a legend. It was a pity, he thought, that no one ever told off Azuma on his rather rude demeanor. The brunet was surprised that even the Quidditch players allowed Azuma to completely dictate the team.
If this was baseball in the Muggle world, he thinks, I would never allow for that to happen.
He frowns, and turns back to his textbook as the players resume their practice.
The fourth year manages to get a bit of studying done, scratching notes on the margins when needed. It’s all rather quiet (definitely not what he expected --- he thought there’d be a little more shouting in Quidditch practices), with only the occasional “Here!” from a Slytherin and the screeching a passing hippogriff in the sky.
He nearly finishes his notes when another outburst comes from the field. This time, instead of berating his teammate, Azuma was mocking the one from before. Kawakami, Eijun briefly recalls.
“Is that really the best you can do, Kawakami?” Azuma taunts, “I bet we could get a first year Hufflepuff to take your place and still be closer to winning than we’d be with you on the team.” Eijun watches as Kawakami’s hands tighten its grip on his broom, looking forlornly down at the viridescent grass down below. He watches as the teammates either look awkwardly away or stare silently at the scene.
The sight itself is enough to send Eijun’s blood boiling in rage. He jumps up from his seat, cups his hands around his mouth, and takes a deep breath.
“Hey!” He hollers, “Hey, fatty! What do you think you’re doing?!” Heads turn to find the source of the sound, and within seconds, he could feel the glares emanating from half a pitch away. Azuma slowly turns towards Eijun, squinting his eyes in an effort to identify the interrupter. When his eyes --- rather beady, Eijun notes --- tunnels in on the underclassman, he quickly maneuvers his broom towards the spectator stand. Eijun watches as the rest of the Slytherin team slowly follows,
“Shut up, Gryffindor!” Azuma roars from a couple metres away. Eijun winces at the sound. “What are you even doing here? Spying for your team?”
“No! I was studying. In fact, I was here first!” the brunet declares, waving his textbook towards the giant. “But why the hell are you bullying your teammate? Isn’t this a team sport?” He crosses his arms defiantly.
Azuma barks out a laugh. “Kid, you don’t even play Quidditch. Try opening your mouth when you have skills to back it up.” Seemingly done with the conversation, he begins to fly towards the centre once again.
I…” Eijun scrunches his nose, “I bet even I could beat you! You’re too fat for your broom to move around anyway!” His declaration sends the team into a stunned silence. After briefly considering his words, the Gryffindor finds that he’s starting to mildly regret his loud mouth. This was definitely not a situation he wanted to be in: a fourth year Gryffindor amongst the cluster of Slytherin upperclassmen. His hands nervously tightens its grip on his textbook, but he stares defiantly at Azuma nevertheless.
A sharp laugh pierces the air. Eijun’s head swivels to find the source, finding it in the boy furthest away from the group: a boy with a shock of messy brown hair and black framed glasses. He’s got a small smirk on his face, the kind that sends shivers down Eijun’s spine --- and not the good kind, either.
“Sounds fun, Azuma. Why don’t you accept his challenge?” The boy drawls. His smirk, Eijun notices, has gotten wider, and the brunet feels as if the situation had suddenly gotten much, much worse.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Miyuki!” There seemed to be no end to how loud Azuma could shout, Eijun muses. “How about you shut the fuck up and stop acting like an arrogant fucktard when you’re only a fifth year, huh?”
“What?” This time, Miyuki erupts into a loud guffaw, and Eijun watches as the fifth year’s broom precariously sways in the air. “Are you afraid that you’ll lose?”
The seventh year narrows his eyes. “Of course not. Why would I be afraid?” he says through clenched teeth. Azuma then turns back to Eijun, crossing his arms. “You there. You can take Kawakami’s place, then. If you can score a point without getting hit by a bludger, then you win. Miyuki there,” he jerks his heads towards the other Slytherin, “Will be the Keeper.”
Eijun feels his face drain of colour. “I-I…” How was he supposed to mention the fact that he had never played Quidditch before.
Azuma moves away before Eijun begins to muster even the slightest of courage to speak out. Miyuki flies towards Eijun, eyes glinting mischievously. “Hey kid. Know how to play Quidditch?”
The fourth year blinks once, twice, three times. “N-no?” he stammers.
“Ever flown on a broom?”
“In first year Flying Class, yeah.”
Eijun watches as the hazel eyes behind the frames narrows. “Hm, okay. That’s fine. That makes this a bit more difficult, but we’ll be okay. I know that I’m the Keeper, but no worries: I’ll go easy on you.” He ends the sentence with an easy smile.
“Why? Wouldn’t you want me to lose?” The corners of lips pulls down into a confused frown.
Miyuki laughs, and shakes his head vehemently. “Nah. Azuma needs his ego knocked down a few notches before he you know, goes pro and all. Ah, wait,” the older brunet pauses, turns on his broom, and beckons Kawakami over.
The fellow fifth year Slytherin flies over, though he certainly doesn’t look dejected as Eijun had expected. Miyuki points at the smaller Slytherin. “Here, you can use his broom. I’m sure he won’t mind; after all, you’re defending his honour!”
Kawakami rolls his eyes. “Miyuki, please,” he sighs and turns towards Eijun. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know. He’s always like that, there’s really no reason to argue with him.”
Eijun crosses his arms. “Of course there’s a reason! I’m not going to stand by while some arrogant asshole talks someone down on his team.”
“Dumbass, he’s not even in your house,” Miyuki barks out a laugh. “Do you have any ulterior motives? Or are you actually just an idiot?
The Gryffindor wrinkles nose. “I’m not an idiot,” he whines, mouth twisting into a pout. Miyuki raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "If you say ---"
Their conversation is interrupted by a shout from the pitch. "That'd be Azuma," Kawakami sighs. He lands on the floor of the spectator stands, dismounts the broom, and hands it to the younger broom. “You better not break it,” he warns, “That’s the newest Nimbus 2001.”
Eijun grabs hold of the broom, and throws a relaxed smile at Kawakami. “Don’t worry! I’ve never broken anything before,” he proclaims, his announcement closely followed by a snort from Miyuki, who mutters “I really doubt that.”
The fourth year brunet turns to Miyuki and raises an eyebrow. “What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing,” Miyuki smiles, “Okay, kid, we better get going. I really do hope you know how to dodge; dragging a Gryffindor to Madam Promfrey is not on my list of things to do tonight.”
The Slytherin’s snark is lost on the Gryffindor as the boy attempts to rise off the platform. The process is a bit shaky at first: Eijun’s face transforms through a series of expressions, from mild concentration to eyes squeezing shut to full out frustration. It’s rather comical, how it takes a good five minutes for him to even rise off the platform, but each passing minute plants a seed of doubt within Miyuki’s mind.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Miyuki asks with mild apprehension.
“Hm? O-oh! Yeah, for sure!” Eijun gets the broom to rise just as he speaks, relief clearly heard within his voice. “See? No problem whatsoever!”
Kawakami snorts, and Miyuki raises an eyebrow. “Sure, kid.” Eijun rolls his eyes. I’ll prove it to them, he decides. Besides, what did he have to lose? Absolutely nothing.
Well, except for his pride, perhaps.
“Worst case scenario, I never see these guys ever again,” the golden eyed boy mutters to himself, eliciting a questioning hum from his Slytherin companion as they guide their brooms towards the pitch. Eijun shakes his head, “Nothing important.”
“Well, good luck!” Miyuki cheerfully announces, tossing the Quaffle ball to Eijun. Eijun’s hands reach out to grab the ball, fingers fumbling as it attempts to secure a grip on the ball. “Remember, you lose if you drop the Quaffle, or get hit by the Bludger. Pro tip: don’t get hit by the Bludger.”
Laughing, Miyuki flies towards the goals, and Eijun begins to feel a sense of impending doom. He spins the ball nervously in his hands, and turns towards his opponent. The sight of the overweight Beater nearly elicits a laugh from the boy, the image of a nearly breaking broomstick flitting through his mind.
But of course, he wouldn’t dare. So the Gryffindor schools his face as much as possible as Azuma recounts the rules that the Slytherin Keeper had just told him.
“Good luck, Gryffindor. You’ll be sorry after this match,” the seventh year warns, one hand swinging his bat and the other, holding an iron Bludger ball. “Ready? ...Start!”
The seventh year wastes no time in launching the ball, the charmed bat crashing against the iron ball with a loud clang. Eijun automatically attempts to maneuver his broom towards the goal, only to get cut off by the whizzing Bludger.
“Sorry kid, not that easy,” Azuma mocks, redirecting the ball once more.
Eijun swerves back, a hand hugging the Quaffle close to his chest while the other maintains a tight grip on the neck of the broom. He teeters dangerously, and it takes a moment for him to regain his balance on the broom.
The temperature of the air is colder than he expects: cold wind caresses his cheeks, and he begins to feel the stiffness in the joints of his arms and legs from the awkward position on the broom. He surveys the surrounding, shivering a little. His eyes dart towards the mob of Slytherin players watching from the sidelines, quickly noting their impassive expressions. Feeling rather apprehensive at his prospect of winning, he turns back to the set of goals. If he had squinted his eyes, he might’ve seen Miyuki giving a small wave.
“Behind you!” he hears a call, and Eijun looks back in time to see the hurtling Bludger ball racing towards him, guided by the momentum of Azuma’s bat.
“Shit,” the brunet mutters, and swerves the broom to the side in a desperate attempt to avoid the oncoming collision. His eyes squints shut and he tightens his grip on the Quaffle. His breath catches as he feels the Bludger sharply glance across his cheek, heart pounding and motionless in the air.
Holy shit.
“Hey!” Azuma roars, “You can’t warn him. That’s cheating, you bastards.” The comment snaps Eijun out of his reverie, and his lungs release a sigh of relief. He quickly shakes his head to clear his mind, and leans forward to propel the broom.
The snake and the lion are locked in a standstill for a long while; Azuma’s hits on the iron ball careening dangerously towards fourth year, while Eijun’s lithe body --- and albeit, a quite a good deal of luck --- allows him to dodge each attempt at a collision. However, the brunet is still stuck near the middle of the pitch, and nowhere farther from where he had originally started. His fingers are starting to freeze in the chill spring air, legs cramping after awkwardly sitting on the broomstick.
And the amount of concentration required to keep the broom steady? Was beyond tiring. At this point, Eijun simply wanted to go back to his dorm room and sleep. Studying, he decides, was perhaps best kept indoors. Less distractions, and less assholes.
Eijun tilts his body to avoid the oncoming Bludger, losing his balance as he nearly slides off the broom itself. He vaguely hears the snickering from the rest of the Quidditch teams, and he has no idea how to begin to right himself without dropping the Quaffle.
Beginning to feel the onslaught of frustration, he attempts to bring himself back up to sitting position, only slide further off the broom.
“Fuck,” Eijun says through gritted teeth. His legs grips the broom, his own body hanging in a rather precarious position: nearly upside down, if not completely. It’s a comical sight, and snickers could be heard from the sidelines.
Adamantly deciding to end the game (at the very least, before he broke the broomstick he borrowed --- he doubts that he’d be able to pay it back if he actually did manage to break it, the thought of his lacking funds sending a shiver of horror down his spine), he heaves himself upright, nearly fumbling and dropping the Quidditch ball.
He briefly runs through scenarios in his head. Really, the worst case would be to hit by the Bludger in the head. Either way, he’d still have to score a goal in order to win, though he wasn’t sure how successful he’d be in the actual attempt. Eijun recalls Miyuki briefly saying that he’d go easy on the fourth year, but Eijun was quite sure that the Keeper was simply saying that to calm his nerves. One could never really trust a Slytherin, either way.
So the best bet would be to simply charge towards the goals, Eijun reasons.
But of course, the Gryffindor’s line of reasoning tended towards a string of problems in which he hadn’t deigned to consider the possibility of, but his hotheadedness prevents him from giving up.
They’re stuck in a dance, almost, for a while longer, until a small misplay by Azuma allows Eijun to dash forwards, cold wind stinging his eyes and cheeks. When he’s close enough to discern Miyuki’s face clearly, he makes a wild throw towards the goal, his senses highly aware of the Bludger that was headed towards him if he stayed in the same position any longer.
Eijun swings his arms back, palms flat against the indentations of the ball. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a split second before letting it out as he propels his arms forwards.
(He had no idea how to throw the ball properly)
They watch as the ball flies towards the middle goal, and Miyuki darts towards it with a sly grin on his face. For a second, Eijun feels his heart drop, watching as the Keeper’s hands reach out to grab the ball.
But then the ball careens off course, making a sharp turn towards the left, and a straight course towards the other hoop. It goes through cleanly, leaving Miyuki jerking his broom towards the other goal in a desperate attempt to block the goal. He fingers barely miss by a few inches, allowing the ball for a perfect pass through the hoops.
“Going easy on me, yeah right,” Eijun mutters.
Everything is silent except for the gusting of the winds, before Azuma’s outburst interrupts the peace.
“Fucking amateur!”
A smile slowly spreads across the face of the boy with the golden eyes.
♚
March 18
“Sawamura,” Professor Takashima chastises, “We are transfiguring rats into teacups, not Quidditch balls.” The comment snaps Eijun out of his daydream, and he stammers.
“A-Ah, of course! It’s not like I was doing anything else, Professor, I promise!” Eijun grins sheepishly, tapping his wand nervously against the transfigured quidditch ball.
He hears Haruichi snicker behind him and has half the mind to turn around and give the pink haired boy a piece of his mind, but the glare from his Transfiguration makes him cower instead.
Turning his eyes back to his failed charm, he murmurs the incantation again. The Quidditch ball trembles for a little, before shifting into a, well...rather deformed teacup. Eijun blinks briefly in confusion --- he was sure he had said the incantation correctly...right?
“Perhaps you should try to pay attention in class in the future, Mr. Sawamura,” Rei scolds, before moving onto the next student attempting their Transfiguration.
Eijun frowns in annoyance, quickly glancing at the sleeping Furuya next to him. In front of the raven boy sat a teacup. Not perfect, but nothing lopsided like Eijun’s. He heaves a sigh, glancing forlornly at his own teacup. It always seemed like his two companions always managed better than him, whether it be in Transfiguration, Charms, or Potions class. Sometimes he wondered if it really was because of blood --- that purebloods and halfbloods truly were superior in their dominance.
He’s certainly heard his fair share of Mudblood thrown around in the course of his four years in Hogwarts, both as snide remarks or when his classmates thinks that he can’t hear them. Within his first year in the castle, Eijun had quickly learnt that Muggleborns were rare and looked down upon, especially by purebloods.
Kominato Haruichi was an exception, of course. Eijun knew though, that in a lineage of Slytherins, the tiny pink haired boy was an exception in many aspects. If he recalled correctly, his companion had an older brother in Slytherin. Had the older Kominato been there when Eijun had barged in on their Quidditch practice? He couldn’t remember.
Ah, speaking of Quidditch. Eijun taps his wand thoughtfully against the teacup. This particular topic had been why he was spacing out during class. Or more specifically, Miyuki Kazuya was the reason for his absent mindedness.
Although it had been a few days since his match against Azuma, the exhilaration of the game still sings through his veins: the sharp wind against his cheeks, the heavy Quaffle in his hands.
And the feeling he had gotten when he scored a goal; Merlin, that was satisfying. Almost as satisfying as the cheering from the Slytherin team, or when he had lithely dodged a bludger that had zoomed past his face, barely brushing his right cheek, or the clap on the back from the Slytherin Keeper.
His reenactment of the memory forces a smile to break his attempt at keeping a stoic expression. Maybe he’d ask Miyuki to teach him Quidditch before the tryouts next year. Would the fifth year accept? Eijun wasn’t sure, but decided he’d find the other brunet after class.
His idling does not go unnoticed.
“Sawamura.”
He jumps in his seat, head snapping towards the call of his name, only to find himself facing the Transfiguration professor’s sharp glare.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” he yelps. Professor Takashima simply sighs and shakes her head, and Eijun feels a pain of guilt. Honestly, he had no idea how the woman managed to put up with him and his failing grades for the last four years.
Perhaps it was just his luck when the bell rings, signaling the end of class. The brunet flies out of his seat, tossing his textbook into his bag and his wand back into his pockets. He trips on the way to the door, earning another look from the professor, but manages to yell out a quick “Hey, see you later Harucchi!” before escaping the classroom.
He races towards the Great Hall, eager to spot out Kazuya. It doesn’t take long; it was well known that members of each houses’ Quidditch teams tended to stick together, and Azuma’s rather tall stature and large belly made it simple to spot out the Slytherin group.
Swinging his worn out messenger bag across his shoulder, and speeds his pace up in order to catch up to the mob.
“Miyuki Kazuya!” he calls. His voice is loud enough to ring over the chattering of other students headed for lunch, and Kazuya pauses in his step, turning his head towards the source. Once his eyes focus on Eijun, he waves the rest of his team ahead.
“Miyuki Kazuya! Do you remember me?” Eijun screeches to a halt, his voice slightly breathless from the pushing and shoving of students far too eager to get to lunch.
The Slytherin eyes warily at the younger boy. “Hm? Yeah, of course,” he says, voice fairly neutral despite the impatient tapping of his foot. “You’re the dumb Gryffindor from the other day. Of course I remember. What do you need?”
“Oh! I was wondering if it was possible for you to teachmeQuidditchbasics?” The words tumble out of Eijun’s mouth, the last few blending together into undecipherable gibberish. He wrings his hands nervously
Kazuya blinks. “Pardon? Could you repeat that.”
“I said, I was wonder if you could teach me Quidditch. Basics.” The Gryffindor enunciates the words this time, his excitement finally settling.
“Ah. Depends on if I have time. Why not ask your own house? I’m sure Kuramochi would be more than happy to ---” Kazuya is interrupted by the vehement shakes of Eijun’s head.
“No! He’s too...too scary,” Eijun shudders, flashbacks of being beaten up by the Gryffindor captain after each game of Exploding Snap, regardless of whether he had won or lost. Their friendship had nearly happened through chance: in his second year of Hogwarts, Eijun had come across the hot-tempered boy bragging about his escapade through the Forbidden Forest during Halloween the previous year. Eijun had immediately challenged Kuramochi’s claim in a race to see who could stay the longest in the forest without running out in fear. However, their adventure had quickly come to an end after being caught by Filch. Why the caretaker had been roaming the grounds in the early hours of the morning, neither of them knew, but their friendship had developed after a long week of scrubbing the bathrooms on the third floor of the castle.
This elicits a laugh from Kazuya. “Well, I suppose he can be rather violent sometimes,” the brunet reasons. “Hm. I wouldn’t mind teaching you, but...what exactly do I get out of this?” His eyes narrow in ponderment, and his fingers reach up to adjust his glasses.
“Uh…” Eijun frowns, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he attempts to think up of an idea. “My…friendship?” he says slowly, looking apprehensively at the older boy.
His proposition is greeted by a cold, long stare, and he looks away nervously. Okay, maybe not the greatest of ideas, he amends silently.
He watches as dark eyes close behind the frames of the glasses, and Kazuya heaves an audible sigh. “Fine, okay, whatever. I can only do weekends, though. Otherwise, I’m busy.”
Eijun’s face lights up, and Kazuya quells the urge to roll his eyes. The boy was simply too easily satisfied, Kazuya muses.
“Thanks, Miyuki! Then I’ll catch you later? Maybe this weekend!” Eijun bounces on the balls of his feet, and Kazuya can’t help but to compare to the likes of a puppy.
A puppy with too much energy, he thinks, but nods his head at the following chatter that bursts out of the Gryffindor. They move together towards the Great Hall, and Kazuya admits that he’s mildly impressed by the fact Eijun’s voice seemed to constantly drown out any other source of noise.
Well. At least this kid has talent.
♚
May 5
Dim torches line the walls, casting a yellow complexion on the residents of the dark and musty room. Kazuya scrunches his nose in disgust as he kneels down in front of the cloaked figure. His eyes are fixed on the filthy floor. He'd have to wash his robes later --- why the Dark Lord would meet here when he had perfectly cleaner, nicer residences, was an enigma to him.
But he didn’t question the Dark Lord. No one questioned the Dark Lord.
Or well, maybe he would. One day. Kazuya smirks at the thought. Maybe it would be worth a Cruciatus Curse, if only to see the ever serene Dark Lord lose his composure.
Another day, perhaps.
“My Lord,” Kazuya keeps his eyes focused on the other’s feet. “What did you call me for?” He resists the urge to check the time on his pocketwatch. He was on limited time, and had to make it back to Hogwarts because a certain Gryffindor had came crying to him about exam scores. He had created a soft spot for the younger brunet, and had offered to tutor him for a short while.
“My, my, impatient today, aren’t we?” The voice from the hood of the Dark Lord is sickly sweet, and Kazuya stiffens.
“Not at all, My Lord. I was simply worried about my classmates noticing my absence.”
The man gives a low hum, indicating his disbelief; the taps of his fingers against the granite armrest of his chair rings throughout the room. However, he doesn’t broach the subject, to Kazuya’s relief, but proceeds with the intended conversation of the meeting.
“As you know, the Triwizard Tournament is occurring later this year…”
♚
September 14
“Hey Haruichi, have you heard of the tournament we’re hosting this year?” Eijun’s voice rises in excitement, drowning out the quieter murmurs of his classmates. He’s thrown a few dirty looks, and Haruichi shifts in his seat in embarrassment.
“Eijun,” Haruichi hisses, “Quiet down, will you? And yes, of course I know. Everyone knows, aren’t you a little late to the party?”
“Oh.” Eijun purses his lips, and settles back into his seat. “Well. Are you thinking of submitting your name to the goblet? Because ah, I was thinking, maybe I could; maybe Furuya will too? Since --”
He’s cut off by Haruichi, whose incredulous stare does nothing to phase the brunet boy. “Eijun...submissions have been closed for over a week now. How did you only find out about the tournament just now?”
“Well…” the brunet drawls.
The conversation persists in a similar manner throughout their Herbology class: Eijun chattering away excitedly while Haruichi attempts to wrestle with the screaming pod back into the dirt. They’re covered in dirt and sweat by the time class is finished, and the duo opt to take a quick shower.
By the time they arrive at the Great Hall for lunch, the other two contending schools had long arrived, and everyone had begun digging into their food. They quickly settle into their seats at the Gryffindor table, eyeing the newcomers with curiosity.
Headmaster Kataoka approaches the podium, waving his wand in a quick motion, casting the spell to magnify his own voice. “And now,” he says in a gravely voice, “We will announce the champions from each school. A quick reminder that this tournament will last throughout this school year. All students are welcome to participate as spectators, but classes and schoolwork will still maintain priority.” He clears his throat, and puts a hand within the goblet.
The goblet shines a bright light, and the Headmaster draws out a slip of paper from the smoking cup.
“From the Beauxbaton Academy of Magic: Narumiya Mei.” Loud cheers errupt from the cluster of blue robes, and Eijun watches as a delicately built boy emerges from the crowd. With blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the boy was a posterchild of the traditional French pureblood line.
“He comes from a very old line of purebloods,” Haruichi mutters to Eijun, “Very powerful, too. There’s rumours of the Narumiyas experimenting with Dark Magic.” Eijun nods his head, returning his attention back to the bowl of pasta that sits in front of him.
“From the Durmstrang Institute: Sanada Shunpei.” A smattering of applause follows the declaration, and a tall, dark haired boy rises from his seat and glides towards the stage, receiving pats on the back from friends along the way. He joins the shorter boy on stage, creating a stark contrast against each other.
“That’s the halfblood. An exceptional Quidditch player, I heard,” the pink-haired boy continues with his commentary, “I think he’s getting drafted into pro Quidditch after he graduates, too. Already has an offer, or something of the likes.”
Eijun gives a low whistle, impressed by the extent of his companion’s knowledge. “Damn, Harucchi,” he exclaims, “How do you know everyone?”
The boy blushes, cheeks nearly matching the shade of his own hair. “It’s useful to know who’s who, I guess. Also, you tend to know everyone in the Wizarding world. I guess it’d be different for Muggles, huh?” Eijun nods.
“Yeah, too many Muggles. I guess the Wizarding community is substantially smaller,” he muses. The idea of knowing who everyone was, whether vaguely or personally, was a bit of an enigma to him.
Their attention reverts back to the podium as the excited chatter from the tables dies down.
“And finally, from our very own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Miyuki Kazuya.”
The Slytherin table explodes into cheers, and Eijun’s eyes immediately searches for his mentor and friend. He finds him in the sea of green robes, as the brunet rises from his seat, a smug grin on his face. A smattering of “I knew it’d be you!” and “Make us proud, foxface!” trickles through the air as Kazuya makes his way up to the Head Table.
His ears tune out the end of the Headmaster’s speech, his eyes focused on Kazuya when the fifth year turns towards him and flashes a peace sign. Eijun snorts, rolls his eyes, and settles with sticking his tongue out at his friend.
However, what he doesn’t notice is a set of ice blue eyes observing their exchange.
♚
December 8
“That filthy Narumiya Mei!” Eijun slams his books down on nightstand, eliciting a jump from his dorm mates. “I swear, if I see him one more time ---”
Furuya glances up from the parchment for his Potions essay. He has half the mind to let Eijun continue with his rant, but it was well known that without intervention, Eijun was prone to ranting on without ever addressing his actual concern. “What’s the problem?”
At this point, him and Haruichi were used to the brunet’s outbursts; it almost always had to do with the Slytherin Quidditch player that Eijun had become enamoured with over the past few months.
Eijun takes a deep breath. “Okay, so there’s this Beauxbaton kid? Narumiya Mei? Holy shit he’s annoying, and he won’t stop rubbing into my face that he knows Kazuya better than me. Like, what the fuck?”
Furuya absently nods his head, paying no particular mind to Eijun’s rants. Haruichi frowns and swirls his quill in the ink bottle. “How long have they known each other?”
The brunet shrugs in exasperation. “I don’t fucking know. Their whole lives, maybe? Something about their families being close friends or what not. And the kid won’t stop mentioning how they used to...used to…argh. I don’t know! Date?!” He kicks the post of his bed, and immediately regrets it afterwards --- the pain that accompanied with the action was certainly nothing of any worth.
Furuya snorts, muttering a quick “You’re too obvious,” before turning back towards his book. Eijun’s ears perk at the comment however, and he insists on knowing what the other meant.
Only Haruichi bothers to give him the answer. “WIth your feelings, Eijun. You’re too obvious with your emotions,” he chuckles. “Anyone can figure out your infatuation for the Hogwart’s champion.”
Eijun’s cheeks quickly flush red. “I-I’m not!” he protests, “Why does everyone think that? We’re just good friends, I swear.”
Haruichi nods, but his lips curl into a small smirk. “Mhmm, of course you are.”
Eijun’s face turns crimson, and his eyes dart throughout the room. “Hey, I’m not! Furuya? Furuya! Back me up here,” he whines, waving his wand in front of his friend’s face. He receives no response “Hello? Merlin, he’s asleep again.”
They both chuckle for a bit before sombering.
“Do you think he’ll actually ask Narumiya to the ball?” Eijun finally settles on the floor, worry seeping into his voice. “I know I’m being obvious with my feelings, but...Kazuya is just...so oblivious sometimes.” He sighs, and leans his head back against the mattress of his bed. “I don’t know Harucchi. What do you think?”
The boy frowns and shrugs, turning back to his books. “I don’t know, Eijun. Sorry,” he says softly.
With nothing more left to say, the room falls into silence: a boy deep in slumber, the other boy, studiously reviewing, and the last, left pondering within his own thoughts.
♚
December 19
“Eijun, we need to talk.”
The younger boy finds himself ambushed as he turns the corner leading to the Gryffindor Common Room. Kazuya leans against the painting, eliciting a squawk of indignation from the painting. Rolling his eyes, the Slytherin draws out his wand and casts a quick Silencing charm on the painting.
“Oh, Kazuya? W-what do you need? Is it something I did that week? Because I’m really, really sorry for pulling that prank on you, I really am! It’s just that the Beauxbaton boy, Narumiya? Had said something about ---” The sudden confrontation by the Slytherin, who had pointedly ignored the boy for the past week, sends Eijun into a babbling mess.
“Oh my god, Eijun. Can you shut up for a second?” Kazuya’s eyebrows furrows in annoyance, and his sharp tone is enough for Eijun to quiet down.
Golden eyes narrow, and a flicker of doubt flashes through Eijun’s face. “Okay…” he says slowly. “What do you want?” He quickly racks his memories, attempting to think of anything he might’ve said or done wrong within the past month. He couldn’t really recall anything, but...well, one could never be too sure.
The Slytherin heaves a sigh, and runs a hand nervously through his hair. “Well, I was wondering... you know how the Triwizard Tournament has the ball? Y’know, as a tradition. So, yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me? Since…” Kazuya trails off, his feet shifting nervously.
“What?” Eijun’s mouth drops open. “Wait, wait, wait. I thought you were going to ask that Narumiya kid? That’s all anyone’s been talking about, Kazuya. Don’t you dare think you can fool me.” The Gryffindor crosses his arms, lips pursed into a pout.
Kazuya heaves a sigh. “I’m fucking serious, Eijun. Why would I ask Mei?” The question is tinged with confusion, enough to make Eijun pause his train of thought and backpedal a bit.
“Because...I don’t know, weren’t you guys a thing?” Eijun throws his hands up in exasperation; after all, it wasn’t like Kazuya didn’t know of his own past with the blonde hair blue-eyed boy. “Besides, that’s what Narumiya has been hinting at all week!”
Kazuya’s eyes widened almost comically behind the dark frame of his glasses. He opens his mouth, at a loss for words before exploding into loud guffaws. “A-are you serious?” he says, voice trembling with laughter, “Holy shit, Eijun, he’s been deceiving you all week. Literally, how are you the single most gullible kid on Earth?”
Eijun’s face flushes with embarrassment. “I-I’m not!” he stammers, “How in Merlin was I supposed to know that he was joking?” He looks away in annoyance, unsure of what else to say. Really though, how was he supposed to know? The only information he had been offered was by Narumiya himself, and with the Slytherin not deigning to speak with him recently, of course it was justifiable for him to believe the Beauxbaton boy.
Right? Right, Eijun adamantly decides.
“Oh, Merlin, don’t get mad at me,” Kazuya chides. His laughter has subsided, but he wipes the remaining tears from the side of his eyes.
“I’m not!” Eijun’s protest earns a snort from the Slytherin. “Like hell you weren’t,” Kazuya says, “Your face is a literal open book, and I’ve known you for months now.” At this, Eijun frowns and gives a quick shrug. “Anyway, he really was just teasing you. He knows that the past is the past. It’s all rather irrelevant, now.”
“Well…” The apprehension tinged within the Gryffindor’s voice is enough incite another chuckle from the elder.
“I promise, okay? It was a thing of the past. We’re just friends now; he has someone else he fancies,” Kazuya laughs, “Let me try this again. Sawamura Eijun, may I have the honour of taking you to the Yule Ball?” His voice trails off, rather unsure and timid, and not all like Eijun was used to hearing.
Despite the rather unsophisticated proposal that Eijun, ever the romantic, had imagined, golden eyes light up, and his lips curl into a smile. “I would love to, Miyuki Kazuya.”
♚
February 27
Eijun sits in the crowded stands of the Quidditch pitch, squeezed right between Furuya and Haruichi. The roar of the crowds are unbelievable, and his eyes scan the stands, taking in the array of blue, red, and black of the uniforms of the three different schools. It’s the last event of the Triwizard Tournament, and the Hogwart’s champion, Miyuki Kazuya is barely ahead of the other two; 84 points to the Beauxbaton Narumiya’s 83 points and Durmstrang Sanada’s 81 points.
He squints his eyes towards the Quidditch pitch, almost completely unrecognisable from the ample time he’s spent on it with Kazuya; the flat, rolling grass charmed into hills and crevices, dark murky lakes dotting the ground. Every so often, the howl and screech of an unknown monster would echo throughout the stadium, sending shivers down his spine.
Thank god he wasn’t the one descending down into the maze. Just the thought of it sent spikes of fear through his veins. Kazuya, on the other hand…
Eijun scans the ground for the familiar champions tent that had been set up throughout the tournament. His eyes lock on to the familiar white tent, and finds the Slytherin grinning and waving at the audience.
What a dork, Eijun snorts. Only five minutes remained until the start of the final stage, and Kazuya didn’t look fazed at all. Of course, that was to be expected --- the Slytherin was well known for his calm and collected, if not arrogant, facade.
It also didn’t come as a surprise that the other two champions were as cheerful as Kazuya. The three certainly did make an odd group, each strikingly confident and powerful in their own way. The competition had been rather close up until the duel, where a minor slip up in an incantation Narumiya had cast had cost him the lead. It was a pity, Eijun thought. He’d almost say that Narumiya was the best of the three, no matter how childishly the Beauxbaton boy tended to act at times.
Almost.
(Because of course, Kazuya was better. No matter what. This, Eijun was adamant about.)
Conjured screens flicker throughout the stadium, both signaling the start of the race, as well as providing a close up of each champion. The rules were simple: the winner of the tournament would be whoever managed to touch the tournament cup first. The Champion with the most points was allowed to start the hunt three minutes earlier than the runner ups. The spectators would be able to monitor the progress of the Champions through the data transmitted by the Watchers that followed each Champion.
A whistle blows, and Eijun and his companions watch as Kazuya descends into the maze, his signature smirk even wider than usual.
Eijun mildly wonders why his lover seems to be in such a happy mood, for one who was often cynical. But he shrugs and dismisses the thought, assuming that it probably had something to do with the tournament. Maybe he thinks he’ll win?
It’s not long until all Champions have entered the maze, and the spectator stands rise in volume, conversations layered upon conversations as each Witch and Wizard begins to talk.
The whole event was rather relaxing; Eijun and the rest of his companions would occasionally look at the screens, and perhaps make a comment on the progress of the race, but would quickly turn back to their idle gossip and warm butterbeer that they all held within their hands.
It isn’t long until the facade of peace quickly shatters.
It first happens when Kazuya nears the cup at the same time as Narumiya. Their voices are inaudible through the Watchers, and the crowd becomes restless, eager for a rematch of the duel that happened only a few months earlier.
Neither boys draw their wands out. In fact, it seemed as if they had come to an agreement, and the confusion on Eijun’s face is echoed throughout the spectators.
They all watch in tense anticipation as the two contenders slowly reach for the cup.
One second, two seconds, three seconds…
The stadium in plunged into darkness, all semblances of magic flickering out.
For a moment, everyone holds their breaths.
And then ---
A sudden high pitched scream of terror: long, drawn out and painful in its delirium.
The pitch explodes into panic, screams of both children and adults ringing through the air. Students and visiting Wizards clambour for the entrances, each individual drawing their wands out amidst the chaos. Eijun quickly takes hold of his friends’ hands, but they’re quickly tugged away from each other as madness descends upon the night.
Pushed by the crowds, Eijun finds himself stumbling onto the grass of the Quidditch pitch, a spell narrowly missing his right earlobe as he falls to the ground. He bites his tongue, and the sharp metallic taste of blood overwhelms his senses.
“Kazuya,” he screams desperately, fear choking his voice. “Kazuya, where are you?”
But for once, his voice isn’t loud enough to be heard over the commotion, failing him the one time he needs it the most. He makes an attempt to rise from the ground, but is knocked back down once again by the jostling of other people.
The chaos persists for what feels like forever, until a signal is cast into the sky: green sparks creating a caricature of a skull and a snake. The images makes everyone pause in their tracks. It’s an image familiar to the elderly wizard, when the first Wizarding War had occurred.
A loud, clear voice rings throughout the air. Eijun’s blood runs cold: the voice is familiar in all its snark and cockiness, a voice he had heard almost everyday for the past year.
“The Dark Lord has returned!”
♚
July 28
He's told by Headmaster Kataoka not to be surprised by what he encounters on the battlefield. And even if Eijun knows, even if he's recited "He's going to be there, he's going to be on the enemy's side" so many times that it's become a mantra, nothing can stop the hitch in his breath, the sort of choking feeling that makes him feel as if he's about to pass out.
Because Miyuki fucking Kazuya is standing right before his eyes, his familiar twelve inch pine wood wand pointing straight at the golden-eyed boy's chest.
"Why, if it isn't Sawamura Eijun," Kazuya says; his voice is rather dry, a contrast from his usual sarcasm-dripped words. “Never thought it’d end up like this, huh.”
He’s at a loss for words.
Eijun doesn't know how to answer. Is there even an answer? Because right now, the boy that was his mentor, the boy that he's held hands with, kissed ---
Is also the boy that he's about to duel.
His head is spinning; screams and shouts fill the air, but in that moment, in the corner of the corridor in which the two of them reside, it was as if time had came to a standstill. "I never thought we'd end up like this, either." He tries to keep his voice controlled and even, but it breaks in the end nevertheless.
Kazuya grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for the past year. It’s been fun, I guess.” His wand makes lazy gestures in the air, sparks of blue emitting from its tip.
“Fun?” Eijun’s voice wobbles, and he brings his shaking arm up and points his wand at his former lover. “Fun?” he repeats, “Was that all everything was to you? Just fun?” Red sparks fly off the tip of his own wand, and his visions slowly blurs into a cloud of tears.
Kazuya opens his mouth, his lips forming the beginnings of a sentence when they’re interrupted by a loud bang from the Great Hall. The Slytherin’s mouth twists into a grimace, and his right hand flinches towards his left forearm.
Eijun’s golden eyes narrow. “That’s where the mark is, isn’t it. The Dark Lord’s?” his voice is bland when he asks; he already knows the answer to the question, information on the Dark Lord and his followers drilled into his mind in the months following the end of the Triwizard Tournament as he had desperately tried to seek his missing lover.
“Why ask if you already know, dear Eijun?” Kazuya drawls. “Though I do regret; our time is running short. I need to retrieve something for the Dark Lord. So we can make this easy. You can either let me go on my merry way, or…we can duel. Up to you, little Gryffindor.”
The Slytherin hardly finishes his sentence before Eijun throws a hex at him. It careens wildly off to the side, a reflection of the user’s emotions. The purple spell bounces off the walls, and they both watch as it travels out of the corridor.
Kazuya clicks his tongue, and in return he murmurs a quick incantation. Eijun has barely enough time to shout a quick “Protego!”, conjuring a flimsy shield that barely holds against the attack. Cursing silently, Eijun gives his wand a quick wave, sending an orange hex at the older boy.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Time is almost motionless as the two brunettes begin their duel: Eijun quickly finds himself backed against a wall, forced onto the defensive by his boyfriend. They continue in their dance for a while, each boy weaving intricate spells as the duel persists.
Kazuya laughs when one of Eijun’s incantations flicker out, disrupting Eijun’s concentration. It is in that moment in which the shield he had been strengthening vanishes, leaving the boy defenseless and confused.
A spell hits Eijun straights in the chest, and Eijun staggers backwards. His eyesight goes bright for a moment as the pain hits him. The fingers that had been tightly gripping onto his wand slackens, and it drops with a clang against the marble floor. Both his hands reach up towards his chest, meeting the warm blood that gushes out from the cut. The liquid dampens the front of his robes at an alarming rate.
He sways precariously on his feet, and looks down. The sight of his own blood makes him dizzy with panic. His mind is blank, registering nothing but the blood roaring through his ears, dripping out through the gouge that now decorates his chest.
He blinks, eyes staring blankly ahead of him; his mind does not register the panicked voices coming from Kazuya, or his fall to the ground as his legs collapse underneath him. He takes in a short, gasping breath, hearing the gurgle of his lungs as it drowns within his own pool of blood, and the panic and fear, fear, fear he feels as his fingers claw at his chest in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood.
And it is fear, dark and horrifying and all consuming, that fills his mind before his own eyesight slowly flickers out, plunging him in darkness.
♚
November 13
It’s a good four months after Eijun’s collapse when he meets Kazuya again. The war had long ended, its repercussions on the Wizarding world still felt amongst the hallways of the Hogwarts castle: shattered marble floors and cracked walls too destroyed with Dark Magic to ever fix with magic itself.
Eijun’s own wound had taken a substantial amount of time to heal, the hex Kazuya had casted at him leaving a long, jagged scar as a reminder. Although it was now fully healed with the help of Madam Pomfrey, Eijun felt as if he could sometimes still feel the open wound, the dripping stream of blood between his fingers and his own short, gasping breaths as his lungs fought desperately for oxygen.
When Eijun had first woken up from his coma, he had thought that he would never see, nor forgive Miyuki Kazuya. It had taken him quite some time to come to terms with that fact that Kazuya had willingly chosen to fight on the Dark side. It had taken even more time, and a great deal of disbelief, to find that Kazuya had simply been spying for Headmaster Kataoka’s orders.
He’s still haunted by the pain on his chest, of the memories of the war that had went on for five months too long. His memories are foggy from the coma, but he still hears the screams and shouts ringing loud and clear in his ears whenever he shuts his eyes.
So he doesn’t know how to react when Professor Takashima informs him of Kazuya’s visit.
He’s reluctant at first, dread filling his stomach when the name was first brought up. He declines, stating that he “Didn’t feel quite well yet,” and that he “wasn’t ready”.
They weren’t lies. But they weren’t entirely truths, either. Eijun simply didn’t know what to say to Kazuya.
However, after two weeks of gentle persuasion from his Transfiguration professor, Eijun finally allows Kazuya to visit him in his own corner of the hospital wing.
“I’m sorry,” is the first phrase that is spoken between them. Eijun gives Kazuya a long, hard stare.
He racks his mind in attempt to say something in reply, but only ends with an “I know.”
Golden eyes look towards the sunset illuminated by the glass of the window panes. Kazuya shuffles in place nervously.
“I…” he begins hesitantly. “I’m sorry. I really am. None of that was supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” His normally clear voice is thick with frustration, with anger. “I told the Headmaster to keep you out of that battle. Why were you there?” He nearly shouts the last phrase, but is filled with regret when he sees the younger boy flinch.
“Because I wanted to be,” Eijun whispers. Muted golden eyes flicker across the room, looking and anything and everything but the boy standing in front of him. His fingers clench the white blanket that covers him. “Who are you to dictate my life?”
“All I wanted was for you to be safe! I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you, you know what actually ---” Kazuya’s mouth clamps close after the last phrase; he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. But he didn’t know what to say anymore. All he had wanted was for Eijun to be safe, to be unharmed, for the boy to stay out of the war.
But none of that happened.
His eyes curiously searches the boy’s face for any signs of emotions. However, he receives nothing: Eijun’s face is impassive, eyes cold and empty and mouth set into a permanent frown.
This is not the Eijun he knows.
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, at a loss of what to do. He begins to feel an unfamiliar stinging behind his eyes, the congestion of his throat and nose as he tries to elicit a response from the younger boy.
“I’m sorry,” Kazuya tries again. His voice is raw and heavy with emotion.
This time, he gets no response.
♚
January 31
Eijun finds himself pressed against the headboard of Kazuya’s bed, lips pressed against lips and hands desperately grasping at clothes. Only the sound of their gasping breaths mar the silence. Kazuya’s lips breaks away from Eijun’s, only to move down towards his neck. He nips at the skin softly before sucking on it, eliciting a moan from Eijun. Kazuya chuckles, and captures the brunet’s lips in another kiss, teeth lightly biting the bottom of his lips. His hands tracing the outline of the Gryffindor’s attire, playing with the ends of the cotton shirt before sliding his hands underneath.
Eijun flinches and pulls out of the kiss. “Wait!” he exclaims, pushing the intruding hand away and pulling down his shirt. Despite his blurry vision, he notes the panicked look on his lover’s face, and frowns in confusion.
“Ah, sorry,” Kazuya pulls back. “Is something wrong?” He takes Eijun’s smaller hands in his own, lightly caressing the pulse on his wrist.
“No, nothing,” Eijun mutters, turning his head away. “It’s just...I guess I don’t really want to let you see...ah, this scar…” he trails off, and he turns his head away, cheeks flushing a bright pink. It turns even darker when he’s made aware of Kazuya’s eyes on him: dark and stormy, and full of secrets that Eijun thinks he’ll never want to know.
They’re both quiet for a few moments, neither of them sure on how to proceed.
“How silly,” Kazuya gives a light chuckle, brushing a hand against Eijun’s cheeks, hair. His voice is overflowing with affection, and he nudges the boy underneath him playfully. “Besides, wasn’t that my fault? Let me take responsibility, and let’s keep the past behind us, okay?”
“But!” Eijun’s protests are muffled as Kazuya brings their lips back together. “No buts,” the Slytherin breaths, hands resuming their former activity: long fingers fumbling one by one against the buttons on Eijun’s shirt.
He sits back and looks at the boy who had become his world within the span of a few years. His fingers gently traces the jagged scar that mars the Gryffindor’s chest, fingers brushing lightly against the rough skin.
“You mean the world to me, so show me your everything, Eijun.”