Chapter Text
Hanbin thinks he should be paid galleons for being the Head Boy, because looking after younger students should not be this stressful.
“No running down the stairs, please slow down!” He calls above a swarm of second year Hufflepuffs hurrying past him, their feet thundering down the stone steps; he reaches out just in time to steady a girl who stumbles from a push. “Keep to the right and hold onto the handrail as you proceed.”
The excited chatter drowns out his voice, his command lost in the increasing gaggle of students who are trying to squeeze themselves into the narrow hallway to get to the bridges or the courtyard. Hanbin grimaces, pressing his back flat against the cool wall to prevent his toes from being trampled over. This won’t do. He pulls out his wand from the pocket of his robes and points the tip at his throat. “Sonorous,” he mutters, feeling a tingle of magic rush through his veins and opens his mouth to speak again.
“Please proceed in an orderly form,” his voice vibrates across the hallway, the sound amplified tenfold. The chatter dies down, heads turn in his direction. Finally, he has their attention. “For your own safety, no running or pushing in the hallways, there’s no hurry. Can the students at the back head to the South Wing staircase?”
Hanbin heaves a sigh, and continues to keep an eye out for any more commotion. The crowd has quietened down, and it moves in a less restless manner.
There are only a few things that warrant this much enthusiasm from the Hogwarts student body. The final Quidditch playoffs of the year are one of them, so is the first day of the winter holidays when the students are permitted to visit Hogsmeade, and get their first taste of butterbeer of the year. The last day of school in the summer when students return to their homes.
But the Triwizard Tournament is an event that only happens every five years, first established seven hundred years ago between the three largest schools of wizardry as a friendly competition.
The other two participating schools are arriving today, in a few minutes.
Hanbin remembers the previous Tournament five years ago in brief flashes of memory, when he watched as a wide eyed second year as the Goblet of Fire spitted out three pieces of crumpled paper. He watched as Choi Yujin, selected as the Durmstrang Institute champion, rose from her seat with wolf-whistles and cheers. Followed by Huening Bahiyyih, the next champion hailing from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, with silver butterflies fluttering around her ankles as she headed towards the front of the hall to stand. A final roar of applause welcomed their resident Hogwarts champion, Kim Chaehyun from Ravenclaw to the stage, completing the trio of competitors.
At the end Hogwarts had won, much to the dismay of other schools.
“Hanbin!”
He swivels his head around and spots Matthew and Taerae wading through the throng of Hufflepuffs to get to him, the scarlet red and emerald green of their Gryffindor and Slytherin robes respectively sticking out like a sore thumb.
“Hanbin, what are you doing here? The schools have been spotted at the horizon, we’re going up the West Wing Tower for a clearer view.” Matthew says, slinging an arm around Hanbin’s shoulders when they get to him.
A Gryffindor and Slytherin stuck to the hip everywhere they go is a rare sight, as the rivalry between their Houses went back several decades. It’s an unspoken rule that Gryffindors and Slytherins don’t mix, but that rule had gone over first year Matthew’s head when he slammed his plate of food next to first year Taerae in the Great Hall, asking if he could sit right after a senior from his House had explain the situation. Hanbin, who was in the year above them, saw the whole thing unfold in front of his eyes from his seat at the Hufflepuff table and muffled a giggle.
“As much as I want to, I can’t go now. I’m still on duty.”
“The crowd has already thinned, I doubt anything would happen if you left early.” Taerae butts in, steering Hanbin towards the opposite way of the staircase. “You wouldn’t want to miss this, I heard Beauxbatons has Thestrals pulling their carriage this year.”
“I can’t see Thestrals, Taerae.” Hanbin laughs at the failed attempt of persuasion. “It would just be a flying carriage to me.” He lets them drag him away anyways, their excitement infectious. Not going to lie, he is looking forward to catching a glimpse of the arrival of the competing schools, as five years ago he couldn’t see it due to his short height, his view blocked by the towering heads of his seniors. He heard that there was a huge ship rising from the lake and flying carriages pulled by pegasuses.
Anticipation simmers in his gut as they round the corner, taking the staircase steps two at a time to reach the West Wing Tower. He hears a collective gasp in the distance and they quicken their pace to reach the top, managing to occupy a vacant window to catch sight of a small ship shaped like the crow’s nest floating in the middle of the lake.
“Look,” Hanbin breathes. “That must be Durmstrang.”
Matthew squints. “That’s only one person on the ship. Where is the rest of the school?”
The person on the nest whistles, and the vessel rises from the water surface. Waves part to reveal protruding masts with three tied-up sails, attached to a massive ship deck. Torrents of water gush from the submerged pirate ship as it totters unstably on the water from its violent entrance. Its sails unfurled, dropping down to reveal the Durmstrang coat of arms, a double-headed eagle with the skeleton head of a stag.
“Hanbin, they’re right,” Taerae points at the sky, “Beauxbatons have Threstrals!”
At first Hanbin sees nothing but a dot in the distance. The dot grows larger, and he catches a carriage soaring through the air, pulled precariously on its trajectory by invisible forces. A ray of sunlight peeks through a gap between the clouds, landing on its powder blue exterior with shining silver carvings. The carriage dips down, approaching the courtyard in a rapid velocity and touches down with a graceful thump, before slowing down to a stop. The sheer size of the carriage baffles Hanbin. It’s roughly the size of a house, with ropes stretching and hooked onto invisible air in front of it. The sight is bizarre, but Hanbin has seen more peculiar things.
The carriage door swings open, and a boy with dark hair steps out. He seems to be carrying a musical instrument case on his back as he fusses over the straps momentarily, adjusting the size. The boy then raises his eyes to survey the sprawling landscape of the Hogwarts school grounds, running his eyes over the medieval gothic architecture of the castle. At one point his gaze catches on the tower window where Hanbin is standing, before it moves away.
The boy turns back and holds out a hand to help a taller woman out of the carriage.
Later on, when Hanbin thinks back to this moment, he realizes that is the first time he laid eyes on Zhang Hao.
The second time Hanbin sees Zhang Hao is at the ceremonial Welcoming Feast.
“Now we’re all settled, I would like to make an announcement.”
The Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor Kwon Boa, rests her hands on the golden podium; candle lights flickering in her solemn eyes. Hanbin turns his body to face her at the head of the Hufflepuff table. “As many of you may have caught on, we have some very special guests.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and smiles.
“This year, Hogwarts is honored to host a legendary event—The Triwizard Tournament. For those who don’t know, the Tournament is an event that brings together three wizarding schools to compete. For each school, a single student will be chosen to represent. It consists of three rounds, three Tasks for the champions to complete, and they will be ranked by score points. The champion with the highest cumulative score wins the Triwizard Cup. If you wish to enter, put your name into the Goblet of Fire outside the Great Hall. The sign-up will be open for only twenty-four hours.”
“But do be warned.” Her expression turns grim. “These tasks are not for the faint-hearted. They are challenging, and once you’ve been chosen; you have to see it through. Only students in their seventh year are allowed to participate. Make your decisions wisely.”
Hanbin feels his skin prickling into goosebumps.
“On a lighter note, please welcome our first competing school, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Headmistress, Madame Heo Solji.”
The hall seems to hold its breath as the doors burst open. A cohort of wizards and witches struts in a disciplined formation, wearing periwinkle blue silk uniforms with dark blue accents. Their heels make sharp, clicking sounds on the stone floor, marching to the enchanting melody of the violin.
They reach the middle of the hall and the group parts like a wave, revealing a boy standing amidst the twirling blue silk and silver sparkles, his arm dragging a bow across the violin under his chin.
The boy plays fervently. Hanbin takes in the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, near the beauty spot dotted under his eye. The sleeve on his right arm is pushed up to his elbow. His expression is relaxed, almost peaceful, as if he is reveling in its tune. The tempo of the piece builds up and Hanbin watches, enthralled, as the boy’s expression does not change, the absolute bliss on his face contrasts with the intense progression he draws out of his violin. Dancers prance around him in a circle, spinning to the frantic rhythm the violin sets; and the boy acts as their conductor, manipulating them like puppets on strings.
He plays like a rose flourishing in a tempest, beautiful and persistent.
The music piece spirals into a crescendo, and gradually ends with a dramatic drag of the bow. Silver butterflies flutter out from the performers’ clothes as they drop a curtsy, ending the show, and Madame Solji walks in, her tall stature towering over her students.
The hall erupts into thunderous applause and Hanbin shakes out of his trance, the rough awakening makes him feel disoriented.
“Thank you, Zhang Hao and the other performers, that was lovely.” Madame Solji says as she heads towards Professor Kwon to exchange pleasantries. “Boa, it’s been a while.”
Durmstrang’s performance passes by in a blur, and Hanbin’s attention is elsewhere. He gets lost in the flashy spectacle of staff wielding and flame throwing and thinks about the haunting tune of the violin, the confident aura the boy possesses wields his violin, as adept as a wizard wields his wand. He shoots a glance across the hall at the Beauxbatons sitting at the Ravenclaw table, quickly picking out the boy from the edge of the group, and wonders if the boy fights like the way he plays his instrument, and if Hanbin ever gets the chance to duel him to find out.
“From the way you’re staring at the Beauxbatons, I would’ve thought you have some kind of grudge against them.” Woongki, a sixth year student, slides closer to him on the bench. Hanbin gets along relatively well with his younger Housemates and he tries to come off as approachable, knowing the amount of intimidation the title of Head Boy carries. He wants them to see him as a peer, not someone who has authority over them.
“Oh—oh, no, I wasn’t staring. Just thinking about their performance, that’s all.”
“Mindblowing, isn’t it? I can’t believe I saw all of that for free,” Woongki sighs dreamily. “It’s so hard to get a ticket to Zhang Hao’s recitals, they sell out in minutes.”
“Who?”
“Zhang Hao, the violinist? Music prodigy who sells out venues? Basically a minor celebrity since he was thirteen?” Woongki raises his eyebrows, looking shocked. “And I thought you knew about him. Have you been living under a rock?”
Hanbin wracks through his brain for any association with the name, but it comes up empty. He doesn’t know a Zhang Hao.
“What do you know about him?”
“That he’s rumored to play the violin better than a magically self-enchanted violin. Something about fully grasping the emotions of a musical piece that even something enchanted fails to do. That speaks volumes on his talent.” Woongki’s voice drops lower, cupping a hand around his mouth as if it’s a secret. “He’s also half-Veela too, if you haven’t noticed. See how his ears are slightly pointier? And the way he captures the attention of the audience so effortlessly. Must be his Veela charm.”
Hanbin hums, and turns back to where Zhang Hao is sitting, laughing with his friends. He has delicate features, Hanbin realizes. The contours of his face are sharp, framing him in an ethereal light. His eyes curve into crescents, his nose scrunches up adorable as his mouth stretches into a square-shaped smile. He does have a certain type of charm, so alluring that Hanbin can’t seem to tear his eyes away.
Zhang Hao has captured Hanbin’s attention, alright.
“After watching him, I have to whole-heartedly agree.” Woongki continues, and teasingly punches Hanbin’s arm. “Yikes, Hanbin, with my interest in wizarding pop culture I thought my knowledge would’ve rubbed off on you from being friends. I guess we’re not as close as I thought.”
“Merlin’s beard, I’m Muggle-born,” Hanbin flushes in embarrassment, and he has no doubt that it’s as red as the plate of roasted cherry tomatoes with burrata and an assortment of other foods that magically appeared in front of him. “Stop it, how would I know?”
“That’s your problem. Oh, food is here. Would you pass the mashed potatoes down the table? I think Seowon wants some.”
From the moment of his birth, Hanbin’s path had been laid out for him.
He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, not of wealth but an abundance of his parents’ love, in the middle of summer when cicadas sang. His mother cradled him gently in her arms and his father looked down fondly beside her as a wail ripped out of his tiny lungs, the sound cracked in the air louder than the reverberate of the cicadas’ cry.
His mother told him from then on she knew he was a fighter, that he didn’t give up easily on his dreams. They poured their resources into nurturing their child, signing him up for tutoring and dance lessons, which Hanbin had quickly discovered was his passion, and he was good at it. When he was eleven, he was on his way to join a local dance trope when a witch turned up at his door, holding a letter.
“Ma’am, your son has been chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has magic in his blood.” The witch broke the news to his mother gently, smiling at his sister who was seven, peeking out shyly behind their mother’s back.
Magic. It didn’t seem real, until the witch handed him a chocolate frog that was very much alive. He watched as it hopped out of his hands and onto the windowsill, before squeezing past an open slit of the window. To think one day he’s capable of such magic like breathing life to a still object, even if it’s just a short period of time, is overwhelming.
For a moment, eleven year old Hanbin was scared. Would his parents be disappointed in him now that he wasn’t how they thought he would turn out to be? That their son is a wizard instead of a normal human and it’s shameful because he’s different and weird. That they won’t care about him as much.
They took the news better than he thought. Hanbin’s chest felt lighter as his parents confirmed that he will attend Hogwarts far, far away in England and his parents will love him just as he is, in whichever way he turns out to be. They want the best for him, even if the choice was miles away from South Korea, with oceans between them. His younger sister tearfully insisted that he send letters back every week.
Hanbin’s path was laid out for him since birth, but that path was scrapped. He gets to make his own choices now.
It leads him right outside the Great Hall, staring at the blue flames of the Goblet of Fire.
Hanbin looks down at his clenched fist, slowly unfurling his fingers to reveal a crumpled piece of paper. He knows it says Sung Hanbin on it with shaky handwriting, because he had written that ten minutes prior himself.
Does he need to join the Triwizard Tournament? Does he need the fame and glory if he wins, as winning the Triwizard Cup is an incredible feat? He feels obligated to enter, as he’s the Head Boy. He’s already a representative of the school, it would be unheard of if he didn’t enter his name, when he recalls all the past Head Boys and Head Girls who had entered their name into the cup.
Does he want to join the Triwizard Tournament? Once he puts his name in, there will be no backing out.
“Take your time,” Gyuvin says beside him, sensing his hesitation. Matthew, Taerae, Yujin and him had accompanied Hanbin to the Goblet as moral support. “We support any decision you make.”
Hyodo, which means filial piety. To respect one’s elders and parents. These teachings aren’t lost to Hanbin even though it’s been years since he was taught with Muggle philosophy. He wants to be a filial son, to make his parents proud so he keeps pushing himself to be the best. He wants to be the pride of his family, and entering the Triwizard Tournament will prove his worth.
Most of all, the promise of a challenge sounds too tempting to pass up. Hanbin has a competitive streak, but it doesn’t seem apparent because he doesn’t go around bragging about his wins. Competitiveness isn’t an obvious Hufflepuff trait, but he lives for the thrilling rush of adrenaline he gets when he’s fighting to hit a Quaffle into a goal, or when he manages to catch his opponent’s weak point at Dueling Club. It makes him feel alive. He doesn’t need the fame and glory, but it is a nice addition.
Hanbin makes up his mind.
The fire doesn’t feel hot but icy cold, and it feels unexpectedly soothing on his stretched arm. He lets the piece of paper fall from his fist, swallowed up by licking blue flames. An applause rises up from the nearby spectators, most of them smiling for their Head Boy.
“Atta boy,” Matthew cheers, pulling Hanbin into a rough headlock to ruffle his hair. Hanbin struggles in his tight grip before succumbing to his fate. “I knew you would do it.”
Gyuvin engulfs them both into a hug with his lanky arms like an enthusiastic puppy. “Sung Hanbin, this year’s Hogwarts Champion everyone!”
“We’re witnessing a piece of history right now,” Yujin tugs on Hanbin’s robes excitedly. The third year Gryffindor is bouncing around, a ball of restless energy that’s unusual to his typical quiet personality. “The moment a Hogwarts Champion puts his name into the Goblet!”
“Guys, I haven’t been chosen yet.” Hanbin manages to choke out under the heavy weight of his friends.
“I know we’re all excited for Hanbin, but his face is turning worryingly pale from the lack of air, so maybe you should release him.” Taerae grins, displaying his dimples. “Congrats, Hanbin, I’m so happy for you.”
They release him from their hold and Hanbin gasps, putting his hand on his knees. “Thanks, Taerae. You’re a lifesaver.”
The sound of boots clicking on the floor makes Taerae pause in his response. They turn to the end of the hallway, spotting three figures approaching the Cup.
“Looks like he’s entering this year too.” Matthew murmurs.
Zhang Hao’s part-Veela heritage is even more apparent up close. His hair curls over half of his forehead, shining doe eyes scanning the hall with thinly veiled interest. His lips are pink and full, highlighting the strong angle of his nose. He’s taller than he thought, with one to two centimeters on Hanbin, and Hanbin is already quite tall. Beside him are two of his friends, both blonde.
The hall goes quiet, stunned to silence by the newcomers.
“Check out the competition,” the taller one, Ricky, sniggers to Kuanjui who is next to him, his voice loud within their earshot. “Oh wait, I don’t think I see any.”
Hanbin winces.
“Hey, don’t talk about Hanbin like that!” Gyuvin objects, hackles raised at the blatantly disrespectful jab. His eyes shoot daggers at Ricky. “He’s better than you think.”
It’s clearly a bait to rile them up, but Gyuvin fell into its trap. “It’s okay,” Hanbin says quietly, patting Gyuvin on the back to reassure him. “I’ll make them take it back.”
“Bold statement.” Zhang Hao remarks, coming to a stop in front of him. He eyes Hanbin with curiosity, as if he’s considering whether Hanbin is a worthy opponent. “Sung Hanbin, is it?”
Hanbin swallows a lump in his throat. “Zhang Hao?”
“So this is the Golden Boy of Hogwarts everyone has been talking about.” The corner of Zhang Hao’s lips curl up in mirth, even though Hanbin doesn’t find anything funny.
“And you’re the violinist.” Hanbin replies, squaring his shoulders.
“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” Zhang Hao nods, his eyes falling onto Hanbin’s chest before flickering back to meet his own. “Are you joining this year?”
“Yeah, actually. Just put my name in.”
“Hmm.” Zhang Hao walks past him and throws his piece of paper into the fire. The flames roar up before settling back to a quiet crackle. The spectators politely clapped, their eyes watching the tense exchange between the two. “Maybe this year Beauxbatons will break the tie of Triwizard Tournament wins it has with Hogwarts.”
“Not on my watch.”
Hanbin doesn’t realize until the words have left his mouth, the undertone of a challenge hangs heavy between them.
“Oh yeah?” Zhang Hao steps closer. “And you think you would be successful? Look at you,” he says, slowly circling Hanbin like a predator waiting to pounce. “Head Boy. Golden Boy. I bet you’re so prim and proper that you follow everything by the book.”
Hanbin glares at him, feeling indignant. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I? Your type is always the same, always sticking to the rules.” He smiles, but it is cold. “You don’t know how to play dirty, wouldn’t even see it coming from a mile away.”
Hanbin feels a surge of annoyance. Zhang Hao is confident, or should he even say—arrogant? Each stab at him is aimed to belittle him and diminish his abilities. Hanbin would love to see his face when he proves him wrong, to yank him down from his high horse.
He moves closer to Zhang Hao, only stopping when the sole of their shoes nearly touch. Zhang Hao doesn’t flinch, and holds Hanbin’s stare.
“If you clearly think you would win, I have a proposal.” Hanbin says, standing his ground. The idea he has is too good, there’s no way someone who has an ego like Zhang Hao would refuse.
“Let’s make the Tournament more fun. A bet just between us. Unless… you’re too much of a coward to take up a challenge.” He leans closer to Zhang Hao’s ear, his fingers resting on his shoulder. “Afraid you’ll lose to me, Zhang Hao? I thought you didn’t see me as a competition.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“State your terms.” Zhang Hao hisses through his teeth.
Hanbin thinks for a moment. He needs to bet on something that puts Zhang Hao at a disadvantage, to have leverage that makes him desperate enough to win. “If we both get picked for the Tournament, whoever loses does what the winner wants for a day.”
“And a howler.”
“Pardon me?”
“Loser does what the winner wants for a day and gets a howler.” Zhang Hao reiterates. He wets his lips, “and if the Durmstrang Champion wins instead?”
Hanbin falters. The mention of a howler always guarantees public humiliation, and his reputation as a Head Boy will take a hit if he loses the Tournament. That is why he can’t afford to lose. “Then we move on. Forget this ever happened.” Hanbin says, holding out his hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shake on it. Zhang Hao’s grip feels firm in his grasp, his gaze glinting with determination. Hanbin feels like he’s staring straight into the fiery eyes of a phoenix.
He gets chosen as the Hogwarts Champion.
Most students could see that coming, and yet the Great Hall still erupts into screams and hollers as the Goblet of Fire turns red and spits out Hanbin’s name into Professor Kwon’s hand. Hanbin is immediately pulled into six different directions by his peers, congratulating and wishing him luck on the competition. He stands up and heads to the front of the Great Hall to stand.
Roaming his gaze over the crowd, he catches Zhang Hao watching him, his face set in nonchalance. He only looks away when Hanbin holds his gaze, mouthing you next.
Now, Hanbin just needs Zhang Hao to be chosen for the bet to be on.
To be frank, he knows proposing a bet is a brash move, especially since Beauxbatons and Hogwarts have a long history of intense rivalry. As Zhang Hao had mentioned, the two schools are often tied top two in the Triwizard Tournament, and over the years the resentment had built up over countless arguments of ‘who should’ve won the Tournament’ and accusations of foul play.
It is never smart to dangle bait in front of a lion’s cage, let alone the lion being Hanbin’s top competitor in the Tournament. It’s even more unlike him to get so riled up over someone he just met.
But where’s the fun in a competition if the stakes are not risky? The bet is crucial for Hanbin to prove a point. He wants to humble Zhang Hao a little, and he’s not going to stop until his goals are met. He wants to see Zhang Hao’s ego lay shattered on the ground as Hanbin holds the Triwizard Cup over his head, celebrating his victory.
The Sorting Hat didn’t put Hanbin in Hufflepuff for nothing.
The Goblet turns red again, and it shoots out another piece of paper. Professor Kwon catches it, and Hanbin waits with bated breath for his next opponent.
“The Durmstrang Champion is Kim Jiwoong!”
The Durmstrang delegation sitting at the Slytherin table cheers with approval. A boy with chiseled jawline stands up and heads to the front in confident strides. He’s the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, his mouth is set in a firm line. Kim Jiwoong gives him a nod, sizing him up before standing on his right.
Now for the Beauxbatons. Please let it be Zhang Hao.
Hanbin feels his heart pounding as the Goblet turns red again, spitting out the last piece of paper. Professor Kwon snatches it from the air and unfurls it, taking in a deep breath. “Last but not least, the Champion from Beauxbatons is—” she pauses, scanning the crowd until it lands on the Beauxbatons.
“Zhang Hao!”
Zhang Hao flushes with pride, reveling in the thundering applause he is showered with. With one last hug of his peers he heads towards the front, climbing the steps to where Jiwoong and Hanbin are standing.
His smile fades as he looks up and locks eyes with Hanbin, and for a moment, it is as if time froze, sealing Hanbin’s breath from his lungs. The fiery gaze returns, searing him, daring Hanbin to look away first.
Game on, Zhang Hao’s eyes says. Do your worst. Try to beat me.
Hanbin’s face feels hot.
Hanbin doesn’t see Zhang Hao again until on the day of the First Task.
He had speculated what the First Task is about. Would the Tournament start off with something physically demanding, or a complicated puzzle that requires his wits to solve? A Task that involves magical creatures, perhaps, seeing an obvious trend over the past Tournaments? He pulled out his Care of Magical Creatures class notes from his satchel and headed to the library to study.
Of course, it would be hard to pinpoint the exact creature they would use, but to prepare he needs to brush up his memory on the strengths and weaknesses of the magical creatures he had learnt so far. Hard work yields the best results.
And he was right.
On the morning of the First Task, he is summoned to a tent near an arena that was built specifically for the Task. He only gets a brief glance of the arena before he is pushed to duck under the flaps of the tent.
The edge of the arena shimmers, a glossy barrier flickering mid air. A barrier to keep something in.
Jiwoong and Zhang Hao are already in the tent, dressed in training uniforms with their respective school colors. Jiwoong looks uneasy, his weight shifting from leg to leg while Zhang Hao is unperturbed, staring at the ground in deep thought.
“Now that everyone is here. Welcome, Champions, to your First Task.” Professor Kwon rises from her chair to greet them, holding a small pouch in her hand. “It will start in a few minutes. You are only allowed to bring your wand into the arena, and your performance will be scored on a scale out of thirty points. The panel of judges will be Professor Baek Kooyoung, Professor Choi Youngjoon, and Professor Lim Hanbyeol, and this pouch I have in my hand holds the challenge of your Task.”
She loosens the drawstring of the mouth of the pouch and the fabric sizzles, a puff of smoke wafts out from the opening. “Mr. Kim, if you would like to go first?”
Jiwoong swallows nervously, reaching a hand into the pouch. His face grimaces as he draws his hand back out, fingers cradling a creature clinging to his gloves by their claws—a dragon.
At least, a miniature version of it. The dragon flaps its yellowish brown wings, stretching them to their widest span.
“The Swedish Short-Snout.” Jiwoong stares at the creature in his palm, his brows furrowed.
Professor Kwon moves on to Zhang Hao, holding out the pouch. “Your turn, Mr. Zhang.”
Zhang Hao pulls out a larger, scarlet dragon with golden frills framing its face. It turns in a circle in his hand before hissing into his face, its frills flaring open like a fan. To Hanbin’s astonishment, Zhang Hao’s lips quirk up.
“The Chinese Fireball.”
Professor Kwon stops in front of Hanbin, beckoning him towards the pouch. “Mr. Sung?”
Hanbin takes a deep breath, and his hand plunges in. The inside of the bag feels scalding to touch, his fingers jerk away when he accidentally burns them. His hand hits a spiky, rough surface, he feels claws digging into the fabric of his gloves, so he pulls it out.
He’s holding a black dragon dotted with scales and piercing spikes. It lets out a growl and puffs out a breath of fire, its flames barely licking his gloves.
“The Hungarian Horntail,” Professor Kwon murmurs.
Hanbin’s blood freezes.
“These models are representations of real sized dragons. Each of the dragons is given a golden egg to protect. Your objective is to retrieve the golden egg without fatally harming any of these dragons, as the egg holds a crucial clue for you to proceed in your Second Task.” She looks over her glasses at them. “Also, do behave yourselves. The press will be in attendance and it will be utmost embarrassing if any of you do something unruly that will stain your school’s reputation. Good luck to you all.”
Fortunately for Hanbin, he goes last.
But is he lucky though, when he’s left to wait with his nervousness and anxiety brewing in his head? The thin cloth of the tent doesn’t block out the heavy chants of ‘Kim Jiwong, Kim Jiwoong’. The incessant noise hammers into Hanbin’s skull, getting on his nerves, and serves as a reminder that it will soon be his turn. Champions aren’t allowed to watch other Champion’s performance to keep the competition fair, but Hanbin has a vague idea of what’s happening outside thanks to the muffled, enthusiastic commentary of the announcer.
“—And he dodged! That’s an impressive one right there, the Short-Snout had shot roughly a seven foot flame at Kim Jiwoong which he barely ducked just in time. What is his next move—Kim Jiwoong is taking out his wand—”
Hanbin’s throat feels dry. In the next hour, he’s going out there to face a dragon. A dragon that is larger, more ferocious than the Short-Snout—the Hungarian Horntail. The Horntail is considered one of the most dangerous and aggressive breeds, capable of flying up to a hundred and fifty miles per hour in ten seconds and are very protective of their young—
The Horntail is going to be guarding a golden egg, which it assumes to be its own child. The odds are not in his favor.
He groans, hands covering his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have studied after all because now all he could think about are biological facts about Horntails and nothing about its weaknesses because there aren’t records of any and it doesn’t help—
“Bloody hell, Sung Hanbin, would you stop pacing?”
Right. He almost forgot he’s sharing the same space with the insufferable Zhang Hao for the next hour. Hanbin stops in his tracks to glare at him, who is reclining on a couch looking perfectly relaxed.
“It’s none of your business what I do.”
“It is when you’re stomping around like an elephant disrupting my peace.” Zhang Hao props his chin on his hand.
“Your peace is the least of my concern when I’m about to fight a Horntail,” Hanbin bites back, a throbbing pressure building at the back of his head.
“Oh, did it intimidate you?” Zhang Hao says in mock pity, his hand covering his mouth dramatically. “You poor thing.”
“Shut up, you don’t have to deal with one.”
Zhang Hao huffs out a laugh. “Just stating a mere observation. You think I don’t need to fight a dragon too? I’m literally going right before you.”
Irritation wells up like a bubbling cauldron. Hanbin grits his teeth, pushing it back down. “The Chinese Fireball is clearly less worrisome from the way you’re acting.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It is not. ” Zhang Hao retorts, lips setting in a firm line. “Chinese Fireballs are unsettlingly intelligent for their kind. Most of them live near civilization, the species has evolved so much that it knows how to differentiate human expressions. It can smell how scared you are and find the most opportune moment to strike and—”
“Please, that hardly changes anything. The Horntail has spikes longer than my face and fast agility. Imagine if one of them catches on my back.”
“—I haven’t mentioned some of its breed had developed the ability to spit poison due to some of its increased population living in jungles, and did you know that type of poison is lethal enough to kill a troll—”
Zhang Hao rambles on as the tension behind his eyes builds into an unbearable headache, and Hanbin snaps.
“Listen here,” Hanbin hisses. He stalks over to where Zhang Hao is resting and kneels on the couch, fisting at his collar to yank him up to eye level and cuts him off mid sentence. Zhang Hao lets out a choked sound. “I do not care about how strong your dragon is. I’m trying to prepare for my Task and I would really appreciate it if you leave me alone so I can focus.”
He’s not in the mood to deal with this. This dick-measuring contest about who has the more dangerous dragon is honestly very ridiculous during this time because it won’t change anything and frankly, if it isn’t quite obvious already he is stressed out of his mind. He’s stressed and worried and he doesn’t want Zhang Hao to see.
From the way Zhang Hao was prying, he already knows. And he doesn’t drop it. Hanbin had only recently met Zhang Hao, and yet he had managed to get under his skin and uproot his entire composure. It infuriates him.
“Do you understand me?”
He’s breathing heavily, feeling heat rise underneath his collar, taking his frustration with it and evaporating into thin air. Zhang Hao looks stunned, his mouth agape, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. His blown pupils keep shifting restlessly, searching his eyes for… something. Hanbin doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but damn him. Damn him for toying with his emotions. Damn him for sitting here, looking shocked at the outburst he had caused.
“I don’t.” Zhang Hao whispers, his eyes glittering in close proximity.
What?
There’s a bright flash of light, and the sound of a shutter going off. It blinds his eyes, and when he looks back his vision is dipped in a wash of purple.
“Ah, young love, how wonderful.” The lady at the entrance says, pushing up the flap of the tent. The photographer behind her checks the camera and gives her a thumbs up. “So much passion. You two are going to make a lovely front cover page on the Daily Prophet, people are going to die for this!”
With a swish of her dress, the journalist and her photographer turn back.
“Wait—”
“We’re not—”
But they have already left. The loose flap of the tent flutters in the wind.
They spring apart, moving to opposite ends of the couch. Hanbin’s mind is blank, still processing what just happened. The image of him straddling Zhang Hao, his thighs sandwiching his hips lingers in his head.
“Um,” he starts off, but words are lost to him, clogged in his throat. His eyes unconsciously dip to the cupid’s bow of Zhang Hao’s lips, at the shine where his tongue had passed over his lips.
The unannounced entrance of the journalist has left him shaken, shattering the tense atmosphere between them. In a way it helped because he no longer has the urge to strangle Zhang Hao, but he feels strangely off-balance. He’s not sure where to look, finding the intricate details of the oriental carpet on the floor particularly interesting.
Soon, there will be newspapers passing around with them in a compromising position right in the front and center of the Daily Prophet. It's only wishful thinking that people won't care about it if they pretend don't. Because people will care. They will never let it go. They will want to know the reason why two Champions representing rival schools are caught in such a suggesting position. He doesn’t know how to feel, the jumble of mixed emotions is too confusing and complicated to untangle and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to mull over it now.
He leaves it be.
“Merlin’s beard, this is embarrassing.” Zhang Hao groans, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose after a long, tense silence. When he opens his eyes again, they find Hanbin’s immediately. His cheeks are still red. “We wait for this to blow over. If we ignore it, they will soon forget about it and move on to something new.”
“Okay,” Hanbin sighs. “Yeah, absolutely.”
This is the first time he agrees with Zhang Hao on anything. Zhang Hao looks taken aback from how easily he agreed, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.
The Tournament continues outside, the faint screams and hollers buzzing on like background noise.
“Kim Jiwoong aims a Conjunctivitis curse at the Short-Snout—hitting it square in the eye! The dragon is struggling, it seems to have lost its sense of vision—Kim Jiwoong is heading straight for the egg—watch out for the tail! Ouch, that was another close one—amateur mistake, if only he had rolled the other way he would’ve completely avoided it—”
“Haruto.”
“Sorry, Professor Lim, Kim Jiwoong gets back up and is almost at the egg—just a little more — almost there you’ve got it—and he scores! Kim Jiwoong has collected the golden egg!”
“I guess that’s my cue.” Zhang Hao stands awkwardly, adjusting his gloves. “I should go.”
Before Zhang Hao steps out to face his dragon, he pauses at the exit.
“Good luck out there. But don’t get too lucky.”
“The Chinese Fireball is staring at Zhang Hao, who has been standing still for the past minute—it looks like they’re having some kind of stare-off, I don’t know if they have reach some kind of understanding because right now Zhang Hao is slowly backing up towards the direction of the egg, keeping his front facing the Fireball—quite smart for not turning his back to the enemy—slowly, slowly. Oh shit—”
Hanbin sits up, ears straining to catch more of the commentary.
“Zhang Hao stumbles on a loose piece of rock, losing the eye contact he maintained with the Fireball—the dragon seems to be more enraged now, perhaps Zhang Hao was manipulating his emotions to gain the trust of the Fireball? The dragon is heading towards Zhang Hao, who seems to be rooted in spot—what are you doing—run! Take out your wand for Merlin’s sake you are about to die—”
Screams pierce the air as the mighty roar of the Fireball vibrates across the earth. Hanbin swerves his head towards the opening of the tent, heart in his throat, and sees the way the world lights up in orange behind the white cloth.
The crowd cheers, and his heart thumps an extra beat.
“Zhang Hao lives. He lives! He survives the scorching fire breath of the Chinese Fireball without pulling out his wand—all thanks to his Veela ancestry I presume, as Veelas possess the ability to manipulate fire. Zhang Hao is half-Veela and might have some degree of fire resistance.”
Hanbin lets out the breath he was holding and rolls his eyes. Of course, that’s why the smug bastard was so relaxed. He knew he’s going to live no matter what happens in the arena.
“Zhang Hao is approaching the Fireball instead of heading for the egg—what is he doing? He’s breaking into a sprint—and running through another breath of fire shot from the Fireball—he seems to have a plan, he knows what he’s doing—be careful of its fangs! Those are wickedly sharp—Zhang Hao puts one arm around the dragon’s neck—wow, look at the sheer difference in size between the dragon’s head and him—and swings himself onto the creature—what in the world—”
The audience gasps, and the arena quiets down. He could hear disbelief in Haruto’s voice.
“Zhang Hao sits on the shoulders of the Fireball—and presses hard into the base of its neck. The dragon… collapses onto the ground like a stack of bricks—it’s confirmed that it is still breathing, just passed out! With nothing to stop him, Zhang Hao walks over to the golden egg and collects it!”
Back in the tent, Hanbin’s jaw drops open.
“Marvelous! Absolutely mindblowing, this is the true definition of properly taming a beast! And Zhang Hao has done it without using a wand, this is groundbreaking in the history of all Triwizard Tournaments. The 2023 Beauxbatons Champion, everyone!”
The roar of the crowd grows louder.
‘Sung Hanbin. Sung Hanbin. Sung Hanbin.’
Hanbin closes his eyes, letting the chant wash over him, empowering him. The feeling is heady, addicting, hundreds of people wishing him best of luck and for him to succeed. It’s his First Task, his first chance to prove he’s worthy to win the Cup. He has to go all in. There’s no room for mistakes and give Zhang Hao the satisfaction of winning.
He just hopes the judges like his execution more than Zhang Hao’s.
Hanbin opens his eyes and steps forward into the sun.
The arena is a circular terrain of sharp cliffs and rocks. The monotone gray landscape makes navigating the area hard, with little to no cover to dodge behind. His eyes strain to pick out steep paths he could step on, the bright glare of the sun serves as a disadvantage. Spectators watch, looking down from their high perch; Hanbin trails his eyes over to the Gryffindor sector and spots Matthew, Taerae, Gyuvin and Yujin waving furiously, holding a handmade banner that says, ‘SUNG HANBIN ALWAYS CLAWS HIS WAY TO THE TOP’. He laughs at the pun and waves back at them, affection bubbling in his chest.
The golden egg sits on the other side of the arena, glimmering in sunlight.
“Entering the arena is our resident Hogwarts Champion, Sung Hanbin!” Haruto, the fifth year Ravenclaw announces, waving his own Hogwarts flag in the air from the soundbox. “Let the Task commence!”
The crowd simmers down, patiently watching Hanbin’s next move.
Just as he’s about to take another step forward, a heavily barbed tail comes slamming down on his right, its spikes scraping through the tough material of his uniform. Hanbin barely rolls away, thrown off balance by its impact.
He ducks behind a stray boulder just to check his arm, seeing three slashes of split skin, dripping with blood. Hanbin winces. Not even a minute in and he’s already hurt.
“Tough luck, mate, Sung Hanbin gets nicked on the shoulder within the first minute in the arena—”
He peeks over the boulder and notices a pair of beady yellow eyes pinned on him, slitted like a cat. The Horntail clings to the side of the arena, baring its vicious teeth as pieces of gravel fall off under its heavy weight. A gust of smoke puffs out of its flared nostrils, and a forked tongue slips out, licking the air.
Horntails have terrible eyesight, but an incredible sense of smell.
It pounces.
Hanbin swerves out of the way, but he is too slow. The Horntail’s wing smacks him on his side and flings him into the air, and he crashes onto the other side of the arena, breath knocked out of his lungs. In the crowd, someone screams. He groans, pain radiating in his head from the hard impact, as he struggles to stand, but another swipe of the dragon’s tail hurls him into a sharp jut of a rock.
The Horntail roars, heat emanating from its gaping maw. Hanbin knows he needs to get up before the dragon attacks him again, but his limbs feel heavy, beaten down; he’s simply too slow compared to it. It’s toying with him, throwing him around the arena knowing how weak he is without landing a single killing blow.
He blinks, and through his double-vision, he sees the Horntail surveying him, looming over his prone body. Its head dips lower, jaws dropping wide to show rows of teeth lining its jugular. At the back of its mouth, down its throat, it begins to glow red.
It’s about to breathe fire, Hanbin thinks in a terrible realization. He needs to get up before he gets pulverized to crisps. He needs to be faster, quicker on his feet; and if he can’t, he’s going to meet his end.
Any moment now.
With a pained grunt, he heaves his body into a crouch. The dragon recoils back, and shoots out a burst of blistering hot flame, rushing towards him.
Before it touches him, Hanbin leaps into the air, and squeezes his eyes shut. He reaches deep into himself, and pulls.
The sensation still feels weird every single time. The feeling of a vortex sucking his body in, organs and all, turning it weightless, arms and legs shortening into paws; his sense of smell and hearing heightens, and he could pick out the metallic smell of iron chains on the Horntail’s neck, the slow thumping of its heart.
Hanbin morphs into a hamster mid air, and hits the ground running.
The audience cheers, hollering his name. “I can’t believe it, Sung Hanbin is an Animagus!” Haruto exclaims, shaking the student who is unfortunately standing next to him. “At such a young age too, that’s extraordinary!”
He scampers off through the stone rubble, nose twitching.
Hurry hurryhurryhurry, he needs to find an opening, any opening to hide!
He spots a tiny gap between two boulders, and squeezes in before the flame reaches him. The dark enclosed space provides a cool shelter for him to hide from the burning fire.
Hanbin imagines everyone to be shocked at this revelation, as he didn’t tell anyone. Not even his friends. It’s ability he developed after months of planning, knowing the long, complicated process of becoming an Animagus. The ritual allowed no mistakes, or he had to repeat the arduous procedure again. He had waited til the full moon to put a single Mandrake leaf in his mouth, only to leave it there and take it back out when the next full moon arrived. Then, the leaf is placed in a vial along with a lock of his hair, a teaspoon of dew collected from a place untouched by mankind for seven days and a chrysalis of a hawkmoth, and left in a quiet, dark space.
He stood before his window, whispering ‘Amato Amino Animato Animagus’ with the tip of his wand touching over his heart, during every dawn and dusk until the next lightning storm. He had done it without fail, and when the first flash of lightning struck the skies, he performed the spell for one last time, and drank the blood red potion.
It tasted like bile, and immediately his heart rate had increased. It hammered in his ears, pulsing along with the excruciating ache he felt in his head and heart. He felt his body change and couldn’t resist it, the next thing he knew he turned into a hamster and was looking up at his gigantic bed which seemed like a fortress.
The Horntail cries again, and Hanbin hears a sharp clack of razor sharp fangs as the dragon attempts to bite at the entrance of the boulder to get to him. It lets out another furious growl and exhales another long blast of heat, which forces Hanbin to move deeper into the tunnel. He just needs to wait until the dragon has exhausted itself, and when it can’t produce any more fire.
He waits until he hears the deafening rumble of flames die down, until the dragon huffs out the last vestiges of smoke, its throat clicking from the strain.
Now.
Hanbin shoots out of the other side of the tunnel, heading straight for the golden egg.
He hears boulders collapsing from the way the Horntail climbs over them, its gigantic stature clumsily knocking over other rocks. He doesn’t look back to check the distance between them, knowing if he does it gives the dragon time to gain momentum. He can’t stop running because if he does, he will be slashed to strips by those sharp claws.
It must’ve looked bizarre, a dragon the size of a cargo truck chasing after a hamster barely the size of its toenail. An apex predator hunting its vulnerable prey. The hamster’s small body is just what Hanbin needs to dodge the Horntail’s attacks, ducking underneath the vicious swipe of its claws, barely out of reach. In this size, Hanbin could see the dragon’s advances at a slower speed, allowing him enough time to avoid them.
The golden egg is in front of him. He’s so close, but the Horntail pounces—crashing into the space where he was a second ago.
Hanbin is thrown into the air, and he morphs back into human. His hands are outstretched, fingers flexed. Something is dripping into his eye, staining his vision red. As he lands, rolling down the bumpy terrain, he has the golden egg cradled against his stomach, its metallic surface radiating heat from the sun.