Archive of Our Own

Yahaba started working as assistant Medi-wizard in the Hospital Wing during his second year. He has always been fascinated with medicine, although mostly Muggle medicine; he grew up surrounded by them, after all, with only a couple instances tipping his parents off that he was anything other than normal. So to say he was interested in magical medicine was an understatement.

He lingered around the Hospital Wing until the Head Medi-witch kicked him out of the ward, telling him to do his homework, but he always went back.

He made sure to stay on track in his classes and to stay out of trouble, and at the beginning of second year, he was able to secure his position as assistant.

That was the start of his additional studies, although it wasn’t official. There was a lot to learn when it came to being a Healer. There were spells for cleaning, purifying, disinfecting, and detecting breaks or fractures. There were potions for anything and everything under the sun, from Calming Draught to Living Death. He loved it all, excelled in all of them, and he genuinely enjoyed his semi-job as assistant Medi-wizard.

That is, until Kyoutani Kentarou started making frequent visits to the Hospital Wing fifth year.

Kyoutani Kentarou, dark rings under perpetually glaring eyes, everlasting scowl on disapproving lips, oddly dyed hair, was basically the outcast of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thousands of rumors fluttered around the corridors about him and how he never had a day without detention, how he tries to fight anyone who looks at him wrong, how he never loses a duel even if it comes down to cheating and using of Dark Magic, how he was supposed to be in Slytherin but was Sorted into Gryffindor by mistake. They never seemed to end.

Yahaba never cared for rumors, never cared about anything anyone else ever said about someone he didn’t even know very well. Yes, he had Kyoutani in a couple classes, but the two never spoke.

What he did care about was his job as assistant Medi-wizard, and was proud in the fact that the other Medi-witches could take breaks after he was through with his classes, proving that they trusted him enough for them to be gone.

It was during this time that Kyoutani came stumbling into the Hospital Wing, a limp obvious on his left side, a busted lip still dripping blood, cuts littering his exposed skin, and one of his eyes terribly darker than the other.

The boy barely looks up and locks eyes with Yahaba before the assistant Medi-wizard flies to his feet.

“Merlin, what the hell happened to you?!” Yahaba half-yells in disbelief, rushing to Kyoutani’s side in an instant. The boy practically flinches halfway out of his skin when Yahaba grabs his arm and flung it over his own shoulder, helping him walk over to the nearest cot.

Kyoutani is a doll, obeying Yahaba’s every move, poke and prod of his limbs until he is lying down on the cot. The assistant is muttering under his breath as he surveys the injuries, moving his wand over Kyoutani in a wide, quick arc.

“Blow to the face, possibly damage to the eye and/or the brain, possibly fractured or sprained ankle, hundreds of little cuts… it looks like a very mild Sectumsempra to me… they must have modified it,” he ends his muttering, looking back up to Kyoutani’s nonchalant expression. “What the hell happened?!”

“Fight,” Kyoutani says shortly, looking away from him and to the wall instead. Yahaba huffs, not believing that the famous “up-and-coming-Dark-Wizard” would let himself get this injured in a mere fight. Not questioning the response, Yahaba lays a quick and hopefully reassuring hand on Kyoutani’s, out of reflex than anything.

“Okay, hold on a minute, alright?” he says, moving away from him quick enough.

Yahaba consults a textbook hurriedly before checking for his wand in his robe pocket, grabbing two vials of brightly colored potions, and one green jar of salve. He comes back dutifully to Kyoutani’s bedside, lays down all he’s brought on the nightstand beside the bed, and takes out his wand.

Kyoutani visibly stiffens.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” Yahaba swears, taking a couple deep breaths. “I’m just going to heal these cuts for you, alright?” he says, looking back at Kyoutani for the O-K. A miniscule nod is all he needs before he presses the tip of his wand lightly on Kyoutani’s leg and starts to murmur the incantation.

The cuts, shallow, small, but magically induced and therefore at least five times more painful than normal, start to heal themselves under Yahaba’s spellwork. He has to admit that he didn’t think that it would work, but the cuts heal up just fine on his legs, and he works his way up to Kyoutani’s arms. The boy is obviously uncomfortable with the contact, but Yahaba doesn’t pause once. He continues to mutter the spell under his breath and work his wand up both Kyoutani’s arms, and here and there on his neck and face.

“There, that should do it for those,” he says, giving Kyoutani a small smile before grabbing the two vials of potion. “Drink these, please,” he says, pulling the stopped from one and holding it out to the boy on the bed.

“What is it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at the questionable vial, distrusting the contents and the provider all in one look. It’s like he shrinks in on himself, pulling his newly-healed arms over his chest and shying away from the assistant.

“Well, this is going to fix your ankle, which probably has a hairline fracture at the joint at most,” Yahaba says matter-of-factly, pulling back on his small smile from before. “The other one is a regenerative potion that will help you regain all the blood you’ve lost. Those were a lot of cuts,” he adds as an afterthought, his smile disappearing and replaced by a frown.

“I don’t want it,” Kyoutani refuses, scowling at him.

“Look, you need these if you want to get-”

“I said I don’t want them, so get that shit out of my face!” Kyoutani suddenly yells, knocking Yahaba’s hand away, not hard enough for the potion to spill but hard enough to get his point across. Yahaba stares at him for a couple seconds, before remembering to breathe.

“Fine,” he says, placing the stopper back onto the vial firmly and laying it down on the counter. “Will you at least let me fix up your lip and put some salve on your eye?” he asks resignedly, turning back to his patient.

“Fine,” Kyoutani grumbles, “but no potions.”

“Like I would try to force anything down your throat,” Yahaba says, fishing his wand out of his robes once more and sealing up Kyoutani’s busted lip. He Summons a damp towel and dabs the area until it’s free of blood. Then, he grabs the small jar of salve and turns back to him. He clears his throat. “I need you to lean forward,” he states, opening the jar carefully and dipping his fingers into it.

Kyoutani does as he’s told, although a bit warily as he glances at the jar. “What is that?” he asks, his voice slightly shaking. Yahaba clicks his tongue.

“Are you always this skeptical?” he asks in retaliation, before sighing. “It’ll help reduce swelling and heal your black eye faster than it would heal on its own,” he explains. “May I continue?”

Kyoutani grunts in response, moving himself closer to Yahaba. The assistant Medi-wizard bends down and gently applies the cream to the sensitive area, sucking in a breath when Kyoutani gasps in pain and when he feels the heat of the skin around his eyes.

“Sorry,” he groans, hating when he accidentally hurts his patients when he’s trying to help them. “Just a second longer,” he reassures, continuing his task. He is able to get the salve over all the bruising, and by the time he’s screwing back on the cap of the jar, the swelling’s gone down immensely.

“…Thanks…” Kyoutani mumbles, looking firmly at Yahaba this time. He only nods as a response.

“What happened here!” the Head Medi-witch asks as she finds Yahaba with a patient.

“Multiple cuts all over, black eye, cut lip, and fractured ankle,” Yahaba reports. “He refused the potions to help with his ankle and blood loss, though.”

“And why would you refuse something like that?” The Medi-witch rounds on Kyoutani now. “Are you trying to torture yourself? You could die from lack of blood and be in serious pain-!”

“I’m not takin’ any of your stupid-ass potion, okay?!” Kyoutani explodes, sitting forward and staring the Medi-witch down. “You can’t do anything to me without my consent anyways, so just drop it!”

“Ungrateful little waste of my time…” the Medi-witch seethes, ripping her glare away from Kyoutani. “Good job, Yahaba,” she praises her assistant before bustling away.

Kyoutani is still radiating anger, and Yahaba can feel it. But, his job isn’t done, unfortunately.

“We still need to do something about your ankle,” he says, flinching when Kyoutani snaps at him.

“I’m not takin’ anything you’re tryin’ to give me!”

“I was thinking more of a brace,” Yahaba suggests, and he does NOT enjoy the confused little expression Kyoutani gives him at the word. “Muggle medical practice. Basically it’s something you wear that’ll keep the injury in place where it should be so you don’t mess it up more and it’ll heal correctly. Want to try it?”

“You can make one?” Kyoutani asks, almost a curious lit to his gruff voice.

“Yes,” Yahaba says. “Think it’s worth a shot?” He’s answered with a nod, and he sets out to find a couple pencils and a roll of tape a second later. When he comes back, Kyoutani gives him a look.

“Muggles must be crap at healin’ things, huh?” he remarks, and Yahaba actually laughs.

“I’m just using these as something I can Transfigure the brace out of,” Yahaba says, still laughing, before breathing out, “honestly,” with another laugh.

He lines up the pencils with Kyoutani’s ankle, forming a 90 degree angle on either side of his foot, before wrapping it with the tape. He then takes out his wand, incants a spell under his breath, and in the span of a second, the pencils and tape are turned into firm gray material and Velcro.

“We don’t even fuckin’ learn how to do that in class, do we?” Kyoutani asks, baffled as he stares at the contraption around his ankle.

“You pick things up here and there,” Yahaba shrugs, brushing it off. “Okay, so, obviously no running, and you can take it off to shower and stuff like that. By pulling on these, see?” he says, tugging at one of the three Velcro straps on the brace. The sound that results makes Kyoutani jerk. Yahaba presses the Velcro back on. “Oh, and it’s better to sleep with it elevated, just a tip,” he adds.

“Thanks…” Kyoutani says again. “I can go?”

“You can go,” Yahaba confirms.

He nods, and he’s out of the Hospital Wing in no time.

The next day, Yahaba spots Kyoutani sitting in the corner of the classroom, alone. He takes a deep breath, steals himself, and goes to grab the seat next to him. Everyone gives him a look, even Kyoutani, who looks almost frightened. Yahaba gives him a smile, one similar to the one he continuously gave him in the Hospital Wing the previous day.

“So, how do you think you did on that twelve-inch essay the professor assigned?”

Two days later, Kyoutani walks into the Hospital Wing once again, only this time right after dinner. Yahaba is there, since he usually eats after his shift is over, and so are the other three Medi-witches.

“What can we do for you, love?”

“Ugh, back again? What kind of nasty trouble did you get yourself into this time?”

“Oh, shush, that’s not very nice of you.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Kyoutani growls, giving all three of them a glare as they surround him. His eyes seeks out Yahaba, and the assistant hops to his feet in an instant.

“What happened?” Yahaba asks, grabbing his elbow and leading him to the cot he used before.

“Fell down the stairs ‘n hit my head,” Kyoutani mumbles, sounding a little unsure of himself. “Don’t feel really good now, so…” he trails off with a shrug.

Yahaba tugs his sleeve up with a fluid motion, revealing ugly splotches of newly-forming bruises trailing up his arm and out of his sight.

“Fell, huh?” Yahaba says, quirking an eyebrow at the boy, unaware of all three Medi-witches eyes on him. “Shirt, off, now,” he demands, tugging at his robes.

“Stop!” Kyoutani shouts, wrenching his sleeve away from Yahaba. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“My problem is you’re lying and you’re more hurt than you say you are, so just let me see!” Yahaba insists, exasperated. He doesn’t know why it’s such a big deal, it’s what he’s signed up for anyways. He’s seen worse in all his time at the Hospital Wing, so what’s Kyoutani’s problem? It hits Yahaba that maybe it was because he was actually trying to get to know him outside of the Wing, and that effort made everything else weird.

The expression on Kyoutani’s face is the same one he has when he looks away from a lesson he doesn’t understand. But then, he leans forward, shrugging his robes off first, and then carefully unbuttons his uniform shirt. Dark bruises spread the expanse of his chest. Yahaba doesn’t let himself ogle at his muscles or wonder at how defined they were; he could only look in horror at the severity of the bruises that covered nearly every inch of his skin.

“Happy?” Kyoutani grounds out, watching his face carefully.

“No,” Yahaba growls, catching himself off guard at the venom in his voice. His head was screaming, ‘THIS WAS NOT A FALL, WHY IS HE LYING? WHAT’S GOING ON? IS HE BEING BEAT UP? IS HE BEING BULLIED?!’

Years of working in the Hospital Wing alongside some of the best Medi-witches taught him a few things, one of them being the ability to block out all emotion for a time to get a task done. Now, Yahaba clears his mind of all things murderous, of all things angry, and focuses on the wounds in front of him.

“If I give you a potion, will you drink it?” Yahaba asks Kyoutani, his voice light and completely contrasting his tone from only a couple moments ago. The sudden change makes Kyoutani blink, but then he comes to reality the moment he realizes what he was asked.

“Fuck no,” he responds, his eyes narrowing in a glare that was solely defensive.

“Fine by me,” Yahaba shrugs, turning around and getting a topical potion instead. On his way back, he grabs a small towel. He slides his way through the throng of Medi-witches that still surround Kyoutani’s bed, probably still in shock over how Yahaba took over this patient and how he was handling him.

Yahaba shoos them away in an instant, before dabbing some of the potion onto the towel. He doesn’t waste any time, leaning over the edge of the bed as he starts to rub the potion onto the majority of Kyoutani’s bruise-darkened skin.

“The fuck are you doing,” Kyoutani says mildly, his cheeks burning as he tries his best to wiggle away from Yahaba’s reach.

“My job, now stop,” Yahaba says sternly, grabbing one of his wrists and keeping him in place. He continues to apply the potion onto his skin, moving away from the chest and moving to one of his arms. The potion works like a charm, the bruises lightening up and disappearing as if Yahaba was cleaning dirt off him, instead. He moves around the bed to treat the other arm, and when that one is finished, he throws the potion-stained towel onto the nightstand.

“All done?” Kyoutani asks, his voice purposefully sweet in an attempt to mimick Yahaba.

“Not sure,” he responds, taking out his wand and waving it over Kyoutani. “Apparently not,” he ammends, frowning, “you have a concussion, and I technically can’t let you leave because of that.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” he curses slightly.

“It’s a mild one, mind you, so there’s nothing to worry about. But…”

“But what?”

“There’s a potion I could give you that would heal that right up.”

“Fuck that.”

“Okay, seriously?” Yahaba says, throwing his hands up. “What is up with you and potions? Every time you need to take one, you don’t! It’s like you want to be in pain, or put yourself in danger.” He pauses, and then looks down. “And you don’t even have your brace on! What the-? Do you want your foot to have permanent damage or something?!”

“I’m not takin’ your stupid-ass potions cuz I don’t want to!” Kyoutani shouts back at him, his glare deadly. “And I’ve been doin’ pretty damn good on my own, thank you! I don’t need you here actin’ like my goddamn mom or some shit like that.”

“You’re obviously in pain, you’re going to hurt yourself in the end if you don’t get that concussion settled out, and, if you haven’t noticed, you haven’t been doing too well out there on your own! You were covered in cuts last time, and now bruises? I can tell someone is doing this to you, and yet you won’t say a damn thing!” Yahaba finds himself on a roll, and he can’t seem to stop. “All I want to do is help people, and yet you won’t let me help you!”

“I don’t need your help!” Kyoutani bellows, but his heart isn’t in it.

The statement sends Yahaba for a loop, giving him a well-deserved reality check. He looks away, and sees the rest of the ward, sees the rows of sick beds, sees the Medi-witches talking potions and healing practices in the corner. He’s in his element, and he should be conducting himself better than fighting with a belligerent patient.

“Okay. Fine. But we’re still not allowed to let you leave.” He Summons a goblet of water from a tray on the other side of the ward, and pushes it into Kyoutani’s unwilling hands. “Drink. It’s not spiked, I swear. It’ll help.” That’s the last thing he says before turning on his heel, grabbing the soiled towel, and walking away from Kyoutani’s bedside.

The rest of the night is spent doing odd chores here and there, stopping every half-hour or so to refill Kyoutani’s goblet and force it back into his hands. Kyoutani was clearly annoyed with the constant insistence of hydration, but it was the only way Yahaba knew how to clear up a concussion or keep someone awake without using a potion.

He checks Kyoutani’s condition one last time before his shift ends. Clean as a whistle. He sighs heavily, and looks at the boy on the cot, hoping his eyes resemble something apologetic.

“You’re good to go,” he says, “right before curfew, too. What luck.” He isn’t enthusiastic in the slightest, too exhausted by the day’s events to focus on fake cheeriness.

“You sure? Don’t want to check me again or somethin’?” Kyoutani asks, sitting up a little straighter and shifting a bit closer to the edge of his bed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yahaba laughs breathlessly, humorlessly. “Just hurry up and get to your common room before they get you in trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Kyoutani says sarcastically, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and easing himself off it gingerly. He’s barely putting weight on his fractured ankle. Yahaba closes his eyes, counts to three, and tells himself he isn’t going to do anything stupid.

He opens his eyes, and does something stupid.

Yahaba slings all his belongings on his person, including his robes and rucksack, before going over Kyoutani, standing on his injured side, and slinging his arm over his shoulders.

“Clocking out for the night! I’m walking Kyoutani back to Gryffindor Tower!” he shouts over his shoulder to no one in particular. He slips his arm around Kyoutani’s shoulders as well before he leads him out of the Wing.

“I’m not weak. I can make my way back just-”

“Shut up. No you can’t,” Yahaba says, cutting him off effectively.

They don’t really talk much for the rest of the walk. It’s mostly them walking, sides pressed up against, and arms around, each other. The only time Kyoutani says anything is when Yahaba starts them down the wrong direction, and he pulls them on the right track, muttering, “Wrong way, Medi-loser,” or “God, it’s this way.”

When they finally reach the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Kyoutani untangles himself from Yahaba’s grip, his cheeks suddenly a deep red. “Uh, thanks, I guess…” he mutters, his voice so low its barely audible, before whispering the password to the entrance and slipping inside the rowdy crimson-and-gold common room.

A week later, the Hospital Wing is absolutely packed. The Quidditch match earlier that day lasted longer than most matches this year. The celebration was something to behold, and with the adrenaline still pumping, they were unaware of all the injuries sustained during the match. And now, with adrenaline highs crashing, the players are all realizing their aches and pains.

Yahaba flits from bedside to bedside, tending to the little injuries and slightly uncomfortable pains the other Medi-witches are too busy to deal with personally. He’s never dealt with this many patients at once before, and he almost forgets what potion he’s holding twice. It’s a disaster, but he clears his mind and gets through it. Almost.

His eyes flit to some movement near the Wing entrance, and he spots a certain blondish wizard peeking behind the door.

“Kyoutani!” Yahaba half-shouts, although through the clamor and activity, it’s barely heard anyone else. The boy in question jerks, almost shocked at getting caught. “If you’re hurt, get in here! If not, please wait!” he addresses quickly, before bustling off and getting his next remedy ready.

It takes about an hour for the excitement to calm down, and Yahaba’s worked to the bone by then, his brain fried and his body screaming for him to just sit down. One thing won’t let him though, because he still has one person he has to see.

He walks out into the hallway that leads to the Hospital Wing, and looks around. He did tell Kyoutani to wait after all, and since he didn’t come in, he assumed he wasn’t hurt. But that was an hour ago and he wasn’t really expecting him to stay until then.

“You look like shit,” someone says from behind, and Yahaba turns on his heel to see Kyoutani getting up from where he was sitting by the huge double doors of the Wing. “Sure you don’t need a Pepper Up Potion?”

“You’re one to talk about potions,” Yahaba comments, noticing that his voice was a little hoarse. He clears his throat in hopes to get rid of it. Kyoutani rolls his eyes at him. “So… is there a reason why you lingered around the Hospital Wing for an hour, or are you stalking me?”

“Like hell I’m stalkin’ you. No offense, but you don’t do anything remotely interesting,” Kyoutani says, and the insult doesn’t sting at all. There’s a smirk on his lips, just slightly, and a certain lit in his voice that Kyoutani notices, letting him know that he wasn’t serious.

“Healing is interesting, thank you,” Yahaba defends weakly, rolling his eyes at him back.

“I just wanted to see how you were holdin’ with all those patients,” Kyoutani says, looking at his shoes at the confession. “But I guess I got my answer,” he says, his smirk returning full-force.

“Shut up,” Yahaba groans, leaning against one of the doors.

“Here,” Kyoutani says suddenly, and by the time Yahaba looks up, there’s a brown glass bottle being thrown at him. He catches it clumsily, thankful that it doesn’t slip out of his fingers at the last second.

“What the-? Butterbeer?!” he asks, looking up at the boy next to him incredulously. “We aren’t supposed to have any of this on school campus!”

“Yeah, and we won’t have some soon if you keep screechin’ about it like a banshee outta hell. Now drink,” Kyoutani says seriously, pointing at the bottle.

“Maybe later,” Yahaba says, setting the bottle down. “I still have to go back in there and keep tabs on all the patients as they heal. Tonight, though?” he asks, not wanting to completely snub him.

“Sure,” he answers lightly. “See ya at curfew,” he says, saluting him mockingly before walking away. Yahaba huffs, and has to stow the Butterbeer away in his robes pocket and then transfer it into his rucksack without being seen before going back to his duties.

His mind constantly wanders back to Kyoutani, though, as weird as that may be. Sure, they’ve been spending more time together, outside of the Hospital Wing and classes too. Yahaba finds a little time in between classes and assisting at the Wing to help Kyoutani with his homework and tutor him a little bit in the classes that really stump him. Really, he’s not dumb, he just doesn’t want to do the work half the time.

Would he think of them as friends? He could see that. Everyone gives them weird looks, the would-be-Slytherin and the Medi-wizard in training, hanging out together. He knew they probably looked like an unlikely pair, but Kyoutani was only rough at the edges, and very, very stubborn, nothing more.

His little proposal was slightly out of the ordinary, however. He never bothered Yahaba when he was working at the Hospital Wing, let alone wait outside of it for an hour just to see if he was okay. It makes him wonder what exactly was going through Kyoutani’s head, but he gives up on trying to crack that code before he really starts.

He tries to shove all other thoughts about the fuzzy-headed blond out of his mind for the rest of his shift, and for the most part, it works. He lingers around until one of the Medi-witched tells him it was okay for him to leave, and he respectfully bows out for the night. He is down the hallway when he realizes that Kyoutani didn’t specify where they were going to meet for their Butterbeer. He huffs, and makes to turn around, before someone clears their throat.

“You’re late, you know,” Kyoutani says, hovering around the corner at the end of the hallway.

“You’re a creep, you know,” Yahaba replies, rolling his eyes at him.

“Surprisingly, I don’t get that that often.”

“The fact that you get it at all should be a little worrying.”

“But it isn’t. C’mon,” Kyoutani says, tugging at his robes near his elbow before turning and stalking down the hallway. Yahaba jogs just to catch up to him.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“Shut. Up.” Kyoutani hisses, giving him a stern look. He keeps leading him towards the Gryffindor common room, but his protests are swallowed when Kyoutani goes beyond the entrance. After a couple more turns, Kyoutani stops in front of…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Uhm… I think you got the wrong-”

“SHH!”

A second later, a small wooden door blooms across the blank expanse of marble wall in front of them. Yahaba just stares as its doorknob pops into existence. Kyoutani wrenches the door open and gestures for him to enter, but he doesn’t move a muscle. The blond huffs, and practically drags him inside, protests and all, and slams the door after them.

“Do you seriously not trust me?!” Kyoutani asks as soon as the door was shut.

“What is this!?”

“Oh. The Room of Requirement. Haven’t you heard of it?” Kyoutani asks causally, walking away from him and taking a seat on an overstuffed couch. Yahaba blindly follows him, then looks around at the rest of the room that he never noticed until now. There’s a fireplace, and huge windows lined the walls, showing the grounds below. Poster after poster covered the rest of the walls, although he couldn’t make out what they read. Floating lanterns glow above them, making the room feel warm and giving the room an orange-ish glow. He slowly sits down next to Kyoutani and takes the Butterbeer out from his rucksack.

“It’s…” Yahaba starts, at a loss for words.

“I know. I come in here all the time. That’s why people think I have detention. I’m just never anywhere else.”

“Huh…” Yahaba says, taking that into account. “So… why are we here?”

“Uh… cuz I thought that you could use your Saturday night better, rather than goin’ back to Ravenclaw Tower ‘n sleepin’ your life away like you probably do anyways,” he responds, a little unsure, almost like he was making up what he was saying on the spot.

“Ah. Well, you’re right about one thing. I probably wouldn’t have made it to my common room, so thanks,” he says, giving him a small smile before popping open his Butterbeer. “Hey, is this where you got the Butterbeer from?” he asks, the question suddenly hitting him before he can raise the bottle to his lips.

“Nah, my dad works for the guy who makes it. He gets a case for free ‘n sends some to me once in a while,” Kyoutani explains, shrugging a little as he slouches on the couch.

“Connections, connections…” Yahaba mutters, before taking a sip. It warms him up better than any blanket, or any fire, for that matter, could have. He feels warm from the inside out, kind of like how everyone describes smoking Muggle cigarettes feels like, even though he’s never tried one.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, Yahaba sipping at his Butterbeer until he starts feeling his eyelids get heavy. He passes it to Kyoutani, who finishes it off in one gulp. They don’t talk, but they never really needed words to begin with.

Yahaba thinks about the first time Kyoutani was in the Hospital Wing, how he would barely talk to him, how he sort of wished he would just tell him what was wrong. Now, there wasn’t a need for words. It was odd how such an unlikely friendship could bud in the span of about two weeks.

But thinking about the first Hospital Wing visit brings up the image of Kyoutani smacking his hand away and vehemently refusing to take any potion.

“Hey,” he says, reaching over and nudging Kyoutani’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you take potions?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“I thought we were past this.”

“There’s nothing to pass.”

“Kyoutani. Seriously? I thought we were fri-”

“I was drugged, okay!?” he shouts, his voice sounding louder in the quiet of the room. “When my mom was still around, she drugged me. She said I was sick, gave me this sweet-tasting potion, ‘n it turns out she was giving me this magic suppressant that screwed up me up. All because she didn’t want me to leave, she wanted me to be her little house elf!” He says, his anger evident. Yahaba puts his hand on his shoulder and he calms down shortly after that. He doesn’t go on until he brushes his hand off him, not looking at him. “My dad found out ‘n kicked her out, threatened to tell the Ministry on her if she ever saw her face again. My magic was fine, but the whole thing was… terrifying. I can’t drink another potion. Ever. I just won’t do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Yahaba says weakly.

“I didn’t fucking ask for your sympathy!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know!”

“I didn’t expect you to know!”

“I know you didn’t!”

“So why are you sorry!?”

“I’m sorry for not being able to help as much as I could have!” Yahaba confesses, because there’s nothing else to say. He knows this argument is pointless, knows that it’s better to end it rather than prolong it more than necessary. Kyoutani freezes at his words, before sighing.

“Right, you have a thing for helping people,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yahaba tests.

“Nothing, nothing,” Kyoutani says, waving off the whole thing.

The conversation dies down, and not long later, both boys are asleep on opposite ends of the overstuffed couch.

It happens unexpectedly, on a day where the sick beds are clear and the sun is shining cheerily through the tall windows. Yahaba’s re-organizing the potions cabinet from top to bottom, taking stock of the potions there and keeping track of the ones they restocked. The other Medi-witches are making sure everything is straightened up and tidy, preparing for anyone who will need their help.

Kyoutani slips through the huge double doors, a deep set scowl on his face, his limp a bit more pronounce than usual. There’s also a long, shallow gash near the crown of his head, blood oozing from the wound down his face and into his eyes.

When Yahaba looks up, he drops the clipboard and quill he was holding, and tries his best to rush towards Kyoutani. Before he can get to his side, however, Kyoutani’s eyes widen, and he surges forward.

“Watch out!” the injured boy screams as a window shatters. Kyoutani crashes into Yahaba, tackling him to the ground and keeping him there, as something soars overhead and explodes as it hits the ground.

Thick gray smoke fills up the Hospital Wing, making everyone choke and gag for air.

“Out! Get out! Hurry!” one of the Medi-witches screeched, and all of them crawled towards the exit. When they finally got out into the hallway, they gasped and coughed, rubbing their eyes with the back of their hands.

“What the heck, Kyoutani!?” Yahaba asks, looking at him incredulously.

“Hey! I saved you! That thing would’ve hit your head if I didn’t get you outta the way!” Kyoutani argues, pouting at him.

“…Thanks…” Yahaba says, not reluctantly, but a little ashamed for not recognizing Kyoutani’s act.

“Great! This is just bloody brilliant!” the Head Medi-witch exclaims, throwing her hands up over her head in a gesture that just screams anger.

“What’s wrong?” Yahaba asks.

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from that damned joke store!” she exclaims. “There’s no way it’ll be magicked away! Whoever did this basically shut down my Wing! I’m taking this to the Headmaster!” she says as she starts to storm away, before turning back. “Yahaba, dear, there’s no need to come by anymore, not when the Wing is like this. I’ll send you an owl when it’s alright to come back and help out again.” She doesn’t wait for his reply as she storms down the hallway. The other two Medi-witches follow in her wake.

Yahaba sighs, a little put out that he can’t be an assistant for the time being. He looks up and is going to say something to Kyoutani, when his words die in his throat, his heart skips at least three beats, and his train of thought derails.

“You’re still hurt!” he yells, panic rising in his voice.

“Oh, right, I forgot ‘bout-”

“Shit!” Yahaba curses, out of character. “Hold still!” he barks at Kyoutani, who was too shocked from hearing him use vulgarities to actually do anything else. With one hand on Kyoutani’s shoulder, the other gripping his wand tightly, Yahaba leans in and clears up the blood that seems to be all over his face and smudged on his hands. He grimaces when the gash still bleeds after he’s cleaned up the majority of the mess.

“Why’re you pissed? It’s a fucking cut, it’ll heal-”

“Accio disinfectant! Accio bandage!” Yahaba says, pointing his wand over his shoulder as he does so. A second later, a small bottle and a square of what looks like paper plants themselves in the middle of his palm. “Sit,” Yahaba says, tugging Kyoutani’s elbow down.

“It’s fine!”

“Sit!” Kyoutani flops down onto the floor, slightly pouting as he folded his arms across his chest. Yahaba kneels next to him, and opens the small bottle in his hands. He breathes in deeply, before looking warily at Kyoutani. “This might hurt,” he informs him.

“What the hell is that?” the boy asks.

“Alcohol,” Yahaba answers, wincing as he says it. Kyoutani blinks. “No, not the stuff you drink. It’s a Muggle thing, I guess, that’s used to clean off cuts and things of that sort. But, it stings.”

“If it hurts like a motherfucker, you owe me,” Kyoutani growls, but in no way is it menacing. It’s more like a forewarning, or, better yet, the snarl is directed towards the bottle itself. Yahaba has to laugh at the fleeting thought.

“Fine, fine, consider me in your debt, then,” Yahaba says, as he stands up on his knees and shuffles closer to him. “Close your eyes…” he instructs, although Kyoutani doesn’t obey. He huffs, before delicately tipping the bottle, letting three drops of alcohol dribble out and fall onto the gash.

“Fuck!” Kyoutani curses, flailing underneath Yahaba.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he squeaks in response, trying his best to steady Kyoutani by putting a hand on his shoulder again. The effects are minimal at best. He lets another two drops drip onto the gash before he closes the bottle and sets it aside. He lets the alcohol do its work for another couple seconds, the blond cursing all the while, before he vanished it away with a flick of his wand. He sits back on his knees and opens the package of the bandage.

“What the bloody hell was that?! That hurt more than when I got it!” he curses, giving Yahaba an accusatory glare.

“And how did you get it?” Yahaba asks sweetly, standing back up on his knees and sticking the bandage onto his forehead, pressing the adhesive to make sure it’ll stay. Kyoutani goes silent, and when he sits back down onto his feet, he tilts his head at him. “Hmm?”

“Shut up,” Kyoutani mumbles, feeling his forehead as he looks away pointedly.

“You know, I’m starting to think that it’s the same person that’s doing all this to you,” Yahaba says, almost sounding conversational, but he knows he hits a nerve.

“I said shut up!” Kyoutani snaps, his glare ten times stronger than it usually is.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. I mean, your ankle is obviously worse. They’re doing this on purpose,” he says, meeting the glare with narrowed eyes of his own.

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask for you to-”

“Well too bad! We’re friends, right? And believe it or not, friends don’t really like to see other friends beat within an inch of their life every other day, okay?!” Yahaba exclaims, reddening when what he says weighs down on his chest. Kyoutani’s eyes widen slightly, before looking away again.

“You act like I don’t defend myself. They get off lookin’ the same as I do, sometimes worse,” he grumbles.

“So it’s a group of people?” Yahaba inquires.

“Stop reading into things, asshole.”

About three days later, Yahaba makes it a point to find Kyoutani after class. Without the Hospital Wing to disappear into, the one thing he can think to do is find Kyoutani and study with him, or just talk, or something. It’s sad, how no other friends come to mind, not even those in his own House, but he doesn’t care.

He rushes through the corridors, his rucksack bouncing on his hip as he tries his best to look around, but there’s no sight of the bizarrely-blond Gryffindor. He finds himself wandering towards one of the courtyards, and when he sees the large crowd of people and hears the shouting, he makes to turn around. However, a loud, booming voice cuts through the crowd.

“Aw, look at the little pup! You know, none of this would happen if you weren’t a fag!” The voice jeers, and Yahaba gasps at the derogatory word. How dare-

“FUCK OFF!” Someone else yells, only this time he recognizes the voice. Kyoutani. He runs back towards the courtyard, almost stumbling in his haste. Over the heads of the crowd, he can see two people coming to blows in the center. One of them has two darkened stripes in their hair.

“Move! Move!” Yahaba hisses, forcing himself through the crowd, trying his best to get to the middle before things get any worse. No one makes way for him, though, so breaking into the center is a feat in and of itself. When he does, he gasps at the sight of Kyoutani pinned to the ground and a fist connecting harshly with his jaw. “Kyoutani!”

“Oh, and here’s your little boyfriend, too!” the voice, coming from a burly-looking boy, not much older than they are, says. His sneer is one that can curdle milk. Yahaba’s brain short-circuits.

The distraction is just enough for Kyoutani to recover from the previous blow, and reach up to grab the guy’s shoulders. He jerks, slamming the guy’s shoulders into the ground. Kyoutani lands punches of his own, hitting the guy’s jaw and possibly breaking his nose. He ends up getting kicked off him, and the two brawlers scramble to their feet. Kyoutani, oddly enough, makes it so that he’s standing in front of Yahaba, as if he needs protection.

Without warning, wands are out, and curses start flying. Brightly colored spells are exchanged, blocked, and deflected, making the crowd around them spread out and give them a wider berth. Yahaba barely registers how intense the duel is getting until Kyoutani’s wandwork becomes sloppy for a second and he almost gets hit with a deep purple jet of light.

Unafraid, Yahaba decides enough is enough. He jumps out from behind Kyoutani, wand in hand, and points it directly at the guy’s forehead. “Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!” He incants, taking the aggressor by surprise and hitting dead on his mark. He falls to the floor, before his limbs snap together stiffly.

The crowd groans, suddenly yelling insults and demanding to know if the other guy is okay.

A hand clamps down around Yahaba’s wrist, and pulls him out of the throng of clearly-disappointed onlookers. Kyoutani drags him down corridors unrelentingly, his grip only tightening around his wrist as they continue haphazardly through the castle. Yahaba tries multiple times to stop the blond or attempt to calm him down, but it’s no use. He’s stubborn, Yahaba will give him that much.

Kyoutani slows only when he reaches a door and yanks it open. He wrenches Yahaba inside, finally letting go of his wrist, before slamming the door and locking it for good measure. He then rounds on Yahaba, who thinks he’s going to be yelled at judging by the murderous look in Kyoutani’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” Kyoutani asks, his voice surprisingly calm despite the fire behind his eyes. Yahaba blinks at him, confused, before he opens his mouth.

“Am I alright?! What about you? You were the one who-!” he protests, before Kyoutani cuts him off.

“Are you hurt?!” Kyoutani insists.

“Your mouth is bleeding, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Answer me!”

“I’m fine! But you’re obviously not!” Yahaba says, pointing an accusing finger at the other boy. Kyoutani looks away, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, managing to get most of the blood off. A faint smudge of red still lingers, however, unhinging Yahaba slightly. “What happened back there-?” he starts to ask, his voice soft, but Kyoutani cuts him off again.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” he murmurs, sobering up from his anger seconds earlier. “I get it if you don’t… you know…” he says, trailing off and glancing back at Yahaba. He catches his confused expression. “Forget it. Sorry.” He turns, unlocks the door, and disappears.

Kyoutani’s good at disappearing. He’s gone from classes, and Yahaba can’t find him anywhere, no matter where or how long he looks or how many navigation spells he attempts. It’s like Kyoutani Kentarou dropped off the face of the earth, and honestly, Yahaba isn’t taking to it well.

Finally out of the Hospital Wing and exposed to his fellow students outside classes, Yahaba learns about the many rumors that fly around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, mainly about himself and Kyoutani. One rumor said they were fuck buddies, because, as one witch said, “Who can stand to be with that asshole for more than a couple seconds?” Another said Yahaba had a death wish, or a possible fetish for the “bad boy type.” Most of them were like that, and it made Yahaba sick to his stomach.

Not because of the content, either; there was no stopping what people thought. Besides, they were friends, and none of their inputs would really change what their relationship was like. No, it was that he was completely unaware that these rumors were floating around and, even worse, his actions were feeding them. Kyoutani was being beat up for things like this, and he was only aiding in the process by spending more time with him! He was mad at himself for isolating himself like this, all cooped up in the Hospital Wing without a care in the world for anything else outside those large double doors. He was mad at Kyoutani for disappearing like this, for not telling him about these rumors, for not telling him he was getting beat for something like this, for disappearing like this as if he was ashamed that-

In the middle of studying, Yahaba drops his quill.

“-none of this would have happened if you weren’t a fag!”

“Here’s your little boyfriend, too!”

“Are you hurt?!”

Yahaba lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and he sags forward, his forehead colliding harshly onto the table.

“Damn.”

Kyoutani was ashamed that Yahaba found out about all this. Found out about the truth.

Yahaba’s mind races as he thinks about it.

Kyoutani is gay. He likes Yahaba, and he didn’t want him to know. He was being beat for being gay, for liking someone, and all Kyoutani did was defend himself and his feelings. And, in the heat of the moment, defended Yahaba, as well.

His chest aches, and his eyes burn as if they threaten tears.

Another jolt of realization racks his brain, leaving him gasping for air.

Why did it take him this long to find out? To figure it out? To actually look inside himself for a second and come to terms with this?

Why did it take him this long to figure out he liked Kyoutani Kentarou?

His search efforts are redoubled, but there’s no point. Kyoutani is either cooped up in his dorm or in the Room of Requirement, and Yahaba doesn’t know how to get into either of the two.

All he can do is hope, pray, that Kyoutani will come out of hiding soon. He has something to tell him.

It happens at breakfast the next week. A tawny owl drops Yahaba a letter, one from the Head Medi-witch, telling him that the Hospital Wing is safe to work in once again, and he can resume his volunteering there after classes.

He looks up from the letter when he hears soft murmuring fill the Great Hall. His eyes dart over to the doors, and his heart leaps into his throat.

There he is. Kyoutani stands there, a little unsure and very unhappy about his prospects of walking into the Hall.

Yahaba feels like he’s going to explode.

The letter from the Medi-witch falls out of his hands as he scrambles out of his seat and sprints to the doors. Kyoutani notices, the whole school notices, but Yahaba couldn’t care less. The blond takes an uneasy step back as he approaches, but that doesn’t stop him from latching onto one of his wrists and dragging him back out of the Great Hall. He puts up more than a fight than he thought he would.

“Y-Yahaba… I can explain… fuckin’ let me go!”

Yahaba tries his best to pull him up the second half of a set of stairs, but all haste is abandoned when the staircase starts moving.

“Let you go? Why? Just so you can run away again? Fat chance!” Yahaba exclaims, finally letting him go, the threat of him running away now nonexistent with the staircase moving

“Fine! Then fuckin’ say it!” Kyoutani growls, throwing his hands in the air, irritated.

“Say what?!”

“Tell me you don’t wanna see my face again! Hit me, damn it! Just tell me what you want to so it’ll all be over with! Tell me how fuckin’ disgusting I am, and how you wish you wouldn’t have stepped in during that fight-”

Kyoutani’s rant is cut off when Yahaba crashes into him, hugging him fiercely.

“You’re such an idiot!” Yahaba declares, not even caring about how loud he is. “I’m not going to do any of that!” he says, releasing Kyoutani from the hug and giving him a smile unlike the ones he flashed him in the Hospital Wing; those smiles were forced, naturally pasted on his face to put patients at ease. This smile nearly broke his face in half from the sheer force of it.

“You… aren’t?” Kyoutani asks, confused.

“Of course I wouldn’t!” Yahaba says, now a little offended that Kyoutani would doubt him about something as serious as this. Funny, how he would trust him with his aches and pains, but not with his feelings. “I like you too, you know!” he elaborates, shoving his shoulder a little bit.

“How was I supposed to know?” Kyoutani yells.

“How was I supposed to know that you like me?!” Yahaba counters. The staircase stops its movement, and the two of them hurry up the rest of it, not wanting to be caught again.

“You weren’t supposed to know! That was kind of the point, asshole!” Kyoutani argues.

“Oh, so now I’m an asshole for liking you back?” Yahaba asks, crossing his arms and giving him a look. Kyoutani buckled, looking away before grabbing Yahaba’s wrist and pulling him down another set of stairs.

“No, you’re an asshole for making us late for our first class,” Kyoutani grumbled. Yahaba chuckled, slipping Kyoutani’s grip on his wrist so that he was holding his hand instead.

“We’re not late yet, are we?” he asks smartly.

“Wanna fuckin’ bet?” Kyoutani asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Sure.”

Yahaba loses, the two of them walking into Charms five minutes late. Points are taken from both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Yahaba owes Kyoutani a kiss later. In the end, it’s a win-win either way.