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2. spell
a quiet grumble in korean—"it’s dark."
jungkook looks up in surprise from the age-old tome that he's currently (and unsuccessfully) trying to wade through for charms homework (it really sucks when some of the words in english don’t quite translate into korean); he blinks when it registers in his mind that the entire hogwarts library has really dimmed since he first sat down.
the sun has vanished, quieting the colorfully stained glass.
he must've been here for hours, and holy crap—he realizes who, exactly, has just addressed him: min yoongi, the sixth year prefect of slytherin house, jungkook’s own house. he’s standing there with a book tucked under his shoulder (a history of the dragon species of eastern europe and asia, jungkook notices).
yoongi gazes at him with dark, unreadable eyes, and he swallows a little.
it’s odd because yoongi usually keeps to himself; he’s not the type to approach others. either he’s strolling through corridors with authority or an impassive face with his small group of friends. and he’s the stern type of prefect who only intervenes when necessary.
jungkook wonders why yoongi’s suddenly approached him and then—holy actual crap, it’s almost curfew—and then jungkook flails a little, quickly shutting the book, and the magical candle by his arm automatically flickers out from the movement.
a surprised, sharp intake of breath comes from the both of them, and jungkook fumbles for the wand in his robes—
yoongi’s voice comes through the darkness with a sigh. it’s barely more than a whisper—like the absence of light has made them secretive in the night: “lumos.”
bright light strips the shadows, leaving the two of them untouched in an illuminated pocket. jungkook blinks, eyes trying to readjust for the second time; the tip of yoongi’s wand glows pulsing ivory white, and the darkness trying to breach their bubble barely manifests in the contour of yoongi’s face, under the jaw, the nose, in the folds of his slytherin robes, across his spindly fingers.
the silence is a spell, and jungkook stares, and yoongi stares back.
“go back to the common room,” yoongi says at last. in korean again. jungkook didn’t realize it before, but—but yoongi has a gyeongsang accent. daegu, curling up under the tones, a deep drawl. it makes him homesick a little, homesick for korea and bustling busan, and yoongi says, not unkindly, “study there.”
jungkook gets to his feet with the book under his arm; he’s actually taller than yoongi, now that they’re in close proximity. yoongi has to crane his head upward a little to make eye contact, moving his glowing wand aside so that it doesn’t blind jungkook, and warmth diffuses between them in the cold library.
“hyung-nim,” jungkook says quietly. he’s glad that they can speak korean here, between the two of them. being a transfer student—it’s been rough, and though jungkook hasn’t had trouble making friends with the other koreans at hogwarts, it gets tiring sometimes, as one of the only third-year foreign transfers, having to speak in english all the time, being unable to express himself fluidly off the tip of his tongue. “are you going back too?”
yoongi blinks at him and then shakes his head. “i’m on patrol duty.” then he shrugs. “i’ll walk you back.”
even though it’s past curfew, they make it back without any questions, passing by another prefect on duty, from gryffindor, amber. yoongi gives her a quiet nod in the narrow corridor, and she smiles back briefly, glancing at jungkook with kind warm eyes—jungkook ducks his head shyly.
footsteps pitter patter down the hall; yoongi walks jungkook back to the slytherin common room and softly murmurs the english password into the damp dungeon wall.
the smell of the dungeons always clears the nasal canals, and jungkook has always been sensitive to scents, but he can smell so clearly here the raw-watery air and damp stone. he can also smell yoongi, a soft but strong mountain musk with the scent of pleasant shampoo, undertones of...cherry blossom.
yoongi stands back as the cement rearranges and shifts, pulling itself back and unknitting and reknitting into a passageway. then he turns to jungkook expectantly, and jungkook steps through obediently. he turns around though, briefly, quickly, to say thanks—
yoongi inclines his head to the side after receiving jungkook’s gratitude.
“just hyung is fine. and don’t study too late.”
and then he moves away, swallowed by the darkness, and even after jungkook passes the common room in favor of going straight for the dormitories, his heart won’t stop pounding.
6. potion
jungkook’s english is improving. he has pride in the fact that his pronunciation is good, even if his formulation is a little slower, but he congratulates himself in the way his tongue forms the word amortentia, almost like a native speaker.
“repeat after me,” the professor says. “amortentia.”
“amortentia,” the students chorus.
it’s the strongest love potion in the world, and jungkook can smell hints of lavender, aloe, busan beaches, his mother’s cooking. it really takes him back; he sighs and relaxes as he steps up to the cauldron to really get a good whiff—and then he tenses up when he slowly makes out the last scent.
and even after, even after potions class is over and jungkook is relaxing in the courtyard—
“how was it, jungkookie?” jimin asks. “slytherins are advanced potions, right? you guys finally got to love potions?”
“amortentia,” taehyung says like an epiphany, accented, and jimin corrects him on the pronunciation. taehyung shrugs him off and asks curiously—and loudly, “what did you smell?”
with namjoon in tow, yoongi walks past the three of them—nodding when jimin and taehyung throw out cheery hellos—continuing down the cobblestone, disappearing into the roofed corridors. the fact that jungkook turns cherry-blossom pink does not go unnoticed by these two.
(and because the 95 line can’t keep secrets as damning as these, yoongi of course finds out about it.
jungkook doesn’t know that he knows, but seeing as jungkook’s more, more visibly relaxed these days, smiling his bunny-teeth smile, cheeks lifting, nose scrunching, slowly getting used to hogwarts, getting used to the seven of them—seokjinnamjoonhoseokjimintaehyungjungkookyoongi—being together—
seeing as jungkook falls asleep in the slytherin common room but still can’t put together the fact that yoongi’s the one who moves aside his books and ink wells and covers him with blankets every time—yoongi doesn’t act on it.)
8. spirit
“where’s your scarf,” jimin sighs.
jungkook won’t admit that the green and silver put him off. it’s easy for jimin anyway. jimin wears his gryffindor colors proudly outside of lessons and in their free time. jungkook just prefers to melt into the background. and so here he is today, in a black winter cloak with silver fastenings. nothing else can identify him, except for the nametag, maybe. jimin has golden-red wrapped around his throat.
“i’m not cold,” jungkook lies, huffing. “and why is this hyung taking so long?”
jimin doesn’t look convinced; he looks like he’s about to send jungkook back to retrieve some proper winter garments—but then the hyung in question, taehyung, arrives in a flurry of blue and bronze.
“ready to go?” taehyung chirps. then he blinks at jungkook. “where’s your house spirit, jungkookie?”
“my house spirit,” jungkook says, “is already at hogsmeade drinking butterbeer. can we go already?”
and then when they step out into the snow, it’s actually cold as hell. jimin gives him glances every so often, and taehyung repeatedly tries to remove his own scarf, but jungkook just stares resolutely out into the distance, refusing to acknowledge the concern. nope. he made the decision; he’ll stick with it.
it’s the kind of decision he comes to regret when his cheeks are wind-bitten and hair damp from snow and, and it’s positively miserable, the cold winter rubbing his neck raw.
when they’re over the stone bridge, yoongi passes by—with hoseok—and he blinks when he sees jungkook.
yoongi stops the trio; out of familiarity, jimin and taehyung hail yoongi cheerfully and then greet hoseok playfully.
“are you stupid?” yoongi says to jungkook.
jungkook splutters—no, he is not stupid, thank you very much—and he’s trying to come up with a really good comeback to that offensive out-of-the-blue, out-of-nowhere remark, but then yoongi’s taking off his silver-green knitted scarf, and before jungkook can even begin to protest, yoongi’s wrapping it around him insistently.
“hyung,” jungkook says, muffled by the warm wool, but yoongi just gives a final tug, and the scarf is snug around jungkook’s neck, letting yoongi’s lingering body heat and scent sink into his throat and mouth. his skin is tingling; he can really smell yoongi.
jungkook might die from the overstimulation of his senses.
“who even walks in subzero temperatures without proper dress,” yoongi continues flatly. “are you looking to get sick?”
“no,” jungkook mumbles petulantly.
“if you don’t own a scarf,” yoongi says, “then keep that one.”
i own a scarf, jungkook should’ve said, in indignation and hot fury, but he doesn’t. yoongi waves the three of them off—and hoseok nudges yoongi in the side as they walk back in the direction of hogwarts, laughing at something between the two of them. yoongi just rolls his eyes.
“wow,” jimin says conversationally as they continue on their way. “yoongi hyung really likes you.”
“aren’t you dreaming things up?” jungkook says, because jimin totally disregarded the part where yoongi lectured him—and jimin hits him in the chest for his informal words.
taehyung laughs. “namjoonie hyung lost his wallet once and yoongi hyung criticized him about losing things—” and how being absentminded was so typical for his house, jungkook was there, “—but he got him a new one anyway.”
“but this is different,” jimin says. “yoongi hyung gave jungkookie his scarf.”
“is it that scarf?”
“yeah.”
“what?” jungkook interjects.
“yoongi hyung’s dad got him this scarf,” taehyung supplies, gesturing at it. “when he got outstandings on all of his o.w.l.s.”
“yeah,” jimin adds. “it’s his lucky scarf.” he pauses. “is there something you’re not telling us, jungkookie?”
jungkook chokes mid-response.
taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “what do you do in the dungeons?”
and now jungkook is too hot, positively overheating, cheeks awash with crimson, not from the cold—and taehyung and jimin both burst out in laughter as he lets out a frustrated noise and stomps away from them.
56. fantasy
this year at hogwarts has finally come to an end. he can—he can finally go back to korea, and see his family and old friends in busan. even though hogwarts has been an utter dream, almost a fantasy—jungkook wants to return to korea, to the reality he used to know.
he’ll be back next year. but then he swallows when he remembers that next year—next year is yoongi’s last year. and then he doesn’t want to leave anymore. he wants time to stop.
ah, it really won’t do to be sentimental like this. why is the graduation ceremony so depressing?
taehyung and jimin are probably already down by the carriages. jungkook hauls his suitcase down the stairs, sighing as he reaches the last step into the large, grandiose entrance hall. he said bye to all of the friends he’d made during his time here. he said bye to seokjin earlier, when all six of them dropped by the hufflepuff common room to give their farewells, and he was trying not to cry a little because of the graduation and seokjin—the kind seventh-year who took him to the kitchens once, comforted his homesickness with food from the elves. and then he remembers how hoseok encouraged him to try out for their house’s quidditch team, practiced with him on the pitch all the way till sundown, even when all the other slytherins had left—the way namjoon sat patiently through potions and charms and arithmancy with him and made lame jokes and encouraged him, the many moments with jimin and taehyung—and yoongi.
he wonders what it’ll feel like. to have to say bye to everyone because he’s the youngest out of their group of seven; he’ll be the last one here, the one left behind after everyone’s graduated and gone—and he has no idea who he’ll be without his six hyungs, without their small band of—
someone taps him on the shoulder.
he turns around, and it’s yoongi, still on the stairs; yoongi, who’s already shed his hogwarts robes, already dressed in his summer clothes, jean shorts hemmed above his knee, plaid button down open and loose and graphic tee peeking from the underneath. his robes are probably folded into his suitcase—his suitcase, probably already down by the carriages too.
“jungkook-ah, why do you look so sad?” yoongi says. “school’s over.”
jungkook makes a sound. it sounds startlingly and embarrassingly close to a whimper. he probably can’t articulate anything without crying right now. the walls of the entrance hall feel like they’re widening so far out that jungkook’s left in a void, a total empty space—but then yoongi grounds him again, touching his shoulder.
“the enchanted boats are about to set sail,” yoongi says. “i’m gonna send seokjin hyung off.”
jungkook gives a jerky nod.
“come watch,” yoongi continues softly, hand trailing down jungkook’s arm, palm curving over his elbow, and then tugging gently at his wrist.
jungkook follows, pulling his suitcase along as yoongi guides him through the doors. they pass the house point hourglasses, already reset, and it makes jungkook’s throat so tight—
they step out, and the sunlight hits like a golden filter, shining down over the black lake as the seventh years are slowly shepherded into the enchanted boats. he can see some of the seventh years—amber, baekhyun, zico—and then seokjin, who turns at the sound of yoongi’s sudden booming voice, the loud, “seokjin hyung!” ringing down the terraced walk.
yoongi just waves. seokjin laughs, wiping his eyes a little, and jungkook waves too, waves until his hand might fall off. yoongi reaches for his hand. and the boats take off one by one, across the shiny waters of the black lake, light flecking across the surface, glinting off the boats. the boats slowly set sail like a journey into the next life, trees framing a sacred passageway, departing hogwarts. a fantasy.
yoongi’s fingers curl around his own.
a fantasy.
68. witchcraft
“missed me, jungkookie?” taehyung asks, spreading his arms wide as jungkook—still dazed from the entire bus ride from busan to daegu—shuffles into the hug, gripping taehyung’s slim frame tightly, gruffly saying “yes.”
jimin’s laughing from behind the two of them, and jungkook releases taehyung so that jimin can hug the daegu boy and surprise—surprise hits deep in his bones when jungkook pulls his traveling bag into the living room and there’s the other four of them, congregated on the loveseats and recliners of the modest house of taehyung’s family.
his mouth drops open a little.
this wasn’t—he didn’t know that they’d be here too, all of them—
hoseok’s the first to stand, seeing jungkook, coming over, squeezing him.
he’s utterly shell-shocked. he’s still kind of mentally stuck in that part of the timeline where jimin came over and got on his knees and begged jungkook’s parents to let him come to daegu for a week—to reunite with taehyung, he’s a friend, it’ll be safe, i’ll take care of jungkookie and take full responsibility—and jungkook’s parents were more concerned over jungkook’s moping, so they let him go.
complete magic. how did jimin even pull it off?
and here he is. here he is, and he’s about to cry, because here all of them are. jimin and taehyung finally enter the living room too, and all seven of them are complete, like they should be. like they should always be.
“jungkook,” namjoon says. “hope you don’t mind that you’re rooming with me for the week.”
“hyung,” jungkook says, voice cracking, and namjoon laughs, dimples showing in his cheeks.
hoseok moves to jimin next; seokjin regards jungkook warmly and pats the empty spot between him and yoongi.
“come sit, jungkook-ah,” seokjin says and jungkook obeys, sinking into the soft cushions of taehyung’s couch, maneuvering his bag between his feet. seokjin’s hands find his face. “did you get thinner? have you been eating properly?”
jungkook shakes his head with a quiet laugh, and seokjin ruffles his hair before pulling back. “i’m fine. hogwarts food is just really different.”
he sneaks a glance at yoongi, whose mouth quirks up.
it was only two weeks ago that they watched the boats sail off while hand-holding. jungkook doesn’t want to assume, but that meant something, right? he wonders if yoongi will touch his hand again when yoongi raises his hand, but yoongi just curls it over jungkook’s nape, fingers pressing into his flesh. jungkook swallows. yoongi can probably feel it.
“we’re going out to eat after jungkookie and jiminie put their bags away,” taehyung announces.
jungkook nods—makes to get up again to put away his bag, and to his surprise yoongi gets up too.
seokjin perks up. “where are we going?”
“a restaurant with really good makchang and lamb skewers and other meats,” yoongi supplies, pressing a hand into jungkook’s waist to guide him away. “daegu specialty.”
jimin follows them into the hallway but enters the first room on the left; he’s rooming with taehyung and hoseok. yoongi ushers jungkook further down, down to the second room on the right, toeing the door open.
jungkook shuffles in, seeing namjoon’s stuff all arranged on one of the two beds, and yoongi stills at the doorway.
“okay,” yoongi says into the silence between them. he does a quick wave and makes to leave, but jungkook’s breath hitches.
(it’s like how they parted at the train station.
noncommittally.
and now that jungkook gets to see him again, now that he gets to see everyone and yoongi an entire two months earlier, he doesn’t want them to be like this. not these small goodbyes.)
“yoongi hyung,” he says, choked up.
yoongi pauses mid-motion and turns back. “yeah?”
it leaves jungkook all in one breath, a quick and murmured “i missed you”, all slotted together without pauses between the cusps, just like how congealed it was in his heart, a solid ache, and yoongi looks at him blankly for a moment, like he didn’t make out what exactly came out of jungkook’s mouth, or maybe he did, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it because what are they anyway—
but then yoongi steps fully into the room, waving his hand at jungkook’s travel bag.
the bag unzips itself, toiletries setting themselves out on the nightstand.
“wait, hyung, are you allowed to—” jungkook begins.
“i’m seventeen, it’s fine,” yoongi replies, and then he walks closer and closer and jungkook backs away, backs up until yoongi has him with the back of his knees colliding with the low mattress.
yoongi’s gaze is dark and unreadable—again, like that first night in the library, when jungkook accidentally stayed up so late to study that he broke curfew—and then jungkook can detect the faintest hints of kindness, the hints that were probably there from the beginning, in the way yoongi’s eyes soften, the way his fingers come up to jungkook’s face.
yoongi has to shift up onto his toes to match jungkook’s height, and jungkook blinks in confusion. what’s even happening—
yoongi presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, fingers playing with the strands of hair by jungkook’s face, tugging at the locks. jungkook’s knees tremble; and then they give out completely. the bed catches his fall, and yoongi looms tall over him. jungkook reaches for his fingers, and now they’re holding hands.
they’re holding hands.
the room around them settles down. jungkook’s things are all properly set out; the bag zips itself up again.
“i missed you too,” yoongi murmurs.
how can he even say it so smoothly, when he just kissed jungkook—how is he not even flustered? jungkook's embarrassed enough for the both of them; this is witchcraft.
"you're so calm," jungkook says, trembling a little.
yoongi smiles. and now that jungkook really looks—pink can be seen on yoongi's pale cheeks, on his otherwise undisturbed expression.
"it's because i waited for a long time, punk."