Chapter Text
Jisung is not usually someone who runs late, but he can’t seem to find Keylime, which is silly, because she is a bright green snake. She ought to be in her cage, but she isn’t. He’s tried calling her name, but parseltongue isn’t known for being a language easily spoken loudly, and there’s a high chance Keylime is sound asleep. She hasn’t replied. Not even once.
“Jisung, let’s go!” Jihoon’s shout echoes from downstairs. “I’m gonna be late and you’re gonna miss your train.”
“Just a minute!” Jisung throws his pillows across the room, tearing apart his bed in an attempt to find Keylime. He doesn’t even remember taking her out. He could have sworn—
A flash of green from the corner of his eye. He picks up a pillow and peers beneath it, surprised but relieved to see the small garden snake.
“Keylime!” he sighs. “Merlin.” He scoops her up, tucking her in her cage gently, before hurrying to his windows. He struggles a few moments to shut them—they have a very old house, with very stupid, sticky windows—before grabbing Keylime’s now-closed cage and hurrying downstairs. His mother catches him in the hallway.
“Oh!” she says. “I thought you’d left.” And she gives him a quick embrace. “Have a good school year, okay, sweetie? We’ll see you at Christmas.”
“I will.” Jisung turns his head, letting her kiss his hair before continuing through narrow halls around the corner to where Jihoon is waiting.
“I am not taking you if you miss it,” Jihoon says sternly, but he doesn’t actually seem to be mad, mostly amused. Jisung’s brother is pretty mild mannered, albeit a little obsessive sometimes.
“We’re fine,” Jisung says, resisting the urge to scowl. “We’re gonna make it.”
Jihoon hums, turning to the cage. “See you, Keylime,” he says. Keylime wiggles her little forked tongue in response, still mostly asleep.
“Wait!” Their dad rounds the corner. “Take care, kid.” He claps Jisung on the shoulder. “Be safe, okay?” He ruffles Jisung’s hair and Jisung shrugs him off.
“Come on, Dad. I’m nearly seventeen.”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got five more months, bud,” he says. Jisung gives him a stink-eye.
“Teenagers,” Jisung’s dad says to Jihoon. Jihoon laughs.
“Come on,” Jisung says. “Hyung’s still a teenager! Technically!”
“I turn twenty soon,” Jihoon says indignantly.
“Weren’t you boys worried about Jisungie missing his train?” Their mother smiles, joining them in the foyer.
Jihoon checks his watch and grimaces. “Yes,” he says. “Come on, Sungie.” He offers Jisung an arm. Jisung makes sure he’s got all his luggage, bids both his parents goodbye, and loops his arm through Jihoon’s.
They apparate to the train station with ease, landing on the bustling platform. Jisung spots a few of his friends nearly immediately, waving with a grin. Donghyuck is standing with his triplet little siblings, Jaemin chatting politely with Jeno’s parents and older sister.
“See?” Jisung elbows Jihoon. “We’re fine. Chenle’s not even here yet. You’re such a worrier”
“That is the lowest bar you could have picked.”
Jisung laughs, resting his elbow on his older brother’s shoulder. Jisung loves being taller than Jihoon. It makes him so happy.
“You gonna confess to him this year?” Jihoon asks, lowering his voice a little, shrugging Jisung off.
Jisung swallows. Shakes his head. “He doesn’t know I’m gay, hyung.”
“Okay, so come out.”
Jisung shoots Jihoon a glare. “Later,” he says.
Jihoon smiles. “Are you excited? You’re almost done!”
Jisung wrinkles his nose. “Kind of, I guess,” he says. “I mean, I’m always excited to go back.”
“There’s a but.” Curse Jihoon for knowing him so well.
“Dunno,” Jisung mumbles. “I think I’m always nervous for a new year.” He surveys the platform. It’s the beginning of September. The station is a comfortable temperature, though slightly warm from the mass of people. Jisung usually hates crowds, but this is a bit different, he thinks, with the crowd being made up of people, of friends, he knows and cares for. It’s a bright, cloudless day, sunlight streaming in through large glass windows across the ceiling. Jisung thinks it’ll be a good train ride. It’s always more pleasant when the view is nice.
Jihoon hums. “You are always nervous for the new year. But you’ll be okay. You still have Chenle, and all your other friends.” He smiles. “Besides, hyung is always on your side. I’m just a letter or a fireplace away.”
Jisung nods, tearing his gaze away from where people continue to pile onto scarlet train cars. The train’s horn blows, and Jihoon turns to him.
“Alright,” Jihoon says. “Be safe, okay? I’m serious, just come by whenever, or have Qian give me a call and I’ll come to you. I have my own office this year, so I should be in the network.”
Jisung nods. “Okay.”
Jihoon smacks a kiss on Jisung’s forehead and Jisung shoves him, wrinkling his nose.
“Ew,” he says. “Don’t do that.”
Jihoon laughs. He gives Jisung a big squeeze with an arm around his shoulder. “See you,” he says.
“See you, hyungie.” Jisung grabs his bags and Keylime’s cage, wheeling them over to the train, giving his hyung one last wave before boarding the train, handing the porter his luggage.
He makes his way through narrow halls, aiming to find two carriage—ideally across from one another—for him and his friends to hunker down in. Instead, he pushes the door to their usual spot open and nearly drops Keylime’s cage in shock at the sight of Chenle. Hunched over a muggle handheld, his face is screwed up in concentration, tongue slightly poking between his lips, brows furrowed.
“When did you get here?!” Jisung asks.
“Shut up,” Chenle replies. “I’m about to beat this guy.”
Jisung peers over his shoulder, watching as some small, pixelated character on the screen fights a large, purple-winged snake.
“Occamy?” he asks.
“I said, shut up!” Chenle elbows him away. “You’re distracting me. And putting pressure on me, and—Fuck!” The screen blinks red, as Chenle’s character runs out of hearts. Chenle groans. “I was so close that time.” And he frowns, withering in his seat.
Jisung laughs. “You’ll get it next—”
“This is your fault,” Chenle grumbles.
“Thanks.”
“And to answer your question.” Chenle wrinkles his nose. “Mom and Dad were on some work trip, so Chenyin had to drop me off before work, which means I’ve been here for hours. You know he likes to go in early to work.” Chenle huffs.
“Couldn’t he just go in later? That’s what Jihoon did.”
“I mean, sure, he could, but you know my brother. He’d rather die than go in on time.”
Jisung laughs. The glass carriage door slides open, and Jisung grins up as Jaemin waltzes in, fluffy ragdoll in his arms.
“Hello, hello, beloved babies,” Jaemin says. Jisung eyes the cat and Jaemin gives him a look. “If there’s any cat you should worry about around your snake, it’s Chenle.”
Chenle scoffs, affronted. “Excuse you.”
“Am I wrong?”
Chenle huffs, and quietly grumbles, “No.”
Luna, the ragdoll, meows. She leaps from Jaemin’s arms to the bench, prodding at the cushion before curling up. Jaemin pulls her into his lap and sits.
“Heyyy,” Donghyuck says from the doorway, beelining to the window seat before Jaemin can scoot over to it. Mark and Sungchan follow, Mark sits beside Jaemin, smiling at him, while Sungchan joins Jisung and Chenle on their side. Jisung smiles. As nervous as he may be, he is awfully excited for his sixth year. No big exams, his seventeenth birthday, and apparition lessons are all in Jisung’s future.
He glances at the window, as the train pulls away from the station, exiting the large hall to make its way from the city. Buildings flash in blurs and Jisung can’t help a brief swell of nerves in his chest. Jisung’s always been an anxious person—though this is nothing compared to his second year’s train ride—so he knows how to deal with it, but he still finds himself gripping his jeans tight in his hand, fingers curling into the stiff fabric, the other holding Keylime’s cage still, as he looks past Chenle out the glass.
Chenle nudges him. “You want the window?” he asks.
Jisung nods. Chenle stands, and they switch. Chenle, who knows him so well, who Jisung has liked for so long. His brother’s words ring in his head. Is this the year?
Does Chenle even like him back?
The lingering unease slowly fades, as conversation blooms in the carriage.
“How about you, Jisungie? Are you excited? Sixth year is a big one.” Mark smiles at him.
Jisung nods. “I am.” And he smiles. Chenle beams beside him.
“Me too!” he says. “Can you believe we’re finally sixth years?!”
“No.” Jaemin pouts. “You grew up so fast.”
“Babies,” Donghyuck snorts.
“Shut it, Hyuck,” Sungchan laughs. “You have N.E.W.T.S. this year. Good luck.”
Donghyuck’s expression sours. “Don’t remind me.”
Outside the train car, the tall buildings have turned to rich, green foliage. It’s still pretty summery out, being only the first of September, but there are a few yellowing leaves. Jisung is excited. He’s excited for fall, he’s excited for the leaves to turn red and orange, for snowy days with Chenle and his friends. This year has so much it holds, so much potential. Jisung can’t wait.
And yet …
“Forget exams, let’s talk about Quidditch!” Chenle says brightly, drawing Jisung back in. “Slytherin’s gonna win this year.”
Jisung sinks into his plush seat. This is gonna be a long conversation. They start every year like this. In fact, they start every conversation like this. Blah, blah, Quidditch. Blah, blah, Quidditch. Quidditch this, Quidditch that. He sighs, still oddly content.
“Chenle’s right,” Jaemin says, pausing his cooing over his cat to agree with him.
Jisung groans as Mark and Sungchan bicker back and forth with the three Slytherins. He drops his snake cage onto Sungchan’s lap—knowing Chenle would protest. “I’m gonna go visit the lovebirds,” he says.
“Ew,” Sungchan says. “You’d voluntarily do that?”
“It’s that or Quidditch talk,” Jisung deadpans.
Sungchan laughs.
Jisung stands on the shaky train, crossing to the carriage across from theirs, where it seems Jeno and Renjun have gotten one to themselves. Jeno’s sitting at the window, the world whirring past them outside. Renjun’s lying on his back, his head in Jeno’s lap. He spots Jisung first.
“Jisungie!” Renjun says. “Hey!”
Jisung plops onto the empty bench. “They’re bickering about Quidditch again.”
“Gryffindor is sooo gonna …” Jeno trails off as Jisung fixes him with a glare. He laughs. “You’re funny, Sung.”
“How was your summer?” Renjun sits up.
“It was good,” Jisung says, smiling. “Jihoon’s got his training at the Ministry, but it’s only starting in a few days! So he was home all summer. It was really nice.”
“Sweet!” Renjun says. “He’s been training to be an auror, right?”
Jisung nods. “Just like Mom. He was pretty excited when he got the position last year.”
“Do you know who it’s under?” Jeno asks. “My sister may know the guy. She’s in the Department of Mysteries.”
“Uhh, Youngheum Lee? I think? Tall guy? Bushy beard?”
“Never heard of him,” Jeno says with a shrug. “Oh, well.”
Renjun laughs. Pats Jeno’s cheek. “Cute,” he murmurs. “How are your parents?” Renjun asks Jisung. “Not still having issues with the house, are they?”
“Mom really wants to move,” Jisung says. “It’s practically falling apart. Dad’s insisting on renovations but …” He sighs. “I think it’s just cause, well, you know, family house and all that but …” Jisung wrinkles his nose. “So many people are still mad at and hate my family,” he mumbles.
Jeno hums. “Yeah, I know. You ought to talk to Donghyuck. I’m sure he gets it. Or Jaemin.”
“Yeah.” Jaemin and Donghyuck are both also from affluent Slytherin families. Sure, Jisung’s family are the direct heirs, but people are mad at Donghyuck and Jaemin’s pureblood families too, for their involvement in the last Wizarding war.
Chenle’s a Slytherin, too, but he’s muggle-born.
Jisung clears his throat. “Do you guys know what you want to do after school?”
“Oh, Merlin,” Jeno mutters, as Renjun nods excitedly.
“I’m not sure!” he says. “On the one hand, it’ll be exciting to get into the workforce, but on the other hand, I do love school.”
“That is the most Renjun sentence I’ve ever heard,” Donghyuck says from the doorway, standing beside Sungchan. “‘It’ll be exciting to get into the workforce.’” Donghyuck pitches his voice up as he mimics Renjun. Sungchan covers his mouth with a hand, laughing, elbowing Donghyuck.
“Oh, fuck off,” Renjun says with a laugh. Jeno snickers. Renjun elbows him, pouting. “Not you, too.”
“I am not excited for N.E.W.T.S., that’s for sure,” Jeno says.
“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Jisung says quietly.
“We’ll miss you too, Sungie.” Renjun smiles. “But you’ll have Chenle and Sungchan, and the rest of your same-year friends.”
“I guess.” Jisung wrinkles his nose.
“Besides,” Jeno says. “Renjunnie, you’re planning on student teaching next year, right?”
“‘It’ll be exciting to get into the workforce.’” Donghyuck mimics Renjun again. This time, Renjun stands, practically pouncing on him as Donghyuck snickers and darts behind Sungchan, who snorts, and moves, allowing Renjun to pull him into a headlock.
Jisung turns his attention to Jeno.
“Qian’s been looking for a charms teacher for years,” he says. “I’m sure he’ll accept Renjunnie as one.”
“You know, Jisung,” Renjun says, as Donghyuck cries uncle and taps out. Renjun releases him. “I’m sure you could student teach, too, if you wanted to. You’re also a favorite.”
Jisung flushes. “Shush,” he mumbles. He does want to teach after school, he’s known that for years, but to actually do it? Wild …
“Professor Qian’s favorite and Professor Lee’s adopted son. Jisungie really has it all,” Donghyuck sings.
“Shut up!” Jisung makes a face. “I think Chenle is technically Professor Qian’s favorite.”
Donghyuck snickers. “Come on, Sungie. I can hear him saying he misses you from all the way over here.”
“Not true!” Chenle calls from the other car.
Jisung rolls his eyes, but bids goodbye to Jeno and Renjun and returns to the other car. Donghyuck and Sungchan stay with the lovebirds.
“’Sup,” Mark says, his arm on the back of the seat, half around Jaemin. Luna has meandered over to Mark’s lap and is now kneading at his thighs.
Jisung takes his seat between Chenle and the window.
“I didn’t miss you, by the way,” Chenle says. “I actually hate your guts.”
“Okay, Chenle.” Jisung opens Keylime’s cage, pulling her out.
“I’m gonna put fire ants in your bed.”
“Okay, Chenle.” Keylime curls up in his palms.
Chenle hooks his chin over Jisung’s shoulder, peering at Keylime. “So maybe I missed you a little,” he mumbles. “She’s so green …”
Jisung snorts. “She’s a snake. Are you stupid?”
Chenle smacks him. “I was just nice to you! Don’t be mean.”
“You’re the one putting fire ants in my bed!”
“That was a gift to Keylime, obviously.”
“Fire ants are too spicy,” Keylime hisses, snuggling into Jisung’s palm. Jisung laughs, and translates for Chenle, who laughs as well.
“Do you want to hold her?” Jisung asks him. Chenle wrinkles his nose.
“No way, man,” he says. “You know I hate snakes.”
Across the way, Jaemin and Mark laugh.
“What sort of Slytherin hates snakes?” Jisung asks.
“I dunno, what sort of Gryffindor is afraid of butterflies?” Chenle shoots back.
Jisung pouts. “Too far.”
“It is okay, Baby Park,” Keylime says. “Just feed all the butterflies to me.”
Jisung nearly coos. “Thanks, Keylime,” he says.
Chenle, ever curious, asks Jisung to translate and he does. In response, he coos. “How cute.”
“I am not cute,” Keylime hisses. “I am fierce, and I will bite you.”
Jisung relays this, too, and Chenle’s expression grows sour. Jisung snorts. Mark laughs. Jaemin, it seems, has fallen asleep against the window, his cheek pressed cutely against the glass.
“Maybe I’ll just go cat mode and bat her around,” Chenle mutters. He gives himself two cat ears with his fingers.
“Dude.” Donghyuck cringes from the doorway. “Be so serious.”
“I’m literally a cat,” Chenle says.
“You know, sometimes you can say that, right now, though, you can’t,” Sungchan says.
In response, Chenle transforms into a cat, jumps off the bench, and runs straight toward Sungchan, trying to bite his leg.
“Hey!” Sungchan yelps, as laughter rings out through the carriage. “Jisung,” he laughs. “Help!”
Jisung snorts. “You’re on your own, man,” he says, watching as the lanky cat—funny to think of it as Chenle—scales Sungchan’s jeans. Sungchan shakes his leg, trying to get him off.
Luna meows and Chenle seems to immediately realize his mistake, leaping off of Sungchan and hopping away, returning to his human state.
“Do you ever cut your claws?” Sungchan asks.
“I want you to think about how many opposable thumbs a cat has and ask me that again.”
Sungchan huffs, but drops onto the bench beside Jisung. “Jisung, you should cut his claws.”
“Me? Why me? Ask Jaemin.”
They all look at Jaemin, who blinks blearily. “Huh?”
“Who would’ve thought he’d be a feral cat,” Sungchan huffs.
“Don’t tell me you really didn’t see that coming?” Donghyuck teases. “Chenle’s as feral as it gets.”
In response, Chenle hisses.
“Furry,” Donghyuck says. Jisung does not know what this word means. He is, as Chenle says, ‘chronically offline.’ Jisung doesn’t even have a phone.
“Oh, shut up. You wanted to be one too!”
“Sure,” Donghyuck says. “’Til I realized I’d be a furry if I was one.”
“I hate you.”
Jisung is too afraid to ask.
Donghyuck sticks his tongue out. Chenle flips him off. As if on cue, to see Chenle’s horrible profanity, the trolley lady stops at their door.
“Anything from the trolley, dears?” she asks.
Chenle lights up and rattles off an order of numerous candies—enough for all of them—before anyone can say a word. Jisung chuckles, pays, and enjoys the chocolate frog he didn’t have to order.
“Who’d you get?” Chenle asks, peering—rather obnoxiously—over Jisung’s shoulder. Keylime has retreated to her cage.
“Taemin,” Jisung says. “Here.” He hands the card to Chenle and Chenle claps cutely.
“Thanks!”
Chenle collects chocolate frog cards. Always has. This makes his jealousy toward Jisung—who’s met Kibum Kim—the chosen one himself—a few times, just through his mother—quite egregious. Jisung has asked why Chenle doesn’t just meet Kibum Kim via Chenyin—considering the two were classmates—but it sounds like Chenyin’s waiting until Chenle’s a little less of a feral 12-year-old to let the pair interact.
“How many Taemins is that now, Chenle?” Mark asks. “You want another?”
“Yes, please!” Chenle says happily. “And twelve.” He smiles.
“Don’t eat too many chocolate frogs,” Jisung chides. “You’ll give yourself a bellyache.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Jisung rolls his eyes, ignoring Chenle’s pointed grin.
“We ought to change into our robes,” Mark says. “We’ll be there soon.” Jisung peers out the window, spotting the Great Lake in the distance. He hums.
“Yeah.”
Chenle grins. “I can’t wait.”
Exciting news for Jisung: Professor Lee is one of the professors to retrieve students and direct them to the carriages. It seems Deputy Headmaster D. Kim is on first-year duty, as he usually is, herding the mildly confused looking children down to the boats. Hogsmeade station is bustling, as students get off of the train and shuffle toward the thestral-drawn carriages. Not that Jisung can see them—he can’t, and he sure hopes he never can. It’s cooler farther North, which makes sense, Jisung supposes. Either way, he’s grateful for his robes.
Eleven is awfully young, Jisung thinks, eyeing the kids full heads shorter than him.
Not that he’s much older. That said, he sure feels older.
“I’m ancient,” Mark mutters beside him as they head to the carriages. The eight of them manage to all squeeze in one, conversation easily falling into place.
Jisung enjoys it. Lets his friend’s voices wash over him, ease him.
It’ll be fine, he tells himself.
It’ll be fine.
Until they arrive at the castle, and Professor Qian throws a wrench in Jisung’s already rocky start. They’re all in the Great Hall, sitting at their actual tables for once, per Mark (resident Head Boy)’s guidance. The First Years have been sorted, and the long, stretched tables are filled with students new and old. Jisung sits between Sungchan and Jeno. Weird to see Jeno and Renjun apart.
“This year,” Professor Qian begins, clearing his throat and stepping to the podium. “I have a very exciting announcement, though I would first like to, again, welcome you all warmly to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He smiles. There’s an air of unease to him, but Jisung is sure he’s just projecting. “Now, as I was saying, in conjunction with the Ministry of Magic, I am delighted to announce that, this year, for the first time in a little over a decade, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!”
And Jisung can’t really do anything other than stare. Stare, as the hall erupts into cheers, loud laughter and joyous shouts filling it. The skies above paint a clear, cloudless night, the constellations in full, stars dancing across the sky. Jisung swallows. Across the table, Sungchan is chattering away excitedly with one of their dormmates. Jeno nudges Jisung.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sure in just a few minutes, they’ll announce all the safety precautions they’re taking.” He gives Jisung a small smile. Jisung returns it, anxiety pricking under his skin. He wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t expecting this.
Professor Qian clears his throat. “Your attention, please,” he says. “Now, the Ministry has set in place various rules. Not only will aurors be present at every event, but no student under the age of seventeen is allowed to partake in the tournament.
Jisung can practically hear Chenle’s cursing from across the hall and he snorts, pushing his food around his plate. Sounds good to him. That means Chenle can’t join, that means he can’t join. All good. None of his other friends should be stupid enough to put their name in the goblet, right?
Jisung tunes out the rest of Professor Qian’s speech. Blah, blah, goblet. Blah, blah, other schools arriving in October. Blah, blah, blah.
Jisung swears he’s usually a better student than this, only it’s been a long day and he’s exhausted. He just wants to have some sweets for dessert then crawl into the nice, fresh, clean sheets of his bed and sleep maybe for a hundred years.
He takes a deep breath. Why is he so … itchy? He doesn’t know. He thinks he didn’t really realize it earlier, either. Perhaps it’s the new school year. Perhaps his socks are sliding into his shoes a bit too much. Or maybe his hair is too long. He knew he should’ve cut it before the term. Or it could even be the roar of the Great Hall, students talking and talking and—
Jeno taps Jisung’s shoulder, as Jisung twists his hands. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
Jisung nods, inhaling, and exhaling, slowly. He plants his feet flat on the floor. Grounds himself. Runs his fingers over his placemat, feeling its texture beneath his fingertips. Grounds himself. He focuses on the smell of pudding and apple pie before him. Just like Jihoon taught him oh, so many years ago, when he started having panic attacks, well into his second year.
He’s doing better, really, he swears it.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Anxious,” Jisung grumbles. “I guess.”
“Have some dessert!” Mark says brightly from across the table, spooning some ambrosia onto his plate. Jisung smiles. He takes a few bites before slowing down, enjoying the sweetness on his tongue, only looking up to find Chenle staring right at him. And, at once, Chenle disappears.
“I’m gonna go off, now,” Jisung says. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Mark’s brows furrow, before he looks to Chenle’s now-empty seat and laughs.
“Have fun!”
Jisung stands, leaving his plate behind and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Chenle’s leaning against the wall and he hops up once he sees Jisung.
“Can you believe it?!” he says, excited. “The Triwizard Tournament!”
Jisung manages a smile. “Honestly? Not really. After how disastrous the last one was, I’m surprised they’re hosting it again, much less at Hogwarts.”
“You heard Qian, they’re taking loads of precautions.” Chenle skips backwards down the hall and Jisung hurries after him, watching—fondly—as he nearly runs into a column. Twice.
Jisung shakes his head, smiling. They eventually reach the Slytherin common rooms. Chenle lets them in and Jisung follows him inside, sitting across from him. Chenle curls up on the couch, still going on and on about the tournament. Jisung sinks into the plush, velvet chair, enjoying the soft glow from the lights that illuminate the large window to the Great Lake, and distant hum of whatever electric systems run through the castle these days. Jisung is practically nodding off, happy and relieved to have found a state of calm with Chenle, as he so often does.
“Are you even listening?” Chenle asks at some point, right before Jisung starts snoring, as Jaemin and Donghyuck file into the Slytherin common rooms, flanked by Mark and Sungchan.
“Chenle,” Jaemin snorts. “Do you think he’s listening?”
Jisung pulls open his eyes. “Hm?”
Chenle throws up his hands. Jaemin, Sungchan, and Mark all laugh.
“Come on, Ji,” Sungchan says. “We came to grab you. Something about needing to sleep in our own beds at least once.”
Mark elbows Sungchan, laughing. “I mean, we probably should. Besides, you guys aren’t technically allowed to sleep in other dorms.”
“Oh, come on, Mark!” Chenle says. “House divisions are so last century.”
Jaemin snorts. “You sound like my mother,” he mutters. Chenle shoots him a dirty look.
So Jisung allows Mark and Sungchan to drag him back to the Gryffindor common rooms. They give him the password, which is nice. Jisung and Sungchan bid goodbye to Mark and head up to their own dormitory, where Beomgyu Choi, Jaehyun Myung, and Jake Sim are already all yappin’ away.
“Hey, guys,” Jaehyun greets them. “You’re up late.”
“Yeah, that’s odd,” Jake says. “Isn’t Jisung usually asleep by seven?” he teases.
Jisung gives him a dirty look, but then he nearly falls over trying to put on his pajamas, so, really, who’s the sucker?
They all laugh. “Jisung was chatting with Chenle,” Sungchan says.
All the boys go ‘ooooooo, Chenle.’
“Will you all shut up?” Jisung scoffs. “Merlin,” he mutters. “‘Ooooo, Chenle.’ You sound like third years. Come on.”
They all snicker as Jisung climbs into bed.
“Well?” Jaehyun looks at him, a grin on his face. “You dating yet?”
In response, Jisung smacks him with his pillow and rolls over, nearly immediately dozing off.
Jisung’s first class of the week is Care of Magical Creatures. A wonderful way to start off the semester, in his humble opinion. Outdoors, in the grass and among the trees. It’s the perfect temperature out, not too hot, with a light breeze, trees shuddering in the wind. He heads out early, reaching Professor Taeyong Lee’s hut (apparently he chooses to sleep outside. Jisung doesn’t question it) and waving at him, where he’s sticking some flowers into pre-dug holes in the ground.
“Jisung!” Professor Lee smiles. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to say hi.” Heat rushes up Jisung’s cheeks. This isn’t weird, right? He’s always been close with Professor Lee.
“That’s great,” Professor Lee says, gently removing a spider from his bare arm and setting it on the house. “How was your summer? Would you like to help?”
Jisung looks down at his own, freshly washed robes. “Um.” He doesn’t particularly want to get them dirty on the first day. Not like they do their own laundry, but still.
“I’m almost done,” Professor Lee says. And he shoves one last bundle of roots and stems and budding plant into the hole in the ground. He pats the dirt a few times, making sure it’s all settled, and he stands, pulling off his gloves and brushing off his knees, where they had rested on a little flat, squishy board.
“Well.” Professor Lee surveys the front of the hut, where flowers now line it. “Wonderful. And they’re all native species!”
“They’re so bright.” Jisung looks at the forest, in its dark intensity, beyond the little area they do their work in, toward the forbidden section.
“Yes, well, that forest is a real eyesore because that one headmaster removed all the birch trees.” He makes a face. “I’ll have to discuss with Professor Qian. Replanting them would be nice.”
Jisung hums. He remembers reading about that. Something about maintaining a certain aesthetic. Jisung thought it was stupid, but apparently it’s a critical part of Hogwarts’ history.
“You can just do that?” Jisung asks. “Change something that’s been the same for so long?”
Professor Lee smiles. “Well, it’ll be okay, won’t it? It won’t hurt anyone.” Jisung surveys the forest. The trees are large, leaves spread and sunlight streaming through them onto the forest floor. “And thestrals really like birch.”
“Really?”
“Dunno why. Just something I heard once.”
“Oh.”
Laughter echoes through the air, and Jisung turns to see his classmates coming down the hill toward them. The Gryffindors have Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins—and they always have—but even as Jisung looks around, through his dormmates and Chenle’s classmates, he doesn’t see Chenle himself—at all.
Sungchan reaches him first. “You’re here early,” he says.
“Where’s Chenle?!” Jisung blurts.
“Oh. He didn’t mention?” Sungchan yawns. “Chenle dropped.”
“He what?!” Jisung gasps.
Sungchan laughs, but before he can elaborate, Professor Lee speaks. “Good morning class,” he says loudly. “Organize yourselves, please.”
“Good morning,” the class grumbles.
“Excited for your sixth year?” he asks, cheerily.
More grumbling.
“Wonderful!” Professor Lee catches Jisung’s eye and winks. Jisung grins.
Professor Lee then proceeds to lecture for the next hour, much to Jisung’s dismay. Not that he doesn’t mind lectures but that he was hoping they’d do a warmup. Maybe something small, like a niffler, or a bowtruckle.
Then Jisung has his free period, which is nice. The whole first day goes smoothly, and he ends up meeting Chenle at lunch.
“So,” Jisung says. “Were you gonna mention you dropped Care of Magical Creatures or what?” Jisung asks as Chenle sits.
Chenle’s ears turn pink. He grins, sheepish. “I was, I swear. I was just a bit … sidetracked.” He pauses. “And you fell asleep while I was talking last night. “ He shrugs.
“Oh, come on,” Jisung says. “You talked for, like, an hour straight!”
“So?! You’re the listener, I’m the yapper, we’re a match made in heaven!”
Jisung flushes, ignoring Donghyuck and Jaemin’s snickers across the table. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” he says. “And return to the conversation at hand.”
“Think about it this way, would you rather have been alone in Care of Magical Creatures this morning or Divination this afternoon?”
Jisung thinks about it. Grumbles something under his breath about Chenle being stupid.
Chenle grins. “Seeeee,” he says, elbowing him. “Besides, I was sick of that stupid time turner. It really was a pain in my ass.”
Jisung snorts. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
Chenle smiles, pleased with himself. “I really wanted to drop Divination. You don’t even need it to be an auror. But …” His smile turns sheepish. “I couldn’t abandon you there, Sungie. Who would make you look good in that class?”
“I look good in that class by myself, thank you!”
“Come on, no one is actually good at Divination.”
Donghyuck clears his throat across the table, nodding toward Jaemin, who’s got his nose buried in the newspaper.
“Oh, come on!” Chenle laughs. “He doesn’t count! He could teach Divination if he wanted to!”
Jaemin chuckles, adjusting his glasses and looking up. “I could not, but thank you,” he says. “I still have a long way to go before I’m confident in my abilities.”
“That’s such a Renjun sentence,” Donghyuck snickers. A roll hits him in the face, as Renjun throws it without even looking up from his conversation with Mark and Jeno. Donghyuck scoffs as they all laugh. He goes to throw something back but Sungchan grabs his hand, giving him a look. Donghyuck rolls his eyes.
“Besides!” Chenle says brightly. “You can see into the future, Jaem! That’s sick!”
“I cannot see into the future, Chenle.” Jaemin turns back to his newspaper. “That would be cool, though.”
Chenle nudges Jisung. “I bet he’ll give his first prophecy by the end of the week,” he snickers. Jisung rolls his eyes.
“Come on,” Jisung says. “We’re going to be late to herbology.”
Chenle wrinkles his nose. “I hate herbology.”
“Sure, Chenle. Come on.”
Chenle sticks his tongue out at him, but follows him nonetheless.
Herbology is just as fun as it always is. The greenhouses are tall and warm, humid, almost too much so. Jisung peels off his outer robes, leaving him in just his button-up, so he’s matching Chenle. Though, it should be said, Chenle never ever wears his outer robes.
Professor Jaehyun Jung starts things off exciting—with mandrakes. “It’s a classic,” he’d said. A classic, Jisung thinks. Classic pain in his ass. Jisung thinks Jung is just making them do what he doesn’t want to.
As Chenle’s grumbling about much he fucking hates herbology beside Jisung, Jisung and Sungchan busy themselves with putting on earmuffs and gloves. They’re just repotting them, and yet, Jisung really wishes he were being lectured at right now. Chenle keeps grumbling, trailing behind them, not having put on his own earmuffs. Jisung sighs, grabbing a pair of purple earmuffs and settling them over Chenle’s ears.
Chenle wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t take them off. Jisung returns to the mandrake, and gets to repotting.
They repot without much conversation—it’s kind of difficult, when you’re all wearing earmuffs and there’s this persistent screaming. With Jung’s pushing, Chenle reluctantly joins them. Jisung likes Herbology, as he likes most of his glasses, though by the end of it, there’s dirt on his shirt and up his arms. He sighs, just as they’re wrapping up, pulling off his earmuffs and turning to Chenle.
“See?” Jisung says. “That wasn’t terrible.”
“It was horrible,” Chenle deadpans. “I hate when Jung makes us do his dirty work,” he grumbles. “We learned about mandrakes second year, and something tells me it’s not like there’s another basilisk buying time in the basement.”
Sungchan laughs, as Professor Jung yells. “Heard that!” And Chenle flushes.
“Whatever,” Chenle mutters.
“You know, maybe if you were less of a smartass, you’d face less consequences of being a smartass,” Sungchan says.
“I am not a smartass!”
“I’d say he’s just an ass,” Jeongin Yang, one of Chenle’s Slytherin classmates, teases from across the way, where he’s pulling off his own earmuffs.
Chenle reaches for a spade, but Jisung catches his wrist. Jeongin, as well as Yizhou Ning, one of Chenle’s other Slytherin friends, snicker away.
“C’mon,” Chenle says, pulling his hand from Jisung. “I’ll get them back later.” And he sticks his tongue out at them. He nods his head out of the greenhouse and Jisung follows him, amidst their classmates’ giggles. They hurry across the castle, exchanging few words as they run to the North tower. Divination is a cross-house affair now that they’re sixth years, only being enough students if they mix all four together. After trudging up what feels like hundreds of stairs, Jisung lets Chenle head up the ladder first, then follows himself. The room is large and moody. With little, round tables and chairs, small table runners across them. It’s very homey. Very unlike the rest of the classrooms.
It seems, however, their rushing paid off. They’re the first ones there. Professor Jungwoo Kim, J. Kim, as people refer to him, so as not to mix him up with their deputy headmaster, Doyoung Kim, is setting up the tables, slowly meandering around with tea cups on a tray, setting them by hand on each table. He looks up upon their entrance.
“Hey,” he says. “Park, Zhong, how were your summers?”
“Good!” Chenle chirps. “Passed all my muggle summer classes.” And he beams.
“So weird,” Jisung says. He’ll never understand Chenle’s mother’s insistence on making Chenle—and, previously, Chenyin—take muggle classes over the summer.
“That’s great,” Professor. J. Kim says. Chenle walks over to him and starts helping him lay out teacups. They both do it by hand, which Jisung finds so funny. He would’ve just waved his wand once, and they’d all be in their spots. No dropping them, no weaving through closely laid out tables, and no tedious task. They make easy conversation and, reluctantly, Jisung joins them. He doesn’t particularly like slow and tedious tasks, but he doesn’t complain. Besides, he enjoys listening to Chenle talk, as he chatters away at Mr. J. Kim, who’s one of the younger teachers, technically not even a professor, new to the school, and only a year or two older than Jisung’s brother. Jisung’s pretty sure they all overlapped, if only by a little.
“Magic would’ve been faster,” Jisung says, as they set down the last cup and Chenle drags him to a table in the front, setting down his bag.
“Sure,” Chenle says. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Jisung wrinkles his nose. “It is fun,” he says. “You don’t have to menially put down teacups.”
Chenle laughs. “Sure,” he says. “But we got to chat, and it’s nice to do things by hand.”
“I guess,” Jisung mumbles.
“Little things.” And Chenle flicks Jisung’s forehead. He sinks back into his chair, watching Mr. J. Kim. Chenle’s always said J. Kim sort of reminds him of his dad. Maybe that’s …
“You miss your dad,” Jisung says.
“Ew.” Chenle wrinkles his nose. “Why would I miss him?”
Jisung rolls his eyes. “Chenle, you can miss your family.”
“It’s the first day.” Ever stubborn Chenle. “I don’t miss anyone.”
“Okay.” Jisung drops it. “I’m glad you didn’t drop Divination.”
“Stop being so …” Chenle trails off, glancing at Jisung, their gazes meeting. “Why didn’t you drop?”
Jisung shrugs. “Dunno.”
“You know, ’cause don’t you want to be a Care of Magical Creatures professor?”
“I do.”
Chenle makes a face. “Okay,” he says, slower. “So why didn’t you drop?”
Jisung’s embarrassed. He crosses his arms. “Didn’t want you to be alone,” he mutters, and he watches as Chenle’s face morphs to one aghast.
“Jisung!” he hisses. “You’re telling me we both could’ve dropped and not been stuck in fucking Divination?!”
Jisung laughs, but quickly stops as Mr. J. Kim clears his throat. “Alright,” he says. “Class, we’ll open up simply with reading tea leaves. You all ought to know what you’re doing by now.” And he smiles. “Get to it! I’ll be around if you need anything.”
And Jisung turns back to Chenle, pouring tea in his cup from the pot in the center of the table. Chenle’s grumbling, a pout on his lips. Jisung laughs.
“Lele,” he says.
“No, I’m mad at you. I could’ve not been taking Divination!”
Jisung laughs. He can’t help but be amused. It doesn’t help that Chenle’s so cute when he’s sulky. He takes the teapot from Jisung and pours his own hot water.
“We can probably still drop,” Jisung says. “You know Qian is chill about class schedules.”
“Sure, he is, but Professor Ten isn’t.” Right. Professor Ten Lee, Chenle’s head of house. Usually just goes by Ten to avoid being confused with Care of Magical Creatures Lee.
Chenle heaves a great sigh. “It’s fine,” he says. “But if you drop, I’ll kill you. Then I’ll dance on your grave.”
Jisung laughs. Probably far too amused. “I won’t drop, Lele.”
“Good,” Chenle grumbles. And he pouts. “I can’t believe it. I hate you.”
Jisung sips his tea. “Okay,” he says.
Chenle hums, drinking his own happily. He’s so cute. Jisung is kind of perpetually endeared by him. “I’m glad he went with jasmine. I really was getting sick of that assam from last year.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jisung mumbles. “That was like, five classes consecutively.”
Jisung finishes his, pulling his book from his bag and opening it to the page he needs with his wand. He glances at his cup, confident with the knowledge that he knows most of the symbols and their meanings by now, having encountered many of them. Instead, he finds himself stuck with the one he not only hasn’t seen, but one he thought he never would.
Jisung’s heart stutters in his chest. Shock must be evident on his face because Chenle cranes his neck around, trying to look into it.
“What is it?” Chenle asks.
Jisung yanks his teacup back before Chenle can see, holding it close to his chest.
“Nothing,” Jisung says. The Grim. The Grim is sitting in his teacup, staring at him with a singular white eye, as the ceramic of the cup peeks through the dark leaves.
“Jisung, what is it?” Chenle moves to stand but Jisung does first. He can’t go to J. Kim. He’d freak out! Jisung’s heard stories of students finding the Grim, the notorious, terrible omen of death. Teachers flocking to the North tower, being babysat for weeks. No, Jisung can’t. In fact, there’s only one person Jisung can consult about this.
He doesn’t even tell J. Kim an excuse. Instead, he bolts straight to the door, running out then taking the ladder down, hurrying down the North tower’s staircase until he reaches the Slytherin common rooms. Eerie and green, the creepy, unsettling window to the Great Lake, that Jisung’s usually fond of, provides little comfort.
“Jisung?” Donghyuck is lying with his head in Sungchan’s lap. Jisung can’t even be bothered.
“Where’s Jaemin?” he asks.
“Not feeling well,” Donghyuck says. “He looked a little pale, so he went to get some air. Why? What’s up?”
Jisung swallows, a thick lump in his throat. The panic is slowly setting in and he wishes his brother were here. Wishes he hadn’t run from Chenle. Wishes the stupid grim weren’t in his stupid cup.
He opens his mouth. Shuts it. “I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” he says.
And he turns on his heel and runs.
Jisung reaches the grounds out of breath and drenched in sweat. September is still somewhat warm—not hot, of course, but humid. It’s supposed to rain. He doesn’t spot Jaemin, where he surveys the grounds, but he persists forward, nearly walking straight past him.
“Jisung.”
Jisung turns, spotting Jaemin in the grass to the side of the path he was on, headed toward the Quidditch pitch.
“Jaemin.”
Jaemin looks pale, a little greenish. Worse than he did at lunch. Jisung regrets coming to him. Oh, he should’ve just—
Jaemin’s gaze darts to the cup in Jisung’s hands. “No,” he whispers. “Jisung, don’t tell me—”
Jisung nods. “The Grim.”
“Shit,” Jaemin says. He stands, slowly, steadily. “We ought to return to the castle,” he says. “Professor Qian should—” Jaemin grunts, doubling over at once, clutching his stomach tightly.
“Jaemin!” Jisung drops the teacup in shock, hurrying to his friend. “Jaemin, are you okay?” He grabs Jaemin’s shoulder. Jaemin groans.
“It’s coming, Jisung,” he says, voice strained. “It’s—” He grabs Jisung’s shoulder, fingers digging into his robes. “It’s—” Jaemin gasps, heaving a breath. His eyes fly open wide, and he speaks.
“A crimson covered threat grows near.” Jaemin’s voice is raspy and harsh, as though the words are being torn from his throat. He clutches his stomach, and speaks again. “To induce pain, and incite fear. Unstoppable as the chaos yearns, hopes to create a world that burns. To save it all before he’s dead … Born to green but dressed in red, the youngest Son of Slytherin. Underneath a false night sky, alone to fight, eye for eye.”
Jaemin collapses. He slips from Jisung’s hold, his sudden dead weight too much for Jisung, landing unconscious in the grass. Jisung glances at his teacup.
Things suddenly make a lot more sense.