Chapter Text
One would be lying if they said, students delay boarding the train to Hogwarts at platform 9¾, solely to spend more time bidding farewell to their families. While that was partly true, especially for the first years who’d never seen the dreamies before, even the prefects struggled to maintain their composure when those boys passed by.
“Spotting the dreamies after 3 months! Blimey, I could finally breathe again…”
They were essentially the Boys Over Flowers of modern-day Hogwarts, minus the meaningless extravagance and cold main-character attitude. Quite contemporary really, since the legendary Harry Potter defeated Voldemort and all threats perished from the world of magic. Now, the students use wizarding world social media and blog about day-in-life at Hogwarts. Some, even skip Defense Against Dark Arts classes, for their promotion schedule of some trendy but utterly useless magic products as influencers, dreaming of becoming brand ambassadors or future entrepreneurs one day.
“Ministry of Magic? Ew, who wants to get a job there. They all seem like control freaks!”
“Geez, how could you say that? Harry Potter could be your boss if you get a chance to work there, who knows?”
“Okay. As much as we like to watch Harry oppa playing quidditch at reality shows, he’s actually overrated. I mean, Voldemort kinda deserved betterrrr.”
Ahh yes. The new generation of wizards and their equally new generation opinions. Naturally, the magical world had its own version of Twitter. Naturally, there were hashtags like #Voldydaddy #Justicefordeatheaters and #BaddieBellatrix. One could easily stumble upon conspiracy-theory threads dissecting how Harry Potter was actually the true heir of Salazar Slytherin, and how Dumbledore had secretly been a Slytherin all along, not a Gryffindor. And somehow, Merlin knows how, they actually made sense.
Oh, and have the fanfictions been mentioned? Apparently, the most used fanfic tag, in the wizarding world fiction website “MO3” or “Magic Of Our Own”, was Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald with over 80k fics, followed by Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory at 77k— both of which had angst trope mostly, and hurt/no comfort story outline. Meanwhile, most of the R-rated content was dominated by the Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy tag—better known across the wizarding fandom as the classic toxic yaoi trope. Half the students in Hogwarts’ Literature Club were openly fanfiction writers. The other half had definitely written at least one fic in their lifetime, if not several, hidden away under anonymous MO3 accounts.
There were magic high school clubs now, by the way, less about magic and more about….rather muggle interests. Of course Hogwarts had to have one considering how the clubs often organized interschool events, and the school couldn’t miss a chance to show its superiority. Even Professor McGonagall, the present principal of Hogwarts, publicly supported these events, despite her utter disdain for almost everything this generation stood for. She tried her best, grew more wrinkles and gray hair in a decade than most muggles, while struggling to assert bare minimum amount of discipline at the school. But who was she kidding, trying to control hundreds and thousands of students throwing strikes and revolts at simplest prejudice.
Honestly, she was secretly proud at times though she wouldn’t let it show. These kids knew how to deal with injustice and bring forth revolution. These kids knew how to navigate life and take care of themselves. And it all started when Harry Potter and friends formed Dumbledore’s army to revolt against what was wrong. McGonagall, at present, had more of a love-hate relationship with the Hogwarts students. The term “muggle-washed” seemed fit for them. Expressing the slightest disapproval of a student’s muggle-like habit could be treated as a hate crime these days, potentially landing someone in court without a second thought. Had Draco Malfoy or his father still been at the school, merlin forbid, he’d be impaled on day one.
Speaking of the trendy muggle culture, the Dreamies originally started as a club dedicated to ’70s–’90s muggle pop and rock, founded by yours truly, Club Leader Lee Mark. Unfortunately, the lack of actual theme based activities caused it to fizzle out within a few months, and it quietly evolved into a friendship group instead. Quite popular one, at that. There were seven members in total, some more famous than others. Most students at Hogwarts stood on one leg, dreaming of one day being accepted into the group. But the last intake happened two years ago when Park Jisung was in his first year. And as for why no one could function properly whenever the Dreamies strolled past to board the Hogwarts Express?
1. Three whole months without the sight of those hot wizards.
2. Five out of the seven members were literal celebrities.
Mark Lee, a renowned author, bronze medalist in wand dueling at the Wizarding World Olympics, and the younger brother of supermodel Lee Taeyong. Lee Jeno, Mark’s cousin and a silver medalist in dragon racing at the same Olympics. Zhong Chenle, the heir to and public face of a prestigious wizarding world cosmetics line and sports agency. Na Jaemin, a supermodel with a face worthy of being archived in wizarding museums. And finally, Lee Donghyuck: part-time model, full-time rockstar, and star player of the under-nineteen Korean Quidditch League.
“Lee Jeno, marry me! Jaemin! Jaemin, I am in love with you! Donghyuck step on me omgg!!”
Screams echo as the three board the train, walking through the sea of black cloaked young wizards and witches crowding the congested corridor, hoping to reach the elite-class compartment. There’d always be one available for them. Whether it was reserved by covert arrangements or simply fate working in their favor each year, no one really knew.
The standard compartments seated eight, while the elite ones held only four; meaning the last three members of their group to arrive would inevitably have to sit elsewhere. Mark and Donghyuck never faced such thing. Jeno did once. Jaemin did all the time until he started arriving with Jeno to the station. Chenle faced it twice. The second time, though, he forced himself into the already full compartment occupied by the other four anyways, and refused to leave.
“Gosh, those other kids were harassing me with their eyes!” he had complained while dramatically throwing himself on Jeno’s lap, faking desperation like a Victorian widow. “With great fame, comes great discomfort.”
“I’m sure you’re overreacting.” Jaemin scoffed.
Aside from these mainstream posh kids, the other two members insistently always sat in a separate compartment, having far less—if not entirely nonexistent—celebrity status. Park Jisung, the clumsy cousin of Na Jaemin, whom he believed to be his first born for reasons no one quite understood. Just another one of his abnormal antics which everyone was pretty used to. And Huang Renjun, cousin of Zhong Chenle. The small figured guy had far too many anger issues and social anxiety to maintain a high profile like the others. The hat had almost sorted him into Slytherin for that, if not for his overwhelming nerdiness overpowering his wrath and placing him elsewhere.
Usually, Jaemin and Donghyuck would cry for Jisung to sit with them as they couldn’t let their “Baby” be alone in a ”cold, dark and lonely” place.
“I’ll be there with him” Renjun declared everytime, while dragging the overgrown child away.
“Oh my! He’ll not only rot in a cold, dark and lonely corner, But also in presence of a dementor!!” Donghyuck cried fake tears, earning a smack from the skinny and pale Ravenclaw boy.
As expected, this time as well they easily find a completely empty compartment, in the already vacancy elite section of the train. They hover inside, immediately tending to their trunks. Jeno lifts his onto the rack above the seats before helping Jaemin with his. Donghyuck shoves his own under the seat and tosses his backpack onto the overhead rack. He then drops into his seat with a heavy sigh, already out of breath. Unfortunately, his boyfriend wasn’t a muscle pig like Jaemin’s, to have ever helped him with luggage. And even more unfortunately, the 5th year Gryffindor prefect hadn’t even showed up yet.
“Where’s Mark?” Jaemin asks Donghyuck.
“Ask your boyfriend,” Donghyuck replies seemingly exhausted. “They’re cousins, they live in the same area.”
“I haven’t met him this morning, my dad drove me here. He’s probably coming with Taeyong hyung and my uncle.” Jeno says.
“Right,” muttered Donghyuck, sounding thoroughly uninterested. He stretches his legs out and sinks back against the seat, turning his gaze toward the window as he bites idly at the nail of his index finger.
Right then, on cue, distant echoes ripple through the station—high, youthful voices shrieking in unrestrained ecstasy, “Lee Mark! Lee Taeyong!”
“Oh? There you go, there he is!” Jeno gestures towards the window, presenting the all-too-familiar spectacle outside.
Donghyuck casts a single glance outside the open pane, scarcely registering the Gryffindor boy among the crowd. He then leans back into his seat entirely unbothered, now that he has confirmed his boyfriend’s seraphic presence. He keeps himself occupied crafting sentences in head. Rehearsing, how he’s going to greet Mark after three months of not seeing each other, and three months of carrying the burden of ninety unanswered letters.
Donghyuck knows full well that Mark’s parents do not approve of their perfect little Gryffindor boy dating him, a Slytherin, descended from a long line of Slytherin ancestors. He doesn’t particularly mind though. The fact that an ideal son like Mark, was willing to defy his family for him, gave enough reasons for Donghyuck to remain committedly in love. A Love, strong enough to drown out his own sharp awareness that he is, after all, more than qualified to date any son or daughter from the most elite wizarding families.
If one were to ignore his troublemaking nature, Donghyuck is in fact at the very top of his class. Has been, since his 2nd year at Hogwarts. He brought the Quidditch Cup to Slytherin house in his first year. And then again in his third and fourth years, for Gryffindor having won it in their second. The previous year, Donghyuck played in the Interschool Quidditch Tournament and brought the cup home to Hogwarts after beating the Durmstrang Institute. That was when Slytherin won the House Cup for the first time in two decades.
Undeniably, Donghyuck had his own fans. Heck he had a whole fandom. He had admirers all over the country, people ready to ruin themselves for him. And at the same time, those who weren’t in love with him, seemed to despise him with all the same intensity. Teachers, students, staffs, ghosts, people coming from other houses and even random civilian wizards outside the school.
Their principal, Professor McGonagall—though far better than the late Professor Dumbledore at concealing outright partiality—still favored Gryffindor above any other houses. All the while, indirectly yet quite obviously expressing her distaste for Slytherin whenever the opportunity arose. Slytherin had been the most hated house, inside and outside of Hogwarts, since the very beginning of the School of Magic. It got worse after the great battle against Voldemort that took place decades earlier. Such biased behavior and mistreatment from the school authority were precisely why Donghyuck and all other Slytherin students secretly resented Harry Potter.
Then again, Donghyuck’s parents held high positions at the Ministry of Magic. And Mr.Harry Potter, being their colleague and the Head of the Auror Office, was nothing but kind to them. Kinder than anyone could reasonably expect. Donghyuck had only met the man a handful of times. But each time he was treated with warm attention, and sent off with baskets full of presents and sweets. So, Donghyuck buried whatever resentment he had toward the man—for everything that happened at Hogwarts. Just as he always buried his disappointment and frustration over Mark, who kept ghosting his letters all the same.
Mark had no fault in this. If Donghyuck must blame anyone, it is Mark’s parents. Among that godforsaken family, only Taeyong ever showed any acceptance of their relationship. The first time Donghyuck visited their home, he was politely shooed away before dinner, after being served nothing but bitter tea and dry biscuits. Donghyuck did not mind that. He would gladly accept whatever his lover’s parents chose to offer him. What offended him, however, was the joke they made about that he, “came from a long line of Death Eaters and might very well have descended from Voldemort himself, given how much he resembled Tom Riddle.”
“Oh, no worries! Sir Harry Potter can just Expecto Patronum him again, if he decides to become You-Know-Who,” Mark’s mother had commented, laughing hysterically at her own joke.
Donghyuck looks nothing like Tom Riddle. He is tan, with chestnut hair, a round face, and hazel eyes. Even his personality stands in complete contradiction to Tom Riddle’s. People often describe him as the sun, for the warmth that seems to spill from his words and presence, rather than the cold, sinister gloom so often stereotyped onto Slytherins.
Donghyuck is charismatic, not manipulative. He has pride, not arrogance. He is compassionate, not exploitative. Emotionally intelligent, not egoistic. Clever, not devious. And in another life perhaps, just perhaps, he might have been a Hufflepuff. But alas, here he is—proudly and unapologetically a Slytherin.
Lost deep in thought, preparing a lighthearted joke for when he encounters Mark on the train at any moment, Donghyuck suddenly spots him power walking past their compartment. Black robes flaring behind him, trunk scraping harshly across the carpeted floor with a grating, drilling sound. He doesn’t even spare a glance.
The neutral expression on Donghyuck’s face slowly twists into a frown. “What’s with him?"
“I don’t know,” Jeno frowns as well. “I think he fought with his parents again. I’ll go check on him, wait here” Jeno gets up from his seat, and pats Donghyuck’s hands which were resting tiredly on his thighs, before walking out.
A few moments of silence pass, Donghyuck staring at his fidgeting fingers while Jaemin taps his feet. Then Jaemin breaks it. “We could have Jisung sit here,” he offers clasping his hands together in delight, explicitly in favor of the situation. Donghyuck glances up at the blonde Hufflepuff sitting across from him and blinks in approval. Jaemin, receiving the positive response, excitedly gets up to go find the younger boy.
Right then, another face appears at the doorway, bumping straight into Jaemin’s excessively puffed chest just as he is about to leave. “Blimey, Jaemin, your boobs keep getting bigger every time we meet!” Chenle exclaims, rubbing his nose.
“Yo wussup, bro?” he says, looking past Jaemin to greet the fellow Slytherin inside the room. Then he casually walks in with his giant gold-rimmed trunk, not even bothering to spare a glance at the surroundings.
“Yo,” Donghyuck replies, lifting his hand lazily to bro-fist the fourth year Slytherin. The boy doesn’t bother sliding his trunk under the seat or onto the overhead shelf. He simply drags it into a corner and plops down beside Donghyuck.
“Woah! I can’t believe I’m so early today. Found seats for two freakin more here.”
“Jeno’s here,” Jaemin corrects him, sinking back into his seat with a hint of disappointment, realizing he can’t bring Jisung in after all.
“Obviously,” Chenle says, rolling his eyes upon realization. “Where is he anyways? Restroom?”
“No, he went to check on Mark,” Jaemin replies, shifting into a cross-legged position.
“Mark’s here too?” Chenle furrows his brows. “Then why isn’t he here?” he asks, turning his gaze toward Donghyuck, who quickly avoids eye contact. “Merlin knows,” he replies shrugging.
Donghyuck shifts his gaze back to the window, watching the families and guardians of the young witches and wizards boarding the train. Some parents are crying, while others seem to radiate pride and fascination. They remind him of his own family, which was an unlikely sort for a Slytherin. Wealthy and powerful, yet warm, large, and loving. He is the eldest of his siblings, and the first to start at Hogwarts. His immediate younger sibling would begin next year. Donghyuck is beyond excited at the mere thought of it. He hopes his siblings get sorted into houses that are more celebrated, and more glorified. Like Gryffindor. Or perhaps Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw could work too, though he isn’t too sure about them; they tend to be a bit… odd.
He exhales softly, resting his chin atop his hands, which are pressed against the window ledge. “He isn’t here because I am here.”
Donghyuck stirs awake to the noise outside. The shuffle of teachers herding students and the echo of countless footsteps. He notices Jaemin still snoring, head resting on Jisung’s shoulder, who delicately pokes him awake. Jeno hadn’t returned. He had shown up a few minutes after the train departed, to announce that he’d be with Mark in the other compartment, prompting Jaemin to dash out excitedly to fetch Jisung. Afterwards, Chenle chattered throughout the whole journey about what went on with his life in Shanghai among muggles . He was surprisingly more invested in muggle business than magic, even though his family routinely dealt with aristocratic wizards. Donghyuck observes the boy still yapping as he drags his trunk out from under the seat, where Jaemin had shoved it out of annoyance. He paid no mind to whether anyone is listening. Drowsily, Donghyuck mutters, “Gosh, why can’t this kid keep his mouth shut for even one second.”
He gets up from his seat, tiredly reaching for his own trunk. He tries to pull it out, but quickly realizes that his arms were too sore from sleep. With a frustrated huff, he plops back down and waits for the corridor crowd to reduce, before attempting again. He had no rush for heading out, especially not like the first years. Although, the constant noise outside gave him a headache. He rubs his temples, with eyes squeezed shut.
Only ten minutes after does Donghyuck hop off the train, pulling his trunk along behind him. He tugs his scarf loose, taking in the cold, fresh air outside. There was a certain fragrance of Hogwarts that Donghyuck experienced everytime being near to it. It was a nostalgic one. His eyes, almost by instinct, scan the crowd.
“And then the guy said, ‘it’s called science’ as if we, wizards, are illiterates! Like no hate to them, but we’re literally so much more superior, on so many levels—” Chenle continues complaining about his experiences to Donghyuck as he climbs off the train.
“Do you know what Titration is?” Donghyuck asks, his eyes still fixed on the crowd of black cloaked students ahead of him.
“…No?” Chenle frowns, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild offense.
“It’s a process muggles use to determine the concentration of a liquid by adding substances and swirling the container to watch its color briefly disappear. Almost like magic.” Donghyuck glances at Chenle before continuing, “While we, as wizards, simply measure liquids in fixed amounts using scales. Which is, a rather more materialistic and limited approach.”
“Muggles have Potions?” Chenle asks, his brows still furrowed.
“It’s called Chemistry. It comes from Alchemy but far more advanced.”
“What-ever. When did you turn into a nerd?”
“I didn’t. Renjun told me all that stuff to prove his vast area of knowledge, after I scored higher than him in last semester’s final exams.”
“Makes sense,” Chenle twitches.
As they walk, Donghyuck finally spots Mark. He’s heading toward one of the carriages with Jeno. They are laughing, shoving each other playfully as they go. Jaemin is trailing behind with an arm slung around Jisung’s shoulders, watching their antics gleefully.
Donghyuck’s breath catches for a moment. It is the first time in months he has heard Mark laugh. His smile looks soft in the glow of the dimmed lanterns, and his hair messy from the long ride. The brown strands of his hair seem longer than what Donghyuck remembers. He has always preferred Mark’s hair longer.
He watches as Mark jumps onto Jeno’s back, nearly knocking him off balance. “Me too! Me too!” Jaemin runs forward and climbs onto Mark, sending Jeno into a panic. Donghyuck smiles at the sight, holding back the urge to join the small, joyful reunion. Mark is in a good mood. Donghyuck feels that his presence might ruin it. So, he hangs back and walks off to a different direction.
Chenle bumps his shoulder. “You good?”
“Peachy,” Donghyuck mutters, sounding breezy.
“Kay,” the younger boy replies.
“Why don’t you join them?”
Chenle shrugs. “I’ve got way too much time on my hands to deal with those menaces of mages.”
Donghyuck shoves him lightly. They fall into step behind their prefect. The Slytherins are already being ushered toward the row of horseless carriages waiting at the edge of the grounds. The dark silhouettes of the Thestrals flicker in and out of sight for a few older students. But to most, including Donghyuck and Chenle, they remain invisible. Only the faint creak of the harnesses hints that something is there.
From across the path, Jaemin waves as he joins the other Hufflepuffs with Jisung. Jisung nearly trips over his own cloak and his housemates catch him. The Ravenclaw carriages are stationed a little further off, outside of view. Donghyuck hears Mark laugh again. Closer this time, echoing as the Gryffindor carriages line up nearby. The sound makes him quiver, but he keeps his composure bold and unbothered as usual.
“Come on,” Chenle says, climbing in first. “Don’t mope out here and get trampled by a first-year.”
“I’m not moping,” Donghyuck protests, climbing in after him. He takes a seat, crosses his arms, and leans back comfortably.
In reality, his chest burns.
He could call out. It would take only two seconds—Mark!—and then there would be answers, explanations. Maybe even an apologetic hug. But what stops him isn’t ego. It isn’t even his consideration for leaving Mark in his comfort zone. It is the echo of a summer spent in silence between them.
“So, if he avoids you, you’re gonna continue avoiding as well?” Chenle asks.
“Why would I avoid? We’re meeting at the feast. He’s probably just stressed. Gryffindors get hives if they follow house rules for too long.”
Chenle mutters, “Jaemin told me he didn’t send you a single letter all summer.”
“Jaemin says a lot of stuff. He needs to mind his own business more often.” Donghyuck dismisses.
The carriage lurches, beginning to roll across the dark path toward the castle. The cool night air rushes in, and Hogwarts’ towering silhouette rises above the trees like a living shadow.
“Gryffindor!”
The dining hall echoes with applause as the students get sorted into respective houses by the sorting hat. Each time a house gains a new member, they become busy welcoming them, with barely anyone paying attention to the rest. Every house greets their first years warmly in their own way. The Hufflepuffs are the sweetest and Gryffindors the loudest. The Slytherins communicate with a rather cool aura. And Ravenclaws on the other hand, have their own strange manners of greeting welcome.
Donghyuck was never much fond of children. He avoids interacting with them as much as possible. So while everyone else introduced themselves to the kids, he kept himself busy staring at the Gryffindor table because of obvious reasons. His chin propped on his palm. When a new Gryffindor name is called, Mark is the first to get up for them and clap. His smile, open and encouraging. The nervous first years immediately beam at his warmth, following him around like little duckings. Stupid little ducklings.
He’s a great prefect, with no doubt. Like every year, Donghyuck notices the teachers smiling at Mark with pride. The kind of acknowledgements, he never received despite achievements no less impressive than Mark’s. In fact, the entire hall seems to admire Mark for every little thing he does. And if Donghyuck weren’t already disturbed at the moment, he’d be very proud as well, instead of being envious toward the Gryffindor. Or maybe, who knows, he might’ve been envious after all. It’s annoyingly endearing.
Across the sea of students, Mark’s eyes suddenly lift and find Donghyuck’s. For a single moment, Donghyuck’s heart stutters. But he gives the smallest smile, equal parts hopeful, soft, and trying not to look desperate. Mark smiles back. Except the smile is thin, tired and apologetic. Donghyuck holds onto smiling widely although his stomach dips. Before he can read into it more, the Sorting ends, the food appears magically on the tables, and the entire hall erupts into cheerful chaos.
Donghyuck barely touches his food. Chenle keeps stealing things off his plate, Jeno keeps glancing at Mark, and Jaemin, from the Hufflepuff table, gives Donghyuck a sympathetic eyebrow raise every now and then. Mark avoids any kind of eye contacts with him after that single moment.
When dinner finally ends, prefects gather their respective houses. This is it. Now Donghyuck can ask for whatever that is going on, and has been going on since summer break. He slips through the dispersing crowd, weaving past first years and floating candles until he spots Mark near the exit surrounded by Gryffindor first years, blindly hanging on to his every word. Mark is leading the kids with full attention and care. Another heart melting sight. Some first year girls are already swooning over him.
“Mark,” Donghyuck calls softly.
He immediately feels the curious stares of the first-years on himself. Some intimidated and others simply in awe. He doesn’t mind. And for a split second, Mark’s responsible prefect mask cracks. His shoulders tense and his head bows slightly before he turns around.
“Donghyuck,” he says, voice warm but quiet. “Hey.”
Donghyuck takes a step closer. But Mark is already back to guiding the flock of Gryffindors toward the exit. “Follow me, this way—Gryffindor Tower isn’t far.” He gives the first years a quick instruction, then pauses on his steps. He turns back again for a moment, stepping close enough so casually that no one else notices, and lands a gentle pat on Donghyuck’s shoulder. And in that instant, Mark slips a folded piece of parchment into Donghyuck’s hand. Before Donghyuck can say anything or release a single huff of breath that he didn’t know he was holding, Mark gives him a small, pained smile. Then he walks away with the first years, black-red robes swishing behind him.
Donghyuck stands still, the parchment burning in his palm. Slowly, he unfolds it. The handwriting is unmistakably Mark’s. Slanted, neat but rushed.
“I’m not avoiding you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Just needed some space. Love you.”
He stares at the note long after Mark disappears up the staircase. The Love you part specifically. His chest tightens with tangled uncertainty. Space? From me? Why?
He tucks the note into his pocket and exhales shakily. Tomorrow better come fast. Because tonight, sleep is impossible.
The stone corridors of the Slytherin dungeon are cool and dim, lit by greenish lanterns that flicker like underwater light. Donghyuck and Chenle follow the trail of the black and green robes heading toward the common room entrance, amongst the low murmur of voices echoing off the damp walls. The door swings open upon hissed password, and the familiar emerald glow washes over them instantly. The Slytherin common room stretches out like a luxurious cavern: dark leather couches, green fire crackling in the hearth, glass windows looking out into the murky lake. A few older students are scattered around, lounging like spoiled cats. The moment Donghyuck steps inside—
“Oh look,” Doyoung drawls from an armchair, one eyebrow arched to the ceiling. “The prodigal menace returns.”
Donghyuck curtsies dramatically, putting a hand over his heart and another one openly spread outwards. “Hyung, please. Save the compliments, I’m shy.”
“Did you give anyone else intense anger issues to lure them into Slytherin?”
“Nope. You were the last one to fall into my trap of rage baiting.”
“Oh Merlin! When will the day arrive when I shall not be the only one to have the misfortune of Slytherin befall on themselves! I was made for Ravenclaw if not for this little gremlin!”
Donghyuck snickers swinging his silver pocket watch with one finger, which he took out from his robe’s pockets as a habit. But then it accidentally slips off of his finger, and flies to a couch at the corner of the room, falling upon the lower stomach of a slumbering tall figure. The guy groans in annoyance and shifts for a moment before going back to snoring. Donghyuck realizes that it’s Yuta.
“Try not to blow up any cauldrons this year,” Doyoung warns, flipping a page in his book. “Or lure giant squids into the lake windows again. I’m still getting letters from the merpeople about that.”
“They should be thanking me,” Donghyuck fires back. “I’m the only source of entertainment out here.”
“You’re the source of detention.”
Before Donghyuck can retort, an exaggerated gasp echoes from one of the divans. Ten is sprawled across it like a Victorian ghost, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a vintage handheld mirror in one hand. He’s inspecting his cheekbones with grave seriousness.
“Did everyone witness the moment I had with Johnny at dinner?” Ten demands without looking up. “Our eyes met over the first grand meal of the year. It must be a cosmic sign!”
“He was reaching for the gravy.” Chenle objects.
“No, darling. The gravy was an excuse to glance at me all the way from his raucous gryffindor table.”
Donghyuck bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Right.”
Ten flicks his hair dramatically. “You jest now, but when Johnny marries me later this year, none of you are invited to the wedding.”
“You say that every year,” Doyoung mutters.
“And I will continue to, until he fixes the wedding dates!”
Donghyuck and Chenle exchange a snicker, then wave goodnight to the older boys and head down the hallway to their own dorm room. Inside, the teal lamps glow dimmed over their beds. They pull curtains aside, toss their bags down, and start pulling on their nightclothes. Chenle is already complaining. “Why do they make these uniforms so suffocating? I swear I’m developing shoulder muscles I didn’t ask for.”
“You need shoulder muscles,” Donghyuck says, sliding into his red pajamas, which was a christmas gift from Mark. “Right now you’re built like a newt. Unless you want to spend your life being at the bottom of the matress.”
Chenle chucks a pillow at him. “I still haven’t decided but maybe I do!”
Donghyuck catches it and throws it back. “Well then, nothing wrong with that! Personally I prefer taking it in, myself.”
Chenle pauses, looks at him for a second, then gags. “Ewwwuhh. As much as the whole school is aware, non of us wish to hear it!”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck laughs weakly, climbing into bed. “Gross, right?”
“Sex is gross. In fact, love is gross.” Chenle snorts in disgust, finally setting the pillows on bed and pulling on his warm-fluffy blanket, customized and delivered specially by his dear mother.
The green flames outside the room dim lower. The sound of the lake currents rumbling against the window grows steady and soothing. Both boys lie back in their own beds, staring at the ceiling, observing the familiar gray marble motifs.
“He’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Chenle whispers in a tender tone. “Mark, and….Whatever this is… it’s probably nothing.”
Donghyuck exhales. “Yeah.”
Silence settles. Comfortable and warm, yet laced with the cool tension of a long day.
Chenle yawns. “If you start talking in your sleep again about ‘Gryffindor thighs,’ I’m waking you up with ice water.”
“That was one time,” Donghyuck says, grinning shamelessly. “Although I wouldn’t mind having those dreams again.”
“Your dreams, My nightmares.”
“Goodnight, pest.”
“Goodnight, secretly emotional gremlin."
The room grows still, the lanterns dimming even lower to faint embers as sleep washes over them, one by one. And by the lake, large tall trees brush past the window as if they’re walking.
The morning sun filters through the old, creaky windows of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Dust motes dance in the golden beams as the new professor, a stern woman with half-moon spectacles and a tone sharper than a basilisk fang, paces before the class.
“Dark curses,” she says, tapping the chalkboard where eerie diagrams form, “are not always striking. Many appear as mundane inconveniences, like a lost quill, sudden headache, the inexplicably soured juice. Students often mistake them for bad luck.”
A few Ravenclaw students lean forward in interest, several Hufflepuffs shift nervously. “To avoid unintentionally cursing someone,” she continues, “or being cursed yourself, you must learn the simplest form of protection shield. Wandless, subtle and natural.”
Donghyuck scribbles half-hearted notes. His mind isn’t in class but rather obviously in last night’s note from Mark. Eager to have the very necessary conversation with him, but to be met with another round of ghosting at breakfast. He barely notices when the bell rings and as soon as the class ends, students file out swiftly, chatting about curses and shields.
Chenle nudges Hyuck. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
Chenle notices the scribbled note book with no sign of information related to the class lecture. But he doesn’t push Donghyuck about it. He patiently waits for the older to pack up his belongings, before setting out of the class. As they reach the corridor, a familiar voice calls out from the opposite end.
“Hyuck.”
Donghyuck freezes on his tracks with a rather heavy thud of heartbeat. Mark is standing there. His uniform neat, prefect badge shining, eyes slightly tilted but shoulders loosened and tired. Donghyuck struggles to form words in his brain as if it short-circuited after sudden activation.
Mark gestures quickly. “Can we talk? Privately?”
Donghyuck nods, handing his books to Chenle. “I’ll see you later at quidditch practice.”
Chenle gives him and Mark a long look before walking away with the books. Then Mark leads them around a corner, down a quiet stone corridor, into an isolated and unused washroom with cold stone floors and rusted sinks aligned at the center. The place was all dusty and greasy— as if frozen in time, untouched for years. Once sure of having absolute privacy, they stand facing each other.
Mark inhales. “So… how are you?”
Donghyuck smiles. “I’m okay. You?”
Mark’s eyes flick away. “I’ve been better."
A long moment passes.
Then Mark finally begins. “Hyuck….my parents found out more rumors this summer. About us…having a physical relationship. And…They’re old-fashioned. You know that.”
Donghyuck nods. He knows exactly what that means. Gryffindor aristocrat. Slytherin boyfriend. Sexually active. The scandal of it.
Mark swallows hard. “They don’t want us together. And they’ve been calling from home nonstop. It’s stressing me out. It’s affecting my work. My prefect duties, studies, everything.”
Donghyuck stays quiet for him to continue. The air feels hot all of a sudden around his ears. But his hands shivered in cold.
“And, there’s something else…” Mark hesitates, “They uhh….They got me engaged, Hyuck. To….Lily Luna Potter.”
Donghyuck’s heart drops.
“I didn’t want it, of course. It was done against my will. So I think—”
“Why didn’t you escape..?” Donghyuck interrupts. His voice a whisper of desperation, shock and helplessness, eyes wide and still.
“I…,” Mark looks up, trying to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, but fails. He lowers his gaze to the floor, guilt written all over his face. “I don’t want to go against my parents.”
Donghyuck wants to punch Mark’s parents—both of them—and then shake Mark by the shoulders and tell him to rebel for once in his life. But he has no right to be that selfish. He knows very well how much Mark loves and respects his parents. Mark could never choose anyone or anything over them. Dating Donghyuck in the first place is already the most rebellious thing he has ever done. To expect anything more than that from the already stressed Gryffindor boy would be selfish, even by Donghyuck’s standards.
“So…,” Mark continues, his voice so low it barely echoes against the damp walls of the empty room. “I think I need… a break. From the relationship. I’m not saying we have to break up. But I need time to think. To think of how to deal with this. Because at the end of the day, I love you and not anyone else.”
Donghyuck’s face remains perfectly composed. He musters a tiny, trembling, smile. “Sure,” he says. “I understand. You can, and you should, take as much time as you want.” He squeezes Mark’s hands in encouragement.
Donghyuck lands a soft kiss on Mark’s left cheek. “I love you. And I’ll wait for you. Till then, we can be friends—”
“No.” Mark cuts him off gently. “It’s not- It’s not that I don’t want to be your friend. But being around you… after so long… I don’t think I can handle it. We’ve gone too far into our relationship to….you know, be friends. I need space. A complete break. Just for now.”
Each word felt like it’s pushing into Donghyuck’s ribs like a hammer. But he still smiles. “Okay. Yeah… I get it. It’s okay. Do what you need to.”
Mark looks like he wants to reach out, but stops himself. His hands clench instead. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Donghyuck nods, stepping back. He watches Mark leave the room, before letting the burning force of murky water behind his eyes win. The moment the door shuts before him, his knees almost give up. Donghyuck grabs the edge of the sink, gripping so hard his knuckles whiten. He feels his nails crack due to the force, but he could care less. The pain gave him distraction but too minimal at the moment to feel it. He bows his head, trying to breathe, but it comes out shaky and shallow. Finally, the dam breaks.
A sob rips out of him, raw and painful. Another follows, louder. He presses a hand over his mouth, shoulders trembling, tears spilling onto the old cracked porcelain. Three months. Three months of missing Mark. Three months of being ghosted. Three months of wondering what was wrong. And when he finally gets to see him, hoping to sort everything out, he gets told to disappear from his life.
To Donghyuck, the moment feels like white sand slipping away from the clutch of his fingers. And he can’t stop it no matter how. He gasps, clutching the sink as if it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely. His vision blurs until he can’t see anything except the dark tiles and his own reflection—red eyes, trembling lips, heartbreak written across every coordinate of his face. His gaze diverts to the sink again. “I missed you,” he whispers to no one, but the world to hear. “I still miss you. I miss you, I miss you! I love you, Mark. I love you so much.” His sobs echo in the empty room, swallowed by cold stone and silent abyss. “Please, don’t do this. Please come back. Please, Mark, I love you so much!”
And for the first time in three months, since he stepped off the train last summer to return home, Donghyuck lets himself fall apart.
Donghyuck splashes cold water on his face once more, stares into the mirror, and forces the last trace of redness out of his expression. His shoulders roll back, posture straightens, and the trademark Lee Donghyuck smirk settles back onto his lips. Or, more like he forces it to.
Quidditch practice waits for no one. Especially not heartbreak. Yes, Donghyuck dreamt everyday of hearing wedding bells and exchanging vows with his beloved. But then again, it wasn’t his only dream. Donghyuck’s life didn’t revolve around Mark. He had his own ambitions. And he had to succeed with those ambitions, be it with or without Mark in his life. He loved Mark, but he most definitely loved Quidditch also. If Mark had his priorities straight, so did Donghyuck. So, skipping out on practice due to heartbreak, was absolutely out of the question.
He strides out of the washroom with a walk so sharp, a group of first-years has to jump out of the way. The grief still burns somewhere deep, but it doesn’t reach his head, nor his form. It never does for long. Donghyuck is used to patching himself up quickly. Especially when practice, expectations, and ambitions are involved.
As he turns the corner of the corridor, the green hues of the courtyard come into view, and he catches a flash of cobalt blue walk past. Short figure, perfectly neat robes, an Arithmancy book clutched to his chest like a priceless ancient tablet. And for a moment, his grief slips away without him even noticing. Donghyuck’s pretentious smirk widens into a genuine grin.
“Heeeyyy, dementorrrr,” he calls out, voice dripping with teasing.
Huang Renjun stops mid-step and slowly looks up from behind his glasses, thick black bangs framing his thoroughly unimpressed face. “Lee Donghyuck,” he says, as if the name itself is a curse.
Donghyuck doesn’t slow at the rough remark. Instead, he lunges forward and engulfs the Ravenclaw into a hug.
Renjun stiffens instantly. “Eurgh—get off—absolutely not—”
Donghyuck squeezes even tighter just to be annoying. “Aww, I missed you too, Renjunie.”
“I didn’t,” Renjun says, pushing him with all the strength of Tinker Bell.
Donghyuck finally lets go, dramatically gasping for air. “You’re getting weaker every year. Have you even been eating?”
Renjun glowers while straightening his clothing. “I have better things to do, than maintain muscles for strangling you.” Donghyuck snorts. Then he notices the book in Renjun’s hand.
“Arithmancy?” he asks, horrified. “You took Arithmancy this semester?? Why do you do this to yourself?”
Renjun adjusts his glasses primly. “So when you come running to me, desperate for a job, after failing every career path imaginable—” He looks up at Donghyuck, “I can hire you out of pity.”
Donghyuck scoffs. “Please. Even if I took Arithmancy, I wouldn’t work for you. I value my sanity.”
“I wouldn’t hire you,” Renjun replies instantly. “I value my sanity.”
Donghyuck clutches his heart theatrically. “Wow. Anyway. I have Quidditch practice. See you among the audiences, at the match next week. Unless fate hates me and I bump into you again, before that.”
He steps past Renjun.
Right then, the Ravenclaw’s voice stops him. “Wait.”
Donghyuck turns around, eyebrow raised. Renjun’s gaze is sharp now. Observant and too intensely penetrating— for someone so petite, clutching his stack of books as though they were his only lifeline. “Why are your eyes red?”
Donghyuck blinks. “Huh?”
“Your eyes,” Renjun repeats flatly. “They’re red.”
Donghyuck instinctively covers one eye with his hand. “Ah. That? Didn’t sleep well.”
Renjun stares.
Donghyuck says quickly. “I was busy…. studying so I can top you in merits again this semester.”
Renjun’s expression doesn’t change. He stands in the same position for several seconds. “You know,” he says as he turns away, “You’re not a good liar for a Slytherin.”
Donghyuck’s smirk falters for a split second, but Renjun is already walking off, the arithmancy book still tucked tightly under his arms. Only once the Ravenclaw disappears around the corner, does Donghyuck exhale.