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The third-year Practical Hexes corridor smelled of ozone and burnt sugar. Charles Leclerc pressed his back against the cold stone wall and stared at the scroll in his hands. Thirty-seven names. Thirty-seven targets for the semester's final project. He had successfully pranked thirty-six of them.
One name remained unchecked.
Max Verstappen.
Charles rolled the scroll tight enough to crumple the edges. He had tried. He had tried seventeen times in the past two weeks. The itching powder hex had fizzled two inches from Max's robes. The shoe-sticking charm had rebounded and glued Pierre to the floor for an hour. The spectacularly embarrassing Voice-Alteration Spell, which should have made Max sing opera every time he opened his mouth, had dissolved into a shower of gold sparks before it even touched him.
"Maybe he's got a counterspell running," Lando had suggested yesterday, peeling a banana in the dining hall.
"He doesn't," Charles said. He knew because he had checked. He had checked everything. Max's robes carried no protective enchantments. His wand was standard birchwood with no modifications. His textbook margins were filled with doodles of cats rather than advanced defensive notations.
"He's just naturally hex-proof," Oscar offered, not looking up from his potions notes. "Some people are born with resistance."
Charles shook his head. Natural resistance didn't work like that. Natural resistance lessened effects. It didn't vaporize spells entirely. It didn't turn a carefully aimed Impulse Confusion Jinx into a puff of lavender-scented smoke that drifted harmlessly past Max's shoulder while Max continued walking, unaware, his golden hair catching the torchlight.
Charles had stayed up late in the library, cross-referencing thirteen texts on magical nullification. None of them explained what happened when he tried to hex Max Verstappen.
He had one week left before grades were due.
Professor Ricciardo's office smelled of ink and the faint metallic tang of enchanted parchment. He leaned back in his chair, boots propped on his desk, and listened to Charles explain the situation with an expression that grew increasingly amused.
"You've tried everything in the curriculum," Daniel said.
"Everything. And three spells I invented myself."
"Show me."
Charles pulled out his wand. Daniel waved a hand, and a practice dummy shimmered into existence in the center of the room, taking Max's approximate shape and height. Charles flicked his wand. The Tickling Hex shot forward and struck the dummy squarely. It convulsed.
"Now try it on Max," Daniel said.
"I can't just summon him here. He'll know something's wrong."
"Max knows something's wrong." Daniel's boots thudded to the floor. "He's been asking me why you keep pointing your wand at him and then looking confused."
Charles's cheeks heated. He stared at the dummy rather than at his professor. "I don't look confused."
"You look devastated, mate. Every time. Like someone cancelled your birthday." Daniel stood and walked around his desk. He leaned against the front of it, arms crossed. "You're the best practical magic student in your year. You turned Lando into a teacup last month. You made Pierre speak exclusively in rhyme for three days. But you can't touch Max Verstappen with a single hex."
"I'm aware of my failure."
"It's not a failure." Daniel's voice gentled. "Charles, what's the first principle of emotional magic?"
Charles recited it automatically. "Strong emotion creates magical interference. Love, hatred, fear, and devotion can all disrupt spellwork, either strengthening or nullifying the caster's intent depending on the nature of the feeling and its intensity."
"And?"
"And what?"
Daniel waited.
Charles's stomach dropped. "No."
"Charles."
"No. That's not what this is." He pushed his wand back into his pocket. "I barely know him. We've had three conversations. He sits three rows behind me in Hex Theory and he borrows my notes sometimes because he draws cats instead of listening, that's all."
"You know the color of his ink."
"Everyone knows the color of his ink. He draws bright orange cats. It's not subtle."
Daniel raised an eyebrow. Charles realized his mistake. He had admitted to watching Max closely enough to know what he drew during lectures. He had admitted to paying attention. He had admitted to caring.
"The deepest emotions form a protection," Daniel said quietly. "You can't hex him because some part of you refuses to. Your magic knows what your brain won't accept."
Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. The stone walls of the office suddenly felt very close. He could smell the ink on Daniel's desk, the old parchment, and underneath it all, the faint trace of his own scent spiking with distress, burnt caramel turning sharp.
"Your assignment," Daniel continued, "is to figure out what you feel and why. That's more important than any hex. You have until Friday."
Charles found Max in the east courtyard after dinner. The evening light caught the gold in Max's hair, and Charles felt his chest tighten. He ignored it.
Max sat on a stone bench with a book open in his lap, though he wasn't reading it. He was drawing in the margins again. A cat with exaggerated whiskers. Charles approached and stopped three feet away, the distance required for polite conversation between non-bonded Omegas and Alphas.
"You're staring at me," Max said without looking up. His voice was calm, unhurried. "You've been staring at me for two weeks. Are you going to tell me why, or should I keep pretending I haven't noticed?"
Charles hadn't expected directness. He floundered for a moment. "I've been trying to hex you."
"I know." Max finished the cat's tail and looked up. His eyes were startlingly blue. "You're not very subtle about it. Yesterday you pointed your wand at my back for ten full seconds before the spell fizzled. I counted."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was curious how long you'd keep trying." Max closed his book. "Also, the sparks are pretty. I like the gold ones best."
Charles felt something twist in his stomach. Max had noticed the failed spells and hadn't been annoyed or defensive. He had been curious. He had liked the sparks.
"Professor Ricciardo says it's emotional magic," Charles said, the words coming out before he could stop them. "He says I can't hex you because of how I feel about you."
Max's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. He set the book aside and stood. He was taller than Charles, broader in the shoulders, and when he took a step closer, Charles caught his scent for the first time, petrichor and something warm underneath, like sun-heated stone.
"And how do you feel about me?" Max asked.
Charles's throat went dry. "I don't know."
"You do know. You're just scared to say it." Max took another step. They were less than a foot apart now, close enough that Charles could see the flecks of darker blue in Max's irises. "You could have picked any target for your project. You saved me for last. You've been trying for two weeks. You've invented new hexes just for me."
"Maybe I just wanted to defeat you."
"Then you'd be angry when the spells failed. You're not angry. You're frustrated, but not angry." Max tilted his head. "Daniel told me about emotional magic too. He said the shield forms when someone cares enough that their subconscious won't let them cause harm. Even playful harm."
Charles's pulse hammered. Max knew. Max had known. And Max had been waiting.
"You could have said something earlier," Charles managed.
"You weren't ready earlier." Max's hand moved, slow enough that Charles could have stepped away. He didn't step away. Max's fingers brushed his wrist, right over the scent gland where his pulse beat closest to the surface. "You smell like burnt caramel. It gets stronger when you're nervous."
Charles's breath caught. An Alpha touching an Omega's scent gland without explicit permission was a breach of etiquette serious enough to warrant disciplinary action. But Max's touch was gentle. Asking rather than taking.
"You're touching my gland," Charles said.
"I know." Max didn't move his hand. "Do you want me to stop?"
The courtyard was empty. The torches hadn't been lit yet. Shadows gathered in the corners, but here, in the center, there was still light. Charles looked at Max's hand on his wrist, at the contrast of Max's skin against his own, at the steady calm in Max's eyes.
"No," Charles said. "I don't want you to stop."
Max smiled. It transformed his face, softened the sharp lines of his jaw, made him look younger. "Good. Because I've been trying to figure out how to tell you something, and I'm not good with words. I'm better with actions."
"What something?"
"You've been trying to hex me for two weeks. Do you want to know how many spells I've aimed at you in the past two months?" Max's thumb traced a slow circle over Charles's pulse point. "Zero. Not one. And I've wanted to. There was a day in Hex Theory when you got the demonstration right on your first try and everyone clapped, and I wanted to jinx your shoelaces together just to see you stumble. But I couldn't. My wand wouldn't respond."
Charles stared at him. "Two months?"
"Since the start of term. You walked into Hex Theory on the first day and sat in the front row and argued with Professor Ricciardo about the theoretical limits of transfiguration, and I couldn't look away." Max's voice stayed even, but his scent deepened, the petrichor growing stronger. "I tried to hex you three times that week. Every spell dissolved. Daniel pulled me aside and explained it."
"And you just... waited?"
"I wanted you to figure it out yourself. I thought it would mean more that way." Max's grip on Charles's wrist tightened slightly. "Also, I was scared. You're the top student. You're beautiful. You could have anyone in the Academy. I thought maybe your shield meant something different. Maybe it was just admiration or rivalry or something else."
"It's not," Charles said. The words came out fast, almost desperate. "It's not just rivalry. I don't know exactly what it is, but it's not that. I've never not been able to cast a spell before. Magic always works for me. Always. And then you walked into my life and nothing works the way it's supposed to."
"Is that a bad thing?"
Charles thought about it. About the two weeks of failed hexes, the frustration, the confusion, the library books and the sleepless nights. He thought about the gold sparks Max liked. He thought about the orange cats in the margins of Max's notebook. He thought about Max waiting two months, scared and patient, not pushing, not demanding, just watching Charles try and fail and try again.
"No," Charles said. "I don't think it's a bad thing."
Max exhaled, and some tension Charles hadn't noticed left his shoulders. "Can I try something?"
"What?"
"A spell. On you." Max pulled his wand from his pocket with his free hand. It was the standard birchwood, unadorned. "I want to see if it works now. I want to see if telling you changes anything."
Charles should have said no. They were in a public courtyard. Anyone could walk by. But Max's hand was still on his wrist, and his scent was steady and warm, and Charles wanted to know. He needed to know.
"Try it," Charles said.
Max raised his wand. Murmured something under his breath. A soft blue light gathered at the tip and shot forward.
It struck Charles square in the chest.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then warmth spread through him, starting at the point of impact and radiating outward, a feeling like sunlight on bare skin, like the first sip of hot tea after walking through the cold. Charles felt his lips part in surprise. It wasn't a hex. It wasn't even a proper spell from the curriculum. It was something gentler, something personal.
"What was that?" Charles asked.
"Something I invented." Max lowered his wand. "It's supposed to feel like a hug. I've never been able to cast it on anyone before. It always fizzled. But it works on you."
"Because I know now."
"Because you know." Max slid his wand back into his pocket. His hand was still on Charles's wrist. "The shield isn't gone. I don't think it ever goes away. But it changes when you accept what it means. You can let things through. Good things."
Charles looked at Max's hand on his wrist, at the place where their skin touched. He could feel his own pulse, still too fast. He could smell their scents mingling, caramel and petrichor, something new forming between them.
"Can I try something now?" Charles asked.
"Yes."
Charles pulled out his wand. He thought about the gold sparks, the orange cats, the three conversations they'd had before tonight. The first was about homework. The second was about the weather. The third, Max had offered him half of a chocolate bar because Charles had missed lunch. None of those conversations had been remarkable. All of them had mattered.
He aimed his wand at Max's chest. Thought about what he wanted to happen. Not a hex. Not a prank. Something else.
A stream of gold light flowed from his wand. It wrapped around Max like a ribbon, gentle and warm, and Max's eyes widened. The light pulsed once, twice, then sank into Max's skin.
"What did you just do?" Max asked.
"I don't know." Charles stared at his wand. "I didn't use a spell. I just thought about what I wanted and it happened."
"What did you want?"
Charles swallowed. "I wanted you to know I meant it. Everything I said. I wanted you to feel it."
Max was quiet for a long moment. The torches flickered to life around the courtyard, lighting themselves as the sun finished setting. In the new light, Max's eyes were very bright.
"I felt it," Max said.
"Felt what?"
"You. Your feelings. Like a door opening." Max finally released Charles's wrist, but only to take his hand instead, lacing their fingers together. "Daniel said emotional magic is the most powerful kind. I didn't really believe him until now."
Charles looked at their joined hands. Max's grip was solid, grounding. His palm was warm. Charles had held hands before, but it had never felt like this, like something clicking into place, like a spell finally working after weeks of failure.
"I should probably tell Daniel," Charles said. "About the project. About passing the assignment."
"Probably."
"I don't want to move yet."
"Then don't." Max tugged gently, and Charles stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Max's body. "We can stay here. No one comes to the courtyard after dark."
"Except us."
"Except us." Max's voice was quiet, steady. "Charles, I need to tell you something properly. Not through spells or shields or professors. Just words."
Charles's heart hammered. "Okay."
"I like you. I've liked you since the first day of term. I like watching you argue in class. I like the way you furrow your eyebrows when you're concentrating. I like that you tried to hex me for two weeks instead of just talking to me, because that's such a you thing to do." Max's thumb traced patterns on the back of Charles's hand. "And I know we haven't spent much time together. I know there's a lot we still have to learn. But I wanted to say it anyway. No more waiting."
Charles felt something expand in his chest. Not the warmth from the spell, but something sharper, brighter, something that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. "I like you too. I think I have for a while. I just didn't know what it was."
"You know now."
"I know now."
Max smiled again, and Charles decided he wanted to see that smile as often as possible. He wanted to be the reason for it. He wanted to invent new spells just to make Max's eyes light up.
"Will you let me hex you tomorrow?" Charles asked. "Just to see if I can do it now. A small one. Maybe the tickling charm."
"Only if you let me hex you back."
"Deal."
They stood in the courtyard as the stars came out, hands intertwined, neither willing to let go. The torches burned steady and gold. Somewhere across the grounds, a door opened and closed. Neither of them moved.
"Charles," Max said.
"Mm."
"Your hand is sweaty."
"So is yours."
"I know." Max lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Charles's knuckles, quick and light. "I don't mind."
Charles felt his face flush. The burnt caramel scent spiked, but this time it was sweet rather than sharp. Max's scent answered, petrichor deepening, and Charles realized he could read Max's emotions through it now, could feel the quiet happiness underneath the calm surface.
"We should go inside eventually," Charles said.
"Eventually."
"Before someone notices we're missing."
"No one's looking for us." Max lowered their hands but didn't let go. "Daniel knows where we are. He probably arranged this."
"What?"
"Think about it. He told you about emotional magic. He told me about emotional magic two months ago. He's been waiting for one of us to figure it out." Max's expression was wry. "He gave you a deadline. He knew the pressure would make you finally talk to me."
Charles thought about Daniel's amused expression, the way he had leaned against his desk and waited for Charles to understand. "He's been meddling."
"He's a professor. Meddling is what they do."
"I'm going to hex him."
"You can try." Max's lips twitched. "But he's probably shielded too. He cares about you like a little brother. Your spells won't work on him."
Charles groaned. "Is everyone I care about immune to my magic?"
"Not everyone. Just the people who care about you back." Max tugged Charles toward the courtyard entrance. "Come on. Let's go inside. You can try hexing me in the morning."
They walked together through the torchlit corridors. Max didn't drop Charles's hand until they reached the junction where the Omega and Alpha dormitories split. He paused there, turning to face Charles.
"Tomorrow," Max said. "Breakfast. Sit with me."
"Okay."
"And bring your wand. I want to see if you can make me sing opera."
Charles laughed. The sound surprised him, bright and unexpected. "I thought you liked the gold sparks best."
"I like a lot of things." Max's gaze was warm. "I like you most of all."
Before Charles could respond, Max leaned in and pressed his lips to Charles's forehead. It was quick, barely a second, but Charles felt it everywhere, like another spell sinking into his skin.
"Goodnight, Charles."
"Goodnight."
Max walked down the Alpha corridor. Charles stood at the junction until Max turned a corner and disappeared. Then he touched his forehead where Max had kissed him. His skin was warm.
He had a test tomorrow. He should sleep. Instead, he pulled out his wand and aimed it at the empty corridor Max had walked down. Thought about what he wanted. Let the feeling build.
A shower of gold sparks burst from his wand and drifted down the corridor, following the path Max had taken.
Somewhere out of sight, Max laughed.
Charles smiled and went to bed.
The next morning, Charles walked into the dining hall and found Max at a table near the window. Lando and Oscar were already there, Lando gesturing wildly about something, Oscar listening with his usual calm. Max had saved a seat beside him.
Charles sat down. Max passed him a plate of toast without being asked.
"Did you bring your wand?" Max asked.
"Yes."
"Try it."
Charles pulled out his wand. Lando stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. "Wait, what are you doing? Is this about the hex project? Charles, you've been trying to hex Max for weeks, it's not going to work, don't embarrass yourself in front of the whole dining hall."
Charles ignored him. He pointed his wand at Max. Max watched him steadily, toast halfway to his mouth.
Charles thought about what he wanted. Not harm. Not embarrassment. Just a small thing, a test of whether the shield had changed, whether understanding his feelings had changed anything.
He cast the Dancing Jinx.
It hit Max square in the shoulder. Max's arm twitched, and for a moment his hand did a small, involuntary wave before the spell faded.
Lando dropped his fork. Oscar looked up from his notes.
"It worked," Charles said. His voice came out somewhere between shock and delight.
"It worked," Max agreed. He was smiling. "Told you."
"But how?" Lando looked between them. "Two days ago you couldn't even make his hair change color. What changed?"
Charles met Max's eyes. "Nothing," Charles said. "Everything."
Max reached under the table and took Charles's hand. Lando didn't notice, but Oscar did. Oscar looked at their joined hands, then at Charles's face, then at Max's. He nodded once and went back to his notes.
"Professor Ricciardo wants to see you after breakfast," Oscar said without looking up. "Both of you. He said to tell you congratulations."
"He's definitely been meddling," Charles muttered.
"Obviously." Max squeezed his hand. "But he was right."
Charles couldn't argue with that. He ate his toast one-handed, his other hand still in Max's, and thought about emotional magic and shields and the way gold sparks looked drifting through a dark corridor. He thought about how much there was still to learn, about what other spells he might invent now that he understood what his magic had been trying to tell him all along.
He thought about Max's hand in his, warm and steady.
"Charles," Max said.
"Yes?"
"You're smiling at your toast."
"I'm happy."
Max's scent bloomed, petrichor and warmth, and Charles let himself lean slightly into Max's shoulder. Just slightly. Just enough.
"Me too," Max said. "Me too."