synopsis. when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning
in autumn, hogwarts forgets how to breathe properly.
the air settles too low, too heavy, like the castle itself is holding something in its lungs and refusing to let it go. fog drifts across the grounds in the early mornings, curling over the black lake, slipping through the iron gates, seeping into corridors as if it belongs there. the smell of wet leaves, cold stone, and old magic presses against your chest, and for the first time, you notice the small things: how the suits of armor turn their heads just a fraction too late, how the portraits fall silent when you pass, their painted eyes lingering with something quieter than curiosity. even the candles burn differently. flames thin, wavering, disturbed by something unseen.
it is in this suspended autumnal silence that professor snape announces the legilimency assignment, pairing you with jay.
the announcement alone is enough to tighten the room. legilimency is not a subject most students are comfortable with. it requires vulnerability, precision, and a level of trust that hogwarts does not often demand so directly. when snape pairs you with jay, you expect awkwardness. you expect distance, formality, the politeness of two people navigating something invasive.
you do not expect him to see you. not like that.
the first session takes place in the library, late enough that the usual hum of students has faded into near silence. lamplight pools in dim circles across long wooden tables, illuminating drifting dust and worn pages. the air is still, almost unnaturally so, as if even sound is reluctant to linger.
jay is already there when you arrive, seated in the far corner. he looks composed, as always, calm in a way that feels intentional and controlled. there is something distant about him, not cold exactly, but self-contained, like he exists just slightly apart from everything else.
you sit across from him, trying not to think about how close that makes you.
snapeâs instructions echo in your mind. clear your thoughts. build barriers. maintain control. legilimency is not about force alone. it is about structure, awareness, and the ability to recognize the shape of your own mind before someone else does.
you try to focus on that. at first, it works. you steady your breathing, smooth out the surface of your thoughts, construct something resembling a barrier. when jay begins, the sensation is subtle, not a violent intrusion but a careful pressure, like fingers brushing against the edge of a closed door.
he is cautious. precise. you can feel it in the way he moves, not pushing but observing, testing. and then something slips.
it's small. barely a thought at all. the kind of thing you have trained yourself to suppress without even noticing. the instinctive awareness of him sitting across from you, the way your attention sharpens without permission, the quiet pull you never let yourself examine too closely.
but legilimency does not care about what you intend to hide. it catches what is there.
you feel it when he sees it, not as a sharp break but as a shift. a pause. the faintest tightening of something that had been smooth until now.
your breath falters. the connection snaps, and jay inhales sharply, like he has surfaced too quickly from deep water. silence floods back in, thick and immediate. somewhere deeper in the library, a book shuts on its own, the sound echoing too loudly in the stillness.
he does not look at you right away. when he does, his expression is almost unchanged. almost.
âyou dropped your guard,â he says quietly. it is a perfect answer. neutral. academic. exactly what the situation should call for. but there is something beneath it now, something slightly off balance, something that was not there before.
you nod because you donât trust yourself to do anything else. âsorry. iâll try again.â
the space between you feels different now, no longer just physical. it has weight to it, tension that was not there before, something unspoken pressing at the edges of every second that passes.
jay watches you for a moment longer than necessary. not distant anymore. not detached. there is awareness in it now, sharp and unmistakable.
âagain,â he says. you hesitate, but only for a second. you rebuild your defenses, more carefully this time. you layer your thoughts, redirect them, bury anything dangerous beneath distraction and structure. you do not just hide the feeling. you dismantle it, scatter it into pieces too small to recognize.
when the connection forms again, it is cleaner. stronger. and he is different.
he is no longer searching blindly. he knows what he is looking for now, and you can feel that knowledge in the way he moves through your mind. he does not push directly against your barriers. instead, he traces them, testing their shape, studying where they hold and where they thin.
for a few seconds, it works. your defenses stay intact. he finds nothing clear, nothing incriminating. but absence has a shape of its own. and he notices it.
his attention shifts, subtle but deliberate. he is no longer trying to break through. he is reading what leaks, what flickers, what cannot be fully controlled.
your focus tightens. you hold steady.
until you donât. because you become aware of him again, not just as a presence in your mind, but as himself. close. real. sitting across from you, breathing evenly, entirely focused on you in a way that makes it impossible to forget what just happened.
that awareness is enough. a crack forms, not in your barriers, but in your control over them. something slips through. not a full thought, not a memory, just a feeling, sharp, quick, and unmistakable.
and he catches it. the shift is immediate. not an intrusion, not a push, just a stillness. but this time, he doesnât pull back. the connection holds.
you feel him hesitate inside your mind, like heâs standing at the edge of something and deciding whether to cross it. your instinct is to shut him out, to rebuild everything and end it before it goes any further.
you donât. you donât know why. maybe because youâre tired of pretending. maybe because part of you wants to know what heâll do if you stop running.
so you stay. the silence stretches, but it isnât empty anymore. it is filled with awareness, with the quiet, undeniable fact that he knows now, and that you know he knows.
and then, carefully, deliberately, something shifts. not from you. from him.
it isnât a thought, not exactly. it doesnât have words, doesnât take shape the way yours do when they slip through your control. it is simpler than that.
clearer. a feeling, steady and unmistakable, moving toward you instead of away.
interest. not amusement, not curiosity in the detached sense he had before, but something warmer, something grounded, something that settles instead of flickering.
it reaches you before he can stop it. or maybe he doesnât try.
your breath catches. the connection breaks a second later, clean and sudden, like a door closing just before it can be pushed open any further.
the library rushes back in around you, too quiet, too still. you look at him. heâs already looking at you. this time, he doesnât look away.
something has changed, and neither of you pretend otherwise.
âwe should stop,â you say, but it comes out quieter than you intended, less like a decision and more like something you are telling yourself. jay studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
âdo you want to?â he asks. it is a simple question. it shouldnât feel like a trap. you open your mouth, then close it again.
because the answer is there, immediate and undeniable, sitting just beneath the surface of everything youâve been trying to control. you donât.
the realization settles heavily in your chest, strange and steady at the same time.
outside, the fog presses faintly against the tall windows, blurring the edges of the world beyond the glass. somewhere in the castle, something shifts, a low, distant sound that seems to echo through the stone. but here, at this table, nothing feels distant anymore.
you exhale slowly. âno,â you admit. it is barely above a whisper, but it feels louder than anything else youâve said tonight. for a second, neither of you move.
then jay leans back slightly, not breaking eye contact, not retreating, just giving the moment space instead of ending it. âthen we donât,â he says. no hesitation. no deflection. just an answer. and somehow, that is worse. or maybe better. youâre not sure yet.
the tension doesnât disappear, but it shifts, less like something about to snap and more like something settling into place. uncertain, unfinished, but real. the assignment is still there. snapeâs expectations, the rules, the structure you are supposed to follow.
but none of that feels as immediate as this. as him. as the quiet, steady understanding sitting between you now, no longer hidden, no longer accidental. the castle still feels like itâs holding its breath.
synopsis. when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning
in autumn, hogwarts forgets how to breathe properly.
the air settles too low, too heavy, like the castle itself is holding something in its lungs and refusing to let it go. fog drifts across the grounds in the early mornings, curling over the black lake, slipping through the iron gates, seeping into corridors as if it belongs there. the smell of wet leaves, cold stone, and old magic presses against your chest, and for the first time, you notice the small things: how the suits of armor turn their heads just a fraction too late, how the portraits fall silent when you pass, their painted eyes lingering with something quieter than curiosity. even the candles burn differently. flames thin, wavering, disturbed by something unseen.
it is in this suspended autumnal silence that professor snape announces the legilimency assignment, pairing you with jay.
the announcement alone is enough to tighten the room. legilimency is not a subject most students are comfortable with. it requires vulnerability, precision, and a level of trust that hogwarts does not often demand so directly. when snape pairs you with jay, you expect awkwardness. you expect distance, formality, the politeness of two people navigating something invasive.
you do not expect him to see you. not like that.
the first session takes place in the library, late enough that the usual hum of students has faded into near silence. lamplight pools in dim circles across long wooden tables, illuminating drifting dust and worn pages. the air is still, almost unnaturally so, as if even sound is reluctant to linger.
jay is already there when you arrive, seated in the far corner. he looks composed, as always, calm in a way that feels intentional and controlled. there is something distant about him, not cold exactly, but self-contained, like he exists just slightly apart from everything else.
you sit across from him, trying not to think about how close that makes you.
snapeâs instructions echo in your mind. clear your thoughts. build barriers. maintain control. legilimency is not about force alone. it is about structure, awareness, and the ability to recognize the shape of your own mind before someone else does.
you try to focus on that. at first, it works. you steady your breathing, smooth out the surface of your thoughts, construct something resembling a barrier. when jay begins, the sensation is subtle, not a violent intrusion but a careful pressure, like fingers brushing against the edge of a closed door.
he is cautious. precise. you can feel it in the way he moves, not pushing but observing, testing. and then something slips.
it's small. barely a thought at all. the kind of thing you have trained yourself to suppress without even noticing. the instinctive awareness of him sitting across from you, the way your attention sharpens without permission, the quiet pull you never let yourself examine too closely.
but legilimency does not care about what you intend to hide. it catches what is there.
you feel it when he sees it, not as a sharp break but as a shift. a pause. the faintest tightening of something that had been smooth until now.
your breath falters. the connection snaps, and jay inhales sharply, like he has surfaced too quickly from deep water. silence floods back in, thick and immediate. somewhere deeper in the library, a book shuts on its own, the sound echoing too loudly in the stillness.
he does not look at you right away. when he does, his expression is almost unchanged. almost.
âyou dropped your guard,â he says quietly. it is a perfect answer. neutral. academic. exactly what the situation should call for. but there is something beneath it now, something slightly off balance, something that was not there before.
you nod because you donât trust yourself to do anything else. âsorry. iâll try again.â
the space between you feels different now, no longer just physical. it has weight to it, tension that was not there before, something unspoken pressing at the edges of every second that passes.
jay watches you for a moment longer than necessary. not distant anymore. not detached. there is awareness in it now, sharp and unmistakable.
âagain,â he says. you hesitate, but only for a second. you rebuild your defenses, more carefully this time. you layer your thoughts, redirect them, bury anything dangerous beneath distraction and structure. you do not just hide the feeling. you dismantle it, scatter it into pieces too small to recognize.
when the connection forms again, it is cleaner. stronger. and he is different.
he is no longer searching blindly. he knows what he is looking for now, and you can feel that knowledge in the way he moves through your mind. he does not push directly against your barriers. instead, he traces them, testing their shape, studying where they hold and where they thin.
for a few seconds, it works. your defenses stay intact. he finds nothing clear, nothing incriminating. but absence has a shape of its own. and he notices it.
his attention shifts, subtle but deliberate. he is no longer trying to break through. he is reading what leaks, what flickers, what cannot be fully controlled.
your focus tightens. you hold steady.
until you donât. because you become aware of him again, not just as a presence in your mind, but as himself. close. real. sitting across from you, breathing evenly, entirely focused on you in a way that makes it impossible to forget what just happened.
that awareness is enough. a crack forms, not in your barriers, but in your control over them. something slips through. not a full thought, not a memory, just a feeling, sharp, quick, and unmistakable.
and he catches it. the shift is immediate. not an intrusion, not a push, just a stillness. but this time, he doesnât pull back. the connection holds.
you feel him hesitate inside your mind, like heâs standing at the edge of something and deciding whether to cross it. your instinct is to shut him out, to rebuild everything and end it before it goes any further.
you donât. you donât know why. maybe because youâre tired of pretending. maybe because part of you wants to know what heâll do if you stop running.
so you stay. the silence stretches, but it isnât empty anymore. it is filled with awareness, with the quiet, undeniable fact that he knows now, and that you know he knows.
and then, carefully, deliberately, something shifts. not from you. from him.
it isnât a thought, not exactly. it doesnât have words, doesnât take shape the way yours do when they slip through your control. it is simpler than that.
clearer. a feeling, steady and unmistakable, moving toward you instead of away.
interest. not amusement, not curiosity in the detached sense he had before, but something warmer, something grounded, something that settles instead of flickering.
it reaches you before he can stop it. or maybe he doesnât try.
your breath catches. the connection breaks a second later, clean and sudden, like a door closing just before it can be pushed open any further.
the library rushes back in around you, too quiet, too still. you look at him. heâs already looking at you. this time, he doesnât look away.
something has changed, and neither of you pretend otherwise.
âwe should stop,â you say, but it comes out quieter than you intended, less like a decision and more like something you are telling yourself. jay studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
âdo you want to?â he asks. it is a simple question. it shouldnât feel like a trap. you open your mouth, then close it again.
because the answer is there, immediate and undeniable, sitting just beneath the surface of everything youâve been trying to control. you donât.
the realization settles heavily in your chest, strange and steady at the same time.
outside, the fog presses faintly against the tall windows, blurring the edges of the world beyond the glass. somewhere in the castle, something shifts, a low, distant sound that seems to echo through the stone. but here, at this table, nothing feels distant anymore.
you exhale slowly. âno,â you admit. it is barely above a whisper, but it feels louder than anything else youâve said tonight. for a second, neither of you move.
then jay leans back slightly, not breaking eye contact, not retreating, just giving the moment space instead of ending it. âthen we donât,â he says. no hesitation. no deflection. just an answer. and somehow, that is worse. or maybe better. youâre not sure yet.
the tension doesnât disappear, but it shifts, less like something about to snap and more like something settling into place. uncertain, unfinished, but real. the assignment is still there. snapeâs expectations, the rules, the structure you are supposed to follow.
but none of that feels as immediate as this. as him. as the quiet, steady understanding sitting between you now, no longer hidden, no longer accidental. the castle still feels like itâs holding its breath.
ââââ come out and haunt me, i know you want me
genre. enhypen hogwarts series with each a different prompt, fluff, angst, basic stereotypical hogwarts stories, series, different stories, just me being a big nerd about harry potter and enha so there's that.
notes. lowercase will be intended, also i will open a taglist for this series so if anyone wants to join leave a comment down below! ill try my best to update it every week;; with that being said please let me know which story you're interested in first!
prefect on patrol
ìì ì â âeveryone knows you as the rule-breaking slytherin who keeps getting caught after curfewâ and jungwon, the by-the-book gryffindor prefect, is sick of writing your name in detention logs. but when you're both assigned to petrol together on a stormy night, the tension between the two of you changesâ
spellbound
ìŽíŹìč â âheeseung is everything you swore you wouldn't fall for; brilliant, charming, and always one step ahead in every class. when a late-night study session traps you two in the library by a mischievious enchantment, the only way out is to cooperateâ
legilimency
ì ìŽ â â when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning â
catch me if you can
ìŹìŹì€ â jake sim, hogwartsâ golden quidditch captain, swears youâre his âlucky charm.â you think heâs teasing â until he starts finding excuses to see you before every match. between stolen glances in the stands and post-game confessions, you realize his luck might actually be love.
yule ball dilemma
ë°ì±í â when a friend accidentally blurts out that youâre already going to the yule ball â with sunghoon, of all people â you expect him to be annoyed. instead, he calmly plays along. âmight as well make it convincing,â he says. but the more you âpretendâ to be his date, the harder it is to remember itâs not real.
wrong potion
êčì ì° â a botched amortentia assignment leaves sunoo temporarily âin loveâ with you â or so you think. when the potion shouldâve worn off but doesnât, the two of you set out to brew an antidote, only to discover the real magic might be something you canât bottle.
divination dare
ëí€ â you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
ââââ come out and haunt me, i know you want me
genre. enhypen hogwarts series with each a different prompt, fluff, angst, basic stereotypical hogwarts stories, series, different stories, just me being a big nerd about harry potter and enha so there's that.
notes. lowercase will be intended, also i will open a taglist for this series so if anyone wants to join leave a comment down below! ill try my best to update it every week;; with that being said please let me know which story you're interested in first!
prefect on patrol
ìì ì â âeveryone knows you as the rule-breaking slytherin who keeps getting caught after curfewâ and jungwon, the by-the-book gryffindor prefect, is sick of writing your name in detention logs. but when you're both assigned to petrol together on a stormy night, the tension between the two of you changesâ
spellbound
ìŽíŹìč â âheeseung is everything you swore you wouldn't fall for; brilliant, charming, and always one step ahead in every class. when a late-night study session traps you two in the library by a mischievious enchantment, the only way out is to cooperateâ
legilimency
ì ìŽ â â when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning â
catch me if you can
ìŹìŹì€ â jake sim, hogwartsâ golden quidditch captain, swears youâre his âlucky charm.â you think heâs teasing â until he starts finding excuses to see you before every match. between stolen glances in the stands and post-game confessions, you realize his luck might actually be love.
yule ball dilemma
ë°ì±í â when a friend accidentally blurts out that youâre already going to the yule ball â with sunghoon, of all people â you expect him to be annoyed. instead, he calmly plays along. âmight as well make it convincing,â he says. but the more you âpretendâ to be his date, the harder it is to remember itâs not real.
wrong potion
êčì ì° â a botched amortentia assignment leaves sunoo temporarily âin loveâ with you â or so you think. when the potion shouldâve worn off but doesnât, the two of you set out to brew an antidote, only to discover the real magic might be something you canât bottle.
divination dare
ëí€ â you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
im so terribly sorry for the late replyâŠ.ive been so caught up with uni & life that it resulted in a break from tumblr! i want to upload again but it might take a while since i dont have any drafts grrrr
synopsis. you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.
riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.
he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy â quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.
you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.
the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the dayâs exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.
âtoday,â she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, âwe divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony â or discord.â
your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.
he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. âlooks like weâre doomed,â he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.
you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.
the scrying bowl glimmers between you â a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.
for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower â the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.
âoh,â trelawney breathes. âentwined.â
you almost laugh â almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. âfate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.â
riki snorts. âor maybe your crystalâs broken, professor.â
laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. âfate is not so easily mocked.â
you tell yourself itâs nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.
you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears â in the library aisle youâve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you donât.
the first âconspiracy,â as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell â feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and heâs laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.
the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other â liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.
you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin.
after a while, he says, âyou really think we can outrun a prophecy?â
you do not look at him. âprophecies arenât real.â
âsure,â he says. âthen why are we always in the same room?â
you do not have an answer for that.
the third is worse â a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.
after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.
somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.
by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about âintertwined fatesâ and laughs until he drifts through a wall.
you begin to notice the small details: the way rikiâs hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.
one night, trelawneyâs tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an âupdate,â though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. âhave you learned what the knot instructs?â she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.
you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.
you donât untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.
after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days â not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.
and maybe that was trelawneyâs point all along: not that fate traps you, but that sometimes it nudges you toward the person youâd least expect to find there, standing in the middle of the map you swore youâd drawn alone.
ââââ come out and haunt me, i know you want me
genre. enhypen hogwarts series with each a different prompt, fluff, angst, basic stereotypical hogwarts stories, series, different stories, just me being a big nerd about harry potter and enha so there's that.
notes. lowercase will be intended, also i will open a taglist for this series so if anyone wants to join leave a comment down below! ill try my best to update it every week;; with that being said please let me know which story you're interested in first!
prefect on patrol
ìì ì â âeveryone knows you as the rule-breaking slytherin who keeps getting caught after curfewâ and jungwon, the by-the-book gryffindor prefect, is sick of writing your name in detention logs. but when you're both assigned to petrol together on a stormy night, the tension between the two of you changesâ
spellbound
ìŽíŹìč â âheeseung is everything you swore you wouldn't fall for; brilliant, charming, and always one step ahead in every class. when a late-night study session traps you two in the library by a mischievious enchantment, the only way out is to cooperateâ
legilimency
ì ìŽ â â when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning â
catch me if you can
ìŹìŹì€ â jake sim, hogwartsâ golden quidditch captain, swears youâre his âlucky charm.â you think heâs teasing â until he starts finding excuses to see you before every match. between stolen glances in the stands and post-game confessions, you realize his luck might actually be love.
yule ball dilemma
ë°ì±í â when a friend accidentally blurts out that youâre already going to the yule ball â with sunghoon, of all people â you expect him to be annoyed. instead, he calmly plays along. âmight as well make it convincing,â he says. but the more you âpretendâ to be his date, the harder it is to remember itâs not real.
wrong potion
êčì ì° â a botched amortentia assignment leaves sunoo temporarily âin loveâ with you â or so you think. when the potion shouldâve worn off but doesnât, the two of you set out to brew an antidote, only to discover the real magic might be something you canât bottle.
divination dare
ëí€ â you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
everytime i read a jake fanfiction and itÂŽs based on superheroes (like spiderman, superman etc...) it just suits him so well??? like i cant explain the feeling but some genres are just MADE for him;; quidditch captain jake, spiderman jake, and superman jake are just top TIER..... i just cant fanthom why its not clocking to people like ohmygoshhhhh.....????
synopsis. you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.
riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.
he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy â quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.
you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.
the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the dayâs exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.
âtoday,â she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, âwe divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony â or discord.â
your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.
he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. âlooks like weâre doomed,â he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.
you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.
the scrying bowl glimmers between you â a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.
for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower â the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.
âoh,â trelawney breathes. âentwined.â
you almost laugh â almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. âfate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.â
riki snorts. âor maybe your crystalâs broken, professor.â
laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. âfate is not so easily mocked.â
you tell yourself itâs nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.
you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears â in the library aisle youâve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you donât.
the first âconspiracy,â as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell â feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and heâs laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.
the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other â liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.
you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin.
after a while, he says, âyou really think we can outrun a prophecy?â
you do not look at him. âprophecies arenât real.â
âsure,â he says. âthen why are we always in the same room?â
you do not have an answer for that.
the third is worse â a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.
after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.
somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.
by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about âintertwined fatesâ and laughs until he drifts through a wall.
you begin to notice the small details: the way rikiâs hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.
one night, trelawneyâs tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an âupdate,â though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. âhave you learned what the knot instructs?â she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.
you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.
you donât untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.
after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days â not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.
and maybe that was trelawneyâs point all along: not that fate traps you, but that sometimes it nudges you toward the person youâd least expect to find there, standing in the middle of the map you swore youâd drawn alone.
ââââ come out and haunt me, i know you want me
genre. enhypen hogwarts series with each a different prompt, fluff, angst, basic stereotypical hogwarts stories, series, different stories, just me being a big nerd about harry potter and enha so there's that.
notes. lowercase will be intended, also i will open a taglist for this series so if anyone wants to join leave a comment down below! ill try my best to update it every week;; with that being said please let me know which story you're interested in first!
prefect on patrol
ìì ì â âeveryone knows you as the rule-breaking slytherin who keeps getting caught after curfewâ and jungwon, the by-the-book gryffindor prefect, is sick of writing your name in detention logs. but when you're both assigned to petrol together on a stormy night, the tension between the two of you changesâ
spellbound
ìŽíŹìč â âheeseung is everything you swore you wouldn't fall for; brilliant, charming, and always one step ahead in every class. when a late-night study session traps you two in the library by a mischievious enchantment, the only way out is to cooperateâ
legilimency
ì ìŽ â â when professor snape assigns a special project on legilimency â the art of reading minds â you and jay are chosen as partners. you expect it to be awkward. you donât expect him to accidentally glimpse your secret crush⊠on him. now every study session feels like a silent game of cat and mouse â except youâre not sure whoâs actually winning â
catch me if you can
ìŹìŹì€ â jake sim, hogwartsâ golden quidditch captain, swears youâre his âlucky charm.â you think heâs teasing â until he starts finding excuses to see you before every match. between stolen glances in the stands and post-game confessions, you realize his luck might actually be love.
yule ball dilemma
ë°ì±í â when a friend accidentally blurts out that youâre already going to the yule ball â with sunghoon, of all people â you expect him to be annoyed. instead, he calmly plays along. âmight as well make it convincing,â he says. but the more you âpretendâ to be his date, the harder it is to remember itâs not real.
wrong potion
êčì ì° â a botched amortentia assignment leaves sunoo temporarily âin loveâ with you â or so you think. when the potion shouldâve worn off but doesnât, the two of you set out to brew an antidote, only to discover the real magic might be something you canât bottle.
divination dare
ëí€ â you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
synopsis. you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.
riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.
he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy â quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.
you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.
the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the dayâs exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.
âtoday,â she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, âwe divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony â or discord.â
your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.
he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. âlooks like weâre doomed,â he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.
you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.
the scrying bowl glimmers between you â a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.
for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower â the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.
âoh,â trelawney breathes. âentwined.â
you almost laugh â almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. âfate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.â
riki snorts. âor maybe your crystalâs broken, professor.â
laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. âfate is not so easily mocked.â
you tell yourself itâs nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.
you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears â in the library aisle youâve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you donât.
the first âconspiracy,â as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell â feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and heâs laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.
the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other â liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.
you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin.
after a while, he says, âyou really think we can outrun a prophecy?â
you do not look at him. âprophecies arenât real.â
âsure,â he says. âthen why are we always in the same room?â
you do not have an answer for that.
the third is worse â a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.
after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.
somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.
by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about âintertwined fatesâ and laughs until he drifts through a wall.
you begin to notice the small details: the way rikiâs hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.
one night, trelawneyâs tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an âupdate,â though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. âhave you learned what the knot instructs?â she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.
you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.
you donât untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.
after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days â not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.
and maybe that was trelawneyâs point all along: not that fate traps you, but that sometimes it nudges you toward the person youâd least expect to find there, standing in the middle of the map you swore youâd drawn alone.
im terribly sorry for being offline for quite a long time⊠uni has been so overwhelming and i couldnât bring myself to write new fics but im back!!! đŐê. ̫.êŐđŠŻ
hope everyone has been doing well and enjoying the holidays coming up! ill upload again sooooon but for now merry christmas you guys!!!
synopsis. you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.
riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.
he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy â quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.
you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.
the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the dayâs exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.
âtoday,â she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, âwe divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony â or discord.â
your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.
he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. âlooks like weâre doomed,â he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.
you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.
the scrying bowl glimmers between you â a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.
for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower â the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.
âoh,â trelawney breathes. âentwined.â
you almost laugh â almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. âfate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.â
riki snorts. âor maybe your crystalâs broken, professor.â
laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. âfate is not so easily mocked.â
you tell yourself itâs nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.
you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears â in the library aisle youâve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you donât.
the first âconspiracy,â as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell â feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and heâs laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.
the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other â liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.
you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin.
after a while, he says, âyou really think we can outrun a prophecy?â
you do not look at him. âprophecies arenât real.â
âsure,â he says. âthen why are we always in the same room?â
you do not have an answer for that.
the third is worse â a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.
after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.
somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.
by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about âintertwined fatesâ and laughs until he drifts through a wall.
you begin to notice the small details: the way rikiâs hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.
one night, trelawneyâs tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an âupdate,â though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. âhave you learned what the knot instructs?â she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.
you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.
you donât untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.
after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days â not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.
and maybe that was trelawneyâs point all along: not that fate traps you, but that sometimes it nudges you toward the person youâd least expect to find there, standing in the middle of the map you swore youâd drawn alone.
synopsis. you and riki canât stand each other â until a divination class goes wrong and professor trelawney âpredictsâ that your fates are intertwined. to prove her wrong, you both try to avoid each other⊠only for every spell, accident, and class project to literally pull you back together. somewhere between denial and destiny, you start wondering if the prophecy was right after all.
in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.
riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.
he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy â quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.
you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.
the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the dayâs exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.
âtoday,â she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, âwe divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony â or discord.â
your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.
he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. âlooks like weâre doomed,â he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.
you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.
the scrying bowl glimmers between you â a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.
for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower â the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.
âoh,â trelawney breathes. âentwined.â
you almost laugh â almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. âfate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.â
riki snorts. âor maybe your crystalâs broken, professor.â
laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. âfate is not so easily mocked.â
you tell yourself itâs nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.
you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears â in the library aisle youâve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you donât.
the first âconspiracy,â as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell â feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and heâs laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.
the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other â liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.
you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin.
after a while, he says, âyou really think we can outrun a prophecy?â
you do not look at him. âprophecies arenât real.â
âsure,â he says. âthen why are we always in the same room?â
you do not have an answer for that.
the third is worse â a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.
after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.
somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.
by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about âintertwined fatesâ and laughs until he drifts through a wall.
you begin to notice the small details: the way rikiâs hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.
one night, trelawneyâs tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an âupdate,â though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. âhave you learned what the knot instructs?â she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.
you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.
you donât untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.
after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days â not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.
and maybe that was trelawneyâs point all along: not that fate traps you, but that sometimes it nudges you toward the person youâd least expect to find there, standing in the middle of the map you swore youâd drawn alone.
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