pride - han jisung x f reader
fluff, hogwarts!au, 4.8k
seventh year
it took jisung most of his time at hogwarts to get used to the eeriness of the castle. between the undead who roamed the halls, the escaped pets, stray and claimed alike, coupled with the general age of the magical stones that made up the building’s foundation - it’s easy to see there is nothing particularly comforting about the place. at least in the literal sense. but as far as creaky, centuries old buildings go, it did the job. there were the more obvious attributes: the warm, undying fire of the gryffindor common room; the view of the night sky from the observatory tower; the smell of the dew at the groundskeeper’s hut rising from the mermaid infested waters. and there was the less obvious.
like the hypnotic tapping of your foot at the end of the dungeon’s damp and winding hallway..
even in his seventh year, his feet carry him with little effort as he rounded corner after corner, following the telltale sign that he was late. he would never readily admit it, but he does find it in him to hurry, his feet stepping into a slow jog as he hurries toward the sound. he will not deny he has always been so keen to see you, even to appease you. and with graduation looming in the not so distant future, jisung naturally found himself feeling nostalgic.
first year
the great hall settles into an oddly calming silence as the brim of the sorting hat falls over his tiny ears. whispers can be heard through the worn felt, the years old stitching tickling his forehead as it forces hair into his eyes. only a second ago he could hear the uproar of the houses as hufflepuff welcomed a freckled blonde first year into their ranks. then suddenly, he felt completely alone, with only his thoughts and the intrusive whispers of the magical hat.
‘ah, a han.’ it crowed, recognising jisung by the feel of his hair and size of his cranium alone. ‘it is always a pleasure to welcome such blind courage into our school.’
“blind courage?” though glad to be recognised, jisung couldn’t help but question whether an insult lay hidden in the mix.
‘yes, blind. tell me han jisung,’ the hat paused, assessing all of jisung’s whirring and bouncing ideas. ‘where do you think you belong?’
“uh,” the boy only shrugged, scratching his head through the mouldy material. “i haven’t really thought about it.”
‘not at all?’
“i mean, my family are always in gryffindor, and it means a lot to them. but i don’t mind too much. i just want to make them proud.”
‘ah, so it’s pride you value, then? not courage?’
“no, no! i do! i just-” jisung pauses as he thinks of his family. their smiling faces as they waved him goodbye, red and gold accessories hung around their necks and waving in the air. he thinks back to his journey here. the cramped compartments he’d passed as he made his way towards the end of the slowly filling train. he had passed a group of bickering slytherins, strangely impassioned as they gathered around a lone first year whose eyes glowed as they announced, ‘i take pride in all i do. if your house is meant for me then i’ll take pride in that too. as i’m sure you will in me.’ “i don’t think the two have to be exclusive. it takes courage to take pride in oneself. so no matter where i’m placed, i’ll take pride in that too.”
“i see,” the hat noted, finally speaking aloud. “i know exactly where i’ll put you!”
second year
there were mere seconds between his arrival and the morning bell’s ring. in those seconds he had managed to land in the seat to your right, slinging his bag on the floor as he asked. “is this seat taken?”
you scowled at his question, seeing no point in his asking when he was already planted in it.
“i’ll take that as a no.” he shrugged before straightening his robes and offering you a clammy palm. “hi, i’m jisung.”
“charmed.” you lied, looking down at his waiting hand before meeting his warm eyes with your cold pair, ignoring the gesture. “y/n y/l/n.”
with an unfazed grin, he nodded before removing his wand and quill from his robe pocket. you watched with piqued interest as he gathered crumbled papers from his satchel, remembering to grab his pot of unbranded ink. it’s then your eyes engorge, not so unimpressed by the ink but rather your lack thereof.
it was right by my bag, you inwardly scold, thinking back to the lonely pot of thestral black montegrappa ink left on your desk. maintaining your cool, you glanced around the charm’s classroom, trying to find a familiar face. you spot choi jongho from your house sat a few seats too many over staring blankly ahead. had he been closer, you doubt you would have been impassioned enough to ask. he looked too deep in thought to register such a menial request. though the mere thought of asking your current neighbour almost had you rising to your feet.
it was then you decided to cast your eyes over to han jisung. you notice him chatting away to the ravenclaw on his right, lia choi. she was formidable enough, and seemingly a whiz in potions. though where she excelled over a cauldron, she fell short in charms. no, charms was your arena. and here you were, unprepared for your first class of the year like some clueless first year. it’s the sort of behaviour you expected from the likes of a bumbling gryffindor like han jisung.
you had heard of han jisung. he came from the house of han, a wizarding family best known for pioneering muggle-wizard relations through the latter part of the 20th century. in the wake of the war and the wizarding world’s recovery, jisung’s family had become infamous in the world of muggle born activism. their first successful act coming in the form of having non-wizarding tools and devices allowed in the castle. which is why you weren’t surprised when he removed a ‘pen’ from his bag and slipped it behind his ear before replacing his quill back in his pocket.
you only realise you’d been wearing your panic so plainly when a small bottle of ink slides into the space before you, jisung’s hand gently guiding it to you. straightening his spine as the professor enters, he jests, “can’t have you falling behind, can we?”
third year
“congratulations kid,” sixth year gryffindor quidditch captain, bang chan announced, slapping jisung on the back. “hogwarts hasn’t seen a beater this good since kim seokjin graduated three years ago.”
“i’m sitting right here,” changbin whined, stuffing another quail leg in his mouth.
“well,” chan shrugged, levitating the gravy boat over from beside jisung, winking, “at least you know i don’t tell everyone that.”
“hardy har.”
“i wouldn’t speak so soon.” they all halt mid chew as their eyes pan up. it’s professor magia, head of slytherin and jisung’s charm’s professor stroke arch nemesis. “i think you would do well, mr bang, to remind your team that they must maintain a minimum grade c in all their studies before they get their hopes up about a future in quidditch.”
“of course professor magia-”
“like choi jongho.” she interrupts, her eyes swimming with pride. “i hear he’s up there with the likes of ravenclaw alumni, kim seokjin.”
“oh really? well i’m sure jisung here will do just-”
“maybe,” she intercepts, giving jisung a hard stare, “you should consider asking the help of my top student. only a third year, like yourself. but the way miss y/l/n works a wand, i can see an infirmary apprenticeship in her near future.” as she turns away, she adds with a tight smile, “just a thought!”
“woah. who spit in her butterbeer?” changbin jokes, laughing as chan ironically nearly drops the gravy boat as the charm’s professor floats away.
“well,” jisung gulps, scratching his neck. he did. not intentionally of course, but at the start of year hogsmead trip, he found himself in the hog’s head fooling around with his wand in a bet for some free butterbeer and slipped before - quite literally - spitting in professor magia’s butterbeer, leaving her far from amused. “it doesn’t matter. i’ll make the grade. it’s fine.”
fourth year
it was not fine.
in fact, it was so not fine, that jisung had been benched for the better part of the first game of the season before he realised he was never going to be put on. he’d thought it to be some king of joke. the universe’s sick idea of a joke. jisung was the best! with no insult to changbin, who he’d cheered on as he smacked a bludger across the field which narrowly missed chan. but if jisung had been on, the bludger would have never even been near chan. and that’s no fault of changbin, but rather his partner, lee jeno. he wasn’t terrible per say. he had the right build, right strength. but jeno was a chaser, not a beater. he didn’t know the first thing about beating. and jisung would tell anyone who would listen this. even you. his new charms’ tutor.
“if i was on today, i would have followed chan up the length of the pitch, come up on his right and beat the shit out of the bludger before it ever got a chance to get within five feet of him. i would have beat it so hard it burst! jeno just doesn’t have the form, he doesn’t know how to bounce off of changbin. he’s too clouded by the score, too focused on the game and not enough on-”
“han!” you screech, momentarily forgetting you are both in fact in the library surrounded by actual hard at work students. but who could blame you, for a second you thought you’d dozed off, fallen into a nightmare, doomed to listen to the failing of a team you despised about a sport you didn’t understand. “if you say quidditch one more time, i’ll bludger you to death!”
“firstly, it’s bludgeon. and second, i’m sorry. would you rather i go on and on about incantations like you all evening? this shit is more boring than waiting for the stairs to move.”
“oh, apologies han,” you pout mockingly, packing up your things. “i had no idea i was keeping you.”
“wait, where are you going?”
“somewhere that you’re not!” you hiss, putting on your cloak. “have fun on the bench for the rest of the year, okay? i’m sure your view of lee jeno’s ass will be perfect from down there, seeing as you love licking it so much!”
“well, excuse me! at least i’m not incapable of having a normal conversation that isn’t about the difference between pronunciation and enunciation!” when you just groan at him, he adds, “why are you so adamant we fight every time we so this? if you didn’t want to be here, why did you bother? no one made you!” when you pause suddenly, he is brow quirks, the obvious embarrassment hidden behind your eyes. “it’s because of the ink, isn’t it?”
“what are you talking about?” you sneer, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. “what ink?”
“second year charms. you didn’t have ink so you asked me for some of mine.”
you squint at that, noting the blatant misremembering on his part. “no i didn’t?”
“yes, you did. you practically begged me.”
“i did no such thing!”
“your eyes did.” he affirms, leaning back with a smirk. “don’t be ashamed, we all need help sometimes.”
“goodbye, han.” you declare, finally rising from your seat. “good luck with charms.”
“no wait! please!”
ignoring the glares of everyone in your vicinity, you smirk down at the benched beater. “oh, so who’s begging now?”
“look,” it’s hard to hold it, the smugness you once wore so plainly. one look at his dejection and you can’t help but lower back into your seat. “i just- i need to make the grade okay? i need to get back on the team.”
“why?” you wonder, unsure why it is you care. “why does it matter that much?”
“because,” he starts, unsure himself why it matters you know. but one look at your rare intrigue has him continuing. “it just does. i love quidditch. i love seeing my family’s faces when they come see me play. i love the game. i-” he can’t find the word until he looks at you, suddenly hearing it in his mind. “i take pride in it.” when you don’t react as he hoped, he slouches, pouting in a way some would find endearing. “come on, i thought you of all people would appreciate that.”
“what do you mean me of all people?”
“in first year,” he smiles softly, almost looking through you, a seemingly far off version of you. “on the express, you said something about taking pride in everything you do. i take pride in my family. in the game. in the courage it takes to get out there and maybe lose a game, maybe lose a limb. but i do it. everytime. because i love it and i need your help, y/n. please.”
you’re not sure what it is. whether it’s the pure whites of his eyes, or the longing you find in them. maybe the glee you once saw in its place, trying to peek its way back through. all you know is you find something. and that’s the issue with han jisung. there is just something about him. maybe it’s all the ways he differs from you, all the ways you were the same. whatever it is, it forces you back out of your seat, your eyes rolling when he shrinks though you only rose to remove your bag and cloak.
“for someone who forgets simple spells, you sure remember a lot of dumb stuff.”
“it can’t be dumb if you said it.” he tries, smiling hopefully at you.
your lips betray you as you smile around your sigh. “okay, rememberall,” you sit back down, pointing at him threateningly. “i’ll help you. but i don’t want to hear another word about quidditch until we get to page one-two-seven.”
fifth year
you are not happy to see him. you are never happy to see him. you are especially not happy to see him carried in by dumb and dumber during your evening shift at the infirmary.
since that day in fourth year, you and jisung had met up every day for at least an fifteen minutes, jisung swearing that this muggle ‘app’ stated language learning was best done once a day for as long, and since incantations were mostly in latin, jisung did have a point. however, fifteen minutes never was really fifteen minutes. your time together over the past year varied from an hour one day to three another and anything in between.
over time, you began to wonder what this time spent together would mean for your melting heart. especially tonight, as he hangs off the side of the rickety infirmary bed calling out for you, and only you.. after forgetting your daily charms’ session.
“just give it to me straight, doc,” the gryffindor beater cries, latching numbingly onto your open hand. “will i ever walk again?”
“han, the bludger hit you in the nose, your legs are fine-seo, choi, you’re going to hold him down-and i’m not a doctor, idiot. i’m not even a healer yet.”
“well you’re going to be,” he slurs, the numbing potion slowly kicking in. “and guess what i’m going to be?”
“unconcious, i hope.” you lower yourself at his bedside, nodding to his team mates before looking back down at him. jisung looks dazed, from the pain, potion or his sudden adoration for you, you’re unsure. a soft pout forms on his lips as he registers your quip. sighing, you roll your wrist, readying to heal and humour your patient, “what are you going to be- episkey.”
“yours-fuck!” jisung hisses as he hears and feels the bones realign in his nose, the spell taking immediate effect. his eyes water as you slip away, discharging he and his friends from the infirmary. “is that it?”
“yes, all done.” you call over your shoulder without so much as a glance. “oh,” turning, you note not one of them have moved an inch. “the next time you want to keep him at quidditch practice, seo? choose a time that won’t effect his o.w.l.s prep, or waste my time. m’kay?”
“yes, maam.” changbin salutes, punching yeonjun’s shoulder when he snorts. “come on prick, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.”
“leave who, where?” you ask, eyeing jisung’s still seated frame. “take that clown with you!”
“hey! i almost lost my nose!”
“and whose fault is that?” you snap, clearly unbothered by his injury. “you and i had a date, and you stood me up! do you know how worri-”
“a-a date?” jisung rises suddenly, eyes wide as yours as you realise your blunder. “i thought we were just studying?”
“we were,” you affirm, nodding sharply as you turn to complete his injury and discharge form.
“but you said we had a date.”
“yes, a study date.”
“that’s not what you said,” he smirks, approaching you slowly. “if i had known it was a date-”
“a study date.”
“-i would have been there. i should have been there regardless of the level of studying, though.”
“which would have been high,” you clarify.
“definitely,” he agrees, nodding at you like one would a child. “we would have studied so hard.” your glare hardens at his tone, lips forming an angry pout. “i’m sorry i made you worry.”
“i wasn’t worried,” you scoff, trying to turn away when he holds you there.
“you did say you were worried,” yeonjun defends from the infirmary doors. “like a few seconds ago-”
“leave!” the two scramble out the door in seconds, leaving you to deal with the hole you’d dug for yourself. “i wasn’t worried.”
“okay,” jisung finally relents, happy not hearing the full truth just yet. “well i was.” noting the flash of concern in your eyes, his heart swells. “it was really scary. so i think i deserve a kiss for being brave.”
“please tell me you’re joking.”
“nope, i’m jisung.” he grins, a stupid amount of pride swimming in his gaze. “and i want a kiss from the pretty healer who fixed my nose.”
“this isn’t protocol.” the words are clearly lost on him. less because they mean nothing to him, but more because your hands are now on his cheeks, cradling his face between your palms. “but you were really brave.”
“i was,” he agrees, hands slipping from the counter to wind around your waist. “really brave.” when your thumbs sweep over his cheeks, they lull his eyes to a close. he’s in delirium as you lean in, your soft breaths fanning his lips as he holds you tighter. your thumb dusts his pouted lips as yours barely tap the tip of his nose. his eyes snap open in bitter betrayal, hands falling limp at his sides.
“but-”
“get out.”
sixth year
“don’t be ridiculous, jisung,” you hiss, striding out of the grand hall after the headmaster’s announcement, leaving him in your dust. “no way.”
“oh, come on,” he whines, rounding on you, blocking your escape. “it’s not like you have a date. and if you do, it’s not me, so it’s obviously the wrong choice-”
“it was announced seconds ago!” you quickly remind. “you didn’t give me time to find a date,” ignoring the betrayal in his eyes, you try to walk away again when he stops you. “what!”
“go with me.”
“bite me.”
“tempting.”
“ugh!” storming past him, jisung can only huff and chase after your quickly retreating form. in seconds you still, hearing the telltale sound of his broom scrape the cobbled stone of the court yard. fearing the worst, you turn sharply, catching him mid ascent. “jisung!” caught like a deer in head lights, he freezes mid air, lowering himself to the ground before you can move to drag him down by his robe. “what were you about to do?”
“uh, not ask you to the yule ball in the sky with my broom if that’s what you were thinking..” when your brows quirks he adds a sly, “i mean, unless that sounds like something you’d want?”
“you’re insufferable.” it comes out somewhere between a scoff and a snort, tickling every inch of the lovesick gryffindor.
“no,” he pouts, fingers closing around your wrist to pull you toward him. “i’m a fool in love.”
“no, you’re not.” you glower, ignoring the tug his words cause in your belly.
he only shrugs, a small smirk stealing his lips. “i don’t know.” your breaths shallow as he begins to lean in, hooded eyes darting between your own and your parted lips. “you’re pretty good at charms, you might have me under some sort of spell.” his smirk widens at your scoff, softening as you let his hands settle on your waist. “be my date to the ball.” you detest the blatant lack of hopefulness that once filled his gaze. in its place is a wicked awareness, one that has your breaths shallowing and his lips slipping into the slight space between your parted pair. you hear his broom hit the ground, the distant sound of students leaving the great hall as he pulls you towards him in the open courtyard. when he pulls away you curse yourself for chasing, eyes fluttering open in a daze. “go with me.”
you hate the lack of question. you hate how it’s more instructive. you hate that you will agree.
“fine,” with a sigh and a gentle shove to his chest you relent, eyes rolling as he pecks your lips a final time. “pick me up at 8,” you yell as you walk away before turning around and interrupting his silent cheer. “and no broom!”
“no broom!” he calls back, grinning stupidly.
seventh year
the path leads right to you. your lonely figure awaiting his heavy steps as he hurriedly paced through the abandoned hallways.
“you’re late.” you state as you ten-hut on his arrival, wandering down the dark corridor. of course he follows after you without question, hand quickly slipping into yours, even as you storm away. “so, what is it you wanted to show me?”
“nothing,” he sings, pretending he has ever been good at keeping secrets. “how was your day?”
“you saw me two hours ago.”
“okay, how was your two hours?” he hears the rebuttal on your lips and whines, “humour me.”
with a forced sigh and swallowed curiosity, you relent. “it was good, jisung. how was yours?”
“wonderful,” he follows you to a familiar alcove, one you both found on a night similar to this when he offhandedly adds, “oh, and i got a letter from the quidditch league-oof!”
“the quidditch league?” you almost yell, silenced by his hushes. “don’t shush me! why didn’t you start with that?”
“i didn’t feel like it,” when he shrugs with a forced pout, you have to resist the urge hit him. “you were mad at me. didn’t think you cared.”
“don’t be annoying,” you warn, reaching for the open envelope in the hand not in yours. when he pulls it out of reach you sneer, “jisung.”
“no!” and suddenly he’s gone. he’s half way down the hallway when you realise you’re meant to be chasing him, his retreating figure nearly disappearing in the dark. as exasperated as the thought of chasing your boyfriend down the dark dungeon hallway makes you, you can’t deny your excitement. with a quick and quiet lumos, you take off behind him, feet lifting off the ground as your dressing gown sweeps the slick slabs of the dungeon floors. you call after him, your loud whisper bouncing off the walls behind his louder sniggers. “have to catch me!”
it’s hard to ignore the dip in your belly, the nostalgia whirring through you as elation dare take over the woe you had been feeling. jisung knew why his being late angered you. why your impatience only peaked in his presence. why he could irritate you to no end, and still draw from you the sweetest of laughs and prettiest of smiles. you were sad. sad this life, in this ever ageing, ever rotting and ever comforting castle was coming to an end. that the era that birthed your love for han jisung was coming to a close.
“ah, you got me!” he huffs, out of breath and not so clueless. he doesn’t miss the mist in your eyes, or the sudden downturn of your lips. but he doesn’t point them out, he just pulls you close, tugging you to the hidden alcove at the dungeon’s end. “you win, so you can read it.” when you nod, he sets you on his lap, waiting as you loop an arm around his neck, smiling wistfully as you gently pinch the corners of the expensive parchment. “go on, babe.”
“‘dear mr han jisung, on behalf of the british and irish quidditch league, we want to congratulate you on making the-’ oh my god-”
“i know.”
“-on making the chudley cannons under 25s!’? jisung! oh my god!”
“i know!” he grins at your sudden change in mood. the warmth in your eyes, the pride. “it came like ten minutes ago and i couldn’t believe it and kinda couldn’t breathe-i’m okay now!” he quickly adds once he sees the concern tainting your just joyful face. “but yeah. i got in.”
“of course you got in! you’re the best beater hogwarts has seen since kim seokjin,” you remind, kissing his glowing cheek. “better even.”
“really, and since when did you know so much about quidditch?”
“since my boyfriend got into the cuddly channons. duh.” when he laughs, you frown, never able to follow his humour. “what?”
“nothing,” with a sweet dusting of your cheek, he sighs, falling victim to your earlier melancholy. “everything is going so fast all of a sudden.”
“yeah,” you catch his hand on your cheek, looking down at his palm pressed to yours. “i wish it could all slow down. go back a few years.”
“what, to fourth year?”
“no, not fourth year. you were a pain in the ass then.”
“no, i wasn’t.”
“yes, you were.”
“well,” he huffs, slipping an arm around your waist. “you were snooty, and stuck up, and standoffish, and snobby.” when you only grin, he can’t help but mirror it. “what?”
“all that alliteration is kinda sexy.”
“oh my god,” his eyes grow wide, looking you over in shock horror. “i’m in love with a fucking nerd.”
“and i’m in love with a cuddly channons beater, so at least you lucked out.” when he closes his eyes, head resting on the cool stones of the dungeon alcove, you speak softly. “i’m really proud of you sungie. i couldn’t even tell you how much.”
“i owe it all to you, y’know?” when you try to refuse, he shuffles you closer intercepting with a matter of fact profession of your involvement. “i was one class away from getting kicked off the team until you came along,” he reminds, lips meeting your cheek. “so thank you.”
“well,” you sing, reluctantly confessing that maybe, just maybe, “you lent me your ink.”
“i knew it!” he cheered, silenced only by your hand on his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. you both find peace in that moment. you’ve always found it hard not to when together, like an unlikely reprieve. “promise me something?”
“anything.”
“once you’re a world renowned healer,” he states, leaving no room for doubt. “and i’m the captain of the chud- the cuddly channons.”
“yeah?” you smile, scratching his nape.
“you’ll still be mine?”
it’s breathless, almost hopeful as it leaves him. you thought you’d missed this side of him. the hope lighting his eyes replaced by the cocky air of the quidditch captain, who got the girl. but as it returns in the silent ask, the bated promise of forever. you hate yourself for ever missing that doubt. for ever condemning his pride.
“will you, y/n?”
“of course, ji,” you whisper against his lips, pressing a touch too hard. he nods with you, realising the weight of his words and your agreement. “for as long as you’ll have me, i’m yours.”
and it’s back. that smug reassurance you decide then that you love so much. “yeah?”
“mhm,” you affirm, your heart much lighter than it had been all year. “it’d be my honour.”
