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@nishirikies
(｡>﹏<｡) NISHIRIKIES !! ✧ ⸝⸝⸝⸝
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박셍훈 ,, love from the enemy
이희승 ,, trust of a lifeline
황현진 ,, tattooed memories
seven days of ENHA
박셍훈 ,, the department of a potential lovers quarrel
THEN AND NOW ✶ FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ katsuki always wondered what the hell his father saw in his old hag of a mother. it takes twenty years, a nasty fight with you, a near-death experience, and a trip to the hospital before he finally gets it
── ✶ word count: 5.8k words ; my drabbles always do this bro
── ✶ before you read: female reader ; pro hero bakugou ; established relationship ; arguing ; (temporary) relationship troubles ; injuries + villain attacks + hospitals (bakugou) ; tame angst with a happy ending! ; communication + resolving arguments ; bakugou’s father makes an appearance ; fluff and banter at the end ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ at the end of the day i will never not be a sucker for the trope where u argue just before a major life threatening incident occurs
It’s 9:32 PM when Katsuki begrudgingly leaves his patrol area and finally calls it quits for the night.
Patrol was supposed to end an hour and thirty-two minutes ago, but he’s been dragging his feet ever since. Taking the long route. Responding to calls that technically aren’t under his jurisdiction. Circling blocks he’s already cleared twice. Anything to kill time. It’s only when Kirishima actively tells him to get the fuck out and stop interfering with his villain count for the night that Katsuki finally accepts defeat and ends his workday.
Ending his workday means going home. And if he goes home, you’ll be there. And if you’re there, he’ll be reminded of your nasty argument from the other night. And if he thinks about that argument, he’ll have to face the fact that the two of you are still stubbornly refusing to speak to one another until the other apologizes first. It’s a ridiculous standoff—an unnecessary one, and he knows it. But neither of you seems particularly interested in ending it, and now his own apartment has somehow become the last place he wants to be. Every room feels charged with an uncomfortable tension. The living room is awkward. The kitchen is unbearable. Even lying down beside you at night feels weird, so Katsuki would rather avoid the whole thing if he can help it.
If he gets home late enough, you’ll already be asleep. Then he can shower, crawl into bed, and pretend the situation doesn’t exist for a few more hours. It seemed like a solid plan in his mind, but unfortunately, thanks to fucking Shitty-Hair, he has no choice but to head home and hang up his costume.
And judging by the lights still glowing through the windows of his apartment, his luck has officially run out. You’re still awake. Of course.
He trudges in, and there you are—sitting stiffly on the couch in the living room, staring directly at him with your arms crossed and an infuriated glare on your face as you fix him with narrowed eyes. Great.
“Do you have any fucking clue what time it is?” you hiss without missing a beat.
Katsuki should’ve known you’d start nagging the second he walked through the door. Hell, he should’ve turned around and just left the moment he saw the lights on instead of coming in.
“S’not even ten,” he grumbles, kicking his boots off. “Would you fuckin’ drop it—”
“You were supposed to be home almost two hours ago!” Your voice rings through the apartment, sharp and incredulous, and Katsuki is so tired. So exhausted. Too exhausted to deal with this nonsense right now, of all times.
“Yeah, well. Now I’m home. There you go.”
The dismissal only seems to make you angrier. Katsuki practically watches the steam start pouring from your ears as you shoot to your feet, hands planting firmly on your hips. And he just knows your voice is about to get louder.
“That’s it?” you practically screech. He fucking knew it. “You’re out on patrol for an extra two hours, and I hear nothing from you—not even a text saying, I’ll be home late. I’ve been sitting here like an idiot, wondering what the fuck happened, or if you’re okay, and all you can say is now you’re home? Do you just get off on being an asshole or something, Katsuki?”
His shoulders tense immediately as he fixes you with an equally hard glare. There goes his wish for a peaceful, conflict-avoidant night. Of course, as always, you have to drag the conflict right to him and drop it at his feet, spike his temper, and make it ruin his evening. A simple shower and a good night’s sleep was all he wanted. But things are never quite that easy—not with you.
Katsuki feels a dull throb start behind his eyes as he shoots back, “What, was your phone broken or some shit? What exactly held you at gunpoint and stopped you from sendin’ me a text and asking, huh?”
Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“I’m not laughin’, am I? Definitely no jokes here.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you scowl, and he snorts. There’s no humor behind the sound, however.
“Yeah, that’s real mature.”
“Oh no—you don’t get to tell me about what’s mature and what isn’t. Cause if you wanna talk about what’s mature, it’s not disappearing for two hours and acting like I’m insane for being worried!”
“I wasn’t disappearing, I was fuckin’ doing my job.”
“You were supposed to be done with that job hours ago!”
“Well, I wasn’t!”
“You have a smart little answer for everything, don’t you, Katsuki?” you smile sarcastically, “just think you’re so smart and above it all, huh?”
Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s the headache that’s been creeping on him, or the rage, or the pure adrenaline in his system, but he does know that for a short, fleeting second, all he saw was red.
“Holy fuck, do you ever listen to yourself?”
Your expression hardens instantly. “No, I think you should listen to yourself. You might hear an idiot if you do.”
The apartment goes quiet. Dangerously quiet.
“You know what?” he says coldly, “forget this. I’m goin’ the fuck to sleep—I’ve dealt with enough bullshit tonight—”
You throw your hands in the air, exasperated. There is a flash of hurt on your face that makes his chest ache, but the sharp stab of pain doesn’t last for long because as quickly as his heart bleeds, his mind makes him forget. It only lets him focus on the anger and the irritation and the way you’ve ruined his night, just like you ruined the one before.
“Every single time I tell you something bothers me, you act like it’s a personal attack, and then you just dismiss me like I don’t matter—”
“Maybe I wouldn’t dismiss shit if every conversation with you didn’t turn into a fuckin’ laundry list of grievances you got with me!”
“You only take everything I say as a complaint because you refuse to communicate!”
“Because not everything needs to be a damn discussion like we’re in therapy!”
“Right,” you laugh bitterly. “Silly me. God forbid I expect basic consideration from you.”
Something ugly flashes across his face. He knows it. Katsuki knows that when he’s mad, he turns ugly—he’s always been that way. It’s the only way he knows how to be. For the longest time, he thought you were the only person he could hide it from. That you were the only person he could fight the urge to get ugly from because you are just that special.
But Katsuki is who he is, and he’s learned that he’s a special kind of ugly just for you.
“Basic consideration?” he barks. “You’re sayin’ I’m not considerate?”
“No, sometimes you fucking aren’t and—”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich! I break my back every day keeping this city safe—”
“Well, if the city is the only thing you can be considerate for, why the fuck are you even here?”
It’s silent as soon as the words leave your mouth. Katsuki goes completely still. He can feel it the second it happens—the way his expression shuts down. The way the anger drains out of his face and leaves behind something colder. Something worse. Something so ugly, he has to get out of here before you see it and realize he isn’t worth it. Isn’t worth you.
“Yeah,” His voice is flat. “Why am I here, right? You know, you can just tell me to leave next time, it’d be a lot fuckin’ easier for you.”
“Katsuki—”
“No.” He grabs the strap of his duffel bag that carries his guantlets from where he’d dropped it by the door, throwing it over his shoulder as he bends down to lace his boots up again.
“Katsuki, that’s not what I meant.”
“Sure.”
“I was angry—”
“Clearly, you’re always fuckin’ angry at me. I’m always doin’ something the fuck wrong, aren’t I? Nothin’ I do is enough?”
Stop, stop, stop. His mind is screaming, begging him not to do this. To get out. To leave and fight that hideous part of him down until he’s far enough that you never, ever have to see it.
“Katsuki, don’t do this right now—”
“Do what?” His voice rises more than it should. Stop—stop now. But he can’t. The ugliest of him is already taking surface and showing his truest of colors. “What exactly am I supposed to say here, huh?” You flinch. He needs to fucking stop, but he doesn’t. “Because apparently, when I stay late to save people, I’m an asshole. When I’m home, I’m an asshole. I breathe, I’m an asshole. I exist, I’m an asshole.”
“That’s not—”
“So what’s the answer?” His laugh is bitter and so, so cold that he doesn’t recognize this version of himself. Not with you. He wants to stop desperately, but he can’t. Because Katsuki is an ugly, hideous, despicable person deep down. No amount of heroism on the surface can hide that part of him that’s on the inside, not from you. “Since you’ve got everything figured out, you tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
“Katsuki, let’s just sit down and—”
He shakes his head. For a second, he wants it to hurt. He wants it to hurt for you. Stop, stop, stop— “Y’know what? I’m done.”
His hand closes around the doorknob, and your voice comes out shaky and panicked as you whisper, “Katsuki, please just sit down and—”
“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this shit anymore.”
Then he yanks the door open and walks right back out, slamming it hard enough behind him to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
────────────────────────
Katsuki is six when he first asks his father what the fuck the old man even sees in the hag that is his mother. He remembers the conversation vividly.
“Dad, why did you marry Mom? She’s grumpy and old, and she yells all the time,” little Katsuki asks, crossing his tiny arms over his chest. “Why d’you even like her?”
Masaru nearly chokes on his tea. “Katsuki,” he coughs. “Your mother isn’t old. You shouldn’t say that—it’s rude.”
“But she is,” he huffs. “She smells like an old lady, too.”
“Well, if she’s old, then I’m even older,” Masaru points out, taking another sip. “So that can’t be a very good reason not to like her.”
“Well, she’s mean.”
“She’s not mean,” his father chuckles, thoroughly amused.
No matter how many times he sees it, Katsuki doesn’t understand it—the way his father gets that dumb, starry-eyed look whenever Mitsuki comes up. She’s always in a bad mood, and if she isn’t, she’s probably due for one within the next thirty minutes. Why his father would choose to marry such a sour lady is completely beyond his six-year-old comprehension.
“She yelled at me this morning,” he sulks.
“You tried to use your explosions inside the house,” Masaru reminds him, leveling him with a pointed look. “We talked about that. Rules are rules for a reason, young man.”
Katsuki pouts harder. His father is supposed to take his side.
“But she still yelled. And it was mean,” he argues back stubbornly. Masaru only smiles into his tea, shaking his head with fond amusement. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki presses again, “So what do you even like about her?”
The question seems to catch Masaru off guard. He pauses, thinking. “Well,” he says slowly, “she’s funny.”
Katsuki blinks. His father cannot possibly be serious. “Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She’s funny?”
“Very.”
“No, she isn’t,” Katsuki says immediately, deeply offended by the blatant lie.
Masaru laughs, “She is.” Katsuki stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. Masaru only smiles wider. “She’s honest, too. You always know what she’s thinking.”
“That’s because she says whatever she thinks.”
“Exactly.”
“And she says it loud.”
“That’s true.”
“She says it really loud, Dad.”
Masaru nods solemnly, sighing. “Also very true, son.”
“She should shut up,” Katsuki huffs. His father fixes him with a stern look at that, and he shrinks back just a little.
“We do not say that about our mother, Katsuki.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes but slumps deeper into his chair all the same. “Fine.”
“Your mother is wonderful,” his father says. “She works hard. She cares about people. She loves our family—she loves us. One day, you’ll see that. And when you do, I think you’ll appreciate her a lot more.”
Katsuki picks at the food on his plate, turning the words over in his head.
His mother does love him—he knows that much, even if she is annoying. She remembers all the snacks he likes and somehow always comes home with them without him ever having to ask. Whenever he asks for money, she gives him more than he requested—even if it usually costs him an irritatingly painful pinch to the cheek. She wakes up early to bathe him despite complaining about losing sleep because he prefers morning baths to evening ones.
His mother loves him; he knows that to be true. But it’s only true because she is his mother, and he is her son. Mothers love their sons—it’s the rules. Why his father would willingly choose to love that woman remains completely incomprehensible, however, in his mind.
“Mom is super annoying,” he says bluntly.
Masaru’s smile softens. “I suppose sometimes she can be, yes.”
“See?” Katsuki perks up immediately, his entire face screaming, gotcha!
“But,” Masaru continues, “I’m sure I annoy her, too.”
Katsuki deflates on the spot.
More than that, he simply cannot imagine such a thing being possible. His father is calm and nice and makes good food. Katsuki thinks lots of women would like his father—women who also would not find Masaru annoying. The only person allowed to find Masaru annoying is Katsuki himself, and that’s because his father makes rules that Katsuki has to follow. He thinks he’s earned that right.
His mother, however, has no such excuse.
“She gets annoyed with you?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. Every day, I’m sure there’s something I do that annoys her at least a little.”
“Then why does she like you?”
Masaru thinks for a moment, carefully choosing his words, trying to explain this odd phenomenon that is love. “Because loving someone isn’t about finding a person who never annoys you,” he says finally. “It’s about finding someone who still sees your value even when you’re annoying. Someone who chooses you anyway. Does that make sense?”
His nose wrinkles immediately. “No.” His father stifles a chuckle when Katsuki adds, “That sounds dumb.”
“Maybe,” Masaru hums, eyeing him with bright, endeared eyes.
“I’m not gonna marry someone annoying when I’m all big. Because I’m smart!”
That earns him a full laugh from his father. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Masaru lean forward and wipe at the corner of his eye. In fact, he laughs so hard he nearly spills his tea. “You say that now,” his father says, setting his mug down, “but that’ll change. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“No, I won’t,” Katsuki grumbles. He doesn’t appreciate that he’s not being taken seriously.
“I think you will, son.”
“I definitely won’t.”
Masaru only smiles. He looks at Katsuki the way adults always do when they think he’s young and silly and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And Katsuki hates that look. He’s smart—excellent, even. Just the other day, he caught his teacher’s mistake during subtraction when nobody else in his class noticed. At this rate, he’s well on his way to being smarter than most adults.
He absolutely knows what he’s talking about.
“Well, we’ll just have to see, Katsuki. If I’m right, you’ll take me out for ramen someday. Deal?”
“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, puffing out his chest confidently. “But you’ll never see that ramen.”
────────────────────────
Twenty years later, Katsuki sometimes wonders if he’s going to have to admit he was wrong and take the old man out for ramen after all.
You are, without question, the most annoying, irritating, vein-popping individual he has ever met. It’s like every decision you make is carefully calculated to inconvenience him specifically.
He has to keep an extra jacket in his car because you never check the weather before leaving the house. He has to double-check your grocery lists before you go shopping because if he doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget the one thing you actually need. He has to make sure you take your vitamins. Every night, he has to remind you to take your makeup off before bed because, apparently, that responsibility has become his problem—and if you wake up the next morning with mascara smeared under your eyes because you didn’t listen to him, then somehow you still find a way to blame him for not wiping it for you.
You are annoying. Every single fucking day, you annoy him. You annoyed him yesterday. You’ve annoyed him today. You’ll annoy him tomorrow. And he’ll tell you exactly that—he’ll call you a dumbass, and tell you to get your life together. Complain about the ridiculous thing you did this time, and accuse you of going out of your way to make his life harder on purpose. But after that, despite it all, he will still love you.
Twenty years later, now that he’s older, Katsuki realizes he understands what his father meant. That loving someone doesn’t happen because they never annoyed him—loving someone happens because they annoyed him, and he still, despite that, sees nothing but the good.
He loves you. You are annoying and drive him up a wall, but Katsuki knows that you are good. The greatest good that there might ever be, and he might have just ruined it. He probably fucked it all up and lost all the good he had. All the good he’s ever wanted. All the good that he’s wanted to keep for the rest of his life and cherish.
The second the apartment door slams shut behind him, Katsuki regrets it. He regrets being the reason behind that look on your face. That brief flash of panic in your eyes right before he left. That way that your voice sounded when you said his name.
He can’t get it out of his head as he walks out of your building. “Fuck,” He runs a hand through his hair and keeps walking.
The only friends he’d willingly see right now are working, his parents are definitely sleeping (and would ask too many questions he doesn’t want to answer, even if they weren’t), and he is nowhere near calm enough to go back upstairs and just go home.
But his patrol route is still active. So instead of going home and into bed like a normal person who has morning patrol, Katsuki leaves his apartment building behind and heads toward work.
By the time he gets suited up again, it’s almost eleven. By the time it’s midnight, he’s still out. By the time it’s 1 AM, he should call it a night.
Instead, however, he keeps moving. One more block turns into one more street. Anything to keep himself from going home or thinking about the argument. About the way you looked at him. About the things he said. About the shit he ruined for sure.
His thoughts are loud enough in his head, turning him deaf to everything else. He misses things he normally wouldn’t—things like suspicious shadows and warning shouts from another hero.
By the time Katsuki realizes what’s happening for what it is, the villain goes down easily enough—too easily. He curses himself for being so naive, so rash. He’s been fighting as a pro for years. He was a war veteran before he was even a legal adult, for crying out loud. Still, despite all that, the second Katsuki realizes something is wrong, it’s already too late.
The construction site groans around him—metal screeches against metal, and his head snaps upward. All he sees is the upper half of the structure collapsing before he loses his balance and collapses with it.
“Shit—”
The explosion leaves his palms a fraction of a second too late, and he doesn’t go propelling forward the way he’s supposed to. The half-built building comes down, and Katsuki goes down with it.
Then everything goes dark.
────────────────────────
It’s 2 AM when you see it on the news. Kirishima sends you a text asking if you’d heard what happened, and by the time you’ve spammed him with messages asking what the hell he was even talking about, he’s gone silent. Something in your gut knows that he’s not answering because he’s too busy rescuing. Too busy being a hero.
Your heart tells you that the person he has to be a hero to tonight just so happens to be Katsuki.
The first report you see hits the news at 2:13 AM. The anchor’s voice is as smooth and polished as ever as she delivers the words that send your whole world crumbling around you.
“We are receiving breaking reports of a major incident involving Pro Hero Dynamight.”
The footage that floods the screen makes you fall to your knees and muffle your sobs behind a shaky palm—collapsed concrete and emergency responders and heroes rushing in and out of the wreckage. The camera zooms toward the ruined construction site, and Katsuki’s body is nowhere to be seen on the screen. You don’t quite know if that’s a good thing or bad.
“Dynamight was reportedly responding to a villain incident when a structural collapse occurred. We are told he is trapped beneath the rubble. Emergency responders are currently on the scene, conducting rescue operations.”
At 2:37 AM, the hospital gives you a call as his emergency contact. You’re sick to your stomach, not sure how you’ll make the drive there when Kirishima finally texts you again.
Kiri <3: I already told his parents. They’re on their way so don’t worry about it Kiri <3: One of my sidekicks is outside your apartment. They’ll drive you down there Kiri <3: I still have to handle the aftermath and finish patrol so I won’t be there I’m sorry Kiri <3: Keep me updated?
You: Don’t apologize Kiri idk what I’d do without u You: Thank you and pls be safe You: I’ll lyk things as soon as I find out
Kiri <3: Take it easy okay? Kiri <3: He’s come back from worse. It’ll be alright
——
Kirishima’s sidekick gets you to the hospital efficiently, but you are still at your wits’ end by the time you can rush out of the passenger seat and bolt through the sliding doors.
Some part of you is grateful you didn’t have to drive here yourself because you know you would’ve sped dangerously over the limit, missed half the red lights, and probably would’ve gotten yourself pulled over. At the same time, you wish you could’ve been the one behind the wheel, just to get here faster.
“I’m here to see Kats—um, Dynamight,” you say in a rush. “Dynamight…I meant Dynamight.”
The woman at the front desk looks at you with a raised eyebrow, already typing away at her screen as she blandly says, “Valid ID, please.”
You curse under your breath, fumbling through your purse for your wallet, and then fumbling through your wallet for your ID like your hands suddenly don’t belong to your body anymore.
When you practically shove it toward her in your haste, she takes it too calmly for your racing heart and inspects it for a moment. Then looks at her screen. Then back to your ID. Then she types for what feels like an agonizing eternity before she finally hands the card back and says, “Fourth floor, room twelve. He’s stable, but he has some serious injuries that they’ll have to monitor and heal slowly due to his stamina—”
You’re already moving before she finishes. You’re bolting toward the elevators, heart slamming so hard it hurts. The ride up to the fourth floor is torturously slow. When you finally get out of the elevator, you’re halfway down the hallway before you even register the security guard stepping in front of you.
“ID.” Again. Of course. You suppose it is a good thing security is tight for the pro hero unit—even if it does add to your piling weight of anxiety. When you clumsily pull it yet again, he checks it for another cruelly long stretch of time, glancing between the card and the device in his hands before finally saying, “Go ahead.”
You’re already moving.
By the time you reach room twelve, your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself still. For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. Would Katsuki even want to see you? Is he fed up with you? Would you just make his already terrible night even worse?
You aren’t sure.
You don’t know why you’re in the predicament you’re in right now. You don’t know how you got here or why things escalated the way that they did. You don’t know what you do wrong to push his buttons the way you seem to, to upset him the way that he gets. You think you’re doing the right thing—that you’re doing what’s right for both of you—but somehow, you always seem to mess it up. Always seem to say the wrong thing. Always seem to ruin whatever good the two of you have managed to build between you.
But you love Katsuki, and if nothing else, you know that he loves you too, and you need to see him. So you force down the bile in your throat and push the door open. The first thing you notice when you see him is the bandages wrapped tightly around him. One arm heavily secured in a cast. Gauze lining his shoulder and collarbone that makes your stomach drop in a sick, immediate lurch. Machines hum quietly beside him, keeping track of his vitals.
You never see Katsuki hurt like this—he’s always been practically invincible when he’s on the field, always taking things down before they have a chance at even touching him. And then your brain, cruelly, supplies the thought: but he is not invincible. Not always.
“Katsuki,” you whisper, eyes already welling with tears.
He’s looking at you the second the door opens—but his tired eyes soften with relief, just a little, when they land on you. “You came,” he says, voice rough.
“Of course I came,” you say, sharper than you mean to. How could he think you wouldn’t? How far have you let things go that he could genuinely believe you wouldn’t show up for him? “What the hell happened?”
He sighs, almost embarrassed. “Just…work ‘n shit.”
You sniffle, and he lifts his good arm toward you. That’s all it takes.
You’re at his side in an instant, squeezing into the small space beside him on the hospital bed and curling yourself against his chest. You’re careful not to disturb any of the machines surrounding him, but you can’t stop thinking about how wrong this feels. How you shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. How he’s the one lying in a hospital bed, yet somehow he’s still the one rubbing your back and soothing your tears.
“I thought you were gonna die,” you sob. “I—I saw the rubble, and Kiri stopped texting back and...and I thought you got crushed.”
“M’not fuckin’ dying, babe,” he huffs, sounding mildly offended. “A stupid building isn’t killin’ me. That’s a dumbass way to go.”
“You don’t know that,” you shake your head. “You can’t promise that.”
“Listen—”
“And I was sitting there watching the news and thinking the last conversation I ever had with you was that stupid fight,” you continue, looking up at him with trembling lips.
His eyes soften. “I know, but—”
“And I don’t care about the argument anymore,” you say, your voice shaking harder now. “I don’t care about being right or winning or being apologized to first—I should’ve texted you, you’re right. You...you probably felt like I didn’t care, but I do. I care so much, and I love you more than anything.”
You take a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady you. Katsuki is trying to wipe your tears away with one weak arm.
“I love you too—”
“I just want you to talk to me,” you sob. “I know I’m annoying, and I nag and scold and get onto you all the time, and I’m trying not to do that as much—really, I am! But I just...I wish you’d tell me things, too. Y’know? I am the one person you’re supposed to do that with, Katsuki,” you add, your voice cracking all over again. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m the last person you want to do that with.”
His expression tightens. “That’s not—”
“And I want us to work because I’ve never liked someone so much—it stresses me out. Because I love you and I want this to work, and the thought of it not working makes me so anxious I wanna throw up, and...and you act like talking to me is harder than getting crushed under a fucking building—”
“Baby.” He squeezes your cheeks together and silences you as he pulls your face closer, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. “You talk a lot, y’know that?”
You huff at him immediately, tears spilling down your cheeks even faster. “That is so rude, given the—”
“I’m sorry about the fight,” he interrupts. You pause, and he takes the opportunity to keep going, despite looking painfully uncomfortable the entire time. “And for...walkin’ out ‘n shit. That was fucked up. I don’t talk to you like I should. You’re right. S’weird for me, and I hate it sometimes. I don’t know how to just...say shit like you do. Okay?” He sighs. “But m’gonna try more because you’re right—I need to talk to you. But you gotta get outta your head so much—” He gives your forehead a small jab with his finger. You sniffle and swat his hand away with a watery scowl. It earns the faintest grin from him. “We’re gonna work,” he says. “’Cause we do. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts,” he grumbles. “My ribs hurt. Jus’ let me be right.”
A watery laugh escapes you as you shake your head, cupping his bandaged face between your hands. “You’re really annoying sometimes, Katsuki.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “So are you. Still love you, though.”
“Me too,” you breathe, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Love you so much.”
He pulls you back down against his chest again, rubbing your back as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You trace small patterns into his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. And things are okay—they are not beyond repairing. You’ll inevitably annoy him tomorrow, and he’ll annoy you the day after that, but you’ll still work. You will still find a way to keep things good the way they always are.
After a few quiet moments, he mumbles, “Hey.” When you look up, he says, “When m’all healed and shit, you gotta force me to go grab ramen with my old man. On me.”
────────────────────────
Katsuki waits almost a month after being discharged from the hospital before he finally makes the call. He’s been trying to stall it for as long as possible, but Katsuki, even at the tender age of six, has always been a man (or boy) of his word. He’s standing alone on the balcony outside his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear, wondering if it’s too late to hang up before the call goes through.
It rings twice. Then his father’s voice is as gentle and cheery as ever. “Katsuki!” Masaru answers immediately. “Hi, son!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey.”
His father laughs. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I got discharged, didn’t I? S’been a whole month.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sounding just like your usual self,” his father says. Katsuki can hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Katsuki, you never call for just nothing.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh—it’s now or never. He can’t keep stalling, and Katsuki is, and always has been, a man of his word. If he promised his father ramen over a stupid bet he made twenty years ago, then he’s going to get his father that ramen. Even if it kills his pride. Demolishes it, even.
“Listen, I was thinkin’...maybe we could grab food sometime.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Masaru hums. “Let me ask your mother when she’s free and—”
“Not the hag. S’just you,” he cuts in, rubbing at his temple.
“Oh?” Masaru sounds amused. “Well, okay. I suppose it’d be nice to spend some time as just father and son. What kind of food?”
Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. Just say it. Just fuckin’ say it, his mind urges. Just rip the bandage off and say it. Say it. Say the damn word—he grits his teeth and forces out, “Ramen.”
There’s a pause on the other end. The silence stretches on long enough that Katsuki’s eye twitches.
“Ramen, huh?” Masaru finally says, and the way he says it makes a vein all but pop in Katsuki's forehead.
“Old man,” he says warningly, “don’t push it—”
He’s cut off when Masaru starts laughing. “I was wondering when this day would come.”
“Hah? You really kept that shit in your head for twenty years?”
“Of course I did. It was one of my favorite conversations I’ve ever had with you.”
“Why? ‘Cause you love bein’ fuckin’ right all the time?” Katsuki grumbles.
His father’s voice softens as he says fondly, “No. I just wanted you to find someone who made you as happy as your mother makes me. That’s all I wanted, son—for you to understand what being happy is like.”
The conversation is getting oddly sentimental, taking a turn that makes his chest feel strange, and his heart feel far too fragile. He hasn’t felt like this since after the war, and he doesn’t intend to sit with it any longer. So he mutters, “I still think Mom’s annoying. She yelled at me last week, so she never fuckin’ changes.”
Masaru laughs again. “No, she doesn’t.” Then, after a moment, “So, how does Saturday sound for some ramen?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Will my son be paying?”
Katsuki regrets this call more than anything when he says, “Yes. I’m fuckin’ paying.”
“You know, son,” Masaru murmurs, making Katsuki pause, “I’m glad you get it now. You’ve grown into a fine man.”
Katsuki swallows hard. He turns, eyeing you as you sleep soundly in your shared bed, hugging his pillow to make up for his absence. He can only hope that his father’s words are true—that he is a fine man to you, the way his father always has been to his mother. His eyes never leave your figure as he mutters, “Yeah, well…s’not like I had a bad example or somethin’.”
so anyway i had an argument with my bf the other day but he did not get into an accident and he did not get injured so dont worry. the argument was technically my fault, but im cute and he loves me so its okay <3
— the arrangement ∬ ֗ ₊
ა ˙˖ in which → you have car sex with your biggest op, satoru gojo
frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader
Everyone knows you hate fraternities, especially Theta Phi and it's president, Satoru Gojo
It was a given. The sky is blue, grass is green and according to you, fraternities are the root of all evil.
Which is why when you started fucking Gojo, it was under the condition that this was strictly between the two of you and you'd ruin his life if he told anyone about this.. arrangement.
Here's what not even your closest friends know about you: you had a very high libido and none of the men you were interested in had been capable of keeping up. you tried sleeping with athletes but even they didn't have the stamina to go for more than two rounds and while your vibrators always helped you, you had grown sexually frustrated and needed more.
You started snapping over the tiniest things, losing sleep and even daydreaming during lectures about getting fucked.
This.. arrangement started when you had been assigned to work on a project with Gojo, the arrogant white haired manchild you hated since the first day of uni. Now you were stuck with him for two months, working on a project he cared little about since he was too busy trying to charm his way into not just your pants, but your heart.
As if!
"Fuck, just like that, princesss. Come on, I know you can go faster." Gojo chuckles and grabs onto your hips, spreading his legs wider as he starts bouncing you on his cock so hard that the car is rocking back and forth, windows fogging up as he lifts his hips to pound into you.
You should be working on this project that was due in a few weeks, but instead you let Gojo drag you to the backseat of his car with the promise that this would be quick, something to clear your minds so you could focus on your work without any distractions.
Yet here you were four rounds later with cum dripping down your thighs from his previous loads that started to seep from the condom, body shaking as you neared your fourth orgasm.
"Screw you asshole, how about you get on top you lazy bast- oh!" Gojo lifts you off his cock and flips you onto your knees, awkwardly moving within the limited space until he’s behind you and lining his cock up with your entrance.
"You're so fucking mean to me, I love it." Gojo leans over your body to suck on your neck, one hand holding onto your hip while the other grips the back of the seat as he pushes into you.
"You d-deserve it." You push back against him as he pushes forward, meeting him halfway until he's balls deep inside of you, your cunt hungrily squeezing him for more, eyes rolling back when he starts to slowly move his hips.
You hadn't meant for this to go on for as long as it has. You had been frustrated after a shift at work, then you walked in on your roommate getting her back blown out, and when you went to meet Gojo for a quick study session at the library, it was closed and he smirked and told you his place was around the corner.
You reluctantly got into his car, arms folded across your chest as you stared out the window the entire way there, ignoring his flirtatious comments. It had frustrated you to no end, so who could really blame you when you started drooling after he offered to help you with your little issue?
It was supposed to be a one time thing, a quick solution to your "problem" until you could find someone more permanent, someone you didn't despise.
Only Gojo had matched your freak perfectly, going six rounds your first time and only taking a break once. You didn't want it to be him, did everything to convince yourself that he was actually terrible in bed but your vibrators had turned stale after that night, your mind constantly drifting to how hard Gojo made you cum on his dick and on his tongue.
He was just too good.
You arch your back so he can hit deeper, hands tightly gripping the leather head rest to steady yourself, skirt yanked above your waist, bra and shirt long discarded on the car floor.
You cry out when he hits a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, head spinning from how deep he was fucking you.
Gojo groans and leans forward, grabbing your chin to turn your head toward his, pink lips slamming against yours. The kiss is careless, his tongue fighting yours, you angrily biting his lip because you hate yourself for letting him fuck you when you swore up and down you’d never get involved with a fratboy.
Gojo didn’t care, savoring the taste of his blood mixing with the spit you both traded.
When he pulls away, your brows furrow from the way he's staring at you, white hair falling into his face, lips slightly busted from your bite, a foreign feeling twirling in your belly. This was just sex, you wanted nothing more from him so why was he staring at you like he wanted to tell you something that would ruin your current agreement?
"Look at you.” He whispers too softly. “Letting me fuck you like a slut in my car. Anyone could walk by, you know? See how good I fuck you, how well you take me. You want that?"
When you try to turn your head, he tightens his grip on your jaw and smirks, slamming into you as he thrusts grow sloppy. The sound of your wet pussy squelching filling the car has him dizzy with need.
"You don't have to answer, your moans are telling me enough." He kisses you one more time before letting you go and pulling back.
You don't have a chance to dwell on what he was implying before he was gripping your hips and pounding into you at a pace that had you crying out as the coil in your belly tightens, your puffy walls gripping around Gojo's cock.
"M'gonna cum again!" You whined as his tip hit your cervix perfectly, fat tears escaping your eyes while your mouth dropped open in a silent cry.
You try to fuck him back, really you do but your legs are noodles at this point and the only thing keeping you up was Gojo's steady hands on your hips, euphoria coursing through your body and making your head dizzy with need.
“Come on, princess. Give me another one, yeah? You can do it, such a good girl f’me.”
You hate him so much, hate that he knows exactly what to say to push you over the edge, that he was way too in-tune with your body as if he had been created to please you.
Gojo pulls you up against his chest and you let your head fall on his shoulder. He wraps one arm around your waist and squeezes you flush against him, his other hand moving around your body until he’s rubbing circles on your clit and you’re lazily bucking back against him.
“Feels so good Toru, haah, don’t stop!”
The car reeked of sex, windows blurred from the breathy moans falling from yours and Gojo’s mouths as you both rock into each other. Anyone walking by would know what was happening inside. You thanked god it was late and the parking lot had been empty.
“Really? Thought you hated me, pretty girl. Who knew- fuck, who knew you had such loose morals?” He laughs in your ear, hand pushing on your back to arch it even further while he split you on his cock.
“F-fuck you, oh im close!”
Gojo laughs and places a kiss on the side of your head that lingers longer than it should before pushing you back down to get a better angle and his next slam sends you over the edge, your orgasm tearing through your soul as you squirt all over his seats and cry out his name.
This was better than porn.
Gojo doesn’t laugh this time, doesn’t make any snide comments because he can barely breathe with the way your cunt is pulsing around his cock, your juices dripping down his thighs and he thinks he’s going crazy because he’s never had pussy this good.
The fact that you hated him made this even better for some reason, motivated him to fuck you until you finally admitted that this was more than just casual sex. That he wasn’t delusional in thinking this could be something deeper.
He squeezes your hips tighter, pushing as deep as he can as he pumps his third load into the condom, eyes rolling back and a strangled groan escaping his lips as thick hot cum drips from the latex and into your warm pussy.
Gojo can feel it slipping it off, can feel your heat and gummy walls on his half free cock and it has him feral as he picks up his pace and fucks another load into you, his balls tightening and pulsing because you had never felt this good.
“Shit, princess. You’re so fucking wet, so good, s-so perfect.” He drops against your back, still holding you up as his hips stutter and slow, pushing the last of his orgasm out while you both catch your breath.
He stays there for a moment, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips as you both come down from your high. You can feel his cum leaking from you and down your thighs and you hate how it awakens something primal inside of you. And when the thought to push it back in had formed, you blamed it on your disheveled state.
In any other instance you would have pushed him off you already, huffing that it was only sex and would never happen again even though you both knew that was a lie.
Something about Gojo had you coming back for seconds and thirds. Every fuck session was somehow better than the last, making you forget that this was supposed to be a one time thing, something to hold you over until you found a more suitable partner.
Only you were starting to realize Gojo might be the best you ever had. It made you hate him more.
You gasp when he slowly pulls out, pussy overstimulated and swollen from the multiple rounds you went in the span of an hour. Both of you sitting on the cushion, one of your arms draped across the seat, Gojo’s throw over his eyes.
You sneak a look at him, heart thumping at how attractive he looked. His hair was all over the place, cheeks red from exhaustion, and his pants and boxers were still halfway down, cock still free and housing a half on condom. Your skin tingles at the sight of his abdomen and white pubes wet with your release.
He looked as fucked out as you felt.
Not one for awkward silence, you lift your hips to pull your panties back up and your skirt down, stretching your body to reach into the front seat for your shirt, ass in the air and you almost have it, your finger literally grazes the blue fabric before Gojo grabs you and pulls you down.
“Gojo! Oh my god, let go you freak.” You’re fuming, trying your best to wiggle out his grip but he just tightens his arms around your stomach, pulling you against him and lowering his head onto your back, littering it in soft kisses that burn through your skin.
"Go on a date with me. Please?"
This again. You told him multiple times before that this was simply sex, two college students helping each other out and nothing more. No feelings outside of helping the other get off. His stubbornness would only hurt him in the end.
"God no, I don't date frat boys."
"What if I left?"
You freeze against him, a lump forming in your chest. "Aren't you the president? You can't just leave."
What a cruel joke. Not that you wanted him anyways but even if you did, Gojo would never leave his fraternity. Certainly not for you. You two weren’t lovers, weren’t friends and we’re barely acquaintances given the fact that he was your number one op.
You remembered the time in sophomore year when he publicly called you an uptight bitch because you told him his party sucked. You lived different lives, it could never work. He would never change and you would never see him as more than a quick fuck and your unfortunate project buddy that you’d go back to ignoring once this was over.
"I can do whatever I want sweetheart, did you forget my last name?" He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder this time, goosebumps forming on your arms. Of course, he always tried to fix everything with money and status, which is another reason why you hated him.
You sit there quietly, lost in your thoughts.
You couldn’t seriously be with someone like Gojo, right? He was brash, had an ego out of this world and was a bratty nepo baby that flirted with anyone with a hole.
"So?" he asks, hopeful. HIs fingers gently dig into your belly to keep you from moving away, one hand coming up to grip your chin and turn your head back to him.
"So?" You repeat, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you lose yourself in his eyes.
For all of his.. lack of good qualities, he never failed in the facial department. Perhaps that was another reason you disliked him, because no matter how many insults you can throw his way, ugly wasn’t one of them.
Satoru Gojo was sculpted by the Gods themselves, which was unfortunate, because no one with a face like that should have a personality so catastrophically irritating. You can’t help but to let your eyes. traitorous things that they were, linger.
He notices because of course he does, and the smile that spreads across his face lacks any of his usual arrogance and for a second you imagined what life as his girlfriend could be like.
The thought came uninvited, images of him giving you sleepy morning kisses nad taking you on dates vivid enough to make your stomach twist.
Absolutely not.
Satoru Gojo was many things: powerful, insufferable, unbearably handsome, but he was not boyfriend material.
"Will you go on a date with me if I leave the frat?"
"No."
You answer too fast and Gojo is once again left heartbroken as you pull away to finish dressing yourself, refusing to spare him another look. He could understand why you hated him, but if you would just give him a chance to prove he could be different, he knew he wouldn’t disappoint you.
He would just have to keep trying, keep working for your favor because he would make you his if it was the last thing he did. He was competitive to his core and that wouldn’t waver just because he had finally met his match.
On the contrary, it only motivated him more. He saw the way you looked at him, how you were starting to let him touch you longer than you would have when this first started.
He was slowly breaking your walls down and it was only a matter of time before he made you his.
❦ lisa's note: this will be a series! I'll post the masterlist for it soon but lemme know if you wanna be tagged! 😋
series masterlist
© art creds: gojouify, heart gif from @sweethearticism ❤︎
gojo &̶ jjk tags: @rhaewinsdaughter @timgiohlover1767 @kissprl @lunevarin @keiito066 @Stupidlyawesomegirl @pinkpantherrrrss @Spammyjammyy @lounastar @luvs-angel @luvbambiboo @scramblenigojo @nationalmegumidihhopper
perm tags: @icebearcucumber @tojisfavoritegun @writingintheskin @saturneni @sakurasweetiesworld-blog @sleeeepybee @locallyclementine @butterbeanandsparkleface
Sorry for absolutely no updates. I have been so busy with life at the moment and I've honestly fallen out of loving ENHYPEN ever since Heeseung has left. It's not that I don't support ot6, it just genuinely breaks my heart that they can't be together.
I have also lost motivation in writing, and I have done some more for The Department of a Potential Lover's Quarrel - but my university assignments have kicked me so hard in the ass it's ridiculous.
Good news? I got BTS tickets next year! And potentially... a potential candidate for a boyfriend. It's been a long three months of getting to where we are and I'll probably have to wait a whole month before anything else but I'm willing. I'm scheming.
Please be patient, I still read and reblog! But I've just lost the motivation to write for the time being.
Guys My Age
Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap. Time: At the same time.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.2k
A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!
He had you next hour.
Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.
And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down.
Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day.
And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.
Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…
“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned-
It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.
The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well.
They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.
Another reason why he needs the coffee.
Fuck.
Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”
If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”
“Of course.”
They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.
Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”
“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”
“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.
“The machine’s broken, right?”
“Right.”
Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.
“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.
He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”
“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made.
After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”
“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”
Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”
“Not quite.” He almost gulps.
Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”
“No, she attends every class.”
“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”
Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”
The tips of his ears were red.
Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.
“F-forget I said anything-”
He does.
But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.
“I have a student like that, too.”
The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”
“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.
Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”
Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”
Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”
“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”
“Always first in class and last to leave?”
“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.
It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.
It made him so fuckin’ hard.
But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.
Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…
“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”
And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.
He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”
Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”
There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”
“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.
“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”
“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this.
He knows he is.
But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”
“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.
Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”
“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”
“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”
“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”
“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”
Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”
“What time is your tutoring with her?”
“You mean…”
The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”
“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”
So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”
“She does.”
“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”
.
.
.
The two hottest professors on campus.
Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands.
You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days.
Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.
It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past.
On the other hand was your history professor.
Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.
Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back.
The dream husband.
The stern and the nice.
Both of them- frat guys hated them.
It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest!
But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.
The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.
Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.
And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.
Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring.
Invigilated tutoring?
What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!
You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.
Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.
And right now you were wearing a mix of both.
Tight on top, flared at the bottom
Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.
It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.
But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!
So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.
And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.
But oh, how you wanted to…
The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”
You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”
“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
You wondered what made him so sure.
And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.
It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.
Your jaw drops as you realize—
It’s Professor Nanami.
“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”
He looks at you as he says this.
“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.
You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”
“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.
“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”
“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”
Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.
Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.
And so you’re ducking back into your work—
“Your blouse button is undone.”
Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-
“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”
“But-”
“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-
“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”
“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”
“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.
And you think you’re in the clear.
For now.
It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-
“Your feet are touching his.”
You pull away-
“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”
Your hand pauses-
“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”
Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?
And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”
“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—
Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”
And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”
“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.
“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”
And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew.
Oh, how they both knew by now.
And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.
To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.
And you were glad for it.
So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”
But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”
He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”
“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”
Higuruma looks at Nanami.
Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.
“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”
“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”
And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek.
The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”
“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit.
“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached.
And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”
And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-
“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”
Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”
And you’re gulping at the sight.
Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”
“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”
Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.
Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-
Riiiiiip—!
“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”
Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.
Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color.
So lacy that it was practically nothing.
Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”
Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.
Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.
They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!
Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”
And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.
You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.
“Down, darling.”
“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.
But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”
Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”
Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”
“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”
“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”
Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.
“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”
“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.
Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.
Cold metal ring shocking you.
So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.
Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.
Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.
“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”
Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”
“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”
The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.
Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.
He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him.
Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.
Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music.
Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become.
You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”
“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”
That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”
Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.
Harder, this time.
“I was talking to this pussy, actually.”
And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.
Push after push into your gooey depths.
You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”
And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”
“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”
You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.
“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”
“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”
Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need.
“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”
He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.
“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”
“Well-”
“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.
“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”
Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”
“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”
You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—
Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.”
And your ears pop with pressure-
He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.
His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.
Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.
Trickling and trickling and—
And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.
The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”
“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”
“S—fuck.”
“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”
“I—”
“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster-
“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”
“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—
Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.
And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already.
Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.
And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”
The two older men look at each other.
“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.
“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”
And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.
It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.
Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.
The sensations that take you over are just incredible.
And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.
Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.
Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”
Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”
“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”
Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?
“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”
Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”
“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.
“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”
You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”
Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”
And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place-
At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.
But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”
“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.
“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”
“Like this?”
And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.
“Mhmmm.”
And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor.
There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind.
Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”
He’s muttering.
He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.
It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.
You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”
“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”
“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.
“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-
And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”
You gasp.
In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.
You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue.
So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.
Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.
He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”
“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.
“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”
“No?”
“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”
“Hiromi-”
“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”
You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”
“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”
Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.
He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.
“And I don’t need to.”
Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”
“I-I am-”
“Faster.”
“Fuck-”
“Raw, I said raw.”
Practically addicted to it.
He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.
Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-
“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”
Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.
Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight.
His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.
Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”
Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”
“O-oh…”
Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.
Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.
And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.
“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”
“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.”
You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”
“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”
Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.
He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.
Faster than before.
Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.
Then probin’ back in again.
Higuruma’s just being so loud-
“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.
Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection.
Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock.
Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft.
He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.
Moaning at the large size of him.
Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-
“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”
“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”
“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”
“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.
And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.
Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.
And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too.
“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”
“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.
“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.
As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”
The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down.
“-here.”
He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.
He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.
Higuruma growls.
And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.
Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-
“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”
“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.
And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”
And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—
He’s thirsty. Depraved.
“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”
“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”
“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.
Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”
“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—”
And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.
From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations.
You can only jolt your body back and forth.
Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.
Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”
“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”
“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”
“But-”
“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face.
Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”
“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”
Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”
“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”
“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.
“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”
Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”
Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”
“If she takes it-”
“Fucking let her-”
“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.
And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.
And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.
Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue.
Probin’ into every sweet spot.
Inside and out.
He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.
Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you.
And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting.
“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”
You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.
That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…
“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”
“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed.
And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—
“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”
You nod.
“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”
“From- from the back.” You pant out.
And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”
You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.
Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”
“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.
“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.
With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.
Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”
A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”
“Now, darling.”
Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.
Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.
It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.
“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.
Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.
“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”
“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”
You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock.
He breathes out airily—“You want it?”
“Yes-”
“Say please.”
“Please-”
“Hmmm?”
“Please, sir.”
Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”
And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.
And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed.
Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.
And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”
You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”
Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”
“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”
“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you.
But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.
“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?”
And you can only nod.
“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”
Nodding once more.
“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”
He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft.
“-m’gonna make it fit.”
And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep.
He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.
He shakes.
His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”
“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.
And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”
No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.
Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.
The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you-
“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”
Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.
He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student.
Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”
“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”
You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”
Nanami only raises a sharp brow.
And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-
Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.
He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.
Though, clearly both professors understood.
Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.
Cleanly off the desk.
One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.
He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”
“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.
“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way.
“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”
“Shit…”
As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were.
Scooping you up into his arms.
Holding them up.
Holding you up.
Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.
Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.
Measuring it against your face-
Tying it around your face like a blindfold.
He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”
“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”
“Good girl.”
“Naughty, you mean.”
“I must beg to differ.”
And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”
“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”
“What?”
“Guess.”
Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”
“No.”
“Is this a roleplay?”
“No.”
“A kink thing?”
“Well…”
“A BDSM thing?”
“Guess.”
You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”
“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”
Your jaw drops.
And your cunt grows even wetter.
An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-
Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”
And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.
You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.
“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…
“Wrong.” Nanami grins.
And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.
You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.
Not a single inch less.
Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.
It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in.
“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”
The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”
Nanami.
And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.
A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”
“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.
It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”
“Try again, angel.”
It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-
“Hiromi.”
“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”
“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”
“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.
Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.
Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-
Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.
Thicker. Harder.
Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.
“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”
“Y-you—”
That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”
Before he’s pulling back out.
And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”
“Too late for that now.”
“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”
“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”
“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”
Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”
“I’m still not convinced.”
Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”
“I will I will-”
“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”
“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.
And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.
And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”
“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”
“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”
“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”
Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.
Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”
“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”
“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”
One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.
“Just want the two of you…”
“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”
And then they’re alternating between fucking you—
“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot.
And then he’s pulling back out.
“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”
Thrust after thrust.
Pulling out. Shovelling back in.
Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.
It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.
And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.
Stretching apart your walls.
Making your channel bulge.
Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.
Again and again.
Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”
“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies.
By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.
The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either.
He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”
“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”
“Y-you little-”
A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”
“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.
It was the perfect combination.
Naughty and nice.
Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.
And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”
You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.
“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”
Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.
And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-
“Go ahead, angel.”
“Cum all over my cock, darling.”
And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up.
Feverish.
You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.
Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.
Targeting it especially through peak after peak.
After peak.
Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies.
Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”
“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.
He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”
And you should’ve known what that would do.
You should’ve known how much that would break them.
Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.
Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”
“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos.
Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure.
Visceral.
Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves.
Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you.
He didn’t want to tear it away.
Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts.
Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.
Every single droplet.
Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.
And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”
In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—
They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.
Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.
You lean back on your elbows and watch them.
And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.
They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.
Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—
And that’s before the door clicks.
“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”
You pause.
Nanami pauses.
Higuruma pauses.
And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction.
His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.
No one moves.
Except for Shiu, who steps inside.
Your heart was in your throat.
Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-
“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”
A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33
Plagiarism not authorized.
NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER — T.F.
[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?
[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k
[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo
photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.
working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.
everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.
your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.
standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.
it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….
he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.
and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.
he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.
and you keep clicking the shutter button—
“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”
“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.
“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“
“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.
he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—
you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.
“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.
“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.
“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”
your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.
even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.
“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.
your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”
the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.
while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.
“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger
“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.
“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.
sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.
geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”
gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.
“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.
sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”
gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”
toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.
but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.
“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”
geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.
gojo clears his throat.
“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.
“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.
however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”
oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.
your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.
yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.
“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.
toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”
once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.
your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.
it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.
your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.
it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.
in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”
geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.
gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.
the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.
you.
the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.
“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”
you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.
“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”
“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”
you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.
“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“
“I liked that shot you got of me when—“
“can you get my good side next time—“
“why did you—“
“can you—“
“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.
“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”
“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.
gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”
you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.
you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.
“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”
“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”
you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.
“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.
they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—
“cut it out.”
the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.
“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.
your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.
gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.
they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!
you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—
“ten more laps!”
the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.
“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“
“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.
with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.
coach toji doesn’t move.
instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.
then he looks over his shoulder.
it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.
your heart stutters.
you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.
heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.
and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.
and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.
from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.
you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.
“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”
you were gone.
s-s-s-sweetheart!?
your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.
and he finds it adorable.
college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?
at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?
but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.
“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”
he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.
“she’s too young for ya, coach!”
“get someone y’er own age!”
“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”
the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!
shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—
“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”
fuck.
your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.
the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”
your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.
a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.
b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!
your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.
“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”
you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”
well fuck me.
toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.
his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”
you nod, enthusiastically.
god, you were a cutie.
“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.
you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”
your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.
his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.
“can I try takin’ a pic?”
your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.
“good?” he asks.
you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!
you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.
you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.
“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….
you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.
you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.
well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.
his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.
he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”
this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.
“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.
“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”
you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.
your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.
your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”
toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”
a model?!
toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”
your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.
the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.
you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.
your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.
he’s definitely checking you out.
you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.
“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.
you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.
your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—
“oh.”
you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.
“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”
your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.
this can’t be happening!
you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.
staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.
your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“
the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.
“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”
the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.
your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.
“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”
he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”
you nod frantically.
his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…
“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.
“no, sir.”
toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”
your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.
“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.
you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.
you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.
you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.
you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.
you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.
it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.
with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.
“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.
it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.
“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.
geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“
“you’ve gotten some photos man—“
“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.
once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—
“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?
geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“
“don’t call me that.”
his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“
“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.
“let me fucking finish will you—“
“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.
“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”
you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”
geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”
you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”
that also means you can see….coach toji.
gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.
“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”
you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”
geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”
your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—
“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.
your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”
“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.
nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.
then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.
“the fuck are you guys doing?”
the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.
“coach always showers before or after our games.”
and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”
—
you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.
so this isn’t new territory.
the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.
familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.
you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.
every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.
you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.
then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.
the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.
coach toji, in a suit.
your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.
your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.
the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.
many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!
journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.
“photographers only, please.”
the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.
toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.
the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”
cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.
coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.
your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.
“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.
toji steps forward.
you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.
“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.
toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.
toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.
why does he keep doing that?!
it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.
you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.
“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.
the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.
you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.
not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”
your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.
“right, sweetheart?”
your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.
“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.
you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.
all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.
geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.
you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.
“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.
“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.
and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.
your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.
you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.
your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.
ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.
“how wet are you right now?”
the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.
gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”
you roll your eyes.
“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.
the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…
his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.
and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!
he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…
“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.
your face heats up, “you were….changing.”
“so?”
you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.
he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.
your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.
how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.
and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.
his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—
“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.
he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.
you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.
he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.
gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.
“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.
though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.
not just on the field…but off it.
the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.
your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...
sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.
you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.
everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.
the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.
“no locker room access.”
your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.
“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.
“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.
your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.
seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?
by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.
the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….
gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.
it’s almost satisfying. almost.
the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.
“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.
“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.
“what’re you talking about?”
“deal’s off.”
huh?!????
gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.
baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???
they do care.
especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!
“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.
“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.
geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”
“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.
“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.
“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”
“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.
gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”
toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.
“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”
gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”
the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.
“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”
the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”
“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.
it doesn’t matter…
it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.
“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.
“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.
for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.
“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.
you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.
“agreed.”
your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.
“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.
“I know…”
“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”
“I know…”
“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”
“I know.”
“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”
your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”
shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”
“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…
“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”
you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”
shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”
you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”
shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”
your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”
you don’t want to make eye contact.
“how?!!”
even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”
“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.
you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”
shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”
“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.
shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”
“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”
“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“
“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.
you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.
geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”
“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”
gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”
“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.
that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.
shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”
“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”
“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.
gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”
you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”
“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.
frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.
“hey—“
“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.
“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.
“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.
“it literally does though!”
“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.
“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.
your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“
“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—
“is this your first time being threatened—“
“the fuck.”
the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.
your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.
“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!
“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.
toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.
geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.
“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“
“she was shouting at me!”
“so what!?”
the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.
“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.
how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!
but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…
“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”
gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.
toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…
“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”
your heart drops.
“including you.”
oh shit.
the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.
toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”
your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.
shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.
“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.
your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.
“don’t be upset.”
you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.
you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.
“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”
you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”
he does.
you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…
toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?
“we can talk.”
his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.
your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.
pull yourself together…
you nod. cute.
you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.
“sure.”
gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.
“what…”
“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.
gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”
geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”
gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”
geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“
“hey!”
“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”
“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.
gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”
“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”
“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.
“WHAT?!”
“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.
shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”
“cute?” geto frowns.
gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.
the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.
not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.
toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.
“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”
toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”
you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”
“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”
“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—
“I feel bad.”
your heart stops.
toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.
his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”
your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.
“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”
your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.
what?!
your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”
you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.
“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.
then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”
shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?
toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.
“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”
oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—
“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”
what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.
“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.
“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.
your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.
ding.
your eyes widen as toji pays instead.
“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.
“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.
your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.
“how come?”
the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.
“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”
“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”
your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.
“….next time.”
toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.
“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.
your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”
toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”
“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”
toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.
you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—
your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.
he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.
“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.
“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.
“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“
his words cut the minute your lips press against his.
shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—
you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—
“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”
you do.
this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.
“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.
then, his lips part.
his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.
you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?
your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.
“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”
your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.
“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.
toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.
“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”
toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.
your freeze.
your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.
even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.
“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.
toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”
you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”
“ten.”
your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.
“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”
you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”
“I’m an easy target.”
you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”
brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”
“three older brothers,” you nod.
damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…
“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.
but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.
your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”
you nod.
“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”
and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.
—
it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.
luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.
which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.
“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.
“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.
gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.
geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”
your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”
geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.
“they still bothering you?”
your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?
“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.
you smile, “okay.”
god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.
you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.
“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.
you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.
toji….toji toji toji—
you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—
you snap a shot.
sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.
but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!
toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.
you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.
halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.
the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.
your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??
the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!
managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.
you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.
“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.
“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”
geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.
“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”
his eyes narrow again, “no.”
he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”
you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.
your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.
a single curtain is closed. shower running.
“coach toji?” your voice echos.
there a beat of silence, then…
“that you, sweetheart?”
you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”
the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.
“sweetheart?”
you jump. “yeah?”
“you gonna come in?”
you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”
your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—
“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…
your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.
what’re you doing, seriously?
one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—
your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—
“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.
the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.
you’re so close.
your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.
your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.
his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.
“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.
“hi.”
shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.
you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.
it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.
“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.
“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”
the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.
your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.
his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”
you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”
you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”
“because I kept ya out during halftime.”
you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”
his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”
“that one time.”
“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”
this time you kiss me.
you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.
“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”
“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.
his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.
“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“
it really is too much for your obsessed brain.
coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—
“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.
the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.
“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.
“you want a good fucking princess?”
you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.
“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”
you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.
“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.
“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”
you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.
“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“
“I won’t!”
he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”
you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”
the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…
but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.
so he’s all in right now.
“deep breath, sweetheart.”
you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—
“shit!—“
your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.
“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.
you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.
“angh!—“
your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.
“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”
you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.
toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.
“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”
you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.
it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.
“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”
his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.
“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.
he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!
“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.
toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!
you were fucked dumb.
your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.
“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”
your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…
“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”
anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.
toji is at a loss.
his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—
your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.
you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.
you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.
and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.
your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.
“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”
toji blinks.
then he does the worst thing ever.
he laughs.
your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.
toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.
god, you’re fucking hot.
he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.
toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”
you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”
“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”
your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”
toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”
“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”
you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…
you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”
water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.
but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”
your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”
he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.
that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.
“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”
you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”
“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
your face burns hotter. weeks?!
toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.
even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.
“like what?”
“like you know things.”
his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”
what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.
but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.
afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.
“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.
“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”
he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.
eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.
that was the start of all of it.
three months later….
you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.
“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.
and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.
and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.
“toji!”
it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.
“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.
geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”
shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“
“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”
“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.
but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”
shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”
but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.
it was clear as day.
you’re his.
a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm
anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)
Sorry for my sudden disappearance. I’ve been extremely busy these past couple months but I have the next few weeks off for peace and quiet! I will be writing the second chapter for The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel! I already have a few words but obviously there needs to be tweaking and editing…
And I’m suffering highly from the loss of Heeseung and Mark.
۟ ៹ 𓂂 fuck u better car sex with toji when his gf calls ֗ ꫂ 18+
“f-fuck.” strong hands gripped the plush skin of your waist, guiding your movements. the car windows fogged up in a matter of seconds, your combined heavy breaths not doing much to aid the evidence of what was going on.
the car bounced with every movement you made, old metal creaking. how you got here was a funny story really — a late night gas station run with your best friend morphed into to something less platonic. a silly joke about experimenting with your best friend.
and with the snacks long forgotten in the front seat, you rode your best friend in the back of his old car. toji’s head fell back against the head rest as you grind down against his cock. he was so big and thick, you were surprised he even fit.
“god, don’t stop, baby… holy shit—” he groans, cock pulsing inside your cunt. your knees began to ache now with the effort of riding him in such limited space, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.
“mmh—” you moan, brows drawn tight as he hit that little sweet spot over and over.
“you feel so fucking good. such a tight little pussy,” he praises under his breath, palms sliding around to squeeze your ass, guiding you harder against him.
toji was nearly limp under you, fighting hard to not cum right then and there. but the swivel of your hips was too much. little whines left your kiss-swollen lips, the sounds going straight to his groin. “fuck, the way you sound..” toji’s voice was ten times lower than it usually was, body less tense, black hair a shaggy mess on his head.
“gonna cum in you — can’t hold it.” he groans, fucking his hips up into yours, the slick sound of skin slapping getting louder. his words made your pussy throb, the thought of being filled with him. your best friend. “please, toji. please, i wan—”
before you could finish your plea, his phone lit up with a call beside his hip. barely sparing it a glance, he catches the name on the screen. ‘my love’ with two pink hearts — a contact name she picked out. he hated it.
but instead of ignoring it like he usually did when he was with you, he let go with one hand and picked it up, putting the phone to his ear.
toji was a breathless mess, lids low in a trance-like state of watching your tits bounce in front of him. spilling over the cups of your bra, little bite marks littered your skin from his earlier desperateness.
“yeah?” his husky voice called out. it’s only then you realize he answered the call, a tiny gasp leaving you as your pace faltered. “toji—” a slap to your ass cuts off your whisper.
“babe, where are you?” you hear his girl whine on the other end of the phone.
your bouncing slowed to rocking against him again, his cockhead kissing the front side of your walls deliciously. your forehead drops to his shoulder, your moans in one of his ears and her annoying ass voice in the other.
“i’m out. fuck — i’ll be back later.” he groans when you pick up the pace, chasing your orgasm whether she heard or not. you never liked her anyway — and she damn sure hated you.
“who are you with? what are you doing?” she asks, clear attitude in her tone. “with.. shiu. i gotta — oh, god — go. call you later.”
toji’s eyes roll back in pleasure as he hangs up on her, cutting her next accusing question off.
he tosses the phone mindlessly, hand back on you. “that’s it, baby. just like that—o-ooh.. shit..” he groans, hips erratically rutting up into yours now.
he sends you over the edge with his lips sealed around your tit, squeezing at the other as he drove into you with a frenzied speed. he follows right after, warm spurts of his thick cum flood your cunt. he was so loud too, all types of grunts and curses falling from his lips.
you both ride it out, moving against each other until you slow to a stop. still leaving him lodged deep inside your pussy, he lifts your face up.
looking at you with hazy eyes, his thumb traces and pulls at your bottom lip. “never fucked her raw…” he admits, veiny length still twitching inside you. “pussy’s way better than hers..” toji’s gaze drops back to your mouth, your lips.
“wonder if this throat is better too.”
a/n: first post kinda nervy ><
— div cr suupersonic
Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
The Department of a Potential Lovers Quarrel; 1
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
"Yrsa Halgrima. Katerina Vulvera. And, Branke Daskalov!"
All students from the neighbouring schools.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
