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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.

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