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taerominjae · 8 months

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Just finished this fic and my god was I impressed! It's so well written and the storyline makes you want more. I'll never find something as good as this fic which is sad for me but really good because of how amazing it is.

P.S. Yuta was one of the side characters and he is also my Ult but I'm remaining loyal to Kun at the moment 🫢🤣

NOLI TIMERE | Q. KUN

Cast: Hufflepuff!Kun and Slytherin!Gender Neutral Reader ft. Yuta, Doyoung, Ten, Jungwoo, Hendery, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, and Chenle

Genres: Dramedy | Fluff | Fantasy

Tropes: Acquaintances to Friends | Hogwarts AU | Non-Idol AU | Slice of Life

Content Warning: Language throughout and a scene depicting a character experiencing a panic attack.

Word Count: 13.3k

Summary: Having friends in common, you and Kun have crossed paths over the years. In your sixth year, what once was an acquaintanceship slowly blooms into a friendship. And what better way to strengthen the bond than by dealing with a boggart and helping out a trio of would-be troublemakers.

Notes: Though there are references to the books and films, Noli Timere takes place in a continuity of its own. Cards on the table: this story is a messy mess and it's sort of all over the place; I started writing with a single scene in mind—confronting a boggart—and filled the gaps as I wrote around that.

Part of @danishmiilk's of witchcraft and wizardry collab

ON THE THIRD floor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in an unused classroom, something was stirring in the dark.

It stirred, unseen and unheard, until making itself comfortable within a writing desk. It found that, yes, this was comfortable, but not comfortable enough to make this its home.

And thus it stirred once more until it found an empty cabinet in a corner of the classroom. It settled there, content with its new home, glad to have found somewhere after being banished and popping back to the ether.

It couldn’t die and it was glad about that.

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THE GREAT HALL was bursting with conversations, laughter, and groggy complaints about waking up too early. Four tables, each the length of the Hall itself, were gradually becoming full as students made their way down or up from the respective common rooms. Breakfast was already served, a diverse menu that seemed never-ending and had been magically cooked with culinary expertise.

When Qian Kun entered the Great Hall, eyes cast downward as he read a leather-bound and worn copy of Magical Creatures: A Field Guide to Magizoology, he was met with a loud commotion. Unsurprisingly, the first thing he saw was Lee Ten entertaining a pair of first and second years with a particularly morbid tale about a gytrash that haunted the Hufflepuff Basement. Only one of them, a lilac-haired girl, seemed rather fascinated by the story.

“Gytrashes, you see, appear when you least expect them,” said Ten, concealing a smirk that was more devious than charming. “So beware of the—”

“What are you doing?” Kun asked, closing Magical Creatures with a dry thump. He glanced around the table and smiled at his juniors. “Don’t believe a word he says, weans.”

“There isn’t a gytrash in the common room, right?” asked one of the youths, a second year with curly hair, trying to look relieved but not quite succeeding.

“Why, I’d never tell any of you a lie.” Ten feigned outrage, a hand gently laid against his green-and-silver tie. He crossed an x on his chest and winked. “Cross my heart. . .”

Kun scoffed. “Sure, sure,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

The first and second years stared then seemed to loosen up as they chattered amongst themselves, discussing the probability of encountering a gytrash when they returned to the common room. Ten chuckled and followed Kun further into the Hall, walking past some third and fourth years.

“Every time I look at you, you’ve got a book underneath your arm.” Ten pointed at the book underneath Kun’s arm. “As if you didn’t know enough already.”

Kun dropped into a seat at the Hufflepuff table, opposite Kim Jungwoo.

“Reading is fundamental,” Kim Jungwoo replied, though if he was being sarcastic Ten couldn’t tell.

Jungwoo greeted both of them with a groggy smile. With one hand, he brushed his copper hair off his eyes and took a spoonful of breakfast with the other.

Ten grimaced then shrugged, sitting to Kun’s right. “If you say so,” he said and served himself some toast and juice. “So, darlings, do our paths cross over during this most auspicious day or are we destined to only glimpse at each other from afar?”

“Och,” Kun grumbled, holding back a grin. “Easy there, Billy Shakes. Don’t waste all your verbosity with the likes of us.”

“Yah!” Jungwoo whispered as he leaned forward, close enough for Kun and Ten to hear. “Did you down a shot of firewhiskey this early in the morning?”

“I wish—” Ten frowned, feigning disappointment. “—but no.”

Jungwoo examined what remained of his breakfast—slice of toast, sausage, beans—and grimaced. “Shame, innit?” he said, pouting. “I’d love a shot of firewhiskey.”

Kun half-smiled, his eyes gleaming with endearment. “You don’t drink,” he pointed out, serving himself a plate of scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes.

“Not yet, anyhow,” Jungwoo retorted, rolling his eyes. “One of these days, I hope.”

“Fingers crossed, lad,” Ten mumbled in agreement, his mouth full. “I’ll buy you your first drink. I know a guy in Hogsmeade that can fetch me a bottle of firewhiskey for a fair price.”

Kun nearly choked on a tomato. He slowly turned to Ten and raised an eyebrow, his mouth set into a thin, disapproving line.

“Smuggling now, are we?” he whispered sternly, serving himself a cup of coffee.

Ten chuckled and reached for his juice, mumbling around the rim, “Live a little, Qian.”

“Dangerously, right?” Kun tried to conceal a smile.

“Something like that.”

Ten smirked, but Kun merely shook his head. He wasn’t concealing his smile any longer, as much as he wanted to. Though they were in different houses and came from different environments, their upbringing polar opposites, they got along well and indulged in good banter. They both were clever and model students, but whereas Ten was pragmatic and keen on doing as he pleased, Kun was more by-the-book and cautious in his actions. In many ways, this difference in demeanor complimented their relationship.

Jungwoo, on the other hand, met them halfway. He was a clever chap—studious, affable—but he wasn’t exactly keen on following rules. He’d follow them up to a certain point, but he’d happily ignore them if he thought they were stupid. Which was, for the most part, almost always.

As Ten finished his breakfast and Kun served himself seconds, Jungwoo examined the new timetable with a furrowed brow.

“Who’s the madman who thought having History of Magic in the morning was a good idea?” he asked, rubbing his forehead with a groan. “I swear someone’s taking the piss.”

“It wouldn’t be Binns, though,” Kun blurted out, renewing his reading of Magical Creatures.

Jungwoo raised an eyebrow. “How come?”

Before Kun could reply, Ten answered with a cackle, “He’s a bleeding ghost, that’s why.”

“And ghosts can’t take the pish,” Kun added with a small shrug.

“If you explain the joke it doesn’t—never mind.” Ten stood up and adjusted his tie, giving the Slytherin table a cursory glance. “Well, boys, I’m off. I can see Doyoung looking all pouty. It seems he can’t live without me.”

“Modest as always.” Jungwoo snorted.

Ten winked and drained the rest of his juice. Jungwoo watched him go, chuckling to himself before returning to frown and pout at the piece of parchment before him. The timetable was depressing him.

“I just hope it’s Professor Gorski instead of that boring old ghost,” he whispered, holding his chin with the back of his palm, knuckles against his jaw. He sighed dramatically. “I might as well just skip it, don’t you think?”

Kun shrugged, eyes on his book. “Up to you,” he replied absentmindedly. “I’d skip it.”

“I’ll take that as permission to skip it then.”

“Skip what?” said the familiar voice.

“Morning, Hen.” Jungwoo’s smile was wide and reached his eyes. He pointed an idle hand at Kun and chuckled. “Mr. Qian here is telling me it’s okay to skip History of Magic.”

Huang Hendery blinked and looked between his fellow Hufflepuffs with a furrowed brow, confusion and amusement apparent in his face. “Did I hear that right?” he asked. “Is Mr. Prefect genuinely telling us to avoid taking a class?”

Kun looked up, bewildered, then realized that he had spoken out loud without meaning to. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, closing the book again with an exasperated flick of his wrist.

“I said I’d skip it. Not that he should,” he objected with a sigh. “And I’m not—”

“We know you know you’re not a Prefect, but you might as well be,” said Hendery, waving him off as he helped himself to a bacon croissant. “I’m still wondering why you rejected the position.”

“As much as I’d love to have more responsibilities, I’d rather not. Being a student is already an arduous endeavor.”

Jungwoo raised his eyebrows and glared at the timetable.

“You got that right enough,” he grumbled.

“What’s up with him?” Hendery asked through a mouthful of croissant.

Kun looked at Jungwoo then back at Hendery. “History of Magic,” he said plainly.

That was enough of an answer because Hendery nodded knowingly, leaned forward, and reached across the table to gently pat Jungwoo’s wrist. Jungwoo, seemingly distraught, pouted and rested his forehead on Hendery’s hand, who kept eating as though he didn’t mind the gesture.

“What else do you have for today?” asked Hendery, giving the piece of parchment in Jungwoo’s hand a cursory glance.

Jungwoo sighed and read through his timetable. “Potions on my second period. Divination on the fourth and—oh, daebak—Defense Against the Dark Arts after that.”

“Day doesn’t sound that bad.”

“It does seem to get progressively better.” Jungwoo’s pout softened into a half-smile.

“There you go, dear,” said Kun, taking a sip from his coffee. “Aren’t you glad there’s always a silver lining?”

“Sometimes,” Jungwoo and Hendery chorused.

They exchanged a glance and laughed. They were still in the same position—Hendery leaning with his hand extended, Jungwoo resting his forehead against it—and seemed to be okay with that. Kun, who hadn’t noticed, looked up and frowned out of confusion but immediately wrote it off as normal behavior between the two.

“I’m off,” he told them, patting Hendery’s back.

Hendery raised both eyebrows, munching loudly. His hair—bubblegum pink with blond highlights—was parted in the middle and covered half of face. “Off to where?”

A smile spread across Kun’s face. He tapped the spine of his back and nodded towards the Great Hall’s entrance.

“Care of Magical Creatures,” he replied. “See you when I see you.”

Hendery and Jungwoo waved back, still sort of leaning on each other from across the table.

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THOUGH IT HAD rained the previous day, the grounds looked green and fresh. The sky was clear—a nice blue hue with a handful of clouds drifting by—and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as you went down the sloping lawns that led to Rubeus Hagrid’s hut.

The small wooden cabin, which was on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, had been gradually renovated over the years. A puff of greyish-black smoke rose from the chimney and was softly being blown towards the forest by a passing breeze.

As you neared the hut, you spotted two faces ahead of you talking with a Hufflepuff you’d often seen but had never quite made conversation with. Qian Kun—handsome, sheepish smile, big-brained, Mr. Almost-A-Prefect—was smiling and nodding at something Ten was saying whereas Doyoung seemed unfazed, as if he’d rather be somewhere else. It was then that you realized that you and the rest of the Slytherins would be having lessons with the Hufflepuffs.

When you approached them, Kun whispered something to Doyoung, who was now doing his best not to crack a smile. Ten openly cackled, clapping his thighs not before giving Kun’s shoulder a mighty shove. You could only wonder what they were talking about.

“Lads,” you said, standing between Ten and Doyoung.

Doyoung’s nod was subtle. “Alright?”

You nodded back and offered a small smile. Kun smiled back while Ten pulled a face and mockingly stuck out his tongue.

“As alright as one can be,” you replied, nudging Ten’s side with your elbow.

“Cool, cool.” Doyoung stared then looked away, distracted by Hagrid stepping out of the hut. “At least he’s wearing something new.”

Ten fixed his gaze forward and snorted. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Kun’s eyes lingered a second too long on you before he turned to look at your professor, who was waiting for the class at the door of his hut. Rubeus Hagrid was twice the size of a man and three times as wide with a long mane of greying black hair and a thick beard that seemed almost impossible to shave or comb. Though he was in his late eighties, only the lines around his dark eyes seemed to indicate he was no longer in his prime.

Hagrid stood in a moleskin overcoat, but it was a new one—light brown instead of black—and wore it proudly as he glanced at it every so often as if waiting for a compliment.

“Good mornin’, ev’ryone!” he called as his class approached. “How’s ev’ryone doin’ on this fine mornin’?”

There were enthusiastic and groggy greetings, but nothing that Hagrid could respond to without asking for everyone to repeat themselves. You noticed he was beaming by the glint of his dark eyes. You always thought they looked like black beetles.

“Got a real treat fer yeh today!” Hagrid clapped his enormous hands and motioned the class to follow him with a wave. “If everyone’s here, we should get a move on.”

The class followed Hagrid as he strolled off around the edges of the tree. Five minutes or so later, you found yourself staring at a square paddock where a dozen of plump, fluffy-feathered birds were pleasantly chirping.

“I reckon they’re supposed to be cute,” said Doyoung.

You scoffed. “They’re cute.”

Doyoung shook his head, curling his lips. “I beg to differ.”

“What are they, though?” Ten stood on the ball of his feet, unconsciously pulling a face that was a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

“These,” Hagrid answered, pointing a finger at the flightless birds, “are Diricawls.”

Most of the class, you included, awed as they observed the wee birds. They seemed like cuter relatives of the dodo, though there was something about the way they moved and chirped that told you differently. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Kun approaching the paddock cautiously; not like he was hesitating but rather being aware and considerate of the Diricawls’ personal space.

Hagrid clapped, startling some of the students. “Gather ‘round ‘ere,” he called, looking over his class to make sure everyone had joined him around the paddock. “Can any of yeh tell me what these little critters are?”

“Dunno, but they look like dodos,” said a Slytherin girl.

“Eh?” Hagrid chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Close but no’ quite.”

“They can vanish at will,” said a manly yet gentle voice.

You turned to see Kun leaning forward, waving a hand over the paddock’s fence to catch the attention of four birdlings. He was beaming, his eyes glinting with interest. The birds approached without hesitation and gave little jumps, trying to peck the tip of his fingers.

“They just—poof—disappear and reappear elsewhere,” Kun added with a half-smile, standing straight to face Hagrid. “Sort of like Apparating but on a smaller scale.”

“Very well said, Mr. Qian.” Hagrid gave an enthusiastic nod. “An’ since they pop’n an’ out of place, Muggles confused them fer the dodo bird an’ thought they were extinct.”

“Bunch of dafties,” said a voice from the crowd, chuckling.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you didn’t have to turn to know that it had been Doyoung. You glanced over your shoulder to see him cross his arms and narrow his eyes at a lanky, greasy-haired Hufflepuff boy.

“Do you get paid for snide comments like that, McDade?” Doyoung’s voice was low, his tone laced with vitriol. He spoke loud enough for McDade to hear but not so much that Hagrid or anyone else but you and Ten could hear. “Or do you wake up and decide to be a prick for free?”

McDade sneered. “Shut it, Kim.”

“How about we act like civilized people and pay attention to Hagrid?” You took a step forward so that you occupied the space between McDade and Doyoung. You were doing your best not to grit your teeth or glare. “It’s that or me stunning the both of youse so that I can have some peace and quiet during the rest of the lesson.”

“Ball’s in your court,” Ten intoned with a mischievous smirk.

“Prick,” said McDade, glaring over his shoulder.

“Cu—” Doyoung began but didn’t finish when you elbowed his side. “What?”

“Everythin’ alrigh’ over there?” Hagrid asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, professor,” you answered before anyone could open their mouths and dig a hole deeper than the Black Lake. “Just commenting on how adorable they look.”

Hagrid turned to the paddock. It seemed he was grinning because his beard twitched upward, reaching his eyes. “Aye, they’re adorable alrigh’,” he conceded with a nod. He opened the paddock and stepped in. “Righ’ then, here’s what we’re gonna do. Yeh’ve got ter feed them without havin’ them vanish in front of yeh.”

The class exchanged looks. You chuckled when you heard Ten groan and saw Doyoung pull a face, which was a mixture between exasperation and displeasure. They obviously weren’t keen, but you were.

Something caught your eye as the class began to follow Hagrid. That’s when you saw Kun briefly stop to talk with Changkyun. They were taking off their robes, folding them, and putting them on their school bags, which they left hanging on the paddock’s fence.

“Yah! Kun-ge!”

You flinched as an ash-blond haired bloke—Jinjin, what a surprise—walked past you, waved at Kun, then joined him by the paddock’s entrance. They greeted each other with a smile and a fist-bump as Kun rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows.

Intrigued, you followed behind them and noticed two things. Firstly, there were visible scars on each of Kun’s forearms, some were small scratches and the others were blemishes that had once been deep slashes. And, secondly, they were talking about Quidditch. The way Jinjin motioned he was smacking something away on top of a broom gave it away.

Typical. You found yourself wondering, by the way Jinjin was leaning and squeezing Kun’s bicep, if Jinjin was doing his best to convince Kun to try out for Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team.

“Are you going to get a move on or are you going to stand there, making googly eyes at him?”

“Huh?” You blinked and felt Doyoung’s gaze upon you, bringing forth a sense of embarrassment and annoyance. “Making eyes at who? What are you on about?”

“You just—” Doyoung widened his eyes and titled his head. The droopy stare he had put on conveyed the image of someone being absentminded or easily distracted. One could even say it was a look of blatant infatuation. “—dozed off.”

“I didn’t—”

Doyong raised a hand that hovered inches from your face. Through his fingers, you saw him shake his head and smile that annoying half-smile of his that indicated he was both judging and mocking you. He leaned in and hooked his arm to yours, dragging you towards the paddock as the rest of the class joined Hagrid inside it.

“Do you fancy him?” Doyoung inquired with a raised eyebrow. The question came across not as malicious but curious; you could tell he was genuinely interested in your answer. “To be fair, even I fancy him a bit. He’s quite the looker, y’know?”

Where was the lie? He was right and you knew it. Kun, whom you had seen time and time again from a distance and a handful of others up close, was but an acquaintance to you. Over the course of your past five—now going on six—years at Hogwarts, you’d always felt the desire to befriend him but never had the courage to do so.

And it was strange that you hadn’t. He and Ten were inseparable. Doyoung even had dated, however briefly, Kun’s half-sister, Astrid, and you and her were on good terms.

Kun never failed to be polite and affable. He’d always greet you with a smile and nod. As reserved and shy as he was whenever Ten or Doyoung were absent, he’d make an effort to make small talk. If there was something you appreciated about him was the fact that he always waved whenever you saw each other in the corridor.

Such gestures installed a sense of familiarity, of comfort, whenever you saw him. So, no, you didn’t fancy him as much as you were intrigued by him. Everything he did, he did so passionately. And he was nowhere more passionate than when he was around Hagrid or magical creatures.

“He seems like the type of bloke you’d have a drink with,” you replied and did your best not to roll your eyes when Doyoung snorted mid-chuckle. While he enjoyed himself, you chose to change the subject. “You reckon you can feed a Diricawl without it disappearing on you?”

Doyoung grimaced. “I don’t think I can touch one, let alone feed one,” he retorted. “So I sincerely doubt it.”

“Ah!” It was your turn to poke him. “That’s the spirit, boyo!”

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DOYOUNG WAS RIGHT. He didn’t touch a single Diricawl nor did he manage to feed one. In the end, he gave up and settled with gleefully seeing Ten cringe whenever a Diricawl came close to their little corner of the paddock.

You managed to feed two of them. It took you half the lesson to do so but you got the hang of it. Granted, Kun intervened and lent a helping hand; it had been both kind of him and mesmerizing to witness. He was immensely patient not only with you but with anyone else that called him to help them.

By the end of the lesson, Kun had essentially fed all the Diricawls by proxy. He didn’t seem to mind, especially since most of the class—with the obvious exception of Ten and Doyoung—managed to do what Hagrid had tasked them with for the day’s lesson.

“Yeh’ve done a fine job,” Hagrid announced, clapping his hands so enthusiastically that two or three Diricawls vanished in a puff of feathers. “Some of yeh need to loosen up a bit an’ get in there. Participatin’ in the lesson’s important, yeh know?”

No one responded, though several people nodded and mumbled under their breaths.

“Alrigh’,” said Hagrid, sighing. “That’s enough fer today. Be prepared fer our next lesson. We’ll be discussin’ and handlin’ Mokes.”

You tilted your head, curious. Mokes? It sounded familiar but you couldn’t remember why. You’d have to look them up later. Hagrid waved the class goodbye as he opened the paddock’s gate and kept an eye on the Diricawls, making sure none of them were trudged on or sneaked out by mingling with the crowd.

Looking up, that passionate smile of his present in his face, Kun was saying something to Hagrid. You noticed his sleeves were still rolled up, noticed the veins and the scars and the dirt that smudged his skin. For whatever reason, you couldn’t look away. He always wore long sleeves, even when wearing casual clothing.

A second before you looked away, you and Kun made eye contact. You weren’t surprised to meet his gaze, sure, but you immediately looked away with a hitched groan that remained lodged in your throat. Without looking at Kun, you walked past him and joined the rest of the Slytherins as they filed out of the paddock.

On your way out, you thanked Hagrid for the lesson. Who thanked their teachers for a lesson? Apparently, no one but you. Oh well. C’est la vie, right? Hagrid had chuckled and thanked you, sounding a tad emotional and grateful as he closed the paddock behind himself. That was nice, you thought. To have a teacher that was still passionate not about the subject but imparting it to his students.

“Hey,” you heard Kun call after you and suddenly you didn’t know whether to stop or sprint up the sloping lawns without looking back.

You preferred it if you didn’t turn back.

You turned back.

“Hey,” you repeated with a small nod, sounding sheepish. “Alright?”

Kun was smiling a shy, friendly smile. “Are you in a hurry?”

“No—er—not really.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“Er—” you blinked, looked at the class walking up the lawns, then shrugged. “—not really, no.”

He nodded. “Magic,” he exclaimed, shouldering his school bag. “After you, then.”

You walked together in silence for about a minute or two when you decided to just break the ice.

“That was a—uh—that was a nice lesson.”

“It’s not every day that you get to feed and dote on vanishing wee birds, huh?” Kun sniggered, rolling down and smoothing his shirt’s sleeves. “They’re adorable.”

“Funny, too.” You smiled. “I wonder where they go when they vanish.”

“Somewhere nice, I hope.” Kun gave a small nod as he tilted his head in consideration. “I imagine they have a wee kip before—pop—reappearing, but the truth is they don't go that far.”

You agreed with a slight tilt of your head, as if to say fair point. “Sounds nice.”

“Must be nice.”

Silence. Until—

“I wonder how we’ll deal with the Mokes,” said Kun. He sounded truly fascinated. “They’re, y’know, skittish.”

“Oh, yes, skittish.”

Kun chuckled but quickly cleared his throat. He was looking at you, not mockingly or unkindly, but fondly. You didn’t know what to make of that.

“You don’t know what a Moke is, do you?”

“I do. Pfft. Of course—” You paused, blinked, then shook your head. “No. I don’t have a bloody clue what a Moke is.”

“They’re essentially lizards. Not that big or that small.”

“And what’s the catch?” You raised an eyebrow and pointed at a thumb at the paddock that was now behind both of you. “Diricawls essentially Apparate.”

“They shrink,” Kun replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Mokes, that is.”

“They—” You blinked, impressed at and weirded out by the concept of shrinking lizards. If they could shrink at will, then it stood to reason that they could also return to their original size. “Wait, are you telling me that Mokes are choranaptyxic?”

“Bingo, they’re—” Kun paused, looking absolutely gobsmacked. A bright smile spread across his face and reached his eyes, crinkling them. He looked down at his feet then turned to you with a glint of delight in his eyes. “Mokes are chrono—corona—no, nae chance.” He snorted. “I can’t pronounce it.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t worry. It took me ages to say it right.”

Kun sighed. “It might take me an eternity then.”

“Hopefully not.” You shook your head and gently, but unconsciously patted his shoulder. “I mean if you can feed vanishing dodo birds. . .”

Kun sniggered and whispered, “Magic.”

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YOU THOUGHT FREE periods would be, well, free of responsibility.

How wrong you were. Anything Ten said should never be taken at face value. Who would have thought that within a few weeks of your sixth year starting, you’d be overwhelmed by the vast amount of homework you were being set with?

No one, you supposed. Certainly not you.

Once or twice you thought about simply wandering into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night and vanishing without a trace. It was a morbid yet recurring notion that you cringed at. And to think you called Doyoung dramatic.

You constantly took notes during lessons and made frequent visits to the library. It wasn’t necessary, but it helped ease that anxious feeling that overwhelmed you every so often. It made you feel on top of things since most classes, even those you excelled at, were frustrating you. Whereas Potions nauseated you, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration left you mentally and physically exhausted. The less you said about Divination and Ancient Runes the better.

As a sixth year, nonverbal spells were expected and routinely practiced in and out of the classroom. It wasn’t unusual to see classmates—in the common room or at mealtimes or free periods—groaning and mumbling expletives under their breaths after each failed attempt at wordless magic.

For about two weeks, the Slytherin Dungeon echoed with the faint mumbling of exasperated classmates while they waved their wands wordlessly and hopelessly expected results. Most of the time, nothing happened. In the rare occasion that they managed to perform magic, the spell either backfired or something else entirely occured.

(Several people—including Doyoung and a second year—had to go to the infirmary due to the effects of spells and charms gone wrong. Doyoung, for example, had somehow managed to conjure freckles all over his face. The second year, Chenle, was the victim of a stray spell; he ended up growing a thick, white beard that reached past his knees.)

Due to the enormous workload and long, often frantic hours of writing essays, memorizing runes, and practicing magic, you had been unable to even consider joining Slytherin’s Quidditch team. It’s not like you were going to actually do it, but it had been in your mind ever since Yuta had suggested—then asked—you several times to go to the tryouts.

But, as Kun usually said, nae chance.

Surprisingly enough, in spite of everyone being far too focused or overwhelmed by homework and their lessons, Kun had found time to mingle with Doyoung and Ten. Which, to your surprise, meant he also “mingled” with you. It began with both of you discussing schoolwork until it transitioned into shared interests, such as discussing magical creatures, counter-charms, and defensive spells.

You even talked about your future. Whereas Kun yearned to be a Magizoologist, you had simpler ambitions and yearned to finish this school year.

It was a Saturday morning when you’d asked Kun to help you with an essay for Professor Tablo’s Charm lesson. Truth was, you didn’t need help and simply wanted to spend some time with him. You were in the library, which was surprisingly full of people for such a sunny day.

“Chin up,” Kun mumbled absentmindedly, skimming through on an old copy of Silentium: A Handbook for Nonverbal Magic. He was reviewing some notes he had written in a notebook.

You nodded with a groan, stretching your hands above your head. You shifted in your chair, feeling your arse numb after an hour and half of sitting. Half an hour more and you’d call it an afternoon. Until then, though, you had to pretend to be studying and not indulging in patter with Kun.

“Chin up, eyes forward.” You drawled, rubbing the bridge of your nose. You heard him chuckle and looked up to meet his gaze. He was looking at you with a glint of endearment in his eyes. “That’s wha—that’s what you said, innit?”

He nodded. “That’s what I said, aye.” He turned to his book, continued scribbling on his notebook. “You’ll get through this.”

“Don’t you mean we’ll get through this?”

“Och, alright, sure.” He nodded and playfully rolled his eyes. “We’ll get through this.”

You winked and gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit, boyo.”

Kun raised a fist above his head and shook it, the gesture one of agreement and encouragement.

“Hwaiting!” he exclaimed, but shrunk and winced immediately when he noticed he had startled the quartet of girls sitting opposite you and was being glared at by Madam Pince. “Sorry,” he apologized in a small, almost wheezy voice. “Didnae meant to make a ruckus.”

Madam Pince appeared next to them, having approached the table to simply glare at both of you. It was then that you noticed that age hadn’t done her any favors. She looked like an underfed vulture that hadn’t seen better days because it had never had better days.

As you decided to intervene, she humphed and said in a shrill, nasal voice, “And yet here you are making a ruckus.”

Kun offered a sheepish grin. “Aye. My bad.”

“I don’t need to remind both of you that the library is reserved solely for study lessons and not for chatting or mucking about or—” She paused, looking aghast at Kun as he began closing his books and putting them away in his school bag. “Am I boring you?”

You snorted and looked away, hoping that the stern librarian wouldn’t chastise you. If she noticed your outburst, she didn’t show it. Kun, who was doing his best not to laugh, opened his mouth to reply but closed it as soon as a witty remark popped in his head. He briefly frowned and cleared his throat then turned to Madam Pince and gave her a smile so charming that you thought for a second the old hag would melt. The librarian’s lips twitched as Kun stood up and shouldered his school bag.

“No, ma’am, you aren’t. I just prefer to study elsewhere so as to not bother anyone,” he answered and bowed respectfully. He glanced at you through his periphery and gave you a small nod. “Coming with?”

“Er—” You blinked, eyes wide, caught between laughter and embarrassment. “Sure, I’ll come with.”

“Madam Pince.” Kun bowed his head and walked past her. “Always a pleasure.”

“Boy,” she said, unconsciously bowing her head. “Always—er—likewise.”

Both of you walked past her, eyes on the ground. The moment you reached the library’s entrance and stepped into the corridor, both of you started laughing. Kun’s laugh was laced with self-deprecation and you found that rather winsome. He had doubled over and leaned on a column, his shoulder shaking and his laugh echoing in the corridor. Whereas he laughed openly, you clasped a hand on your mouth to cover your amusement; it didn’t make it any easier or helped you not indulge in the moment, it only exacerbated your sniggering.

“Och, she’s terrifying,” said Kun, red in the face. “That—that old—”

“That old what?” you managed to blurt out in between breaths.

“I cannae—” He cleared his throat and shook his head. When he spoke, his accent was audibly less pronounced. “I cannot say it. It’s too mean.”

“What, calling her a hag? It wouldn’t be mean. It would be stating facts.”

He gaped at you then slowly turned towards the library’s entrance. “Hush, now,” he whispered, half-smiling. “She might hear you.”

You snorted. “That would mean she hears like a bloody bat.”

“She might as well.” He sniffed, wiping tears from his tears with the back of his hand. He stretched and adjusted the bag that loosely hung from his shoulder. “Dunno about you but I’m starving.”

“Your treat?”

Kun patted his pockets and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got a few galleons on me.”

“Your treat it is, then.”

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ON THE THIRD floor, in an unused classroom, three third years—a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin—wandered in. They were discussing who was going to open and set off the Rocket Box the Gryffindor had bought off from a fifth year.

The trio was unaware that in the empty cabinet by a corner of the classroom something had been stirred awake by their patter. It didn’t like visitors, especially when it had been resting and minding its own business.

“I bought it!” exclaimed the Griffyindor, Jeno, pulling the Rocket Box off the Ravenclaw’s hand. “Therefore I get to open it and set it off.”

The Ravenclaw, Renjun, scoffed. “Remind me again who gave you half the money to buy it?”

“Good for both of you, but I can’t be arsed,” said the Slytherin, Donghyuck, flicking Jeno’s forehead and taking the box off him. “I just want to see these go off.”

Jeno rubbed his forehead and shot daggers at Donghyuck. Renjun, on the other hand, was rolling his eyes and groaning.

“I know how we can settle this dilemma.” Renjun rolled up his jumper’s sleeves and balled his hand into a fist. “Rock paper scissors.”

“Ugh.” Donghyuck rolled his eyes, tongue in cheek. “Fine.”

Renjun glared. “Oh shut it, you prat.”

“Can we just do this and set off the fireworks?” Jeno lifted his head to groan and stare at the ceiling. He mumbled a string of complaints and expletives before facing the other two. “Hands up.”

“Hands up,” Renjun and Donghyuck chorused.

Rocks.

Paper.

Scissors.

“What a load of—” Jeno complained, though didn’t finish when Renjun glared at him. “Tosh. Load of tosh. I wasn’t going to say anything—er—vulgar.”

“Pity, I would have enjoyed a nice fuck out of you,” said Donghyuck, feigning disappointment not before showing a wicked smirk.

“That doesn’t sound right.”

Donghyuck wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe to you. Sounds alright to me.”

“Yah!” Renjun smacked Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Let’s settle this already.”

“Hit me again and I’ll hex you—” Donghyuck reached for his wand, but he felt someone holding the hand in his robe’s left pocket. He slowly turned to glare at Jeno and was torn between pushing him off himself or smacking Renjun with his free hand. The Gryffidnor’s grip on his forearm was getting a little tight for his taste. “Let go, you Samoyed-looking prick.”

“Did you just compare me to a dog?”

“So the whole prick thing just—” Renjun motioned something going over his head, baffled. “—doesn’t bother you? Doesn’t even register, eh?”

Donghyuck sniggered. “Daftie.”

“Samoyed?” Jeno blinked, confused. “Do I really look like a—”

A rattling sound startled them. The three of them turned to the cabinet on a dark corner of the classroom. It was old, battered, and brown; someone had scratched their names and several lewd limericks on its surface.

“What—what was that?” Jeno’s face contorted with fear, his eyes almost nonexistent.

“Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave?” Renjun narrowed his eyes, relented from smacking Jeno in the back of the head.

“Apparently not.” Donghyuck raised an eyebrow, eyeing Jeno up and down and shaking his head. “So much for bravery, determination, and chivalry.”

The Gryffindor deflated. “Aren’t any of you going to let me be or are you going to take the piss?”

“Take the piss.” The Slytherin scoffed. “Duh.”

The cabinet rattled once again, followed by the scratching of sharp claws against wood. They could hear a low, ominous lowing akin to that of a beast that was awakening after a long slumber. Renjun and Donghyuck exchanged a look and pulled their wands. Jeno remained a few steps behind, Rocket Box in one hand and his wand in the other.

“Lumos,” Renjun whispered and the tip of his wand lit up.

Donghyuck and Jeno averted their eyes as Renjun shone a bright light across the classroom. Besides an empty desk, the cabinet, a pile of dusty books, and six writing desks, there was nothing else to look at. It didn’t make this place any less unsettling, though. With every step they took, the cabinet rattled. By the time they stood about four steps away from it, the damn thing had stopped moving; the eerie lowing, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped.

Renjun hesitated. “Are we sure this is a good idea?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“We were about to set off fireworks in a classroom.” Donghyuck shrugged. “You tell me.”

Renjun lifted his chin, nodding at the Gryffindor. “Jeno?”

“Is this a terrible idea?” he blinked, then nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Say no more.” Donghyuck aimed his wand at the cabinet. “Alohomora.”

The cabinet’s lock clicked, its door slowly creaked itself open. For a brief second, they stood there looking at a dark, empty cabinet until they were all pushed back by a rush of hot air. Donghyuck, who had been the closest to the cabinet, landed on top of Renjun. The Ravenclaw collapsed under the weight of his legs, dragging Jeno along with him to the ground.

“Is everyone okay?” Renjun asked mid-groan.

“No—” Jeno began, but found himself speechless.

Crack!

Before him, unfolding like a curtain, was black cloak that didn’t quite touch the ground. It glided slowly, ominously, towards Jeno. He screamed, his eyes wide with fear, but the cloak changed directions the moment Donghyuck stood up; it immediately focused on him. The Slytherin had a fraction of a second to see the cloak twist into itself, like a ball, then—crack!— turn into a large beast with a low-slung body covered in thick reddish-brown hair with five legs, each one ending in a clubfoot.

“QUINTAPED!” Donghyuck yelped at the top of his lungs. He aimed his wand at it, prepared himself to defend himself but he was screaming so loud that he couldn’t hear himself say the incantation. “Stu—Stupef—!”

Donghyuck couldn’t pry his eyes away from the quintaped’s simian-like face as it bore its fangs and tried to bite his right leg. Panicked but not completely petrified by fear, he kicked one of the quintaped’s legs then used another to push himself away from it. In the split second that it took him to put some distance between himself and the beast, he blindly reached out for Jeno or Renjun but found himself empty-handed.

“Jeno—Renjun—where are you?” Donghyuck yelped, his eyes clenched closed. He outstretched his hand, aimed his wand forward, and uttered, “Lumos!”

A ball of white-hot light burned on the tip of his wand. The quintaped, momentarily blinded, turned away from Donghyuck. He heard the beast snarl and squeal until he couldn’t hear it anymore.

The next sound that echoed in the classroom was that of Renjun cursing in Mandarin, followed by a low, almost hollow hiss. Donghyuck opened his eyes to see Renjun helping Jeno off his feet, wand leveled at a lanky, stiff-looking man clad in an indigo tang-suit and trousers. It wasn’t a man, Donghyuck realized, but a living corpse with fangs like those of a vampire. The man’s countenance wasn’t only pallid but in a state of decomposition; it was sort of green, as if mold had bloomed across his flesh.

It was a jiangshi, and it was Renjun’s worst fear. Donghyuck knew because he had teased him with a particular story about how his uncle had encountered one and lived to tell the tale. The whole story was utter bunkum, but this . . . this felt too real.

It was a quintaped a second ago, Donghyuck thought, and now it’s a bloody vampire?

And then it hit him. This thing—this shapeshifting terror—was a boggart.

“Back off, you spooky bastard!” Renjun yelped, his voice quivering. Though his hand was shaking, his resolve was unwavering. “Back off or—er—just—”

“It’s a boggart!” Donghyuck rose to his feet and closed the distance between his friends and the jiangshi. “Don’t stun it!”

“Don’t stun it?” Jeno blurted out, face contorted in confusion and exasperation.

Renjun cackled. “I suppose you’d like us to ask him to stop being a spooky prick!”

“You don’t stun boggarts, you idiot.” Donghyuck pushed Renjun back. He raised his wand above his head, unconsciously taking a dramatic, if impractical pose. “You laugh at them.”

“HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO LAUGH AT THAT!” Renjun exclaimed, his legs turning to jelly.

“Riddi—” Donghyuck began but found the incantation stuck in his throat.

Since he and Jeno were protecting Renjun, essentially creating a barrier between themselves and the boggart-jiangshi, the shapeshifting terror was now focused on two new victims and couldn’t choose on which one to terrify first. The boggart made an inhuman shriek as it twisted into several shapes, never quite settling on something.

When one of them shouted “RUN!”, they sprinted out of the classroom without a second to spare. The last thing they heard as the door closed behind Donghyuck was a hoarse, cold cackle. On the ground, crumpled and forgotten, the Rocket Box lay unopened.

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YOU AND KUN heard the commotion before you almost stumbled upon them.

A pair of third years—a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin—ran out of a classroom, scared out of their wits: pale in the face, holding onto each other, wands tightly gripped in their hands as they looked over their shoulders.

You recognized one of them—dirty-blond, tan skin, handsome if mischievous face—and tugged on Kun’s arm, nodding your head in the third years’ direction. Though Kun frowned and seemed unsure, he immediately broke into a sprint. You followed, impressed not only by how fast he was but how quickly he assessed the situation. His stride was purposeful, like that of a father intervening to keep their children out of harm’s way.

“CLOSE IT—CLOSE IT—DON’T LET IT OUT!” shouted one of them, the Ravenclaw with two-toned hair, waving his hand in the direction of the classroom’s door. “CLOSE IT—”

“I heard you the first twelve times!” the Slytherin, the lad you knew, retorted with a roll of his eyes. He aimed his wand at the door then lowered it, looking shamefaced. “I don’t know the spell to lock the bloody door.”

“Colloportus!” Kun exclaimed, wand out. There was a loud click followed by something slamming on the other side. He looked at the door then at the third years. “Is everyone alright?”

“NO!” the trio answered in unison.

Kun suppressed a chuckle. “Good to know,” he said. “So if you’re alright, I reckon we—” he pointed at himself and you, “—can go on our merry way?”

“No, please, don’t—” the Gryffindor muttered, shaking his head.

The Ravenclaw gave the door a terrified glance over his shoulder. “There’s a bloody jiangshi in that bloody classroom—”

“It’s not a bloody jiangshi!” snapped the Slytherin, doing his best to look brave as he turned to you. “It’s a boggart!”

“Did you banished it?” You asked, infusing your voice with warmth.

The Slytherin scoffed. “Sure, we banished it!” he retorted. “That’s why we ran out there with our heads held high and definitely not screaming our bloody heads off!”

“All three of you saw it?”

You saw the boy turn to Kun and immediately deflate as all traces of fear and exasperation were instead replaced with relief. The Ravenclaw was still shaking. The Gryffindor held his hand and rested his head on the other’s shoulder.

“We did,” said the Slytherin.

“And, lo and behold, here you are.” Kun nodded. “Which means you did something right.”

“We ran!” exclaimed the Gryffindor, his voice laced with embarrassment.

Kun shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replied, his voice gentle and infused with empathy. “And besides—” he made sure to make eye contact and smile, “—it’s best to face a boggart accompanied than on your own.”

“It confuses them,” you added with a nod.

“Aye.” Kun pointed a finger in your direction, gave a small nod, then clicked his tongue. The third years softened at the gesture, looking less tense and scared. He outstretched his hand, shaking each of the third years’ hands. “I’m Qian Kun.”

You smiled and introduced yourself. The boys nodded then gave the door a cursory, if horrified glance.

“What are your names?”

“Lee Jeno,” said the Gryffindor.

“Huang Renjun,” said the Ravenclaw

“Lee Donghyuk,” said the Slytherin.

Kun beamed at them. “Pleasure to meet you.” He glanced at the door, his eyes narrowed. “Is it still there?”

The third years kept their eyes on Kun as they nodded. You found it amusing how in sync they were.

“Good.”

“Good?” Donghyuck’s face was one of disbelief. “How’s that good?”

“Because you already softened the boggart for us,” you explained, giving Kun a side glance but he wasn’t looking at you. “Right, Kun?”

“Absolutely! Nae danger!” he exclaimed, nodding with crinkled eyes. “We’ll handle it.”

“We can help,” squeaked Jeno.

Renjun narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “We just ran out of there, our tail between our legs, and you think we’d be of help,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Come off it.”

“You want to help?”

“Not really, no,” Donghyuck mumbled, unconsciously. His eyes widened when he realized you were staring at him. He cleared his throat and offered what he thought was a sheepish smile but it was in fact rather impish. “Sorry.”

Kun’s smile didn’t falter as he stood to his full height. “Shall we?” he asked, turning to you, wand at the ready.

“Let’s,” you replied, nodding.

“What can we do?” asked Jeno, his voice varying in pitch.

“What can you do?” Kun raised an eyebrow in consideration. “You could wait for us in the Great Hall.”

Donghyuck made a face. “What for?”

“I recommend getting some chocolate. It’ll calm your nerves.”

“We could—” Jeno began but didn’t finish when Renjun took him and Donghyuck by the wrists and began to pull them away.

“We’ll meet you there,” said the Ravenclaw with a nod.

“Magic!” You heard yourself say and found yourself surprised. Though Kun didn’t face you, you noticed that he was grinning. “I mean—er—yeah, we’ll see you in a bit.”

The trio scurried away. You could hear them bickering amongst themselves until you couldn’t and you were left alone with Kun. There was minimal movement on the corridor, which meant you wouldn’t come across another student or staff member that often.

“Have you ever dealt with a boggart before?” you asked him, aware that the two occasions you had had to confront a boggart it had been under the school’s premises surrounded by fellow classmates and instructed by an adult.

“I have,” he replied in a soft voice, his tone matter-of-fact.

You nodded, pouting with an impressed nod and a tilt of your head.

“Out of school?” you added.

Kun chortled. “Where else?” he glanced at you over your shoulder, beaming. “There are several boggarts in the reservation. One of them hid under Astrid’s bed before she banished it.”

You shuddered, then caught on what he had said.

Did he just say—

“Reservation?”

“Huh?” Kun’s left hand was around the doorknob, halfway through opening the door. He gaped then realized what you meant. “Oh, right. I’ve spent the last three summers at a wildlife reservation for endangered creatures.”

You remembered he had mentioned his mum was a dragonologist and that his da—actually, his stepfather—was a herbologist. No wonder he was so passionate.

“There are dragons, snidgets, phoenixes, occamies, graphorns. . .” Kun trailed off, slowly stepping into the classroom. He faltered and seemed to take a step backwards only to disappear through the dark door frame. “This is downright chilling,” you heard his voice bounce off the classroom’s walls. “Lumos.”

You entered the classroom and saw him standing in the center of the classroom, which looked like something had torn it apart. Desks had been tossed across the room and were pulverized; a desk had been split into two, and a pile of books had seemingly caught fire. The only piece of furniture that remained intact was an old and battered cabinet.

Kun slowly turned to you, feigning uncertainty. “Place looks deserted,” he said loudly, nodding his head towards the cabinet. “It seems those third years were just mucking about and scared themselves.”

You took careful steps towards the cabinet. While Kun walked across and scrutinized the right side of the classroom, you took the left.

“There’s nothing here,” you intoned, chuckling and quickly glancing at Kun. Though you weren’t scared, you were still cautious.

“Seems like—” Kun stopped. He seemed to be glaring at the cabinet as it wobbled violently; its door was half-closed. “There you are!”

The cabinet burst open and a pale, sickly looking figure slithered out. For a moment, you thought it was an Inferius until you realized it was a strange fusion of man and beast. Covered in a thin, black coat, the lanky figure had the face of a man and his body was covered in reddish-brown fur up to its neck; it had four arms, each one ending in a clawed clubfoot.

Kun looked at the confused boggart with a frown, disgusted. “You are by far the mankiest Yeti I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed.

The boggart turned. Before it could focus on its victim, Kun aimed his wand at the dusty curtains of a nearby window.

“Diffindo!” he exclaimed.

The curtains split diagonally from where they were hung. With a flick of his wrist, you made the curtains float above the boggart until they collapsed over it, completely covering it in a tight, dusty embrace.

“Nice one!” you heard Kun exclaim and chuckled at his enthusiasm.

The boggart heard your amusement and twisted within the curtains, trying to find a way out, trying to find space to shift, until it tore through the curtains’ fabric with ease and zeroed in on you. It took only a second for it to—crack!—transform into the thing you feared most. Standing before you, glaring and looking disheveled, was yourself.

You took two steps backwards, spared Kun a terrified glance, then stumbled on your feet. One second you were standing, the other you were on the ground. You felt your wand slip out of your hand, heard it clatter and roll away. Fear overwhelmed you so much that you couldn’t take your eyes off the ghostly visage before you.

“YOU’RE A DISGRACE!” Boggart-You shouted, tilting its head to the side with a sickening crack. “YOU’RE A DISAPPOINTMENT!”

“I’m—” you began but felt the words die on your throat, your heart thudding faster and faster. “I’m–this isn’t real—you’re not real!”

That seemed to give the boggart pause; it blinked at you then slowly approached, dragging a leg as if it were broken.

“NOT REAL?” it screeched, twisting its neck until—crack!—turning into an equally glaring and disheveled Doyoung with dark shadows under his eyes. This Doyoung stared at you with hatred. “YOU’RE A TERRIBLE FRIEND!”

Doyoung reached out with a bony, rotting hand, then—crack!—turned into Ten.

“A WASTE OF SPACE!”

Crack! Where Ten had been was Professor Tablo, half his face rotting, his usual charismatic demeanor replaced by vitriol.

“A WASTE OF A BRAIN! A LOUSY STUDENT!”

You clenched your eyes shut, feeling your entire body go stiff with dread. You could hear your heart pounding on your chest, louder and louder, as the boggart’s judgement became harsher. Tears began to stream down your face and you couldn’t wipe them away because your hands were trembling so hard as you held yourself in a tight embrace.

The technique usually worked, but this time you felt like it wouldn’t. You heard the boggart get closer, heard it speak in the voice of your family—your mother, your father, as well as that of uncles, aunts, cousins, and your grandparents—until it began to cackle; you heard yourself and wished that the ground beneath you opened and you fell through it.

“HERE!” shouted Kun suddenly, hurrying forward.

Crack!

You didn’t hear yourself any longer. As matter of fact, you didn’t hear anything but Kun’s shallow breathing. You opened your eyes to see what seemed like a black cloak, slowly swirling above him—only, you realized, it wasn’t a cloak. It was a strange incorporeal, fluid-like cloud that whispered in tongues and shrunk and increased its size with every breath Kun gave.

Kun, much like you, was paralyzed; there was a glint of abject terror in his eyes. He gripped his wand tightly but didn’t raise it. When the cloud seemed to approach, he took three steps backwards; he never took his eyes off the boggart. He was about to raise his wand when the boggart—the cloud—struck and violently exploded into a torrent darkness that enveloped the entire classroom.

It lashed out but missed him. For a brief second, you thought Kun was injured—not dead, never dead—but you saw him raise his wand and shout with great effort, “RIDDIKULUS!”

CRACK! The torrent of darkness turned into a balloon the size of a wheel’s car, deflated over your heads, then puffed itself into a cloud of foam. Kun’s desirive cackle echoed across the classroom; it was a triumphant, but unnerving sound.

“Kun,” you whispered, your vision becoming blurry.

You got a glimpse of Kun swaying then falling to his knees, breathing hard and slowly turning to look at you. You wanted to say something, to thank him, but you felt your mouth dry and your body heavy.

A second later, as everything turned black, you passed out.

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“I WONDER WHAT they saw.”

“Their biggest fear, you daftie.”

“Well, yeah, I know that. . .”

“Then why are you asking?”

You heard familiar voices whispering, but couldn’t make sense of them whatsoever. You weren’t sure where you were or what had happened, let alone how you’d got wherever you were. All you knew was that you felt sore, as though someone had embraced you to the point of nearly cracking every bone in your body.

“I thought seeing a boggart was scary—”

“Jeno, would you please shut up?”

Biggest fear . . . scary . . . boggart. Your eyes snapped open. You were lying in the hospital wing. The third years were gathered around your bed. Renjun and Donghyuck remained standing while Jeno was sitting on the edge of the bed. They looked apprehensive then immediately relieved to see you conscious.

“Hey,” said Jeno, offering a small smile. “How are you?”

You blinked at them. Your mind going back to the boggart in the classroom—the loud crack everytime the boggart transformed—that entity that hurled your worst fears at you wearing your face—that cloud that attacked Kun . . .

“How long have I been unconscious?” You asked, sitting up and leaning your back on the bed’s creaky headboard.

“I’d say a few hours,” said Donghyuck.

That isn’t very comforting, you thought.

“What—what happened?”

“We don’t really know,” said Renjun. “We waited for you in the Great Hall but you never arrived. Hyuck told what happened to one of his hyungs and we went back to the classroom . . .”

Donghyuck nodded, looking shaken. “Only to find both of you passed out.”

“Who did you tell?” You asked, hoping it hadn’t been Doyoung or Ten.

“I told Yuta,” Donghyuck’s answer came as a whisper. “He immediately ran up to the third floor.”

“Scared the living shit out of me, you did,” said a new voice.

You turned to the hospital wing’s entrance and saw Yuta coming in, Doyoung and Ten right behind him. They weren’t the only ones that were visiting because they were accompanied by two Hufflepuffs and a Griffyindor.

You raised an eyebrow. “All this for me?”

Yuta shook his head. “All this for the two of you.” He faintly smiled as he pulled a chair and sat down next to you. “I’m assuming you’re feeling better.”

“Not really.”

“Hmmm.” He nodded, as if expecting such an answer. He put his hand on his hoodie’s pocket and pulled out a comically large chocolate bar. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He broke out a piece, handed it to you, then continued to break the rest of the bar and handed it out to everyone in the room. The third years ate it apprehensively, eyes still on you, whereas Doyoung and Ten devoured it in the blink of an eye.

The Hufflepuffs smiled or waved and the Gryffindor stared, not confident enough to say hi; they, accompanied by Ten, walked over to the bed opposite you. There, still sleeping, was Kun. You were still so groggy and wondering what had happened that you forgot about him. How was that even possible? You shook your head, trying not to overthink or burden yourself with guilt.

Kun’s chest rose and fell softly, his lips pursed in a pout. He looked pale and exhausted, as though someone had cursed him with advanced aging. You felt the impulse to get out of bed, run up to him, and embrace him, but everything hurt and moving wasn’t the best course of action.

“How is he?” you asked loud enough for the Hufflepuffs to hear you.

“He’s fine,” said Ten, looking and sounding relieved. He ran a gentle hand through his friend’s hair. Then, more to himself than anyone else in the room, he mumbled, “He looks like utter shit, though.”

The smallest of the two Hufflpuffs giggled, caught himself, and awkwardly cleared his throat. He had a kind face and pink hair that reminded you of chewing gum. “According to Madma Lina, rest is doing him good,” he added.

“Rest would do anyone good,” said the other Hufflepuff, scoffing. “Bloody sixth year.”

You chortled but stopped, noticing you were choking up. He was okay. Unconscious but okay. That was something. Better than the alternative, you thought.

“He’ll be fine,” said Yuta, glancing at Kun with a small, sad smile. “I know he’ll pull through.”

A wave of emotion overwhelmed you. Though you didn’t want to cry, you found yourself doing so; there was no point in holding back tears. Yuta’s eyes widened as he took your hand, the expression on his face one of immense worry.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” you mumbled. “I hesitated—I could’ve handled it but—”

“Fear is a tricky thing, innit?” Yuta caressed your hand then held it with both of his hands. “We don’t always act as we’d like or expect. It’s okay. Sometimes we’re strong, others not so much.”

“I didn’t even get to say the incarnation.” You closed your eyes, remembering how afraid you’d felt. “I fell and let go of my wand.”

Yuta nodded, understanding. “I’ve been there.”

He had. Back when Yuta was a third year, you were a second year, and he had told you how he felt when he had to confront a boggart in a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. How he had failed to laugh at the boggart, how terrified he’d felt, how everyone had rallied up around him despite initially laughing at his hesitation.

“Fear is overwhelming,” Professor Ok had said, comforting Yuta, “but fear is as strong, as daunting, as you allow it to be. It’s not easy, but you’re capable of being fearless.”

Yuta had taken those words to heart, lived by them. You hoped you could too.

“What did you see?” Yuta asked, stirring you from your reverie.

“I—” you hesitated, unsure if to admit you had seen yourself—and all of your loved ones—verbalizing the things you thought were true about yourself. “I saw a Lethifold.”

“Really?” Jeno perked up. “So did I!”

“You’re afraid of a flying cloak?” Donghyuck scoffed.

Jeno glared. “You’re afraid of quintapeds.”

Donghyuck punched Jeno’s shoulder, outraged. “That’s just common sense!”

“Did you just—” Jeno looked at his shoulder then back at Donghyuck. He balled up a fist and slowly raised it only to lower it when he felt Yuta narrowing his eyes at them. “Sorry.”

“I think it’s time we leave these two to rest,” said Yuta, standing up and waving a hand towards the door as he wrangled up the third years. “Let’s go, children.”

“I hope you feel better soon,” said Renjun, bowing. He followed Yuta and waited for his friends to catch up.

Donghyuck smiled, bowing hastily. “See you in the common room.”

Jeno glared at him, bowed, then walked behind him; he was still clenching up a fist and muttering threats under his breath. As soon as the third years and Yuta left, Doyoung approached your bed and sat down on the chair Yuta had used.

“You look like utter shit,” he said, as a matter-of-factly.

“YAH!” Ten exclaimed from across the room. He glared for a second, then turned to you and his eyes widened. “I mean—er—he’s out of line, but he isn’t wrong.”

“I wonder what I’d do without you.” You shook your head, feigning a heavy sigh.

Ten shrugged, unconsciously playing with Kun’s hair. “You’d be a mess,” he replied.

You found yourself wanting to hug him. The way he was staring at Kun made your heart melt; he was genuinely worried even if he hadn’t said it aloud. Ten caught himself moping, cleared his throat, and made a joke at his own expense; he left Kun’s side and joined Doyoung. He would never admit it, but he felt like he was robbing Kun’s friends of their time to be there for him.

“You’d be the biggest mess around,” he continued teasing, plumping down on the edge of the bed.

“Correction: I’m already a mess.”

Doyoung and Ten exchanged a glance, nodded, then looked at you.

“No shit,” they chorused.

You chuckled. “We’re all big messy messes.”

They agreed with another nod. There was a pause then the three of you laughed, loudly, free of any burdens or fears.

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DOYOUNG AND TEN stayed with you for about an hour. They left with the Hufflepuffs—Hendery and Jungwoo—and the Gryffindor—a third named Yangyang—and said they would meet you in the common room.

Madam Lina informed you that you’d be on your feet in no time. You were glad to hear that. You weren’t so glad, however, to see that Kun hadn’t woken up. Even when his friends came by and sat by his side, he stirred and turned once or twice, but remained unconscious.

“Is it normal?” you asked Madam Lina.

She glanced at him, then offered a small smile. “It depends on the person and what they’ve faced,” she said, uncorking a bottle of dittany. “Though I don’t think the reason he hasn’t woken up is entirely connected to what you both encountered.”

“So is he—er—faking?” You narrowed your eyes, glancing at Kun suspiciously.

“No.” Madam Lina chuckled. She approached Kun’s bed and drizzled two drops of dittany on a cloth, applying it to his shoulder and collarbone. “I think he’s just knackered and the boggart—whatever it turned into—just drained him.”

“Bloody sixth year,” you grumbled, looking at the ceiling.

“He’ll wake up soon. Don’t—oh, hello.”

“Where—what happ—” You heard Kun whisper in a groggy, husky voice. He cleared his voice and grunted, eyeing the matron with a blank expression. “Alright?”

Madam Lina chuckled. “I’m alright as one can be,” she replied, beaming. “I’d say good morning, but it’s almost evening.”

“Is—”

“I’m alright,” you interjected, smiling.

Kun stirred and sat up so suddenly that Madam Lina gasped and reached out, gently placing her hand on his forearm. He looked less pale now, a bit more like himself, but he still appeared to be fatigued; his green-mint hair was a mess, as though someone had run their fingers through it. He looked unsure, confused, until he met your gaze and a bright smile spread across his face.

“Magic!” he exclaimed, beaming.

“I’m glad you’re well,” you admitted out loud, feeling warm at the thought of Kun being okay.

He half-smiled. “Same here.”

Madam Lina looked between the two of you, relieved. She finished dabbing Kun’s injuries and turned to him.

“You need to rest for a wee bit more, but you’ll be out of here before dinner’s over.” She corked the bottle of dittany with a lazy flick of her wand. “I’ll arrange for you to have dinner here, though. You should enjoy as much silence as possible.”

“Silence sounds good.” Kun groaned as he glanced at the injuries in his shoulder—a crescent moon-shaped first-degree burn—that had now looked several days old. He was looking at his new scars intently, his brow furrowed. “A boggart caused this?”

Madam Lina stared at him intently. “Apparently so,” she conceded.

“Well . . . shit . . .” Kun caressed his collarbone, shocked.

The matron cleared her throat, calling attention to herself. “I’ll be in my office,” she said, waving her wand again to illuminate the hospital wing. “If you need anything—anything at all—let me know.”

“Thanks,” you and Kun said in unison.

You watched her go, waiting for her to enter her office and closed the door behind herself. Silence fell and enveloped both of you. Kun was staring blankly at the foot of your bed, looking lost in thought. When you were about to look away, he met your gaze and stared; he didn’t emote as he seemed to be still stuck in his head.

“What did you see?” you asked, scrutinizing that blank look in his face.

“Nothing but dust underneath your bed,” he mumbled, blinking.

“No, I meant—” you bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “What did you see in the classroom?”

“The boggart?”

You gave a small, if apprehensive nod.

“An obscurus,” he confessed, without a trace of embarrassment or hesitation. His eyes widened and drifted to his bed’s footboard, as if he’d seen one appear above your head. “They’re nasty things.”

“Obscurus?” You frowned. “Those are real?”

“Very,” he said in a tight voice.

It was the first time since you’ve known him that you’ve seen him afraid. You could see in his eyes that he’d been shaken by the event. He avoided eye contact and slumped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling rather despondently.

A parasitic force, an Osbrucus was a dangerous entity. It came to be when a child—always a wizard or witch—repressed their magical abilities; this could occur unconsciously or consciously. Abuse was often a reason for the manifestation of Obscuri.

Your mother had told you about them, recalling an event form her childhood; whenever she mentioned it or was asked about it, she would look pale in the face. You never thought they were real because it seemed like just a tall tale, but after seeing the boggart turn into one, displaying the destructive force of an Obsrucus, you were a skeptic no longer.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he said, smiling ruefully, “but I’ll be fine and dandy after I’ve had a steak pie.”

You nodded. “A steak pie sounds good right about now.”

“It would be smashing, aye,” he agreed, his accent thick. “With a pint of butterbeer.”

“Magic!” you exclaimed, winking at him.

Kun’s smile reached his eyes. His laugh reached your heart.

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YOU ENTERED THE Slytherin Common Room not long after dinner and saw the usual suspects—Doyoung, Ten, Yuta—and Donghyuck gathered around the fireplace. They were talking in hushed tones, when Yuta noticed your arrival, immediately got to his feet, and started clapping. The others followed suit. Donghyuck seemed to be the most enthusiastic of the four.

“How are you holding up?” Yuta asked, sidestepping over the furniture to embrace you in a side-hug. He gently kissed the top of your head. “Ten was worried sick.”

“I wasn’t!” Ten exclaimed, outraged, but you could tell he had been worried sick.

You winked at him. “I know you have a reputation to uphold.”

He stared, winked back, then mouthed his thanks.

“I’m assuming you had something to eat.” Doyoung interjected, hooking his arm with Ten’s.

You nodded, grinning. “Steak pie—”

“Smashing,” said Doyoung, nodding.

“—and butterbeer,” you finished.

While Yuta raised an eyebrow, Doyoung, Ten, and Donghyuck stared, gobsmacked. Doyoung opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the third year, who in a whiny tone of voice said, “Butterbeer?”

Donghyuck blinked, jealous. Ten joined him in his indignation.

“Where did you get butterbeer?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged, playing coy.

“Alright, then . . .” Ten nodded, tongue in cheek. “Keep your secrets.”

“I shall,” you replied, smirking. “And in order for me to keep my secrets properly, I reckon I need a good night’s sleep.”

“By all means, yes. Rest should do you good.” Yuta clapped, once more wrangling his fellow Slytherins like an experienced father dealing with noisy children. “Off to bed.”

“But—” Donghyuck began, pursing his lips into a thin line.

“But what?”

“I wanna hear what happened.”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Not now.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” you answered before Yuta could chastise the third year. You raised your pinky finger and offered it to him. “I promise.”

Donghyuck stared, smiled, then interlinked his pinky with yours. “Wicked,” he said.

“Happy?” Yuta titled his head. “Good. Now sod off to bed.”

“Oh . . . alright . . .”

The third year wandered off, accompanied by his seniors. Ten lazily waved goodbye. Doyoung glanced back with narrowed eyes; he was no doubt bitter about missing out on a good pint of butterbeer. That only left Yuta. He hugged you, bid you goodnight, and left for the dormitories. You were going to follow but instead decided to relax on your own. Seeing as there were only a handful of people—no more than six—you sat on one of the dark green button-tufted, leather sofas with a heavy sigh.

You wondered if other students had heard of what had happened. It was best if they didn’t. Some part of you was embarrassed by what had happened. Then there was a part of you that didn’t care what others thought.

“You’re capable of being fearless,” you whispered to yourself and found that these words strengthened your resolve.

Feeling reassured, you stood up and made your way towards the dormitories. As you reached your room, your thoughts wandered towards Kun. You hoped he was doing well.

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“DON’T YOU EVER get tired of reading?”

Kun looked up from his notebook, quill in his hand, and smiled. He was lying in bed, duvet up to his stomach. He looked across the room to see Jinjin waving his hand around, his face red, his jaw set. He’d been practicing nonverbal spells for the past hour and half with little to no success.

“I’m not reading,” Kun replied. “I’m writing.”

“To who?” Jinjin waved his wand at the ground in frustration. He grunted, threw his head back, then looked at Kun. “Is it ‘to who’ or ‘to whom’?”

Kun blinked, looking equally puzzled. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied, then eyed the bed to his immediate left where a figure was currently sleeping. He pointed at his neighbor with his quill. “But I reckon Wonwoo knows.”

Jinjin winced. “I’ll ask him in the morning.”

Kun chortled.

“So—” Jinjin threw his wand on his bed, looking defeated. “—who are you writing to?”

“My mum.” Kun kept scribbling upon the piece of parchment, focused but not entirely ignorant to his surroundings. “Felt the need to let her know that I sort of faced my biggest fear.”

“How come?”

“Dunno. Just felt like doing so.”

“How do you think she’ll take the news?”

“In good spirits, I hope.” Kun sighed, dipped his quill on the ink bottle, and continued to write. “The only silver lining is that it was a boggart and not the real thing.”

“All hail silver linings.” Jinjin approached Kun’s bed, sat by his feet. He stared at his friend worriedly then cleared his throat. “Are you—”

“I’m not. You shouldn’t worry, though.”

Jinjin’s face contorted with indignity and worry. “Don’t worry? Are you serious?”

“Not serious, but fairly somber.” Kun nodded, pouting. “I’ll be fine. I just need time to—” he paused, looking for the right phrase, “—plow through this.”

“Hmm.”

“Och,” he dismissively waved a hand, “nae danger, Jinjin. Some rest should—no, will—do me good.”

“You’ll finish the letter then go to sleep, right?”

Kun nodded, looking up to smile at his friend. “I will.”

“Alright.”

Kun finished the letter to his mum, then started writing on a new piece of parchment.

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SINCE YOU WOKE up early—earlier than usual and what you’d prefer—you decided to make the best of your day. You finished your essay for Professor Tablo, did some reading on Mokes, then headed for the Great Hall.

Sunday mornings were usually quiet, peaceful mornings wherein one could walk the castle without bumping into a lot of people. After all, Sundays were days of staying in: of relaxation, studying, and last minute essays.

When you reached the Great Hall, you saw a handful of people at each of the tables. Half a dozen Gryffyindors were in Quidditch gear, no doubt eating something before heading out for some practice on the pitch. Some Ravenclaws had plumped down and were either reading, writing on long scrolls of parchment, or practicing nonverbal spells; the same applied to the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs.

There were familiar faces but none that you would share company with. You felt like you wanted some space, some time for yourself. You found a space on the Slytherin table away from fellow classmates and sat down, serving yourself some pumpkin juice. You were about to serve yourself breakfast—bacon or sausages?—when a skinny, orange-haired second year with a plae five-o’-shadow approached you with a tightly-gripped note on his left hand.

“Morning,” you said, looking at him apprehensively.

He extended his hand and waited for you to take the note.

“This is for you,” he blurted out.

“Thanks?”

He shrugged. “Welcome,” he mumbled, then turned on his heel and walked out of the Great Hall.

You raised an eyebrow, snorted, then mumbled, “Oh-kay.”

Looking down at the note, you recognized the writing. It was Kun’s. Something akin to panic took a hold of you. For a second, which felt like forever, you felt your heart skip a beat. Slowly, as if afraid of ruining the parchment, you opened the note.

It read:

To whom it may concern,

Noli Timere. It’s a phrase that my mum taught me. Latin for ‘don’t be afraid.’

I’m aware that it’s easy to say and hard to think we can be fearless when we’re afraid, but the truth is we can be; especially when we’re terrified and think once we give in to this dread we’ll lose ourselves. But, as I’ve learned, that’s when we can be the strongest; that’s when we can gather our courage and stand up to that which scares us.

— Q. Kun

PS; I didn’t mind boggarts before—at best, they’re nuisances; at worst, a pest—but now I definitely loathe them. I think they’re manky, daft pricks.

You smiled bittersweetly at the note, digits caressing the parchment.

“Noli timere,” you whispered, committing the phrase to memory.

KUN WAS SITTING by a towering beech tree on the edge of the Black Lake. He was alone, a book on his lap, overlooking the calm waters of the lake. You weren’t surprised to find him lost in his thoughts, finding it endearing and so characteristic of him.

“Waiting for the Giant Squid to make an appearance?”

Even before he turned, you saw his grin. His mint-green hair was held back by a toothed headband and he wore casual clothing that wouldn’t look out of place in a gym. He closed the book and stood up, meeting you halfway.

“He already did.” Kun glanced at the lake, then raised an eyebrow with a tilt of his head. “Or she. I honestly dunno its gender.”

“What did it do?”

“Sort of passed by, waited for me to give it something—a bacon croissant, if you’re wondering—and then it just disappeared under the lake.”

“Must have been a sight.”

“It was.” Kun nodded, beaming.

You gave the lake the once-over, gathered your courage, then said, “I received your letter.”

“You did?”

“Yes. This kid gave it to me and left without a word.”

“Och.” Kun shook his head, looking disappointed. “Forgive Chenle, he’s—” he paused, pursing his lips, “—rather exuberant some of the time and extremely aloof the rest of it.”

“You sent him but not Donghyuck?”

Kun shrugged, pacing the lake’s bank. You followed.

“Either of them would have read the note. I just—” he shrugged again, “—put a charm on the parchment. If he tried to open it, his hand would be instantly glued to it.”

“So he wouldn’t be able to open his hand—”

“Until the note was delivered, yes.” He looked at you, that glint of endearment ever present in his eyes. “Listen, I—er—dunno how to say this, but—” he grimaced, then cleared his throat. “I wrote the note more for myself than for you as a reminder that I—well, we—can be fearless. It’s more than anything a reminder that I’m—we’re—not alone in being afraid.”

You smiled, felt tears forming in your eyes. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded, looking sheepish. You reached out and pulled him into a hug. At first, he was stiff. He loosened and gave in, hugging you back, when he felt you resting your head on his chest. You remained like this for longer than you should, but it felt right; it felt warm. You didn’t feel alone; you felt supported. You thought that he felt supported too; you hoped so.

He broke the embrace to look at you. “That hug was magic,” he chuckled.

“Best kind of magic.” You agreed. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“I gave mine away so . . . no.”

“What if I buy you breakfast? My treat.”

Kun laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“Alright,” he said. “Your treat.”

#hogwarts au #kun wayv #hufflepuff!kun #qian kun #kun #kun fic

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