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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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junhui; you must be magical, because i've fallen under your spell

summary; there was something about gryffindors that unsettled him greatly.

pairing; slytherin!junhui x gryffindor fem!reader

genre/warnings: hp!au, yule ball!au, fluff!! jun’s a dumb boy

w/c; 2k

a/n; if it were possible to separate the masterpiece that is harry potter and jk rowling, we would. the only jk we stan in jeon jungkook but anyway!! this fic has been sitting in my drive for 3!! years!!! enjoy this belated bday present to our favorite golden bean. enjoy! please share if you like it

more in the SVT!hogwarts au: vernon, mingyu, jihoon

“No.”

“C’mon. Just be my partner, it’ll be totally wicked. We’re the best dancers on the team. We can even break heteronormativity if you wanna put it that way.”

“That’s not the point.” Minghao grumbled, throwing his dirty practice gear over his shoulder. “We told you to find a partner before the next practice. All you’ve done is complain to me about how awful everyone else is. Is there really not one girl or boy in Slytherin that you can partner up with?”

Junhui’s bark eyes glazed lazily over the pitch, as if there would be random students just lying around during early morning practice. The weather was definitively awful today, with depressingly muted grey clouds and no trace of the sun ever grazing its presence on campus. He rocked his bat back and forth, letting it bounce on his thigh as they exited the field and neared the viaduct. “There really isn’t,” he drolled, looking disinterested, “I hate all of them.”

“Awh c’mon, you really don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. They’re awful.”

“But—”

“No. Please stop trying.”

Minghao took an abrupt turn at the end of the cobblestoned viaduct, in the team room where most of the members were off to their own devices. Team Hogwarts was doing relatively well in terms of team relationships, so far there were no petty fights over house competition because their school pride against other schools was currently taking precedence. Junhui was being petty, he knew it. But his pride was his mantle, and if that couldn’t hold him together, he might as well crash and burn down the pitch.

Minghao started to grumble unintelligibly under his breath, ripping off his blazer and shoving it to one side of his training bag. He looked visibly angry, and Junhui could understand that. Being on Team Hogwarts was stressful enough, and having a friend like him who was heatedly intolerable was just icing on the cake.

“I know someone who can be your partner,” Minghao finally said, looking away, “She can pick up dances quickly. But you gotta promise me you’ll be nice to her.”

“Me? Nice? I’m the nicest person you could possibly meet.” Junhui replied loftily, giving a lazy smirk as he relaxed against the bench. “I’ll treat her like a princess if she’s as good as a dancer as you claim she is.”

“Even if she’s a Gryffindor?”

“Even if she’s a—” his jaw dropped, and he sat straight, his aloof facade shattered just enough for him to sputter out of control. His beater’s bat slipped like butter from his grasp, causing it to echo throughout the room and multiple members to look at the pair strangely. He ignored all of them like a grain of sand. “Seriously? A Gryffindor?”

“I’m a Gryffindor. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying. It’s fine if pretty boy Chwe wants to go prance around with his stuffy bookworm, that’s expected. But when was the last time you saw a Gryffindor and Slytherin kill it on the dancefloor?”

“I’m taking a Gryffindor,” Jihoon said levelly, looking over them from the side of the bench. His posture was slumped, his hair windswept and his cheeks kissed with a strawberry red from the nippy weather. He was already in his school robes, tucking in the collar of his emerald knit so it would settle nicely. Running a hand through his sandy locks, he brushed up to them, taking no shame into walking into their conversation.

Jihoon had a tendency to flit in and out whenever he pleased, and for whatever reason people still liked Jihoon, something that irked Junhui incessantly. But he never dared to ask, considering Jihoon’s own brand of confidence was something to be desired. “But I also like this person a lot, I don’t care that she’s a Gryffindor. So just swallow your pride and be lucky that someone is willing to help you out, especially last minute.”

“Well,” Minghao looked away sheepishly, trying to save face, “she hasn’t exactly said yes yet. I haven’t even asked her, but there’s no reason why she wouldn’t say no.”

“Alright. Hopefully she says yes then.” Junhui finally said, giving Minghao a small smile. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving a firm squeeze. “Thank you.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jihoon give an inkling of a grin, before turning around and walking back.

“Thank you for giving people a chance.” Minghao replied genuinely, squeezing Junhui’s shoulders once before changing into his own robes.

Junhui was nervous. He was nervous and shy and worried that this was going to all be messed up and risk getting kicked off the team. Minghao told him once they entered the practice room, the Great Hall, that his partner would be a little late. It was understandable, it was a last minute thing and he could totally fault himself for that.

He had to play it cool, he had to. He already brought himself thus far, making it onto the team, and playing it off like it was no big deal. But it was work, all of it. Even the little things like this, dancing some five minute routine for the entire campus to see. There was nothing else he could hold onto at this point, everyone else was partnered up in the room (except Mingyu Kim, but no one else seemed to notice since he was never around) and now he was just left to fidget until you showed up.

“Where’s your partner, Junhui?” Soonyoung walked up to him, all up in his face, and Junhui fought the urge to push the co-captain back. Soonyoung was wearing Muggle athletic wear, the one with the strangely thin fabric and pants that were too loose at the top and fitted at the bottom. What did Soonyoung think they were, a Muggle boy band? “We’re about to start.”

“Oh well, she's—”

“Here! Sorry I'm late!” your voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, padding down the linoleum like wildfire. You, a young lady in gold and red dropped her things on one of the dining tables, and surprise surprise, you were dressed exactly like Soonyoung. Your body was a blur as you ripped off your robes, revealing a complete and utter lack of clothing that had Junhui’s gaze burn scarlet. Tight black shorts that ribboned across your thighs, and a white athletic t-shirt that had the same silky material as the Gryffindor captain.

Soonyoung’s face lit up like the morning sun, his face comparable to diamonds as you bounded up next to him. He made a show of it, putting his thumb and forefinger together as if he were taking a photograph of the pair. “Wait, seriously?” he balked, and Junhui grew annoyed at how delighted the hyper kid was being. “Oh Junhui you have the best partner.”

Junhui scrunched his nose, uncomfortable that Soonyoung wanted to be all chummy now that he was doing the right thing. Biting the inside of his lip, he turned to you, who offered him a small smile and an outstretch of a hand.

He blinked. Oh, you’re gorgeous.

And when he took her hand and gave a firm squeeze in reply, he could’ve sworn he felt you. That strange, red crackling fire that so many of them seemed to emanate like it was the newest trend, but it was all-encompassing and so definitively you, that he hated to admit he was aching for more. “I’m Junhui Wen.” he drawled, tilting his head to meet his cocoa eyes to yours.

“I know who you are,” you replied immediately, the subtle jab in your tone pinning him to the floor like it was a glass stake. There was an energy in your gaze, the curious light that was making Junhui spellbound. “We have a bunch of classes together. Divination? Alchemy? Muggle Studies?”

He could only stare at you, struck. His smirk from ten seconds ago descended in a downward spiral, realizing that wow, he had no comeback for that. It was downright a sin not to notice you all this time, and you were rightfully calling him out on it. Points to the Gryffindor, indeed.

Gryffindor’s always intimidated him, a secret only a select few has picked up on. His parents were good people, always telling him that confidence is key and he should strive to be more like them. So, he tried. He’s cocky, for sure. A little shit? Definitely. But it’s different when righteousness slaps in the face, a reminder that there’s goodness in his heart and a strive to do better.

Thankfully (the first and last time Junhui would ever be thankful to Soonyoung) practice had already started and you were late. He felt the grip of your small palm, and you smack his hand to your waist. Is it bad how much he thought how perfect it felt? How he wanted to hold you in his arms forever—

“At this rate,” you cut dryly, voice loud enough for only you two to hear, “we’ll be a centerpiece because you’re not moving a damn inch. Merlin, do you need me to lead?”

“Oh,” it’s only then Junhui realized that his friends were dancing circles around them, and he’s messed up the formation, “sorry.”

You two finally step into the piece, thankful that Junhui had quick reflexes. To his chagrin, you’re not too bad yourself. Despite the lightning on your tongue, you held yourself with grace, following him across the floor as if you were floating. Soonyoung was right, he did snatch up the best partner. He owes Minghao a barrel of butterbeer.

“Hey,” you hummed, voice blending wonderfully between the enchanted piano. “Minghao told me a little about you.”

“All good things, I’m hoping.”

You snorted, tilting your head so it brushed against his robes. “Maybe. Said that Gryffindors make you nervous.”

He scoffed, “No, that’s not true.”

“So, I don’t make you nervous?”

Whether Junhui said yes or no, he knew that both answers would be wrong. He could tell how much you knew, how easy it was to rile him up. Sweat was clinging to his palms, probably hot and sticky against your thin muggle t-shirt that clings deliciously to your waist (he takes it back, he takes it back! Muggle clothing is wonderful.)

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” he murmured, leaning over your form as he lets your body relax in a dip, “it’s not gonna work.”

Instead of entertaining his sudden accusation, you grabbed his robes, pulling him even closer even though the music stopped and people are listening to Soonyoung’s instructions for next class. “Where will you be picking me up?”

“What?”

“For the Yule ball. Jihoon is picking his date in front of our common room. You should come too.”

“Uh,” he completely forgot that having you as a dance partner coincided with the possibility of you being his date for the ball. He had the opportunity to be in your company for one whole night. Terror spiked in his form, because he realized that he couldn’t mess up this chance. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” he says, and you seem satisfied by his definitive answer.

You’re still playing with the hem of his robes, tracing your fingers along the Slytherin emblem. There’s no snark, no playful banter like you were expecting when Minghao prepared you for this. You’ll have fun with him.

“I’ll be wearing emerald, so you should think of matching my robes with yours,” and you smirk at him, tilting your head, “good thing I already know how handsome you look in green, Junnie.”

The last of his resolve crumbled like a piss-poor treacle tart.

Junhui’s besotted, attracted by your boldness and craving for more of your attention. The rest of your words were hazy, like he was swimming in the Gillyweed lagoon. Something about how he better not freeze up like he did before, otherwise he’d be hexed like the girl in The Red Shoes. Something about how you’re looking forward to seeing him. He’s drowned, unable to form a coherent reply when a friend comes from behind to snatch you up. They forced you to pack up so you’d get first dibs on tonight’s dinner.

You send him a wink before you’re forced out the door, and all he could do was wave dumbly.

“Knew you’d like her,” Minghao slid up to Junhui, punching him in the shoulder. The pain didn’t even register as Minghao continues to tease him, going so far as to pinch his golden skin. “Merlin, do you have a crush already?” he giggled, trying to shake the taller one back to reality.

No, Junhui was bewitched.

#svtcreations #thekpopnetwork #jun #jun fic #svt fic #wen junhui #junhui fic #svt fluff #jun fluff #jun fanfic #svt fanfic #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #this fic has finally seen the light of day #enjoy!

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emoboijk · 5 years ago

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jjk | stardust

we’re all made of stardust, looking to find each other again; one time for the present, two times for the past —soulmate au

12,356 words

Jeongguk doesn't really know why he's here. Well, he knows why. Taehyung's his friend after all. Jeongguk would do anything for him: walk through fire or start a fight. Unfortunately, that also means going to his parties. Not that he doesn't like parties! He just... he also likes video games and beer in his apartment and getting enough sleep for practice the next day.

God, Jeongguk likes sleeping.

Any other night Jeongguk might be three drinks in by now and chugging a fourth, but tonight he's exhausted and he wants to play Overwatch. Any other night he could push the extroverted part of himself to the surface and force himself to have a good time until he actually does. But tonight…

Even the buzz from his beer doesn't lift his spirits.

Tired of watching the stillness of his beer in its red cup, he pulls his attention back to the party. Everyone's crammed into Jimin's and Taehyung's shared apartment. There are various snack foods laid out on the coffee table and in the kitchen. Bottles of hard liquor mingle with dozens of six-packs of beer. There's trash... everywhere.

Jeongguk glances at the watch on his wrist. 12:02 AM.

His eyes do a quick scan, like always, for his friends (it makes him feel better to keep track). Jimin is plastered and fully committed to a game of drunk Jenga with a couple girls from the Poli Sci department and an equally plastered Seokjin. Hobi is teaching a girl from their dance class how to do an advanced hip hop move despite the rather slow Sam Smith song playing over the speakers. Taehyung is talking enthusiastically by the kitchen bar with Namjoon and a few guys Jeongguk doesn't know. It takes him a second to find Yoongi but he eventually spots him in a secluded corner, smirking with some girl from the Music department.

Jeongguk feels lonely. Just for a moment, leaning against the wall with his half-empty cup of beer, observing the party instead of participating in it, he feels lonely. He and the others have been close for so long, have been like brothers for so long... when he realizes that things won't always be this way and they each have their own lives to live... loneliness hits him like a gunshot.

He downs the rest of his beer in one drink, chucking the empty cup in a nearby trash can perfectly without paying attention. He waves absently to Taehyung and the others on his way out, slipping into his jacket and opening the door.

That's where he finds you, bathed in fluorescent light and clutching a bottle of red wine that has a bow wrapped around it. You look so startled to see him there, to see anyone there, that Jeongguk almost thinks you might start crying. Your face is drained of color and the bottle of wine starts to slip from your hands.

Jeongguk's eyes move quickly over you, catching sight of the falling bottle and moving on instinct. He swipes the bottle before it hits the floor, placing one hand on your shoulder to keep you steady.

"Close one," he says, handing it back to you. He doesn't realize that he's too close until you flinch at the feeling of his breath on your cheek. He pulls away too fast, his nose filling with the smell of peonies and lavender fabric softener. Desperation tugs at something in his chest and he watches you with wide eyes, like seeing the sunset for the first time.

He shakes off the feeling and steps aside, holding the door open so that you can see inside the apartment to the party. "Going in?"

You take a step back, hugging the wine even more tightly now. There's conflict in your eyes and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to give you a once over: soft floral sundress, wrinkle-free beige cardigan, soft pink headband pushing back your hair, neat ballet flats. All this and a bottle of wine that... that almost looks like a gift.

You do seem familiar. The polite neatness off your clothes, the apprehension, the hopeless deer-in-the-headlights expression. But Jeongguk finds it hard to believe he knows you from an association with... Taehyung? He just can't picture the two of you even existing in the same space, let alone partying together?

"N-No."

"Oh...kay." Jeongguk releases the door and lets it fall shut behind him. "Uh," he sidesteps you, "bye."

You watch him descend the staircase with a knot in your stomach, following only after you've given him enough time to have left the building. You sigh and hang your head as you descend.

I froze up, you think. It makes you want to cry. Your knuckles turn white gripping the bottle. You feel a panic attack in your throat, the urge to hit your head against the wall making your heart race. You're just so... frustrated with yourself. Why can't I just be normal! Why doesn't my brain work like everyone else's? Why am I so... defective? You think you'll probably end up drinking this whole bottle tonight.

And you got so dressed up, too. This is your favorite dress. On good days it makes you feel confident, like you can talk to anyone or do anything. On bad days, it makes you feel safe, just that much less anxious.

You pause once you're outside. The night air is crisp and it helps clear your head. You sigh into the empty air and let disappointment sneak into the crevices off your mind. At least I can see the stars tonight, you think, craning your neck back to count the golden specks dotted into the inky blue night sky.

You startle when your mind floats back down to earth and the present moment to find him there on the sidewalk near you. He's leaning against a street sign with his phone in his pocket, watching you.

Oh crap. I must look like a crazy person.

Jeongguk doesn't think you're crazy. In fact, you remind him of Namjoon. You have the same kind of absentmindedness. Although, admittedly, Namjoon hides his insecurities better; you're wearing yours on your sleeve.

He's also thinking that you're stunning. The dress and the cardigan and the ribbon-wrapped bottle of wine didn't match the energy upstairs, but it's perfect here. Cool evening, yellow streetlight, and a girl. It's cinematic.

Your eye contact is only broken when a car pulls up to the curb, "Jeongguk?" Someone barks from inside.

"Yeah," he says softly. He blinks, hoping the spell will be broken. But whatever kind of magic that existed before still exists when he opens his eyes. You're still watching him, frozen on the sidewalk. He climbs into the car feeling that same eerie kind of magic snaking around his heart.

That night you dream of him. The way he looked at you on the street. The dewy softness of his skin in the yellow light. The feeling between you both.

You wake up in a sweat, your body remembering something your mind can't fathom. Ghost fingers caress your skin and make your blood burn. You stumble to the kitchen for water, trying to rid your mind of his face. It's 3 AM and you lie awake trying to forget him.

It's 3 AM and Jeongguk needs to sleep. He has practice in the morning, class after that. He was going to do laundry, catch up on some homework. He was going to relax for the first time in a few days, no parties, no plans. Just himself, some video games, and some soju.

Instead, he has long since kicked off all his sheets, skin heated from thoughts of you. The image of you on the sidewalk conjures so many other pictures. But they don't feel like fantasies, they feel like memories. Images of lives forgotten. It's making his blood warm and his body overheat. He burns through his buzz and tries to think of anything else.

The next morning, when Jeongguk's alarm goes off at 7 AM, he feels dead inside but also a little high. It feels like the one time Taehyung convinced him to do ecstasy ("It's a college experience!") and his heart felt like it was going to explode. But that feeling eventually wore off. It's been hours and he feels both hungover and like he could run a marathon. It's fucking wild.

He rolls out of bed, landing on his feet with a thump. His head feels like a 20-pound weight on his neck and it hurts when he blinks. What the hell, he thinks, did someone spike my fucking drink last night?

Jeongguk meanders to his bathroom, wincing at his own reflection in the mirror. He closes his eyes and tries to inhale as much oxygen as possible. If he stays perfectly still, nothing hurts. He hears his phone ding from the other room and he knows it's Jimin complaining. With a sigh and another stabbing pain in his head, he reaches blindly for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

He spits into the sink and looks up at his reflection again. He should probably shave. He should probably shower, truth be told. But he'll work up a sweat at practice so he might as well wait till later. Besides if he even tried to do anything more complicated than get dressed his body might fall apart. He already feels like 110 degrees just standing.

He swipes his phone from the nightstand on his way back into the room.

Jimin: who the fuck talked me into this

Jimin: 8 am dance practice

Jimin: are they fucking crazy

Jeongguk chuckles.

JK: So you're pretty hungover

Jimin: shut up

Jeongguk laughs again and launches the phone toward the bed. He steps out of the shirt and boxers he wore to sleep, relief flowing through him at the cool air on his skin. Maybe I'm getting sick, he thinks.

He pulls a pair of sweats and an oversized tee from his closet, slipping into them before stuffing a pair of jeans and a second shirt into his duffle for practice. He checks there's a full stick of deodorant and the travel-sized soaps Jin got for him forever ago.

He swings the bag over his torso, pausing in front of his bedroom window. He loves the view from here. It's nothing special. His apartment is on the 10th floor, just high enough to clear most of the buildings on this side of town. He can see a mountain range in the distance and the sky. He's spent all semester trying to capture it in his art class, but none of his renderings do it justice.

Then, as he's about to turn and leave, the sun breaks over the horizon and he's struck. His whole body flushed warm and soft pink, an image fogging his mind.

A similar sunrise. A girl wrapped in a sheet wrapped in his arms. The smell of peonies and citrus. A rose gold tint on his skin.

When his mind clears, he's still standing by the window, drenched in sweat. He's breathing heavily but his headache is gone and his fever has broken.

You're already awake when your alarm goes off. You're sitting at your desk with a fan on high pointed at you. It could be 102 degrees outside for how hot you feel. You slept on and off for a few hours, but every time you drifted off your dreams…

You try to clear your head, but his face pervades your thoughts. The dreams were inconsistent and fleeting; there were different scenarios, time periods, and people. But the one constant was him. The stranger you'd met briefly last night.

You run a hand through your hair and shut off your alarm, glancing at your notifications and seeing a text.

Taehyung: you didn't come to my party!! :(

Guilt wells within you and you twist your mouth trying to think of the best response.

You: Sorry! Last minute study group!!

You flip your phone upside down then so that you don't have to look at it. You don't have class for another few hours, but you're so warm that you can't think of anything but a cold shower.

You just stand to go into the bathroom when your phone dings again. Twice in a row.

Taehyung: fiiiine next time then!

Joy: coffee before class?? around 9?

You text back quick affirmative responses and head into the shower.

Jeongguk pulls up to the apartment building in his purple, beaten up Toyota Corolla and honks his horn. It takes three full minutes for Jimin to come stumbling out. He looks almost as bad as Jeongguk this morning, sleep-deprived and hungover but with large purple hickies littered over his neck.

Jeongguk is nearly glaring at them by the time he climbs into the car.

"What?" Jimin says, stuffing his duffle bag between his legs.

"Subtle," Jeongguk grumbles, shifting gears and pulling out of the parking spot.

"Taehyung's a biter," Jimin says lightly. He reaches forward to swipe Jeongguk's phone from the dash and change the music, and Jeongguk catches sight of the Chinese character imprinted on his wrist. Friends.

Jeongguk sighs, squinting out at the road, a pang of loneliness wrinkling his brow.

You're already sitting with a cup of hot apple cider and a book when Joy walks in. She dives through the mid-morning crowd bumblingly, accidentally hitting people and stopping to apologize several times. When she finally slides into the seat opposite you, she's out of breath.

You slide the hot chocolate and ice water you'd ordered for her across the counter. She pauses, somewhat surprised at your thoughtfulness, before smiling and thanking you.

"Sure," you grin and check your phone. Thirty minutes.

"You okay?" Joy wonders, wincing when she sips her hot chocolate and it's too hot.

You shake your head and run your fingers through your hair. "I think I might be getting sick," you say, tucking your book into your bag and sipping your cider again.

"Oh no," Joy pouts, "Are you sure you wanna go to class? Cuz we can totally skip!"

You narrow your eyes at her playfully, "Why would you skip?"

She chokes on her drink slightly and sputters, "Uh, solidarity."

"Of course," you giggle.

Dance practice was...fine. But Jeongguk realizes too late that he's irritable and that dancing isn't helping. Usually dancing always helps; he has to focus so intently on his body and it's movement that everything else escapes his attention. But today he doesn't even know why he's upset so nothing helps.

But he thinks maybe it's because of soulmates. Jimin and Hobi are both in this class, both with soulmates, and they aren't even talking about them but Jeongguk feels like he would rather bang his head against the wall than be near them.

And that's frustrating because he loves them, they're two of his best friends.

He does a series of pop and lock movements that the teacher demonstrated earlier with so much aggression that it's almost like krumping. He doesn't get why he's this angry. The soulmate thing...it's never bothered him this much. He has long since accepted that it's not in the cards for him. And even at his worst moments, he feels more sad than angry…

He leaves class with a half-hearted wave to Jimin and Hoseok before disappearing into the showers. He feels so flushed it's almost like he's going to pass out so he cranks the knob to cold water and lets it run over his hair and back, sighing at the relief as his body temperature goes back to normal.

Suddenly a spasm runs through his body, electrocuting him and sending his mind spiraling. He braces himself against the wall of the shower, the water cascading down his back.

Everything is misty and foggy and the grass beneath his feet is damp and soft. There's a person a few feet ahead of him, staring at the large expanse of the forest beneath the hill. The sun breaks over the horizon and the person turns to him—

"Hey, Kook, you good?" someone says from behind him, a towel hitting him square in the back the head.

No, he thinks, definitely not good. His whole body feels weak and exasperated, his mind hazy with confusion and memories he doesn't recognize. He knows the person he just saw but he can't place it. The memory feels familiar and yet separate from him somehow. His chest tightens uncomfortably.

"Yeah, fine," he mumbles, reaching for his shampoo.

You and Joy split after your first class. She has an art seminar on the other side of campus and you're free for another few hours. You wave her off and turn in the direction of the quad; the weather is nice and you want to spread out on the grass with your assigned novel for Lit.

But somehow, you find yourself in front of the music hall. It's almost like waking up after a blackout, you have no idea how you got here. You've only ever walked by the building, it's by your favorite coffee cart and across the street from the building where you take poli sci, but you've never been inside.

And now you're standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the funky Art Deco designs of the courtyard, with an insistent need to go in. It's like there's a cord anchored in your chest gently tugging you in this direction.

Your brows are furrowed in thought when you see him. His hair is damp and his expression is serious; he's wearing a giant white t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans, and your brain immediately conjures very sexual images in your head. Dirty, dirty thoughts that make you blush and turn away from him.

Jeongguk spots you, too, and it stops him in his tracks. Your back is to him and he can't place where he's seen you before, or even conjure specifically your face in his mind, but your posture strikes him immediately as being the same as from that memory.

His heart hammers against his rib cage and he's sweating, his mouth opens as if to call out to you, but it gets stuck in his throat. What would he say?

"Hey, want to walk together?" Hobi approaches him from behind, clasping a hand around his neck and squeezing comfortingly.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. When he looks back up you're gone.

Am I fucking hallucinating?

Hoseok is watching him with a concerned look and Jeongguk forces a smile. Best not to say anything, he thinks, it's probably just a bad day.

You're not sure why, but you're hiding. You ducked behind a tree, your heart racing. Your palms and forehead are sweaty, and you lose your breath when you realize why. The dreams.

You peek out from behind the tree to see him walking away with another guy, down toward the science library. You breathe a sigh of relief and step out. What the fuck? you think.

Jeongguk can't focus on his Weather Studies class, although that's not unusual, he spends the entire time sketching out the scene from this morning on the edge of his notebook. Taehyung yawns and leans against his shoulder heavily, peeking at the sketch and saying, "New idea for your art project?"

Jeongguk shakes his head sharply but otherwise doesn't respond. His pencil scratches on the paper rapidly, making quick decisive movements that surprise even himself. His usual approach to art is planned and a bit apprehensive, but he never dives in like this without at least thinking about where to go next.

Now, though, he just has that memory? Flashback? Whatever it is imprinted beneath his eyelids and he can't think of anything to do with it except get it onto paper.

Taehyung watches Jeongguk's profile for a moment in concern. He's acting colder than usual and he's never seen the maknae sketch with such intensity.

Taehyung straightens and tries to shrug it off. It's probably just a bad day. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his lastest messages from Jimin.

Chim: kookie was acting weird at practice

Tae: weird how???

Chim: ��🏼‍♀️

Chim: upset about something maybe? Idk

Taehyung glances back over at Jeongguk, a crease forming in his brow as he watches anxiously. Without looking up from his page, Jeongguk says: "Stop it, hyung."

Tae nearly jumps out of his seat, but otherwise turns away, frowning.

Jeongguk keeps sketching and he feels bad. His voice was colder than he'd intended and harsher. He knows Tae is sensitive to those kinds of mood shifts and he wants to reach over and apologize, offer to buy lunch to make up for it, but he's still irritable. He tells himself he'll make it up to him later.

"Bye," Jeongguk says at the end of class without waiting for Taehyung. The elder watches him go with a frown. He clicks to call Jimin before he's even left the classroom, sniffling.

You end up in your building for poli sci instead of the quad, sitting in the hallway outside the classroom to wait another hour and a half. You're sipping on the sugary iced coffee you bought downstairs, earbuds in, eyes closed, listening to music.

His face swims before your eyes. He's so handsome that it makes your heart physically hurt. He's smiling with his nose scrunched, leaning in so that your foreheads touch. His lips are moving but you don't know what he's saying. A warm feeling crowds your chest and heats your skin.

You blink awake to find forty-five minutes have passed. Your coffee is sitting by your side, condensation pooling on the tile. You press the back of your hand to your cheek and find that you're flushed, beads of sweat on your forehead. You feel woozy like you might pass out.

Someone says your name and you blink up at them, your mind refusing to focus. The person kneels down in front of you, "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink again, "Taehyung?" His boxy smile comes into focus and you squeeze your eyes shut hard before opening them again.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side and says, "Taking a power nap?"

"Um, I guess," you whisper, taking his hand as he helps you stand. You lean against him heavily as you start to fall forward once you're on your feet.

"Woah," he says, "Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm...fine." You shake your head, willing the room to stop spinning and your skin to cool down. Everything begins to straighten out and you say, "Woah, that was weird." You pull away from him and fan your face with your hand.

"I didn't know you had a class in this building," you say.

"Yeah," he rolls his eyes, "there's this logic course I take instead of math." He sticks his tongue out, "Hate it. Logic is for pussies." As he runs a hand through his hair, you spot the Chinese symbol on his wrist, friendship. His soulmate mark.

You force a smile and avert your eyes, glancing over to see your classmates filing into the room. "Oh, I should go."

"Okay, feel better." Taehyung's mouth twists into another frown as he watches you disappear into the classroom. Everyone's weird today, he thinks.

Jeongguk blows off the rest of his classes to run laps. He obviously can't be trusted to be around other people. The look on Tae's face as he ran out of class haunts him; it pushes him to run harder, faster, until his lungs, legs, and heart hurt.

Nothing's helping. He's still so irritable. Like there's something beneath his skin. He skids to a stop when he feels a swell of nausea in his stomach, his skin flushing from something other than running. He stumbles and barely catches himself, sinking to his knees as a memory comes to him unbidden.

"Wooo!"

He looks over. A beautiful girl in the stands with a handmade banner. There's a name on it that is unfamiliar but that is his. Someone bumps into him and he's...playing soccer. He kicks the ball and it goes flying into the net, cheers erupt around him.

His teammates slap him on the back and the girl barrels toward him, arms looping around his neck and squeezing.

Jeongguk blinks and the memory's gone. "You," he whispers, finally placing your face. "From the party." He falls on his back on the track, staring at the sky, unable to shake your image from his mind. "Who are you?"

Days pass like this. Days of endless wandering and a heat so extreme that Jeongguk peels off layer after layer of his clothing until he's laying in bed with nothing but his boxers on. Days of memories and flashbacks so intense it's like a bad trip. Or a good trip? The memories make him feel warm and fluttery, but when they're gone he's left in a cold sweat with a feeling of longing so painful it's like being shot.

You spend the next week and a half similarly. Lounging around in just your underwear and a camisole, fanning yourself with whatever you can find. You can't sleep. Your dreams are so lifelike and you wake up drenched in sweat. And it hurts. The waking up is a nightmare because it leaves you feeling so lonely and lost. You sit up in bed and wonder why you're alone. Something is missing and you don't dare admit to yourself that it might be the person that stars in your dreams, the tall, handsome man who takes you in his arms…

Sometimes you wake up crying. Sometimes you cry as soon as you wake up. Sometimes you stare at the ceiling and wonder if morphine would even be powerful enough to dull the pain.

Jeongguk gets fed up on day nine post-party, and calls Taehyung. It's 2 AM.

"Hello?" Taehyung answers, his voice thick with sleep. Jeongguk can hear Jimin mumbling curse words in the background. "Kookie?"

"Who is she, Tae?" Jeongguk growls, surprising himself.

"What?" He says, confused.

Jeongguk scrunches his face up in frustration, trying to calm down enough to have an actual conversation with an actual person. He breathes deeply.

"There was a girl," Jeongguk says and his voice is like a string pulled taut, all tension, "She came to your party, but she didn't come inside. She was wearing a dress."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The girl, Tae!" Jeongguk snaps, lashing out and kicking the small trash can by his desk so that it goes flying into the wall. "The beautiful girl in the sundress with the bottle of wine! She obviously knew you, but she didn't go inside. Who is she?"

On the other end of the line, Taehyung is staring at Jimin with fear in his eyes. Jimin swipes the phone from his other half and growls into the speaker, "What the hell, Jeongguk? You can't just call us in the middle of the night and demand answers to vague-ass fucking questions! You need to calm down."

Jeongguk has the urge to throw his phone against the wall. He wants to trash his apartment. He wants to go out and start a fight. "Whatever," he growls into his phone, the line going dead.

You don't leave your house for days. Three to be precise. On day four you realize you're running out of food. Two more protein bars, a handful of potato chips, a questionable apple.

You pick the protein bar and lay back down in bed. You're torn between wanting to sleep and staying awake. Exhaustion coats your skin beneath the heat, you feel it in your limbs and your eyelids. You're so tired. And you want to see him. That beautiful slim face, those bright wide eyes. You want to feel his hands against your skin and in your hair, his lips dragging across your shoulders and neck, his voice floating in the air like music.

It's like a drug. But when the high's gone, you're left with a terrible feeling. An emptiness. Loneliness. You chew slowly at your granola bar, fighting to stay awake and losing.

When you come-to, Joy is in your apartment. She has her hands wrapped around your upper arms and is shaking you awake. When you blink your eyes open she nearly collapses on the floor, "Oh, thank god."

"What is it?" You say and your voice is dry and quiet. It hurts to speak.

"I've been texting and calling," she says, watching you with a frazzled expression, "I haven't heard from you in three days!" She leans forward and cups your cheek in her hand, "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle now.

You look over and into the mirror, surprised to find red streaks on your cheeks. From crying. You haven't really looked at yourself in three days and it's shocking how different you look. You haven't showered; your hair is dirty and piled on your head, skin oily and blotchy from crying. But it's the sadness, so plainly evident in your face, that makes the tears come again.

"I need you to take me to the doctor," you whisper.

On day thirteen since Taehyung's party, Seokjin organizes a get together with just the seven of them with the full intention of having a conversation with Jeongguk about his behavior. Something is obviously wrong and he must talk to them about it.

Jeongguk goes. Even though he doesn't want to, even though he thinks he will probably end up doing or saying something stupid. Even though his skin feels like fire and every bone is filled with lead.

He's the last to show up and he does find this suspicious but he's too tired to do anything about it. The apartment smells like kimchi and gochujang, and he can hear everyone talk quietly with each other. There's music in the background that's soft and soothing so he thinks Namjoon probably got to the speakers first.

Jeongguk slides onto the couch without greeting them. He sinks into the soft pleather and feels as if he could fall asleep then and there.

"Hey." He knows it's Namjoon without having to open his eyes. "Kookie, can we talk to you?"

Jeongguk squeezes his eyes tighter. This is just like them. To do something considerate and caring and try to talk to him about what's going on. But how can he talk to them about it if even he doesn't know?

He opens his eyes slowly and sees that all six of his hyungs have gathered around him.

"Is everything okay?" Namjoon says and when Jeongguk meets his eyes they're dark and filled with concern. It stabs at his heart.

"Yeah, you've been acting kind of weird," Hoseok adds, sitting down next to the maknae. Jeongguk frowns and tries to look away from all six of them at once. He stares at his lap.

"That phone call to Tae the other night…" Jimin whispers. He was angry that night, but now distress is laced into his words.

"Are you mad at me?" Taehyung squeaks. Jeongguk's head snaps up to look at him at that, finding him clinging to Jimin's arm and looking so upset it breaks him.

"No, no, of course not," Jeongguk gushes, shaking his head.

"Then what's wrong?"

What's wrong. What's wrong, Jeongguk? You can talk to us. What's wrong? They're all talking. Talking talking talking. All their voices jumble and hit his ears at once. And he's so hot. And tired. And woozy.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" He screams, wrenching his hands through his hair painfully. All six of his friends watch him in shock. Most of them have never heard Jeongguk so much as raise his voice. Now his hair is plastered to his forehead, there are deep purple shadows beneath his eyes, he looks pale and sunken.

"Kookie, when was the last time you slept?" Jimin wonders softly.

Jeongguk clenches his jaw, "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her."

A look goes around the group before Jin finally steps forward and presses a hand to Jeongguk's forehead. "You're burning up."

Jeongguk nods, leaning into the cool temperature of Jin's palm. He speaks softly now, exhausted, "For days."

"Maybe we should take him to a hospital," Taehyung suggests quietly.

"When did this start, Kook?" Yoongi steps forward.

"Last week, after Tae's party." He pauses as Hoseok hands him a glass of water, gulping it down quickly.

"After you met that girl?" Namjoon says suddenly, his voice strung with tension, "Taehyung's friend?"

Jeongguk nods, letting Jin and Hoseok guide him to a chair at the kitchen table. Immediately, he leans against the table's surface, pressing his cheek against the cool wood and exhaling softly.

"Okay, okay," Namjoon says, flinging his hands in the air dramatically, "Wait a sec!"

"What? Namjoon—" Hoseok starts, but he's already run from the room.

Jimin sits beside their youngest member at the table, pushing the messy mop of dark hair from his forehead paternally. He presses the back of his hand to Jeongguk's skin and whispers softly, "It's going to be okay."

"Got it!" Namjoon says, losing his balance, socks sliding against the hardwood floor as he runs back into the room. He rights himself and sits on the other end of the table, opening the book he's brought with him and flipping through it.

"Okay," Namjoon scans the page, his finger flying fast down the text until he reaches a certain point, "Ha! Okay Kook, so you've been having hot flashes? A fever since that day?"

Jeongguk nods half-heartedly. The coolness of the table and the water have helped, he feels like someone drowning finally breaking through the surface. But he's still barely treading water.

"Have you been experiencing vivid, life-like dreams, daydreams, or memories?" Namjoon reads, some of the others coming to stand behind him, looks of shock on their faces as they realize what he's reading.

"Yes," Jeongguk groans, "I can't sleep."

"Do they focus on a particular event or person?"

Jeongguk sits up at that, leaning back in his chair and mustering as quizzical a glare as he can summon. "Yes, always her."

"Does your mind wander and you suddenly find yourself somewhere you've never been before but that seems familiar?"

Jeongguk thinks of the bookshop on the outskirts of town. "Yes."

"Have you found any birthmarks or tattoo-like marks on your body since the fever and the dreams started?" All six pairs of eyes watch him expectantly.

"What?" He says, "No."

Jimin's brow furrows. "But what about the heart-shaped mark on your forehead, by your hairline? That hasn't always been there has it?"

"The what?"

Jeongguk pulls out his phone faster than he thought possible, switching it to selfie mode and pulling his hair away from his face. Holy fucking shit. There's a pale pink heart peeking out from his hairline.

"It's a Late-Onset Soulmate Bond!" Namjoon exclaims, slamming his book shut to reveal the title. Modern Soulmate Science and Theory.

"What does that mean?" Taehyung wonders.

"According to my class, it's an incredibly rare type of soulmate bond. As you know, 98% of soulmate bonds occur in adolescence, with a person's individual bond type manifesting around puberty, usually represented by a mark on the body. 1.9% never manifest a soulmate bond at all. And the remaining 0.1% are assumed to have no soulmate bond, but then meet their soulmate later in life, resulting in these symptoms," Namjoon explains.

"But why are they so severe?" Yoongi says.

"Yeah, when my soulmate bond manifested I was only out of school for a day," Taehyung adds.

"Adolescent bodies and minds are more elastic and are thus more adaptable to changes. When a soulmate bond manifests, it takes less out of an adolescent body. It's also theorized that Late-Onset Soulmate Bonds are borne of past lives, and it's only when the two souls physically meet that the bond can be reawakened. Of course, this theory has been often hypothesized because of the memory-like dreams experienced by the soulmates, but research thus far has been inconclusive. At least…" Namjoon says, finally looking around to find his friends dumbfounded, "that's what my textbook says."

"So, she's my soulmate?" Jeongguk says softly. He's gone completely still.

"I think so, Kook," Hoseok beams down at him.

"I...I have a soulmate?"

The doctor is smiling at you so warmly that it's starting to give you the creeps. You can tell she's expecting you to react a certain way - cry, cheer, hug her maybe - but all you feel is shock.

"What...does this mean?"

The doctor blinks as if you'd asked her to explain the meaning of life. It takes her a moment to respond, "You find them, of course."

"How do I do that?"

"It's whoever it was when the symptoms first started." She's still looking at you like you're going to cry from happiness.

"Will the symptoms stop?"

The doctor nods. "Yes, to abate the symptoms, you have to..." her faces scrunches up, "exchange bodily fluids."

"I'm sorry, what?" you stutter, "We have to...do we have to—"

"Oh!" the doctor shakes her head, "While that would do it, a kiss will suffice."

You leave the clinic fifteen minutes later. The doctor is still watching you expectantly but you can't find it in yourself to have a big flood of emotion. You don't feel that way. You've seen soulmate matches in real life before, there's always tears and giant grins. The love becomes almost palpable.

But all you feel is apprehensive.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't spent most of middle and high school daydreaming of having a soulmate. But after it became clear that you didn't have one...it was just too painful to keep daydreaming. So you closed off that part of yourself with a heavy padlock, resigned to your fate.

You're not sure you even have the key to unlock it anymore.

You're standing on the sidewalk with your phone in your hands. Alone. Joy was running late for work and, although it took some convincing, she left.

You stare at the black screen. You know who it is; you're... soulmate. Your mind skips on the word, it feels awkward in your mouth. But it's obviously that stranger from the night of the party. You can conjure his face in your mind easily now. And if the doctor is correct, you've seen his face from dozens of different lifetimes.

Meeting him would be as simple as texting Taehyung. But there's apprehension caged in your chest like a nervous bird.

Ding!

But it looks like you won't have a choice.

Unknown Number: Hi, this is Jeongguk. I'm a friend of Taehyung's.

"Are you sure I should've texted her?" Jeongguk worries his bottom lip and stares at his phone. His hands are shaky and the smell of ramen coming from the kitchen makes his stomach growl. He turns to look wide-eyed at him, "Are you sure it's her?"

Taehyung nods, "She's the only person I know who could match the description you gave me."

When a full minute passes and the screen still holds only his message and 'delivered' Jeongguk thunks his head against the table heavily. Yoongi snorts a laugh out through his nose at this and when Jeongguk turns his head to glare at him the elder keeps his eyes on his phone. But he's still grinning.

"Kook, it's going to be fine," Jimin says, taking the bowl of noodles Jin handed him and placing it on the table by Jeongguk.

"Maybe she's just busy?" Hoseok offers, taking his own bowl.

Jeongguk hits his head softly against the table a couple of times. He sits up, pausing when he feels the telltale signs of a flashback under his skin.

A small retro apartment with linoleum floors. A kitchen with pale green cabinets. A flimsy card table and folding chairs. And you, in a ratty apron smiling at him like there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Jeongguk shakes his head and the memory dissipates. His chest feels a little lighter, though, and his fever's gone. The memory infuses him with confidence. As awkward and weird as the next part is, it's meant to be.

When he looks up, everyone is now seated at the table and they are all staring at him. "What?"

"Well, aren't you going to see what she said?" Yoongi asks, deadpan.

Jeongguk looks down at his phone. It's lit up with a message from you.

You: The one I met at the party?

You: I guess we need to talk...

Jeongguk's not sure what he was expecting. But he wasn't sure he had ever anticipated this level of awkwardness. If he's being honest, he was hoping for one of those heartfelt soulmate matches he's witnessed from the sidelines for so long. But you're just sitting opposite from him at a coffee shop, staring at the mug of hot cocoa you'd ordered.

Your face looks so uncomfortable. So, instead, he watches your hands as they trace the funky art design on the mug, shift it back and forth. His focus catapults him into a flashback.

You're both still sitting at a table, one that's small and wooden and sturdy. The mug in your hands this time is black and glazed and he knows that he's the one who made it. You're smiling.

He's gotten so used to the flashbacks now that it doesn't take any effort for him to adjust back to the present. All he thinks about is that he wants to see you smile now, at him in the present.

His chest hurts with longing. Maybe it's worse to know he has a soulmate and not be with them. At least before his pining was arbitrary and foundationless.

"Are you okay?"

He looks up from the mug and you're staring at him openly, your eyes wide and concerned. He tilts his head, "Huh?"

"What was that?" You wonder, "You like...zoned out for a second."

"Flashback," Jeongguk frowns.

"What?"

"You don't get...flashbacks?" He stares.

You shake your head, "Dreams."

"Dreams?"

He hopes you'll elaborate, but you just stare down at the table. His heart feels heavy.

Your mind is blank. You feel so nervous and anxious that unshed tears are burning your eyes. You feel like a disappointment. You feel like you're doing this wrong, like you should be more and do better.

Your bottom lip is bruising from chewing on it nervously. You haven't even taken a drink of your hot cocoa.

It's so weird, him being here. You've seen his face over a dozen times since that first night but it's different when he's here. When he's so close that you could run your fingers through his hair or draw stars on his cheeks or run your thumb over his bottom lip.

Desire swirls in your stomach and turns to disappointment. So many things you want and feel you don't deserve. So many things you had accepted that you would never have and here they are. The possibility hurts more than the clear cut absence.

He starts to drum his fingers against the table and you let your eyes move over to them. It's his right hand, littered with tattoos. There are sets of initials on his knuckles, a heart on the back of his hand, a smiley face on one of his fingers. They're kind of quirky and you like them. You want to know what they mean.

Jeongguk's hand freezes when he sees you staring. You blush and look away. He's surprised to find that this gives him hope. You're interested. There's just something stopping you.

He can work with that.

"So," he tries again, "how do you know Taehyung?"

Jeongguk is relieved when you look up at him. It's odd to think but he really likes your face. Clear, expressive eyes and soft lips. And when you're looking at him...everything clicks. It's like finding his place in the world. Finally, obviously. It's by your side.

You narrow your eyes, "He didn't tell you?"

Jeongguk shakes his head and sips at his ice water. He holds his hands up as quotation marks and says, "It's something the two of you should talk about." He shrugs, running his fingers through his hair, "Why? Is it bad?"

You sigh and sip your cocoa to buy time. "No."

Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, his eyes alive with the playful comment he had planned, but he's interrupted by a crash.

Directly beside you, a man drops his mug of coffee and it shatters on the ground, splashing your leg, shards of porcelain slicing your ankle.

You gasp, but your reaction is lost when you see the scene play out before you. The man who dropped the cup is wearing khakis and a button-down, but more noticeably there is a large, dark birthmark spanning his cheek, jaw, and neck. Across the room his eyes have found a woman, older than he is, dressed in a bohemian-style, with the exact same mark on her face.

Soulmates.

You'd seen this play out before and avert your eyes.

Jeongguk watches every detail. It's hard to describe, and others say that to truly understand, you have to experience it. But it's almost like the world slows down for these people, everything else fades and it's just them and the start of their new life.

When Jeongguk's eyes find you again, he's surprised to see how painful you find this. There are tears in your eyes.

"Hey, are you okay? I know that it can be—" He holds his hand out but stops himself short of touching you.

You shake your head. He's not wrong, that is part of it; these displays have always...bothered you. But it's mostly, "My leg," you wince.

Jeongguk's eyebrows rise to his hairline and he ducks over and beneath the table to inspect your leg. The whole side of your calf is soaked and the exposed skin of your ankle beneath your cuffed jeans is flushed from the hot coffee and bleeding.

"We should go," Jeongguk insists. Ignoring the display of love beside you, he shoves the stranger out of his way and helps you stand.

Jeongguk keeps an arm around your back and you just barely hear him whisper, "Lean on me."

Compelled by something beyond your control, you do.

You hobble out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk together, pausing as your adrenaline ebbs in the open space.

"Um," you fumble, trying to retrieve your phone from your purse despite being held up almost entirely by Jeongguk. It doesn't help that he smells like fabric softener and boy and it's making you lose concentration. "I just need to call a car."

"What?" Jeongguk shakes his head, "No." Using his arm at your back, he steers you down the sidewalk and away from the cafe. "My place is literally right here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," you shake your head, but your body doesn't get the memo. One of your hands is twisted into the fabric of his cotton shirt, turning you so that you're almost hugging him as he helps you walk. Your mind won't listen to reason, you find yourself helpless in the face of your desire to stay in his arms.

"Please," he smiles warmly at you, "It's the least I can do." His nose scrunches up and his eyes crease, his front two teeth peeking out in an honest smile.

And now you know: you really are a goner.

Jeongguk lives in a cramped studio apartment. It smells like air freshener and fabric softener and...weed? Kind of. You're frozen in the doorway, leaning against his dresser to keep upright while he frantically clears the floor of his bags and schoolwork and art supplies.

The walls are covered in band posters and artwork (some of which you see is signed with a flourish of JK so you know it's his). There's a magnificent view of the mountains from out his window, mid-morning light pouring in and making the room stuffy. You let your eyes just barely skirt over his bed (which has a navy blue comforter and has been made), and move to look at this desk. There's a massive gaming computer, complete with a light-up keyboard, and different kinds of sound and editing equipment.

"Sorry," he says, grunting as he wrenches up the window, a brush of cold air coming in. "Wasn't expecting visitors." He's facing you, but his eyes are still skirting over his room.

"It's fine," you smile.

There's a long moment when Jeongguk finally looks at you, only mildly satisfied that there's nothing too embarrassing left out, and he just can't believe what he's seeing. You're his soulmate. You're in his room.

It's nighttime. You're standing in a dress that hugs your curves and hovering in the doorway. Your expression is nervous but hopeful as you step out of your heels. He's across the room, standing by the bed, his hands itching with the desire to touch you. "You sure?" he says, and his voice is soft and almost lost amongst the city sounds outside his window. You nod, stepping towards him.

Jeongguk comes back to the present, flushed and a little bit horny. Holy shit, he thinks.

"Flashback?" You wonder.

"Yeah," Jeongguk says, hiding his face in case it's too clear what he's thinking. He catches sight of your leg and jumps in the air, "Oh! Sit down!" He crosses the room and guides you to the expensive, high-backed desk chair, spinning around and darting into the bathroom.

You peek at the polaroids stuck to the edge of his computer screen. You recognize Taehyung and his soulmate Jimin, but everyone else are strangers. The one that catches your eye is of Jeongguk with six others (Jimin and Tae among them), they're standing in a line with Jeongguk in the middle holding a cake. Jeongguk looks younger, rounder cheeks and wider eyes. Scrawled beneath it is written Happy 16th, Kookie!!! -Hyungs

It makes you feel...warm and fluttery.

"Found it," Jeongguk chuckles, reappearing with the first aid kit and a towel. He kneels at your feet and the action feels familiar, like one of your dreams.

"What's it like?" You ask softly.

"Hmm?" Jeongguk says, intensely focused as he wipes the coffee from your ankle and starts disinfecting the cuts.

"The flashbacks."

"Oh," he says, pausing with a cotton swab above your skin. He shrugs and leans in closer as he starts again, "Just like memories. But I'm not expecting them," he chuckles. "Kind of like hiccups? Or sneezing?"

"Do they feel...real?"

Jeongguk leans back and watches your expression. He's surprised to find how scared you look, apprehensive. He can feel a flashback coming in his chest from this angle, but he's determined to answer.

"Kind of. It's like...watching a movie. I know that it's me, and you," he whispers, "and I empathize with them. But it doesn't feel like I'm living it." He looks away from you, the flashback he had sensed fading, and digs through the first aid kit for bandages. "It's like...the universe is giving me proof that it's meant to be. That we've done this before. That we will do it again. That this…" he pauses, wondering if he should say what he really thinks, finding that he can't say anything but the truth when he sees the vulnerability in your expression, "is a love that's meant to last lifetimes."

He pulls a bandage roll from the kit and his face scrunches up into that bunny smile from earlier, "Sorry, I know that was corny," he laughs, "also because this is all I have." He begins to wrap the gauze around your ankle, muttering that he really only has this stuff because of rolling his ankles and wrists during dance practice. But it sort of fades out as you identify the feeling that's formed in your chest...hope.

You avert your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you and this light happy feeling crowding your chest. Your skin flushes but not in the hot flash way you've been experiencing all week, more pleasantly than that.

"Um," you stutter because you can't be alone with your thoughts anymore, "Who are all these people?" You wince at your own awkward attempt at conversation but Jeongguk laughs jovially.

He bounces up from his knees and squints at the birthday Polaroid you're motioning to. "Oh," he grins, his face doing that adorable bunny smile again, "My hyungs!" He peels the Polaroid off the edge of the monitor and hands it to you. His finger points to each person in turn as he says, "Jimin and Tae, you know them, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hobi."

Your eyes follow his finger and then move to his face. He's lit up talking about them.

Your thumb moves over the center of the photograph where young Jeongguk stands, looking almost identical as right now. Completely overjoyed.

"How did you meet?" You whisper, feeling his proximity.

Jeongguk moves to sit on the bed and shrugs, "We all lived pretty close together, in the same neighborhood. I've always gone to the same school as Jimin and Tae, they're one year ahead of me. Namjoon and Hobi were seniors when I was…" he thinks, screwing his face in concentration, "a freshman? I think." He shrugs, "I don't really remember how it began, we've been friends forever."

"Wow," you say, looking down at the photograph again.

"Yeah. Namjoon-hyung is like the smartest person I've ever met, he speaks four languages and is working on a doctorate already. And Seokjin-hyung is so funny and he's helping me learn how to cook! He's gonna open his own restaurant one day, I think. And Yoongi-hyung's a composer! He even traveled with a national quartet once, as a pianist, but says he likes hip hop and rap more so now he's a producer. Hobi-hyung is the one who started teaching me how to dance, he says I'm pretty good, but I don't know… He's the captain of our dance team and is amazing! Jimin-hyung was the student body president of our middle and high school, and one of the top-scoring students in math, and a really amazing modern dancer. He almost joined a ballet company, but he said his body probably wouldn't be able to handle it so now he just does hip hop dance with me. I think he should be a choreographer or something but he's double majoring in math? I don't get it. And Taehyung is amazing! He's a theater major and he's starred in every school play that he's auditioned for, and he's the one who convinced me to start taking art classes. But I think I like film better, I'm not really sure, I—" Jeongguk stops abruptly when he sees your face, frozen in surprise. His cheeks turn pink and he says, "Sorry."

"No," you shake your head, "don't be sorry. They're your family. It's good to be so proud of them."

"Yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. I can't believe I just ranted about my six hyungs to my soulmate, he thinks, what a fucking nerd! God just be cool for once Jeon, just once!

He looks back over to you when your phone dings loudly. You reach into your pocket and pull it out, Jeongguk smiling at the corgi butt design decorating the case.

"Oh," you put the phone to your ear, "Hello? Joy?"

You turn away from him and he stands up quickly, wandering away under the impression of putting up the first aid kit to give you privacy. He hears you mumbling into the speaker, catches small snippets of your conversation.

"I think it is going well, actually—""

"No! Joy! Oh my god." He peeks out to see you blushing fuschia.

You talk for another minute before he hears, "Yeah, okay, maybe in an hour? I have to change first. Yeah, yeah, what would you do without me?" You laugh and hang up, Jeongguk reappearing from the bathroom. "Sorry," you say bashfully.

Jeongguk holds up his hands, "It's fine. Everything okay?"

You nod, chuckling to yourself, "My friend put off this project to the last minute and she needs my help. I need to go."

"Okay," Jeongguk nods, trying to hide how disappointed he is. He wonders if all soulmates feel this way when their other half leaves them, even if only temporarily. "I can give you a lift. If you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he grins, scooping his car keys from the top of his dresser and helping you stand.

You like this car. The washed purple color, the faded black seats. It smells like the sun and a bit of cologne. There's a stuffed D.va plush hanging from his rearview mirror that makes you laugh. As soon as he slid into the driver's seat he plugged his phone into the aux cord.

The car starts and "Circles" by Post Malone starts playing through the speakers.

"Oh, I love this song," you say, humming the lyrics under your breath.

Jeongguk looks at you like there's nothing else he will ever need. He realizes this is a bit extreme, but it feels accurate. "Me too," he grins, his nose scrunching up in a smile.

It takes you three days to text Jeongguk. Three days to decide that you want to and summon the courage. You feel nauseous when you send the text and unsure. And it takes nearly ten minutes of constant encouragement from Joy for you to hit send.

It takes three days for Jeongguk to get a text from you and it nearly drives his hyungs crazy. He jumps around their apartments muttering, "She said she would text me. She said that right?" His eyes dart frantically to whoever's in the room, "Right?"

"That's what you said," Yoongi responds lamely.

"So I shouldn't text her? I shouldn't? Like that would be a bad idea?"

Jimin laughs loudly and Taehyung chuckles under his breath. Seokjin steps forward and squeezes his shoulder, "Do not. Do not text her."

When his phone buzzes and he sees it's a message from you he nearly starts breakdancing in the middle of the room. Instead, he starts jumping up and down frantically, looking more like a bunny now than he ever has before.

"And?" Namjoon wonders, "What did she say?"

Jeongguk glances down, beaming, "Hi."

His hyungs roll their eyes.

You: Hi

You: Sorry I know it's been a few days…

Jeongguk can't stop himself from replying. He doesn't care about remaining aloof or mysterious. All he knows is that he's been dying to talk to you and now that he has the chance he won't let anything stop him.

JK: No it's fine! No worries!

JK: How are you?

You: good...busy

JK: oh yeah me too

Jimin snorts, reading over his shoulder, "As if you haven't been staring at your phone for three days waiting for her to text you."

"That counts as busy!" Jeongguk pouts, eyes straying back to his screen when he sees the text bubble floating beneath his last message. He hears Jimin say something else but he tunes it out.

You: I was thinking we could hang out again?

You: If you have time

You: If you're too busy, just forget I said anything

JK: YES

JK: Was that too eager?

JK: I don't care, let's hang out

You giggle down at your phone, warmth spreading to your cheeks and crowding your rib cage. Joy peeks over your shoulder curiously, "So who is this guy anyway? I was surprised when you said you had a date." She squints down at your screen, shoving you playfully, "And you like him!"

Your blush turns crimson and you can't force yourself to meet her eyes. She wraps her hands around your arm and shakes you vigorously, "I want all of the information right now!!!" She pauses, a thought occurring to her, and stops shaking you, "But...does he have a soulmate?"

You can tell she's afraid to ask the question. You've known Joy for almost five years now, and she's known about your lack of a soulmate bond for almost the entire time. She knows how uncomfortable it makes you and how depressed you get about it sometimes. She doesn't really want to ask because she doesn't want to ruin whatever happiness you've found. But it does need to be asked.

"That's the thing," you chew on your bottom lip. You're hyperaware that you've never said it aloud before but that you are about to now. "I'm his soulmate."

"Dinner, dinner, dinner," Jeongguk chants, standing in front of his closet with a serious expression. Behind him, Jimin is on his bed reading a magazine and Taehyung is spinning around in the computer chair. "Dinner," he says again, squinting.

"Just wear that yellow button-up and jeans," Jimin says absently.

"Yellow?" Jeongguk crinkles his nose in distaste. He only owns that shirt because Seokjin-hyung bought it for him. The rest of his closet is a spectrum of black and white. In fact, the only colorful items he owns are gifts from others.

"Don't get too goth on her just yet," Jimin chuckles.

Jeongguk pulls the shirt out with a sigh, holding it up to himself in the mirror and twisting his mouth in confusion. He hangs it on his closet door, turning back to his closet with the same frustrated expression.

"It's so weird," Taehyung says.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk's eyes grow wide with concern.

"Just that...well for Jimin and I, after our soulmate bond manifested and we connected that was kind of...it, y'know? We didn't have to, like, do this whole courting thing." He shrugs.

"Yeah," Jeongguk sighs, "It's hard because I can see our whole history together and it's us but not us? I don't know how to explain it."

It's a nice night, a soft breeze and a clear sky. You have your arms wrapped around yourself as you wait in front of the restaurant, and your heart nearly stops when you see him. He looks like a god. He looks so good. Tight jeans and a perfect muted yellow shirt. His hair looks soft and smooth and it falls into his eyes. And he's smiling, his nose scrunches up happily. He's only walking at first but he starts jogging when he sees you.

When he stops in front of you, you know you should say something but can't find the words. There's a feeling in your chest. Disbelief. That he's here, that this perfect person is in your life, is forever intertwined with yours. You have the urge to run your fingers through his hair and you have a distinct feeling that it's something you've done before.

Instead, you let out a shaky breath and avert your gaze.

"I've never tried this restaurant," he says, tilting his head back to read the sign.

You're too aware of how close he is. Of how good he smells. Of the heat coming off his skin. You want to wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you, bury your face in his chest.

"I really like it," you say, turning away from him because you're afraid of what you might do otherwise.

The restaurant is small because you hate large restaurants that cram people inside. There's soft classical music playing from speakers and warm lighting. But what you like most is the metal archway over the entrance that has pure white jasmine strung through it. You walk through and instantly feel at ease from the smell.

"Oh, hello miss," the greeter says from behind your podium, recognizing you instantly.

You blush and smile at her, a bit embarrassed that he now knows how frequently you come here.

The hostess glances behind you and you see her eyes sparkle at the sight of him. You wonder if that's what you look like when you see him too. When she looks back at you she gives you a conspiratorial thumbs up, whispers, "You didn't tell me your soulmate was so hot!"

Your flush goes darker. Soulmate. She said it so casually. But you suppose it's true. He's your...soulmate. The word feels right.

"Table for two?" She smiles, "I think I have your favorite one open."

"Yes, thank you."

Jeongguk focuses back on you and grins cheekily, "How often do you come here?"

You avoid his eyes, "Couple times a week. I like to...study here."

You sit at a table on the open patio. String lights curl around the wooden awning and the metal fence. Tall potted plants are perched in the open spaces. On the table is a flickering yellow candle and a lavender bouquet.

The hostess gives you both menus before taking your drink orders. You ignore the menu, while Jeongguk opens his and starts perusing.

He's so focused that you let yourself watch him. He's so beautiful; dewy, glowing skin, plush, pink lips, wide, brown eyes. It all feels so familiar. Dinner in soft lighting, sitting across from each other.

Your cheeks heat up thinking about it.

Jeongguk is surprised that, despite how nervous he feels, the night is going so well. You both order wine and pasta and just...talk. There's a familiarity that pervades through the night that he keeps from thinking about; if he thinks about it he knows he'll just freak himself out. He tries to keep his hands busy to stop himself from reaching over and intertwining your fingers with his.

"I like your tattoos," you say softly. Your plates have been cleared and Jeongguk seriously considers ordering a second serving of dessert to prolong the date.

Jeongguk raises his eyebrows and looks down at this hand. He often forgets they're there. "Oh," he says, flexing his hand, "Thanks."

"What do they mean?" you cock your head to the side.

"Oh, the initials are for my hyungs," he blushes, "And the rest just...seemed like a good idea." He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

You grin and boldly reach across the table, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling the appendage closer to the light. Your fingers trace softly over the inked pieces of his skin. You giggle at the smiley face on his finger, trace the heart on the back of his hand, tap each of the initials on his knuckles.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath as your fingers move up his forearm. You spend a long time on the flower decorating his arm, until Jeongguk finally says, "It's my, um, birth flower."

"Tiger flower," you whisper.

"Uh," he watches you with wide, doe eyes that reflect the flickering candle, "Yeah."

You meet his eyes, realizing suddenly how intimate this has become and pull back. Jeongguk coughs loudly, awkwardly, afraid he's having a heart attack from how fast his heart is beating.

"Is, uh, is yours on your forehead?"

"What?" you ask, wide-eyed.

Jeongguk sits up straighter and pulls his mop of dark hair from his face. There's a heart, just a shade or two pinker than his natural skin tone, peeking out from his hairline. A soulmate mark.

"I...don't know." You do the same as him, revealing your forehead and hairline.

Jeongguk's face transforms into a smile, his eyes light up happily. He presses two fingers to a spot just beneath your hairline, "Right. There," he says softly. He looks down at the table, his cheeks turning pink, "Meant to be," he whispers.

You let your hair fall back over your face, blushing.

The date goes well. The next three dates go well. A month passes and Jeongguk sees your progress. It's slow. You keep your distance. The fevers, dreams, flashbacks...they all continue. Subdued but still there.

You feel guilty. You know the solution. You're not sure if Jeongguk does, but either way, you're glad he hasn't forced you into anything physical. It's such a major shift in your worldview...you have a soulmate. You still have to remind yourself when you wake up in the morning.

"I'm not alone." You whisper it to your empty room. Your fingers find their way to your forehead to touch the heart that's now printed there. You stalk JK's social media and text constantly.

But every time you're with him (which is...as often as possible), something stops you. Fear, probably. You're afraid of making it real, of cementing everything.

Jeongguk's happy. Frustrated but happy. He can tell you're afraid, he senses your hesitation. He's glad, too, that things are moving slowly because he doesn't know what he's doing. He was popular in grade school, but soulmate bonds manifest during puberty. Once someone gets their soulmate mark...they pretty much refuse to make out with anyone else. He has little experience, but he doesn't care with you.

Anytime he's within six feet of you, his fingers start to twitch and his heartbeat quickens and he just...he just wants to wrap his arms around you and squeeze, he wants to kiss every inch of your skin, run his hands through your hair.

So he's frustrated. Because of the lack of physical intimacy, yes, but also because he doesn't know what you're afraid of. Or how to help.

And the flashbacks aren't helping. They feel like taunts. Like someone showing him something that could be his if only he'd do the right thing, say the right thing. It's infuriating.

"I think you should talk to her about it," Namjoon says flatly when he broaches the subject with his hyungs.

"Yeah, Kookie," Hobi says, looking up from the game of cards he and Yoongi are playing, "Can't resolve anything if you won't talk about it first."

Jeongguk huffs and throws himself against the couch, whiny.

It takes a week for him to build up the courage to bring it up. Date night.

You made sure to pick a movie for tonight that you'd seen before. You had made the preemptive decision to hold his hand. You did feel...slightly stupid for having to make a preemptive plan for something as innocent as hand-holding. But you figured that was the only way you were going to get yourself to do it.

So you waited until after dinner, halfway through the movie, the sun has set. You're sitting a few inches from him on the couch in the low lit room. You make a bit of a show of yawning and lean over.

His shoulders are broad and round and comfortable. Your cheek rests easily against him and you find a sense of security wrapping around you like a blanket from the proximity.

His hand is resting, palm up, on his thigh and you tentatively link your fingers through his.

You love his hands. Long fingers, soft palms, dark tattoos. It's warm and comforting, and they fit together perfectly.

Jeongguk doesn't need to bring it up, he realizes. This is progress. You're both trying. He squeezes your hand, leans his cheek against the top of your head. You fall asleep on his shoulder.

But it's getting worse. The dreams are so intense you can barely sleep. You keep waking up every few hours, remind yourself that he's real, talking yourself out of the anxiety. And his flashbacks are intense. Debilitating. He had one during dance practice and it ended up with him on the floor. The fevers are so intense sometimes that neither of you can move.

"Shit," he whispers one day, walking with your hands through the door of his apartment. You look over and find that he's drenched with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He pales and his knees go weak.

"Woah, oh my god," you gasp, trying to hold onto him enough to ease him to the ground. "You're burning up," you whisper, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead.

Jeongguk shakes his head almost, "S'fine."

His eyes blink rapidly and refuse to focus, "Are you having a flashback?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's trying to stay present but he's struggling. His skin is so hot and he's sweating so much...you think he might pass out.

You screw your face up. You know what you have to do.

You take his chin between your fingers and lift it up, leaning in and pausing, whispering sincerely, "I'm so sorry I put this off for so long." You close the distance between you both, your lips brushing softly, tentatively against his at first.

Jeongguk eyes open wide, his mind suddenly reeling back into the present. Your lips are pliant against his and he finds himself responding without thinking. He surges upward, his tongue slipping between your lips and into your mouth. His hand threads into your hair and presses your head closer.

Your hands grip tightly at his shoulders, your mouth opening in a gasp as he's suddenly so responsive. You feel his fever break beneath you, your lips moving of their own accord.

And then suddenly, it hits you. All your lifetimes. Every memory, every moment. And it's all...Jeongguk. You understand now, what he meant about the flashbacks, about how they're you but not you.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. You're both breathing heavily, grinning like fools. You close your eyes and just smile, "I remember everything," you whisper.

"Me too," he whispers, and he peppers kisses across your nose and cheeks, "It's been so long. So many lifetimes." He pulls your hair away from your face and presses his lips softly to the heart-shaped mark on your forehead.

"I can't believe we found each other," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him into your chest, "Again."

"Always," he says, curling into your embrace so that his face hides in the dip of your neck, "Always. We'll always find each other."

"Always," you affirm. You kiss the mark on his forehead and say it again, "Always."

author’s note—i really really really love this; i'm so proud of it omg

m.list :: wips :: ao3

#bts #bangtanbuds #bts x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jk #jk x reader #fluff #soulmate au

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codenomesailorv · 5 years ago

Text

FANFICTION:

"Harry Potter and the DeadlyHallows - Final Chapter"

◇ (This fanfiction is an alternative version of the last chapter of the book "Deadly Hallows", after the last chapter and before the prologe, and It's whitout relationship with "Cursed Child" or the Harry Potter movies).

● Original History by JK Rowling

● Fanfiction by Anikenkai/A. A Otrop

FINAL CHAPTER

The four paintings at Grimmaud Place

The first rays of sunlight passed through the transparent stained-glass windows in the calm morning air, touching Harry's face as the boy shifted on the bed. After a few brief seconds he opened his eyes and felt around on the desk, taking his glasses and putting them weakly on his face, still completely exhausted as if he hadn't slept for a whole month.

He got up slightly from the bed, and still a little dizzy, focused only on a small figure moving around nearby pulling something heavy, shrieking and letting out an exclamation of relief afterwards. Soon, Harry saw who it was.

"What are you doing, Neville?" Harry asked, rising a little further from the bed, watching his friend rummage in his trunk.

"Ah" Neville turned and smiled at him. "Good morning, Harry. Sorry, did I wake you up with the noise? You know my trunk is absurdly heavy, I was barely able to pull him to bed."

The plump boy with scarred face smiled slightly at Harry, feeling his fingers in the huge suitcase he founded on the bed next to him.

"It doesn't even seem like I had the strength just a few days ago to face Death Eaters. Compared to my trunk now, they were very light."

And saying that Neville laughed, and bent down again to open the wooden lid in front of him.

Yes, it was true. For a brief moment, a flash of memories rushed through Harry's mind, recalling everything that had happened in just under two days. The Battle at Hogwarts. The deaths. The meeting with Dumbledore in his head. And Voldemort's defeat at his hands, everything quickly passing by in a glance at his still sleepy eyes. But then he felt suddenly awake, as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water down his spine, and then his body relaxed.

"You can sleep later today. You will not have an exact time for the Expresso departure. He will pick up the remaining students at different times until after lunch." Neville added, tossing a few pieces of clothing in his trunk.

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head and trying to find Ron on the bed next to his, but he didn't find him immediately.

"Ew, Neville... has Ron got up yet?"

"Oh, yes. For the breakfast, I saw him come down the stairs to Hermione when I came up just now. It looks like they were called earlier to speak to McGonagall."

"Right." Harry nodded, trying not to be intrigued by the reason for his friends' haste, and again lay down on the bed, struggling to get the faces out of his head and everything else that had happened so many hours ago.

After several minutes, Neville spoke again.

"Hey, when you get up, could you move the gifts out of the way in the bedroom? You know, I don't know if I'm going to be able to lift my trunk to bed again if I want not to crush one of them, you know."

"Gifts?"

And then Harry stood up again, looking sideways and at the dormitory floor and gaping. Scattered on the floor, and in everything that his field of vision could see next to his bed and beyond Seamus's and Ron's to the walls, boxes and more boxes lay there, some lined up and others in piles, forming piles on one another, with multicolored packages and some with sparkling ribbons, some large and small, huddled up to Harry's knee. The boy got up from the bed, looking around the room, amazement on his face. It was as if he were in the Room of Requirement, among the numerous objects lined up on top of each other.

"They're for you." Neville added, without taking his eyes off what he was doing in his trunk, laughing. "I think the news of what you did with You-Know-Who has already spread everywhere. They brought you these gifts at night. It seems that many people wanted to thank you, you know."

Harry was stunned, looking at each gift spread out in front of him, boxes and more boxes piled up, and finally he stood up, totally amazed. It was as if it were Christmas, but as if all the gifts from each student were crammed there, as if Harry's room and the boys were some kind of storage. He quickly took some packages out of the way and reached for his own trunk, taking his clothes and carefully spreading some on the way to the door so that it would be free.

"Phew, thanks." Neville said getting up and closing his trunk ready. The boy was now wearing his muggle clothes, very dark jeans with a cool multicolored knit shirt and numbers on the back, a sort of Hockey team T-shirt.

Harry turned to the bed and was about to lie down again, when he heard the crash of his friend's trunk again turning to the floor and unable to control the voice that had been stuck in his throat for many days, he turned and said to Neville:

"You deserved those gifts much more than I did, if it weren't for you cutting off that snake's head, I…"

"Harry, stop. I've won too many things from my grandmother and the Gryffindor guys, man. Relax. I don't care about that, and you deserved so much more."

"Neville listen, I …" Harry started as soon as he sat on the bed, staring at his bare feet but it was the colleague who interrupted him before he could even finish the sentence.

"No, Harry. It's all right. You don't have to say anything."

Neville said in one breath and even though she was loud and clear, she sounded gently in the room. Harry looked up to face his friend and just managed to smirk at him.

"I didn't have the opportunity to thank you and the others. For everything."

Harry continued, taking hold of everything that had happened in the last days in his memory, remembering what Neville had done at Hogwarts with his friends while he, Ron and Hermione did while traveling across the continent in search of the Horcruxes. The way Neville had led Dumbledore's Army, how he had brought everyone together in the Room of Requirement and fought alongside him. As he did not even hesitate when the Death Eaters marked his skin with scrapes and bruises, as he did in the first bruise, he carried out Harry's request and without blinking, killed Nagini in front of Voldemort himself.

"Don't worry." Neville stepped forward, approaching Harry and patting his friend on the shoulder, as if they were talking about some Quidditch match, as his voice was as calm as any that Harry had heard a long time ago. "It was all thanks to you. I had faith in you. But now we are talking by owls, ok?"

Harry looked up again and saw Neville's plump hand stretched out in front of him, his palm open and inviting.

"I have to leave, my grandmother is waiting in the common room. Let's take the next train and go home."

"Does that mean ..." Harry was momentarily surprised and Neville nodded.

"Yes Yes. We finish the school year. I'm a graduate of Hogwarts."

And he held out his own hand, shaking his friend's. He wanted to get up and hug him, thank him for his courage and not have doubted him, wanted to hug each one, but Harry still didn't have the strength to do either. Instead he smiled and Neville took it out of his hand, raised his wand, and his trunk began to levitate, heading straight for the slowly opening door.

"See you next time, Harry. I'll wait for your owl, huh!"

"Shure!" And Harry smiled more gratefully and waved his hand, watching Neville walk through the portal and disappear into the stairway to the Gryffindor Common Room.

(...)

Harry didn't know how many hours he had been standing there, inert but already fully dressed, staring at the dormitory ceiling without even moving, the only noise he dared to make was his breathing. He was not hungry, although there were still remnants of a deep sleep that was caused by the hours of confinement in bed weighing his eyes, as if he could not get enough sleep, as if the tiredness did not leave his back, but not any real sleep, forcing him to stand there, disabled and thinking about everything that had happened to him until then. He hadn't seen anyone for three days, not even Teacher McGonagall, not Teacher Flitwick, not Luna, Ginny, Mr. and Mr. Weasley, not even George or Percy or any of his friends.

Harry had locked himself in the dorm hours after he left Headmaster Dumbledore's office, when McGonagall finally released him to rest and heal his wounds, stunned and impressed by everything Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her what they had done, before they returned to Hogwarts. Harry had told her everything, to the teachers and the new Minister of Magic, who met there shortly after Voldemort's inert body had been thrown away from the castle boundaries, when he learned in detail about Dumbledore's plan for the Horcruxes, about the months in the forests, about how he had found Griffindor's sword and how Harry had apparently risen from the dead. The boy told them, but hid about the Deathly Hallows.

He did not want anyone else, other than friends and those who had already talked about objects, to know about them, their existence and formidable powers, and surprisingly no one asked them about it, they only looked at Harry when at last he finished his account of Snape, and his Patron charm - hidden over his mother, leading him towards the Ice Water Pit that kept Griffindor's ruby-studded sword.

"But ... but ..." Professor Slugorn stammered when Harry finally finished, almost immediately and in a shaky voice. "We were sure that Snape definitely turned to the Death Eaters. You, yourself told us how he killed Dumbledore in cold blood with an unforgivable curse, and your term as Headmaster proved it, the terror of the students, the way his followers of You-Know-Who acted freely in the school, and... and…"

"I know," Harry began, still as dirty from head to toe as the others present around the director's table, with blood that had been dry for a long time on his forehead, which at that point was starting to bother him a little. "But I saw it all through Snape's last memories when he handed it to me before he died. When I got back to the castle, I just thought of going back here, right here, and dumping the memory in Pensieve."

And then he lifted the tiny shards from the small bottle that Snape had given him, which had broken from his pocket when he received the Avada Kedavra curse on his body and fell to the floor. The teachers stared at the pieces, as if they couldn't believe it.

"Don't trust me, do you? You can use a tracking spell on the flask to discover its previous content, if you want. If that's still possible…" Added Harry, now a little irritated.

"Amazing. Very amazing!" From above, Flineus Fletcher, the former director of Hogwarts and a proud member of Slytherin shouted from his painting, screamed, looking around and trying to share the astonishment in the eyes of the other directors and directors, who were watching everything very quietly.

"There's no need, Potter." Professor McGonagall replied first, raising a hand to Harry, still very stunned. "We have no reason to doubt you and everything you did today. I'm sure everyone here will agree with me."

And almost immediately the teachers nodded, Flitwick, Sprout, Firenze, the centaur and even Hagrid, and the other teachers and present together with the Minister of Magic. Even Sibila Trewloney was there, curled up in a corner, but she nodded firmly. Finally, everyone looked at each other and McGonagall turned to Shacklebolt.

"Well, that's enough for now. Now, we need to discuss what to do about the School, since it was very destroyed. Prepare funerals and alert family members who have not yet been notified, bring them as soon as possible. Potter, you can go wash up and go to the infirmary with the others." And then the teacher turned again and looked kindly at him. "You, most of all, deserve to rest."

Harry didn't agree with that. It was obvious from his countenance that he felt deeply exhausted and hurt, however, he was not in a position to lie down and sleep for a long time, have his wounds taken care of and close his eyes and pretend that nothing had happened, but he just turned around, looking to friends and simply obeyed.

Before they leave, he can see the teacher looking back, her hair loose and streaked, her clothes sooty and dark blood somewhere on her arm with a completely exhausted expression, sitting with some discomfort in the chair that had once belonged Albus Dumbledore, before the three of them crossed the room. Harry, however, went directly to the Fat Lady painting towards the Gryffindor Common Room, still devastated by the battle, where many students crowded dragging suitcases and hugging friends, but did not see them, since Harry, once again, covered up and Ron and Hermione with the Invisibility Cloak, crouched through and stepping on the rocks and dirt on the floor, crossing smashed busts to the railing of the stairs.

Even with protests from Hermione insisting that Harry go directly to the Infirmary - or even then, the Castle Entrance, where several combatants were still lying on makeshift stretchers and being cared for by healers who had just arrived from St Mungos - Harry ignored her, stating that he didn’t want to be in the middle of everyone and being ovulated or even cursed. She didn't understand his train of thought. In any case, he did not want to receive any kind of treatment different from the others, whether it was pleasant or bad.

"Take the Invisibility Cloak if you want, bring me tomorrow. I will not be leaving the room until everyone, or almost everyone, leaves Hogwarts." Harry had said in a low voice, while Hermione pulled from his beaded purse one of the last healing potion that she still had miraculously, into the boy's hands.

"B-but ... Harry…"

"Leave him, Mione. Harry needs to be alone." Ron said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Harry had replied and even though she was upset, Hermione followed Ron back to the Common Room, while the boy locked himself in the dorm.

Harry then suddenly returned to the present.

He blinked his eyes and realized that he had dozed off again, as his belly finally snored, and looking at the golden watch on his wrist that still worked, it indicated that it was just after two in the afternoon. He once again lifted the body from the bed, feeling his sedentary muscles protest with the sudden act, and tried to see with his crooked glasses the empty, dark and silent room, still crammed with innumerable packages and gifts up to the walls. Don't feeling no one was there. On the other side of the window, he heard the sound of almost nothing at all, just a faint patter of drops hitting his pane. The light rain then cooled the room, making Harry decided to get out of bed for good and then leave the dorm for the first time in almost two weeks since the Battle was over.

(...)

He was now on the edges of one of the parapets on one of the upper floors of the castle, along with Ron and Hermione, the three of them with pale faces and bandages spread across their arms and legs, especially Harry, who had a large bandage on his forehead where there was been hit by the stone debris that fell on him the moment Fred was attacked. Now they sat on the parapet, watching the sky painted orange and gray, shortly after the improvised dinner at the Castle, which Harry had obviously avoided as well as the other meetings with the residents of Hogwarts. So Ron snatched a small basket of caramel pies and breads with fried sausages, and inside was a bottle partially filled with pumpkin juice and brought it to his friend when they found them.

They spent a long time silent, watching the sun go down, while Harry's mind wandered far away, when it was Hermione who finally broke the silence.

"Everyone's been asking about you, you know, Harry. Everyone wants to hug you, thank you, kiss you, shake your hand and everything. They want to talk to you, but as they have avoided leaving the dormitory, I feel an air of disappointment in the air." She said, giving a light chuckle at the end of the sentence. "I don't think they would ever understand, you know."

"Uh, I understand." Ron replied, making a face as he turned to Hermione on Harry's other side. "Like, come on. Even I would like to thank Harry, but the air is very heavy. I hope they all leave soon, then we can also take the train back home in peace."

"So, have all the students left Hogwarts yet?" Harry asked his friend, a little exasperated.

"Almost all." Hermione who answered. "I was still left, Ron, Luna, some students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and a few wounded from the battle, too hurt to stupor to St Mungos, but I think they all fit in the Hospital Wing and released the Hall. he ordered Goblins and some building wizards to come until the day after tomorrow to begin repairs on the Castle. I think practically, everyone in Gryffindor has already left."

Hermione turned her head to the side and looked at the large missing piece of wall that followed the castle to the towers on the west side, where its parts lay inert, destroyed on the charred grass of the countryside around below, even towards of the lake.

"Looks like they're going to have a long job, poor people." Ron sighed deeply as he poured a glass of pumpkin juice into his mouth next.

"Yeah. I only hope they finish by the beginning of the school year. I don't want to go back with everything still destroyed, you know. It would make me sad just to think."

Harry knew why Hermione talked about returning to the castle, of course. Since the three of them had missed almost the entire school year while looking for the Horcruxes, there was still a year to complete their education at Hogwarts, and of course, if they wanted to continue looking for a job in the wizarding world, they needed to complete the last exams, just like the others. That remained. Harry hadn't thought about going back to school, hadn't even thought about leaving, yet he had a glimpse of a certain plan that would make it now that it was over and Voldemort wouldn't bother him again, now that he was free of his own destiny for the first time. Time since he was born. But for that, of course, they had to finish their studies. They could not go back to attending classes normally, they were too old, so learned that Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall, the next day that Harry had locked himself in the dormitory, to do some supplementary type to make up for the countless missed classes - and that, of course at the teacher's own suggestion, they enrolled to perform. So they would only have to return for a few days, take some tests of school summaries and finally Harry, Ron and Hermione would graduate and leave Hogwarts for good.

He then found himself thinking about Fred, George and others Ron's brother, and all the Weasleys and especially - as many, many times - about Ginny, and the funeral that followed the day after the Battle, when those left behind prepared the seats ideals and preparations to bury all who had died on the castle grounds. Many had died. Bellatrix Lestrange, the other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself had been huddled together in a mass grave deep in the Forbidden Forest, burned and then buried, as they deserved to be.

They should not be buried with honors, or tears or even a tombstone, because not one cried forthey. He remembered Ron knocking frantically on the bedroom door that afternoon, Harry hadn't wanted to get up since breakfast to watch the Heroes' Funeral, and everyone wondered where Harry Potter was. Why was he not there to pay his respects to those who had sacrificed for him? Why didn't you have the courage to look the family in the eye without being able to apologize for taking their lives? Harry's only thought of consolation was that they would have fought anyway, even if he hadn't been the cause, to defend the wizarding world had it been at the hands of the Death Eaters or anyone who hurt more innocents.

Ron was gone from the other side of the door after he shouted his name, and called for many minutes, but Harry remained in bed, silent, on his side and hiding his face from anyone who managed to open the lock and see him there, huddled and weeping for those he loved and had lost. Again he remembered that he was about to leave Hogwarts forever, to leave that place destroyed, but still in his heart, his eternal home. He chased away his thoughts and tried to change the subject.

"I forgot to ask Neville, you know. Before I left this morning." Harry said, watching now the last copper-colored sun rays lying down at the sunset and shy stars shine in the distance of the deep and increasingly dark sky. "Asking how he got the Griphook Griffindor's sword, since he stole it from us while we were at Gringotts.

"Ah," Hermione exclaimed and swung her legs over the balcony railing, still a little distracted by the sight of the wreckage beneath the three. "He told me, you know. When we went to the St Mungus. Neville said he took the sword when it appeared to him, it appears that it disappeared when Griphook was killed. He just didn't want to tell me where and when, he looked mysterious." And then Hermione turned to pour another glass of pumpkin juice and brought it to her lips.

"Well, Harry, you've been thinking about Ted, right? I mean…" And she turned to look Harry in the eye. "You have responsibilities for him, now that Professor Lupine and Tonks... well... you know."

Ron stared at the two of them with a half-rigid face, frightened by Hermione's unexpected change of subject, and turned his eyes to his own drink, muttering something inaudible. The sky was now dyed an indigo blue as it was covered with sparkling dots, and that sight distracted the boy for a millisecond before leaping back to the ground, leaving the parapet and picking up the food basket. Harry hadn't thought about Ted until then. His head was so full of thoughts and obsessions, afraid of what would come next, of what he would become when he graduated, of how he would live, in the guilt of the deaths he could have avoided that he had not even thought of Ted Lupine, son of Nymphadora Tonks and her father's old friend, and former professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus Lupin.

He was now the godfather of the baby they both left to save Harry, and then a new wave of guilt and pain washed over his head, piling up another stone on top of the others he felt carrying heavily on his back.

A horrible thought came to light. Ted had lost his parents to save Harry, leaving him with less than a year to live, just like himself. What if the little boy had to take shelter with distant relatives, with Muggles, who hated and mistreated him as the Dursleys did for so many years? No, he couldn't think of that. Harry shook his head when he stood up and felt that he was tightening the handle on the basket too hard. At least Ted was left with his grandmother, Andromeda - a wizard - who would certainly give all the necessary love and care that Ted deserved. And when, if he wanted to, and so he could, when he reached the age of attending Hogwarts, he would offer him the same house that now belonged to Harry, the same that his own godfather also offered him to live in, the same place that Sirius wished he had gone.

"Of course I will take care of him, I will be close to him. If he wants." Harry replied to his friend, after long seconds that seemed like an eternity of reflection. "I can't take the place of his parents, but... nor Sirius wanted him when mine died, but I can try to be a good godfather. I hope so."

"Brillant." Hermione stepped forward, to the two friends. "I guess I decided what I'm going to do when we officially graduate from Hogwarts. I mean, in future plans, you know."

Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise, as it seemed like centuries that they heard their friend say something like that, in the moments when they asked them what they would do with the notes O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. At that time, Harry had said that he really wanted to be an Auror, but then at that moment, he wasn't so sure anymore. Harry’s entire focus in recent years was just the Dark Lord and Prophecy, who had barely thought about the possibility of it all ending so soon - and with his whole body to seriously think about what profession he would pursue.

"In what?" Ron's voice echoed to the side, with a somewhat mocking tone and Hermione frowned at him, annoyed. She ran her hands through her thick hair and replied:

"Well, I was thinking... to join the Ministry of Magic for some position, or…"

She paused and took a breath. Again he continued: "Proceed with what Bathilda Bagshot worked on. I mean, continue with the book A History of Magic from the point that it ended. Writing, you know. Write about... about everything that happened to us. About Voldemort. About Harry."

Then there followed a few minimal seconds of silence, and Ron with Harry who had turned to his friend and stared at them completely surprised. That was certainly new, since they had no idea that Hermione might have shown any interest in pursuing a writing career. Harry - more than anyone, even Ron - believed faithfully that the friend with all that intelligence, would try to go as far as possible, as Dumbledore had done as a young, and had already caught himself once or twice imagining Hermione arriving at Minister of Magic a few years later. But, he also knew more than anyone, that all those experiences had abruptly sealed their reality with what they dreamed of being, and that would really hinder how they saw each other when it was over, and everything was fine. But even so, he felt a wave of disappointment and embarrassment go through his body to the back of his neck. She didn't understand how her friend had arrived at that decision.

"Don't look at me like that." She said, looking at the two a little angry, as she clearly expected another reaction from both. "I believe I'm doing it right thing. I believe that people should know the truth, know what happened. Knowing what has been done so that Evil doesn't affect the wizarding world again than pretending that nothing has happened, and helping who knows in the near future, some Hogwarts students to defend themselves better, knowing the story, don't you agree?"

"Bloody Hell, Mione." Ron snorted, rolling his eyes up. "It sounds like Rita Skeeter talking, huh? After all that she did with Harry and Professor Dumbledore's phony biography, and even more what she did to you, I thought you were the last person to want to pursue a career in something like that."

Ron had said the wrong thing, it was evident from the scary face that Hermione threw at her friend, as if she was going to stun him right there on the parapet, without any pity. Harry exclaimed but she was quicker to respond.

"That's not it." Hermione hissed at Ron. "I don't want to do anything, absolutely nothing, like that little Skeeter bug. Do not."

"Then…?"

"Something totally different from her, Ron!" Hermione roared. "Rita Skeeter is a troll on a woman's body, she wanted to gossip, spread lies, everything to sell and guarantee more galleons. Of course, as much as it pains me to say, she got some points in her research right, but the way she did it is purely disgusting to me. Not! Me," And then he pointed at himself, with an air of satisfaction in his voice now. "I want to correct the lies that that toad made. I want to write about the history of the wizarding world since the beginning of the 20th century, how Hogwarts grew up, how Voldemo…"

Ron cringed when she spoke the name of the Dark Lord.

"Oh, no Ron! He's gone, you don't have to be afraid of his name anymore. How Tom Riddle's Voldemort achieved so many atrocities, how Dumbledore formed the Order of the Phoenix, and how Harry and we found the Deathly Hallows and the Horcruxes. You know, I really think that everyone needs to know, keep all this and keep it from happening a second time."

"What? Second time? Write about the Death Hollows and the Horcruxes? You are crazy!? This is quite the opposite of what we want. I mean, if people know about them… bloody hell, we work so hard to avoid talking about it with the teachers as Dumbledore ordered, and you want…"

"No, Ron. I don't want to teach you how to make Horcruxes or where the Death Hallows were, don't you both understand?" Hermione waved her hand, somewhat patiently. "I don't want to explain how to get them, but how and for what they existed. I think that all students should have the right to remedy their curiosity about what we did during the months of escape, how Harry managed to come back to life, like... well, you know."

And then she looked over his shoulder and saw Harry standing there looking at her still.

"Of course, I'm just telling you a plan. I won't do anything if you don't agree, of course. I haven't even started anything."

Harry knew what she meant when she said that wish. He knew that Tom Riddle had used extraordinary and cruel methods due to the lack of descriptions of the Horcruxes and had just been defeated for not knowing all the Death Hallows, which would benefit them in a point of view if someone al intentionally tried to follow the same paths as Voldemort in the future, the lack of responsible books on how to overcome the limits of Death. But he understood what Hermione meant.

In a few years, everyone could forget what they had actually done, the hardships and trials they had spent in the forests camping, looking for and looking for invisible information for the next step in a larger plan, but without success. She remembered the frustrations she had with her friend, the fights with Ron, all because she didn't know where to go, how to do, what to do, while friends suffered. Not to mention that, he was already very famous and now after that battle, he could put more eyes on his scar and he would return to being a point of rumors and other lying things when curiosity for the lack of information started. Hermione didn't want to reveal Dumbledore's secrets, but to tell how they got there. As everything had actually walked, and reaching that conclusion, he put the basket on the floor and put a hand on Hermione's back, who was surprised by Harry's sudden unexpected hug from behind, and released her quickly.

"Well, I think the idea is good. But I don't know if the Ministry of Magic would like us to make our point of view so accessible as well. Isn't it, Ron?"

Ron just snorted again and put his chin in his hands, staring at the sky as if nothing else was interesting. And after a few moments, he asked:

"So, do you have a plan of what you're going to do when you leave Hogwarts, man?"

He asked now, and Hermione still sitting on the parapet but facing Harry, both expressions of curiosity. Harry hadn't even talked to his friends much about what he was going to do next, about his ultimate goal, about what Harry Potter intended to do now that he finally and definitely defeated Lord Voldermort. And, catching himself rambling with those very words that came from himself, Harry smiled and looked at his friends.

He wanted to have that image engraved in his memory, the three of them there in a corner of the castle, away from everyone, making small talk and eating treats, barely knowing that all that precious and carefree moment would be over soon.

(...)

Harry, Ron and Hermione and Luna were accommodated on the train back to Hogsmeade station, the Hogwarts Express had left a few hours ago. The boys were housed in the usual cabin at the end of the train, which was actually practically empty, taking them and just a few other students who were still unable to apparate, injured, and had not yet returned, plus some representatives of the Ministry of Magic who for some reason, they were also there.

Harry thought they were on the train to watch him, and drawing that conclusion, he spent the journey watching the landscape of trees penetrating, blurring at high speed through the window. Hermione was reading one of the newspapers, editions of the Daily Prophet that were huddled together and tied in a single string on her lap. Ron now nibbled a carefree chocolate frog, and Luna was staring at the window with Harry.

They stayed that way since they went up in a long silence, after all it was the first and one of the last two times that they would leave school, and it was only a fact that the four - since Luna had been kidnapped to the Malfoys' house - should return to provide the services. supplementary courses, and definitely graduate in a few months. Harry thought again about the Weasley family, and if somehow if George and Ginny would be angry with him for missing Fred's funeral, if they felt his weakness for the next few days - not that Ron had shown it or quoted those brothers' feelings, but the stones of the subconscious weight of guilt weighed him down as much as before they came back and faced Voldemort. What should have relieved him, now weighed him down even more in his heart.

Almost suddenly, he saw the smudges pass by the window and remembered what Dumbledore had said to him in the vision of after he died, talked to him in that form at Kingscross Station: "Don't pity the dead, Harry, have pity for the living, and above all those who live without love ”. It was clear that those who had died died with love, fighting for love, for what they believed, and, holding on to it, Harry let out a heavy sigh that the whole cabin heard.

"What did McGonagall want to talk to you about when we got back to the Common Room, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out to him, and Harry had been pulled from his brief detours into reality.

"Heh? Oh. She wanted to ask me a few more questions and handed me a letter, and went back to the principal's office. Only that." And he pulled from one of the sleeves of his indigo wool coat and showed a small brown envelope with the typical red wax seal with the Hogwarts symbol on his tongue. "This one here."

"Gee, haven't you opened it yet?" Ron asked now, looking at the letter. "And if it was an important thing who needed to answer soon?"

"Ah, don't be so silly." Harry smiled, analyzing the letter for a few more seconds and putting it away again, turning back to the window. "Professor McGonagall told me to open it when I got home and reflect on the content and that I could answer it later, don't you remember what I said?"

"No. I was too worried about the train leaving and packing my trunk than knowing every detail." Ron snorted and Hermione shot him an ugly look. "She's been staying in Dumbledore's office a lot since the Battle, isn't she? When did we see it right since everything happened?"

"Principal, Ron." Hermione said. "It's Principal McGonagall, now. She was Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, they forgot. It is obvious that she was elected the new Director of Hogwart."

And then she folded a piece of the thick volume from the previous week of the Daily Prophet in her lap, showing the moving photograph of the newest nominated Headmistress.

"If I were you, Harry." Hermione added. "I would read the letter as soon as possible, see?"

"Right." He replied the friend, now with a certain involuntary coldness in his voice, as he had no desire to discuss anything at that moment, not even by a simple letter.

"I thought the Ministry of Magic would try to put someone in their position after Snape... well, you know... "And Ron glanced at Harry and went back to Hermione and Luna. "I mean ... I'm glad the Ministry made a deal, right. For once."

"Yeah." Hermione agreed, folding the newspaper and lifting the batteries and laying them on the floor, yawning. "I want to go back soon, I have to say hello to everyone and Apparate to Australia. Review my parents, explain what happened. You know."

(To be continue next Post...)

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