#The Owl House has Literary Merit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gukyi · 6 years

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boats against the current | pjm

summary: park jimin thinks his life is all well and good, that is, until he finds out that if he wants to play quidditch for his last year at hogwarts, he needs to pass a presentation in muggle studies. and, just like the novel he needs to research, he realizes that maybe his life would be easygoing and simple, if only he didn’t fall in love along the way.

{hogwarts!au, opposites to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader word count: 12k genre: fluff, angst warnings: spoilers to the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald. felix felicis consumption (main characters under the influence but not aggressively drunk), actual literary references, possible incorrect feeding of owls. a/n: hi i’m guyi i’m 19 and i never fucking learned how to read or write, especially after finishing this. this has sucked the lifeblood out of me. i’m actually deceased. but hey, at least the banner looks good.

“Hey, Park! Quidditch after class?”

The words bounce off of the walls of the corridor, the other students paying little attention to the random shouts. Hogwarts has always been loud. Jimin’s friends just make it the slightest bit louder.

Jimin whips his head around to find the source of the noise, finding the fifth year, Jungkook, calling after him. Despite being of another house, Jimin enjoys practicing Quidditch with him—he’s a budding seeker who definitely has the potential to go professional, if he practiced enough and didn’t spend most of him time during actual games flirting with the audience. They get along well, and sometimes Jungkook accidentally calls Jimin “hyung” from force of habit as a young Korean, something Jimin holds over his head as many times as he can.

“Sure!” Jimin shouts back. “Meet in the courtyard?”

Jungkook shoots him a thumbs up above his head before his tuft of brunette hair bounces down the hallway, on the way to his next class.

It won’t be just Jungkook—it’s no fun to play a game of Quidditch with two, not to mention the fact that Jungkook’s a seeker and Jimin’s a chaser—but a group of them, all different years and houses because all that house rivalry bullshit stays on the Quidditch field or in the Great Hall for the end-of-year ceremony, and also because Jimin met them all once or twice at different Hogwarts common room parties and Quidditch happened to be something they all had in common.

In the beginning of the year, his Muggle Studies professor showed a movie representation of muggle secondary school, something akin to the second half of a student’s time at Hogwarts. Only, none of the students wore uniforms and instead showed up to class in slouchy jeans and oversized sweaters. And every student seemed to be very aggressive to every other one, like they truly despised being in each other’s presence. And there were certain students who walked down the corridors and everyone else seemed to know their name, where they came from, who they were. According to the guide distributed by his professor, they were the “Popular Kid” archetype, at the very top of the social hierarchy.

Jimin wouldn’t consider himself at the top of the social food chain at Hogwarts—that position is reserved for the Head Boy and Girl—but he does know a rather large amount of the student body. Or, a rather large amount of the student body knows him.

Speaking of Muggle Studies, that’s his next class, and he’s got about three minutes to get to the room before he gets Slytherin’s points docked for being tardy. He breaks out into a small jog, getting progressively speedier as time passes. Another seventh-year Slytherin is heading the other way, pats Jimin roughly on the back as they pass each other with a grunt of “Park!” and moves on.

Jimin makes it to Muggle Studies just in the nick of time, sliding into his seat just as the professor enters the room.

Muggle Studies is, admittedly, not Jimin’s strongest suit. It never has been—not when he comes from a long line of purebloods, some of whom frown upon the integration of Muggle-borns into wizarding schools such as Hogwarts. Jimin’s not like that at all, extremely progressive in comparison to the stereotypical conservative pureblood, but he has a difficult time wrapping his head around the Muggle world and all of its strange and peculiar doodads. It just seems so complicated in comparison to the Wizarding World, where everything is exactly as it appears. Well, mostly everything.

He begins to zone out, as he normally does in this class, the droning of the professor fading into background noise as he doodles in his textbook, drawing pictures of old muggle telephones and candy bars. Muggle Studies is also one of Jimin’s objectively least favorite classes because nothing magical happens. It’s almost all textbooks and essays and homework about non-magical topics. Although, Jimin has to admit that the Internet, whatever the fuck it is, seems pretty magical.

Crack!

Jimin jerks up to see his professor standing above him, glasses sinking down his pointy nose bridge as he glares at him. His wand is held in his hand, clearly having just aggressively tapped on the front edge of Jimin’s desk.

“Park, do you know the answer?” His professor asks angrily, clearly unimpressed.

“Answer to what, sir?” Jimin asks, trying to simultaneously maintain eye contact with his professor and looking around to anyone who might actually know the answer to whatever he’s about to be asked.

“The author of The Catcher in the Rye?” It’s obvious his professor doesn’t think Jimin knows the answer. He’s correct—Jimin has no fucking clue who wrote The Catcher in the Rye.

“Why would you need to catch rye? Jimin asks, trying to buy himself some time.

The professor rolls his eyes, turning away from Jimin to go find another victim. Someone across the aisle sends Jimin congratulatory finger guns for somehow managing to ask a question so ridiculously stupid that it allowed him to escape the wrath of their professor. Jimin gives a thumbs up in return and dips his quill back into his ink pot, getting ready to draw.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he hears the professor’s croaky voice say. “Do you know?”

Interest only slightly piqued, Jimin turns his head to the student being interrogated. You seem to have curled as far into your Hufflepuff robes as possible, in an effort to pretend to be a metamorphosing butterfly or something like that. Jimin knows you very briefly, if at all. Your name, your house, and the fact that you almost never speak.

Jimin starts to think that maybe he should have just sacrificed some House Points and answered the professor’s question, because you don’t seem to be having any fun at all with the professor breathing down your neck, waiting for an answer. He’s about to do something dumb and stupid to get the attention on him and off of you when, soft as a mouse, you whisper, “J. D. Salinger.”

He shuts his mouth. The professor smiles, awards five points to Hufflepuff, and moves on. Jimin sinks down into his seat, turns to the boy next to him.

“That’s Y/N, right?” He asks, motioning to you. You seem to be shriveling back up into your robes, only hints of your skin peeking out, just enough for you to hold onto a quill and write with it on a piece of spare parchment.

“I think that’s her name,” the boy responds, skeptical. “But I’d stay away from her, Park. She’s… strange.”

Jimin frowns, an eyebrow quirking up out of curiosity. “Strange? How so?”

The boy shrugs, unhelpful. He seems to quickly be realizing that his word choice when describing you was particularly poor. Jimin’ll say. “I don’t know, she’s just… weird. She never speaks and you only ever see her in classes, not during our free hours. I hear she draws a lot.”

“But drawing isn’t weird,” Jimin protests weakly, quietly. Though, he doubts you’re paying attention to the conversation he’s having with the boy next to him, a Slytherin he speaks with sometimes, but not frequently. Usually about the latest professional Quidditch match, or to double check something in class. Jimin supposes that the two of them would be friends. But only supposes.

“I know, but disappearing the moment you step out of class is,” the boy says, leaving Jimin no time to respond as he immediately sits up straight, the professor striding back into view.

Jimin shuts up immediately, reverting back to his classic “I swear I was paying attention to you the whole time” stance, though it is blatantly obvious that that was not, in fact, the case. The professor can see right through Jimin’s act, even goes so far as to sneer at him as he heads back to his desk. Jimin really treasures the relationship he shares with his Muggle Studies professor.

“What an enlightening discussion on twentieth century Muggle literature,” the professor drones. Jimin can feel himself falling asleep. He definitely shouldn’t have stayed up late last night playing a game of Wizard’s Chess where, for every piece you lose, you take a bite of the homemade pastries Sprout brought in for their class yesterday. Both his mind and his stomach are taking massive losses. Lots of casualties. Too much time spent on the loo.

Jimin’s about to start making soft snoring noises to amuse the students around him when the professor’s moderately angry, crackly voice breaks through the walls he’s built inside of his head. “So enlightening, in fact, that I am assigning you all a partner project on a Muggle book of literary merit from the twentieth century, to be due in two weeks sharp.”

Groans fill the air. Jimin sees his already low grade in this class plummeting.

“And I expect that those of you who are not doing as well in this course—,” the professor narrows his eyes at Jimin in specific. He feels the slightest bit called out. “—should want to work extra hard. I will give you your partners momentarily—,” more groaning since the students can’t choose, “—and you will have until the end of this class to decide on a novel. Novellas and plays are also acceptable.”

Jimin doesn’t even know what a novella is. This is going to be an absolute disaster.

Within the next few moments, the professor begins to list off the group partners, and Jimin watches as every single person in the room he thinks he might actually enjoy himself with gets paired up with someone else until all that’s left is—

“Park and Y/L/N.”

Even amongst all of the chatter, Jimin can make out the faint sound of something akin to a gasp leaving your lips. Jimin’s certain he feels the same way. Of all of the people in the room, it’s just his luck for him to get paired up with you. Not that he minds, of course, but trust the Muggle Studies professor who’s out for Jimin’s blood to pair him up with the quietest student in their year. Meanwhile, Jimin causes a ruckus simply by existing.

He turns to find where you’re sitting to see you very obviously avoiding his gaze (along with anybody else’s, for that matter), staring straight down at the parchment in front of you before watching as you crumple it up between your fingers and stuff it into your bag, along with the rest of your belongings. Peculiar.

Jimin gathers his items to head over to where you’re seated—because it’s clear you have no intention of moving from your location, the corner in which you have settled—when the professor calls him over with a grunt of “Park.”

He trots up to where the professor is seated at his desk.

“Park,” the professor says, peering over the beady glasses that sit on his all-too pointed nose bridge. “You currently have a Dreadful in this class.”

“Yes, Professor.” Jimin doesn’t need to be reminded. He absolutely tanked on the last assessment they had been given.

“Do I need to remind you that if you have either two Poor’s in your classes or one Dreadful, you are not allowed to participate in the Quidditch games?” He continues.

Jimin may have needed reminding of that. The next match that Slytherin is playing is in two weeks from Friday, which is a mere two days from when this ridiculous partner project is due. And suddenly, Jimin realizes that if he doesn’t ace this project, he won’t be playing in the next match. Or any of the other next matches, because Muggle Studies may very well be the bane of his existence. Shit.

“No, Professor.” Jimin says through gritted teeth. He’s fucked. He’s already starting to resign himself to his fate of a Jimin-less Quidditch season for the Slytherin team and a Quidditch-less final year for himself.

“Good. I suggest you work well with your partner. She has the highest grade in this course, so you’d do well to learn a thing or two from her. Merlin knows you don’t pay attention to me.” The professor motions for Jimin to leave, dampening his already-sour mood.

That’s something new Jimin didn’t know about you. The highest grade in this course? How is that even possible? Jimin steps up to where you’re seated in the corner, staring down at the closed textbook in front of you like it’s just called you ugly.

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, fearing his usually-raucous nature may be a bit much. “Y/N, right?”

You nod silently, letting Jimin take the seat next to you.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, feeling obligated to introduce himself despite the fact that the two of you have been classmates for the past six and a half years now.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper, before your eyes widen, like you had just spoken incorrectly.

Jimin doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course you know who he is. Jimin has a name that gets around. He plays Quidditch, attends every party he can get to, and knows everyone on campus. This conversation stinks.

“I’m sorry you had to be paired up with me,” Jimin says, trying to break the ice, only it feels like he’s sawing through the tension with a plastic spoon. “I’m not very good at this class.”

You nod again, choosing to keep your mouth shut as a means of responding to him. Jimin can’t blame you. An awful lot of dumb shit comes out of his mouth. He should probably pick up a tip or two from you.

“What book were you thinking?” Jimin asks, hoping you have a substantive answer because Jimin’s got absolutely nothing. All he’s thinking about is the future (or lack thereof) of his Hogwarts Quidditch career if he can’t get an Outstanding, or at least an Exceeds Expectations, on this project, and the parchment you crumpled up into your bag. Curiouser and curiouser.

You mumble something unintelligible.

“What?” Jimin asks, leaning in closer. You seem to be alarmed by the sudden shrink in proximity, though you make no efforts to move away, instead hoping to curl deeper into your dandelion yellow robes.

“The Great Gatsby,” you say, a bit louder this time. Jimin can feel himself exhaling. He at least recognizes the title of that book, which is a win as far as he’s concerned.

“Sounds good,” Jimin says with a smile. It’s not as if he has anything better to suggest. “I’ll tell the professor we’ve chosen a book.”

You nod your agreement and Jimin stands up to head back over to the professor to inform him. On the way, he passes by some of his friends in the class, who all seem to be giving him pity looks for his partner. Jimin, for the life of him, cannot figure out why everyone finds you so strange. You seem perfectly fine and dandy to him, albeit a tad quiet. But Jimin’s not going to complain. You seem extremely capable.

“Professor!” He calls as he makes it back over to the desk.

The professor seems thrilled to see Jimin again. “Park.”

“We’ve chosen a book,” Jimin says excitedly.

“And that is?”

“The Great Gatsby.”

This makes the professor raise his eyebrows. He looks up from the paperwork he’s completing to meet Jimin’s eyes, something sort of like a knowing smirk plastered on his face. Jimin feels uneasy. “Really?”

Jimin nods.

“Well,” the professor says, “I will write you down for Gatsby.” He still has that knowing grin dancing along his cracked lips.

“Is there something else, Professor?” Jimin asks, unable to stop his intrigue from getting the better of him.

“No,” the professor says with a shake of his head. “Only, you may find that with The Great Gatsby, there is more to it than meets the eye.”

Jimin’s starting to regret ever asking.

“I’m serious, Jeon,” Jimin says as they toss around a Quaffle on the Quidditch field, brooms barely four meters above the green below. Even though Jungkook’s a seeker, neither of them have much intent to practice Quidditch for what it is. “I’m fucked.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook responds, skeptical. Even as a measly fifth year, his coordination with the Quaffle is pretty damn impressive for a Seeker. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Your next match isn’t for another couple weeks. Meanwhile I’m gonna crush Gryffindor next week.” As he says this, he chucks the Quaffle towards a Gryffindor sixth-year that’s part of their intramural Quidditch group, catching the kid entirely off guard and causing him to swerve on his broom so the ball doesn’t break his nose. Jungkook giggles.

“I know, but I have a Dreadful right now,” Jimin sighs.

“In Muggle Studies?” Jungkook says, looking severely unimpressed. “Well, I suppose that’s what you get for being a pureblood.” Jungkook always teases Jimin about his blood status, as a half-blood himself, he sort of gets the best of both worlds. He’s always calling Jimin old-fashioned for not knowing what Muggle objects are. “I bet you don’t even know what a cell phone is.”

“Fuck you!” Jimin shouts, getting his hands on the Quaffle just in time to hurl it straight towards Jungkook’s face. With reflexes as good as they always are, Jungkook dodges easily. “I know what a cell phone is.”

Jungkook obviously doesn’t believe him. “So what are you gonna do to get your grade up before your game? Because if we win our game against Gryffindor, then we’ll be up against you next. And without the top Chaser, Slytherin’s fucked!” Jungkook starts cackling.

Jimin sighs, one hand holding onto the broom and another rubbing at his temples. “I don’t know,” he says, flying up to Jungkook so their conversation isn’t shouted across the Quidditch practice field. “We have this dumb partner presentation on Muggle literature due a couple days before the game, so if I can miraculously do well on it, I should be alright.”

“Sweet!” Jungkook says like it is a God-ordained miracle. “Who’s your partner?”

“Y/N.”

“Never heard of them!” Jungkook exclaims like it’s the happiest thing in the world. “Good at Muggle Studies?”

“Highest grade in the course,” Jimin says softly, only the slightest bit envious of you. All of his life’s worries and toils and troubles would instantly vanish if he had the highest grade in his Muggle Studies course.

Jungkook hoots and hollers. “Well, there you go! You’re guaranteed to play in the game in a couple weeks.” He gives Jimin a heavy pat on the back, one he feels deep down in his bones, and then gets the Quaffle tossed to him from another kid in their group. “So you better get practicing, Park!”

Jungkook chucks the Quaffle down the expanse of the Quidditch field and immediately Jimin dives after it, still wondering if he really is guaranteed a good score on his Muggle Studies presentation because of you.

The next time Jimin has Muggle Studies, his professor is having a decidedly good day, seeing as the whole class is allowed the entire duration of the forty-five minutes to themselves, time meant to work on the project.

For Jimin, this would normally result in forty-five minutes of doing anything but the project, much to the dismay of the professor (and Jimin wonders why he hates him so much), fooling around and being a shit student, as one does. But today, as his legs carry him towards the empty seat in the corner next to you, Jimin finds that his superego seems to win out.

“Hey,” he says. He isn’t sure if it’s his voice or the book he plops down on the wooden desk that makes you jump in surprise. “Ready to get started?”

You nod wordlessly, pulling out the battered copy of The Great Gatsby you keep with you. It dawns on Jimin that perhaps he should have gotten his hands on his own copy before arriving to class. He makes a mental note to drop by the library after class.

“You must like this book, huh?” Jimin asks, attempting to stir up some conversation. He’s always been quite the talker and you, evidently not.

Again you nod as you pull out a quill and some parchment from your bag. As you do, some extra parchment caught on the clean sheet comes with it, making your eyes widen as you quickly stuff the offending piece back into your bag, hoping no one’s caught you. Peculiar.

“Well, I gotta be honest with you,” Jimin says as he leans back in his seat, trying his very best to resume his “cool kid” persona so he stops making an absolute fool of himself in front of you. “I haven’t really… read the book yet. Or pay much attention in this class, so I suppose I need to work on that,” he adds on a self-deprecating chuckle for good measure.

It’s unclear if you’re picking up the vibe that Jimin is putting down. Or anything Jimin is putting down, for that matter. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “I can do most of the work, if you’d like.”

Normally, an offer like this would have Jimin jumping to his feet to accept, seeing it as his way out of doing anything of substance without having to sacrifice a grade for it. Jimin’s always been kind of a terrible partner to have for a project, but he puts in some effort where it counts. Sometimes. But now, as Jimin sits in Muggle Studies with a professor that glances up specifically at him every now and then, Jimin doesn’t see slacking off as an option. Especially when the fate of his Quidditch season lies in this project. If he doesn’t contribute, the professor will know. And thus will happen the brutal end to Jimin’s Hogwarts Quidditch career.

“No, I couldn’t let you do that,” Jimin immediately refuses your offer, thinking of the greater good. “It seems like an awful lot of work. Plus, you’re probably extra busy with stuff yourself.”

“No, not really,” you respond with a shrug. No additional comments.

“What do you mean?” Jimin says with a small nudge to your elbow. “Everyone’s busy with stuff. Don’t you draw?”

“Well, I—”

“I don’t know very much about art, but I imagine that takes a lot of time,” Jimin says, grinning to himself. He’s won this battle. “So I will help you with the work because we are both equally as busy. No buts.”

You open your mouth to say something, but immediately close it, like the thought’s vanished from your mind. Or maybe, you’ve forced it away.

“I know I was probably your last choice for a partner in this class,” Jimin says with a sigh, “but I promise I’ll actually help you with this project. I need to actually start paying attention and learning in this class, and there’s no better time to start than now. Plus, you’re way better than that old geezer up there. So I promise I’ll do my share. This is a partner project, after all.”

“I don’t know, I feel like in order to help me do this project, you’d actually have to read the book first,” you say with the slightest hint of a giggle, the faintest outline of a smile gracing your lips. It’s the first time Jimin’s ever seen you smile. He decides then and there that he wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Wow, okay, attacking me from the start, alright,” Jimin says dramatically, hands up in surrender. “Fine, I see how it is. Guess I’ll have to pick up the slack and start reading.”

Another small giggle. “There’s a Muggle section in the library that should have Gatsby in there. It’s a short book, so you should be able to get through it relatively quickly. Emphasis on should.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to head to the library after class, then,” Jimin says. “Come with?”

“Oh, no, I don’t need to, though,” you say, holding up your own battered copy, worn at the edges, clearly read multiple times. Jimin’s thankful that you’ve selected a book you’re enthusiastic about—it would be an awful long two weeks if the two of you spent it slaving over a novel that not even one of you enjoyed.

“Aw, come on? What else would you be doing?” Jimin asks. He won’t push the topic if it makes you uncomfortable, but that one student did mention how you have a habit of disappearing post-class.

“I have places to be,” you mutter, clearly not wanting to go too in-depth on the matter.

“To do what?” Jimin asks, pressing just a little harder. He’ll cease if it gets to be too much, but it’s obvious that you’re having fun avoiding his questions.

Head facing the book resting on the desk in front of you, you say, “Things that don’t concern you, Park.”

The clocktower chimes, signalling the end of the class, and, just like clockwork, you’re out of your seat in an instant, disappearing down the hallway like you were never there in the first place.

Jimin drops by the library after class, Muggle Studies being his last course of the day before he resigns himself to his room to an evening of homework and chicken legs. Madame Pince helps him find The Great Gatsby in the little corner of the library that has all of the Muggle, non-magical books. She seems quite surprised that someone like Jimin would have any interest in Muggle literature.

After he finishes his supper, one of his friends, Joshua, drops by their shared dormitory to ask if Jimin’s up for a game of Gobstones.

“No thanks, Josh, I’m busy tonight,” Jimin says with a smile, holding up the copy of The Great Gatsby he’s borrowed from the library. Jimin’s only a couple of chapters in, but he finds the book quite enjoyable.

“Reading?” Joshua says in disbelief. “Is that even you, Park? You don’t read.”

“I’ve got a Muggle Studies project due,” Jimin says.

“Oh, Cheol told me about that,” Joshua responds, like Jimin mentioning his project is just a reminder to him. “You’re paired up with Y/L/N, right? She’s strange, I heard. Smart, but strange.”

“I mean, she isn’t really that weir—”

“I can’t believe she’s got you actually reading! I don’t think I’ve seen you open a book since third year,” Joshua says with a chortle. “I’m impressed, I have to say. What’s with the sudden increase in productivity? Are you actually trying to impress her, or something?”

“Just trying to do my share of the work,” Jimin says with a grimace, wanting nothing more than for Joshua to just go away so he can read in peace.

“Ha! You’re doing work, too?” Joshua says, like he can’t believe his ears. “Damn, she’s got you in deep. Bet you’re just trying to woo her so you get a good grade before the Quidditch match next Friday.” Jimin opens his mouth to defend himself, but Joshua keeps going. “Well, we’re playing Gobstones in the common room if you wanna come join after you’re finished reading, or whatever. Enjoy your book, Park!”

With that, Joshua marches off, heavy footsteps on the cement of the Slytherin common room. Jimin leans back against his bed frame, wondering if a good grade is really all there is to it.

“I read the book,” Jimin says in lieu of a greeting as he takes his seat next to you. You’re much less surprised to see him there today than you have been on days past. “It was good. I liked it.”

“I thought you would,” you muse to yourself. There’s a black notebook in the top right corner of your desk, no writing or any other sort of label identifying it. Just a leather bound book with a piece of hard ribbon wrapped around it, like its contents are secret.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin asks, smile dancing along his face. He even went as far as to take a few notes on the story, though he bets that they pale in comparison to the knowledge you hold of the novel.

“Oh, nothing,” you say softly, playing coy.

“Hey, come on! You’re definitely insulting me right now except I’m too stupid to realize it,” Jimin pouts, beginning to think that maybe he didn’t look at Gatsby close enough and there’s some subliminal message to the story that went right over his head.

“I’m not,” you insist, “I just had a feeling you’d enjoy it.”

Jimin’s skeptical, but he drops the topic. “Well, you were right, I did. I finished it last night.”

“You read the whole thing in a day? What happened to Master Slacker Park Jimin, hmm?” You ask, curious. Your fingers are fiddling with the ribbon wrapped around the notebook on your desk, untying the bow and tying it back up again.

“He’s still here, I promise,” Jimin says with a wink, making you roll your eyes slightly as you turn away from him, not wanting to be subjected to his sleaziness any longer.

“What did you like most about it?”

“The book?” Jimin ponders an answer. He did actually enjoy reading it—something he hasn’t experienced in quite a while. He can’t remember the last time he actually read a book for class. It must have been years. “I don’t know, I just… it was very well written. And Gatsby’s character was so intriguing. A man who has everything willing to give all of it up for the girl he loves. Including his time.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “The thing about love,” you muse, more to yourself than to Jimin, though he listens in anyway. He always wants to hear what you have to say. For someone of so few words, you’re very careful how and when you use them. “Is that it makes people feel like they’ve lost control.”

“Presentations due in a week! I trust that you are all making good, steady progress and that you have been working diligently these past few days,” the professor eyeballs Jimin again, and he sinks down into his seat, almost like he’s trying to melt into it. “Remember that next week I will not be giving any time in class to work on this, so you will need to find time on your own to complete them.”

The clocktower rings.

“Class dismissed!”

Everyone immediately begins to herd out of the room, but Jimin realizes that you and him have only spent class time working on your presentation and it’s only about halfway finished. You’ll need to meet outside of class, during your free periods or extra time.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jimin says as you’re gathering your belongings, placing your textbooks and quills back in your back, black, leather bound notebook still held tightly between your fingers. “When do you have time to meet outside of class to finish this?”

“Uh… I’m free most of the time,” you say as you head towards the door, Jimin following suit.

“Okay, I have Quidditch practice every Monday and Wednesday from three to six and Tuesdays from six to nine. This weekend should be free for me, except I’m going to Hogsmeade on Sunday afternoon,” he tells you, walking alongside you. Jimin doesn’t know where you go after Muggle Studies, only knows that you disappear down the hallway and no one can ever seem to keep track of you. He’s curious—eager to find out where you flutter off to when no one else is looking.

“Alright, well. Whenever works for you,” you say, speeding ahead.

“Hey, why are you in such a rush?” Jimin asks, catching up to you easily, limbs nimble from riding around on brooms in a competitive sport constantly. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you mutter to yourself, Jimin hot on your trail. He’s not trying to chase you down or anything, but you’re walking against the current of students headed down the hallway, taking odd little staircases here and there as Jimin tries to keep up with you.

“You’re clearly headed somewhere,” Jimin says with a scoff. “We still need to discuss when we can work together for our project, Y/N.”

“I know, I know,” you say. “We can figure it out. Whenever you’re free.”

“Hey, Y/N?” Jimin says, finally catching his breath as the two of you wait on a moving staircase, slowly rotating you around the inside of the castle. “You know that you don’t have to hide from me, alright?”

“I—”

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave, I promise,” Jimin says. “But if you do, then… please. Don’t run away from me,” he pleads. He feels a little strange, standing here on a moving staircase in Hogwarts, asking you to open up your private life to him after hardly a week of constant contact. It feels personal. It feels like an invasion of privacy.

You seem to be waiting on yourself for an answer, like there are words on the tip of your tongue but you don’t know if you should open your mouth. Jimin’s definitely overstepped every boundary currently within a five-mile radius, asked something of you that is going to make the next week painfully awkward before the two of you go back to not speaking.

“Okay,” you murmur, so quiet that Jimin can hardly hear you, isn’t even sure if you’ve said anything at all.

When you reach the top of the staircase, you and Jimin find yourselves face to face with a thick wooden door, one Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Granted, he’s not necessarily a big explorer of the castle, so there are definitely places he’s never come across, but this door has been right under his nose the entire time, totally overlooked, even after seven years.

Jimin begins to worry that whatever you’re about to show him may not necessarily follow school rules, but he pushes the thought to the back of his mind as you open the door.

It’s the owlery.

Well, it’s not the owlery that Jimin’s familiar with. Jimin’s been into the owlery before, but this isn’t what he remembers. It’s higher, less crowded, cozier. Gets more light from the windows at the top, bright blue sky slowly fading to night as time passes. Jimin also doesn’t recognize any of the owls, can’t find his own in the crowd.

“What is this place?” Jimin asks, in awe. You place your bag down on a pile of cushions in a corner before making your rounds, saying hello to all of the different owls, poking your fingers through the wire of the cages.

“It’s the school’s owlery,” you explain to Jimin, pointer finger rubbing against the beak of a barn owl. “The school’s owls don’t get as much love or use as the students’, so I… I guess I pick up the slack.”

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” Jimin says, peering into a cage to say hello. The owl sniffs his finger before determining Jimin as a non-threatening being, accepting pets.

“Most people don’t,” you say softly,

“It’s incredible,” Jimin admits. He had no idea the school had its own owls, but he supposes that makes sense. How else is the school supposed to receive news and other business? Through the students’ owls? Magic stretches far and wide, and oftentimes it’s rather inconvenient for every minister and magical official to make the trek to Scotland. Jimin has to admit he never gave much thought to the school’s postal system. He had always received his mail from his own owl, Beanpole, without much concern. Fascinating. “How long have you been coming up here?”

“Ever since I found out about it,” you admit, settling down in the cushions as you fish around in your bag for something. You pull out your leather bound notebook, a strange little writing device in your hand that Jimin believes is known as a pen in the Muggle world. “Since fourth year.”

“Unbelievable,” Jimin says, still shellshocked. He’s afraid that sitting down next to you on the cushions may be too much of an invasion, seeing as he’s just been shown one of the most private parts of you, so he stays standing, feet wandering as he visits each cage. “It’s absolutely breathtaking.”

From up here, where Jimin looks out of the window, he swears he can make out the whole lake by Hogwarts. Can visualize the boats on the lake, taking the scared first-years to the Great Hall to be sorted under the lanterns’ light. He’s hardly ever up this high, just for Astronomy, since the Slytherin common room is in the dungeons. And even so, he almost never gets to look out of the window, at the earth below. It’s like he’s flying.

“You come up here every day?” Jimin asks. It’s no wonder that this is where you’re always disappearing off to. It’s peaceful, homey, cozy. All things that Jimin has definitely ruined by barging into your life.

“I try to,” you say sheepishly, pen scratching against the parchment of your notebook as you pull your knees up to your chest.

Jimin makes his way over to you, footsteps careful so as not to scare you off. “I’m sorry if I’ve invaded something of yours,” he feels the apology is long overdue. “If you want me to leave, I totally will. Just say the word.”

“No, it’s alright,” you say. Hesitantly, you tuck away your little notebook, clicking at your pen so that the ink tip disappears into the contraption. Jimin thinks that you’re ready to leave, finished with the owlery now that he’s here, but instead you simply shift over slightly, motioning to the empty cushion on the floor next to you, like an invitation.

Jimin walks over trepidatiously, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to sit down so close to you, press into your personal bubble like it’s nobody’s business. But you make no attempts to move away, not seeming to mind in the slightest that Jimin’s there with you. Jimin sits down beside you, instantly relaxing from the comfort of the cushions amongst the both of you, falling into a peculiar but pleasant silence.

He turns his head to look at you slightly, but you’re not looking back at him. You seem to have lost yourself in thought, staring off towards the sky, aimlessly. From here, Jimin can see the way the light reflects in your eyes, making them appear like skies in and of themselves. Twinkling. Jimin reaches the conclusion that he likes it here, in the owlery, but he likes being here with you just a little more.

“You know,” you say softly, almost inaudible, “it’s kind of nice not to be here alone.”

“You don’t mind?” Jimin asks. He could have sworn you’d kick him out of here by now.

You shake your head slightly, “No, I—I enjoy your company.”

“We could always work on our project up here,” Jimin suggests. “No one else to bother us. It’s quiet here, too. Good place to study. No wonder you get such good grades. This place is your secret weapon.”

“Well, it can be yours, too,” you tell him.

“If you’ll have me,” Jimin jokes back. You sound completely serious, but he wants to make sure that he isn’t disrupting anything by being here.

You nod. “It’s—it’s nice being up here… with you.”

It sounds a little like an opened door, welcoming him in. Feels a little more like an invitation. And as you and Jimin sit up here, far above the noise of the rest of the Hogwarts student body, the comfortable silence surrounding the both of you, Jimin realizes that, even if only just for a moment, you bring a calmness to his hectic, rowdy life. One that Jimin never realized he needed.

“But one thing I don’t understand is why Gatsby would sacrifice so much of himself for Daisy,” Jimin says, biting on the edge of his quill as he ponders the notes in front of him. The presentation is pretty straightforward in terms of content, just the historical context to the story, the basic plot, major themes and characters, all of the usual book report requirements. But despite this, Jimin can’t help but wonder aloud why Gatsby’s done what he’s done. “Especially when Nick was standing there the whole time, trying to talk him out of it.”

“Well, Gatsby was so hung up on Daisy’s presence in his life before she left that he was determined to get back that time again. Even if it did cost him his life,” you say, staring down at the pieces of parchment all spread around around you, a sea of almond and beige against the hardwood of the owlery.

One of the younger owls you had let out of its cage—not a baby but not a disgruntled adult—pecks away at Jimin’s belongings. Jimin sifts through his bag until he pulls out an old granola bar, unwrapping the snack and feeding bits of it to the owl.

“But why? He must have known it never would have happened, with Tom and everything.”

“That’s the thing,” you say, plucking one of the sheets off of the ground. It’s the one Jimin and you had written down research of the decade at the time. Admittedly, it was mostly you, since Jimin doesn’t know the first thing about American history. Or any Muggle history, for that matter. “Fitzgerald wanted to emphasize the darker parts of the Roaring 20’s through Gatsby. He used Gatsby as a lens into the newly rich. Naive and clueless. Blinded by their wealth, and their passion.”

“That’s so… sad,” Jimin huffs. “I mean, Gatsby’s sad as it is, but knowing the context just makes it… sadder.”

You hum, a soft chuckle leaving your lips. Like there’s something uncanny to it, to this whole thing. “Well, people with power and popularity think that nothing they do is wrong.”

Before the clocktower chimes to signal the end of class, Jimin turns to you. You’re slowly putting away your belongings, humming a soft tune to yourself.

“Hey, I have Quidditch from three to six today, so I won’t be able to meet you until later,” he tells you.

You nod in understanding. “That’s fine,” you say. “I mean, I’ll be up there anyway, so you can just meet me there when you’re finished practice. Bring food.”

Jimin chuckles. “You ever seen a Quidditch practice before?”

You shake your head. “It’s not really my kind of thing. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not big on sports.”

“You can come to mine,” Jimin immediately invites. It is, admittedly, not as private as your owlery, but it feels right to return the favor, however he can. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say, tentative.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jimin immediately backtracks. “But it would be nice to have you there. You can see me look super cool as I fly around on a broom and toss balls at my teammates.”

“You don’t need to be on a broom to look cool,” you say, rolling your eyes. It’s a welcome ego boost for Jimin.

“Plus, afterwards we can just go straight to the owlery together,” Jimin suggests, seeing the practicality in it. In all actuality, he just sort of wants you there, but any sort of logical reason as your being there will help. “After dropping by the Great Hall to get dinner, of course.”

You giggle to yourself, nodding. “As long as you’re okay with it. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. I—I wouldn’t really mind having you there, you know,” he says, a little more shy. He swears, he can feel the faintest hint of warmth rush to his cheeks, and can only hope that the green in his robes counteracts the red in his skin.

With another nod, Jimin leads you the opposite direction of the owlery, taking you down to the field where the Slytherin team practices. You stick out like a sore thumb, golden Hufflepuff robes against not only the green in their uniforms but the green of the grass, as well. It’s clear you’re out of place, a little awkward and a little shy, but Jimin does his best to keep you comforted, telling you sit at an empty bench in the shade of a large oak tree as the rest of the team filters in. He promises that they won’t bother you, adding in a couple of glares to his mates as they walk past him. He trusts that any tormenting concerning the situation will be directed at him rather than you.

“Keep an eye out for me, yeah?” He tells you as he begins walking towards the back locker room, where his broom and practice robes are. “I promise I’m good.”

As Jimin comes back out of the locker room, sweaty, old practice robes draped over his body and Firebolt in his hands, one of his teammates punches him in the shoulder as they head towards the field.

“A girl, Park? Seriously?” He asks, motioning towards you. Jimin shoves off his teammate.

“So? What’s the big deal?”

“So? You don’t bring girls to Quidditch practice. You don’t bring girls anywhere, in fact. Park, when was the last time you seriously cared for relationships?”

“This is different,” Jimin insists. “We’re just working on a project together.”

“Sure,” his teammate says, not sounding very sure at all.

By the time they’re all on brooms, chucking around Quaffles and Bludgers, Jimin’s been given more than enough grief from his teammates about your presence there. He’s decently high up, so he can only hope you don’t hear his annoying teammates very obviously talking about you like you aren’t even there.

“Her again?” Joshua asks as he flies up to her, Bludger bat resting snugly in his hands. Joshua’s always been kind of aggressive, very forward. Beater was naturally the best Quidditch position for him. “You’re in deep, Park. Never thought you’d go this far just for a grade.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something, tell Joshua he’s an asshole and that there’s more to this than just a grade, more to you than just your intelligence, but the Beater is already flying off, ready to practice his aim with the other Beater on the team.

Other than your appearance, practice is relatively boring. Every now and then, Jimin will look back down at you, check to see if you’ve abandoned him or not, and find you in the exact same position as before, resting on the wooden bench under the large oak tree with your notebook and pen in hand. He wonders what you’re doing. He always wonders what you’re doing.

Practice ends with the traditional Slytherin chant, a good luck charm for Friday. That is, if Jimin can get his Dreadful in Muggle Studies back up to something passing. If he can’t, Slytherin’s done for. Everyone bids everyone else a good night as they’re flying back down to the ground, heading towards the locker room to get changed and go do the rest of their nightly responsibilities.

“Hey,” Jimin says as he strolls up to you, broom in hand and sweat dripping down his forehead. He seems to catch you off guard, if the way you quickly tear a page out of your notebook like you’ve been caught doing something red-handed is anything to go by. “All done. Did you see me up there?”

You nod. “I have to say, you weren’t really as cool as you said you’d be.”

Jimin gasps, mock offended. “Lies! Blasphemy! I am very cool,” he says with a pout. “You try looking cool on a broom. It’s harder than it looks.”

“I have to admit I’ve never flown a broom before,” you concede.

“Wait, seriously?” Jimin says, pausing. “Never?”

You shake your head with a smile, like it’s something to be proud of. Jimin can hear his teammates filing out for the night, sending obnoxious wolf whistles his way as the two of you chat. Sometimes, Jimin really hates his friends. “I always skipped flying class. I hated it.”

“Well, that’s going to change,” Jimin decides then and there. “Come on, up.”

“Up? For what?” You ask, staying seated.

“I’m gonna teach you how to fly a broom.”

“Oh gods, no. I’d be awful at it,” you say, furiously shaking your head.

“No one’s awful at broom-flying,” Jimin promises. “Come on, please? I’ll teach you. I’m a great teacher, I promise.” He holds out his hand, motioning for you to take it.

You look from Jimin’s eyes, to the Firebolt in his hand, to the other one outstretched in front of you, like you’re not sure which one to trust most. A small smile graces Jimin’s lips, a promise etched on them. You take his hand.

“Okay,” Jimin says, standing in the middle of the field. It’s beginning to get dark now, the only lamps on the field the lights from the torches placed along the outside walls of the castle. It makes everything look a little warmer, makes you look like you’re glowing. “So you’re going to mount the broom, one leg on one side and one on the other—”

“This is extremely uncomfortable,” you deadpan.

“You get used to it, I promise,” Jimin says. “And then your hands just go on the front of the broom to balance yourself.”

Slowly, you lean forward on the broom, hands gripped tightly on the wood. It’s obvious you feel as though you’re about to topple over, but Jimin wouldn’t let that happen to you. Not in a million years.

“Here, like this,” Jimin says with a chuckle, reaching over to hold onto your hands, showing you the proper way to grip a broom. Your palms are sweaty from nervousness, and Jimin tries not to pay too much attention to the way he feels his heart jump a few beats at the touch. You let Jimin adjust you as he pleases until he’s satisfied with your form. “Okay. Kick off.”

“Oh, Jimin, I don’t know,” you say, the nerves coming up all at once.

“You can do it, Y/N,” Jimin says softly. “I believe in you. I’ll catch you if you fall. I promise. I’m right here.”

With a little more encouragement, you slowly push off the ground. The Firebolt Jimin has is certainly a more professional broom, but that doesn’t make it any more difficult to use, even for a beginner such as yourself. Its turns are smoother and tighter, aerodynamic enough to gain speed steadily but still quickly.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” you say, shouting, “Jimin, I’m doing it! This is—holy shit!”

“I knew you could!” Jimin calls back. You are by no means up very high, staying low to the ground in case you do end up falling off, but you complete a couple of loops around the practice field before touching back down on the ground, momentum sending you flying forward regardless. You topple off Jimin’s broom, doing a couple of rolls on the grass, coming to a halt a few meters away from where you abandoned his Firebolt.

Jimin rushes over to make sure you’re okay, only to find you laughing to yourself.

“See, I knew you could fly,” Jimin says with a grin, pulling you back up to your feet.

“That was actually kind of fun,” you admit, conceding defeat. Somehow, Jimin had a feeling you wouldn’t really be awful at flying the broom. You’re not awful at anything. You could never be.

“But the real question is, can you look as cool as me while flying?” Jimin jokes.

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “I think I might have to learn a few more things from you.”

“Damn right,” Jimin says confidently, appreciating the subtle praise coming from your lips. “I’m the coolest Quidditch player around. Other Quidditch players cower in my presence.”

With a laugh, you say, “I’m sure they do. I really liked doing that, Jimin. It was very… exhilarating.”

Suddenly, Jimin gets an idea. “Would you like to try something?”

“What?”

“You’ll see,” he says suavely, smirk plastered on his face. He quickly runs over to grab his broom, settling himself on top of it, closer to the front of it than he normally sits. “Come on, hop on!”

“Are brooms meant for two people?” You ask, concerned. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this.

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Come on, Y/N. Please?” With hesitant steps, you make your way over to him, setting on the broom behind his body. “Wrap your arms around me. It’s alright, I promise I won’t let you fall. You’ll be alright.”

The moment Jimin feels your fingers resting securely on his stomach, arms wrapped around his torso, he takes off. You gasp, surprised by the sensation, but Jimin’s always been a decent flyer and the added weight is hardly a barrier for him. Six years of Quidditch playing under his belt alongside broomstick training since he was little makes for a pretty smooth ride.

“Oh my gods, Jimin, we’re so high,” you say, making the mistake of looking down. You must be at least ten meters above the castle walls now.

“Look up, Y/N,” Jimin instructs, flying around in circles once he’s reached a pleasant altitude. You follow his order, gasping softly when you do. It’s nighttime now, only the field’s edges illuminated by the warm yellow light of the torches, but darkness means a night sky above you, and more importantly, the celestial bodies within it.

“Oh Gods, it’s beautiful,” you say, and Jimin only wishes he could turn his head to see the look on your face, but your safety is decidedly more important. “I never—I never realized you could see them so close.”

“I thought you might like it.” Jimin grins to himself.

“Like it? I love it,” you exclaim. He feels one of your hands leave his waist, imagines that you’re reaching out above you, almost as if you can touch the stars with your fingertips. And as the two of you fly around on Jimin’s broom without another care in the world, your body pressed closely against his, warmth radiating through his robes, he knows for certain, then, that if you wanted to touch the stars, all you had to do was ask.

“Still, after all of that, he surely loved her. He must have,” Jimin presses, perhaps more for himself than for the purposes of the project.

“I don’t know, Jimin,” you hum to yourself. “I don’t really think he knew the full weight of his actions. It could have been misplaced.”

“But isn’t that the whole point of the story?” Jimin asks, looking at you. You’re hesitant to meet his gaze, but hold eye contact regardless, eyes flickering every now and then. “That even if Gatsby didn’t know what would happen to him, didn’t realize how ridiculous and ignorant he was being, he still found affection for her. Fitzgerald created a love story so sad that it uncovered the darkest secrets of the era.”

You look skeptical. “But could that have been true love? Was it real?”

Jimin scoffs. “Of course it was real. It was impossible for him not to fall in love with her.”

“Park, you coming tonight?” Seungcheol pops his head into Jimin’s dorm as Jimin’s putting away the last of his schoolwork, deciding that fuck it, he’s not gonna learn anything else about The Great Gatsby before his presentation with you tomorrow and that he might as well just enjoy himself tonight. Admittedly, a rager on a Tuesday isn’t the most appropriate timing for a party, but it’s Hogwarts, and there are no rules. Especially not in the Slytherin dungeons. Besides, even if they do get caught by administration, only the kids who organized the party will get in trouble for it. Jimin doesn’t arrange festivities—he just gets invited to them.

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Jimin says with a scoff. He shrugs off his large, drapey robes, laying it down on his bedsheets so only his dress shirt, tie, and slacks remain.

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “It’s not a party without you, Park!”

Jimin laughs. “I just gotta run and do something really quick, but I’ll be back in a flash. Save me some Felix Felicis!”

“Will do, Chief!” Seungcheol calls as he leaves Jimin to his own devices.

Jimin had mentioned the party his housemates were throwing tonight to you in passing, but neither of you had placed much emphasis on it over the past few days. But with the presentation less than twenty-four hours away, Jimin’s getting a bit antsy, desperate to let loose for a little, and he’d love to bring you with him. Perhaps work up enough courage to tell you how he feels about you.

He finds you sitting in the owlery, which may possibly be the furthest place from the Slytherin dungeons you could find. You’re playing with a couple of owls, some treats in your hand as you teach them tricks.

“Hey,” you say, not even looking up as you hear the door creak open. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party tonight in the Slytherin common room,” Jimin says in lieu of a hello. He’s really just trying to get straight to the point.

“Is that why you look all university casual?” You ask, looking up at him. Without his robe on, Jimin certainly looks much less dressy than he normally does.

“Maybe,” he says.

“So? Why are you telling me that Slytherin house is having a rager?”

“Because I want you to come,” Jimin says with a smile, a charming, mildly-sleazy one he hopes will get you off of the floor. “Please?”

“A party? That sounds like the very opposite of my ideal environment,” you say with your eyes wide. “What makes you think I’d want to go?”

“Well…” Jimin says, faltering. You’re right. From the short time in which Jimin’s gotten to know you, parties aren’t necessarily your cup of tea. In fact, they aren’t tea at all. They’re coffee. You’re a tea-drinker and parties are essentially coffee to you. Is he really that confident that he can convince you to come? “I’ll be there.”

“You’re that confident in yourself, huh?” You muse, smiling as you shake your head. “Think I’m gonna abandon my current evening plans just to hang out with you in a dingy dungeon filled with other Slytherins?”

“Yes?” Jimin feels less and less sure of himself as this conversation continues. He definitely went about this the wrong way.

“I’d be the only Puff there,” you mumble.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jimin quickly responds. “All the houses are allowed to attend. Granted, it’ll be majority Slytherin, but there will be some other Puffs there. I promise.”

“You really want me at one of your parties, huh?” You ask, standing up. In the glow of the evening light, as the sun sets outside, far below the view from the owlery, you shimmer.

“Of course I do,” Jimin says like it’s hardly a question, because it’s not. The fact of the matter is: Jimin wants you beside him. “Just for a little, I swear. If you don’t like it we can leave and come back up here. I’ll sneak us some Felix Felicis. It’ll be a fun night no matter what.”

“If you say so,” you say with a sigh, pulling off your robes so all that’s left is your own dress shirt, tie, and skirt. Jimin doesn’t think you needed to take your robes off just for the occasion, but you look beautiful nonetheless. “Well? What are you waiting for? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Jimin arrive at the door to the Slytherin common room. Someone’s cast a spell to muffle the noise from outsiders, so as to prevent this thing getting shut down instantly, though the parties almost always end before midnight anyway. The record player in the back has been enchanted to play music louder, though it can hardly be heard over the chatter and laughter in the room.

“Hey, Park!” People call as Jimin walks through the crowd, you close to his side. You’re holding onto his arm like it’s a lifeline, like losing him means imminent doom. Jimin waves to everyone he knows and even a few people he doesn’t, all of whom give you courteous nods of acknowledgement that you’re hesitant to return.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Jimin whispers in your ear as Seungcheol comes up to him with two glasses of Felix Felicis.

“Hey, Park! Is this where you ran off to?” He asks, motioning to you.

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Y/N, this is Seungcheol. Seungcheol, Y/N.”

You send the smallest smile possible, one Seungcheol returns tenfold. “Nice to meet you. Here, I grabbed the both of you some Felix Felicis. Someone magicked them, so it tastes like fruit punch. Highly recommend!” Seungcheol bounces off, leaving you and Jimin each with cups of sparkling gold liquid in your hands.

“Bottoms up, right?” Jimin asks with a smile and a shrug.

You go along with him, clinking your glasses before downing the liquid. Jimin feels it rush through himself, lighting up his bloodstream. Real Felix Felicis is awfully difficult to brew, and much too valuable to be wasted on a shitty Hogwarts party, so this is a much more muted, cocktail-ed version of the potion, but Jimin swears the effects are all the same.

“Feeling any different?” Jimin asks after a little while. You’ve resigned yourselves to a couch in the corner of the room, away from the crowded center of the party, where the rest of Jimin’s friends are, in an effort by Jimin to make you as comfortable as possible. Not that he minds not being the center of attention—in fact, he quite enjoys just living in his own little bubble alongside you.

“A little,” you respond, leaning against him. Jimin pretends that his heart beats all the same, even if you’re pressed up against him. “You?”

“I’m feeling… lucky,” Jimin muses to himself, turning to you. You blink up, gaze meeting his own. Jimin feels like he could get lost in the sea of your irises, but maybe that’s just the drink.

“Is that so?” You ask, hazy grin plastered on your face.

“I think so,” Jimin says, leaning in. “I think the effects of the Felix Felicis are still there, even if it’s not the real potion.”

“Are you sure about that?” You ask, your lips slowly closing in on his own. He can feel each breath that leaves your mouth as you speak to him, feels the warm air hit his skin.

“Mind if I test my theory?” He says with a muted smile, closing his eyes.

You nod. “Go right ahead.”

Jimin leans in just a little further, eager to press his lips to your own, when, out of nowhere—

“Park!”

The two of you pull apart immediately, jerking away from each other like you’ve suddenly developed phobias of each other. Jimin turns his head to see Joshua strolling up to him. He’s already dreading this conversation.

“You never introduced me,” Joshua says, a little loopy. He’s definitely had too much to drink tonight.

Jimin sighs. “Josh, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Josh,” he deadpans.

“Nice to meet you,” Joshua says with a bow, nearly toppling over as he does. “Jimin talks about you all the time.”

Jimin’s eyes widen.

“He does?” You ask, confused. You turn to Jimin, who’s already fearful of the direction this conversation is heading.

“Yeah,” Joshua says. “Says he’s real thankful that you’re helping him out with that Muggle Studies project of yours. He wouldn’t get to play in the Quidditch game on Friday if it weren’t for all the work you’ve put into the project to boost his grade.” Jimin can see the liquid luck in his body evaporating. “He really appreciates it all. Gotten all close to you just so he can see if he can muster up a good grade. ‘M thankful to you, too. We need our Chaser.” Jimin turns to you to find a horrified look on your face, brows slowly furrowing in anger. “Well, have a nice night.”

Joshua saunters off, leaving Jimin burning in the ashes as you turn to him.

“Is that it?” You ask, angry, voice certain. He thinks he can see your eyes watering. “Is that all you wanted from me? A good grade? So you could play in your fucking Quidditch game?”

“Y/N, no, that’s not it—”

“Really? Because that’s what it looks like to me. I trusted you, you know? I thought you trusted me, as well.”

“I do, Y/N, wait—”

You get up, clearly fuming, sniffing to hold back your tears. “You know I’ve had a crush on you since third year? Third year! And I was going to tell you after the project was over but I guess I don’t have to anymore.” You fumble in your pockets, searching for something, when you pull out a folded up piece of parchment. Jimin recognizes it as the one from your notebook, serrated at one of the edges. You toss it at him, letting it land at the floor at his feet. “Here. A parting gift.”

“Y/N, wait!” Jimin calls, stumbling after you, but you’re already out of the door in a flash, yellow tie disappearing down the hall before Jimin can run after you. When you’re gone, Jimin’s left standing speechless, like the whole world around him is turning and yet he’s frozen in place. The noise filters in one ear and right out of the other, the party going over his head as he stands there, foolishly hoping that you’ll return.

He walks over to the folded up piece of parchment, leaning down to pick it off the ground. Opening it up, he finds, drawn on it, a portrait of himself, done partly in quill ink and partly in pen ink. It’s of him smiling, his mouth open wide and his eyes crinkled up into crescents, wrinkled at the edges. At the bottom, a note:

Jimin,

You will always be my muse.

Y/N.

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees an angry splotch in the corner, seeping into the parchment and causing a bit of ink to bleed.

Overcome with emotion, Jimin storms over to where Joshua is, lounging on a windowsill with another cup of Felix Felicis in his hands. “Fuck you,” he bites, making Joshua jump back in shock.

“What’s gotten into you, Park?” He asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Jimin spits. “You’re just a fucking asshole, you know that? You’re a dick.”

“What did I do?” Joshua asks, and Jimin can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Maybe he’s not. Maybe Joshua really did think Jimin was just trying to use you to get a good grade, but that doesn’t make him any less of a giant fucking tool. Regardless, Jimin doesn’t stay around long enough to give a response, storming up to his room and collapsing on his bed, the portrait fluttering to the ground beside him.

If Park Jimin was dreading have to give a Muggle Studies presentation the day he was assigned it, it pales in comparison to how much he truly does not want to give it the day of. You haven’t spoken a word to him since the party last night, barely even acknowledging him as he takes his seat next to you, in preparation for your project. Jimin feels like he’s lost all control of himself, his hair a disaster, face puffy and swollen, friend group a disaster and his crush refusing to speak to him. Not to mention, if he fucks up on this presentation he doesn’t even get to play in the Quidditch game on Friday.

“First up will be... Park and Y/L/N,” the professor says. Jimin definitely did not see this coming.

Slowly, the two of you trudge up to the front of the room, little pieces of parchment in your hands as cue cards, to a couple of wolf whistles from the friends Jimin is trying desperately to distance himself from.

“You may begin,” the professor croaks, pen in hand as he’s ready to take off marks for every little thing Jimin gets wrong.

Jimin clears his throat. He turns to look at you, but to no avail. Slowly, he begins. “The Great Gatsby is a story about a man in an unrequited love with a woman, willing to do anything to gain her favor. But more than that, it’s a story about love and loss, and about a time period in which everything seemed so great, that it became infected with poison.”

Slowly, the ten minutes allotted for each presentation tick by, you and Jimin speaking exactly on cue, like robots. The professor nods every now and then, writing something down here and there on the piece of parchment in front of him as the two of you continue.

“The Great Gatsby is more than just a love story,” you say, quickly glancing down at your parchment for a reminder. “It is a cautionary tale of love, warning readers of what happens when you devote yourself too much to a single person, and what happens when it inevitably fails.”

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat. Is this it? Is that how you feel? Is that what happened?

That’s supposed to be the last line of your presentation, and people begin applauding when Jimin clears his throat, desperate to say something else. “No, wait. It’s more than that, more than a cautionary tale of love.” For the first time in what feels like eons, you meet his eyes. Jimin can only hope you’ll trust him on this, let him have just this. “It reminds us that love can be blinding but sometimes, the passion makes it worth it. It reminds us that love is not a weakness, but a strength. And that sometimes, even if the results are deadly, it’s worth it.”

The room erupts into a soft applause, the enthusiasm of a class of tired, homesick teenagers absolutely electrifying. But, if it’s any consolation, Jimin meets his professor’s eyes, and he earns a nod in response.

After class, the professor calls Jimin up front for a moment. The time leaves Jimin antsy, as he’s desperate to speak to you, talk to you, say something. Explain himself.

“Mr. Park, you did well today,” the professor says.

“Really?” Jimin asks.

“Yes, you gave a very enlightening presentation. Did you learn a thing or two from Y/N?”

Jimin looks up to where you’re standing, gathering your items silently, keeping your eyes trained down. “I learned a lot from her,” he says.

“I can tell. You both received an Exceeds, so good luck on your Quidditch game on Friday,” the professor says. Jimin can’t help but wonder if it’s a grade he received slightly out of pity, but he’ll take it.

“Thank you, Professor,” Jimin says with a bow, eager to leave the room as he sees you doing the same.

“Oh, and Park, one more thing,” the professor says. Jimin turns to him, and the professor simply smiles, sage and wise. “Good luck with her, too.”

Jimin rushes after you.

Unsurprisingly, Jimin finds you in the owlery. Almost like you were waiting for him.

“Y/N,” he says.

“You went off script,” you say in response, refusing to meet his eyes. You’re standing by the window, watching as the winds move the clouds across the sky.

“I had to,” Jimin says, walking over to you.

“No, you didn’t,” you spit. “You wanted to. Because everything is what you want, isn’t it? I know that we got Exceeds. Congrats on your Quidditch game.”

“Y/N, please. It’s more than that,” he begs, reaching down to take your hand in his own.

You pull it away, turning to gaze into his chocolate eyes. “Is it, Jimin?”

“Yes, Y/N. It is,” he pleads. “Admittedly, I was happy to hear that you might be able to help me get my grade up but that wasn’t why I hung out with you, or asked you to show me the owlery, or taught you how to fly a broom. People always talked around about how strange and peculiar you were, but I knew that you weren’t weird. You were just different, and my friends are fucking assholes. I’m sorry for that.”

You turn away.

“Y/N, please, look at me. I did all of those things because I wanted to spend time with you. I shouldn’t have taken you to the party, though, I should have just spent the evening with you. I wanted to tell you how I felt about you, but I never got the chance. Y/N, you’re my muse.”

You turn to look at him, finally letting him capture your gaze. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry for all of this. I just—I just want you.”

“You have me,” you whisper, sniffling slightly. Jimin swears he can feel tears welling up in his eyes as well, but he blinks them away.

And finally, after ages of waiting, of Jimin trying to muster up the courage but then chickening out, after days of dealing with his shitty friends and spending his hours up here in the owlery, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, nothing deep, nothing angry, but passionate nonetheless. It feels like warmth blooming inside of him, from the inside out. Blossoming like the flowers in spring. You hum contentedly to the feeling of his lips on yours, and suddenly, everything feels alright.

When you part, Jimin can’t help but press another kiss to your nose, and then your forehead, your cheeks, and the corner of your lips, each light, feathery touch making you giggle. You settle in for the night on the cushions, letting a few owls roam about the room, speaking in hushed whispers of a future for the both of you.

“I know you said you’re not really a sports person,” Jimin begins. “But my Quidditch match is on Friday and I’d love it if you’d come. Not like, as my girlfriend or anything. Unless you want that.”

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Park?” You tease.

“I’m also asking if you’d come to my game.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s nose. This feels right. “Yes and yes. I’d love to.”

Friday afternoon, the bleachers are shaking from students, Hufflepuff and Slytherin filling up the stands as they watch their house teams play in the first game of the season. And even from all the way up there, as Jimin weaves in and out of the other players, tossing the Quaffle through one of the rings to score another ten points for Slytherin, he spots you standing in the bleachers, a girl in yellow amongst a sea of green, and he grins.

#jimin fluff #jimin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jimin scenario #bts imagine #jimin imagine #bts au #jimin au #bts hogwarts au #bts hogwarts #jimin hogwarts au #w: boats against the current #i: crave death

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