The third weekend of May…

“I’m going to be sick,” Luhan mumbles from somewhere around Lay’s shoes.

Lay ducks his head to peer under the breakfast table, eyes sharp and without mercy.

“You’d better get your back up here where it belongs and eat some breakfast,” he reprimands, sounding a lot like Luhan’s mother, but meaner.

“I can’t,” Luhan moans, curling his arms around his knees and drawing them up to his chest, where his heart is currently trying to break free and run away from Hogwarts. “I’ll throw up before we even get out to the Quidditch pitch.”

He squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden wave of nausea that rolls through his empty stomach.

Lay sighs in exasperation before speaking, his voice strained with irritation even though Luhan can tell he’s trying (even if it’s half-assed) to sound slightly softer.

“Okay, I’m not going to go on and on about how this is the final and most important match of the year, or about how whoever wins this match will more than likely win the Quidditch Cup, and, as a result, the House Cup, and bring eternal glory to their house, and I’m not going to tell you that if we lose we’ll be shunned for the rest of our time at Hogwarts like the miserable, lousy, shame-faced losers we would be-”

“Lay!” Suho shouts at him from across the table as Luhan lets loose a high-pitched wail of despair and throws himself at Suho’s legs, wrapping his arms around them in the need to be comforted immediately.

“What?” Lay asks, sounding bewildered. “It’s true.”

Luhan whimpers.

“That doesn’t mean you have to pound it into his head over and over again,” Suho says angrily.

Lay mumbles something under his breath, but Luhan distracts Suho from retaliating by clambering up onto his side of the table and pushing into his side.

“It’s okay,” Suho soothes, patting Luhan’s head, and Luhan would usually be embarrassed to be treated like a child, but right now his knees feel too wobbly to walk and all he can see every time he blinks is Slytherin winning the Quidditch Cup while the entire Hufflepuff house mobs him on the field for not catching the Snitch.

“They would be so angry,” Luhan thinks with fear, seeing the angry mob advance on him in his mind while he holds out his broomstick in shaky self-defense. “Especially…”

Luhan glances up and catches Lay’s narrowed gaze as he rips off a piece of his toast with his teeth with a little more ferocity than necessary, and immediately flinches, averting his gaze quickly.

“You do need to eat something,” Suho is saying, pushing the eggs towards Luhan, but Luhan is distracted by part of the Slytherin Quidditch team entering the Great Hall.

Sehun glances over from the group, finds Luhan, and waves, smiling, his broom in one hand.

Luhan waves back weakly.

And then Lay is standing, leaning across the table, and blocking Luhan’s view.

Luhan yelps and jerks back in surprise, but Lay grabs a handful of his Quidditch robes, keeping him in place.

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” Lay hisses, and Luhan blinks in confusion, mouth opening to ask him what he means, but Lay is continuing before he can get the words out.

“Today, Sehun is not your boyfriend. He is your mortal enemy, your arch nemesis, the Lord Voldemort to your Harry Potter,” he says, a manic glint to his eye. “Remember that.”

Luhan gulps and nods, and Lay lets go, sitting back in his own seat and calmly taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

It’s quiet at their section of the table for approximately two seconds.

And then Luhan takes a look at the eggs and promptly darts from the Great Hall, one hand over his mouth.

“Hey, whose side are you on anyway?” Xiumin demands as soon as Chen comes into view.

Chen has the decency to look abashed, rubbing the back of his neck, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s wearing an emerald green tie over his white button-up shirt.

Xiumin grabs his arm before Chen can explain himself and drags him into a nearby empty classroom.

“It’s not my fault,” Chen blurts as soon as they’re inside and the door is closed.

Xiumin eyes him suspiciously, and Chen hurries to explain.

“D.O. gave it to me because I couldn’t find mine,” he says, fidgeting with the end of the tie, and Xiumin pushes down the thought that he’s really cute when he’s nervous. “It’s not even D.O.’s. It’s Kai’s, I think. And I wasn’t going to wear it to the game, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and-”

“Kai?” Xiumin interrupts, eyes narrowing. “Why is that Slytherin everywhere? First he was in Lay’s bed-”

“Wait, what?” Chen asks, taken aback, because he had never heard anything about something like that.

“-and he kissed Suho before that I think, and ever since he found out who D.O. was, he’s always in the Room of Requirement with us, and do you remember Valentine’s Day…”

Chen moans, covering his eyes as if that’ll stop the horrifying images of that day from flashing through his mind, but Xiumin keeps talking. If he and Xiumin had known, if only they had known, they never would have walked in to the Room of Requirement in the first place.

“… and now you’re wearing his tie,” Xiumin finishes in a low voice, like he’s talking to himself.

“I’ll just take it off,” Chen says, eyeing Xiumin warily, alarmed by his boyfriend’s brooding look.

“No, wait,” Xiumin says quickly, pulling his wand out of his Quidditch robes.

Chen backs up, hitting the door.

“Woah, hold on a second,” he says, hand reaching for the doorknob, terrible flashbacks of being hit by a full-body bind curse and then being stuffed under a table during the Winter Formal flying through his mind.

But Xiumin is already muttering a spell under his breath, a bright flash of light coming from his wand, and Chen squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself.

It’s quiet for one second, two seconds, three seconds, and Chen is afraid to open his eyes because what if he’s not wearing any