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Chapter Text

4 October 1977

Jackson Wang dropped his luggage, emblazoned with red and gold leaping lions, onto the cold stone of the dungeons. The whole castle was in chaos after the attack. Hogwarts was off the map; it was unimaginable that Gryffindor Tower would be struck by Death Eaters only a few weeks into the new term. Yet, it had been. This was clearly a warning blast. While there were no casualties, many lay injured under Madam Pomfrey’s care and the Gryffindor dormitories were utterly uninhabitable.

Almost half the students floo’ed home immediately, either out of fright or at their parents’ demands. Jackson insisted on staying. He was a Seventh Year. He wanted to complete his NEWTs officially. Though his parents urged him to join any of the innumerable quidditch teams that gave him an offer last summer, all he wanted to do was aid the war effort. For that, he would need advanced magical skills, courage, and the test scores to rise in the ranks. What use was a silly game on broomsticks if no one would be alive and well to see it?

Jackson stared at the boy sitting in the nearest four-poster bed, heir to the pureblood Tuan family fortune. He was beautiful—a narrow regal face, sharp features, and dark straight hair. However, the Slytherin ranks decreased the least following the attack. It was as if they had expected it.

“Evening,” Jackson said.

Mark Tuan nodded once and returned to his reading. Not very welcoming, the room was empty save for them.

“Bloody hell, Wang! Did you go down already?” came a shout from the hall. Sirius Black emerged, dark hair a mess, robes dishevelled, his trunk half opening in the air as he levitated it. His grey-blue eyes were tired from struggling to pack everything in the last hour amid the rubble.

“Yeah, beat you to it,” Jackson laughed, elbowing Sirius in the centre of his gut. Sirius gagged, nearly losing concentration over his hovering belongings.

“The blood traitor arrives,” Mark murmured before flicking his curtains shut with a swish of his wand.

“Everyone here is certainly jolly,” Sirius grumbled.

“You may get killed in your sleep at this rate,” Jackson eyed his friend warily.

“Just don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Sirius shrugged. “Can’t have you dying for me.”

Potions was the first lesson the next day. Nearly half the class was missing, and Professor Slughorn looked utterly exhausted. He had been up all night helping Madam Pomfrey, the school’s Healer, brew pain-killing draughts.

“Welcome, class,” he droned. “I have been instructed to offer you some leniency for the ongoing partner assignment. Obviously, we will need to reassign groups. Listen carefully to your name.”

He cleared his throat. Jackson tapped his quill against the desk impatiently since the list was written alphabetically by surname. Sirius was leaning back in his seat, half-asleep, and James Potter was staring lasers at Lily Evans as if making eye contact could decide their fate as Potions partners.

Jackson’s eyes wandered more. Kunpimook Bhuwakul, whom everyone called Bambam, had gone home with the first group of students; he had been dreadfully worried about his parents and siblings. Yugyeom Kim was across the classroom looking glum without his best friend. Though the two were both Sixth Years, their skills at the cauldron had placed them into Advanced Potions with the older students.

Then, Jackson caught his new roommate’s gaze already focused on him. The thoughts behind Mark’s eyes were unreadable, and his lips were set neutrally. But why was he staring?

Professor Slughorn read, “Mark Tuan and Jackson Wang, a pair.”

Mark inclined his head at the professor in confirmation.

“Wolfy Wang~” a few Slytherins jeered.

Jackson’s whole body flushed hot with dread, and his stomach churned.

After the list concluded, Jackson walked to the empty seat beside Mark.

“Alright?” Jackson said nervously as he settled his belongings around the shared cauldron. Mark’s vacant stare made Jackson feel he had already crossed the line with that familiar remark.

He took out his textbook, which was bookmarked to the correct page.

Mark observed this. “How far did you get last time?” he asked.

“Not too far…” Jackson admitted. “Things were going great until the colour turned a nasty green. And the thickness was just… eugh. I think we had misinterpreted the instructions about the newt tails.”

“You dice them.”

“We did.”

“Show me.”

Jackson tilted his head. No one had ever talked to him like this. Still, using the provided tongs, he grabbed a slimy tail from the jar and chopped it as finely as he recalled doing with his previous partner.

Mark made a sound of dissent. “That’s too small. Dicing is more like this.”

Plucking another tail from the jar, Mark’s deft fingers made quick work of the flesh. The chunks were small yet still distinctly newt. Jackson’s pile of goop looked like a fleshy abomination in comparison.

“Oh, thanks.”

Mark shrugged, “I’ve been bunked with Snape for the past seven years. The kid will not shut up about Potions.”

“He’s a proper prat, huh,” Jackson glanced at the aforementioned student who was beaming at being seated beside Lily. Lily, although they had been childhood friends, did not look too pleased. From across the room, James looked even more miserable.

“Not easy being a half-blood Slytherin,” Mark noted, “especially since he’s from a poor family.”

Jackson, though, found the bandage across Snape’s cheek to be highly suspicious. Had his injury been from the attack, what was he doing near Gryffindor Tower yesterday afternoon?

“Lily still isn’t over what happened, you know…” Jackson said.

“Evans? What happened?”

“He called her a mudblood.”

Mark only nodded. Jackson couldn’t guess at all what he was thinking. It usually wasn’t so hard to determine some common ground, to find a lure to reel in a conversation.

“You all bully him just as much?” Jackson continued, nervously. “Snape, I mean.”

“Not as much as Potter and your gang.”

“I don’t agree with what they do.”

“You aren’t a Marauder, then?”

“I’m not.”

“Hm, I always thought you were,” Mark openly appraised him.

Once more, Jackson felt his face heat. “That’d be like if I assumed you had a dark mark on your forearm just because your robes bear a serpent.”

Mark’s face clouded. For the remainder of the class, they didn’t speak except to give minor instructions.

After Potions was Charms with Hufflepuff, which occurred without much incident. Youngjae Choi had also left last night, and Jackson would typically have passed the class sparking inconsequential charms beneath the desk with him.

Transfiguration with Ravenclaw followed, and by then, Jackson was itching for his free period. He took a seat beside his best friends since his first year—Jaebeom Im and Jinyoung Park. Professor McGonagall prepared some rabbits at the front of the classroom while students filed in.

“It’s too bad you cannot dorm in our House until the tower is repaired,” Jinyoung said, touching Jackson’s thigh in comfort.

“How was last night with those snivelling creeps?” Jaebeom bristled. His parents had been injured in the attack on Diagon Alley last month, and he couldn’t fathom why the students with known Death Eater affiliations were allowed to continue their education. His Ravenclaw emblem did not make him any less courageous or headstrong.

“It’s fucking cold down there,” Jackson grimaced. “Makes me miss Hong Kong.”

Jinyoung lowered his voice, “Are you still aiming to apply as an Auror?”

“I am.”

“I want to join you,” Jaebeom nodded.

Jackson smiled at his friend.

“There’s no use pretending everything is normal when people are hurting,” Jinyoung agreed. “I’m in.”

“Seems like attacking Hogwarts was a bad move for them,” Jaebeom laughed caustically. “They’ve just incited so many students to join the war.”

“With your Defence against the Dark Arts,” Jackson turned from Jaebeom to Jinyoung, “and your perfection at Charms, they’ll be in trouble.”

“Plus, we have them on our side once we graduate,” Jaebeom added, tilting his chin at the four Marauders huddled together a ways away. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were in a heated discussion, as expected following a critical headline in the Daily Prophet.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. His silver prefect’s pin flashed in corresponding distrust.

“Oi, they aren’t that bad,” Jackson defended.

“You don’t have to wrangle them every time one of their pranks goes wonky,” Jinyoung sighed. “And I’m supposed to answer to Potter now that he’s Head Boy. Lily was at least much more sensible before they started dating, but now she’s just as bad. I will never comprehend why Dumbledore appointed them Head Boy and Girl”

“Ignore him. He didn’t get much sleep last night,” Jaebeom chimed in.

“And whose fault is that?” Jinyoung snapped.

“Right,” Jackson shuddered. “I will be eternally grateful I wasn’t sorted into your room.”

During his free period, Jackson strolled the grounds. Autumn was upon them, and he wished to enjoy the sun before the frigid Scottish winter approached. Without the roaring Gryffindor fire to lounge before, it would be a horrid year-end with the Slytherins.

His mind kept wandering back to the attack. The Death Eaters must have had internal assistance. If so, from whom? How? And will it happen again?

In the distance, a few Fourth Years were challenging each other before the Whomping Willow, as if the infirmary wards weren’t over full capacity as it were. Jackson frowned. The students were nimble enough to dodge the deadly branches, but they had no foresight to see the tree was growing more and more agitated.

As a dark, gnarled arm came crashing down, Jackson sprinted towards them. However, it was happening faster than his feet could carry him. He was about to call his broom when Mark appeared.

Drawing his wand from his green robes, Mark uttered a distinct “Flipendo! ”

The Knockback Jinx sent the student flying backwards into his friends, smashing them all out of harm’s way like a rack of bowling pins.

Jackson’s pace slowed, amazed by Mark’s quick thinking. Where had he come from? Their eyes met momentarily before a groan sounded from the pile of Fourth Years. The fieriest one stood, hobbling over with a dazed yet fuming glare, and punched Mark squarely in the jaw.

“Petrificus Totalus! ” Jackson roared.

The kid’s skinny body dropped like a plank to the grass, completely bound by invisible magic.

“What is wrong with you?” Jackson yelled. “He saves you lot from getting obliterated by that tree, and you attack him? Have you lost your minds?!”

The other kids, having regained awareness after being thrown through the air, cast their eyes down in deference.

“Wooyoung must have thought he was picking on us, his being a Slytherin and all,” the one who had almost been killed said meekly. He had narrow eyes that were blown huge with concern. “Sorry, Jackson!”

The kids were from the same House, so Jackson knew they respected him. He used that advantage.

“Don’t apologize to me. To your feet—come on. Show Mark Tuan some gratitude.”

Standing, they muttered some feeble apologies and thanks, utterly blanched by the whole affair. Their friend was still a petrified board beside them.

“Okay, now piss off,” Jackson waved them away. “And take your friend with you.”

“You Gryffindors are such a pain in the arse,” Mark muttered, holding his jaw.

“Sorry, they’re just kids,” Jackson offered. “Shall I walk you to the infirmary?”

Mark shook his head, “Nothing’s broken.”

“We should still get some ice on it.”

“What for?”

“For the swelling.”

“Oh,” Mark said thoughtfully. Then, he twirled his wand in a circle, conjuring ice from the moisture in the air. He held it to his jaw. “Is this a muggle treatment? Instead of healing spells?”

“It should be a treatment for everyone and anyone,” Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’ll walk you back, though. Really, thanks for intervening. They aren’t even your House.”

They began up the hill.

“Like you said, they’re still kids. I didn’t want what happened a few years back to happen again—that one boy who left for home with a caved-in skull.”

“Why do we even have this thing on the grounds?” Jackson eyed the willow warily as it creakily returned to its former position.

“Maybe a reminder that we should never set foot in the Forbidden Forest if we can’t handle a lone tree,” Mark shrugged. “Dumbledore’s a bit of a loon.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Jackson warned, “given this climate.”

Mark glanced at the sparse students sunbathing on the lawn. “I thought you already didn’t trust me. This morning, you said—.”

“I didn’t say anything! I meant I don’t not trust you just because you’re a Slytherin!”

Jackson’s exuberance made Mark, surprisingly, laugh. Watching him crack that icy exterior melted Jackson’s defences in an instant, not that he had many to begin with.

“No way,” Mark chuckled. “No one trusts us anymore.”

“There are, certainly, names I steer clear of, but I can’t outcast an entire House for the actions of a few.”

“How high-minded of you,” Mark snorted.

As they entered the castle, Jackson kept an easy following pace beside Mark. He realized he had no idea where Mark intended to go, but he also had no inclination to leave his injured dormmate now that they were developing a rapport.

“You’d be a wiz at duelling, y’know that?” Jackson said, quite awed by Mark’s sharp wit by the tree.

“That was a first-year charm. I’d say you may be the one who’s behind.”

Despite the insult, Mark was grinning at him. Jackson found he rather liked the way Mark’s canines gleamed.

From the opposite end of the hall, Black and Potter approached.

“Alright, Wang?” Sirius made no attempt to greet his fellow roommate as well.

Jackson nodded at them, “Is practice still on?”

“Our team’s intact, but I’m not sure if Dumbledore will allow a Quidditch Cup with… everything,” James said carefully, pushing up his wire glasses.

“Practice would be nice to let off some steam,” Sirius said, bouncing on his heels. “I know we need it.”

“You need it,” James countered. Then, he explained, “Black’s been climbing the walls.”

“I just know my precious little brother had something to do with it,” Sirius muttered, voice venomous. Ever since he had run away from home last year, his tenuous relationship with his brother had completely shattered.

“Stop obsessing. You’ll drive yourself mad.” James turned to Jackson and Mark, “New mate?”

Mark, if he had been frigid earlier, stiffened further.

“Dormmate,” Jackson answered with equal tact. Then, since he figured the mood called for it, “Tuan was attacked by some little kids, so I’m taking him home.”

“Piss off,” Mark elbowed him.

Jackson grinned, immensely happy with the reaction.

“Taking the wife home?” Sirius waggled an eyebrow.

Mark’s stare darkened.

“I’m not like you, Black,” Jackson responded without much affect.

“Looks like you’ll be mates soon enough,” James laughed, easily dispelling the fight Sirius always seemed to incite. “We’re off to the library tonight if you want to join. Both of you.”

“Library—you two?” Jackson asked. “Planning another big prank, then, eh?”

“Ask me no questions, and I shall tell you no lies,” Sirius shook his head solemnly.

James rolled his eyes, “Remus finally convinced this dolt to study, even though I’ve been stressing it on him for the past seven years.”

“Moony said if I didn’t get above an E on the next DADA exam, he wouldn’t let me—.”

“Yes, yes,” James shoved him away. “They don’t want to hear any of that.”

Jackson quirked his eyebrows. He had a good enough idea of Sirius’s relationship with Remus. Black and Potter had been best mates since they were boys, but Sirius’s intensity and pure dedication towards Remus was… unique. Precious.

“Yeah, I’ll stop by if you’re actually studying,” Jackson said.

“Oh, cheers,” James smiled. “You know where to find us.”

When the pair was gone, Mark asked, “Black isn’t good at Defence Against the Dark Arts? That’s incredulous considering he’s from one of the oldest pureblood lines.”

“He acts like a dunce to shove it to his family,” Jackson explained. “There isn’t a subject on earth he’s bad at.”

“You’re close,” Mark commented.

“When Potter wants you on the Quidditch pitch every waking moment, it’s hard not to be. I see firsthand how little Black studies despite passing everything.”

Mark’s expression fell into something akin to loneliness, so Jackson continued, “But, seriously, join us if you’re free tonight.”

Mark nodded, biting his lip.

Later that evening, Jackson met Mark outside the dungeon to walk to the library together. Three Marauders sat at the table by the large picture windows, framed by stacks of books. Sirius was having a row about how they should still plan a grand Hallowe’en party even though there was no Gryffindor Tower to host it.

“I thought you promised to study,” Jackson said as they approached. Mark was a step behind him.

“Thank you, Wang,” Remus said, his head in his hands. He had clearly been pulling at his hair.

Sirius, who sat too close to Remus, frowned. “We need something to lift everyone’s spirits. All the younger students are bloody terrified of the Sly—oh.”

Sirius and Mark made eye contact. Sirius’s gaze deadened as he crossed his arms petulantly.

“Where’s James?” Jackson asked, hoping to find someone else who could diffuse the situation.

“Prefect meeting got held up,” Remus explained. “I managed to escape, but he has to lead it with Lily.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Peter piped up. He was a small, rounder boy and the fourth Marauder. Jackson wasn’t particularly close to him since Pettigrew had a fondness for tailing Potter everywhere.

Sirius was still glaring with narrowed eyes at Mark, and Jackson took the cue.

“We’ll go study over there,” Jackson tilted his head at the next table over. “Catch you later.”

He dragged Mark after him.

Behind them, Remus shouldered Sirius, “I’m joining them if you don’t bloody shut it.”

Sirius whimpered like a puppy, “No, you can’t…”

“Thanks,” Mark whispered to Jackson as they walked away. “I guess you really aren’t so bad.”

That felt like the highest compliment.

“You may call me your knight,” Jackson winked, “and I will always save you.”

For being strangers not twenty-four hours ago, they studied quite well together. Jackson chose to work on the subjects they shared, and Mark obliged. Jackson had been right; Mark was incredibly skilled at Charms. He taught Jackson the correct intonation and precise wandwork to carry out the spells they needed to learn by the next practical. Jackson normally would have begged Jinyoung to teach him, but the latter was lately otherwise preoccupied with his prefect duties or his boyfriend.

By the night’s close, Sirius trailed behind James and Remus, following them to their assigned Ravenclaw Tower dormitories. Peter had retired to his temporary residence in the dungeons earlier in the evening. Later, Jackson and Mark, still quite alone and very much comfortable with each other, walked back to Slytherin as well.

After they had taken turns in the shared bathroom, Jackson yawned loudly.

“How’s your jaw, now?” he asked, tears of sleepiness in his eyes.

“It stopped throbbing hours ago, mate,” Mark laughed.

They were both in baggy cotton pyjamas. Jackson stepped closer, placing a cold hand on Mark’s chin to inspect the site of injury. There was a fine web of purple discolouration but no swelling.

“You promise?”

“I am perfectly fine.”

Jackson dropped his hand, “G’night, Mark.”

“Good night,” Mark replied as he turned to his bed.

They each drew their curtains and fell soundly asleep, much contented by the unexpected friendship taking root.

Chapter Text

14 October 1977

Though a half-blood, Jackson was well-known and liked around the school because his father was a famed Chaser for Puddlemere United. His older brother followed suit and joined the same team when he was of age. Jackson’s mother was an Olympic gymnast, but that was a global muggle competition that no pureblood understood the heads or tails of. In any case, Jackson’s addition to the Gryffindor team as a second year was intuitive; it was rumoured that he had been riding a broom before he knew how to walk.

“Please, explain it again?” Mark asked.

“Each country sends their best athletes as representatives to compete in their respective sports.”

No pureblood cared except for Mark Tuan, it seemed.

“So then,” Mark continued, “there are summer and winter versions, alternating every four years. This sounds like the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Except much less dangerous. Hasn’t that competition been banned for centuries?”

Mark shrugged but grinned insanely. “It would be fun.”

Jackson had discovered that Mark was a fanatic for adrenaline. He should have guessed since Mark was Slytherin’s Chaser.

As he grew closer to Mark, he picked up on the gossip attached to his name. People most spoke of his beauty, his aristocratic silence, and his reckless speed in the air, in that order. Jackson also supposed that the only reason Mark was not the Seeker was due to Regulus, of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, being appointed such.

“So,” Mark tilted his head, “why can’t they combine the summer and winter sports in one?”

“Muggles can’t just… make snow.”

“Oh, right,” Mark flipped over on his bed. “If I’d had the time, I would’ve taken Muggle Studies too.”

Jackson studied him. They were sprawled on Mark’s bed, books and papers and quills scattered every which way. Mark didn’t seem to mind the mess. Originally, they had been studying for Transfiguration, too lazy to trek to the library. A flower was partially transformed into a woman’s shoe in the corner. The heel still looked rather… limp and leaf-like.

“The only other purebloods I know so interested in this stuff are James and Sirius. Well, Jinyoung Park, too, but he’s the type to want to know everything.”

“Mm?” Mark didn’t look up from the text he was reading. “Wow, last year’s Olympics were in Montreal.”

Jackson just smiled, “Yeah, I caught it on the telly last summer.”

“The what?”

“A picture box that plays live broadcasts or recordings.” The description was practised to Jackson.

Mark nodded, still thinking. Jackson could see it in the way Mark’s eyes focused on nothing.

“Why are Potter and Black so fascinated with this stuff?” Mark finally asked.

“The ones they fancy are muggle-born or half-blood.”

“Those two?”

It was rumoured that the Blacks’ dogmaticism for blood purity had resulted in inbreeding. Even half-bloods were too muddied for them. Then, though the Potters weren’t officially part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, James was still a pureblood and thus afforded all the laurels. Being involved with a muggle-born witch was still fairly outrageous.

“Well, you know James and Lily are dating,” Jackson said slowly.

“Well, I know James has been obsessed with her since first year, but Black is—what—trying to rebel against his family by ending the pureblood line?”

Jackson’s mouth twisted, “No, I don’t think it’s like that.”

Mark didn’t push it any further. Since the library study session, he had been in the same mood each time Sirius was mentioned. Jackson wished there was something he could do, but it was like talking to a wall. Mark was unbelievably stubborn when he wanted to be.

In the meantime, though it wasn’t much discussed in their classes, the war was getting worse. That much was obvious given the Death Eaters’ brazen attack on Hogwarts. The blasts had struck Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the day when most students were away in classes. The ones still in their chambers were rushed to the infirmary as professors ran in the opposite direction to confront the attackers. However, according to the eyewitnesses, as soon as the explosions went off, the Death Eaters disappeared. They swept away on broomsticks but were never seen flying over the expansive forest surrounding the school.

No one could apparate into the boundaries of the school. The floo networks in and out of the school were heavily guarded. These attackers had so casually strolled in and out, suggesting someone on the inside had held open a door. The prefects had held countless meetings to reinforce security measures, help students return home, and overcome new dorm conflicts. Thankfully, they hadn’t decided to cancel the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

Yet, beyond their isolated bubble on the grounds, there was more violence in the morning news than Jackson had ever seen. Dark wizards were attacking muggles affiliated with the wizarding world and known muggle-born families. There was unprecedented activity by dangerous creatures, to the point that the Ministry was afraid of muggles catching on. Peculiarly, though, as werewolf attacks increased across the country, so did the anti-foreign sentiment.

“Go back to the Orient,” a Slytherin would sneer.

“What if he’s a werewolf?” a Hufflepuff girl would urgently whisper to her friends.

“They must have spies among us,” a Ravenclaw would muse as he passed. “Foreign aid sprung by foreign discontent.”

“You’re just letting them all say this to you?” Jaebeom demanded that Saturday afternoon.

Returning from Hogsmeade, Jackson had received his third unsolicited comment of the day.

“What can I do about it? Show up at everyone’s doorstep during the next full moon?”

“Oh,” Jaebeom’s mind sparked. “What if we do that? We host something big on the next full moon?”

“Jinyoung would flay you.”

Jaebeom sighed, “You’re right. It’s not easy dating a prefect.”

With a sudden gust of air, Sirius and James rushed past. James cleanly beat Sirius, touching his palm to the stone gates first. Sirius doubled over, panting. Remus and Peter were metres behind.

“It’s all the smoking you do,” James tutted. “Your lungs must be as dark as your name. Oh, hey.”

James was hardly sweating as he came to greet Jackson and Jaebeom. James and Remus had been assigned to a room with Jaebeom and Jinyoung. Jackson had privately wondered if everyone had been sorted into their second most likely House.

“How was your afternoon?” James asked pleasantly.

Jaebeom glanced at Jackson once before prompting, “So, since you’re staying with us these days…”

Potter’s neutral expression turned devious. “Yes?”

“What do you say we host a party to bring all the students together? Since we began cohabitating, we hardly got the chance to properly greet our neighbours.”

“I like the way you think,” Sirius said, instantly beside them. Sweat beaded his hairline.

Jackson groaned. While he normally would have loved the chance to get tipsy and socialise, he didn’t much like how Jaebeom was doing this for him.

“Everyone’s been antsy about the werewolf attacks, so what do you say to a full moon party?” Jaebeom said.

James’s and Sirius’s faces paled despite the heat of their race.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked as he and Peter joined up. Though he hadn’t run, Remus was also panting with a vaguely strained expression. His facial scars were ever stark against his skin.

“Oh, hi,” Sirius said meekly, “Sorry I left you. How’s the hip?”

Remus just shook his head and then looked expectantly at the group.

“We suggested planning a party for the full moon since everyone’s been on edge with the werewolf attacks,” Jaebeom said.

“You suggested,” Jackson clarified. “You forgot we have three exams that week.”

“O-oh, right, that won’t be a good idea then, mate,” James said. “The other Ravenclaws are so studious I wouldn’t want to interfere. That would only strain our relations.”

“Blasted—,” Jaebeom sighed.

“We still want to host a Hallowe’en extravaganza if Ravenclaw is open to hosting,” Sirius jumped up, the light returning to his blue eyes.

“Yeah, cheers, that’ll be great.” Jaebeom looked to Jackson, “We’ll have to think of something else.”

“I’m telling you it doesn’t matter what people say.”

“What are people saying?” James cut in.

Jaebeom explained the situation, with Jackson clarifying multiple times that everything was under control. Of course, whose control, he knew not.

Remus wore an uncertain mask, and Sirius clutched his hand within the excessive folds of their robes. Remus leaned into him with a soft sigh. He had the hip of a geriatric, and that might be why he never tried out for the Quidditch team. Remus was in the infirmary all the time, though Jackson had never asked for what ailment. Perhaps it was for that hip.

Jackson looked away from their affection to say, “Jaebeom has the inane idea that if I show myself on the full moon, the rumours will stop.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” James mused.

“Oi,” Sirius growled.

Potter ignored him, “You need to pull an unforgettable stunt on that night, during peak moonrise.”

“What kind of stunt?”

“Well,” he grinned, “you’ve come to precisely the people. We aren’t the Marauders for nothing.”

Mark caught Jackson in the bathroom as they dressed for breakfast on Monday.

“Have you heard what people are saying about you?”

“Well, good mornin’ ta oo too,” Jackson said, the toothbrush in his mouth making his words slur.

“You left the door open. I figured you were decent enough,” Mark shrugged, but now he looked embarrassed.

Jackson spat out the toothpaste. “I’m always decent.”

“Okay, so you know what people are saying then. You just don’t care.”

Jackson blinked at him. He had hoped to change the subject, but was he so easy to read?

“No need for a big fuss about it. Jaebeom’s planning something to change everyone’s opinion. I’m staying out of it until they need me.”

Mark crossed his arms over his chest.

“You want to do something too?” Jackson asked.

“Yes! No… I mean, I don’t know the rest of them too well. If anything, they’ll think I’m the one who spread the rumour.”

“No one started it,” Jackson said calmly. “It’s just something that happens. They forget my home is a flipping English colony. I’m as much a citizen as they are.”

Mark still looked immensely pissed off, but he didn’t say more on the subject. “Walk you to the dining hall?” he asked.

“I’d like that,” Jackson beamed.

Jackson frankly did not care about the stunt they were planning to prove his innocence; he was too focused on the fact that he had prime intelligence on his doorstep. Unlike Sirius, who had hardly spent two seconds in the Slytherin dorms after moving in, Jackson realized he had the perfect opportunity to spy and find the traitor who organized the attack on the tower.

“What if he streaked through the halls completely nude?” Sirius suggested.

“No one wants to see that,” Potter attested.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Remus, who sat beside Jackson, gave Sirius a hearty kick beneath the table. Sirius leapt up and scowled.

“I didn’t mean me! Wang’s bloody popular.”

“Am I?” Jackson asked. Not fully engaged in the conversation, his ears only perked upon hearing his name.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you’re offering,” Dorcas Meadowes said, sliding a lock of black hair behind her ear.

“Me too!” Mary MacDonald chimed in. Her gold earrings glimmered in the morning light as she jumped up.

Lily, who was thus ousted from the conversation the three had been sharing, sighed.

“What are you lot planning?” she asked the boys.

“We need to prove Wang isn’t a werewolf,” Remus answered.

Lily’s eyes widened, “Oh.”

“I’m just saying, if you cut me with silver, it’ll be obvious. Then, this can all be over,” Jackson said, scooping up the rest of his beans and eggs onto his last bite of toast. “Either way, I couldn’t care less what people thought of me.”

“No! What if… what if someone has a real silver allergy, unrelated to lycanthropy,” Lily stammered. “It would be a witch hunt.”

The purebloods around the table stared at her use of phrase.

Jackson winced, “Sorry, you’re right.”

Remus sighed.

“That’s why my idea for a full moon inter-house party is the best,” Jaebeom pronounced, sidling into the free space beside Jackson.

“No parties!” Lily demanded.

“Go eat with your house,” Jackson scowled.

“I’m here to collect you. Dumbledore wants to speak to you.”

Jackson’s heart thudded.

During his next free period, Jackson approached the golden eagle. It spun him up into the secret office.

“Hello, sir,” he said, stepping away from the transport.

“Jackson Wang,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed despite the cluttered interior.

Jackson gazed at the rows of former headmaster portraits staring down at him with varying levels of disapproval and repugnance.

“An Oriental boy—at our school?” a crowish woman tsk’ed.

“Ignore them,” Dumbledore smiled behind his half-moon glasses. “They are antiquated and, to be blunt, dead for a reason.”

Jackson nodded, unsure if he was allowed to critique them in the same manner.

“How have classes been treating you?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

Jackson blinked. Surely, the headmaster hadn’t summoned him to talk about his grades.

“They’re good,” he replied innocuously.

“No need to be modest. I’ve heard you are doing excellent work. I’m very glad. Your brother was not nearly as stellar a student, but his talents had lain elsewhere, as we see today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How is he doing on Puddlemere United?”

“Fantastic, sir. He loves it.”

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here. I’m not trying to waste your time, I assure you. Minerva likely already spoke at length about your future career choices last summer.”

“I want to be an Auror.”

“Oh, yes, that’s marvellous. And precisely the path I hoped to hear.”

“Is there some trouble, sir?”

“I am going to make you an offer. Remember that I want your full consent on this matter. You are nearly an adult now, but you are foremost still my student.”

“Sure.” Jackson wrung his hands together behind his back. He felt the portraits glaring at him.

“We have received recent reports of werewolves in London’s Chinatown.”

Jackson stood a little straighter, eager. “You want me to infiltrate them?”

“No, absolutely not. That would be too dangerous for even the highest-trained Auror. I only need you to disguise yourself as a muggle and inquire the locals about anything peculiar they have seen recently—wild animals, child disappearances, howling, anything of the like.”

“I can do it,” Jackson nodded as he spoke, hoping to fervently display his dedication to the cause. “I can speak Mandarin and Cantonese, and I can be discreet, sir.”

“Thank you, Jackson,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I know it’s a lot to ask of someone so young. Promise me that if there is the slightest sign of danger, you will apparate out of there without question.”

“I promise.”

22 October 1977

They had to act before the full moon. Thus, Dumbledore granted the students an extra Hogsmeade weekend that year. On the very next Saturday, Jackson separated himself from Jaebeom and Jinyoung. This wasn’t too difficult, as Jinyoung’s break from prefect duties meant they were likely off snogging in a clandestine corner of the Three Broomsticks while getting sloshed at midday. However, an unknown problem came from Mark Tuan, who had decidedly attached himself to Jackson whenever they weren’t separated by their Houses.

“You don’t have anywhere else to be?” Jackson finally snapped.

Mark’s expression froze over, and Jackson instantly realized his mistake. As time ran out, his patience diminished, but he had never meant to hurt his new friend.

“Mark—I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. I just thought… never mind.”

Mark turned and walked off. Jackson debated forgoing the whole mission to chase after him, but the gravity of the war won out.

“Fuck,” Jackson cursed to himself.

Ducking into an alley far from the most popular shops in the small wizarding town, Jackson clutched the map of London’s West End. He concentrated on the little circle over Chinatown as he felt the magic pull from his navel. Soon, his body was being compressed, stretched, and sucked through space. Jackson was lucky to land on his feet in an alley hundreds of kilometres away.

Mysterious puddles and trash littered the cobblestones. Jackson changed out of his robes and stuffed them into his bag charmed to hold more than it seemed. When he stepped out into the busy street, he was instantly transported home. The stands were full of imported spices, tea leaves, fresh cuts of meat, and steaming buns. Jackson’s mouth watered. Not even the whole fish staring at him, slack-jawed and emanating the scent of fresh decay, deterred him. It was all part of the charm, and he instantly felt homesick.

“Oi, watch it!” a heavily accented man yelled as he pushed past Jackson.

Loud conversations in various dialects echoed around him like he was centerstage in a musical. He could have stood there and soaked it all in for hours, but he had a goal.

“A-yi,” Jackson approached an older woman selling dried shrimp, fungi, ginseng, and other medicines. Aunty.

“Yes, dear?” she responded in Mandarin. “Oh, look how adorable you are.”

Jackson beamed, “Not as beautiful as you are.”

“Cheeky boy, what can I do for you?”

“My mum asked me to pick up some dried mushrooms.”

They dove into an intricate conversation about the various types she had available. Jackson gave ample compliments, and she offered him a steep discount. He was grateful he had thought to bring muggle money.

“Xie xie, a-yi,” Jackson thanked her. “Sorry if this is rude, but I need to ask. My family recently moved into town, and I’ve heard some bad things… Is it safe here?”

The woman’s friendly demeanour shifted. She pulled Jackson in close.

“Do not leave the house at night,” she whispered quickly. “It is rare, but there have been animal attacks. The victims either show up dead or not at all. The Tien’s down the road… they managed to save their son, but he hasn’t been the same since. It’s like rabies, almost, but worse… much worse. The wounds don’t heal.”

“I’ll tell my mum,” Jackson nodded. “Thanks for the advice.”

As Jackson made the rounds among the various stands on market day, he learned about the picked-over trash, carcasses of small animals, and missing children that Dumbledore must have already known. This wasn’t new information, and it frustrated Jackson that the sun was already setting.

He sat on an unoccupied stoop, taking a break to recollect with his bags upon bags of shopping. He had already expended all his allowance with not much to gain for it. There was no other chance to return before the full moon the following Wednesday, the 26th.

That’s when he realized it—the trash! He followed his memory of the trash sites that were most commonly raided for raw meat scraps until he found a decrepit halfway home in the centre. He had them. Now, he only needed some definite proof.

But how could he prove a werewolf outside the full moon? Like an idiot, he hadn’t thought to bring silver.

“Oi, you lookin’ for summint?”

Jackson visibly jumped. “M-my friend Pete. Said he lived somewhere about here. I don’t mean to bother.”

“Yer too preppy a wanker to have a friend who lives ‘ere,” the man, who was scarcely older than Jackson, said. Maybe a year. He was tall and gangly.

“A half-brother, if I’m honest,” Jackson attempted to look ashamed. He really did feel stupid, given his dreadful cover. “I can leave. I’ll just give him a ring and drop these off later in the week after work.”

He held up his bags of groceries and nodded at the man. Take the bait. Take the bait!

“Aye, now that I think about it, I think a Pete did move in some time ago. He’ll’d back in a few days, no doubt.”

“Okay, I’ll be back. How’s Wednesday?”

The man smiled with two rows of crooked, yellow teeth. Despite the distance, he smelled of decay worse than the stacks of dead fish.

“Dead canny.”

Jackson committed the man’s face to memory as he apparated back to Hogsmeade from another abandoned alleyway. Scruffy facial hair that grew in patches, a strange boil about to burst by his lips, matted black hair, shrewd dark eyes, and a sharp nose. However, after Jackson ran back to Hogwarts to recount his findings, Dumbledore merely summoned the memory with magic for them to view together.

“Do you mind, Jackson?”

“Not at all, sir. I have nothing to hide.”

After dipping into the Pensieve, the headmaster was immensely pleased.

“This is excellent, Jackson,” Dumbledore praised, and Jackson shined.

However, something he had heard nagged at him.

“Actually, sir, there’s something else.”

“Speak your mind.”

“One of the ladies mentioned a muggle boy, last name Tien, who was bitten. I’m worried what happens to muggle werewolves.”

Dumbledore’s kind expression turned grim. “Very often, they are put down.”

Jackson was horrified. “So, there’s no hope for him?”

“The Ministry of Magic already has great… difficulty knowing what to do with wizard werewolves, but I will ask around.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Despite Jackson’s success, his mood was enshrouded in gloom. What exactly happened to werewolves in the wizarding world? He remembered bits and pieces about a registry and containment during the full moon, but what did that mean, precisely? No one ever fully explained, and Professor Kettleburn of his Care of Magical Creatures course was a bit too much of a nut to ask. The man only had one arm and half a leg remaining after multiple encounters with dragons that he sought out and revelled in.

When Jackson sat at the dining table that night, he was quickly wrangled into a meeting, and his deliberations were shoved aside.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders, bringing his head down into the huddle. “We got it,” he said.

“Got what?” Jackson asked.

“The plan to prove your humanity!” Sirius cried.

“Please tell me I’m not running around with my nuts swinging,” Jackson groaned.

“Nothing like that!” James insisted.

“Maybe a little bit,” Peter worried. “I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Jackson often wondered why Peter tried so hard to be friends with James when they had such vastly different personalities. Maybe it was Potter who made him brave. The lad was an anxious mess most of the time, always biting his nails.

“Can someone please tell me?” Jackson pleaded.

“The idea is that you have to do something memorable and happen to be caught,” Remus explained, the sane mind of the four Marauders.

“Sure, but I must say, my—,” Jackson looked down, “is not that memorable.”

“I’d beg to differ!” Sirius crowed.

Remus, once again, kicked him firmly under the table.

“If you’re okay with it,” Remus continued, “for the rumours to truly spread everywhere instantly, we thought the most innocent yet effective course would be for someone to catch you snogging another guy that night. You know, since it’s quite unheard of here.”

Before Jackson could speak, Sirius continued, “We know you don’t swing that way, mate, but you can play it off like an experiment or a prank—even a dare!”

“If you aren’t distinctly opposed, this was the only thing we could think of that would get everyone talking without sacrificing too much of your reputation,” James said in a milder tone.

“Or your scholarship,” Remus added.

“We can’t have you getting expelled for running around in the nude, no matter how many girls would love to see it,” James winked.

Dorcas and Mary, who happened to overhear, giggled and pretended to cheer. Jackson rolled his eyes. He knew they didn’t have any real interest in him. The beautiful women had both turned him down during the winter ball a couple years back.

“We aren’t opposed to seeing the snogging, either,” Mary said slyly.

“So, now I need to find a bloke?” Jackson sighed. He should have insisted on participating more in the planning stages. “Have you told Im about this mad plan?”

“I think it’s brilliant!” Jaebeom said from behind Jackson as if he had been summoned. The bastard.

“Where’s Jinyoung?” Jackson asked, tired of being the only rational mind. He wasn’t well-suited for stoic logic, and he needed some safeguarding from their madness.

“A Ravenclaw meeting?” Jaebeom was equally unsure.

But James shot up from his table. “Oh, hell, Lily is going to be furious!”

He ran down the aisle and out of the dining hall.

“So, a guy,” Jaebeom smirked as he took Potter’s seat. “Anyone in mind?”

“Please, I’m cack-handed to name one person who would want to snog me.”

“What about that kid you saved a couple weeks back?” Jaebeom suggested.

“He’s a Fourth Year,” Jackson scowled.

“Oh, eugh, you left that part out.”

“Yeah, I’d sooner snog you, mate.”

“Oh-ho, Jinyoung might enjoy the competition.”

“I take that back. I’d much rather snog Jinyoungie.”

“Hey!”

“I’m not offering Moony,” Sirius stated with deadly intensity, wrapping a protective arm around his friend.

“Not me, either, please!” Peter squeaked, raising a shaky hand.

“I don’t want anyone at this table!” Jackson reiterated.

Chapter Text

24 October 1977

The days were passing too quickly. Soon, it was Monday, and Jackson reconvened with Mark for their Potions project.

Jackson supposed he could hold off proving his humanity until next month. However, if his scouting hadn’t been successful enough, there would be new werewolf attacks to attest to in the coming days. Jackson wasn’t sure he could stomach the guilt if someone got injured.

Stewing in his thoughts, Jackson had not realized how odd the silence between Mark and him was until he recalled how things ended last. He looked at Mark, but Mark made no sign of noticing him. They had sat in this silence for so long; it felt wrong to break it. Was Mark even open to reconciliation? It was certainly Jackson’s fault for losing his temper at the worst time.

Having been so preoccupied since his secret mission, Jackson had returned to the dormitories so late the last two nights that neither of the other two Slytherins had still been awake. Black, of course, was never present, likely sleeping with his secret, not-so-secret, boyfriend, Lupin, who had been moved to Ravenclaw Tower.

“So, um,” Jackson’s mouth suddenly went dry. “How was your weekend?”

Mark didn’t lift his head. His eyelashes fanned over his pale cheeks as he dutifully read the textbook.

“I-I mean, after we, um, parted on Saturday. Did you do anything nice?”

“You were the one who asked to go to Hogsmeade with me, Wang,” Mark snapped.

Jackson leaned forward to try and meet his eye. “What do you mean?”

“Careful,” Mark said, holding a hand to Jackson’s hair before it could dip into their boiling cauldron.

“I genuinely do not remember asking you,” Jackson said. “I’m so sorry. Do you hate me now?”

Mark barked an abrupt laugh, “Pardon? That wouldn’t make me hate you.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Jackson sighed. “Can we be friends again?”

“Yeah,” Mark gave a vaguely incredulous smile. “Though, I really cannot fathom how you wrote me a whole bloody letter, put it beneath my pillow, and forgot about it.”

“I did what?”

“Are you that sleep-deprived?”

“No, I… I didn’t do that. Seriously.”

“So, I have a different secret admirer.”

Jackson was momentarily lost in Mark’s dark eyes, tracing the map between his rapt attention and the subtle smirk on his bitten lips.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had many,” Jackson said honestly. “But girls can’t enter the boys’ dormitories, right?”

Mark shrugged, “People get around that all the time.”

“Show me the letter later?”

“Sure, it’s in my nightstand.”

“You kept it even though you were mad at me?” Jackson grinned. “How sweet.”

“I needed evidence.”

“Okay, I take it back. You are terrifying. I shall never cross you again.”

As promised, Jackson met Mark during their shared free hour that afternoon. He had run from Transfiguration after staying a bit after class to ask Professor McGonagall a question.

Jackson burst into the room, “Sorry, did you wait long?”

However, Mark wasn’t there yet.

“No one’s waiting for you, Wang,” Severus Snape sneered from the far bed.

“I wasn’t asking you, mate,” Jackson said, not falling for the provocation. He sat on Mark’s bed to wait. “What are you doing here alone?”

“Revisions, clearly,” Severus gestured to the spread of textbooks and notes before him as he spoke.

“No friends to study with?” Jackson blurted out before the implications reached his brain. Snape scowled, deep creases appearing between his brows. “I mean—! You could join Mark and me next time. We both could use the help with Potions, and he’s magic at Charms. I’m, well, dead weight, I suppose.”

“Are you fostering all the outcast Slytherins now?” Severus asked coldly.

“Just being nice,” Jackson turned back toward the door, wondering what was taking Mark so long. Maybe he could go look for him, meet him halfway. However, what if they just miss each other?

“But… why?”

Jackson had been content letting the conversation end there, so he was shocked to hear Severus try to continue.

“Because everyone deserves a friend, Snape,” Jackson said. “Even you.”

“When are you studying next? In case I’m free then,” he sniffed.

“Tonight after dinner is the soonest. We’ll be in the library, by the windows.” Jackson smiled, “Better than getting neck cramps by yourself, eh?”

“I’ll see if I have an availability then,” Severus replied stiffly.

“Oh, by the way, Potter’ll be there too.”

Severus nodded once. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“I know, but since you both, well, hate each other.”

“He’s an arrogant prick—.”

“I know. I’ve heard it all.”

“But I cannot hate him,” Severus said quietly. “I’m indebted to him.”

That was a twist of events Jackson could not have foretold. The Marauders must have had more history with Snape than he knew. Before he could ask, Mark blasted through the door with the same sweaty panic as Jackson had minutes prior.

“Blasted Binns kept us,” Mark panted, “going on about some nameless Goblin War.”

He pushed his bangs from his forehead in a move that must have made numerous girls weak in the knees.

“No worries,” Jackson replied.

Mark glanced between the two, “Are you collecting more mates, Wang?”

“I asked him to study with us tonight.”

“That’ll be a real party,” Mark replied sarcastically. “How many lines do you think we’ll actually get done?”

“None,” Jackson beamed from Mark’s bed, bouncing in excitement. “Now, the letter!”

The letter, upon inspection, was written in a bubbly, curving script. It was also sprayed with a citrusy perfume and possibly dosed in a love potion.

“I’m afraid to touch that,” Jackson recoiled.

“I was fine.”

“No, but you’re a Slytherin pureblood. You must be immune to certain poisons.”

“That is the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever—.”

Even Snape, from the background, snorted.

“You thought I wrote you this?” Jackson continued, alarmed.

“If you were confessing, I would’ve turned you down gently later in the afternoon.”

“Oi!” Jackson shoved Mark, and the latter fell into his pillows, laughing.

“Oi, you two!” Snape yelled back. Apparently, his fuse for their antics was quite short. “If you’re just going to pander to one another, take it outside. Some people are trying to work. This isn’t a common room.”

Jackson cringed, covering his chest, “With all the big scary Slytherins practising how best to hex little ol’ me?”

“I’ll protect you. Come on,” Mark said, dragging Jackson up by the elbow. “Let’s leave Snape in peace. He’s going to get utter hell later tonight from those four.”

“If I am free!” Severus insisted.

As Jackson finished his dinner, he caught Mark’s eye across the dining hall. It was stormy that night, and the magicked ceiling reflected the broiling clouds and streaks of lightning. A mutual grin lit their faces as they walked along the irritatingly long tables. Thunder crackling, their strides quickened until they caught each other near the double doors.

“Alright, Mark?”

“Alright,” Mark nodded, eyes gleaming.

“Do you need anything from our room?” Jackson bit his tongue, inexplicably shy about claiming his temporary residence.

“I brought everything I needed with me,” Mark said as he hiked up his book bag.

The pair walked straight to the library.

“I wonder who left you that letter,” Jackson mused. “You completely stood them up, you know.”

“They only signed it ‘J.W.’ So sorry you were the first J.W. I could think of,” Mark rolled his eyes.

Jackson hummed then began listing all the students he shared initials with. When they arrived at the library, Mark’s head was bursting with names he had never met. The four Marauders were already seated at their favourite table. The desk was overflowing with Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks. Countless pages of diagrams and incantations were scattered amongst them.

“Going to war or something?” Jackson laughed at the sight.

Sirius’s eyes were shockingly grim when he looked up, startled.

“Oh, Wang,” he said. A smudged ink stain rested over his cheekbone like a battle wound. “This is nothing. If I don’t pass the next exam, Moony said he wouldn’t let me sleep over anym—.”

Remus smacked a hand over Sirius’s mouth a tad too late, “Padfoot—shut it!”

“I can’t go back to the dungeons!” Sirius cried, though muffled. “Sleeping in such proximity to those wannabe Death Eaters is going to give me hypertension!”

“And you lot have all been dragged into helping him?” Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“We all have topics we could work on,” James shrugged, good-naturedly. “Though, Black is taking up more than his fair share of the workspace.”

“You still have room for three more?” Jackson asked.

“Certainly!” With a swish of his wand, James cleared three seats for them. “But, um, who’s the third?”

Jackson sat beside Remus with Mark taking his other side.

“Oh, um… not sure if he’ll arrive.”

Nearly an hour later, a very sheepish Severus arrived with a bulging book bag.

“Snivellus,” Sirius stated coldly.

Potter straightened, looking like he was about to stand. Then, he thought better of it.

“Alright, Severus?” Jackson called over their angst. He pushed aside his books to make room. “There’s a seat here.”

“Snape,” James relaxed his shoulders and nodded with more politeness.

Peter muttered something, looking at everyone with rising panic. Remus did not bother looking up from his textbook, not out of fear but because he was too engrossed.

“You’re running a rescue now, Wang?” Sirius asked, crossing his arms so his biceps flexed. “Wrangling all these strays like this.”

“You’re the only stray here, Black,” Mark retorted. “Forgot you were disowned by your own family?”

“I left,” Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “At least I don’t conflate family obligation with life purpose, Tuan.”

“Boys!” Madam Pince, the librarian, roared from the front. “Quiet before I ban you permanently!”

Severus tsk’ed and uttered a quick, “Muffliato!”

Jackson looked around in awe as the ambient sound of shuffling pages and scraping chairs dimmed to nothing. It was as if someone had dialled the remote to mute, and an unearthly yet comforting buzzing sound replaced it, like static.

“Now, now, if we could just relax,” James took charge, but this was the last thing to tell a wound-up individual, let alone three. “We can at least study in peace.”

Looking between Mark, Severus, and Sirius, their guarded postures and the curl of their lips, Jackson’s patience promptly snapped.

“You three dolts share more in common than you realize,” he said. “For one, you all made the same bloody joke to me about keeping fosters.”

No one laughed.

Jackson sighed, “Listen, if we let House differences get the best of us, then we aren’t doing any better than the adults currently at war because no one can fucking agree in the Ministry of Magic.”

He stared between the two Slytherins. “Do either of you honestly believe in pureblood supremacy?”

“Fuck, no,” Mark articulated, leaning back and crossing his arms.

When Severus was about to nod, Jackson elbowed him, “You’re a flipping half-blood, mate.”

“But I believe in family loyalty,” Mark continued.

“You—!” Sirius exploded, but Remus held him back with an arm over his chest.

“Being half-blood isn’t my choice!” Severus meanwhile seethed to Jackson. “If I had been born a pure—.”

“And yet you are still top of the class in Potions,” Jackson countered.

James chimed in, “That’s true. How much more can you aspire for? You know that affiliating with those Death Eaters will only hurt you more. Lily already—.”

“Not helping, Potter!” Jackson barked. He took a deep breath, “My mum always told me that prejudice is mostly bred from misguided instruction, ill circumstances, or oppression. You prats were certainly not very nice to Snape in the past—.”

“He started it!” Sirius exclaimed, voice rising in pitch.

“I don’t know about that,” Remus said, cooly.

“Regardless, we’re all adults now.” Jackson was herding cats, truly.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mark shrugged.

James was the first to actively listen. “Wang’s right,” he said. “I’m sorry for everything we said as kids. It didn’t sit right with me that you were so proud of being a Slytherin, but I know that’s just rubbish my old man tells me. Our stupid House pride, eh?”

Severus nodded then gave, “Thanks for saving me at the Whomping Willow, despite everything. I never got to tell you that.”

Jackson noted he begrudged nothing about James dating Lily, which everyone knew was the crux of their continued bad blood.

Then, Severus and Sirius made eye contact, and both promptly sucked their teeth in distaste. Sirius nearly snarled. That relationship would need more than one conversation. Jackson was grateful James could at least set an example.

“So,” Remus attempted, “did you come up with that sound-muffling spell yourself, Snape?”

Sirius stared in open-mouthed horror as his Moony spoke to his mortal enemy.

“Yeah, I can teach it to you,” Severus said, trying desperately to not show how smug he was. His face slipped several times between stoicism and perverse glee.

“Ooh, me too, please!” Peter shot a hand up.

“Oh, I bet you want to learn it for your little girlfriend,” James’s eyebrows waggled.

Peter’s cheeks reddened. “It would be nice, yes…” he said shyly.

“In that case, I need to learn it too,” Sirius conceded. “If you’re, uh, willing.”

“I can teach it to all of you.” Severus looked around the table and stopped on James to growl, “But I swear if you ever use it with Lily, I will have you by the balls!”

“I thought I was going to piss myself,” Jackson confided to Mark as they walked back to the dormitories.

With the libraries closed and curfew almost upon them, the hallways were eerily quiet. The staircases above shifted soundlessly from floor to floor. The slow-moving shadows felt like cloud cover among the flickering candlelight.

“If you did, that might’ve sealed the night as the best of my year,” Mark laughed.

“Come on, now, Tuan. We have endlessly more memories to make!” Jackson declared then took off at a sprint. “Race you to the dungeons!”

Chapter Text

26 October 1977

Wednesday, the morning of the full moon, saw a noticeable shift in the students’ reactions to Jackson. As he walked through the hall, though some girls still giggled over his untucked shirt or flashy grin, there was a considerable birth around him.

“Do you think they’re scared of you, Slytherin?” Jackson teased Mark.

“Are you—?” Mark snapped before he realized Jackson was joking. “It’s mad that you’re okay with this.”

“I can’t change their opinions.”

“Of course, you can! It can’t be that hard to prove you aren’t a werewolf.”

They turned a corner, and the corridor emptied out. Their footsteps echoed, and Jackson spoke in a quieter tone.

“Not in a way that wouldn’t increase anti-werewolf sentiments.”

Since his conversation with Dumbledore, Jackson conducted more research than required for his Care of Magical Creatures coursework. All werewolves were required to sign the Werewolf Code of Conduct, promising to be completely locked away each full moon, and the Werewolf Registry, publicising their name to everyone. There was no evidence either of these measures reduced werewolf incidents and certainly no research about the werewolves’ quality of life.

“So, you would rather bear all this yourself. That is so like you.”

Jackson couldn’t help smiling. They had gotten so familiar in under a month for Mark to comfortably make such bold declarations.

“Did you hit your head this morning?” Mark frowned at him.

“I’m happy you’re walking me to class.”

Jackson wrapped an arm around Mark’s, but Mark elbowed him away.

“Be serious!”

“Oi!” came a shout from behind. “That’s my role.”

Sirius Black sauntered up with Remus Lupin at his side. Their lips and the whole vicinity of their mouths were quite flushed, and Jackson decidedly looked away.

“Alright, mate,” Jackson greeted, staring at his loafers.

Mark, surprisingly, muttered a quiet hello, and Sirius nodded back. The two mortal enemies must have been in particularly good moods this morning. Or perhaps Jackson’s handiwork at the library hadn’t been entirely inconsequential.

“Nice to see you two dormmates getting along,” Sirius said.

“We noticed your bed has been extremely vacant, fellow dormmate,” Jackson retorted.

Remus turned crimson.

“Feel free to do with it as you please,” Sirius responded. “I have no need of it. Remus is my haven from the rest of those maggots.”

“Where did you come from, anyway?” Mark asked, ignoring Sirius’s diss toward his House.

The hallway was empty, as they were running late to Potions. Without other students around, they would have heard anyone approaching. Then, Jackson noticed one of the large tapestries was shifted out of position.

“Your fly is down, Black,” Jackson said.

Mark immediately looked to Jackson, the knowledge dawning on his face. His mouth parted in surprise, then frowned in alarm, and finally landed on understanding. So, Remus was the half-blood you meant, his expression said. That’s why Sirius is so dedicated to Muggle Studies.

Sirius took the comment without much strife, fixing himself right up. “I suppose the secret is out then.”

“You weren’t doing a great job concealing it,” Remus muttered. He subconsciously fixed his robes as well, though nothing was out of place.

“So, since we’re all pals now, why are you two lovebirds late for class?” Sirius asked, sliding between the pair and wrapping an arm around each. Remus walked on Jackson’s other side.

“There was no time for lovemaking. Someone turned the dungeon stones to quicksand,” Jackson said pointedly to two of the four prime suspects.

“Hey, hey, you know what we were doing all morning,” Sirius raised his hands in surrender.

“All morning…” Mark repeated with an incredulous cough.

Remus frowned. “Sirius’s right. We also didn’t hear from James or Peter about any prank going on last night or today.”

“So, something else is going on.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Mark said. “All the other Houses are terrified of us.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘terrified,’” Sirius countered haughtily. “We simply think you’re all spoiled, ungrateful p—.”

“Mark’s right,” Jackson interrupted. “It could have been anyone.”

“We can save the investigating for another time,” Remus said. “Aren’t you worried about what you’re going to do tonight? Everyone will be busy studying for the upcoming exams, and if no one’s out then…”

“What’s happening tonight?” Mark asked.

“They want me to snog a guy, so it’ll be memorialised that I was not a werewolf on this fine moonrise,” Jackson sighed.

Mark looked among the three of them to ensure they weren’t having a laugh at his expense.

“Thoughts?” Sirius prompted. “Jackson is convinced no one will buy it.”

“It’s not that,” Jackson groaned. “I don’t think anyone would want to snog me and have it declared to the entire school.”

“I… I think it might work,” Mark said slowly.

Jackson blanched, “Am I the last pillar of reason among you all?”

“The problem is,” Mark continued, “if any underclassmen or anyone with morals sees it, they may not spread the rumour because they cherish or feel indebted to Jackson in some way.”

“Bloody hell, you’re a genius,” Sirius clapped Mark on the back. “We need to make sure a Slytherin sees it!”

“My list of candidates grows slimmer yet,” Jackson lamented.

“I thought you were friendly with all the Houses?” Remus asked.

“Not the blood purists,” Jackson replied. “My mum’s a muggle. What can I do?”

Mark straightened. “You don’t…” he wet his lips. “Uh, you don’t care much about who it is you’ll snog?”

“I mostly feel sorry for them is all,” Jackson said, “if this happens.”

“Then, I know someone you can snog and the perfect person to catch you.”

These four students were thus incredibly late to Potions that morning.

Devon Crowley was a Sixth Year Slytherin. Tall and broad, dark and handsome, he would have excelled on the Quidditch team and been popular to boot. However, for all his ambition, he was a muggle-born wizard sorted into green and silver. Jackson didn’t even realize there were muggle-born Slytherins, but Mark informed him they were, in fact, a rarity.

Mark invited Devon to the couches of the deserted dungeon common room. Most of the Slytherins were attending Slug Club, the prestigious after-class group organized by the Potions professor.

“Thanks for coming,” Jackson said. He felt unusually shy and had difficulty meeting Devon’s warm gaze. While Devon and Mark sat comfortably in a loveseat, Jackson awkwardly took up the armchair nearby.

“If we can piss off my fellow Slytherins, then I am happy to do it,” Devon said then grinned at Mark. “So, how should we go about this?”

“Snape will be back soon with the rest of the Slug Club,” Mark glanced at his watch. “All you need to do is snog until then. When they enter, be passionate.”

Mark initially wanted Severus to catch him and Devon snogging in Jackson’s bed, believing the invasion of their private space would definitively incite the latter. Jackson felt awful about alienating someone he had considered a potential new mate. However, Mark had been so convinced that Snape would be the most reliable gossiper. Remus and Sirius were less certain, for reasons they could not verbalise. Jackson thought it might have to do with the Whomping Willow incident Snape referenced to Potter in the library the other day. Regardless, this subject always made his friends uncomfortable, so he had not pressed it.

In the end, they decided that it would be best to goad as many Slytherins as possible since that would ensure the most potent rumour and credibility. As for Jackson’s partner, who was better than the zealous, openly queer male who had a vendetta against the members of his own House?

“And what are you going to do, Tuan?” Devon asked.

“Hide over there until it’s over,” Mark nodded to the deep shadows among the tapestries decorating the stone walls.

“Voyeur,” Devon teased.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Mark ignored him, waving over his shoulder as he took his position.

Jackson watched Mark leave until Devon was suddenly out of his seat and in Jackson’s armchair meant for one.

“A-are we beginning now?” Jackson stammered. He had never felt so uncool in his life.

“Best to get some practice in before the show,” Devon said as he straddled him.

From this close, Jackson noticed the mascara and subtle gold eyeliner framing his eyes. His skin was unfairly clear and smooth, smelling vaguely of shea butter. He really was beautiful. Not in the wealthy and nearly unapproachable way Mark was, but Devon wore his smiles easily and held a determination in his eyes that was hypnotising.

When Devon pressed his wide lips to Jackson’s, it was more natural than he expected. Devon guided Jackson’s hands up to play with the buzzed hair at his nape or rest at his waist. Soon, Jackson forgot they were doing this for a mission entirely.

Minutes passed before the dungeon doors slid open and the snarky laughter abruptly died. Jackson could have cried out in shock. Devon, however, kissed Jackson harder, licking against the seam of Jackson’s lips. Jackson couldn’t help his gasp, and Devon’s tongue entered his mouth. He wasn’t overly forward, simply teasing Jackson’s own tongue and making warmth spread across his skin.

It would have been nice if not for the crowd.

A low whistle from their new audience broke the tension. Devon leaned back with a scowl as if the worst part of this situation was being interrupted.

“My, my, Wolfy Wang truly is a dog.”

“The Crow strikes another. It’s like an infection, truly.”

“Shall we bring masks next time? I don’t want to catch it.”

“Is this what the Gryffindors get up to in their chambers?”

“Always thought the tower looked rather phallic. Good thing it’s destroyed now.”

“That’s what yours is going to look like if we catch you doing that shite in here again here, Wang.”

Laughter.

Even interspersed with the crudest, most derogatory language, their jokes were incredibly infantile. Jackson caught Severus’s gaze through the small crowd. The latter looked more pale than usual. With a huff, he tossed his slick, black hair and strode to their shared room.

“Poor Sevvie-boy. Wonder if he’s going to be safe tonight.”

“I suppose werewolves were the least of his worries.”

“Even though he was so obsessed with them last year? The tosser.”

“What’s more dangerous—a werewolf or two poofs in his bedroom?”

Cackling, their eyes were pure remorseless mirth.

Jackson stood, nearly knocking Devon off of him. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

Bartemius Crouch Junior, notorious for being the cruellest and most calculating, sneered, “You picked the wrong one, Wang. There was someone much more accessible in your own room. Though I suppose none of you Gryffindors are too bright.”

“Too busy trying to save the world?” Mulciber laughed, but no one else joined in. He was a large boy with an intimidating figure but apparently not too bright or popular.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Regulus Black pinched the bridge of his nose. A cold shiver ran down Jackson’s skin every time he saw how similar Regulus looked to his older brother, Sirius. The only difference was that his features were more delicate.

The group moved on once they deemed all the necessary insults were made. Jackson was still fuming until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I suppose you’ve never heard this before,” Devon said gently.

Jackson shook his head. The deep sense of guilt roiling in his gut rendered him mute. For how much he had hoped to protect the diversity of those around him, his actions had only incited more bigotry.

“I hope it was worth it, getting their mark on you like this,” Devon continued, apologetic.

Jackson returned to himself. “This is nothing. What can I do for you? As thanks.”

The last thing he wanted was for someone who endured worse suffering day after day to feel sorry for his sake.

“It was reward enough to snog one of the stars on the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Devon smiled with brilliantly white teeth. “How was it otherwise?”

Jackson blushed fiercely. “Surprisingly good,” he admitted.

“My pleasure,” he winked. “Good night, Jackson.”

After the common room was emptied of all except two, Mark slipped out from the tapestry. Thousands of questions ran through Jackson’s mind, but none were appropriate to ask.

Did they mean what I think they meant?

Mark’s eyes were hesitant as he waited for Jackson to speak first. Yet, that was all the more reason Jackson couldn’t voice his racing thoughts.

Do your parents know? You’re the heir apparent to a notable Eastern pureblood line. Do they expect you to have pureblood children?

Jackson followed the shallow rise of Mark’s chest as he inhaled.

Or are you okay with girls too? Are you more halfway, AC/DC? And if you aren’t… does that mean you’ll never be happy?

“Time for bed?” Mark finally said.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied. All his questions felt worthless in the face of the reality he finally understood. “Let’s go.”

Meanwhile, in the Forbidden Forest, an abnormally large wolf howled at the golden moon with its friends, a regal red stag, a scruffy black dog, and a round grey rat.

Chapter Text

27 October 1977

The morning after the full moon, Jackson was bombarded with questions he could find no significance in.

“How was it? Did it work?” James asked.

Remus was missing from the table, even though he was usually the most ravenous at breakfast. The three remaining Mauraders had explained that Remus, after studying for so long last night, had been impossible to rouse.

“How was the snog?” Sirius inquired.

“No way!” Dorcas squealed. “You really did it? Devon is seriously so fit. You lucked out!”

“It was great, yeah,” Jackson answered them all without much passion. “The Slytherins were absolute shits, as usual. No doubt they are still talking about it amongst themselves.”

“Oh, no, they really hurt your feelings, didn’t they?” Lily asked. “You never speak like that.”

“Not my feelings,” Jackson clarified. He sat up a little more. “I mean, none of it really affects me since I… well, I’m fine with girls. But I saw how they treat Devon, and it’s horrible.”

And how they talked about Mark. Even Severus, though he wasn’t queer as far as Jackson knew, was not saved from their cruelty.

“I’m worried I made life harder for him by trying to improve mine. When my life wasn’t even difficult in the first place.”

“You didn’t know this is what would have happened, and I’m sure Crowley agreed while understanding the consequences,” Peter said, which was oddly encouraging.

“I suppose.” Jackson returned to pushing eggs around his plate and wished to evaporate from this conversation.

His only consolation was that the owls towing rolls of the Daily Prophet shared no awful news this morning. The information he had gathered in Chinatown worked. Among the student body, the general tension and unease seemed to relax since no one had to read of a family member being injured, bitten, or killed. Jackson finally let out the breath he had been holding for days.

Slowly, the castle was restored with the students who had gone home after the attack. Quidditch practice began again, and the postponed match against Ravenclaw was moved to next Friday.

News of Jackson’s nighttime rendezvous or experiment, however the teller wished to tell it, quickly spread around the school. Horrified whispers of his secret lycanthropy soon became giggling suppositions as to whether they still had a chance. There were quite a few snide remarks levelled at Jackson, but he pointedly ignored them. They always came when he was alone, so he did not care. The main issue was that Jackson still did not know how to ask Mark what the Slytherins had said that night, and Mark never mentioned it.

Construction and new safety measures on Gryffindor Tower were also underway, and Jackson didn’t want to think about those implications either.

Then, there was the lycanthropy. As Jackson borrowed book after book of sparse information on the dangerous creatures, memories came back of his estranged uncle. They weren’t related by blood, but the man had treated Jackson’s family like his own when they first moved to London. Jackson would call him Uncle, and the older man truly acted as such. Jackson remembered the guava sweets he always carried in his pockets.

After one summer when Jackson was eight, his father had told him his uncle was sick with a chronic illness and could no longer see him. Though Jackson had missed their afternoons playing—the stories in his uncle’s honeyed voice, the scent of tobacco and mowed lawns, and the sleepiness of being a child—Jackson had never thought to question it.

Now that he was grown, it didn’t serve him to worry in solitude. In his next letter home, he wrote to his father asking what had truly happened.

Other than everything above, Jackson was fine… Completely fine. Hallowe’en was nearing, and Jaebeom wrangled Jackson’s help in planning a legendary fete with the Marauders.

“Jinyoung agreed to this?” Jackson asked, sceptically.

“I proposed this as a way to unite the student body. We all need something to look forward to, given the war going on.”

“You know your Tower may be the most difficult to enter? There isn’t even a password.”

“We’ll have someone stationed outside to let people in. If people come late, then they will just have to figure their own way inside.”

“I cannot imagine solving one of those riddles sober, let alone pissed,” Jackson stated.

“So, do you want in?”

“Remus and Sirius are in charge of the music. Peter and James are sneaking in the food and drinks. What am I to do?”

“You’re in charge of the guest list! Get the word out. Invite anyone and everyone you know. If anyone has any extra party favours or entertainment they’d like to bring, then all the merrier.”

“You really think people would want to come to a party I’m hosting after everything they’ve heard or assumed?”

Jaebeom stopped walking to look at his friend. “You’ve really been moody these days. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Jackson responded automatically.

“You used to throw the most extravagant parties. No one could stop talking about them for weeks—even months—after. What happened? Is the gossip getting to you?”

Jackson shook his head, sighing. Was this a conversation he wanted to get into on this bleary morning? No. But this was also Jaebeom, his best friend.

“Really, I’m good. That part is fine. I just feel like there’s so much I could be doing to help the world. Yet, at the same time, I’m not sure what I have the power to do.”

“Ah, so it’s an existential crisis.”

“I suppose.”

“Start small, Jackson. If you keep trying to jump for the stars, you’ll forget you can always take the stairs up.”

“Thanks, Bbeom-ie.”

Jackson found that party planning really did improve his mood. He was a natural at spreading the word and collecting favours. Some Hufflepuff Seventh Years had discovered a crossbred strain of fungus that temporarily made everything taste like strawberries and your mind turn pink. He invited some Fifth Year Ravenclaws to perfect some silencing and misdirection spells for professors around the Tower to prevent detection the night of. Food and alcohol were well taken care of. However, Jackson knew a Gryffindor Seventh Year who had inherited his muggle father’s love of brewing cider, and that was the best cider he had ever tasted.

Before he knew it, Hallowe’en was upon them. After Quidditch practice in the dew-coated morning and a famished ingestion of breakfast, Jackson ran to Potions. Though Hallowe’en fell on a Monday this year, that didn’t stop anyone Jackson had asked from agreeing to come.

“Made it,” Jackson panted as he slumped into his seat beside Mark’s.

Over his roll book, Professor Slughorn eyed him and then the clock. James and Sirius pounded in seconds after.

“Potter, Black, late. Five points each from Gryffindor,” Slughorn droned, ticking his agenda.

Mark nudged Jackson and whispered, “You didn’t shower after practice.”

Jackson straightened in alarm. “Do I stink?!”

“You smell fine,” Mark laughed. “You just look a mess.”

Jackson sighed, “Thank god. I wouldn’t dare offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Who’s the one who has a full bathing ritual before bed?” Mark quirked an eyebrow.

“Not all of us are naturally beautiful!”

“So, I am?”

“Obviously!”

“Will you two cease flirting?” Snape deadpanned from a table away.

“Snape!” Lily cried.

Jackson shot him a finger, but Mark, incredibly, blushed.

That night, the dining hall was decorated as festively as it had been every year prior. The ghosts of the castle were in full glee, nearly opaque as the veil between life and death grew thin. Lit jack o’lanterns floated above their heads. Pumpkin juice sloshed precariously in their goblets as they all cheered. Jackson could almost lose himself to the glee and pretend he was just a kid again.

When the party in Ravenclaw Tower set off in full swing a few hours later, that hope became a reality. The Hufflepuffs sliced the squat strawberry mushrooms they harvested that morning and distributed the contraband around the early arrivers. Jackson, exhausted from the day’s activities, collapsed into a royal blue couch and let the fungus melt on his tongue. Initially, it had a distinctly nutty and sweet flavour. He sucked on the spongy texture, letting the juices change his tastebuds’ chemistry. He closed his eyes and nearly fell asleep to the entrancing tart fruitiness tingling his mouth.

“Jackson?”

“What!” Jackson lurched forward.

“Are you sleeping at your own party?” Mark giggled.

Jackson dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, god, did I pass out?”

“You must have been tired.”

The common room had nearly tripled in capacity since Jackson was last conscious, and Mark had to sit directly beside Jackson to talk to him. He held a goblet of drink in his hand.

“What are you wearing?” Mark asked.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot to tell you,” Jackson looked at Mark’s outfit. Thankfully, he had changed out of his Slytherin robes for the night. He instead wore a baggy powder blue sweater that was wide on his shoulders, dark cigarette-leg jeans, and boots.

“Tell me what?”

Jackson realized he had been staring; Mark fidgeted uncomfortably. It was true that most everyone else was in costume.

“It’s tradition to dress up for our Hallowe’en parties. You know, to scare away the evil spirits.”

“And who are you scaring in that?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know who I am?!” Jackson stood up, affronted.

“A soldier?”

The white pillowcase he draped over his bare torso flowed down to mid-thigh like a gown. Over it, he had fastened a plate of armour, transfigured from some old coursework, and he wore leather sandals on his feet. A long stick stuck out from his back.

“Not just any soldier!”

Jackson made several outrageous poses, flexing his exposed biceps and deltoids. Finally, Jackson splayed on the rug. With his right leg and arm extended behind him, he crossed his left leg on the floor and gazed forlornly toward the sky.

“Your poses aren’t helping him, mate,” Remus said, pausing as he passed behind the couches. Sirius hovered beside him, a hand protectively over his hip.

Jackson fell backwards with an exaggerated sigh.

“A… Roman soldier?” Mark attempted.

Sirius also scowled, “A Spartan?”

“I’m Achilles!”

“Who…?” the two purebloods asked. Then, they glared at each other in surprise at their shared ignorance.

“The greatest of all Greek heroes,” Remus supplied. “From the Iliad.”

“Oh, the fastest…” Mark remembered.

“The Greatest of the Greeks!” Jackson attested from the rug.

“Invulnerable except for one weakness,” Remus said.

“His heel?” Mark ventured.

“Is that why they call it Achilles’ heel?” Sirius exclaimed.

Remus shook his head and put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, “That isn’t canonical to Homer’s Iliad.”

“Then, what was his weakness?”

“His love,” Remus smiled sadly. He tipped his head then, “Cheers.”

The couple walked away together.

“Lupin is really bright,” Mark mused when he was gone.

“We joke he’ll be back here as a professor one day,” Jackson agreed. “But he always says he would never get such a prestigious position. No idea why he wouldn’t, though.”

“Isn’t he phenomenal at History of Magic? I’ve heard no one can stay awake in Binns’ class except him and Jinyoung Park.”

“Wow, Markie, is someone paying attention to my friends?” Jackson grinned.

“Shut up, you great Greek hero,” Mark rolled his eyes.

Jackson leaned in, nearly resting his chin on Mark’s knee. “I suppose that would make you…” He eyed Mark’s outfit once more. The jeans were tight along his thighs as he relaxed into the couch cushions. “A muggle? The boy next door?”

Mark snorted, looking aside.

“Do you hate that?” Jackson’s eyes widened. “Please, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Mark’s head snapped back. “No. Actually, sometimes, I wish…” his mouth quirked. “Never mind. Do you know what this is?” Mark tipped his goblet of amber liquid toward Jackson.

Jackson took the cup and drank a sip. It was a bit lukewarm from Mark’s hand, but the contents were bubbly and pleasant.

“It’s cider. Isn’t it rad?”

“This is muggle stuff?”

“The muggle version of butterbeer, essentially, yeah. Usually, it’s only made from apples, but this one is also fermented from pears and elderflower.”

“You’re quite knowledgeable, too,” Mark said, taking another drink. “You trying to be the next Muggle Studies professor?”

“No way. Assigning summer reading would put me to sleep. I prefer to oversee things. For example, take this cider. I imported it,” Jackson winked. He pointed to the freckled Gryffindor in the corner talking to his friends. “That guy made it, and he owed me a favour so… Though, he did have to remake his stock after the attack.”

“It’s delicious.”

Jackson leaned back against Mark’s legs, feeling very accomplished by his small contributions to the party.

Mary MacDonald pounced by the seating area, ruffling Jackson’s hair and handing him an uncorked bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky.

“Jackson,” she sang.

“For me?” Jackson raised his eyebrows as he looked up from his cross-legged position on the ground.

Mary wore a nearly sheer robe of shimmering fabric that ruched along her hips and flowed to the floor. A crown of golden flowers rested on her head, and a few bands of gold hugged her bicep.

“Special gift for all the party hosts. I swear it isn’t poisoned,” she smirked sweetly. The other chilled bottles in her arms clinked.

“Are you my queen?” Jackson asked, dazedly.

“No, I’m not Clytemnestra nor Helen,” she snorted.

“A goddess, then?”

“Precisely.” She sauntered off with a wave.

“They all act so nice then reject me so coldly,” Jackson whined. Without thinking, he took a large gulp of the firewhisky, but the burning sensation that would usually make him gag was replaced by the effervescent tang of strawberries. “Oh, this is dangerous.”

“What is?” Mark leaned forward.

“I can’t taste it at all!”

The turntable transitioned to one of the groovy songs that made the girls dance. Before the fireplace, a small circle of glittering dresses and heels formed. Dorcas Meadowes, in her slinky silver dress, fluffy angel wings, and hair in several bejewelled plaits, led the charge.

“You want to go find a pair?” Jackson lifted his bottle to the crowd.

Sirius had jumped in, too, not one to miss an opportunity to be centre stage. He showed off all the muggle moves he had likely learned from pub crawling with Remus over the summer. His fangirls encircled him, cheering him on. No one knew of his relationship with Remus except close confidants and now, Mark. Sirius was far too attractive and wealthy, even while disowned, to be single for long, and the girls were ravenous. Remus, though, was nowhere to be seen; he was never one for dancing, especially with his bad hip.

Mark looked at Jackson funnily. Finally, he said, “I’m good.”

Jackson nodded, taking another sip. This mushroom and drink combination was sneaking up on him without his awareness. He already felt warm beyond the roaring fire and swell of bodies. His pleasure and glee were amplified while his reason lagged somewhere behind.

“People aren’t too taken to me since I’m a Slytherin,” Mark explained.

“People misunderstand.”

“I don’t blame them. I think I was an asshole too… when I wanted to be like them.”

“You outgrew it?”

“Was I not an asshole to you when we first met?”

“I dunno. We were strangers. You were perfectly fantastic when we got to know one another.”

“I’m saying it was more thanks to you,” Mark kicked Jackson’s bottom lightly. “I think I’m too late for reconciliation to most.”

“‘S never too late,” Jackson slurred. Then, he blinked. His vision was actually becoming as pink as his taste.

“What is it?”

Jackson frowned, “You aren’t at the same level as me. Come on.”

He rolled onto the couch, nearly falling into Mark’s lap. Then, he held the glass lip of his bottle to Mark’s mouth. Mark drank, and Jackson watched his throat bob, ensuring nothing would spill. When a small trickle did inevitably escape, Jackson brushed it aside with his thumb.

Mark sucked in a breath, “That stuff’s foul.”

“Let’s go find some more mushrooms too,” Jackson grinned. He stood, offering a hand to Mark. Their grip was a little sticky from the spilt alcohol, but neither seemed to mind it. “Speaking of Slytherins, did Severus end up making it?”

“Yeah, I came in with him. Now, he’s off…somewhere.”

“You left him?”

“I what?!”

It was difficult to weave through the crowd and maintain a conversation. However, he was glad for Mark’s hand in his. When they finally made it to the table of refreshments, Jackson could speak again.

“I said, you left him?”

“I-I mean, I guess I did. I just saw you sleeping there and thought it was so hilarious, and—oh! There he is.”

Just behind them, Severus stood with the Hufflepuffs who had supplied the strawberry mushrooms. They were in a deep, seemingly academic conversation. Jackson, now completely out of inhibitions, interrupted it to ask for a redose and a sample for his very best friend. Severus gave them the dirtiest look, but Jackson was feeling far too good to care.

Jackson and Mark stole away to a cubby behind the stairwell up to the Ravenclaw boys’ chambers. There was a tall window overlooking the lawn with a ledge large enough for them both to sit. Half a moon illuminated the back of the castle. However, Jackson was more focused on other tasks at hand. Meticulously, he placed the sliver of magic mushroom on Mark’s tongue and had another himself.

“Are you sure?” Mark asked.

Jackson hushed him and urged more firewhisky down Mark’s throat. Mark, surprisingly, didn’t resist at all.

Quickly, after a few more shots, Jackson found that Mark’s tolerance was higher than expected.

“Why aren’t you drunk yet?” he pouted.

“I feel good,” Mark reassured.

“Not as good as me.”

“I don’t think anyone in this room feels as good as you.”

Jackson giggled, which turned into a snort and a burp. “Freudian slip?” he asked.

Mark, though, shrugged, “You’re right. I’m not as drunk as you.” He chugged the rest of the longneck bottle in one gulp. With the taste of strawberries on his tongue, the fiery alcohol went down painlessly.

“Shit, you’re right,” Mark gasped. “This is amazing.”

“Do you want more?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, I’ll get more,” Mark said, standing from the window ledge unsteadily.

“So, you were feeling tipsy!” Jackson accused.

“I’m clumsy,” Mark lied. “Now, stay.”

He placed a warm hand atop Jackson’s head to make sure he didn’t move. Jackson looked up at him with those puppy eyes and relented. It either felt like seconds or hours waiting for Mark to return. Jackson couldn’t shake the feeling of building anticipation in his gut. It was like his blood was fizzing.

“Jackson Wang, what are you doing here?” a smooth, deep voice asked.

Jackson lifted his head to see Devon, dressed as a muggle magician in a lopsided top hat, suit, and white gloves. A plastic-looking, white-tipped wand stuck out from his trousers’ pocket, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone.

“Hiding,” Jackson said.

“From whom?”

“Conversations I don’t want to have,” Jackson stuck out his tongue.

“Am I one of them?”

“Not at all! How are you?”

“About to be really good,” Devon nodded to a shy Ravenclaw who was waiting by the door up to the chambers. “Though I’d hate to leave you here alone. Did you want to join?”

His tone was so innocent, but the proposition was not lost to Jackson, even if his mind was buzzing on a different dimension.

“I’m not alone,” Jackson stated. “I’m waiting for Mark.”

“Is Tuan your keeper?”

“I don’t have a keeper.”

“So, you are free to join.”

“Though snogging you was nice, I think that’s as far as I’ll take it,” Jackson smiled genuinely. “I promise this is no comment at all about your talents.”

Devon held up his hands, “Well if you ever get bored of the purebloods, you know where to find me. I’ll let you know, they are rarely worth your time, being so highly closeted and lacking experience.” Then, his eyes darkened as he appraised Jackson’s costume. “You look fit. Hermes?”

“Achilles,” Jackson corrected.

“Achilles waiting for his Patroclus to return,” Devon murmured. Then, he smiled in a way that split his face like the sun. “See you, then.”

Mark returned just as Devon led his new catch up the stairs with a hand on his rear.

“Did he want something?” Mark asked, handing Jackson a bottle of chilled butterbeer.

“Nothing important.”

Jackson clinked his bottle against Mark’s and took a drink. The buttery caramel of the beer was only slightly tinged with fruitiness now, but his redose was still tingling at the edges of his mind. Jackson couldn’t take his eyes off the floating candles casting luminous and improbable shapes in the air.

“What was unimportant?” Mark pressed.

“He asked if I wanted to partake.”

“In…?” The realization hit. “Oh!” Then, Mark considered, “You… refused?”

“Not too interested.”

“…In blokes?”

“It’s not that,” Jackson said, and the words surprised even himself.

“But you still flirt with Dorcas and Mary every chance you get.”

“It’s a running gag we’ve had since third year. I don’t mean anything bad by it, and I think they enjoy rejecting me.”

“So, you fancied them once upon a time.”

“Separately, yes, when I was younger. But I don’t mean… I’m not into something casual, is what I’m trying to say.”

Jackson stared out the window. Below, the green lawn illuminated in sharp contrast as the waning moon passed through the heavy clouds. A cluster of students in black robes ran from the direction of the lake to another door several paces down.

“But then, you are… into guys as well?”

Jackson frowned, “You sure are interrogating me tonight.”

Mark shrugged and took another drink.

Feeling the silence weigh heavy, Jackson asked impulsively, “Anyone ever tell you that you look like a prince?”

“Then, you look like a king.”

Mark must have been just as loopy because neither of them had imagined such a comeback. Belatedly, Mark smacked a hand to his mouth.

“I meant because of your last name,” Mark explained, blushing pink. “It’s a pun on your name.”

Then, the pair burst out in nervous giggles. Outside, the fireworks Jackson had prepared went off, sending sparks of orange and green through the night sky.

“It’s midnight,” Jackson said.

“So, another round?” Mark smirked.

“You are seriously a beast.”

“We can just take a shot of witch’s brew.”

“No thanks. I don’t want a hangover,” Jackson grumbled.

He let his head fall against Mark’s shoulder. The fabric of Mark’s sweater was soft against his cheek, and they somehow just fit.

Chapter Text

31 October 1977

After their quiet moment by the window, Jackson’s friends found him and dragged him to drink. Jinyoung had visibly relaxed after the previous week’s series of exams, and he wore red devil ears and a matching tail. Jaebeom couldn’t seem to keep his hands off it. Occasionally, he would yank Jinyoung’s tail until the latter’s shoulder blades smacked against his chest.

“Do all your friends lean a certain way?” Mark whispered to Jackson as they crowded into a round of shots that grew larger and larger with each new invite.

Mark’s breath tickled the shell of his ear, sending shivers down Jackson’s spine.

“I never thought about it,” Jackson realised.

“No wonder you’re so accepting.”

Jackson shrugged, “Chicken or the egg?”

“You have yours?” Jaebeom jostled a few people as he stumbled over. He peered into Jackson and Mark’s goblets to ensure they had an appropriate level of the green liquid.

“Jackson!” Yuygeom, the Sixth Year Gryffindor, rushed over, nearly spilling his drink over his front. “Great party, Jaebeom.”

“Yugyeom,” Jackson smiled at the taller boy. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, it’s too bad Bambam is missing out.”

Those two were inseparable since Jackson met them as First Years fresh off the train, flushed and nervous for the Sorting. Yugyeom and Bambam had remained friends even when the Sorting Hat placed them in opposing Houses. It was unusual at the time, but now Jackson had his own friend in silver and green.

“He’s still at home?”

“His parents think it’s not safe for him here anymore, but with the new wards, there shouldn’t be anywhere safer on earth.”

It wouldn’t matter if the perpetrator is already within the walls, said the tiny voice in Jackson’s head.

The oversized youth turned to Mark, “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Yugyeom Kim.”

Mark was startled by such a friendly greeting, but his intoxication made him gregarious. They struck up an easy conversation while Jackson mused over what Yugyeom had said. What did the new wards entail? Is that why Jackson had seen students running around outside just before midnight?

“You’re thinking too much,” Jaebeom put a hand on the back of Jackson’s neck, reeling him back to reality.

“For you, brat,” Jinyoung appeared with a double shot for Yugyeom.

A raucous cheer went up around them, and the five joined in before gulping down the burning alcohol. The two who were not also high off the magical mushroom, Jinyoung and Yugyeom, made involuntary faces of disgust. Jaebeom stuck his tongue out at Jackson. It was pinker than normal, so he had also snagged a sample from the Hufflepuffs before the party began.

“Want to get out of here?” Mark leaned into Jackson.

Jackson smelled something sweet.

“I am technically hosting,” he worried, even if the quantity of alcohol made his mind slow.

“You helped. Potter and Im are hosting.”

“Okay, fine, since you’re sooo bored,” Jackson relented.

“Yes!” Mark cheered.

He and Mark stumbled drunkenly out of Ravenclaw Tower. They were a tangle of limbs as they struggled to support one another. The nondescript door with a bronze eagle knocker shut behind them. Instantly, the sound of the party sealed away. The Ravenclaws’ silencing spells were phenomenal.

“Where to, Captain?” Jackson asked.

“The Dungeons, of course. That is where all the evil on earth dwells,” Mark giggled.

The walk felt impossibly long and complex as they navigated the moving staircases that seemed intent on keeping them from their destination. Nevertheless, they were in good humour, giggling over something nonsensical and nearly tripping each time the laughter took over.

During a brief lull in their conversation, Jackson heard voices. Sober voices. Grabbing Mark by the waist, because that’s where Jackson’s arm happened to be, he dragged them into the nearest alcove.

Mark was too astounded to ask what was happening. Before he knew it, they were pressed against each other in a broom closet. Jackson hadn’t had the time to adjust, so they stood facing one other. The metallic plating of Jackson’s transfigured armour had dulled throughout the night, and it was nothing more than flimsy sheets of paper taped together between them now, chest to chest. Mark, for whatever reason—perhaps it was still the mushroom muddling his senses—smelled incredible, like toffee and fruits and oak.

Fewer than seconds passed before footsteps clicked down the stone steps toward the Slytherin dungeons. There was the sound of something heavy and dragging and… dripping?

“Did we have to do this so late?”

“You wanted to show the new recruits where it was. This was the only time the whole school would be distracted.”

A chill crawled down Jackson’s skin despite the flush of the alcohol and being so close to Mark. Those Slytherins used their party as a distraction—the perfect cover from the other students. If something had happened, it was partially Jackson’s fault. He tasted bile as the guilt surged.

“Well, I didn’t expect to be this slopping wet afterwards,” the first one cursed.

“Not my…! You messed up the…charm. If you’re going to be such a…you’ll never get to meet Lord Voldemort!”

Voldemort… The name was vaguely familiar to Jackson, just tickling the back of his mind. It wasn’t the name of someone in the famous pureblood families. However, if they were important to the war then maybe Jackson had seen the name in the morning paper.

The pair’s argument faded into unintelligible mutters as they walked beyond the closet. If only Jackson had a way to follow them invisibly and continue spying.

Jackson could almost hear his heartbeat in the tiny, enclosed space. Or maybe it was Mark’s. He was still too drunk to be thinking coherently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“I might be sober now,” Mark grumbled.

Jackson opened the door, and they spilt out into the corridor. When they picked each other off the cold stones, Mark corrected himself.

“Never mind. I am not sober yet.”

“It was that group shot they made us take.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” Mark raised his brows.

Jackson couldn’t tear his eyes off Mark if he tried. Mark was such a delight that Jackson could yell at the top of his lungs, cry, hug, or kiss him. All thoughts of evil conspiracies quickly fled the forefront of his thoughts.

“I enjoyed it.”

Jackson was still holding Mark’s hand from helping him up. The dungeons felt as cold as standing outside in only their pants on that near-November night. However, Jackson was flushed up his entire chest and face.

“So, um, what do you think that meant?” Jackson lamely changed the topic.

“Lord Voldemort… I think I’ve heard of him. I think he’s the one rounding up all the pureblood families for this… crusade,” Mark cringed.

Jackson studied the way Mark’s face fell.

“Then, we have our secret intelligence!” he proclaimed like they were in a cheesy spy movie. “We have to report it to base.”

Surprised, Mark giggled, “Back to headquarters?”

“No, to the radio tower!” Jackson declared.

“The what now?” Mark laughed, but he followed when Jackson pulled him in a mad dash back up the halls.

On the way, Jackson’s armour had fully returned to useless coursework. He ripped it off and stuffed the papers in his trouser pocket.

They arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower, panting and sweating. Several large, pointed windows overlooked the lake. Jackson perched on a wide ledge. Mark, slowly, came to join him, his heeled boots clicking along the stones.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” Jackson said.

“Yeah.”

Sitting across from each other, they stared out the clear window. Moonlight glittered across the still water. The moon was bright enough to make everything until the forest starkly visible.

Mark perched on the opposite side of the ledge with him. Their knees bumped.

“So, how are we sending this top-secret message to our waiting informants?” Mark asked.

“Do you happen to know Morse code?”

“Yeah,” Mark pulled out his wand and flashed a series of short and long Lumos spells.

Jackson’s eyes widened. “I didn’t actually think—! What did you say?”

“‘Testing’,” Mark blushed.

“Do another!”

-. . . -.. / -- --- .-. . / -... --- --- --.. .

“What’s that mean?” Jackson asked.

“We should have brought more booze.”

Jackson groaned, “You’re right. Imagine drinking up here on a night like this.”

“It’s not too bad, though. I still feel properly pissed.”

“Can you do another one?”

.. / - .... .. -. -.- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / -... . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-..

“Translation?”

Mark shook his head. “You have to figure out that one yourself.”

“No fair! I couldn’t tell you up from down right now, let alone remember all of that!”

“Your loss,” Mark smirked.

“Do it again,” Jackson insisted, squinting.

Around three in the morning, the vigour of the Hallowe’en party tapered off as students either passed out where they sat or wandered back to their dormitories. However, Jackson and Mark stayed in the Astronomy Tower until sunlight peaked from beneath the horizon. The lake looked glorious, coming alive in a rainbow of reflections and activity.

The next morning, the sun was directly overhead before either opened their eyes.

“You awake?” Jackson grumbled groggily from his bed. He had already committed to skipping his morning classes.

“Mmph,” came the groan, muffled beneath pillows and sheets, from Mark’s bed across the room.

Severus was already gone, and Sirius’s bed was, as usual, untouched.

“Hungover?” Jackson asked.

“I almost wish I threw up last night.”

“Can we… look for whatever they were talking about last night once we feel better?”

“Once we feel better,” Mark concurred.

After a late greasy lunch, they both felt much less nauseous but still headachey.

“I wish I could just eat with you,” Jackson groaned as they met up among the crowd of students filing out of the dining hall. “Potter would not stop talking about Quidditch again.”

“You’re being such a pansy, come on. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“You’re inviting?” Jackson teased.

“Shut up.”

They walked until it seemed no one would overhear. Sitting on a window ledge overlooking the Quidditch pitch, it was oddly reminiscent of the night before. A crisp breeze flowed into the castle.

“So, they were dripping wet, apparently,” Jackson said.

“You don’t think they came out of the toilets, do you?” Mark said in horror.

“Maybe the prefects’ bath? I heard it’s bigger than you can even imagine.”

“It’s possible, but… Last night, did you notice some students running back into the school from outside?”

“If they got soaked outside, then it must be from the lake!” Jackson realized.

“Somehow, that’s even worse,” Mark sighed.

“The lake is huge,” Jackson agreed. “How are we to find anything in there? Not to mention, it’s nearly impossible to swim anywhere down there and come out with your life.”

“They’re doing it somehow, so we must be able to as well.”

“Unless all the dark creatures and magical beasts have decided to side with the Death Eaters,” Jackson said, pessimistically.

“Let’s not mind that right now. First, we need to figure a way to survive underwater long enough to spy on the meeting.”

“Or…” he hesitated. For the first time, Jackson wondered if his response was a cop-out. “Or we inform Dumbledore and let him sort it out.”

“You think he would believe us when we have no proof?”

“I have reason to believe so, yes.”

“I trust you,” Mark decided. “If you think he’ll listen, then that’s optimal.”

“Okay, let’s try to get an audience soon,” Jackson sighed. He didn’t realize how happy he would be to have Mark on his side. “For now, we still need more information about when they will decide to meet.”

“What do you suggest?”

“We have a whole common room to spy on,” Jackson grinned.

“I suppose it’s time for me to turn into the evil Slytherin I was always meant to be?” Mark flashed his teeth in return.

“We want to help!”

Two of the Fourth Years from the willow incident popped out from behind the nearest tapestry. Jackson nearly fell out of the window in shock.

“Absolutely not,” Jackson cried after righting himself.

“Thank you for saving my life,” the slightly taller and broader one bowed deep to Jackson. He wore a slightly baffled, slightly awed expression, which made his small eyes wide.

“I’m sorry for punching you,” the other said to Mark. He had puffy lips and a tall, arched nose.

Now that Jackson could take a closer look, they had rather menacing faces for being a few years younger.

“But we really want to help,” the first continued.

Jackson shook his head, still utterly bewildered. “What are your names?”

“I’m San Choi,” said the first.

“Wooyoung Jung,” said the other.

“Well, San and Wooyoung, we don’t want to involve more people than we need. Whatever you heard today, forget about it. It’s not good to eavesdrop on others.”

“But that’s what you were going to do—eavesdrop!” Wooyoung pointed out.

“He got you there,” Mark said.

“Oi, not helping,” Jackson whispered. “I thought you were supposed to be mad at him for punching you.”

“It was a good punch,” Mark admitted.

Wooyoung beamed and then, seeming to remember to be deferent, looked down at his feet. San put a subtle hand on his lower back.

“We won’t get in your way,” San insisted. “If there’s anything at all, we would love to help.”

“There isn’t anything,” Jackson repeated. “We don’t want help from little kids who almost got flattened by the flipping Whomping Willow.”

“There’s nothing right now,” Mark cut in, “but we’ll let you know if that changes.”

“The quicksand in front of the Slytherin dungeons was us,” Wooyoung blurted.

San pinched him hard.

“Ow! I just mean to say, we aren’t completely useless.”

“Our other friends would also love to contribute where possible,” San bowed his head again. “Thank you for hearing us out.”

The two younger students left with shy, awkward goodbyes.

“Why were you trying to be so diplomatic?” Jackson grumbled to Mark.

“They don’t have to know we will never call for their help,” Mark reasoned, his inner Slytherin emerging. Jackson, though, still pouted. “Come on, don’t be so sad because I went against you.”

Jackson’s expression didn’t falter. Mark shook his arm. Nothing. Mark grabbed his hand. The line between Jackson’s brows deepened as he scowled. Mark ruffled his hair, and finally, Jackson sighed, collapsing forward until his head rested in Mark’s lap.

“You’ll fall off,” Mark murmured.

“You’re quick enough with charms to catch me.”

Jackson closed his eyes, bathing in the sun and Mark’s heat as the chill breeze swept through the air. The headache from his hangover was already dissipating, and Jackson found that Mark’s scent last night was not from the strawberry mushrooms. It was purely him.

Chapter Text

4 November 1977

Jackson spoke to the Gryffindor Head of House, requesting an audience with the headmaster. However, Professor McGonagall disclosed that Dumbledore was away on urgent business for at least the next two weeks. Jackson left her office, bummed and perplexed as to why the most powerful wizard was gone so soon following an attack on their school. Dumbledore must have felt the wards around the school were now secure. Did he then not realize that there may be secret agents among them?

“My dad’s being weird again,” James said during breakfast that Friday.

The three of them—James, Sirius, and Jackson—were up at dawn to fit in a last-minute practice before the match against Ravenclaw that afternoon.

“He’s locked away in the office?” Sirius asked, mouth full of toast and baked beans.

“I can’t tell. He hasn’t written back in days. Usually, he’s quite prompt with it.”

“I’m sure your mum would write to you if something bad happened,” Jackson said.

“You’re right. I know I’m just stressing over nothing, but I can’t help feeling like… Like both a sitting duck and wasted talent. I keep feeling something awful is going to happen.”

“Focus on the game, Potter,” Sirius urged.

“I’m just peeved that the one time the battle was brought to us, there was still nothing we could do,” James ground his teeth.

“I feel the same, mate,” Jackson said. “Still, all we can do is keep preparing.”

James nodded, and they finished their meal in silence.

Once they made it to the dew-covered pitch, Jackson realized why James had been in a mood all morning. His first announcement of the day was that one of their Beaters had gone home due to an emergency: his muggle mother had been struck by the Cruciatus Curse during a recent Death Eater attack on a small town. She already suffered from diabetes with chronic pain, and the spell triggered a flare-up at an intensity she had never known before.

To substitute, San Choi had volunteered. San smiled at the team, his eyes turning to crescents. Jackson groaned internally when he realized he would see more of the overeager youth in the coming days. He needed to avoid him.

The rest of their practice went smoothly. San had a sturdy build and great balance on the broom. There hadn’t been many vacancies on the Gryffindor team, given the overwhelming talents of the Seventh Years. Jackson vaguely observed that San worked well with Sirius, the other Beater. However, most of Jackson’s focus was on chasing the Quaffle, which James had charmed to fly at triple its usual speed.

After training, Jackson had half a mind to find Mark and take an afternoon dive in the lake. His heartbeat and adrenaline were high from zooming about for two hours. He was also starving again and considered a second breakfast, but that was less important. The lake must be near the freezing point already. If the wannabe Death Eaters among the Slytherins hoped to meet this Voldemort person in its depths, it would be happening soon. He had to stop them.

An owl flew in the open window and landed on Jackson’s shoulder. It was a brown wood owl with raccoon-like concentric circles around its eyes and white spotting on its shoulders and chest. Jackson recognized it as his father’s.

Untying the letter from its leg, he gave the owl a little scritch before it flew off into the morning.

~

Jackson,

Sorry for the immense delay in my response. Things have been hectic with the Office, and I haven’t had time to sort my mail until now. Your uncle wished for you to have this letter as an explanation when it was the right time. I have not read it since I believe it is yours. You may keep it private if you wish, but I am curious as to his message. There is not a moment that passes where I do not miss him terribly. Write back as soon as you can. Your mother and I miss you more than the earth allows.

Love you always,

Dad

~

Jackson stared at the scroll tucked inside his dad’s letter. It was thicker, as it had been rolled many times, and the parchment was worn. Jackson’s hands shook as he held it. He had to lean against the nearby wall as he undid the string. Inside was his uncle’s tidy and tiny script.

~

My dearest Jackson,

I instructed your father to give you this letter under two conditions: (1) you must be of age and (2) you must have asked about me of your own accord. So, please, do not be angry with him for withholding information. I am terribly sorry I could not be around as you grew up. In my life, I know I let down many people, but you, I regret especially.

When I met your father in the city, it was so easy to become close acquaintances. He was such a good-natured man. Your mother was also a delight. I still remember her pastries and hilarious storytelling. They are truly a lovely couple blessed with two magnificent children. If there is one thing on earth that I feel confident in, it is that they will raise you to be an exceptional adult one day.

Your situation reminded me a lot of myself. When I was still a boy, an English aristocrat brought me to this country after my parents died of cholera. I had to learn the language from scratch, but I was able to attain an excellent education thanks to Dumbledore. My time at Hogwarts was the best years of my life. I made friends I would never forget. You were such a funny little kid, so I have no doubt you will do the same.

In some respects, you reminded me a lot of my very best friend. Similar to me, he was scouted from Calcutta. Different from me, though, was that he had an unshakable compassion for all. That is where I believe you two are alike. For this reason, I urge that what I am going to tell you next does not persuade you to endanger your life for a cause you believe is just. I only wish to inform you of my circumstances, so you will not harbor any guilt like I have for decades.

In the summer of 1968, I was walking home late one night when a giant beast leapt out of the nearby woods and attacked me. Lyall Lupin saved my life, but it wasn’t before I was bitten. You see, I worked for the Department of International Magical Co-operation. I hadn’t cast a defensive spell in years, and werewolves are stronger than most magical beasts.

Instantly, though, I remembered Ramy, my friend. It is always at times of weakness when I wonder what he would have done. He was much stronger of character than me. I could always trust him to take the torch and lead us from darkness. He was a Ravenclaw, the same as me, but he very well could have been a Gryffindor. It was that courage, though, that killed him. We were avid supporters of the labour revolts and lobbied for foreign rights during our twenties. I know most wizards think it is silly to involve ourselves in muggle affairs, but their world affects ours all the same.

In any case, I know he would have persevered. He would have researched, gained supporters, and actively protested the Werewolf Registry, no matter how people jeered. He always told me that, because he was a dark-skinned man in a white imperialist country, he had already faced every discrimination without so much as opening his mouth. As only half Chinese, I knew I had the wide eyes and facial features to be white-passing. I could not share in his pain. Still, this is the bravery I loved so much in him. I am simply too different.

After the attack, my name and image were logged in the Registry. I lost my job, title, and all my accolades. Every moon, I must surrender myself to the Ministry. Filing in with the other turned men and women, the young boys and girls, we are locked in individual silver-walled cells deep in the basement. I remember only fragments of my transformations, but the excruciating pain is always paramount. I wake each cycle with deeper and more numerous scars upon my person. Perhaps this is another weakness of mine, but I cannot bear to speak to the other werewolves. Seeing their faces in the morning always shatters my resolve. Seeing the children is the worst. Deep below, in our cages, the wolves do not howl; they scream.

I know that the wolf inside me is fiending for escape. It wants to see the moon, run free, and likely eat a human. It is an urge I have no power to control. That is the worst part. I could stomach being locked up for the rest of my life with nothing to my name. However, if the security does not hold one night, if an accident occurs or if I somehow manage to escape and hurt someone… That is why I made the decision to stop myself before any such event could occur. I have signed the remainder of my possessions and accounts to your father, as I believe this would help him support you and your brother’s education.

As I told you the story of Ramy, I urge that you do not take it upon yourself to revolt against the Ministry’s ways. Werewolves are incredibly dangerous, and there are no means of controlling our hunger for human flesh. In our youth, Ramy and I had many disagreements about how society ought to be structured. However, we swore to always be on the same side when we joined up. Still, even my closeness did not help me when the gun went off that took his life. Because he had jumped in front to protect mine.

I know where your heart lies, Jackson. I see the same compassion in your eyes that blazed in his. Please, please, continue to value your life, as you have many people who love and care for you. I cannot imagine how hypocritical this must sound coming from me, but I do sincerely wish you well. I will always be looking down over you, thankful for the time we got to spend together in your youth.

With much love,

Your Uncle Robin (Birdie)

~

Jackson was in tears by the time he finished the letter. His free hand curled into a fist. Caustic frustration ate at him over his incompetence. How could he have been so ignorant of what his uncle was going through? Why had he not sensed the lie from his father when he said his uncle was well but just too sick to see him?

His uncle was daft to believe the only self-sacrificing idiot was his late best friend when he wound up taking the same path.

“Oi—Jackson?!”

Jackson quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his fist, careful not to stain the letter. That precious letter would be his final memory of the uncle he cared so deeply for, the uncle he hardly realised he would never see again. Mark stood near the end of the hall, but he had seen.

Mark ran to him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Jackson shook his head and sniffed, “Nothing, nothing. It’s just a letter.”

Mark didn’t think when he wrapped Jackson in a hug. Jackson buried his face in Mark’s shoulder and let the sobs come freely. There was something so solid about letting himself fall into Mark. His scent grounded him as he took shallow breaths, his body wracked with hiccups. Mark’s arms held him tighter, one hand coming up to rest on the back of Jackson’s head. The last of Jackson’s reservations fell away as he surrendered to the rhythm of Mark’s fingers in his hair.

Jackson truly loved this boy.