Y/N~
If there's a spell to erase a kiss from someone's memory, I swear on all the Bertie Bott's Beans in the world, I'd cast it on myself right now. Twice.
I haven't slept a wink. Not with Jimin's lips still haunting mine like a cursed echo, and definitely not with Jungkook's confused, gentle eyes flashing in my brain every time I shut my own.
What have I done?
"Y/N," Lima says with her head tilted, watching me poke my toast for the past ten minutes like it owes me an explanation. "You look like a ghost that got dumped."
"I feel like a ghost that kissed someone she shouldn't have."
Lima chokes on her juice. "You mean Jimin—"
"Shhhh!" I slap my hand over her mouth as my eyes dart around the Ravenclaw table. Jungkook's sitting two seats down, talking with Professor Flitwick, looking entirely too calm for someone about to battle dragons or whatever ridiculous Level 3 madness they've cooked up for this tournament.
"I don't know what to do, Lima," I whisper once she peels my hand off her face. "I kissed him back. That's the worst part."
"Okay, that is bad," she nods way too seriously. "But also kinda spicy."
"Lima."
"Right, right—emotional crisis, focus."
Just then, Jungkook turns to us, flashing a sleepy smile and lifting his hand for a little wave. "You two good?"
Lima gives him a thumbs-up. I give him a tight smile and immediately shove a spoonful of marmalade into my mouth so I don't have to say anything. He's wearing the special navy blue training robe for the final round today. There's a gold badge pinned to the collar with the number 3 engraved into it.
Level three. The last round. Him and Jimin.
Of course.
I manage to slip away from the table with my bag after breakfast and rush out to the courtyard where the students are assembling. The grounds are already humming with enchantments—barriers being drawn, spells being cast, the judges' booth floating mid-air on a magical platform. The energy is high, loud, and a bit terrifying.
I spot Jungkook doing warm-ups with Taehyung by the stairs, and a few feet away, Jimin's lounging like he owns the world. His eyes catch mine, and that same smirk dances on his lips—the one he wore right before he kissed me.
I quickly turn away.
"You came," Jungkook says, stepping toward me with a soft grin. There's a light sheen of sweat on his neck already from practice, and his robe clings to his shoulders perfectly. "You didn't sleep, did you?"
I shake my head.
"Me neither," he admits, and then adds with a quiet laugh, "I kept thinking about how you almost cried when I skipped dinner."
I smack his chest lightly. "I wasn't crying, I was... moisture-reacting."
"Whatever that means." He chuckles. Then his face grows serious. "You don't have to worry about me, you know. I've trained hard. I'm not gonna lose."
A lump rises in my throat. Not because I doubt him. But because I do.
Not in his skill—never that. In myself.
Before I can say anything, Professor McGonagall claps her hands and announces for the last two contestants to take their marks.
Jungkook leans in close, his voice soft and steady, "Watch me kick that slytherin ass, okay?"
I nod, unable to speak. He grins and jogs off into the middle of the arena.
And right before the challenge begins, I feel that familiar gaze again.
Jimin.
He doesn't say a word. He just winks.
And with that, the final round begins.