exomeme | part sixty nine

part sixty nine

COMEBACK Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ

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wc 1359.

stranded every pain. kris is albus dumbledore to chanyeol's gellert grindelwald. probably won't make much sense unless you really like the harry potter canon /o\

This is how the story starts:

It was 1899. They met at Godric's Hollow. Chanyeol was visiting his aunt; Kris was under house arrest. "Specificity, please," Chanyeol had ordered airily, dunking his biscuit in his tea the first time Kris comes to visit, and Kris had clammed up, unwilling to share anything with Chanyeol, who looked like he was made from shorn holly branches, broken knives, unicorn bones, all awkward angles and pushing.

"Then tell me why you're here," Kris snapped, sugar turning to ashes in his mouth.

"Easy," Chanyeol said, draining his tea and restlessly making his way to the window. "Durmstrang expelled me. For general insubordination." He flashed a smile at Kris, all teeth. "Experimenting with souls, and how to make them last forever."

"Whose?" Kris asked, voice suddenly hoarse.

"My own, of course," Chanyeol said, followed by a nonchalant shrug and a flick of his wrist which, like a sudden wind, opened the windows and let in the summer air. He climbed out without looking back. Kris, mesmerized, followed him.

-

This is how the story goes:

It was 1899. Kris was under house arrest. Lu Han had been bedridden for most of June. In July, he got out of bed, wrapped himself in only sheets, and, upon finding Kris making breakfast, set fire to the kitchen and almost all of Kris' possessions. Yixing wrestled him down, crooning into his ear, until Lu Han stopped singing. When it was all done, Yixing's arms were burnt from finger to shoulder, peeling like the scales of a dying dragon. "Don't you know, he's very fragile, why do you always make him angry?" Yixing asked Kris, narrowing his eyes, his arms lifted to face level, like an admonition, and Kris, not wanting his brother to see his tears, had run all the way to Bathilda Bagshot's house, through the front door, up the stairs, into Chanyeol's room and, finally, into Chanyeol's bed.

"But don't you see," Chanyeol whispered afterwards, twining his long limbs around Kris' bare chest, "Lu Han is so pure, we're all like him, we were all once him, before we could control it."

"But he can't control it," Kris argued, trying not to get hard as Chanyeol brushed the back of his hand against Kris' still sensitive cock.

"It's control that makes us human," Chanyeol murmured. "It's the ability to let control go," he insisted, "that makes us powerful."

Chanyeol's bare shoulder was rose gold in the sunset. Kris wanted to consume him, take him entirely into himself, burn them both up with the sun. It scared him to feel that way about someone. Maybe crazy was a family thing. Maybe he was only a few steps, a few fires, a few heartbeats separate from Lu Han afterwards. Maybe Lu Han did know something they didn't.

A few weeks later, Lu Han was dead. Yixing spent the afternoon digging a grave for her, refusing Kris or magic. Peacefully, while sleeping, Yixing told their relatives when they asked, but Kris had been the one to find her that morning, and he remembers: the snagged strand of hair on the rotting windowsill -- curly, burnished gold, the same color and length as Chanyeol's.

-

This is the story you know:

It was 1945. The war was over. It was not yet called the legendary duel. For the moment, the papers only called it, Kris Wu's Victory. Kris didn't stay long enough for the reporters to interview him. He Apparated to Hogsmeade, then made his way back to Hogwarts as quickly as he could. In his office, he laid his wand next to Chanyeol's and thought about -- nothing. Chanyeol's wand hummed, as if its core was made of insects, trying to get free. It wasn't the wand Kris remembered from forty years ago. But there were a lot of things, Kris knew, that had changed in 40 years.

"I built this wing by hand, you know," Chanyeol said when Kris went to visit him for the last time at Nurmengard. "Brick by brick, laying the mortar myself. Mixing the mortar myself."

"Isn't that what house elves are for?" Kris had asked, biting his lip to hold back the questions he wanted to ask, like how could you do this to me, and what went wrong, and when will we, who will we, how do we, what are we.

"Ah," Chanyeol sneered, pressing his face against the bars. "So you do believe in the greater good after all."

Chanyeol's wrists had no shackles. His shackles were the strongest magic Kris could conjure, and a little bit more, that Kris couldn't conjure -- Chanyeol's own will, his own surrender. Tell us about the duel, the press would ask later. Tell us how you fought Park Chanyeol. Kris would never tell them the truth, that they didn't fight at all, that they stood there, silent, regarding each other across distance and years, and when Kris disarmed him with a spell, Chanyeol hadn't even moved. He'd only said, some burdens are heavy, Kris. And now I can put them down to rest.

Kris buried his own wand in Lu Han's grave.

He used Chanyeol's for the rest of his life.

-

This is the story you don't know:

It is 1914. Kris is at Hogwarts, a professor of Transfiguration. In a few years, the Ministry will ask him to be Minister of Magic. In 31 years exactly, in fact. He has not heard from Chanyeol for years. He is beginning to forget what Chanyeol looked like. Sometimes in his dreams, Chanyeol looks like Lu Han. Chanyeol is not in Europe. No one knows where Chanyeol is. Kris is beginning to think he doesn't care where Chanyeol is anymore.

It is 1914. Kris gets a letter. The handwriting is shaky, splotched with rain and foreign dirt. It is in a hand Kris has, in truth, only seen a few times before. One of the times is on the front flap of a copy of the Tales of Beetle the Bard.

Don't you want to know what happened to Lu Han? the letter says. Don't you want to know where I kept what I took from him?

Magic is only as strong as our instrumentalities, Chanyeol had said, once, as they were tangled in each other and the branches of the trees at Godric's Hollow, poring over the story of the Three Brothers. Wands and spells and, well. Chanyeol dipped his head shyly. Souls, I suppose.

The letter isn't signed.

It doesn't need to be.

-

And now it is 1938, on a stormy night, and Kris is at an orphanage, sitting on the bed next to Oh Sehun, who is eleven years old and has been sent to bed without dinner because this afternoon he and three other children went exploring the cliff out back without adult supervision or permission. The other three children are still missing. Sehun was the only one who returned. Kris is here on Hogwarts business, but no one in the orphanage, except, now, Sehun, knows what that means. They have reached the conclusion of their conversation, but it is raining very hard, and the orphanage has invited Kris to spend the night, and it would be suspicious to say no. So he is sitting on Oh Sehun's narrow, hard bed, and looking at Oh Sehun's belongings. Eventually, he spots a cardboard box, taped over with magazine and book pages, to give it the impression of having been poorly and inconsistently painted.

"What's in that box?" he asks, pointing.

For a minute, Sehun doesn't say anything. Then he gets up off the bed and goes to the box, handling it very carefully in his two small hands. "Isn't it obvious?" Sehun sneers. He doesn't open the lid, or show Kris what's inside. "Only the most important thing," he says, his face suddenly lax, a smooth sheen of imagination, peering into some point past Kris's head, past the cliff of the orphanage, into the wild, dark knight.

"The only that matters," Sehun sighs. "Immortality."

The box buzzes, like it's filled to brim with bees, or light, or heavy burdens.

anon ;;

oh my god there are two pronoun errors re: lu han SRY

oh i thought they were intentional to fit the canon cry

anon ;~~~~~;

this is amazing omg *o*

A N O N

omg anon

ANOOOOOOOOOON i'm crey ;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~;

anonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

i am in awe gj anon

screaming and crying ;;

omg gj anon

wow, i just. wow

anon ;~~~~~~; this is beautiful

oh shit anon. u're amazing

goosebumps anon. my nose stings a bit

holy fucking shit i'm shivering all over rn

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part sixty nine

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