«­-(¯`·´¯)-««

Water, 35 liters. Carbon, 20 kilograms. Ammonia, 4 liters. Lime, 1.5 kilograms. Phosphorus, 800 grams. Salt, 250 grams. Saltpeter, 100 grams. Sulfur, 80 grams. Fluorine, 7.5 grams. Iron, 5 grams. Silicon, 3 grams. And trace amounts of fifteen other elements.

Junmyeon is certain that while those are the correct measurements of the elements required to make an average adult human body. He's also certain that Oh Sehun was composed of both more and less than a such a cheap shopping list.

"But how do we account for his soul?" Jongin asks during their trip to Central. He trails behind Junmyeon, his steps slow and sluggish as he waits for Junmyeon to appraise yet another vial of saltpeter. They've spent the past few weeks visiting the finest apothecaries the nation could offer, window-shopping for the best ingredients money could buy. Only the richest -- and, of course, the State Military -- could afford such exorbiant prices, but for Junmyeon it might as well have been pocket change.

Like Sehun would have accepted being recomposed of sub-par materials simply bought from a local market.

One thing that Junmyeon's vast fortune couldn't buy though was the one thing Jongin had always been most concerned with, always bringing it up in their conversations ever since Junmyeon had finally let him in on the plan he'd spent the past seven years researching and preparing for. The human soul had always been a tricky thing to work around, but surely Junmyeon could figure something out now that he had Jongin on his side.

"Maybe if the two of us put a little more energy into the transmutation," he answers softly, but with very little confidence. He holds the vial of saltpeter closer to his eyes, examining it once more before setting it back on the shelf with a frown. With so many impurities, there's no way it'd hold up in an actual human transmutation. "Although I should still probably provide the bulk of it."

It's only right after all. It's Junmyeon's responsibility, Junmyeon's fault.

He reaches out to take Jongin's hand, already ready to head back over to the store's supply of lime, but Jongin manages to slip right out of his grasp and walk over to the display himself. Nineteen year old Jongin is a lot different from twelve year old Jongin, but at least that much hasn't changed.

"This looks good," Jongin comments, leaning over the display with his back facing Junmyeon. He's grown so tall, his shoulders so broad and muscled. Junmyeon wonders if Sehun would have grown up the same way, sprouting up like a particularly handsome sunflower. Always looking away from Junmyeon. "I think you should buy it."

And Junmyeon listens without even looking at the cost of the lime, eagerly pulling out his wallet and walking over to the clerk on his own. It's a small price to pay, comparatively.



Junmyeon's family owns an estate out in Resembool, one of the few properties to survive the town's bombing by Ishvalan terrorists in retribution for the civil war. That had been years ago, when Junmyeon had been a child and safely spirited away to Central for the time being. Despite the fact that his father had landed a solid position teaching at the capitol's top medical school and his much older brother had found himself a place in the Amestrian military academy, Junmyeon and his mother had returned to the family home once the conflict had ended.

That had been when he met Zitao, Jongin, and Sehun.

In spite of their age difference, Junmyeon thought of them as his friends. Maybe Zitao felt the same way, but Jongin and Sehun had always insisted on referring to him as their glorified babysitter. It wasn't too much of a stretch -- Junmyeon was the one to pick them all up from their houses in the morning and walk with them to the town's school-house, and a majority of his early adolescent years had been spent happily keeping an eye on them for their parents.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Jongin asked as he laid in the grass a healthy distance away from where Junmyeon was stretched out. Zitao and Sehun had been rolling around on the ground closer to the river and attempting to toss each other into the water, although Sehun's strategy seemed to involve more slumping on top of Zitao's body like a heavy rock than any actual force. "You're so old, and you're still hanging out with us kids."

"That's because I like you kids." Which was true. Junmyeon probably liked the three of them most out of all the people in his life.

And as he sat on one of Resembool's grassy banks, listening to Zitao and Sehun's playful yelps echo through the air and watching Jongin's hair ruffle in the summer breeze, he realized he'd do anything for them.

The year Junmyeon turns fifteen, Sehun collapses with very little warning in Junmyeon's house. So little warning that by the time Junmyeon finishes frantically telephoning his father in Central for medical advice -- because surely, surely, one of the top doctors in the country could easily fix this -- Sehun's been pronounced dead by the town's doctor for reasons Junmyeon still doesn't quite understand.

Everything about it is painfully short and frighteningly quick, passing through at whirlwind speeds before Junmyeon can even begin to understand anything.

By the end of the week, he's already watching Sehun's coffin close for the last time. Zitao is crying into his shoulder, his tears soaking through the brand new suit Junmyeon's mother had ordered just for the occasion. For the first time in a long while, Jongin is holding his hand of his own free will. It's smaller and less warm than Junmyeon had expected.

Junmyeon sleeps over at Jongin's in the weeks after, his own house haunted by all the memories of Sehun lounging around the house while petulantly asking for things, as well as the few times Junmyeon had refused him. Regret lingers in every corner, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees Sehun's face and finds himself wondering what he did wrong that day.

"You didn't do anything," Jongin says quietly each night, his voice steady and almost reassuring. He never reaches for Junmyeon's hand again though, and in the darkness of the room, Jongin's eyes accuse him instead.

He's right -- Junmyeon didn't do anything. He didn't do anything when Sehun had collapsed, when Sehun had laid there on the ground as his life slipped away.

"I'll figure something out," Junmyeon promises, more to himself than to Jongin or even Sehun. His fists tighten in the blankets, and he hears Jongin sigh before they drift off to sleep.



Alchemy.

That's the solution, or looks to be it anyway. Junmyeon finds out about it when a young man clad in the same blue military uniform as his brother comes into the town, flashing a silver pocketwatch at anyone who asked.

"Alchemy can be used to fix anything," the soldier had said, sitting in Sehun's chair as Junmyeon's mother fetched him a glass of tea, "for a price."

Junmyeon knows all about prices, even if he's never had to worry about paying for them. Not everything has a price -- if Junmyeon could buy alchemic talent, he would have done so immediately instead of struggling with the simplest of transmutation circles and chemical break-downs for so long -- but there are a lot of things Junmyeon can buy. Rare and expensive alchemy texts and the time and patience of the best alchemists willing to tutor him.

"Fifteen's a little old to start learning," one of them notes, looking over his glasses at Junmyeon like he's trying to break him down to his bare elements, "and you're saying you've never even tried before?"

Junmyeon flushes in embarrassment, his hands clenched into tights fists underneath the desk.

"I have motivation now. Determination."

If nothing else, Junmyeon proves that much. Jongin, who takes to coming along to Junmyeon's lessons now that one playmate is six feet under and the other has thrown himself head-first into his family's automail business, takes to the lessons much more quickly, already advancing well past Junmyeon by the end of their first year, but Junmyeon keeps at it.

"It feels good," Jongin says as he presses his hands to a transmutation circle drawn in the dirt. Blue light flares from the circle, and from the ground arises a life-size puppy chiseled out of rock. It looks suspiciously like one of his own dogs. "Having something to do with my hands. No wonder Zitao decided to take up automail. It's nice not feeling useless."

"Idle hands," Junmyeon replies as he, too, draws the now familiar alchemic runes into the soft earth. He tries for a different transmutation and winds up with a rough, rock goblet filled with water drawn up from the soil. Not too shabby.

While Junmyeon doesn't improve by the leaps and bounds Jongin does, he progresses at a steady rate. By the end of his sixth year of study, he's certain that he's almost ready, and on the sixth anniversary of Sehun's death, he gathers Jongin and Zitao and lets them in on his plan.

"Didn't you tell me human transmutation is illegal?" Zitao asks, now staring at Junmyeon with suspicion. He's nineteen and towers over Junmyeon now, and his disapproval is intimidating. Jongin, who is almost as tall and grown, stares at him with the same intensity.

Junmyeon bites his lip. "But it's Sehun." He knows his voice is heavy with desperation, but for good reason. With each year he struggles with alchemy, more of his memories of Sehun fade with time. How long until he forgets the sound of his awkward laugh, or the way his eyes narrowed whenever he grinned? Junmyeon doesn't think he can afford to wait any longer.

"Fuck, hyung. Was that the whole reason behind this?"

Jongin looks almost disappointed in him. Junmyeon can't even look at him when he silently nods.

He hears Jongin tell Zitao to leave, something about how they had to talk about this alchemist-to-alchemist, and as the front door closes, he braces himself. He tries to tell himself that nothing Jongin says to him can shake his resolve now, not after years of working up to this point -- but Jongin's previous words echo in his ears, speaking of nothing and uselessness.

Jongin will always hold power over Junmyeon, the same way Sehun still does from beyond the grave.

"You think you already know everything you need?" Jongin asks from the door, and Junmyeon can hear him slowly walking back over.

Junmyeon nods again, for some reason too nervous to open his mouth. His throat feels so dry.

He hears Jongin sigh again, just like that night so many years ago, and even with his eyes closed he can see the shadow Jongin casts as he stands over him.

"I wish you'd told me when we started this," Jongin mutters, and Junmyeon looks up in shock, "You know I want him back just as much as you do." He almost reaches out for Junmyeon's hand again, but stops himself just in time. "Let's do this, hyung."



They set up their purchases in Junmyeon's basement.

His mother has long left the Resembool estate, beckoned back to Central's bright lights and socialite circles, and with his brother still in the military, the running of the estate falls on Junmyeon's weak shoulders. He's a lenient master though, and when he tells the few servants he keeps around that they have the week off, no one is surprised.

"No disturbances," he promises Jongin as he lets him in through the front door, "just you and me."

Jongin just brushes past him, complaining of the summer heat.

It's cooler in the basement, where they spend hours drawing out the transmutation circle the two of them had worked to develop. Junmyeon had done most of the planning, combining various other circles he'd come across in his studies until he felt he had developed the perfect one, while Jongin was in charge of making sure the actual construction of the circle on the basement's hardwood flooring was perfect. It's almost midnight by the time they finish, chalk dust all over their hands and their nerves racing.

"Remember what I told you," Junmyeon says as he wipes his hands on his pants, "don't put in too much energy. Let me handle it, I just need you to help me visualize Sehun and direct the transmutation."

Jongin is silent, and Junmyeon's almost certain he'll argue back. He's gotten more contrary over the years, although he has been following Junmyeon's lead for the past year.

"Are you sure this will work, hyung?" Jongin finally asks. His voice is so small.

Of course Junmyeon isn't absolutely sure this will work out. He's tried to calculate all possible rebounds and problems, but human transmutation is illegal for a reason and it's not like there's very much research available about it to anyone who isn't a State Alchemist.

But that doesn't mean he can't try.

"Not at all," he says honestly. "So this is your last chance to back out, Jongin."

A part of him hopes Jongin will take it, that Jongin will walk out of his house and take up a proper profession like Zitao has. Use that to cope with the death of his best friend, a wound that was never allowed to properly heal as long as Junmyeon kept promising hope he couldn't even guarantee.

But there's another part of Junmyeon that knows he can't do this alone. Jongin probably knows it too.

"I'm not a kid anymore, hyung," and Junmyeon knows that already. "I can handle this, too. Probably better than you can."

Junmyeon chuckles bitterly, because that's probably true.

Only it's not. As the room flares in dark purple light, both of their hands positioned firmly on the transmutation circle, Junmyeon realizes just how wrong the two of them were. He hears Jongin's scream amidst the crackling of the sparks in the room and realizes that neither of them were ready for this.



Junmyeon wakes up to a blinding white. There's no end in sight, and when he sits up, all he can see is a giant stone door hovering a few meters away from him with the impressive engraving of a tree of it.

So you're awake.

He turns around to find a white silhouette, whose outline is surrounded by an aura of black particles. It's seated quite casually on whatever counts as the floor for this place.

"Who are you? Where's Jongin?" he asks it, feeling dazed. His head hurts, and his memory up until that moment is a bit of a blur.

The silhouette shrugs its shoulders at him. I am what you call the world. Or perhaps the universe, or perhaps god, or perhaps truth, or perhaps all, or perhaps one. And I am also you. It doesn't make much sense, if anything it makes Junmyeon's head spin even more.

And then he hears the doors behind him creak open.

Welcome, you fool, who doesn't know his own place.

The last thing Junmyeon sees are those razor sharp teeth pulled back into a wicked smile as the tangle of shadowy limbs tear into his body and drag him through the door. The silhouette's lips move one last time before he finds himself in complete darkness, centuries of knowledge being shoved into his mind until he feels like his head is going to burst, but even as he fights to block out the pain, its last words echo mockingly in his ears.

Seven years of hard work, good job, Junmyeon.

It's less than two months into Minseok's fifth year and he's already spent more time studying in the library than he has in the past four years combined. It's not an entirely miserable experience seeing as his O.W.L.s are still a good eight months away and the pressure hasn't built up to a soul-crushing intensity quite yet, but there's no denying that the seemingly endless hours of self-study would have been far more enjoyable if his friends hadn't proven themselves exemplary enough to be chosen as the prefects and Quidditch captains of their year and were thus stuck patrolling the halls, supervising detentions, or devising game plans for winning the Quidditch Cup.

It's not like he doesn't see them -- Yifan and Junmyeon, who's as busy with Quidditch as the others were with prefect duties, room with him and he still sees all three of them in most of his classes, of course. But it's oddly quiet in the library without Lu Han guffawing ridiculously at one of Yifan's unintentional body gags or the Picasso-esque doodles etched on his parchments during one of their earlier classes.

Two months into his fifth year, and Minseok already misses his best friends.

"Maybe I should practice my cheering charms," he mutters, twirling his wand between his fingers. Even the warm sparks coming off the tip of it -- blue and white and snowflake-shaped just like the ones he'd seen the first time he had waved it around at Ollivanders -- don't feel quite as bright as usual.

His eyes start wandering from the spellbooks laid out in front of him, focusing instead on how far the sparks from his wand will land. It's a nice, mindless distraction and a relief from his intense study session. But as he watches one particularly active spark fly out of the nook in his corner of the library, he suddenly notices a flash of red and orange in-between a couple of the other aisles.

When he looks more carefully, he realizes that there's a person on fire.

There's smoke rising from the student's flashy red and gold Quidditch robes and his arms are flailing ridiculously and all Minseok can do for those first few moments is watch in horror because what the hell, there's no way immolation of any kind is permitted in the library and why is that kid on fire, for the love of Merlin.

He finally notices the three other boys sitting further beyond the flaming Gryffindor, all seated at a table with their bags scattered around them. They looked to be more concerned with whatever they were discussing than the lightshow going right in front of them.

"How appropriate," he thinks with very little malice when he sees the alternating green and silver of their loosened ties.

Minseok gets up from his seat, his chair screeching across the stone floor as he pushes it back, and marches over to the four with his wand out.

"Glacius!"

He points directly at the boy engulfed in flames, and if the sparks from his wand had looked like snowflakes before, they're nothing compared to the outright blizzard that erupts the second he finishes the incantation. The four students barely have enough time to look over before their faces are blasted with ice, but in the split-second he sees their faces, Minseok realizes he knows these brats.

"Park Chanyeol," he says, crossing his arms over his chest as Lu Han's infamous beater pouts at him, icicles hanging from his large ears like a pair of Yifan's dragon-tooth earrings. "Shouldn't you be on the pitch right now with Lu Han?"

At least Chanyeol has the decency to look a little sheepish, which is a surprise given how often Minseok hears about his impertinence and how he has even personally witnessed the way Chanyeol flies in circles around the Quidditch pitch, crowing shamelessly after breaking another player's bones.

As for his three friends...

"Jongdae. Kyungsoo." Out of the four, they're the two he's most familiar with. Jongdae had spent the majority of his first two years at Hogwarts attempting to win over Peeves's favor, and several of those attempts had resulted in Minseok covered in too many different concoctions for him to even remember. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, tended to linger around the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room in search of the hidden kitchens. They may have been a bit more mischievous than the average third year, but they had seemed like good enough kids. For Slytherins. Still not the type he would have picked out as most likely to casually set one of their yearmates on fire, even if the Gryffindor-Slytherin house rivalry was taken into account.

But maybe he should rethink that, because before he knows it, all three Slytherins are laughing.

"You've got us wrong, hyung!" Jongdae insists, although with that trickster's smile, Minseok isn't very inclined to believe him. He settles for raising a single eyebrow and awaiting a further explanation.

Jongdae looks over at the other two for help, but when they don't pipe up, he keeps going on his own. "It's just--"

"Third years are learning about witch burnings," Kyungsoo finally supplies, staring blankly at Minseok like that should suffice.

And maybe it does. If Minseok thinks hard enough, he can kinda remember writing his own ridiculously lengthy essay on the subject when he was their age. He definitely remembers Lu Han spending their first day back begging him for help on the subject. But still.

"So you thought you needed a living example?" he asks skeptically, watching all four of their heads bobble like one of his little sister's toys back at home. "Really. Have you guys even been taught the flame freezing charm yet? And why Chanyeol?"

All three Slytherins look at each other before shrugging at him.

"We've set him on fire probably ten times in the last hour," Baekhyun sniffs, "Chanyeol likes how it tickles, for whatever reason. Probably makes those fairy ears tingle."

"Probably makes his dick tingle," Jongdae adds, not even bothering to muffle his laughter in spite of the fact that they're in the library and Madam Pince is most definitely not deaf.

Chanyeol reaches over, dripping water all over the place in an attempt to shove Jongdae out of his seat, and Minseok catches Kyungsoo's foot knocking into the leg of Jongdae's chair hard enough to force him to tip over. Jongdae probably didn't though, now sprawled out on the ground with a sour expression on his face as his robes soak up all the melted ice left behind by Minseok's spell.

Even Minseok can't hold back his chuckles.

"Seriously, you four are the worst third years I've ever met."

One of them snorts, although Minseok's not sure which one. "Please, we've heard all about your exploits with Lu Han when you were third years," Baekhyun laughs, leaning over the table so he's just that much closer to Minseok. It'd be more intimidating if he was a larger Slytherin, but Baekhyun is still small even for a third year and Minseok doesn't anticipate him growing much taller over the years. "You might not have set Yifan on fire, but you can't say you've never done worse."

"Surrendering Yifan as a test subject for the Weasley twins was a move done for the good of the Hufflepuff house," Minseok says, trying to sound stern even as the corner of his lip tilts up at the memory of Yifan's helpless expression as the Weasleys had carted him away to their shop in the one of the many disused bathrooms in the castle. "If we didn't choose a representative, we'd all be subject to their pranks."

"Excuses, excuses," Jongdae mutters as he wrings the water out of his robes miserably. Minseok had forgotten that students didn't learn the Hot-Air Charm until the end of their fourth year, and in light of that, helpfully dries him off with a swish of his wand. Jongdae smiles thankfully at him, and Minseok beams back.

"Seriously though, you could have set one of the books here on fire," he continues, "and how in Merlin's name did you not wind up catching Madam Pince's attention? I would have thought she'd be on you like a threstral on raw meat."

Chanyeol laughs and slaps a hand on Kyungsoo's shoulders. "Kyungsoo's been messing around with a few repelling charms his brother taught him over the summer. Pince probably doesn't even know we're here!"

"It's supposed to repel authority figures like teachers and prefects," Kyungsoo says quietly, "but I guess you wouldn't count. Yifan's the Hufflepuff prefect and you're in no position to take away points."

Minseok can't even bother feeling offended at his bluntness because more than anything, he's still too busy marveling over Kyungsoo's spell.

"You're a third year and you're already modifying repelling charms?" he asks, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Baekhyun. "That's pretty impressive. I wasn't looking into protective spells until last year myself and they're really something. Intense stuff."

Kyungsoo looks surprised that that's what captures Minseok's attention, but nods anyway. "Well, my brother's a curse-breaker, so he's told me a few things. Not much though."

"We should talk more another time then." Minseok ignores the looks Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Chanyeol send each other as he keeps talking. "I'd love to hear more about what your brother taught you."

Chanyeol tugs Kyungsoo closer to him and the others and squints suspiciously at Minseok, his eyes going uneven. "You can't just expect our resident charms expert to spill all of our trade secrets to you!" Baekhyun and Jongdae make noises of agreement alongside him while Kyungsoo sits in the middle of them all, rolling his eyes.

Minseok laughs, feeling lighter than he has in a long while. It's nice to see them banding together, even if it makes the absence of his own friends that much more tangible.

"I'll make a deal," he says, leaning over and keeping his voice at a low whisper, "you let me and Kyungsoo go over those protective spells and I'll share the prefect patrol schedule with you after each session."

The four third years all look at each other, as if having a silent conversation with just their eyes, although Chanyeol's face twitches a bit as he tries to convey his own thoughts. Minseok knows they've made their decision when Baekhyun straightens in his seat and nods at the other three.

"Deal," he says, taking Minseok's outstretched hand. There's a dangerous smile on his face -- on all four of their faces, really -- but like Hogwarts has ever suffered too greatly from a group of friends having a bit of fun. Someone has to pick up the slack from his own group of friends, after all.

Sehun/Chen - tough as cotton balls

"How has your first week in Slytherin been, Sehunnie?"

There's little warning before Sehun is smacked quite strongly on the back, and it's only through mere chance that he manages to avoid face-planting in his porridge. That would have been a disaster, Sehun figures, although he's not sure whether it'd be better or worse than getting caught in the crossfire of an inter-house hexing battle and as a result walking into the Sorting Ceremony with his hair charmed to change color every time his expression changed even slightly. He can't even breathe a sigh of relief now because then the pink shade he'd spent all morning getting used to would probably change again.

"My hair is still jinxed," he says blankly, already an expert in maintaining a straight face after a week of learning to control himself or risk further humiliation. He stares at Jongdae as accusingly as he can manage using only his eyes, but already he can feel his scalp starting to tingle.

Jongdae laughs, loud and bright as he plops down beside Sehun and starts filling his plate. "You can't let a harmless jinx like that ruin your first week, not if you're gonna survive in Slytherin for seven years," he tells Sehun through a mouthful of eggs. "So better toughen up. Besides, I think you're lucky Baekhyun and Chanyeol weren't having a bigger fight on the train, kid. The spells they used could have been worse."

Worse. Sehun can't even imagine how much worse things could be, and accidentally lets out a sigh.

"Merlin's saggy left--" he groans into his hands as Jongdae and half their table starts laughing at his fire-engine red hair.



Sehun/Tao - in the detail

How Sehun manages to wind up in remedial Charms lessons by the end of his first term is still something of a mystery to the rest of the Slytherin house.

"Are you sure you're pureblood? Shouldn't there be more magic running through your veins?" Jongdae had teased, and Sehun hadn't shown it because of that stupid hair color-changing charm that still hadn't worn off, but it honestly had hurt. But just a little.

So here he was, sitting in Flitwick's classroom after all other lessons have already concluded for the day and silently nursing his hurt feelings as he watched little cupcakes dance across his desk in a sorry attempt to cheer him up. Unlike the upperclassmen, Professor Flitwick had been sympathetic to the point of nausea and thought Sehun could use a distraction before leaving to fetch his new student tutor.

"Sorry I'm late! Quidditch practice was running late!"

When Sehun hears the high, light voice and catches a glimpse of yellow and black, he almost thinks he's been stuck with Kim Junmyeon, who'd given him an impromptu tour of the castle on his second day regardless of the fact that they were in different houses. But instead, the person who comes in is already a little bit taller and darker than tiny, pale Junmyeon, even if Sehun knows him to be younger.

It's the second year Hufflepuff beater. Huang Z-something-or-the-other.

"So Flitwick told me you were having trouble with charms?" he asks Sehun, smiling brightly as he grabs the seat in front of Sehun's and starts pulling out notes. "Something about how you half-ass the wand movements."

"He never said that."

His tutor laughs, that familiar high-pitched noise Sehun sometimes hears in the middle of a Quidditch match whenever he flies over the Slytherin side of the arena after sucessfully knocking a bludger someone's way. "You're right. He just implied it. Anyway, I'm Zitao."

"I know," Sehun lies, but not good enough because his hair shifts to lavendar and Zitao's not even bothering to hide how much it amuses him.

Other than that though, Zitao's not a bad tutor. He's eager to guide Sehun and correct the positioning of his wrist in a way that absolutely does not make Sehun feel like someone shot cheering charms right at his chest.

"Just swish and flick," Zitao tells him, his wrist moving gracefully, "really simple."

Sehun frowns, ignoring how his hair is now a moss green color and the way Zitao openly watches it change with a cat-like smile, and wiggles his wrist in a poor imitation. In response, the feather on his desk changes color until it's the same shade as his hair.

"Well, you're not lacking in potential," Zitao says kindly, edging closer into Sehun's personal space as he reaches for Sehun's hand again. His hand feels rougher compared to Sehun's smooth skin, the callouses from a term's worth of Quidditch practices already setting in. "Let's try that again."

Their lesson runs for an hour longer than either of them expected, but Sehun can't say he minds as he leaves the Charms classroom, feeling as light as the feather he's now capable of levitating.