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Todoroki Shouto was not going home for winter break.
He was in his seventh year at Hogwarts. Coincidentally, he was also about to enjoy his seventh year running, of not being home for the holidays.
Shouto loved the castle during the winter holiday. It was quiet, serene, covered with heaps of snow like icing spread thick onto a cake.
Most of his friends left on December 5th, the last day of classes, returned home to their families with apologetic smiles and promises to talk over the break. They almost always tried to insist on staying, but their parents convinced them that they should return home. Some of the methods that the adults employed to drag their children home were a bit… excessive, Shouto thought.
The Howler that Izuku had received from Inko during their fourth year had been quite memorable.
Regardless, Shouto didn’t mind being alone on Christmas. He could curl up with a hot chocolate next to the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room, read a book, write letters to his mother, Fuyumi, and his brothers thanking them for their gifts, and generally just enjoy some time to himself.
At least, that was his normal Christmas routine. This year, his peaceful plans were being (quite rudely) interrupted by three things.
One: he was the Hogwarts Champion for this year’s Triwizard Tournament.
Two: the Durmstrang Institute students were staying in Ravenclaw Tower because the Great Lake had frozen over and the ice had punctured the hull of the stupid ship that they were staying in.
Three: he was sharing his room with the Durmstrang Champion, one Inasa Yoarashi.
Inasa was a boisterous, hulking beast of a man, taller than Shouto and twice as broad. He spoke loudly and laughed even louder.
He laughed all the time. His dark eyes wrinkled at the corners, glinted with mirth. He always threw his head back first, brought his hand to his stomach, leaned forward, slapped his legs, laughed like every single thing he heard was the epitome of comedy.
He and Shouto mixed about as well as oil and water.
Sure, they were competitors, but Shouto didn’t really understand why Inasa seemed to despise him so much. The brunette seemed to get on just fine with other Hogwarts students during their shared lesson times, and he even tried (without much luck) to rub shoulders with the moody Beauxbatons champion, Hitoshi Shinsou.
But every time Inasa looked at Shouto, his eyes darkened, drained of all the mirth and cheer he directed at others.
So, clearly he had an issue with Shouto. Therefore, Shouto had steadfastly ignored Inasa throughout the entire year. It hadn’t been a problem, hadn’t impacted him at all; the only times he was ever in the man’s presence was during their joint potions class and in the Champions’ tent before Triwizard Trials.
But now they were in very close quarters.
And try as he might to ignore it, Inasa’s attitude was definitely getting to Shouto. He couldn’t go anywhere in the tower without the brunette’s negative presence seeping into his damn bones. It felt cold.
Normally, the cold didn’t bother Shouto.
But this was a different kind of cold.
This cold reminded him of icy blue eyes, cast down on him as he retched onto the floor, kicked his mother’s crumpled body on the kitchen floor despite his sister’s screams, told him that his blood was the only thing about him that made him worth anything at all.
So, Shouto might have a bit of an issue with Inasa.
But, he figured, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
So he kept silent, kept out of Inasa’s way, and prayed that the lake would thaw sooner rather than later.
-
Shouto usually woke before Inasa. The brunette rose early, too, but there were not many people whose minds and bodies were fully functional at five in the morning.
Shouto had always been early to rise, a habit that had been deeply ingrained in him by his father at a very young age. Now, even when he tried to sleep in, his eyes flew open at five on the dot, even when it was pitch black outside and freezing cold in his room. Usually, he would lounge about in bed, wrapped up in his blankets, bedcurtains drawn and think about the day to come until breakfast sprung up in the Great Hall at seven.
Recently, when Shouto woke, he hadn’t thought about his day, or his dreams, or even about what he would eat for breakfast.
He spent his mornings laying on his bed, perfectly still, listening to Inasa breathe.
He was only quiet when he was asleep, and even then, he was loud. He snored, but only a little, letting out the tiniest little grunts on every exhale. He moved around a lot. The sheets rustled as he rolled around, kicked his legs, slid his hands every which way.
Shouto sat up and opened his bedcurtains, just a crack, and watched the man on the bed across from his.
His face was slack, short-cropped hair just the tiniest bit messy.
In the mornings, Shouto felt warm.
-
On the evening of December 7th, Shouto stepped into the common room, clutching a thick, leather-bound tome on the intricacies of ice-based elemental magic. It had been a bit of a hassle to finally get his hands on it; elementalism was a very dangerous methodology, and the Restricted section was quite- well- strict on handing out those books.
But he was glad to finally have it, and he couldn’t wait to dig into its dusty pages and learn all about even more about how to be the exact opposite kind of wizard- and man- of his father.
He swept briskly across the common room, a tiny (shit-eating) grin dancing across his lips, and started to mount the stairs to his room.
He was suddenly faced with a pair of broad shoulders, and he practically skidded to a stop. He glanced up and was met with Inasa’s chilling glare.
The taller man shoved past him, thick red cloak fluttering at his shoulder.
Shouto turned, watched Inasa’s arms swing as he retreated.
“Why do you hate me so much?” he blurted.
Inasa stopped, tensed.
“Are you joking?” he spat, whirling around and fixing Shouto with a searing glare.
Shouto blinked, held his book tighter.
“...No?” he replied, confused.
“Don’t you know anything about your father?” Inasa crossed his arms. His gaze was cold, cold, frigid, eyes inky-black, the dead of night in the dead of winter.
Shouto gripped the book in his hands until his knuckles were white, the pads of his fingers numb.
“I try not to.” he said, voice quiet. It cut the air like a knife.
He spun on his heel, took the stairs two at a time, head spinning with questions.
Inasa watched him go, mystified.
Intrigued.
_
Shouto’s knees hurt.
He didn’t understand why Hogwarts had every amenity in the world, every single thing that you could wish for in a home and more, but didn’t have standing nooks for Floo fires.
He was on all fours in the common room, probably looking like an absolute fool with his head stuck in the fireplace.
It was December 9th.
Through the flames, he could see his best friend’s house. Izuku’s living room was nice, cozy, chock-full of homemade blankets tossed haphazardly over a squashy couch and chairs.
Izuku was perched gingerly on the coffee table, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
“Anyway,” the freckled teen said, “how have you been, Shouto?”
He sighed heavily, chewed his lip, tried to ignore the tickle of the cool flames against his ears.
“I’ve been sharing a room with Inasa,” he mumbled.
“ Yoarashi?” Izuku squawked, sitting up so fast he almost fell off the table.
“Yeah. The Durmstrang ship broke. Or something.” Shouto said, adjusting himself so that he lay flat on the cold marble floor, propped up on his elbows, ankles crossed.
“How’s that been?” Izuku asked, sympathetic.
“Bad.” Shouto replied flatly.
“I asked him why he hates me so much,” he continued conversationally.
“You did what?” spluttered Izuku. Shouto heard a loud snort; Katsuki walked into the room, arms crossed, and crouched down next to his boyfriend.
“You know, for a Ravenclaw, you’re pretty fuckin’ dense,” the blonde drawled, cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes.
“Um,” Shouto said eloquently.
“It was a Quidditch match, several years back. We were probably like, five,” Katsuki began, dropping down to sit cross-legged.
“Your dad went up against his. Falcons against Puddlemore. Your old man whacked a Bludger at him, fucked him up pretty bad. Heard he was in St. Mungo’s for a year, had to do all sorts of therapy and shit. He retired after that,” explained the blonde, “it’s probably in the Prophet archives in the library.”
Izuku nodded along, his curls bouncing wildly.
Shouto was silent, his mouth slightly agape.
At that moment, the jingle of keys and click of a lock interrupted the silence. Inko bustled in through the door, arms stretched around several bags stuffed to their seams with groceries.
“Ah- we should go, Kacchan, your parents will be here soon,” Izuku glanced at Shouto’s face in the fire apologetically.
“Thanks,” Shouto said quietly.
Katsuki scoffed, gestured as if to wave away Shouto’s words.
“Don’t thank me. Get your head out of your ass. You can’t ignore the past forever. It’s yours too, whether you like it or not,” the blonde stood, stretched his arms across his chest.
Shouto scowled. He yanked his head out of the fireplace without saying goodbye.
He sat back on his heels, brushed his shoulders off, shook the soot out of his hair and let out a deep breath.
He glanced around and jumped when he saw a pair of eyes watching him from a dark corner of the common room.
Inasa’s gaze hardened. He turned, made his way to the stairs, boots thudding loudly against the floor.
Shouto watched him go, chewing on his lip.
_
Shouto placed the book on the thick wooden circulation desk on December 10th. It thudded gently against the surface. He looked up, met the eyes of the librarian. Sorahiko squinted at him.
“You’ll be wantin’ to renew it, I assume,” he asked gruffly, snatching the book and pulling it towards himself. Shouto nodded.
“Fill out the form again,” grunted the old man. Shouto pulled a quill from his bag, grabbed one of the Restricted Section Book Request forms, and scratched away at the familiar information.
Sorahiko slid the book back across the counter, the leather hissing across the well-worn oak. Shouto passed him the form.
The ancient librarian squinted down his nose at the parchment, then gave a gruff nod of approval.
Shouto turned, started towards the door.
He stopped. Looked back around at Sorahiko.
“Er- Professor?” he mumbled, eyes darting to the floor.
“What? Speak up, kid,” snapped the old man.
Shouto bit his lip.
“Where are the Daily Prophet archives?” he asked, louder but no less doubtful
“Aisle twelve, past the Cuttlefish Casting magazines. If you come across Elven Enchantments, you’ve gone too far,” grunted Sorahiko, hopping off his stool and all but disappearing behind the desk. All that was visible was the tuft of his fluffy grey hair over the counter.
Shouto grinned in spite of himself. He looked over to the stacks and made his way toward them; his face fell with every step.
He let his book fall to the side in his left hand when he reached aisle twelve, ran his fingers along the dusty issues, felt the parchment crinkle against his fingers.
Shouto wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. He silently wished that he’d asked Katsuki what year the alleged match had occurred during.
He knelt over, gently dropped his book to the floor. He pulled his wand (ash, phoenix feather, 13.5 inches, a bit springy) out of his pocket.
“Accio Falcons versus Puddlemore United,” he whispered, breaking that spell of silence that always blanketed the library during the holiday.
Several issues gently floated off the shelves and bobbed towards him. They landed softly on top of his book, stacked themselves up in chronological order. He rifled through them until he found it.
-
FALCONS FLY AWAY WITH THE CUP - Ichigo Yoarashi Out For the Season, Enji Todoroki Suspended
Puddlemore United suffered a blistering defeat at last night’s home game against the Falmouth Falcons, with a staggering score of 381 - 118, Falcons. Five Puddlemore players were grounded, including backup team members. Chaser Ichigo Yoarashi was among the injured. He is currently undergoing treatment at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for currently unspecified upper body injuries after receiving a double Bludger hit and falling from his broom. Puddlemore United issued the following statement regarding Yoarashi: “Ichigo Yoarashi’s family appreciates that we all respect their privacy at this time. Puddlemore United hopes for the quick and speedy recovery of their teammate.”
Referees grounded Falcons Beater Enji Todoroki shortly after he delivered the Bludger hits; they determined that he exhibited excessive force and unsportsmanlike conduct. This is the third grounding that Todoroki has received this season.
-
Shouto stared at the words on the page blankly.
His father had never mentioned getting grounded, let alone three times in a season.
His mother had never wanted the children to be exposed to the pressure of fame.
He hadn’t wanted anything to do with his old man, anyway.
Perhaps he should have been paying more attention.
-
At meals, the visiting schools’ students were permitted to sit wherever they wanted; they were not constrained by house nor by year. Thus far, Durmstrang students had mostly sat at the Slytherin table, keeping to themselves and overall being vaguely intimidating.
Not Inasa. Inasa found somewhere new to sit every day, making small talk and big laughs. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, he settled in with a new clique or broke bread with a lone wolf.
Inasa was an exception in all things, it seemed.
This pattern had not been interrupted by the winter holiday. Rather than meeting someone new every day, Inasa had simply resorted to cycling between the eighteen Hogwarts students who had stayed behind, his Beauxbatons friends, and the Durmstrang table.
So, he was thoroughly floored on December 11th, when his routine was shaken up by Shouto marching up behind him, plopping down on the bench next to him, and loading up a plate with toast and bacon.
Shouto did not acknowledge Inasa; instead, he looked across the table and gave a small smile.
“Hi, Kouda,” he greeted the Hufflepuff.
The bald boy waved at him cheerfully. He pulled a face, looking questioningly between Inasa and Shouto.
Shouto waved off his question and began to carefully construct a bacon sandwich.
“What are you doing?” asked Inasa, voice tight.
“Eating breakfast,” Shouto stated. He nibbled at the crust of the sandwich.
“Why?” he stabbed at a fried egg on his plate; the yolk burst and ran over into his potatoes o’Brien.
“Because,” he took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed “I’m hungry.”
Kouda watched the two of them, eyes widening. He scooted down the bench out of earshot, attempting to be discreet. His plate screeched slowly across the surface of the table. His eyes practically bugged out of his head; he shot the two an apologetic look.
Neither Shouto nor Inasa acknowledged the noise at all. Inasa was glaring at his plate with enough venom to kill a Thestral. Shouto was crunching on his sandwich, watching the taller man with a bemused expression.
Kouda stood and shuffled away, shooting one last forlorn look at his abandoned breakfast.
“Why are you here?” Inasa asked Shouto, stony-faced.
“I go to school here,” Shouto replied lightly, turning his eyes to the stormy clouds swirling above them in the ceiling.
Inasa scoffed bitterly.
“Why are you sitting with me?” He snapped.
Shouto was silent. To be honest, he wasn’t really sure.
He shrugged, made a noncommittal noise, turned to look at the dark-haired man, eyes open and honest.
They were silent for a few minutes, the tension in the air thicker than cold pea soup.
Inasa spoke.
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you have gone home? Didn’t you want to see your father?”
“Nope,” said Shouto, popping his lips on the p.
“I hate him, actually,” he continued, short and matter-of-fact.
Inasa’s fork clattered against his plate and he whirled on him, jaw hanging open.
“Huh?”
Shouto stood, stretched across the table to grab the carafe full of coffee.
“Yep, can’t stand the old man,” Shouto selected a mug from the neat pyramid carefully constructed in the middle of the table and gingerly sat back down. He poured himself a cup. Inasa watched the steam rise from the surface, shocked to his core.
“Can you pass me the cream?” Shouto asked, polite and casual, as if he hadn’t just turned Inasa’s opinion of him on its head and started spinning it like a top.
The Durmstrang student handed Shouto the container numbly.
Shouto poured a liberal amount of cream into his cup and stirred; the spoon clinking against the sides of the mug and the quiet conversations of students around them were the only things breaking the silence. He wrapped his hand around the mug, appreciated the warmth seeping into his fingertips, and sipped at the coffee. Heat spread through his chest. He closed his eyes, breathed deep.
Inasa picked up his fork and dug into his now-cold potatoes, thoroughly dumbstruck.
The air had changed between them.
It was no longer cold. Granted, it wasn’t warm, either- but that horrible, frigid iciness was gone.
Shouto pressed his mug to his lips to hide his smile.
-
The sun rose late but shined bright on December 12th.
Inasa had decided the night before that he would go on an early morning jog around the castle grounds; he was always unbothered by the early morning darkness and invigorated by the cold winter air blowing against his face.
When Inasa woke, Shouto was, as always, already up. He sat cross-legged in the floor close to the radiator, quietly scratching away at a letter to his mother by wandlight. Shouto looked up when he heard he sounds of the tall man stirring.
“Mornin’,” he grumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. His voice was gravelly, low with sleep.
Shouto blinked, genuinely surprised that he was being spoken to.
“Good morning,” he replied slowly.
Inasa stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He cracked his neck. Shouto winced.
“M’goin on a run,” Inasa continued. Shouto watched as he shuffled over to his trunk and rummaged through its contents. Haphazardly, he pulled out some Muggle exercise wear; it looked to be a pair of sweatpants and one of those tight, silky “muscle shirts.”
He shucked off his pajamas. Shouto turned his eyes back to the parchment in front of him, cheeks warming ever so slightly.
“Go by the greenhouses,” he said as he dipped his quill in his inkpot and began writing again.
“Eh?” Inasa grunted, hopping on one leg in an attempt to yank up his sweatpants.
“The greenhouses. Run by them. Before it gets light outside,” Shouto repeated, louder. Inasa looked at him quizzically.
“The Yulenights will still be blooming. Until the sun comes up, anyway,” he continued, keeping his eyes averted as Inasa pulled on his shirt.
They were quiet. Inasa sat on his bed and pulled on his sneakers. Shouto hoped they were waterproof. The snow was packed down into pathways to make it easier to move around the castle grounds, but many students had slid off of those paths and directly into snow drifts in the past.
Inasa stood, made his way to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob.
“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll check it out.”
A few hours later, Shouto was curled up in a window nook, nose stuck in a book as always. Inasa breezed through the door, a spring in his step for the first time since he had moved into Ravenclaw Tower.
“Those flowers were incredible,” Inasa chirped, bounding up and pausing in front of Shouto on the way to the stairs to the boys’ side of the dormitory.
Shouto jumped, snapped his eyes up from the page in front of him. His mismatched eyes met Inasa’s.
“Aw, jeez, sorry, didn’t mean to scare y....” Inasa trailed off slowly, eyes widening.
The sun had made its ascent over the crest of the Scottish mountains, sending beams of light cascading down the valley and spilling into the alcove where Shouto sat.
It lit him up from behind, gave him an ethereal glow, lit up his cheekbones and painted the scar marring his left cheek in warm tones. A halo graced his head. His white hair shone silver, his red locks like wine.
Shouto stole Inasa’s breath right out of his lungs.
In all that time, through two Triwizard challenges and interviews and photoshoots and meetings and classes, Inasa had never opened his eyes.
He had never realized, not until that precise moment, that Shouto was beautiful.
-
In the wee hours of the morning on December 16th, Inasa was shocked awake by the sound of Shouto screaming through gritted teeth. He jumped, sat bolt upright, and looked wildly around their room.
His eyes fell on Shouto, thrashing wildly beneath his covers. His hair was sweat-stuck to his forehead, matted in the back from rubbing against his pillow as he tossed his head back and forth.
“Mommy,” he cried, “Mommy, no, Daddy, please, no!”
Inasa leapt to his feet and dashed over to Shouto’s bed.
“Shouto,” he reached out, shook the sleeping boy’s shoulder, “ Shouto, wake up!”
Shouto jerked awake; his two-tone eyes flew open, wild and panicked. He shoved at Inasa, scrambled across the sheets and shrunk back against the headboard, folded his legs against his chest and wrapped his arms around his head.
Tears ran down his face. His chest heaved frantically.
Inasa held his hands up, fingers spread wide.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me,” he whispered, keeping his distance.
Slowly, slowly, Shouto’s breath slowed. He let his face fall against his knees. His shoulders moved up and down, steady.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Are you okay?” Inasa replied, making to reach for the man but pulling back his hand at the last moment.
“Sorry,” repeated Shouto, voice flat.
Awkward silence hung in the air.
After a few moments, Inasa stood.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, voice low.
He went back to bed, guilt curling in his gut like some foul snake.
-
On December 17th , Inasa noticed for the first time what Shouto spent so much time researching. He followed Shouto to the library, chattering the whole way about how fascinated he was by elemental magic, especially air aspect. Shouto remained two steps ahead of him the whole way, listening to the taller boy’s exclamation with the tiniest grin spread across his lips.
On December 18th, Shouto and Inasa went on a morning jog together. It turned into a race. Inasa tripped over a root and faceplanted into a snowdrift. Shouto laughed so hard he started coughing, and fell behind Inasa as he scrambled back up onto two feet and bolted ahead.
Inasa still won- but just by a hair. They stumbled into the castle one after the other, dripping with snowmelt and panting hard- and almost bowled over Professor Aizawa. He hadn’t said a thing.
On December 19th, Shouto and Inasa played wizard’s chess for five hours straight, holed up in the Ravenclaw common room, tucked into the squashy armchairs next to the fireplace. Inasa had dragged a table across the room, rearranged the chairs so they could soak up the warmth of the fire and each other.
Shouto positively wiped the floor with him.
On December 20th , they set off towards Hogmeade, pockets bursting with coin, and did their Christmas shopping.
As Shouto selected gifts for his siblings, he described them to Inasa in few words but great detail.
“Fuyumi practically raised me; Natsuo likes helping people, so he works at St. Mungo’s; Touya ran away, but he’s allegedly reappeared in Japan going by ‘Dabi’; my mother’s favorite scent is lavender, and her nurse agrees that it could help her,” he explained as they shuffled through the snow towards the Three Broomsticks bearing their purchases.
He never mentioned Enji.
Inasa let out an appreciative sigh as they entered the restaurant, letting the heat and sent settle over him like a warm blanket. The low rumble of conversation and cutlery against dishes filled his ears.
Shouto got them a booth.
They may have sat closer to one another than was strictly necessary for their conversation.
On December 21st, as they sat in the floor of their room together, wrapping their friends’ and families’ parents, Inasa started talking.
He didn’t stop.
He told Shouto about his father’s injuries, how Enji Todoroki shattered his body and his dreams.
“His collarbone broke- well, was pulverized, actually, and his shoulder was dislocated. There was nerve damage. He has use of his arm, but not his hand,” he explained as if he was describing the weather, neatly Spellotaping the wrapping paper onto the box containing his friend Camie’s gift.
Shouto sat unmoving, silent, staring at his hands.
“I’m sorry my father did these things to you,” he said, voice clipped and angry.
Inasa pushed the gift out of his way and crawled quickly towards him. He perched on his knees and gave Shouto’s nose a quick poke.
“Don’t apologize,” he complained, “you didn’t do a thing… and you’re not your father!”
Shouto nearly bit through his lip trying to hold back his smile.
On December 22nd, the Durmstrang ship was repaired. Shouto helped Inasa carry his things back to his bunk quietly, face unreadable.
On December 23rd, Inasa inadvertently fell asleep on his old bed in Ravenclaw Tower. He and Shouto had talked into the wee hours of the morning, about nothing and everything, favorite foods and worst fears, staring blankly at the dark ceiling, the walls, looking at anything and everything but one another.
On December 24th, they slept alone, both for the first time in a long while. Shouto missed Inasa’s little snores. Inasa missed the sound of Shouto’s breathing.
On December 25th, Inasa woke especially early, snuck off the ship, and stole over to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
“Severo! Severo!” Inasa hissed, haphazardly slashing his wand at the top branches of a tree, eyes locked on the bushy parasites tangled within them, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He winced when a branch as long as he was tall came crashing down out of the tree.
But there we three bunches of what he needed, more than enough.
He supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers as he gathered up his prize.
Inasa dashed to Ravenclaw Tower and solved the riddle in record time, worried sick that he would be too late.
He was.
The brunette bumped directly into Shouto while springing up the stairs to the boys’ side two at a time, hoping he could catch the shorter man before he left his room.
His hand shot out, and he grabbed Shouto by the wrist to keep him from falling.
Shouto cocked his eyebrow, bemusedly asked, “What are you doing here so early?”
Inasa shrugged sheepishly. He slid his hand up Shouto’s wrist, intertwined their fingers, met his mismatched eyes. Shouto flushed, looked at him, eyes bright and quesitoning.
Inasa brought his other hand up from behind his back. He loosely held a branch of mistletoe over their heads.
“You know the drill, I figure,” he whispered, slow, careful, full of hope.
Shouto looked up at him. He wore a small smile. His eyes smiled, too.
“You’re so much, you know that?” he cocked his head to the side, warmth spreading to his eyes and across his cheeks.
He grabbed Inasa by the collar, pulled him down into a kiss.
Inasa dropped the mistletoe, put his hand to Shouto’s cheek, and kissed him right back.