Chapter Text
Part 1.
Five summers had passed at the speed of a bullet since the moment of sorting. It happened faster than one would’ve expected, memories the only proof that these years had actually occurred at some point. The eleven years-old kid that once entered Hogwarts full of ambitions and dreams, has turned into an outright man with his own ideology and beliefs.
Newt had blossomed. His lanky figure molded into a lean, muscled one, with sharply outlined biceps and an Adam’s apple. His hair lost its pure blond hue; the sandy serenity intruded by some dirty-colored strands. The smooth skin wasn’t pale anymore, a golden shade of tan adorning his masculine features. The boy’s face, out of everything, didn’t change much, just having gained more matureness. His frown was deeper than before, the result of taking in the harshness of real world sooner than he was supposed to. The voice, that used to be high-pitched and loud, turned into a deep crackling tenor with an intent accent.
Newt stared at his reflection in the glass, not quite realizing how much he changed since first grade. He never paid attention and wasn’t doing it now, eyes seeing through his gauzy form in the window, and taking in the beauty of nature.
A deep shade of maroon adorned the shiny green of trees. The smell of rain and autumn soared in the atmosphere, air having reached that perfect degree of chill to leave prickly touches on bare skin.
Vast forests of England looked charming as ever, swaying back and forth under the pressure of winds, humming along with their dance as the leaves crumbled. First groups of birds could be spotted in the sky, elaborating their flying patterns in order to head south. The weather seemed to reveal its indecisive side, still maintaining the summer heat but subtly allowing the autumn coolness to kick in.
The distant horn of train emitted a bleach cloud of steam into air. Roaring, the engine moved faster, leaving a long trail of railways behind. The words “Hogwarts Express” shone a spotless scarlet along the width of this huge machine.
Newt smiled a content smile at the scenery before him, listening to the conversation in his compartment only with one ear.
“I don’t even know, man.” It was Alby’s voice speaking. He scratched his nape absently, running the hand over his bald head before bringing it down.
It was his last year in school, unlike the group of 6th years sitting around him, and the boy was having a hard time trying to decide what he’s going to do with his life after graduation. He was thinking to maybe join the Ministry of Magic as a trainee in the Department of Intoxicating Substances, since potions have always been his passion. His second aunt from his dad’s side, Artemisia Rahman, had offered him a place there with a promise of promotion.
“I liked your hair better with the Afro,” Gally remarked, in order to subtly change the topic of the conversation since their elder friend seemed rather uncomfortable with it.
It’s become a tradition ever since forever, really. The little clique consisting of Alby, Newt, Sonya, Gally, and Winston gathered in the twins’ compartment on their way to the castle every year.
“Yeah, well, I liked your face better without those holes on it,” Alby snapped, referring to the eyebrow and lip piercings Gally got during summer for the occasion of turning 16.
Gally shrugged, arching both pierced eyebrows. “Touché. Girls like it”
“I confirm,” Sonya, the only girl of the company, raised a hand.
Winston glared at her. “Really? What’s attractive about… this?” he gestured at the ring on Gally’s lips.
“It’s hot,” the girl admitted easily.
“Since when do you care about what girls think anyway?” Newt noticed, choosing this moment to stop staring out of the window. He glanced sideways at a very flustered Gally whose face managed to change sixty shades of crimson.
It looked rather amusing.
“For the last time, I'm not-“
Before he had the chance to revolt, the door of their compartment flew open and then shut again. After a very confusing moment, the company saw a panting boy, bent in half across from their beds.
“I’m… I- oh, Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” the boy barked, seemingly attempting to stop his flow of giggles.
He then looked up, probably to see where he ended up breaking into, and stiffened immediately.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said again, demonstratively fixing his Gryffindor scarf. “Thomas and Tere… My friends, I mean, were chasing me down the corridor. I was desperate for a hiding place.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Alby eyed the Gryffindor lion on the boy’s chest, before looking up at his face disapprovingly, and adding a mocking “...Gryffindor.” as if that was the boy’s name.
The intruder’s mouth gaped a tiny bit, a wapish remark ready to come out, but then he thought better of it, and turned his back to leave. The door was halfway open when a low voice from behind grumbled loud enough to be heard “What are they? 5?”
The door flew shut immediately with a loud bang.
“Newton.” The boy called from his spot, crossing hands on chest. “Too coward to say whatcha got to my face, are ya?”
Silence hung. Newt stared, and if it was anyone but Minho standing in front of him, they would've shrunk under the weight of the intent look. But it was not anyone. It was Minho.
“Leave,” Sonya warned, her voice low as if hoping only the Asian would hear it (everyone seemed to hear it except him).
“You think you’re the only brave one here, Park?” Newt was on his feet now. Voice dropped a tone or perhaps two, clearly a bad sign. The air filled with uncomfortably pressuring stiffness.
Minho, though, the complete opposite of the blonde, shrugged carelessly, not even looking bothered. “Seeing as I’m the only Gryffindor in this room full of snakes. Yeah, pretty much."
“Watch that rotten tongue of yours, mudblood.” Newt stuck a finger to Minho’s chest, causing the other boy to flinch. “The snakes can bite if ya faze them.”
Minho narrowed his thin eyes, as if trying to read whether that was a threat. He squeezed Newt’s wrist in one sharp movement, pressing the finger to his chest further, hard enough to cause Newt pain.
“I can break your hand,” he said, voice so calm, you wouldn’t catch a tingle of nervousness, but it was clear the nasty nickname stung him.
“I fucking dare you, Park.” Newt’s voice in contrary was nothing above a whisper, eyes gleaming with something inexplicably more than hatred.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Alby butted in, pulling Newt away without struggle since Minho released him almost immediately. “Get out of here, Gryffindor,” he snapped, looking serious as ever. Without the curly black hair his face looked rather hardcore. “Now.”
Minho didn’t need repeating; the door was slammed behind his figure in less than a minute, irritation readable in every motion.
Newt reached out for the handle as well, but Ably’s hand stopped him.
“What’re you doing?!” his voice almost sounded accusing.
“Going out.”
“After him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I won't get in trouble.” With that, Newt shook his hand free and rushed out, tripping over his own feet.
He pretended not to hear Alby telling the others to leave him go because that Gryffindor deserved to be taught a good lesson and Newt's too smart to do anything stupid anyway.
His eyes scanned the corridor swiftly, spotting the black-haired figure leaned against a random compartment door. He wanted to call out the name, but thought better of it, finding it too risky. Instead, he just walked towards the figure and as it noticed him approaching, it moved, crossing to another wagon.
Newt followed silently, not really minding getting further away from his compartment (or maybe just not showing that he minded). He kept his distance from the figure, assured that it knows he's following anyway. The two of them didn't come to a halt until they reached the caboose.
“Minho,” he sighed as he stood in front of the boy. “I’m sorry”
“Why?” the hint of a smile faded on Minho's face.
“Because… you know why. I called you mudblood. Shouln’t’ve gone that far.”
“You didn’t mean it. And besides, I'm the one who started it. We gotta be safe, you know it. Must have them thinking we full on detest each other."
“I didn’t mean it,” Newt confirmed. “I swear, I’m not like that... They’re not like that, too. They don’t care about your heritage.”
Minho scoffed at that.
“I’m serious, Min. The only problem's that you’re…” the blonde trailed off, gaze dropping to Minho’s scarlet scarf with golden stripes on it.
“I know,” Minho sighed, quickly glancing around to make sure no one’s in sight, before reaching out and fixing Newt’s own scarf, folding the symbolic snake away, unable to stand the image of it. “You’d suit red much better,” he mumbled, leaving the painfully green scarf alone.
“I can’t stand this,” Newt confessed, looking down. “Why do I have to pretend that I hate you?”
It was Minho’s turn to sigh, reaching a hand out to cradle Newt's face, but Newt shook it away, afraid to be caught.
“Because you’re a serpent. And I’m a lion.”
“Why does that matter?” Minho tried to ignore the flickering shine in Newt’s eyes, the one that people usually get when they're holding back tears.
“You know the story. Over a thousand years ago Godric Gryffindor found a secret chamber that Salazar Slytherin had created to preserve evil in order to get rid of the muggle-born students. And things went down the hill."
Newt knew that, indeed. He’d heard about it at least a hundred times, knew that the two wizards ended up hurting each other, but he didn’t get how that still mattered after so many years.
“But I don’t hate you,” he tried weakly. There was more to say, but he bit his tongue.
“I don’t hate you, too.” What a twisted way of admitting they need each other, however.
Newt couldn’t help recalling the first time they found out they weren’t supposed to get along. They’d literally been jerked away from each other at the entrance to the Great Hall by very indignant prefects, and Newt had the ‘we-don’t-mix-with-Gryffindors-cause-they-think-they’re-better-than-us’ talk. He'd later learnt that Minho’s had something along the lines of ‘Slytherins-are-evil-don’t-you-dare-to-approach-them-are-you-out-of-your-mind’ lectured to him for two and a half hours.
“They can’t just force us apart, can they?” Newt would have laughed at his own words if he could. That’s exactly what they’ve done for the past six years. “Don’t answer that.”
“You know I care about you, right?” Minho asked, and to his disappointment Newt got the hint that this conversation’s coming to its end.
“Yeah.”
Minho smiled, placed a chaste kiss on Newt’s forehead, rushing him to go back to his friends before anyone saw them together.
Newt did.
He didn’t look back.