Work Text:
January 2002
4 years after the Battle of Hogwarts
Muggle London
—
The winter air hits Jihoon’s face the moment he walked out of his small apartment, located at the outskirts of London. He quickly tightened the navy blue scarf around his neck, feeling the warmth from the soft fabric brushing against his cold skin. Autumn had gone by too quickly for his liking.
As mesmerizing as the city looked covered in white, Jihoon detested winter season the most. Spare the poor boy, it is not that he was running out of coats and jackets to wear, he had plenty of those, but he hated how the roads become too slippery to walk on (let’s just say that he tumbled on the ice several times), how the freezing temperature made it a hundred times harder to take a bath (in his defense, he still took a warm bath every day, mind you), or how exhausting it was to shovel a foot of snow outside his flat—see? Isn’t that bothersome?
Vexed by the unavoidable circumstance he is in, Jihoon hastened his pace to the bus stop—he cannot do anything about the weather, sadly .
Where was he going anyway? On this freezing Saturday morning? It was his day-off. He works as an editor at a famous publishing house in the city from Mondays to Fridays. Yes, an editor, working in a cramped booth with one ratty, old computer (which does not turn on sometimes presumably due to system malfunction, if he had to guess), trying to live off the office pantry’s watery coffee. After all, beggars cannot be choosers.
If his parents were still alive, they would probably scold him for not choosing the career path he would most likely succeed on. His father and mother had always been supportive of his dream of becoming an auror.
But then, the war happened.
Just when he thought nothing could be remarkably worse than dodging tons of hexes and killing curses during the night of the battle, his parents were caught in a crossfire between the police and a group of bank robbers the same night, leaving both of them dead. In one fateful instant, he was orphaned; left alone to fend for himself. No family relative was hospitable enough to provide his 17 year old self a temporary shelter or even a little financial assistance.
A month after the good side’s triumph over Voldemort’s reign, he received a letter about the reopening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On September 1st, 1999, tightly clutching the letter in his hand, Jihoon did not board the Hogwarts Express. That was when he decided that maybe it was not meant to be. That was the end of his magical journey .
He felt wistful reminiscing the pain that brought upon in the past years. But enough of his sob story. He would still always be grateful for everything he has right now. For being given a chance to redeem himself and bounce back.
Anyway, his free days were the weekends. He checks in before 9:00 am and gets off at 6:00 pm sharp, not unless his boss requires them to have an overtime. The salary was not that much but was enough to feed him more than three times a day, pay the bills, and even purchase some good books every now and again.
Ah, speaking of books. He was heading to his favorite bookstore today to indulge himself in some great literary pieces.
He giddily hopped into the bus, aiming for a seat at the farthest back beside the window. It is his favorite seat.
It reminded him of Flourish and Blotts. Also, the library back at Hogwarts. Jihoon felt a sense of longing as he eyed the interior of his favorite bookshop like he usually does. It was a routine he unconsciously developed two years ago. He had found solace in this small place. It felt like home.
He let the smell of dusty old books plague his olfactory system. Call him weird but it is a peculiar habit of his to sniff the books before reading them. His good friend and fellow Ravenclaw, Hansol, commented that it was one of the reasons why he always suffered from a clogged nose. Jihoon fondly smiled at the memory. How he missed the good old days in the wizarding world.
“Good morning, Jihoonie. You are awfully early today. How is it goin’?” Mrs. Kim chirped, beaming at the small figure standing by the glass door.
The 62 year old woman ran the bookstore with his eldest son, Mingyu. They have been in business for more than thirty years. Bookworms, youngsters, and working adults alike all came to love this place. Aside from the snug aura it exudes, the staff are all friendly and accommodating. In fact, Wonwoo, another housemate back at Hogwarts, was the one who told him about this place, saying his seven year old self used to sneak here frequently with the help of his muggle nanny.
Jihoon chuckled lightly. “Hello, Mrs. Kim. Same old, same old. I want to catch up on my reading. I am quite determined to finish my annual book challenge. How about you?”
“Ah, I am grand. Business is doing well these days. It is heartwarming to see a lot of people like you spare some time to read despite your busy schedules.”
“Well, you know what they say Mrs. Kim, books can be great friends too.”
The old lady smiled at him warmly. “Now, off you go, son. I know you are too pumped up to bury your nose in those books. I am here if you need assistance.”
He bowed at the old lady before trudging to the second floor where the classics section was located. He walked to his favorite spot quietly, careful not to make any noise as he might disturb the fellow customers, his nimble fingers tracing the spines of every book he passed by along the way, feeling the electricity coursing through his bloodstreams every time he touched one. Being surrounded by books gave him an awful amount of energy. Bugger, he was starting to sound like Wonwoo.
Last night, Jihoon made a list of books he would check out today. It was an important task he does before venturing to bookstores and libraries. Keeping Wonwoo’s book recommendations in mind (he sends him a list every week), he decided to get the Shakespearean tragedies the older would not shut up about for quite some time now.
“If I recall the last time I came by, Romeo and Juliet was still here,” he mumbled to himself, eyebrows knitting together in concentration as he started browsing.
“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” a male staff appeared out of nowhere.
“Oh, I was looking for this particular title—Romeo and Juliet? ” he replied, hopeful.
“I believe someone purchased the last copy moments ago. But do not worry, Sir! There will be a delivery tomorrow, I can reserve one for you, if you’d like,” the other offered.
“That would be lovely. Thank you very much.”
Oh well. He had been looking forward to read that book. He took a strange liking to the plot. Star-crossed lovers and a whirlwind romance that ended in tragedy. Sad, beautiful, dismal. It reminded him of a certain someone’s own love story. Jihoon sighed, feeling disappointed (and slightly annoyed at the person who got it first). Maybe he could start with The Tragedy of Hamlet for now.
Time check: 11:42 am
Jihoon lost track of time reading Hamlet. The play was all about a prince devoting his everything to avenge his father’s death which, at some point, drove him to apparent madness. Stopping at Act 3, Scene 3, he rummaged for an old receipt in his wallet to use as a bookmark; it was more decent than a candy wrapper. He stood up, dusting the invisible particles off his pants. Man, he was really starving. Good thing there was a café right across the bookstore that served a mean cup of coffee, perfect for this cold weather.
“I’ll be back, Mrs. Kim!” he said, carefully tucking the newly bought paperback inside his bag.
“Enjoy your lunch, sweetie.”
“I will! You too!” Jihoon grinned at her before bolting right out the door.
After debating if he should get a strawberry milkshake or his just usual americano, he successfully placed his order and got himself a rose tea with some sandwich instead. Scanning through the crowded area for a place to sit, he found there were none and he decided to ask if he could just share a table with a stranger. The tray he was holding felt heavier each passing minute. Thankfully, he soon found a vacant seat right across a black haired male whose back was turned towards him.
With all the courage he could muster, he confidently asked. “Is this seat taken?”
“No— ”
The unknown man turned around to face him, his eyes widening in shock.
Jihoon felt his breath hitch in his throat, his brown orbs never leaving the other male’s. Sitting beside the window in all his glory, Romeo and Juliet in his hands, was none other than Kwon Soonyoung.
A Slytherin through and through. A pureblood. One of the smartest students in school. A talented Quidditch player. The epitome of perfection.
Also, a son of the notorious Death Eaters; a Death Eater himself
“Lee Jihoon.”
As if on cue, everything went by in slow motion. The sunlight illuminating half of his face made him look a hundred times more ethereal. A sense of familiarity washed over Jihoon’s whole being. Seeing him was not supposed to be like this—to feel like this.
Merlin, they were not even supposed to meet again. Coincidence or not.
“Kwon Soonyoung,” he managed to say, the name rolling strangely off his tongue, like he was addressing someone foreign.
“What are you doing here?" Soonyoung asked, his voice gruff.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Jihoon believes that the course of people’s lives are often permanently altered by chance encounters and unforeseen happenings. But he doubts that his unexpected meeting with the former Death Eater will change anything. It’s been four years. In his eyes, the other male looks different. He does not know if it is the deep-rooted animosity he felt from what happened 4 years ago or there is something else.
They sat in awkward silence, both unsure of what to say. Soonyoung took a swig of his coffee before flipping to the next page of his book.
“Your drink will get cold ,” Soonyoung remarked, his eyes never leaving the page he was currently on. “Come to think of it, you used to hate tea.”
He remembered.
No, Jihoon. Stop right there.
“He got my book,” he mumbled, unable to prevent himself from saying it out loud. Jihoon mentally berated himself for being so careless. Now he had to engage in conversation with him.
Soonyoung’s mouth curved into that familiar grin, his slanted eyes turning into small crescents. His signature 10:10 smile.
Jihoon will just pretend that it did not tug at his heartstrings. Must maintain composure.
“Your book? I do not remember seeing your name written anywhere,” Soonyoung said in a mocking tone while scanning the said paperback.
“I-I was...I have been planning to b-buy it since last week! But I ran out of money! That was the last copy,” he sputtered, sounding a bit childish.
“So? What’s special about this book? The story is too...depressing. Act 5, scene 3, page 5—Juliet stabs herself to death. Ah, it is not as if she is going to meet Romeo again in the afterlife. You muggles sure love to make everything complicated and tragic.”
Jihoon scoffed. The nerve of this prat. “And you wizards do not? You bought it, it means it captured your interest,” rolling his eyes, he added. “And kindly refrain from spoiling the story.”
The other male smiled at that, gently setting the book on the table. “Touché. If you really wanted it, you could have reserved it. Or did that not cross your mind?”
“Don’t get all friendly with me, Kwon,” Jihoon waved him off, irritated. “What brings you here anyway? Why are you here?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lee,” Soonyoung drawled. “Why? Is a Pureblood Slytherin dining in a muggle coffee shop a sight to behold? Or...are you expecting me to rot in Azkaban with my criminal parents?”
“What—no! That’s not what I meant—” You are not like your parents, that’s what Jihoon wanted to believe.
“I live here now. In Muggle London. Just a few blocks away from the bookstore.”
Jihoon’s mouth practically hung open. All this time he was here? He was...near?
“Funny how the tables turned, eh? Whether the Order admits it or not, they do not want anything to do with those who defected . Especially Slytherins whose parents or family members are murderers. Heard one of them saying that monstrosity runs in the family. Like parents, like children.”
Jihoon winced at the pain distinct in the tone the other was using. He never knew about Soonyoung betraying his group or anything related to that matter.
“They thought it was a great idea to dump everyone here in Muggle London. It was the safest option, McGonagall said. Bollocks,” Soonyoung paused. “How do you expect them to blend in with all those blood prejudices ingrained inside their heads? How do you expect them to mingle with people they loathe with so much fervor? How fast do you think these spoiled purebloods will adjust to this new lifestyle? With no magic, no wealth, no family—no one.”
Jihoon stared at the man sitting right across him, an inexplicable feeling burning on his chest. He was the same man who took the mark without any hesitations. The same man who pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord. The same man who let a band of Death Eaters start a siege in their beloved school.
But he was also the same man who taught him how to ride a broomstick. The same man who never cared about blood heritage. The same man who petrified a fellow Slytherin for calling him a mudblood. The same man who purposely failed a test on Divination so he could be with him in detention. The same man who skipped the Yule Ball to nurse his sick, bed ridden self. The same man who reminded him that he does not have to possessed an ounce of magical blood to be a great wizard.
The same man who saved him from getting hit by Amycus Carrow’s Cruciatus curse. The same man who told him to run away and never look back.
The same man he is still in love with after all these years.
“Was it hard?” in a hushed tone, he asked. “Living a life you are not used to? Pretending to be one of them ?”
The dark-haired man chuckled humorlessly, his eyes that used to be so bright, were dull and dead, his jaw clenched from the unexpected inquiry. He averted his gaze on the window, watching the scenery outside, unsuspecting muggles were hustling and bustling in the busy streets of London. While some were busy admiring the beauty of snow.
It’s snowing.
The man heaved a shaky breath. The crisp of bitterness evident in his voice, replying hitherto—
“Not as hard as letting you go.”