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Chapter Text

The screech owl is always a sign of heavy news, neither singing nor crying out clearly, but uttering a certain heavy groan of doleful mourning, and therefore if it be seen to fly abroad in any place it foretells some fearful misfortune. –  Pliny the Elder

When Wonwoo is 8 years old, he reads the entirety of The Chronicles of Narnia front to back, spending weeks after running back and forth from his bed to his closet, slowly opening and closing the door before running a cautious hand across the back wall, frowning every time he feels the same old drywall, bumpy and dusty against his hand. He hopes and prays and wishes for an escape, something that can take him away from this place where people mock his soft voice, his round glasses, and the books he curls into. 

When he asks his teacher if there's anything more to read, she pats his head and calls him "precocious" before ushering him out the door. "You should bond with your friends," she says, smiling down at him. "Playtime is just as important as reading!" The smile feels sinister, even though Wonwoo knows she means well. 

He can feel how inevitable it is, though, the way he stands there, trying not to cry on the playground as the other kids laugh and taunt him, throwing the ball over and over again until his elbows and arms are raw and red from attempting to cover his head. And then suddenly, there's a bang and everyone falls to the ground. 

Teachers run outside, and students all over are panicking and crying. 

All Wonwoo can do, though, is stare down at his hands and the scraps of rubber around him and wonder… maybe there is some magic in this world. 

–

Wonwoo is exactly eleven years old when he intercepts a bird trying to squirm its way into his mailbox. An Eastern screech owl. Megascops asio - a rufous morph . He remembers those stunning, rust-colored feathers from a birdwatching almanac he'd received as a Christmas gift from a great uncle. He’ll probably get another one for his birthday this year. 

"You're not from here, are you?" Wonwoo asks, reaching a hand out to ruffle the feathers around his neck. There's a scrap of paper tied to its leg, and Wonwoo frowns. It seems cruel to force an endangered bird to fly miles across the Atlantic to deliver a single letter when a government-sponsored postal system exists. 

“Wonwoo, are you– what is that?” his mother yelps, jumping back when she sees her son walk in with a bird perched on his shoulder. As if the bird is trying to introduce itself in response to her question, it flaps its wings before perching on the kitchen table. “Wonwoo!” his mother scolds, even as she sets out a bowl of water for the bird. “We eat on that table!”

Wonwoo shrugs, pulling out the letter he’d tugged out of the bird’s grip earlier. “It was carrying this, I think it’s domesticated.” 

Wonwoo’s mother leans over Wonwoo’s shoulder and frowns when she sees the letter is in English. “Can you read it for me, sweetheart?”

“Dear Mr. Jeon,” Wonwoo reads out loud. He crinkles his nose at the title. It reminds him of his dad. “We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at… Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He stops, crumpling it up. 

“What’s that?” his mother asks, looking up from where she’s distracted trying to finish up their dinner. “Hogwarts? Is that a camp?”

“It’s nothing,” Wonwoo says, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “Probably just another stupid prank.” The owl hoots softly as if to agree with him before returning to preen his feathers. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mother says, frowning at him sadly.

He forces a smile on his face, shaking his head before heading up the stairs. 

“Come down soon for dinner!” she calls after him. “I made seaweed soup for your birthday!” 

Seaweed soup , he thinks to himself bitterly. Why can’t I have a party and a birthday cake like all the other kids ?

He stares at the letter, slowly smoothing out the wrinkles he’d made when he’d crumpled the letter earlier. 

We await your owl by no later than 31 July . 

Two weeks.

Maybe… Just maybe. 

There’s a soft flutter of wings, and Wonwoo looks up to see the screech owl has followed him up to his room. It lands deftly on his pillow and stretches out one leg, waiting. 

He quickly tugs a notebook out of his backpack, ripping a scrap of paper off the bottom of one of the pages before scribbling a note. 

I’m keeping the owl.

–

He asks his mother for a stamp and an envelope the next day, taking care to lick the flap and press it down neatly, writing “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” as neatly as he can in the address line. The worst that can come of it is the post office will throw out the letter. Either way, he names the owl Cinnamon, for her rust-colored feathers and sweet disposition. 

–

Magic is real. The headmistress returns the next day, laughing when Wonwoo opens the door and peers up at her with Cinnamon perched on his shoulder. 

She apologizes for not visiting before sending the letter, explaining they hadn't realized Wonwoo’s father wasn’t able to explain the wizarding world before he’d passed. 

Suddenly, everything is clear and both he and his mother are sobbing and holding each other as they remember glimpses of his childhood, hints of what could have been. Nothing has changed, and yet everything is different. 

“You truly are just like your father, Wonwoo,” his mother whispers, stroking his hair and pressing kisses to the top of his head. “He would be so proud to see you today.”

The headmistress lets him keep the owl. 

–

Wonwoo boards the Hogwarts Express on the 1st of September, starry-eyed as he stares at the trembling beast of a train and the families that bustle on all sides around him. He clutches his suitcase tight to his body with all of his eleven-year-old strength, terrified of losing any of the contents. 

His mother had sold what she could of her jewelry to afford Wonwoo the new supplies he would need for school. 

After mailing letters back and forth with the school (by post, for the first couple of weeks at Wonwoo’s insistence that using Cinnamon would be animal cruelty until it was explained that the exercise was needed and welcomed) he found that Madam Malkin’s had a second-hand robe system and books could be checked out of the library. But Wonwoo’s mother insisted on a fresh start and new beginnings, purchasing him a shiny new cauldron and what textbooks and trinkets they could afford. 

His wand, at least, costs nothing. 

Wonwoo’s mother pulls him aside the week before he’s set to leave, and offers him a final birthday gift. It’s a long and slim box with his father’s name inscribed on the side in an ornate gold foil. Inside is a pale white wand sitting atop a velvet cushion, slender and delicate in his hands. 

Wonwoo grips it at the kitchen table, and the ceiling is suddenly full of small crystals, reflecting the solitary yellow light above them into a million dazzling fragments. He gasps and drops the wand, and just as quickly, the mirage fades. 

His mother had sold most of the things belonging to his father over the years in an effort to make ends meet, but no pawn shop was interested in a mere stick. Inside the box, tucked behind the velvet is a slip of paper. 

Ten and three-quarter inches. 

Hair from the ninth tail of a Gumiho.

Mugunghwa wood. 

A loyal wand for a wielder of quiet integrity – if the owner is clever enough to tame it.

Wonwoo – you’re still so young, it’s hard to tell if you’ll take more after your mother or me, but should you choose to enter the wizarding world, I hope that you’ll use this wand someday. It’s been passed through the Jeon family for generations, and I know it will choose you, should you choose it.

I love you.

Dad

Wonwoo tilts his head back as he cries, taking care to ensure his tears don’t stain the paper. 

–

The train ride had been quiet. Uneventful. Other kids had run through the corridor, some even bursting into Wonwoo’s carriage, only to frown and leave when they saw him sitting there. The trolley lady had come by but left with a tut when Wonwoo shook his head, had turned out his empty pockets. 

The journey across the Great Lake passes by in a blur, and Wonwoo barely has time to bask in the awe of the castle before they’re being ushered forward and the great doors creak loudly open as a crowd of students, all bigger and older than him, turn to stare. 

“Adams, Charlie,” a voice calls, and a small girl stumbles forward, making her way to a stool with a saggy sack of fabric perched on top of it. 

Wonwoo watches, swallowing loudly as he tries to calm his nerves. He blinks, and then suddenly, it’s his turn. 

“Wonwoo? Jeon, Wonwoo?”

He startles when he realizes everyone is staring at him, waiting. He can’t remember what he’s meant to do all of a sudden. A boy behind him with sharp eyes and a mischievous smile shoves him forward with a hefty smack to his back. 

“Let’s get a move on then!”

His feet move on autopilot, taking him forward and plopping him down into the seat. His vision is half covered and his nose fills with dust as he sneezes once, twice, three times. 

A round of laughter filters through the hall and Wonwoo stiffens, eyes focusing straight in front of him. On the boy that had pushed him forward. 

For whatever reason, that boy holds up two thumbs and smiles at him encouragingly. Wonwoo finds himself relaxing, smiling. He looks rather like a hamster. Mesocricetus auratus . (He’d been had right about his new birthday gift – it had been an encyclopedia on mammals, courtesy of his great uncle.)

“A clever boy, aren’t you?” a voice whispers into his ear, and Wonwoo jumps, the hat nearly slipping off his head as he falls into a pile on the floor. There’s a second wave of laughter, but this time Wonwoo realizes it’s friendly – different from the mean scoffs and howls of his past. “Calm down,” the hat says, chuckling, too, when Wonwoo finally settles back atop the stool. “I don’t bite… Usually. This should be simple enough. RAVENCLAW! ”

The world is suddenly bright again, and Wonwoo squints as he stumbles forward, rubbing at his head where the hat had been sitting. He makes his way over to the table decorated with blue and bronze where friendly faces beckon and cheer for him. 

He settles onto the bench, legs still too short to reach the floor, and watches as the next name is called. 

“Kwon, Soonyoung.” 

The professor is barely done saying “Kwo–” before the kid from earlier is bounding forward and ripping the Sorting Hat out of her hands. 

“ Rawr! ”

Wonwoo stares, dumbfounded, along with the rest of the school as the kid puts up both of his hands on either side of his face, curling them into a poor imitation of claws, and actually roars . Even the Sorting Hat looks stunned. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then another one before the Sorting Hat grunts and says, “Well, go on then! Gryffindor!”

Where Wonwoo’s sorting had resulted in soft patters of polite clapping and cheering, the Gryffindor table bursts into a cacophony of noise, and in unison, they roar back , clapping Soonyoung on the back as he slides into their ranks. 

At some point in the midst of the cheering, the next kid is called, and just as quickly and quietly, he gets sorted into Ravenclaw, slipping into a seat next to Wonwoo. Before that, he quickly stops by the Gryffindor table to smack Soonyoung across the back of the head. 

“Hi,” Wonwoo says, throat closing tightly as he forces himself to speak up. “My name is Wonwoo. I didn’t catch your name over the… cheering.” 

The boy grins at him, rolling his eyes. “You can call it what it is. Noise. Disturbance. Soonyoung being annoying as usual. I’m Jihoon. Lee Jihoon.” 

Before Wonwoo can ask how they know each other, the students are being told to settle down as the next name is called. 

“Moon, Junhui.” 

There’s a beat of silence as everyone peers at the girl who stands next in line. She shakes her head vigorously, and the professor in charge of the roll call blinks, before running out of the Great Hall. A few moments later, just as the students are starting to get restless, she comes running back in with a sleepy-looking kid in tow and plops him down on the chair. 

He rubs his eyes, blinking slowly as he makes a poor attempt at stifling a yawn. A snicker runs through the Slytherin table and they slowly start to chant, “Moon Junhui! Moon Junhui! Moon Junhui!” until he lazily holds up two hands and waves them, silencing them all. 

The expression on the Sorting Hat’s face (if it can be considered that) looks sour as it proclaims, “Slytherin.”

Wonwoo watches in awe at how a mere eleven-year-old can carry himself with such confidence. Until he sees that moments later, Junhui falls asleep again, this time with his hair in the mashed potatoes. 

With that, the first year of his Hogwarts journey begins.

Chapter Text

Being a wizard is… many things. It’s wonderful. It doesn’t meet expectations. It’s fascinating. It’s expensive. 

By the time Wonwoo gets to his third year, the only jewelry his mother has left to sell is her wedding ring. Wonwoo begs her not to sell it, and she acquiesces. His robes are bought second-hand, his books borrowed from the library or older students. He carries on with the supplies he had from his first year, as worn down and dull as they are, treating them gently and carefully as if he were eleven years old again. 

Some of the other kids still look down their noses at him, at his ratty robes, his books that fall apart at the seams, a slew of names scribbled on the back covers dating back to before he was even born. 

Wonwoo begins using pens, instead of ink and feathers. Paper, instead of parchment. It’s cheaper. And more efficient. He doesn’t know why he bothered with anything otherwise before then. Some of the more pureblooded wizards sniff and turn away. But some of the other students follow his lead, tired of the ink splotches and messes. His professors don’t mind. 

(They do draw the line when he attempts to use a ramen pot as a cauldron. The potions professor, Winfrey, takes pity on him and lends him a classroom cauldron when his partner, Soonyoung, accidentally melts a hole in the bottom of his. Wonwoo takes it, but also continues to use a ramen pot when he practices in secret, and in his dorm he tinkers around with a rice cooker, trying to see if he can magically induce electricity and speed up some of the processes. There are a good number of explosions and acid burns, but he’s hopeful that he’ll figure it out in a couple of years. Preferably before Jihoon kills him in his sleep for making the dorms smell of sulfur for the fifth time.)

Wonwoo also begins tutoring. It starts with his friends. Junhui, after he sleeps through one too many History of Magic classes, and his parents half-threaten to disown him from the long standing Moon dynastic lineage. When Wonwoo refuses to accept payment, Junhui naturally begins covering his drinks during Hogsmeade visits, waving off Wonwoo’s protests with a hand bejeweled with rings encrusted in emeralds and diamonds. It's apparent it really isn't a big deal for him at all, which is why Wonwoo eventually lets himself be worn down.

Jihoon doesn’t need it, but he’s curious about Wonwoo’s rice cooker, his experience with muggle trinkets. He’s the one to suggest Wonwoo turn it into something more, as an opportunity. (Wonwoo’s always thought Jihoon had a little Slytherin in him. Then again, the way he can weave spells out of thin air makes it certain which house he truly belongs in.)

Wonwoo posts a flyer on the Ravenclaw common room board, but there aren’t many takers. 

“I know you’re a Ravenclaw, but you’re really dumb sometimes, huh?” Soonyoung asks, shaking his head. “What Ravenclaw needs tutoring? Here, give me a copy. And Jun, you take one, too. And give one to that friend of yours, the Hufflepuff?”

“Who?” Junhui asks, looking up from his food. Then he looks to his right. “Minghao? He's sitting right here.”

“Huh?” Minghao looks up from where he’s been sitting, blending into the shadows of Junhui's robe as he quietly tries to complete his readings. Wonwoo can’t remember exactly when Minghao integrated himself into their group, but somewhere along the way as he tagged along behind Junhui’s every footstep in their second year, and Hao’s first, he became a staple in their unlikely circle. “Oh, sure. I can take that for you.” 

Wonwoo smiles, resisting the urge to pat Minghao on the head. 

Things get a little better after that. It’s not easy by any means, but his chest feels a little lighter when he writes home and he's able to tell his mom that she really, really doesn't have to send him an allowance, because it's the truth this time. 

He makes sure to buy extra snacks for Cinnamon with the money, too. 

–

That's how he finds himself in his fifth year, trying to pay attention as Seungcheol goes down the roster for patrol duty. 

Wonwoo had been elated when he first received his prefect badge in the mail, but as he sits here stifling a yawn, he wonders if it's even worth it in between studying for OWLs and tutoring other students and trying not to fail Potions with Soonyoung as his partner. His mother's proud reaction when he received the letter is the only thing keeping from calling it quits. Plus the extra access to the library it offered him. 

"Where's the Head Boy?" Charlie, Wonwoo's fellow Ravenclaw prefect asks when Seungcheol pauses for questions. 

Wonwoo tries not to roll his eyes too obviously. Charlie has had a thing for Head Boy Jonah since first year, and it's only gotten worse since they became prefects. It's apparent to just about anybody, though, that Jonah does not reciprocate her interest, considering he's fibbed off all his Head Boy duties to Seungcheol so he can run around the school with his latest girlfriend. 

Seungcheol apparently feels about the same way as Wonwoo and he scrubs a hand down his face as he answers, "Jonah is no longer with us." When Charlie gasps loudly, he amends, "I mean at this meeting. These meetings. I will be acting Head Boy in the interim." 

It makes sense, considering just about everybody knows there's no better contender for next year's Head Boy than Seungcheol. If Wonwoo thinks he has a lot on his plate, it's nothing compared to Seungcheol, who is not only sixth year prefect and captain of the Gryffindor quidditch club, but just about friends with everyone at Hogwarts as a result of being in every club on the roster. 

"Whoo!" a voice calls from the back of the room. "Yeah, you bet you're acting Head Boy, huh!" 

Seungcheol's expression grows even more exasperated. "Jeonghan, you're not even a prefect. Why are you here." 

Correction. Seungcheol is friends with just about everyone except Yoon Jeonghan, sixth year Slytherin and record holder for the most house point deductions each year. The only reason Jeonghan is still as popular as he is, is because he somehow manages to gain them all back every year, and then some. 

"What do you think? I'm here to see you," he says with a wink, using Joshua's shoulder as leverage to pull himself out of his seat. Rumor has it that Seungcheol is the one deducting most of these points – and Jeonghan takes them just so he can force Seungcheol to spend time with him during detention.

Wonwoo, along with the rest of the prefects, takes the ritual bickering and or flirting between the Slytherin and Gryffindor as their cues that the meeting is concluded. 

"I'll see you," he says to Charlie, who's still pouting about Jonah's absence. 

He's just about made it to the door when Jeonghan's voice continues, "Or so you thought! I'm actually here to see Wonwoo today." 

Wonwoo’s eyes widen, and he tries to slip out unnoticed but Joshua's strong grip on his shoulder has him frozen in place.

He stares up at the Hufflepuff with pleading eyes, not interested in getting caught up in any of Jeonghan's schemes, but Joshua merely smiles back at him. 

That normally angelic smile the student body sees singing Sunday Morning at open mics takes on a sinister and menacing twist today. Is this how Seungcheol feels whenever Joshua brings Jeonghan to a prefect's meeting? Wonwoo suddenly feels remorse for all those times he scurried out and left Seungcheol to fend for himself all this time. 

"Remorse will do nothing to save you now," Seungcheol mutters. Wonwoo looks at him in surprise. "You were muttering apologies under your breath," he explains at Wonwoo’s quizzical expression. Still, he doesn't leave the room and for that, at least, Wonwoo is grateful. 

"Don’t worry," Jeonghan says with a laugh, throwing an arm around Wonwoo's shoulder and bringing him in close. "I'm not trying to get you in trouble. I heard you offer tutoring services?" 

Ah. That. Wonwoo still did offer tutoring, but after third year, the news had spread enough that he didn't actively seek out new students anymore. 

"You need tutoring? But you're top of the class. And I haven't learned the sixth year material yet." A half lie. Wonwoo had in fact read the sixth year material, and even the seventh. He hadn't been taught any of it in depth, though, so he didn't consider it learned. 

Jeonghan waves a hand in the air. "Not for me," Jeonghan explains. "I can easily chea–" Seungcheol clears his throat. "–eer for myself to study hard and perform well!" 

Wonwoo tilts his head, confused. "Then…?" 

"I need you to tutor a friend of mine. His name is Mingyu? Kim Mingyu. Fourth year. Star Keeper for the Slytherin team. And also, an absolute idiot." 

Wonwoo remembers then that Jeonghan is also captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, playing seeker for his fourth year in a row. 

"Oh, um, right. He needs tutoring? In what?" Wonwoo mentally calculates, trying to figure out where exactly in his schedule he might be able to fit this guy in. 

"Everything," Jeonghan sighs, burying his face against Wonwoo's shoulder as he takes a moment to sob fake, dramatic tears. "Winfrey says he can't play quidditch this season unless he has passing marks in all his classes."

Wonwoo's eyebrow twitches. "I don't know about everything…" 

Jeonghan quickly lifts his head. "Oh, but mostly Potions and Charms. You're great at those, aren't you?" 

Potions… Kim Mingyu… Why does this sound familiar?

Wonwoo snaps his fingers. "Oh! I know him! He's the reason Minghao is failing Potions right now." 

Minghao, Junhui’s little shadow, had grown into something of a menace these past four years. He excelled in just about every subject, including having no fear when it came to calling out his seniors. Still, Wonwoo can’t help but think of him as that same little kid when he comes to the dining hall, face covered in smoke and a pout poking out of his lips to complain about his unfortunate potions partner Mingyu, also known as the reason for Hao's one and only failing grade. 

"I've heard about him…" Wonwoo hedges, not wanting to get Jeonghan's hopes up. "I don't know if even I could save those grades." 

"He can pay," Jeonghan says, catching Wonwoo's wrist before he can leave. "A lot. You've heard of the Kim family, surely? He's loaded. And needs those grades. Bad." 

Wonwoo hesitates, but can't deny that it's tempting. His mother's birthday is coming up soon, and he'd like to get her sometime nice, as a thank you for raising him all these years. If he considers tutoring Mingyu to be something of a review for himself, maybe he can squeeze out some extra time. 

Jeonghan takes the hesitation as a yes. "Perfect! I'll have him come find you when you're available. His next set of exams are in two weeks, so you'll have plenty of time." 

Wonwoo gapes, watching Jeonghan's receding figure. 

"Good luck, Wonwoo. And don't forget you have patrol Thursday," Seungcheol says, patting him on the back as he follows behind Joshua and Jeonghan. 

–

As Wonwoo lies in bed, he tries to think about what he knows of Mingyu. 

He's incredibly clumsy. This, he knows from Minghao and his constant whining about how Mingyu yet again knocked their cauldron off the table, or bumped frog tongues into their potion when it should have been eyeballs. 

He's popular. At any given Slytherin quidditch game, Mingyu will have a crowd cheering and calling his name specifically. Those cheers grow exponentially every time he extends his arms behind his back, flying no handed to show off his triceps. His generally friendly disposition and attractive features no doubt add to that popularity. 

And… he is the perfect pureblood wizard. Although blood purism is considered something of the past, the stricter families still hold value in names and bloodlines. 

Junhui's family is one of those, too, but his family is known more in China, and doesn't hold that same kind of sway here in England. Junhui’s personality, too, is lax and modern enough that Wonwoo feels comfortable showing his post-its and gel pens, his insistence on using stamps on his post. 

Mingyu's family, while also of Asian descent – Korean, judging from his name – have been a staple name in London's wizarding world since the early twentieth century. Even Wonwoo knows this, remembers seeing the Kim name on some various Prophet articles in the business section, remembers vividly Mingyu's small but proud face four years ago during his sorting ceremony, nose held up high in the air as if he dared the hat to place him anywhere but where he belonged. 

Wonwoo remembers, also, feeling jealous. Just for a split second, the corners of his vision had tinted green with envy. 

He thought of his childhood, of his mother stroking his sweaty head when he was sick. It had been all she could to, unable to afford the medicine to ease his pain with anything more than a mother's tender hand. 

His mother had told him, once, that they had come to England for better opportunities. That they could build a life and a family here, away from the judgement of his grandparents – his father's parents. 

That had been before his father passed away, and left them to fend for their own livelihood. He hadn't understood then, but he thinks he might now, and all those apologies, too, as he strokes those same gold gilded letters on his father’s wandbox, the dragon insignia that decorates the sides. 

Jeon Wonwoo's father had been one of such a dynasty. His mother had not. His father chose his mother and Wonwoo over bloodlines. 

On some nights when he feels more bitter and alone than usual, when he can't remember his father’s voice or facez Wonwoo wonders if that choice was worth it. 

Tonight, he falls asleep wondering if Mingyu's parents had ever faced such a choice. And what kind of a person Mingyu might have been, had they chosen the same. 

Chapter Text

Mingyu is clumsy. 

Thursday has arrived, and Wonwoo patrols the corridors of Hogwarts, listening to the sound of his own footsteps echoing off the stone walls. There aren't too many students around, with exams in just a couple weeks around the corner, so Wonwoo allows himself to relax in one of the few opportunities he has to enjoy quiet solitude. 

"Hey!"

Or maybe not. 

Wonwoo turns his head toward the voice and sees a tall figure lumbering toward him. 

"Wow, I thought you'd at least flinch but you're not scared at all! That's so cool, Hyung! Can I call you Hyung? I know you're Korean, and all, so I figured you wouldn't mind."

It takes Wonwoo a second to reel his mind back in from where it's been floating somewhere in the clouds (thinking about his rice cooker) and match the voice to the face, and the face to a name. 

"Kim Mingyu?" he asks after a moment's pause. 

Mingyu nods enthusiastically, nearly bowling into a suit of armor as he switches his stride so he's walking backwards in front of Wonwoo. 

Minghao was right. He really is clumsy. It seems at odds with the green and silver house, but Wonwoo supposes elegance wasn’t technically the train most valued by Salazar Slytherin.

"Jeonghan told me to find you wandering the East Tower – said you'd be walking around with a blank pale face, quiet as a ghost. Honestly, he was kinda right, Hyung! You scared me at first, thought you really were the Bloody Baron, minus the blood." Mingyu frowns, and stops abruptly, causing Wonwoo to crash right into his chest with a small oof . It's warm and smells of sandalwood. Mingyu's arms wrap around his waist to steady him, and Wonwoo isn't exactly sure why, but his heart starts beating a little faster. 

"Sorry about that," Mingyu says, apologizing as he rights Wonwoo back up. His hands hover near Wonwoo's shoulders for a moment, then drop to his sides, awkwardly rubbing at his robes. "I just realized I didn't even ask if you really were Wonwoo. You just fit Jeonghan's description so well." He stares at Wonwoo expectantly, and Wonwoo stares back. 

"Sorry?" he eventually gets out, still reeling a little from the bump. The tip of his nose smarts a little where he crashed right into Mingyu's solar plexus, and he's sure it's turning red. 

"Are you? Wonwoo, I mean. I don't know if I accosted a complete stranger or something." 

Wonwoo blinks again, and then finally finds himself smiling a little at the way Mingyu buzzes and awaits his answer. He's heard the girls in his year compare Mingyu to a large puppy, but in this moment he can't help but be reminded a little bit of Cinnamon when his head tilts to one side, eyes wide in the same way Cinnamon looks when she's waiting for a treat. The reddish brown hair and tanned, golden skin merely add to the whole effect, the flickering torchlight adding a rusty sheen. 

"Yes, that's me," Wonwoo answers, side stepping Mingyu and continuing his patrol. So this is what Jeonghan had meant when he'd said he would tell Mingyu to find Wonwoo when he was available without even bothering to check his schedule. Bothering him during his prefect duties. "You said you need tutoring?" At the very least, it will save Wonwoo some time. 

Mingyu trails along behind Wonwoo as he continues his patrol (stepping on the hems of Wonwoo's robes at least a half dozen times throughout). "Yeah," he says, and even though he's behind Wonwoo, Wonwoo can practically hear the pout in his voice. "I accidentally poured three tablespoons of powdered willow root into our cauldron today instead of three teaspoons. There won't even be enough time for a makeup because the potion is meant to steep for so long." 

Wonwoo gets a strange sense of deja vu as he thinks back to his conversation with Minghao earlier that day. "That's the enhanced fertilizer unit, right?" 

Mingyu stares at him in awe. "Wow, you really are smart, Hyung! All I told you was three teaspoons of willow root and bam! You identified the potion and everything! How did you do that?" 

Before Wonwoo can explain that he'd sat through a full hour of Minghao's part Chinglish, part Konglish tirade about that specific potion, a portrait to their left swings open and a student pops out. 

"AAHHH!" Mingyu screams, nearly jumping into Wonwoo's arms. They both go falling down in a giant heap on the floor, and Wonwoo groans as he sits up. 

“AAHHH!” The other student screams back just as loud, if not louder than Mingyu. Hand on his chest, he stops to catch his breath, eyes brightening when he turns and spots the two of them. "Hi Mingyu. Oh, Wonwoo hyung! You're here, too!"

The culprit is none other than Lee Seokmin, stepping out of the Hufflepuff dormitory. He seems rather unfazed by the earlier screaming match as he happily waves down at the two of them. 

"Merlin, you scared me!" Mingyu gasps, dramatically clutching at his chest. 

"Hi Seokmin," Wonwoo says, quieter than Mingyu. He'd tutored Seokmin back in his third year, when Seokmin had been one of the first to sign up from the flyer Minghao had pasted in the Hufflepuff common room. Wonwoo remembers how Seokmin had come to him sniffling and sobbing about his low Charms grade, terrified after his older sister had convinced him it meant no gifts from Saint Nicholas ever again. A much different attitude than Mingyu's current pouty lack of remorse for his failing grades. "Isn’t it past your curfew?" Wonwoo asks with a frown when he's managed to stand up, brushing the dirt off his robes. Then he turns to stare at Mingyu, realization dawning. "You too."

Mingyu and Seokmin both stare at each other for a second before stumbling to get their words out. 

"Well Jeonghan said–"

"I just had to find–"

"and so I came to you–"

"the line in the bathroom–"

"Okay, okay! Quiet!" Wonwoo shouts to silence them. "Seokmin, it is very apparent you are going to the kitchens. And Mingyu, why would you ever listen to Jeonghan?" They both stare at the ground and shift awkwardly from foot to foot until Wonwoo sighs and gives in. "I won't punish you guys, but get back to your dorms before another prefect catches you. He checks his watch before looking back up at them. "Seungcheol's shift starts soon."

Those words have Seokmin nodding rapidly as he quickly retreats back into the portrait he had just come out of moments before, scrambling back so quickly it's comical. Mingyu moves to follow suit, before freezing and realizing he is not, indeed, a Hufflepuff. 

"Um, Wonwoo hyung?" he asks sheepishly. "Do you know how to get to the Slytherin common rooms from here?" 

"Mingyu…" Wonwoo starts, before trailing off. "Nevermind," he settles on eventually before beckoning for him to follow. “Have you ever heard of a rice cooker?”

Maybe it doesn't hurt to let Mingyu think of him as a potions identifying genius for a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Mingyu is popular.

Mingyu, Wonwoo learns, is surprisingly enthusiastic about learning. Maybe it’s the Slytherin ambition finally shining through.

Sure, Wonwoo can tell when Mingyu would rather be outside playing quidditch, or when a problem frustrates him particularly more than usual, but he doesn’t hesitate to ask questions, crowding into Wonwoo’s space and peering over his shoulder as Wonwoo writes down a formula with neat and precise strokes. 

“Wow, Hyung,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo shivers a little as the soft whisper curls into his ear, not realizing Mingyu had crept in so close at some point. He’s somewhat managed to train Mingyu into whispering in the library where they usually study after receiving one too many pointed glares from the librarian, but somehow Mingyu’s voice still seems too loud in their little corner. “You’re so good at this, you could be a professor!”

The right corner of Wonwoo’s lip twitches upwards, and he tilts his head down to hide his smile. He hums softly in response, tapping the page to get Mingyu back on track. It’s not too far from the realm of possibility, now that he’s coming up on his OWLs and set to graduate in just a couple more years. “Maybe,” is all he says. He wishes he had more time to explore his options, but all he knows for now is that he wants to be able to support his mother as soon as he can. To become a professor would mean more school, perhaps some research fellowships… Time and money that he can’t afford. 

Mingyu must catch the wistful expression on Wonwoo’s face because he quiets down a bit. “Sorry, Hyung. I got distracted again.”

Wonwoo startles a little, shaking his head. “No, don’t worry. I was just thinking.” 

At those words, Mingyu perks up again. He’s rather easy to please, Wonwoo’s noticed. He was fascinated when Wonwoo first showed him how a ballpoint pen worked. At least until Mingyu’s large hands somehow snapped it in half by gripping it too hard. “You do that a lot.”

“What, think? I sure hope I do. You don’t do it enough,” Wonwoo snorts, tapping at the page. 

Mingyu laughs, quickly hunkering down when the librarian glares at them. It doesn’t do much to hide his large frame, but Wonwoo appreciates the effort. 

“Come on then,” Wonwoo says, tapping the page. “Back to the problem.”

–

While Wonwoo can appreciate Mingyu’s dedication, he simply can’t stand his fangirls’ dedication. 

To think. A fourteen-year-old with fangirls. He understands that Mingyu is popular, the exact definition of a jock. He’s tall, not just for his age but compared to anyone at this school. The hours of training Jeonghan forces him and the rest of his team through have made sure his body is built and bulky, nothing like Wonwoo was when he was just beginning to his puberty a year ago. Hell, nothing like how Wonwoo even is now , a year later and with wrists that could probably snap in half if Mingyu grips them too hard when he runs up to him in the hallway, excited to show him a new exam score. 

There’s nothing wrong, Wonwoo supposes, with girls having crushes. But when they run up to their table in the library to drop off letters and gifts, or pass by and point and whisper loudly, or even set up a table and sit across, boring holes into Wonwoo’s backside whenever he blocks their view of Mingyu, it gets to be bothersome. 

Mingyu, on the other hand, seems to thrive in it. 

“Ah, Hyung, I’m so tired,” he whines, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head. His uniform sleeves are rolled halfway up his biceps and tighten around his muscles as he brings his arms in a large circle above his head and then back down. “Can’t we take a break?” Mingyu turns to stare at Wonwoo, bottom lip popping out in a disgusting little pout. Wonwoo can literally hear the sounds of the girls swooning behind him. 

Wonwoo frowns. “You just had a break. You realize you won’t be able to play in your game next week if you can’t write at least an Acceptable on your Charms exam, don’t you?”

Mingyu’s nose crumples up at that, and Wonwoo is reminded once again of Cinnamon, particularly the disgruntled way that she shakes her head vigorously when Wonwoo offers her anything less than the plumpest beetles. 

Despite himself, Wonwoo can’t help but laugh. “Don’t whine, you big baby,” he says, reaching across the table to ruffle Mingyu’s hair. When Mingyu turns his head to blow a raspberry into Wonwoo’s hand, he jumps, knocking his elbow on the table. Hard. 

Some of the girls that have been watching them giggle, and Wonwoo blushes, ducking his head down. He’d forgotten himself for a moment. He’s not Mingyu’s friend. Just his tutor. 

“Hey, you’re right,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo’s still staring down at the table and misses the way Mingyu shoots a cross glare over Wonwoo’s shoulder. “None of this book stuff is helping me, though,” Mingyu says finally. “Can you help me practice the practical stuff?”

Wonwoo looks up then, at Mingyu’s face which has returned to its usual, bright smile. “Practical? We’ll need to find a classroom for that.” Mingyu is right, though. Memorizing the wand angles and flicks will get him nowhere if he can’t actually put it into practice. Luckily, Flitwick is particularly fond of Wonwoo, and he’s been permitted to use the empty Charms classrooms to study or practice in. 

He starts to pack up his bags, freezing when Mingyu leans across the table to grab his wrist. 

“Where are you going?” Mingyu asks, and Wonwoo realizes he’d simply been thinking to himself this whole time. 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. “Follow me, I know a place.” 

Mingyu laughs, showing his sharp teeth in a big, bright row. “Kind of sounds like you’re flirting with me, Hyung.” He wiggles his eyebrows even as he goes to pack up his own stuff, leaving Wonwoo blushing as his hands skitter across the table awkwardly. 

–

“How’s tutoring the it boy?” Soonyoung asks when Wonwoo comes down to dinner. 

“Fine,” Wonwoo answers. He thinks back to their Charms practice, the way Mingyu had fumbled through his wand movements, arms flailing like he wasn’t used to their length. Wonwoo had corrected him, laughing as he assured him it was the same for himself, another part of growing taller at alarming rates. Standing side by side, Wonwoo had rested one hand on Mingyu’s guiding it through the air while the other hovered behind Mingyu’s back, correcting his posture. 

He hadn’t realized until then just how tall exactly Mingyu was, but Wonwoo’s chin had brushed against Mingyu’s shoulder, and he could feel Mingyu’s breath falling on his cheek when he turned to ask him a question. 

They’d jumped apart after that, awkwardly brushing down their robes when they realized how close they were standing. 

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

“You’re really spending a lot of time on him,” Soonyoung comments through a mouthful of chicken. 

Wonwoo shrugs. “He’s spending a lot of money on me.” They all freeze and stare at each other for a second, processing those words. 

“That’s what she said?” Minghao says, the first to break the silence as he leans across the table for a glass of pumpkin juice. 

Wonwoo groans and buries his face in his hands. “That definitely made me sound like a prostitute, didn’t it.” It’s the truth though, Wonwoo realizes. At the end of the day, Mingyu needs him for his grades, and Wonwoo needs him for his money. 

Mingyu is just a friendly person , Wonwoo reminds himself. He needs to stop thinking of him so much. 

“Are you guys talking about Mingyu?” Charlie asks, leaning across the table. “ The Mingyu Kim?”

Wonwoo nods. He hadn’t realized that Mingyu was popular even in his year, but he supposes it makes sense. It’s hard not to be aware of him, not just from his good looks and athletic ability, but how famous his family is, too. 

Amanda, another Ravenclaw in their year, turns to join the conversation. “You know him?” she asks, looking Wonwoo up and down slowly. 

Wonwoo isn’t sure what exactly it is about that gaze, but it makes his ears burn a little as he ducks his head down. “I’m just tutoring him, so he can qualify for his quidditch games.” 

Amanda flicks her hair back over her head. “Oh, so you’re not like… friends.” 

Wonwoo blinks, and answers, “No, we’re not friends.” He’s not sure why, though, it stings when he says out loud what he’s been thinking all this time.

Chapter Text

Wonwoo is jealous of Mingyu.

When Wonwoo wakes up in the morning, he slowly crawls out of bed and brushes his teeth. Today is a glasses and bedhead day, he decides. He’d stayed up far too late last night after his game of wizard’s chess with Jihoon had gone on for much longer than anticipated, and then he’d realized he hadn’t written home to his mother in far too long, being caught up in his prefect duties and tutoring and studying, so he’d spent another hour working on that, only to be bitten by Cinnamon when he tried to have her send the letter. 

Instead, he’d slapped a stamp on it and called it a night, deciding to bring it down for the muggle post in the morning… Only now, he realizes with a groan that he’d left it sitting on his bedside table. 

He’s already in front of the dining hall at this point and decides it simply isn’t worth the effort. Maybe he’ll send it tomorrow, or ask Cinnamon nicely, with many treats, if she’ll take it for him. 

He’s just barely stumbled into the great hall, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as he adjusts to the bright light shining in through the windows when somebody tackles him to the floor. 

“Oof,” is the only sound his body lets out as the wind is knocked out of his lungs. 

“Wonwoo hyung! Look! I did it!”

The voice is coming from Mingyu, who excitedly waves a piece of parchment in Wonwoo’s face. 

“Please get off of me,” Wonwoo groans. 

It’s only then that Mingyu seems to realize the position they’re in, Mingyu sprawled out with his legs and arms on either side of Wonwoo. He quickly scrambles up, tugging Wonwoo with him and patting off his shoulders as if that does anything. He either seems to not mind or not notice the stares they receive from the few other people that have made it down to breakfast. 

Mingyu tugs Wonwoo’s arm, dragging him by the wrist over to the Slytherin table where he thunks down, pulling Wonwoo into the seat next to him. 

“Look!” Mingyu repeats, this time calmer as he spreads out the crumpled parchment with one hand, revealing his marks on his exam. “An E! Exceeds expectations ! Not even an Acceptable, but exceeds !” He chugs a glass of juice, nearly spilling half of it across the front of his shirt as he trembles in excitement. “You know what this means? I can play the game this Saturday.”

“Wow,” Wonwoo says, finding his lips quirking up involuntarily. “Good job, Mingyu. I’m proud of you” 

Mingyu actually does spill his drink then, cursing as he reaches with one hand for a napkin to sop up the mess that’s splashed onto his pants. 

His other hand remains circled around Wonwoo’s wrist. Even as Wonwoo smiles back and congratulates Mingyu, he can’t help the way his mind stays focused on the way Mingyu’s large hand easily wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking back and forth across the soft skin on the inside. Wonwoo’s honestly not even sure that Mingyu is aware of his actions. 

“Wonwoo? Wonwoo hyung?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Wonwoo asks, untangling his hands from Mingyu to pull off his glasses and wipe them carefully on the sleeve of his robe. They’re really not that dirty, but he couldn’t bear the feeling of Mingyu’s skin touching his. 

“You’re coming, right? To my game, I mean. I know Ravenclaw isn’t playing, so you have to root for me, your best student.”

Wonwoo snorts, flicking Mingyu’s forehead. “Who says you’re my best student?” When Mingyu’s bottom lip starts to jut out, he sighs and ruffles his hair. “I’ll be there. But no guarantees who I’ll cheer for.”

If he remembers correctly, it’s Slytherin against Gryffindor, meaning Hoshi will inevitably drag them into the Gryffindor section to cheer for (see: embarrass) his prodigy little cousin after draping a disgusting amount of red around their shoulders. 

Mingyu shrugs as if he hadn’t just been begging Wonwoo to come a moment ago. “Well, if you do decide to show up, I’m sure my fan club would be more than happy to lend you a cheering kit.” 

Wonwoo stares, waiting for Mingyu to burst out laughing. And then he drops his jaw open in shock when he realizes Mingyu is being absolutely serious. 

–

This is how Wonwoo ends up awkwardly squished into the Slytherin bleachers, holding a mini banner that has Mingyu’s face, sharp canines and all, splayed across it. The enchanted photo winks and smiles, blowing kisses every so often when Wonwoo chances a glance down at it. Small cartoon hearts bubble up when Mingyu blows into his hand, and Wonwoo is sorely tempted to just crumple the entire thing and toss it out into the field. 

“Wow,” is the only thing Junhui has to say when he plops down next to Wonwoo. 

“Wow indeed,” another Slytherin next to Junhui agrees. “Cool poster, dude.” Wonwoo blushes. 

“This is Vernon,” Junhui says, waving a lazy hand in Vernon’s direction. The kid looks rather… terrifying, as half of his eyebrow and the side of his hair is shaved clean off his head. And yet he still somehow manages to be incredibly good-looking. “I figured you guys would get along because he also doesn’t know shit about Quidditch.” 

“Oh?” Wonwoo says. He can’t say it’s not a little reassuring, knowing he won’t be the only one confused about when or why they’re cheering. “Why are you here then?”

Vernon shrugs, and Junhui answers in his stead. “Seungkwan’s the announcer this game.” 

As if on cue, a bright, bubbly voice booms across the stadium, magically amplified. “Hello and welcome, everyone, to the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match! With an incredible start to the season, Gryffindor is currently expected to be the winners of today’s game, however, there’s good news for you Slytherin fans! Fan favorite Mingyu Kim is back in the game as his grades are finally on par with what’s to be expected of anyone who doesn’t have troll blood in their veins!” 

There’s a slight tittering from the Slytherin section, and Wonwoo would hate to be Seungkwan at this moment based on the way half the girls seem to be glaring at him right now. Seungkwan doesn’t seem to mind that, or the way Mingyu waves his fist at him from over by the goalposts, yelling something unintelligible. 

“Oh?” Seungkwan asks, voice incredibly cheeky. “What’s that? You didn’t want me telling the entire school you were failing half your classes? Well then maybe you shouldn’t have burned off half of Vernon’s beautiful, luscious locks!” 

Vernon puts up a little V sign as the attention of the girls in the stadium swivel over to him. They seem to forgive Seungkwan, deciding that Mingyu deserves a little embarrassment for that. Wonwoo chuckles a little, easily noticing Mingyu’s pout as he hunches over his broom. 

The game kicks off shortly after that, and Wonwoo finds himself a little more invested than usual this time, actually cheering and waving the little Mingyu banner whenever he blocks a shot or pulls off a move that seems rather impressive, at least to someone like Wonwoo who’s yet to ever fly higher than the mandatory three feet off the ground in their broom lessons. 

Wonwoo doesn’t even notice when Jeonghan emerges victorious with the snitch clutched in his hand, too busy staring as Mingyu whoops and spins in the air, flipping gracefully upside down with an ease that makes it hard to recognize him as the clumsy boy he tutors. 

Junhui nudging his shoulder is what makes him break out of his daze, shaking his head. 

“Close your mouth,” Junhui says with a laugh. “You’ll drool.” 

–

“Wonwoo hyung! Wonwoo hyung!” Mingyu shouts, grabbing him by the shoulder. 

Wonwoo startles, not expecting it, and turns to face Mingyu. He’s still sweaty and grimy, dressed in his quidditch gear and red in the face from exertion, yet somehow he still manages to look attractive. A few girls squeal and run up to him, asking if they can get a photo to celebrate his win. 

Wonwoo steps back, watching with a small smile on his face as he waits for Mingyu to be finished, but Mingyu grabs his wrist before he can turn away any further. 

“Sorry, guys,” Mingyu says, flashing a toothy smile at them. One of the girls actually swoons . “I’m a little gross from the game. Next time?”

They sigh forlornly, but head off anyway, charmed by his grin and charisma. Wonwoo watches, impressed. He can barely even get students to listen to him even when he’s flashing his prefect badge. 

“Hyung, did you see the game?”

Wonwoo laughs a little at the obvious question, waving the pink banner he’s holding. “Even got a banner. I really thought you were kidding about the fan club.” 

Mingyu flushes, although Wonwoo can’t tell if it’s just the remnants of his workout or embarrassment at Wonwoo’s teasing. “Shut up. It’s not a big deal.” 

“To you.” 

“Do you always have to do that?” Mingyu whines like a little kid, and Wonwoo laughs, patting his head. He has to get up a little onto his tip toes to reach him, and his ears burn a little at the realization. Mingyu smiles, tilting his head down as if to give Wonwoo better access. They fall silent for a second before Mingyu coughs, clearing his throat. “Uh, anyway. I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in coming to the celebration party? It’ll be in the Slytherin common room. Tonight.” 

Wonwoo tilts his head to the side. “But I’m a Ravenclaw?”

Mingyu laughs at that, throwing his head back. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of room. I guarantee you there’ll even be some Gryffindors there, too.” When Wonwoo opens his mouth, Mingyu continues talking over him, not giving him a chance to refuse. “Plus, half of this victory we owe to you. Any shots I blocked were only possible because you helped me, Hyung. Please? Hyung?” 

Wonwoo sighs. He never should have let Mingyu call him “hyung”. 

“Fine. I’ll be there. When does it start?”

– 

Wonwoo has enough common sense not to show up right on time, but he must have waited a little too long between his anxiety and trying to decide on an outfit before ultimately covering it up with his ratty school robes. Jihoon stands glumly by his side, put off that he’s had to step away from his Charms essay due next month to serve as Wonwoo’s emotional support. 

Soonyoung had stepped away, needing to comfort his cousin on the loss and Junhui had said, “If the party gets loud enough to wake me up, I’ll come down,” leaving Jihoon and Wonwoo to make the long walk all the way to the dungeons on their own. 

The door swings open as if on cue, and a couple of students stumble out, giggling to one another. 

“After you,” Jihoon says, annoyance plastered across his face. The loud, throbbing music and occasional screeching don’t seem to be helping his opinion on matters. 

When Wonwoo steps through the doors, Mingyu is the first thing he sees, easily spotted at the center of the crowd, dancing on a table next to some Slytherin girl. 

Wonwoo considers approaching him or even waving, but he realizes with the size of the crowd and the swell of the party, it’ll be difficult to make it through, much less be noticed. He joins Jihoon against the wall, picking up a cup of… something or other and nursing his drink slowly as they take in their surroundings. It doesn’t seem to be alcoholic, at the least. Wonwoo wonders if maybe it would be easier if it were. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but it must be long enough as Jihoon sighs and leans over to shout something into his ear. 

“What?” Wonwoo asks, shouting back. 

“I’m heading out. You want to come with?”

Wonwoo hesitates, considering it for a moment as he stares at the crowd that seems to only be getting rowdier as the night goes on. At that moment, Mingyu finally looks up and catches his eye, smiling wide as he waves in his direction. Wonwoo raises his cup back in acknowledgment and leans back in to shout into Jihoon’s ear. “I’m okay, you go up without me!”

He has to repeat himself three more times to be heard, and by the time Jihoon finally breaks away, Mingyu is back to dancing, attention no longer on Wonwoo. Still, Wonwoo tries to mingle a little more, swaying his body back and forth as he lets himself get sucked into the crowd. 

Somehow, with minimal shoving, he finds himself closer to the center, where Mingyu is chugging down a can of butterbeer, egged on by the cheers of the crowd around him. When he’s done, he whoops and crushes the can easily with one hand before chucking it across the room. The crowd roars, and the girl he’d been dancing on earlier surges forward to kiss him, and they go toppling over onto the floor. 

Wonwoo freezes, no longer dancing. It feels, strangely, like the cheers are taunts. He knows nobody is looking at him, too enthralled by the show Mingyu and the Slytherin girl are putting on, but he can’t help but feel self-conscious in his raggedy school robes, glasses fogging up from the heat and humidity of the bodies around him. 

He feels stupid all of a sudden. This isn’t his scene. This isn’t his place. He’s not sure what exactly he’s doing here. 

He turns to go, and then realizes as he glances at his watch that it's past curfew. 

“God damn it,” he whispers to himself. How is a goody-two-shoes who’s afraid to even break curfew supposed to fit into a party like this? 

Without looking back, he sneaks through the crowd, muttering apologies as he tramples on feet and robes. 

He doesn’t notice Mingyu sit up with a splutter, confused eyes on Wonwoo’s back as he ascends the dormitory staircase. 

–

“Hey,” Wonwoo whispers, shaking the figure on the bed. “Junhui, hey, wake up.”

“Huh, what?” Junhui jolts awake with a start, eyes half-lidded as he stares at Wonwoo in confusion. “Wonwoo?”

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight? It’s past curfew and I don’t want any demerits.” 

Junhui frowns, staring up at him confused. “Aren’t you the one who gives out… whatever.” He’s half asleep before he even fully gets through his sentence, rolling across his bed so he only takes up half. 

“Thanks,” Wonwoo whispers, slipping off his glasses and shoes before perching against the edge of Junhui’s bed. He can’t really fall asleep with the pounding of music and shouting echoing up the staircase, but he closes his eyes anyway. Etched into his eyelids is Mingyu’s confident smile looking everywhere except back at him.

Chapter Text

When Wonwoo stumbles downstairs with a yawn, he doesn’t expect the first thing he runs into to be Mingyu’s large and passed out body on the floor. There are lipstick stains on his chin, neck, and shirt collar which is rumpled and unbuttoned halfway down his stomach. Wonwoo tries his best not to stare. 

He fails, and in his distraction doesn't realize Mingyu has woken up until his hand flops against Wonwoo's ankle. 

“Hyung,” Mingyu croaks, voice scratchy and dry from a combination of the drinking and shouting last night. “Water. I need water.”

Wonwoo sighs, rolling his eyes as he picks up the least suspicious looking cup off the ground and aguamenti's some water into it. He gently holds the back of Mingyu's head as he feeds the cup to him, deliberately ignoring the way a few beads of water miss the mark and roll down his chin, and his chest. And in the process, dumps half the cup onto Mingyu's face. 

“Hyung!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Wonwoo responds with a chuckle. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

Surprisingly, Mingyu takes his wand and with a quick flick of a wrist, has his shirt dry, wrinkle free, and even his hair is fixed up into that perfectly styled intentionally messy but not to messy signature bedhead of his. 

“Kim Mingyu,” Wonwoo says sternly. “Have you been lying to me all this time? You're a natural at Charms!” 

Mingyu grins a wide, toothy grin at him. “I've just perfected this particular spell over the years.” 

Good at Charms and a real charmer, too, Wonwoo thinks. 

Wonwoo and Mingyu walk to the Great Hall side by side in silence. Wonwoo chalks up Mingyu’s unusual silence to what appears to be a splitting headache based on the way Mingyu squints away from sunlight, and tries his best to accommodate Mingyu’s apparent hangover (after a single shot of Firewhisky and maybe a couple of butterbeers) by copying suit. 

Once they enter the Great Hall, Wonwoo heads towards his usual seat at the Ravenclaw table, and expects Mingyu to peal off his own way. He’s surprised instead when Mingyu trails behind him, plopping onto the bench beside him before he begins to fill up his plate with a ridiculous amount of scrambled eggs. 

Wonwoo stares. 

“What?” Mingyu responds. “Six grams of protein per egg. Eight eggs. That’s just under fifty grams of protein.”

Wonwoo whips his head around the Great Hall, and luckily it appears that it’s early enough, or most of the students are choosing to nurse their hangovers in bed so there are only really a few dotted first and second years around them. “Not the eggs. Though that is insane. Why are you sitting here?”

Mingyu shrugs and gestures over at the mostly empty Slytherin table. “Keep you company?”

Wonwoo sighs and shakes his head but turns to begin lathering up a piece of toast with some butter. It’s not as if he doesn’t enjoy Mingyu’s company. It’s more that he’s surprised Mingyu enjoys his own. 

“Speaking of company,” Mingyu says after he’s plowed through half his plate of eggs. Wonwoo wants to gag just imagining eating all of it. “You, uh, had fun last night?”

Wonwoo blushes then, feeling a little embarrassed by how he had reacted now that they’re here, just the two of them and not surrounded by the entirety of Slytherin house. He hadn’t meant to… run away, really. “Yeah, thank you for inviting me. Sorry I left without saying hi.”

“I mean,” Mingyu says, putting his fork down, “You didn’t really leave, did you? Were you, uh, sleeping with, uh…” Mingyu trails off his sentence awkwardly, picking his fork back up and digging it through his pile of eggs. The more he pushes it around the plate, metal scratching against porcelain, the less appetizing it looks. 

Wonwoo makes a face at the eggs. They’re entirely too distracting. And disgusting. “Yeah, you know Junhui, right?” 

Mingyu slams his fork down on the table, and Wonwoo jumps in his seat a little. “Sorry,” Mingyu apologizes. “I didn’t mean– accident.” He shovels a few more bites of egg into his mouth, and Wonwoo frowns. 

“Are you–” 

Just then, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and a group of Slytherins enter, looking just as disheveled as Mingyu did earlier. “Sorry, I better go,” Mingyu mutters, hopping up from his bench and beelining it to his usual group of friends. “I’ll, um, see you around, then?” 

“Sure,” Wonwoo says. The air feels chilly all of a sudden without Mingyu’s body warmth pressed up against his side. He looks at the half eaten plate of eggs that Mingyu’s left behind. That’s gotta be what, at least fifteen grams of protein left to waste. “It was weird that he was even sitting here in the first place, right?”

The eggs don’t respond. Obviously. 

–

Wonwoo sits at the library, twirling his pen in his fingers as he tries not to check his watch for the seventeenth time in three minutes. Mingyu, clumsy and scatterbrained as he is, isn’t usually one to be late. 

“Hi, Wonwoo. Were you waiting long?” 

Wonwoo looks up to see Mingyu sauntering slowly into the library. He has his robe slung over his shoulder, bag knocking against the desks as he drags his feet to the table Wonwoo is sitting at. He drops the bag down with a thunk, just barely catching the edge of Wonwoo’s pen which goes flying off the table. 

“You’re late,” Wonwoo says, leaning down to pick up his pen. He takes a second extra longer under the desk to fix his expression. Beside his head, Mingyu’s leg is jiggling up and down with that nervous tick of his. 

When Wonwoo returns to his upright position, Mingyu is yawning, leaning his head against the table as he blinks up at Wonwoo. As the glare of the sunlight peaks in through the window, it catches the side of Mingyu’s face, bathing him in a soft, warm glow. Mingyu’s eyelashes leave dark shadows across his face, and Wonwoo twists forward in his seat, fiddling with his book to avoid staring too long. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu says, sitting back up. “I was just so tired, I ended up sleeping in a little late.” His knee knocks into Wonwoo’s as he stretches, emphasizing it with another yawn. “What say you we wrap this shindig up quickly today, hm, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo just wordlessly nods, distracted. “Um, sure.” 

Perhaps it’s for the better that Mingyu seems in a hurry to leave, yawning through the whole lesson. Wonwoo keeps tripping up his explanations every time Mingyu interrupts with another sigh and it’s becoming harder and harder to school his frown into a neutral face. Mingyu begins packing up his bag not twenty minutes in, and Wonwoo doesn’t even have the heart to try and stop him. Doesn’t want to try and stop him. 

It isn’t after Wonwoo’s packing up himself that he realizes Mingyu hadn’t called him “hyung”. 

–

For the next few weeks after that, it’s much the same. At one point, Wonwoo wonders if Mingyu isn’t getting enough sleep, but then he looks across the Great Hall and sees Mingyu beaming and laughing with his friends with the same, bouncy energy as usual. 

When he passes by Mingyu in the hallways, Wonwoo finds himself automatically raising his hand to wave “hello” out of reflex, only to see Mingyu deliberately turn his head away, looping an arm around his Quidditch buddy’s shoulder as he laughs extra loud at some joke that probably wasn’t even that funny anyway. 

Wonwoo honestly isn’t that surprised by Mingyu’s actions. It isn’t as if he hasn’t grown up surrounded by that typical, arrogant jock behavior. Even after coming to Hogwarts, while Wonwoo was no longer bullied for his magical tendencies, he could probably count his close friends on one hand. 

What does surprise Wonwoo, however, is the way the rejection stings. 

He had thought, for whatever delusional reason, that Mingyu was different. That the way Mingyu smiled at him, the fact that Mingyu sought him out after every assignment to brag about his improved grades all indicated that Wonwoo was his friend. 

The worst part isn’t when Wonwoo realizes he was wrong. The worst part is that even after all that, Wonwoo can’t help but feel upset that he was wrong. Even though Mingyu is an arrogant, spoiled rich kid with everything in life handed to him on a gold platter, Wonwoo still wants the validation of being friends with someone like him.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo looks up from where he’s been tinkering at his emotional support rice cooker, squinting into the sudden presence of bright light. 

Jihoon opens the wardrobe door further, and Wonwoo's legs lose their precarious grip on the ledge, sending him tumbling out. 

“Hi,” he says, staring up at Jihoon. Jihoon sighs, then comes to sit on the floor next to him. 

“Aren’t you a little old to be hiding in closets?”

Wonwoo shrugs, staying silent. Sitting here side by side like this, silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the muffled wind whispering outside, he’s reminded of his first few years at Hogwarts. 

–

He was so excited to be somewhere he actually thought he might fit in for once in his life. No more worries about being bullied off the playground for his strange little quirks and idiosyncracies.

His confidence in meeting a friend in Jihoon, and through Jihoon, Soonyoung had lent him a little confidence, enough for him to unfurl a little and straighten up his shoulders as he walked into his first class. 

Potions. 

Jihoon had naturally gravitated towards Soonyoung as his partner, leaving Wonwoo to peer around the classroom. He inched slowly over to the empty seat beside a girl in green-lined robes with soft blonde hair and a pretty smile, except when she flicked around to look up at him, eyes tracing up and down his body as she took in his scuffed up shoes, his dog-eared books and his too large, second hand robes. Her smile turned into a frown as she reluctantly scooted her belongings to the side to make room for him. 

“Hi, I’m Wonwoo. Wonwoo Jeon.” 

She glanced down at his outstretched hand before deliberately facing forward to rearrange her already neatly laid out belongings. “Jeon? I don’t recognize that name. Are you related to Jun?” 

Wonwoo followed her gaze to see where she’s looking at another Slytherin student, one he recognized from the sorting. When Wonwoo didn’t respond, she sighed.

“Well, are you any good at potions? Any potions masters in your family?”

“I read the whole textbook over the summer,” Wonwoo offered, tentatively. Clearly, this was not the answer she was looking for. 

He stayed silent. It was nothing he hadn't experienced before. 

Still, Wonwoo couldn’t quite tamp down the disappointment and embarrassment that bubbled up in that familiar, hot and sticky way, catching in his throat and crumbling before it left his mouth leaving him sitting silent and dumb, with nothing to do but blink hard and fast and hope nobody noticed the blush coloring his face. Luckily, Wonwoo had gotten quite adept at holding a poker face over the years and just stared stonily forward for the rest of class, ignoring the churning in his stomach. 

After class, though, he ran straight back to the dormitories, kicking his book bag somewhere under his bed so he could crawl to the back of the wardrobe. He would sit there for hours, tracing his finger back and forth, back and forth against the back lining of wood until his fingers were bloodied and splintered, just as he had when he was younger. While he had once started this practice to try and escape, the habit now kept him grounded, reminding him that no matter where he went, he wouldn’t quite fit in.

This time, though, instead of his mother coming home from a long shift at work to entice him out with the smell of dinner drifting through the crack in the wardrobe, it was just him, sitting in the dark. 

At least, until the door cracked open just enough for another small body to crawl in beside him. 

Jihoon didn’t ask him what he was doing, or what was wrong. He just sat there beside Wonwoo, and let him rest his head against his shoulder until Wonwoo’s breaths evened out. 

And every time after that, it was the same. 

Jihoon would sit with him, gripping Wonwoo’s hands between his own, playing with Wonwoo’s fingers, until Wonwoo relaxed enough to talk. 

Over the years, Wonwoo learned. Which students to avoid, Slytherin or not. Which professors thought his questions were cute and which thought they were annoying. When to speak up and when to turn a blind eye. Who were his friends, and who simply weren’t. 

–

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jihoon finally asks after a few hours. The sky is dark by now, although it can’t be too late in the evening. They’re sprawled out now across the floor in front of the wardrobe, Jihoon working slowly through his Arithmancy homework, the scritch scratching of his quill providing soothing background noise to Wonwoo’s tinkering. At this point, Wonwoo hasn’t been making any real progress, just looking for something to do with his restless hands. 

It’s been some time since Wonwoo last retreated into his safe haven, and even by then he and Jihoon were getting too big to fit together in such a cramped space. Wonwoo has also since outgrown the nastier parts of the habit, but he still finds his hands looking for something to do as his mind wanders. 

“Do you think that some people are just born… different?”

Jihoon doesn’t look up from his work, continuing to draw perfect circles and lines completely freehand. It’s a skill Wonwoo gave up on mastering early on in their third year, resorting to an old fashioned compass for help. “Of course. We all are.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, even though Jihoon can’t see it. 

“Better. Why are some people born better?” 

Jihoon’s head snaps up at that. 

“Not like that,” Wonwoo says, even though he does mean it like that. “Don’t you think life would be easier sometimes?” He knows his words aren’t coming out right. That’s why he prefers to sit in silence with Jihoon as he slowly turns his thoughts around in his brain until they’ve settled themselves. 

“I thought you got over the Junhui thing.”

“This is different!” Wonwoo protests, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes it really isn’t that different. 

–

It had taken Wonwoo until halfway through his second year to truly warm up to Junhui, and only then because Soonyoung and Jihoon had insisted on the four of them parading around everywhere together, Soonyoung usually running full speed ahead while Jihoon ran after him, cursing, leaving Wonwoo and Junhui to trail behind both of them, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

It wasn’t that Junhui had even been particularly mean, or rude, or condescending. At the root of it, Wonwoo knew that he was simply jealous. Junhui simply had everything that Wonwoo could only wish for. Every time Junhui would open a gift basket or a letter from his parents back home, shipped all the way from Shenzen on the other side of the world, Wonwoo would be writing a letter back to his mother 

Junhui never responded to the letters either, always happily gave away his gifts before slouching back in his chair and dozing off. He didn’t particularly pay attention or try hard in class, didn’t mind when other students stared when he would mumble to himself in Mandarin. Other Slytherins would come up to him, trying to suck up to him and ask after his family, only for Junhui to turn them away with a casual, but graceful wave. 

To a lost, homesick, eleven-year-old Wonwoo, Junhui seemed like a spoiled brat.

It wasn’t until Wonwoo and Junhui spent a full detention together (Junhui for sleeping through the entirety of class once again, and Wonwoo for transfiguring his comic books to look like a History of Magic textbook) that they ended up becoming close, fast friends. There, Wonwoo learned that Junhui’s family sent him to Hogwarts to keep him out of sight of their social circle in Shenzen, and only showered him with gifts to keep face with their British contacts. That Junhui’s insomnia kept him awake at night and asleep during the day, that he could count all his friends on one hand… Just like Wonwoo.

Wonwoo passed him a comic book, and they spent the rest of detention trying to figure out how best to tweak the spell to be undetectable. 

– 

But the thing is, with Mingyu… it feels different. Sure, Mingyu is a rich, popular, spoiled Slytherin, and yet he hadn’t sparked that same jealousy in Wonwoo until recently. Even then, Wonwoo doesn’t know how to describe how he feels in a way that would make someone as practical and grounded as Jihoon understand. 

With Junhui, Wonwoo had wanted to be him. With Mingyu… 

He realizes he’s embarrassed. Because for some reason, he’d thought they were friends. And he realizes now that they aren’t.

Chapter Text

Eventually, Wonwoo realizes he can’t exactly keep moping around like this over something as paltry as the attentions of not only a student that isn’t even in his own house, much less his friend, but a student younger than him who, frankly, he’s known for all of a couple of months at this point. As time goes on, their tutoring sessions drop off as Mingyu gets busy with training and whatever popular person things keep him busy, while Wonwoo gets busy working, studying, and researching. 

(Lately, he’s been hell bent on creating a functioning rice cooker before the winter holidays roll around, and the deadline is getting closer and closer. He’s had more successes than failures, which Jihoon and his other roommates must surely be thankful for, as there are less and less incidents of burnt parts and evacuations at three am, but his rice just hasn’t quite reached the perfect levels of fluffy rice, though he has discovered methods of speeding up the long-brew potions by pressurizing the slow cook process.) 

If he begins to spend more time in the owlery petting through Cinnamon’s feather’s, Jihoon doesn’t comment. At the very least, it gives Wonwoo an excuse to write more frequently to his mother who he feels he’s been neglecting caught up in his own little dramas. 

Today as he pens another letter home sharing tidbits here and there about his friends (how Soonyoung got himself another detention for transfiguring the Charms professor’s robes to be tiger patterned and how Jihoon had gotten detention for laughing too loud at them) his hands slow to a pause, debating whether or not he should mention Mingyu at all. He’s zoned out, entering the “Wonwoo zone” as Soonyoung calls it, staring into the distance and entirely lost in his thoughts. It’s only the gently nudge of Cinnamon that brings him back to his surroundings and he looks down in surprise, cursing softly when he realizes that he’s left a giant ink stain on his page. Damned feather quills and their uselessness. He’d left his bookbag downstairs in his absentmindedness and had to resort to using one of the sets available up in the towers. 

Wonwoo is helplessly dabbing at the ink stain with his sleeve, hoping to salvage the letter (it’s a page and a half after listing all of his friends antics from merely the past two days and he’d hate to write it all out again) when a voice speaks right behind his ear. 

“You know you could use a spell to clean that up? You are a wizard, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo jumps, and turns around to see Mingyu smiling at him as he waves his wand and quickly sends the ink evaporating off the page. 

Wonwoo’s heart beats fast and furious in his chest. He blames it on the jump scare, assuring himself that that’s all there is to it. But he can’t help the slight annoyance that tugs at the ends of his lips, pulling them into something that he hopes looks more like a frown than a pout. 

Annoyance at how Mingyu looks ever so slightly down at him, just a couple of inches taller than Wonwoo. How that makes Wonwoo need to crane his neck at an angle that he isn’t quite used to, either. Annoyance at his own self, too, for forgetting for a moment, once again, that he is wizard. That he’s living in yet another world that he’s just discovered after possibly, finally adjusting a little bit to the English world, and once again failing to adjust to this one all the same. And that Mingyu is just another reminder of that difference. 

Wonwoo glances down to his ink splattered hands, then back up to Mingyu’s face and is met with another burst of reasons to be annoyed. Annoyance at how the setting sun glancing in through the open windows of the owlery frame Mingyu’s head in a perfect halo, the light bouncing in a soft auburn glow off his hair and accentuating his skin until it almost looks like he’s glowing gold, a perfect contrast to the green and silver of his scarf. And annoyance at that carefree and easy smile that pins Wonwoo in place even as Mingyu leans forward to grab Wonwoo’s hands in his, waving his wand once again to erase the ink stains there, too. 

Wonwoo involuntarily moves to snatch his hands back. Sure, he’s being petty right now. But he’s never claimed to be kind and just and forgiving. There’s a reason he isn’t in Hufflepuff. 

Mingyu’s frown falters a little at that, and he sighs. The air in front of their faces frosts over into a soft white before the steam of Mingyu’s breath quickly dissipates.

“ Hyung, ” Mingyu whines. 

And okay, fine. Maybe Wonwoo is forgiving. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says. He hasn’t let go of Wonwoo’s hands, grip only tightening when Wonwoo went to pull away. His hands, once frozen from being ungloved for so long as he wrote, are now thawing in Mingyu’s large and warm grip. 

Wonwoo freezes. “Sorry?”

“Sorry?”

And then he realizes they’re like parrots, echoing one another in a tower full of other birds who repeat the same “who” back and forth. And he laughs. “What are you doing?”

Mingyu’s grin is back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, and that’s the issue. I have come to realize that… I may have seemed like a total jerk to you.”

Wonwoo sighs. 

Mingyu rushes to explain, then falters, hesitating as he finally says, “It’s a bit of a long story but… I’m sorry? And also I’m failing potions again.” 

Wonwoo pulls his hands back, gentler this time and just pats Mingyu on the shoulder. “I’m free on Thursday afternoons.” 

Mingyu whoops at that, pumping his fist before leaning against the wall next to Wonwoo while he finishes up his letter. Wonwoo notices that Mingyu himself doesn’t seem to have a letter, or any particular other reason to be up in the owlery but doesn’t comment further. 

“Wow,” Mingyu says, peeking over the edge of the tower window as Wonwoo sends Cinnamon flying up and away. “That’s really high.”

Wonwoo watches Cinnamon for a moment longer until she’s only a little speck in the sky barely visible to the naked eye. He turns back to Mingyu and his eyes tug together in concern. “You look a little pale.”

Mingyu shrugs. “I don’t do great with heights.” 

Wonwoo snorts at that. “Aren’t you literally a star quidditch player?” 

“It’s different,” Mingyu says, taking a deep breath and staring up at the sky. “I’m never looking down when I’m flying. Only up, or for the bludgers or quaffles. Plus,” he adds on, “I trust my broom more than my own feet.” As if to prove his point, Mingyu slips on a bit of owl shit, falling flat on his ass. 

Wonwoo laughs. A little bit Mingyu. A little bit at himself. 

The realization hits him all of a sudden for no reason at all. That he’s the one who put Mingyu up on a pedestal in the first place.

–

It’s been a couple of weeks since their awkward reunion and their somewhat of a truce has resulted in a rocky and awkward couple of attempts at tutoring. Mingyu still has yet to explain his “long story” but he no longer seems to be holding onto quite as much of that aloof Slytherin persona any longer, and Wonwoo tries to let it slide. 

Mingyu greets him in the hallways like normal. He pays attention and doesn’t slack off during their potions tutoring sessions. (Notably, or perhaps only noticeable to Wonwoo, Mingyu doesn’t seem to be particularly struggling with any of his other classes anymore.)

Wonwoo tries not to dwell on it too much. He also tries not to dwell too much on whether or not this means they’re friends. He doesn’t want to overdo it and delude himself like he had earlier in the year; get his hopes up too high and hurt his own feelings over something that never really existed. 

Wonwoo is currently still very much not dwelling as he trudges down to the kitchens at four in the morning with a slightly sizzling and blackened rice cooker in his arms. (He chooses to believe that he’s voluntarily heading to the kitchens for a later-than-midnight snack. Jihoon will likely say that Wonwoo was kicked out for yet another explosion when everyone else is trying to get some sleep. But, to-may-to to-mah-to.) 

Wonwoo has also brought with him some of the homemade kimchi his mother had somehow managed to strap onto poor Cinammon’s feet, who had then made the long and arduous journey to bring it all the way to Scotland. Nothing like some kimchi and instant ramen to get the mind turning in the wee hours of the morning. 

He says hi to Misty the house elf, who appears to be preparing breakfast already as he sets his rice cooker to one side and begins to unpack his kimchi that he’s managed to smuggle in the dorms by layering it with a complicated mixture of cooling, preserving and odor-blocking charms. On occasion, when the odor-blocking had worn off, Wonwoo had had to take the blame for a fart or two, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of an enduring Korean palate amidst neverending feasts of meat and bread and starch. 

Wonwoo is just about to tuck into his spicy ramen when the door clicks open. 

“Wonwoo hyung?” 

Wonwoo squints. “Mingyu?”

Mingyu is dressed in his quidditch robes, and Wonwoo can’t tell if he’s returning from or about to head out for quidditch practice. Nevertheless, Mingyu walks closer and takes a seat across from Wonwoo, only to tilt his head to the side (in very Cinnamon-like fashion) as he takes a look at Wonwoo’s meal. 

“Is that… kimchi?”

Wonwoo nods, pushing the plate towards Mingyu. “Would you like some?”

Mingyu wrinkles his nose. Wonwoo tries not to stare. “I haven’t had that since I last visited Korea when I was… what, five?”

“ Five? ” Wonwoo asks incredulously. Admittedly, Wonwoo himself hasn’t been to Korea even once since his family moved here (for financial and visa reasons which he’s sure Mingyu probably hasn’t ever encountered). But he simply can’t fathom going so many years kimchi-less. 

“What’s that you’re eating?” Mingyu asks, nodding over at the noodles. The aroma fills the air and Mingyu’s stomach lets out a loud grumble. 

“Ramyun,” Wonwoo says. “Surely you’ve had ramyun before, right?” Wonwoo asks jokingly. And then stops and stares when he realizes that no, Mingyu apparently has never had ramyun before. In his life. “How are you even Korean? No kimchi, no ramyun .” This is pretty much blasphemy. Wonwoo isn’t sure if he could have ever survived living at Hogwarts if not for the instant noodles Cinnamon would dutifully deliver every month. 

Mingyu shrugs, accepting the bowl that Wonwoo basically forces onto him. “I’ve pretty much lived in boarding schools my entire life. Guess you get used to it after a while.” 

Wonwoo snorts, “Rich people problems.”

“My dad was busy working and my mom thought I was too rowdy. Guess they just didn’t like me very much. My sister got to stay home until she started at Beauxbatons.” 

At that, Wonwoo pauses, looking up to stare at Mingyu. Mingyu laughs it off awkwardly, picking up a fork and claiming that he’s so whitewashed he can’t even use chopsticks, but Wonwoo can see the twinge of sadness in his eyes. He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s never been great at comforting, too lost in his own moments of awkwardness and self-pity. Instead, he just taps the bowl. “Eat.” Nothing a good instant ramyun can’t fix. 

Mingyu tries it, and his eyes light up for a moment… before he starts coughing. “Water, oh god, water, please.”

One of the house elves hurries over, glass in hand and Mingyu downs in in a few big gulps. Wonwoo can’t help but laugh, and the moment is broken as they sit together, Mingyu insisting on finishing the bowl even through the spice because it’s, “just that good, I can’t believe I’ve been missing out in this for so long,” while Wonwoo watches him alternate between eating, sweating, and chugging water. 

When their bowls are cleared, Wonwoo hesitates before asking, “You never did explain why you started acting so weird before.” 

Mingyu’s fork, which has been probing at mostly empty air at this point from lack of anything better to do with his hands, stills. “I have a question for you, first.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, just looks plainly at Mingyu, waiting for him to continue. He watches as Mingyu’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He looks away. 

“What’s with, um, you and Junhui.” 

“Jun?” Wonwoo asks, cocking his head to the side. He feels strangely uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Has Mingyu noticed Wonwoo’s big fat complex about… whatever it is that he apparently has a complex about, according to Jihoon? “He’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” Mingyu asks. His knee knocks against Wonwoo’s under the table. “You don’t, like, you know. You guys aren’t…”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “Oh god, no. We’re just friends, we aren’t… I could never.” Well, maybe. At one point. The thought had crossed his mind. But it’s in the past, and not really something Mingyu needs to know about.

Mingyu’s face turns red. “Right! Was just wondering, but, it’s, you know.” He waves his hand. Wonwoo really doesn’t know. It’s strange. Mingyu looks almost… disappointed? 

“Why did you want to know?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Well, to answer your question…” Mingyu trails off, covers his face, and then mumbles something muffled into his hands. 

“What?”

“I wanted you to like me more!” Mingyu says, this time looking straight at Wonwoo. Wonwoo blinks. “You skipped my party to go hang out with him,” Mingyu whines, and Wonwoo is reminded in that moment that, popular, rich, and handsome as he may be, Mingyu is still younger than him. “And, you know. He’s all mysterious, quiet, and cool. And I’m loud and annoying and stupid.”

The smile that’s been growing on Wonwoo’s face drops at that. “No you’re not,” he says, sharply. He recalls their earlier conversation, and his heart aches a little at the scars that have built on Mingyu’s heart since he was just five years old. “You’re not annoying and you’re definitely not stupid,” he says, kicking Mingyu’s foot when he refuses to look Wonwoo in the eyes. “I would know,” he continues when Mingyu finally looks at him, “I’m your tutor. You’re actually a very good student, you just need guidance.”

Mingyu smiles at him, kicking Wonwoo back. “You still think I’m loud, though?”

Wonwoo pretends to cover his ears. “Just a little.” Mingyu fakes a pout and Wonwoo’s about to tease him some more when it hits him. He laughs. 

“What?” 

“ Jun? You wanted to be more like… Junhui? ” When Mingyu pouts harder, Wonwoo just shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you, it’s just… I guess I’ve finally found something that we have in common.” 

Mingyu is still confused, but giggles along with Wonwoo anyway. The sun is rising now, and Wonwoo lets out a yawn. 

“Bedtime,” he says, shifting to get up. 

Mingyu gives him a look. “Bedtime?”

“No? It’s pretty late,” Wonwoo says, taking a look at his watch. 

“It’s early. I was just about to head out for early practice.” 

“It’s five in the morning.”

“Exactly,” Mingyu says. “Morning.”

So, maybe not too much in common after all. Still, Wonwoo’s chest feels a little bit lighter now as he heads back upstairs to get some sleep before his classes.