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The prefects' carriage on the Hogwarts Express was, in Hyunjin's professional opinion, a thoroughly tedious place to spend a Tuesday afternoon.

He sat with his back to the window, one leg crossed over the other, watching the Scottish countryside blur past in shades of grey and green. October had barely begun, but already the hills were losing their color, fading into the muted palette of approaching winter. Hyunjin found he couldn't muster much enthusiasm for the view. Not when he had to spend the next two hours in close proximity to people he actively avoided whenever possible.

The carriage itself was pleasant enough—plush velvet benches in deep burgundy, a flickering gas lamp mounted on the wall, a small table scattered with abandoned teacups and forgotten quills. The sort of quiet luxury Hyunjin had grown up with and therefore barely registered. What made it unbearable was the company.

Six prefects from various houses, all pretending to enjoy each other's company for the duration of the journey. A Slytherin sixth-year named Bletchley was holding forth about Quidditch standings, his voice carrying over the rhythm of the train. A Ravenclaw girl was marking essays with aggressive flicks of her quill, red ink spattering across the parchment. And directly across from Hyunjin, looking infuriatingly comfortable despite the awkward angle of his legs, sat Kim Seungmin.

Hufflepuff prefect. Top of their shared Potions class. The only person at Hogwarts who consistently outperformed Hyunjin at anything.

Seungmin was reading, of course he was reading. A Muggle paperback, by the look of it, the cover was creased and soft, the pages yellowed at the edges from multiple readings. He held it with the casual intimacy of someone who had read it a dozen times before, his lips moving slightly as he turned each page. Every few seconds, he'd push his glasses up his nose with his knuckle, never once looking up from the text.

Hyunjin watched him read and felt something complicated twist in his chest. It wasn't quite annoyance, though annoyance was certainly present. It was more like... recognition. The way you notice someone who moves through the world the same way you do. Seungmin was always reading, watching and always three steps ahead in Potions, raising his hand with the correct answer before Hyunjin had even finished formulating his thoughts.

It was infuriating.

"So," Bletchley said loudly, apparently giving up on Quidditch as a topic, "any exciting patrol stories from last term? I heard Peeves gave the Ravenclaw common room a right sorting over the summer."

The Ravenclaw girl, Davis, Hyunjin remembered, fifth year, looked up from her marking. "He filled the corridor outside with floating custard. Took Filch three days to clean it up."

"Brilliant," Bletchley grinned.

"It was not brilliant. It smelled like week-old milk for a week. And it got into the carpets. Professor Flitwick still hasn't got the stain out of his favourite armchair."

Seungmin turned a page, entirely uninterested in this conversation.

Hyunjin found his gaze drifting back to him. To the way his hair fell across his forehead, slightly too long and slightly messy, as if he'd been running his fingers through it while reading. To the way his jumper—mustard yellow, obviously Hufflepuff, with a small hole at the cuff of his left sleeve—looked soft and well-worn and how his fingers curved around the book's spine, gentle and sure.

Stop staring, he told himself firmly. He's your rival. You're supposed to be focusing on how to beat him this term, not on the way his lips move when he reads.

"Do you have anything to contribute, Hwang?"

Hyunjin blinked. Bletchley was looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry?"

"Patrol stories. Anything interesting happen on your rounds last term?"

"No," Hyunjin said flatly. "Nothing interesting ever happens on patrol. That's rather the point."

Bletchley's expression soured. He'd never liked Hyunjin.. too pretty, too privileged, too obviously destined for Head Boy if he could just stop being outshone in Potions by a Hufflepuff who didn't even try to be competitive. Hyunjin knew what people thought of him. He'd stopped caring years ago.

"Well," Bletchley muttered, "no need to be rude about it."

"I wasn't being rude. I was being accurate."

Across the carriage, Seungmin made a small sound. It might have been a laugh, quickly suppressed. Hyunjin's head snapped toward him, but Seungmin's face was carefully blank, his eyes still on his book.

He definitely laughed, Hyunjin thought. At me? With me? I can't tell.

That was the problem with Seungmin. He was impossible to read. His face gave nothing away, just that neutral expression, those dark eyes that seemed to see everything and reveal nothing. Hyunjin had spent two years trying to figure him out and had made precisely zero progress.

The carriage fell into uneasy silence. Outside, the hills had given way to the beginnings of proper mountains, grey stone peeking through the heather. They'd be at Hogsmeade station within the hour. Hyunjin found himself counting down the minutes.

"So," Davis said, apparently determined to fill every silence, "the first prefect meeting of term is Monday evening, yes? Usual time?"

"Seven o'clock," Seungmin said, without looking up from his book.

"Right. In the prefects' bathroom?"

"No," Seungmin said. "Professor Sprout sent a memo over the summer. It's been moved to the Charms corridor classroom. The old one, near the statue of the bald wizard with the missing nose."

"How do you know that?"

Seungmin finally looked up. His eyes were dark brown, almost black in the low light of the carriage, and they fixed on Davis with mild surprise. "I read the memo?"

"Oh." Davis looked embarrassed. "Right. Of course. I haven't checked my post yet."

Seungmin nodded once and returned to his book.

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek. Of course Seungmin had read the memo. Seungmin read everything. He probably memorized everything. It was exhausting, having a rival who actually did the work instead of coasting on natural talent like a normal person.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. The velvet was soft but the carriage was warm, and his travelling cloak was too heavy, and he was bored and irritated and couldn't stop looking at the boy across from him.

Think about something else, he told himself firmly. Anything else.

He thought about the letter in his pocket. His father's precise handwriting, elegant and cold, on cream-colored parchment that still smelled faintly of the manor's study. I expect your O.W.L. results to reflect our family's standards this year. No more distractions. No more mediocrity.

Mediocrity. Coming second in Potions to Kim Seungmin was not mediocrity. It was excellence, narrowly beaten by someone who apparently had nothing better to do than memorize textbooks for fun. But Hyunjin knew better than to argue with his father. You didn't argue with your father. You simply... performed. Or you didn't.

He'd been performing for sixteen years. He was very good at it.

"Hwang?"

He looked up. Seungmin was watching him, head tilted slightly. There was something in his expression Hyunjin couldn't name—curiosity, maybe. Or concern. Which was absurd, because Seungmin didn't care about him. They were rivals and they barely spoke outside of class.

"You were frowning," Seungmin said quietly. "Just now. You looked..."

"I'm fine," Hyunjin said, too quickly. "Thinking about O.W.L.s."

Seungmin's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push. "Right. O.W.L.s." He returned to his book.

Hyunjin watched him for another moment, then forced himself to look away. Out the window. At the mountains, anywhere but at the boy who kept beating him, who kept being there, who apparently noticed when Hyunjin frowned and thought that was worth commenting on.

Stop it, he told himself. Just stop.

He didn't stop. He never could.

The train pulled into Hogsmeade station in a great billow of steam, and Hyunjin was the first one out of the carriage. He needed air and space to stop thinking about warm brown eyes and small, knowing smiles.

The platform was chaotic with students streaming off the train, trunks levitating, owls hooting in their cages, first-years looking lost and terrified and thrilled all at once. Hyunjin spotted his own trunk easily enough; a first-year was struggling to lift it, and he waved his wand absently to send it floating toward the carriages.

"Hwang!"

He turned. Professor McGonagall was striding toward him, her tartan cloak billowing behind her. She looked, as always, like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Walk with me." She fell into step beside him, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. "I wanted to speak with you before term starts. About the prefect meetings."

Hyunjin kept his expression neutral. "Of course."

"I'm aware you and Prefect Kim have something of an... academic rivalry."

Something of an. Hyunjin nearly laughed. "We're competitive, yes."

"Competitive is fine. Competitive is healthy." McGonagall's gaze flicked to him, sharp as a knife. "What I won't tolerate is that competitiveness interfering with your duties. You'll be patrolling together this term and I expect professionalism."

Hyunjin stopped walking. "Together? With Kim?"

"Is that a problem?"

Yes, he thought. Yes, it's a problem. He's infuriating. He's always right. He notices when I frown. I can't stop looking at him. I don't know why I can't stop looking at him.

"No," he said. "No problem."

"Good." McGonagall nodded once, sharply. "Your first joint patrol is Thursday evening. Eight o'clock, seventh floor corridor. Don't be late."

She swept off before he could respond, disappearing into the crowd of students.

Hyunjin stood frozen for a long moment, watching the steam rise from the train. Patrolling with Kim Seungmin. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

"Hyunjin!"

He turned. Jeongin was bounding toward him, all gangly limbs and bright smile, his trunk trailing behind him like an afterthought. He looked exactly as he always did: rumpled, cheerful, and completely oblivious to Hyunjin's internal crisis.

"There you are! I looked for you on the train but Jisung said you were in the prefects' carriage and I didn't want to interrupt." Jeongin skidded to a stop beside him, slightly out of breath. "How was the journey?"

"Fine," Hyunjin said.

"You look like someone cursed your homework."

"I'm fine, Jeongin."

Jeongin studied him for a moment, his head tilted in a way that reminded Hyunjin, uncomfortably, of Seungmin. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Come on, let's find a carriage before they're all gone. I want to sit by the window."

They walked toward the horseless carriages with invisible thestrals pulling them, Hyunjin knew, though he'd never been able to see them. Jeongin chattered happily about his summer, about the new Quidditch captain, about a prank Jisung was planning for the first week of term. Hyunjin let the words wash over him, nodding at appropriate intervals, his mind elsewhere.

Thursday evening. Eighth floor corridor. Kim Seungmin.

This will be fine, he told himself. You've managed worse. You've managed Potions with him every week for two years. One patrol is nothing.

He didn't believe it for a second.

The Great Hall was just as magnificent as Hyunjin remembered. Thousands of candles floated above the four house tables, casting warm light over the enchanted ceiling, which tonight showed a clear starry sky. The Sorting Hat sat on a stool at the front, looking ancient and slightly shabby, its folds worn soft by centuries of use.

Hyunjin took his usual seat at the Slytherin table, halfway down on the left, where he could see the doors. Old habits. His father had taught him always to face the entrance. You never know who might walk through, he'd said. Be ready.

He was always ready. It was exhausting.

"Hyunjin!" Jisung slid onto the bench beside him, already reaching for a bread roll. "How was your summer? Did you go anywhere exciting? I went to visit my grandmother in Wales and she kept trying to feed me and honestly I think I gained three stone—my robes are tight, Hyunjin, it's a disaster!"

"It was fine," Hyunjin said. "I stayed at the manor."

Jisung's expression flickered, just briefly, just enough for Hyunjin to notice. Everyone knew what the Hwang manor was like. Everyone knew Hyunjin's family. "Right. Well. That sounds... nice?"

"It was fine," Hyunjin repeated.

Across the hall, the Hufflepuff table was a sea of yellow and black, warm and welcoming in a way the Slytherin table never quite managed. Hyunjin found himself scanning it without meaning to, looking for a familiar head of dark hair, a mustard-yellow jumper with a hole in the cuff.

Stop it, he told himself firmly. Stop looking for him.

He found him anyway. Seungmin was sitting near the middle of the table, half-turned to talk to someone beside him. He was laughing at something, really laughing, his whole face transformed by it, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his shoulders shaking. He looked different when he laughed. Softer, warmer perhaps. Like someone Hyunjin might actually want to talk to, if they weren't rivals.

Hyunjin looked away.

The sorting began. First-years shuffled up to the stool in ones and twos, looking terrified and thrilled in equal measure. The Hat called out houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and the tables cheered accordingly. Hyunjin clapped when new Slytherins joined them, but his heart wasn't in it.

You're being ridiculous, he thought. You've been at school for less than two hours and you're already obsessed with watching him. Get a grip.

Dinner was served. Hyunjin ate without tasting, answered Jisung's questions without really hearing them, and tried very hard not to look at the Hufflepuff table.

He failed, obviously. But he tried.

The first prefect meeting of term was exactly as tedious as Hyunjin had expected.

The old Charms corridor classroom was dusty and cold, its windows looking out onto the darkened grounds. A dozen prefects sat in a rough semicircle on mismatched chairs, most of them looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. Professor Sprout stood at the front, beaming at them with her usual enthusiasm.

"Welcome back, everyone! I hope you all had lovely summers. Now, before we get into the boring administrative business, I'd like to introduce our new prefects—"

Hyunjin tuned out. He'd heard this speech twice before, when he'd first been made prefect and then again at the start of last term. Same points about responsibility, same reminders about setting a good example, same warnings about not abusing prefect privileges. He could recite it in his sleep.

Instead, he watched Seungmin.

The Hufflepuff was sitting two seats to his left, taking notes. Actual notes, on actual parchment, with actual ink. His handwriting was neat and small, each letter perfectly formed. Every few seconds, he'd glance up at Professor Sprout, then back down to his parchment, then up again. He was paying attention. Of course he was paying attention. He probably paid attention in his sleep.

Stop watching him, Hyunjin told himself. This is getting pathetic.

He looked at the window instead. The glass was frosted at the edges; outside, the first hints of autumn frost were beginning to silver the grass. It was peaceful. Nothing like the chaos of the Great Hall.

"—and finally, patrol assignments."

Hyunjin's attention snapped back.

Professor Sprout was holding a list of parchment, squinting at it through her spectacles. "Now, most of you will be patrolling with someone from your own house, as usual. But we do have a few mixed pairs this term, to encourage inter-house cooperation." She beamed at them. "Lovely opportunity to make new friends!"

Seungmin's quill had stopped moving.

Hyunjin held his breath.

"Let's see... Davis and Bletchley, you'll be doing the fifth floor together. Macmillan and Goldstein, the East Tower. And Hwang and Kim—" she looked up, smiling warmly— "you'll be taking the seventh floor corridor. Thursday evenings, eight o'clock. I'm sure you'll get along splendidly."

Hyunjin felt Seungmin's gaze on him and forced himself to meet it.

Seungmin's expression was carefully neutral, but there was something in his eyes, wariness, maybe. Or curiosity. The same look he'd given Hyunjin on the train, when he'd noticed the frown.

"Splendidly," Seungmin repeated, his voice flat.

Professor Sprout either didn't notice his tone or chose to ignore it. "Right! Any questions? No? Wonderful. Meeting adjourned."

Chairs scraped against stone as prefects stood and gathered their things. Hyunjin stayed where he was, watching Seungmin pack his notes into a neat leather satchel. He moved with the same precision he brought to everything, careful and deliberate. Nothing wasted.

"Thursday," Hyunjin said.

Seungmin looked up. "Thursday."

"Eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Hyunjin was suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were—barely three feet apart, close enough that he could see the tiny mole on Seungmin's left cheek, the one he'd never noticed before. Close enough that he could smell him: parchment and something sweet, like honey or vanilla. Or, close enough that he could see the way the candlelight caught in his glasses, making his eyes look almost golden.

He's pretty, Hyunjin thought, and immediately wanted to take it back. No. He's my rival. I don't think he's pretty. I think he's annoying. That's what I think.

"This will be fine," Seungmin said finally. "We're professionals."

"Professionals," Hyunjin echoed.

Seungmin nodded once, sharply, and left.

Hyunjin watched him go, his chest doing something complicated. Professionals, he thought. Right. Professionals who can't stop looking at each other. Professionals who notice when the other frowns. Professionals who think about each other on trains and in carriages and at dinner.

This would end well.

It wouldn't, of course. He knew that already. But knowing something and stopping it were two very different things, and Hyunjin had never been very good at the latter.

Later that night, in the Slytherin common room, Hyunjin sat by the fire and tried to read. The flames cast flickering shadows across the walls, and the lake pressed against the windows, dark and endless. It should have been peaceful. It usually was.

But tonight, he couldn't focus.

He kept thinking about the meeting. About Seungmin's careful notes, his flat voice, his unreadable expression. About the way he'd said professionals like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hyunjin.

What does he think of me? Hyunjin wondered. Does he hate me? Does he think about me at all?

Probably not. Seungmin had better things to do than think about Hyunjin. He had friends, clearly, Hyunjin had seen him laughing with them at dinner, seen the way they leaned into each other, comfortable and easy. He had his studies, his books, his perfect Potions grades. He didn't need to waste mental energy on a Slytherin rival.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, apparently had nothing better to do than obsess over someone who barely acknowledged his existence outside of class.

Pathetic, he told himself. Absolutely pathetic.

He closed his book, stood, and headed for the dormitory. Maybe sleep would reset his brain. Maybe tomorrow he'd wake up and stop thinking about warm brown eyes and small, knowing smiles.

Maybe.

Thursday arrived faster than Hyunjin wanted it to.

He spent the intervening days trying very hard not to think about Kim Seungmin, and failing very hard at that very hard thing. Seungmin was everywhere—in Potions, raising his hand with the answer before Hyunjin could even process the question, in the library, hunched over textbooks with that same precise concentration, or in the Great Hall, laughing with his Hufflepuff friends, looking soft and warm and annoying.

By Thursday evening, Hyunjin's nerves were strung tight as piano wire.

He arrived at the seventh floor corridor at ten to eight, because his father had taught him that punctuality was the bare minimum of respect you could show someone, and Hyunjin was nothing if not well-trained. The corridor was empty and dim, lit only by flickering torches set into the stone walls. Portraits lined both sides, a stern-looking witch in purple robes, a knight in shining armour who appeared to be asleep, a bowl of fruit that looked suspiciously realistic.

Hyunjin paced.

Eight o'clock came. Eight o'clock went.

At four minutes past, Hyunjin heard footsteps. He turned, already formulating a cutting remark about punctuality, and found Seungmin jogging toward him, slightly out of breath.

"Sorry," Seungmin said, skidding to a stop. "Lost track of time. The library closes earlier on Thursdays and I had to finish a chapter—" He stopped, seemed to realise he was rambling, and pressed his lips together. "Sorry."

Hyunjin's cutting remark died in his throat. Seungmin's cheeks were flushed from running, his hair slightly mussed, his glasses slightly askew. He looked flustered, human, nothing like the infuriatingly perfect Potions rival Hyunjin had built up in his head.

"It's fine," Hyunjin heard himself say. "You're here now."

Seungmin blinked, as if he'd expected an argument. "Right. Yes. I'm here." He straightened his glasses, adjusted his satchel, and fell into step beside Hyunjin. "Shall we?"

They walked.

The seventh floor corridor was long and mostly empty, home to various classrooms that saw little use after dark. Their footsteps echoed against the stone, a strange kind of duet with Hyunjin's longer stride and Seungmin's quicker pace. They didn't speak.

This is fine, Hyunjin told himself. Just walking. Just doing our jobs. Nothing weird about this.

"Have you done patrols before?" Seungmin asked suddenly.

Hyunjin startled slightly. "What?"

"Patrols. Have you done them before? I know we both have the prefect experience, but some people get assigned more than others." Seungmin was looking straight ahead, his voice casual. "I did quite a few last term. The younger years get up to all sorts after curfew."

"Right." Hyunjin cleared his throat. "Yes. I've done patrols."

"Good." A pause. "So you know the drill, then. Check classrooms, look for students out of bed, confiscate anything suspicious."

"I know the drill."

"Good."

Silence fell again. Hyunjin found himself hyperaware of Seungmin's presence beside him like the soft rustle of his robes, the faint scent of honey and parchment, the way his shadow stretched and flickered in the torchlight.

This is unbearable, Hyunjin thought. How do people do this? Just... walk next to someone and make conversation?

He was saved from having to figure it out by a noise up ahead—a muffled giggle, quickly shushed. Seungmin's head snapped up, and without a word, they both moved forward.

Around the corner, a first-year boy and girl were pressed against the wall, holding hands and looking guilty. The boy's tie was Gryffindor red and gold, the girl's was Ravenclaw blue and bronze. They couldn't have been more than thirteen.

"Out after curfew," Seungmin said mildly. "And in a dark corridor. Really?"

The boy's face went pale. "We were just—we weren't—"

"Walking back from the library," the girl said quickly. "We lost track of time."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "The library is on the first floor."

"We got lost."

"On the seventh floor."

"We're very bad with directions."

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Beside him, Seungmin's expression remained perfectly neutral, but there was something in his eyes like amusement, maybe. Or fondness, it was hard to tell.

"Right," Seungmin said. "Well, lost or not, you're out after curfew. Five points from Gryffindor and five from Ravenclaw. Now go back to your common rooms before I make it ten."

The boy and girl exchanged a look, then scurried off down the corridor, hand in hand. Hyunjin watched them go, something twisting in his chest. They looked so young, so unafraid.

"You didn't have to take points," he said quietly.

Seungmin glanced at him. "They were breaking rules."

"I know. But they weren't hurting anyone."

"No." Seungmin's voice was soft. "They weren't." He started walking again, and Hyunjin fell into step beside him. "But rules exist for a reason. If we don't enforce them consistently, they stop meaning anything."

"That's very Hufflepuff of you."

Seungmin's lips twitched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know." Hyunjin shrugged. "Hufflepuffs like rules. Order. Fairness."

"And Slytherins don't?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

They walked in silence for a few steps. Then Seungmin said, quietly, "I think Slytherins like rules too. Just... different ones. The ones that benefit them."

Hyunjin stopped walking. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?"

Seungmin had stopped too, and was looking at him with those dark, unreadable eyes. There was no accusation in his expression, no judgement. Just curiosity.

Hyunjin opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because Seungmin wasn't wrong, exactly. His family had taught him to use rules, not follow them. To bend them to his advantage and make them work for him.

"That's not all Slytherins," he said finally. "That's not me."

Seungmin studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." Seungmin started walking again. "I believe you."

Hyunjin stood frozen for a second, watching him go. I believe you. Such simple words. Such an easy thing to say. But no one had ever said them to Hyunjin before. Not like that, not like they meant it.

He hurried to catch up.

They finished the patrol without further incident. No more lost first-years, no Peeves, no mysterious noises. Just the two of them, walking in companionable silence through the dim corridors of the castle.

At the end, they stopped at the junction where their paths would diverge—Hyunjin toward the Slytherin dungeons, through the hidden entrance behind the tapestry, Seungmin toward the Hufflepuff basement, past the kitchens and the barrels that served as their door.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"If you can manage to be on time."

Seungmin's eyes narrowed, but there was no real anger in them. "I was four minutes late."

"Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, actually."

"You counted?"

Hyunjin felt his cheeks warm. "No. I just... noticed."

Noticed. What a pathetic word. He'd done more than notice. He'd watched the minute hand on his father's pocket watch tick past eight, past eight-oh-one, past eight-oh-two, each second stretching like an eternity. He'd imagined Seungmin dead in a ditch, kidnapped by dark wizards, eaten by the giant squid, anything to explain why he wasn't there, why Hyunjin was alone in a dark corridor, why his chest felt so tight.

Seungmin was watching him with that unreadable expression again. "Well," he said finally. "I'll try to be more punctual next week."

"See that you do."

A pause. Then Seungmin smiled—just slightly, just at the corners of his mouth—and turned away. "Goodnight, Hwang."

"Goodnight."

Hyunjin watched him go, watched his figure disappear around a corner, and watched the torchlight flicker in his wake. Then he stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, trying to figure out why his heart was beating so fast.

This is fine, he told himself. This is just patrol. Just two prefects doing their jobs. Nothing more.

He almost believed it.

The second patrol arrived faster than Hyunjin expected, though not nearly fast enough to stop him from thinking about the first one approximately six hundred times over the intervening days.

He'd replayed every moment. Every word, every glance, every single second of that walk through the seventh floor corridor, when Kim Seungmin had said I believe you like it was nothing, like it was easy, like Hyunjin was someone worth believing in.

It meant nothing, obviously. It was just a thing people said. A polite response to a conversation they were both desperate to end. Seungmin probably hadn't given it a second thought.

Hyunjin had given it approximately five hundred and ninety-nine.

By the time Thursday rolled around again, he'd talked himself into approximately seventeen different emotional states, ranging from this is fine, we're professionals to I should transfer to Durmstrang to maybe if I fake my own death and back again. He arrived at the seventh floor corridor at ten to eight, same as last week, and tried very hard to look like he hadn't been thinking about this moment for seven days straight.

Eight o'clock came. Eight o'clock went.

At three minutes past—an improvement, Hyunjin noted despite himself—footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Seungmin appeared around the corner, slightly out of breath but less flustered than last time. His hair was marginally tidier. His glasses were straight. He looked like he'd made an effort.

"Evening, Hwang."

Hwang. Not Hyunjin. Of course not Hyunjin. They weren't on first-name terms. They barely spoke. This was professional. This was fine.

"Kim," Hyunjin replied, and was pleased to hear his voice come out steady.

Seungmin fell into step beside him without another word, and they began their rounds.

The seventh floor corridor looked exactly as it had last week with dim torchlight, sleeping portraits, the occasional creak of ancient stone settling. A suit of armour stood guard at the junction near the Charms classroom, its visor slightly askew. Hyunjin had walked past it a hundred times without really seeing it.

Tonight, he saw everything. The way the torchlight caught the edge of Seungmin's glasses. The way his robes swished softly with each step. The way he kept his hands clasped behind his back, a habit Hyunjin hadn't noticed before.

Stop it, he told himself. Focus on the patrol. Look for students. Do your job.

They walked in silence for several minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, more like they were both waiting for something. For the other to speak or a student to appear and give them something to do. Maybe even for the hour to end so they could go back to their separate lives.

"How was your week?" Seungmin asked suddenly.

Hyunjin startled slightly. "What?"

"Your week. How was it?" Seungmin was looking straight ahead, his expression neutral. "Classes, I mean. We have Transfiguration together on Tuesdays, but we don't really talk."

"No," Hyunjin agreed. "We don't."

A pause. Then: "My week was fine. Potions was interesting on Monday. Slughorn seemed pleased with your Draught of Peace."

Hyunjin blinked. Seungmin was... making conversation? About Potions? About Hyunjin's Potions?

"It turned out alright," he said carefully.

"Better than alright. It was the best in the class." Seungmin glanced at him briefly. "I noticed."

Hyunjin didn't know what to say to that. Seungmin noticed his potion? Seungmin, who always finished first, who always got the highest marks, who had no reason to pay attention to anyone else's work—noticed his?

"Yours was good too," he managed.

Seungmin's lips twitched. "Mine was adequate."

"It was better than adequate and you know it."

"Maybe," Seungmin's voice was light. "But yours was still the best."

They walked a few more steps in silence. Hyunjin's brain was doing complicated gymnastics, trying to parse this interaction. Seungmin was complimenting him. Seungmin was noticing him. This was not how their rivalry was supposed to work.

"You don't have to say that," Hyunjin said finally. "Just because we're patrolling together."

"I'm not saying it because we're patrolling together." Seungmin's tone was matter-of-fact. "I'm saying it because it's true. Your Draught of Peace was excellent. The color was perfect, the consistency was right, and you added the powdered moonstone at exactly the right moment. Slughorn was impressed. Anyone with eyes could see it."

Hyunjin stopped walking.

Seungmin stopped too, turning to face him with a slight frown. "What?"

"Nothing." Hyunjin started walking again, faster now. "Just... surprised you noticed."

"Why wouldn't I notice?"

"I don't know." Hyunjin shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "You're usually focused on your own work."

Seungmin was hesitated. Then, "I notice a lot of things."

They walked past the sleeping knight, past the bowl of fruit that definitely moved when Hyunjin wasn't looking, and a door that led to a broom cupboard he'd never understood the purpose of. The silence between them felt different now. Less like waiting, more like... something else. Something Hyunjin couldn't name.

"There's a first-year," Seungmin said quietly.

Hyunjin followed his gaze. At the far end of the corridor, a small figure was hovering uncertainly outside a classroom door. Even from this distance, Hyunjin could see the Hufflepuff yellow on their tie.

They approached. The first-year—a boy, small and round-faced, looking utterly terrified—pressed himself against the wall as they drew near.

"Out after curfew," Seungmin said. Not unkindly, just stating a fact.

The boy nodded frantically. "I know, I'm sorry, I just— I couldn't sleep and I thought I'd— I was looking for the—" He stopped, apparently realizing he had no good explanation.

Seungmin's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Lost?"

Another frantic nod.

"First few weeks are always hard," Seungmin said. "The castle moves around. It takes time to learn your way." He glanced at Hyunjin, then back at the boy. "Which house?"

"Hufflepuff," the boy whispered.

Seungmin's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but was definitely warmer than his usual neutral expression. "Same as me, then. Come on, I'll walk you back."

The boy's eyes widened. "You will?"

"I will." Seungmin looked at Hyunjin. "That alright with you? We can finish the patrol after."

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice. Because Seungmin was being kind. Genuinely kind, without any expectation of reward or recognition. Just... helping a lost first-year because it was the right thing to do.

That's very Hufflepuff of you, Hyunjin had said last week, and Seungmin had asked what he meant. Now Hyunjin thought he understood. It wasn't about rules, not really. It was about this. About seeing someone small and scared and choosing to help.

They walked the boy back toward the Hufflepuff common room, Seungmin leading the way through passages Hyunjin had never seen before. The boy, his name was Colin, apparently, and he was worried about his Potions homework, chattered nervously the whole way, and Seungmin listened. Actually listened, nodding at appropriate moments, asking quiet questions, making the boy feel seen.

By the time they reached the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff common room, Colin had stopped shaking.

"You'll find your way next time," Seungmin told him. "The castle's less frightening once you've been lost in it a few times. Just remember that if you end up near the kitchens, you've gone too far down. If you find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, you've gone too far up."

Colin nodded seriously, committing this to memory. "Thank you, prefect."

"Seungmin," he corrected. "Or Kim, if you prefer. But not prefect. That makes me feel old."

Colin grinned, that was the first real smile Hyunjin had seen from him, and scurried off toward the barrels that served as the Hufflepuff entrance.

Hyunjin and Seungmin stood in silence for a moment, watching him go.

"You're good at that," Hyunjin said quietly.

"At what?"

"Making people feel... not scared."

Seungmin glanced at him, something unreadable in his eyes. "He was just lost. Anyone would have helped."

"No," Hyunjin said. "Anyone wouldn't have. Most people would have taken points and sent him on his way. You walked him back and listened to him. You made him feel like it was okay to be lost."

Seungmin was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, "I remember what it was like. First year. Not knowing where anything was, feeling like everyone else had figured it out except me." He shrugged. "It's nice when someone helps."

They started walking again, back toward the seventh floor to finish their patrol. The silence between them was different now, less awkward, more comfortable. Like they'd crossed some invisible line and ended up on the same side of something.

"You're not what I expected," Hyunjin said, before he could stop himself.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Someone more... competitive, I suppose. Fiercer. You're always so calm in class. So focused. I thought you probably didn't notice anyone else."

"I notice everyone," Seungmin said. "I just don't always show it."

They walked past the sleeping knight again. This time, he snored.

"What do you notice about me?" Hyunjin asked, and immediately wanted to take it back. That was too personal, too vulnerable. They were rivals. They’re not supposed to ask each other things like that.

But Seungmin answered anyway.

"I notice that you're always early to everything. That you check your watch more than anyone I've ever met. That you bite your lip when you're thinking about something complicated." He paused. "I notice that you pretend not to care about things you clearly care about very much."

Hyunjin's throat felt tight. "That's—"

"It's not an insult." Seungmin's voice was soft. "It's just an observation."

They walked in silence for a few more steps. Hyunjin's heart was doing something strange in his chest—beating too fast, then too slow, then too fast again. No one had ever noticed those things about him. No one had ever seen him like that.

"You bite your nails," he heard himself say. "When you're reading something intense. You don't realize you're doing it."

Seungmin looked at him sharply.

"And you have a mole on your left cheek," Hyunjin continued, because apparently his brain had decided to stop filtering his thoughts. "Just below your eye. And when you're concentrating, you push your glasses up with your knuckle instead of your finger. And you smell like honey."

Honey. He'd said that out loud. He'd actually said that out loud.

Seungmin had stopped walking. His expression was strange—surprised, maybe. Or confused. Or something else Hyunjin couldn't read.

"You noticed all that?" Seungmin asked quietly.

Hyunjin felt his face heat. "I notice a lot of things too."

They stared at each other for a long moment. The torches flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a portrait muttered in its sleep.

Then Seungmin smiled, a real smile, not the slight twitch of lips Hyunjin had seen before, but something warm and genuine that reached his eyes and transformed his whole face.

"Hwang," he said.

"What?"

"You're very strange."

Hyunjin should have been offended. Instead, he felt something warm bloom in his chest. "So I've been told."

They finished the patrol without finding any more lost students. At the junction where they'd part ways, they stopped, same as last week.

"Same time?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

Seungmin nodded and turned to go. Then he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Hwang?"

"What?"

"Next week. I'll be on time."

Hyunjin watched him disappear around the corner, the faint scent of honey lingering in the air behind him.

I'll be on time, he'd said. Like it mattered. Like showing up on time for Hyunjin was something worth making an effort for.

Hyunjin stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, trying to figure out why his heart was still beating too fast.

The weeks that followed fell into a rhythm.

Thursday evenings, eight o'clock, seventh floor corridor. Seungmin arrived at exactly eight o'clock now—not early, not late, just on time, as promised. They'd walk their rounds together, checking classrooms, chasing off the occasional lost student, talking about nothing and everything.

Hyunjin learned things about Seungmin. Small things, at first. That he preferred tea to coffee, but only if it wasn't too strong. That he had a younger sister who wrote him letters every week, long and rambling and full of drawings. That he'd grown up in a Muggle neighbourhood and hadn't known he was a wizard until his Hogwarts letter arrived, because his parents were Muggles too and had no idea what to make of a son who could make things float when he got angry.

"My mom cried for three days," Seungmin told him one evening, his voice light but his eyes distant. "Not because she was sad. Because she was scared. She didn't understand what was happening to me. Neither did I, really."

Hyunjin didn't know what to say to that. His own childhood had been so different, magic everywhere, expected, demanded. His father had started teaching him basic spells before he could properly hold a wand. There had never been a moment when Hyunjin didn't know what he was.

"That must have been hard," he said finally.

Seungmin shrugged. "It was what it was. They're better now. They've met other wizarding parents, learned more about it. My mum sends me Muggle sweets every month because she's convinced the Hogwarts ones aren't proper food."

He smiled as he said it—fond, warm, nothing like the careful neutrality he wore in class. Hyunjin felt something twist in his chest.

"You're lucky," he said quietly.

Seungmin looked at him. "Am I?"

"To have parents who care like that. Who send you things. Who worry."

Seungmin was quiet for a moment, "Your parents don't?"

Hyunjin laughed, a short, hollow sound. "My father sends me letters. They're not like your sister's. They're lists. Expectations. Reminders of what I'm supposed to be."

"And your mother?"

"I don't have one. Not anymore."

The words came out flat, practiced. He'd said them so many times over the years, to so many people who didn't really want to know more. It was easy now, automatic.

But Seungmin didn't look away. Didn't offer empty condolences or change the subject. He just nodded, slow and steady, and said "I'm sorry."

Simple and honest. No pity, no performance. Just... acknowledgment.

Hyunjin didn't know what to do with that.

October deepened into November. The castle grew colder, the fires burned brighter, and the patrols became the thing Hyunjin looked forward to most.

He didn't examine why too closely. Didn't think about the way his chest felt lighter on Thursday mornings, or the way he caught himself glancing at the clock throughout the day, counting down the hours until eight o'clock. Didn't analyze the way his pulse quickened when he rounded the corner and saw Seungmin already waiting, always on time now, always with that small nod of acknowledgment that felt somehow like coming home.

It was just patrol. Just two prefects doing their jobs. Nothing more.

Except it was more. It was so much more, and Hyunjin didn't know what to do about it.

"Can I ask you something?" Seungmin said one evening, as they passed the sleeping knight for the dozenth time.

"Obviously."

Seungmin hesitated—unusual for him, he was usually so sure, so measured. "Why do you check your watch so much?"

Hyunjin's hand went automatically to his pocket, where his father's watch sat heavy and cold. "Habit."

"It's more than habit." Seungmin's voice was gentle. "You check it every few minutes during patrol. Even when we're not doing anything, even when there's no reason to know the time."

Hyunjin was quiet for a long moment. Then, because it was Seungmin, because Seungmin noticed things and didn't judge them, he answered.

"It was my grandfather's. He gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me when I started Hogwarts." He pulled it out, gold, heavy, intricately engraved with the Hwang family crest. "It's not just a watch. It's a reminder of what's expected. Of what I'm supposed to become."

Seungmin studied it, his expression thoughtful. "And checking it constantly helps?"

"No," Hyunjin laughed softly. "Nothing helps. But I don't know how to stop."

They walked in silence for a few steps. Then Seungmin said, quietly: "You know you're more than what your family expects, right?"

Hyunjin looked at him sharply.

"I mean it." Seungmin met his gaze steadily. "I've watched you for two years, Hwang. In class, in the corridors, on these patrols. You're not just your family name. You're not just your father's expectations. You're... you."

You're you. Such simple words, such an easy thing to say. But no one had ever said them to Hyunjin before. Not like that. Not like they meant it.

"Kim," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended.

Seungmin waited.

"I don't know how to be anything else."

Seungmin's expression softened. "Maybe you don't have to figure it out tonight." He started walking again, and Hyunjin fell into step beside him. "Maybe you just have to keep showing up. Keep being you. The rest will sort itself out."

They walked the rest of the patrol in comfortable silence. At the junction, they stopped, same as always.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

Seungmin nodded and turned to go. Then he paused, looking back. "Hwang?"

"What?"

"Thank you. For telling me. About the watch." A small smile. "I know that wasn't easy."

Hyunjin watched him disappear around the corner, the faint scent of honey lingering in the air behind him.

Thank you, he'd said. Like Hyunjin had given him something precious. Like Hyunjin's trust was worth having.

Hyunjin stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, trying to figure out why his eyes felt slightly wet.

Then, November brought frost and the first hints of snow, and Potions class with it.

The dungeon classroom was warmer than the rest of the castle, heated by the bubbling cauldrons and the small fire Slughorn kept burning in the corner. Hyunjin took his usual seat at the front, close enough to see the blackboard clearly but far enough from the fire to avoid overheating. Beside him, the seat that had been empty for two years was suddenly, inexplicably occupied.

"Mind if I sit here?" Seungmin asked, already sliding onto the bench. "Bletchley's partnered with Davis this term and I'd rather not work with someone who thinks stirring clockwise and counter-clockwise are the same thing."

Hyunjin blinked. "You want to partner with me?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No, I just—" Hyunjin shook his head. "No, it's fine. Sit."

Seungmin settled in, unpacking his supplies with the same precise efficiency he brought to everything. Hyunjin watched him arrange his ingredients in neat rows: powdered root of asphodel, sopophorous bean juice, moondew, and felt something warm bloom in his chest.

He chose me, he thought. Out of everyone in this class, he chose me.

"Today," Slughorn announced, clapping his hands for attention, "we'll be attempting something rather special. The Draught of Living Death. One of the most complex potions you'll encounter at this level. Requires precise timing, careful attention, and—" he beamed at them— "a steady hand."

Hyunjin glanced at Seungmin. Seungmin glanced back.

"Ready?" Seungmin asked.

"Always."

They worked well together, Hyunjin discovered. Better than well. Where Hyunjin was quick and intuitive, Seungmin was careful and precise. They balanced each other—Hyunjin adding ingredients on instinct, Seungmin checking measurements and timing. By the halfway point, their cauldron was bubbling a perfect pale lilac, exactly as the textbook described.

"This is actually going well," Seungmin murmured, stirring counter-clockwise with steady rhythm.

"Don't jinx it."

"I don't believe in jinxes."

"You should. My family's full of them."

Seungmin's lips twitched. "Noted."

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the bubbling of cauldrons and Slughorn's occasional comments as he circulated through the room. Hyunjin found himself hyperaware of Seungmin beside him with the warmth of his arm when they reached for ingredients at the same time, the soft sound of his breathing, the way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle when he was concentrating.

Stop it, he told himself. Focus on the potion.

"Add the asphodel now," Seungmin said. "Slowly. Seven drops, no more."

Hyunjin reached for the bottle of powdered asphodel and froze.

Two bottles sat side by side on their workbench. One labelled Powdered Asphodel. One labelled Infusion of Wormwood. They looked identical. Same size bottle, same clear liquid inside, same worn labels.

"Which one?" he asked.

Seungmin glanced at the bottles. "The one on the left."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Hyunjin picked up the bottle on the left and unstoppered it. The liquid inside was clear, almost watery—exactly what powdered asphodel should look like. He measured seven drops into the cauldron.

Nothing happened.

"That's strange," Seungmin murmured. "It should have turned blue by now."

They stared at the cauldron. The potion remained stubbornly lilac.

"Maybe we stirred wrong," Hyunjin said.

"We stirred exactly right."

"Maybe the asphodel was old."

"It wasn't. I checked the expiration date this morning."

"Maybe—"

The cauldron exploded.

Not dramatically, no fire or flying debris. Just a sudden whoosh of silver mist that erupted from the potion and billowed outward, filling the immediate area with thick, shimmering fog. It was cold, impossibly cold, like the breath of a dementor on a winter morning.

Hyunjin stumbled back, coughing. Beside him, Seungmin did the same, his hand flying to cover his mouth and nose.

"Bloody hell!" someone shouted. "What happened?"

"Everyone step back!" Slughorn's voice cut through the chaos. "Don't breathe the mist! Everyone to the back of the room, now!"

Students scrambled away from the erupting cauldron. Hyunjin grabbed Seungmin's arm— when had he grabbed Seungmin's arm?—and pulled him toward the back wall, away from the spreading silver fog.

"Are you alright?" he demanded. "Did you breathe any in?"

Seungmin nodded, coughing slightly. "Just a little. You?"

"The same."

They pressed against the cold stone wall, watching as Slughorn waved his wand and vanished the mist with a flick. It dissipated slowly, reluctantly, like smoke from a dying fire. Within minutes, the air was clear again.

"Everyone alright?" Slughorn called out. "No injuries? No one feeling unwell?"

A chorus of 'no's and 'fine's answered him. Hyunjin looked down at his hands. They were shaking slightly, he realized. From adrenaline or fear. From the cold that still lingered in his lungs.

"What happened?" Seungmin asked quietly.

Hyunjin looked at him. Seungmin's face was pale, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He looked shaken, vulnerable. Nothing like the infuriatingly perfect rival Hyunjin was used to.

"I grabbed the wrong bottle," Hyunjin said. "Didn't I?"

Seungmin shook his head slowly. "No. You grabbed the one on the left. That was powdered asphodel. I checked."

"Then why—"

"I don't know." Seungmin pushed off from the wall, straightening his robes. "Maybe the ingredients were bad. Maybe we measured wrong. Maybe—" He stopped, frowning. "Hwang. Your eyes."

Hyunjin blinked. "What about them?"

"They're..." Seungmin leaned closer, studying him with intense focus. "They're silver. Just for a second. I saw it."

"You're imagining things."

"I'm not." Seungmin's voice was firm. "They turned silver. Right after the mist hit us."

Hyunjin wanted to argue, but something stopped him. Because he felt... strange. Not sick, exactly. Just different. Like something had shifted inside him, some door opened that he hadn't known was there.

"Maybe we should go to the hospital wing," he said.

Seungmin nodded slowly. "Probably."

Madame Pomfrey pronounced them both perfectly healthy.

"No traces of any harmful substances," she said, waving her wand over them one last time. "Whatever that mist was, it seems to have dissipated without causing any damage. You're free to go."

Hyunjin sat on the edge of the hospital bed, watching Seungmin across the room. The Hufflepuff was pulling his robes back on, his movements slower than usual, his expression thoughtful.

"You felt it too," Hyunjin said. It wasn't a question.

Seungmin looked up. "Felt what?"

"I don't know. Something. Like..." Hyunjin struggled to find words. "Like something changed."

Seungmin was quiet for a long moment. "Yes."

They looked at each other across the infirmary, and something passed between them, unspoken, unnamed, but real.

"We should get to dinner," Seungmin said finally. "Before it ends."

Hyunjin nodded and stood. They walked out of the hospital wing together, side by side, and parted at the junction without another word.

But that night, as Hyunjin lay in his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had begun. Something he didn't understand. Something that had silver mist and wide brown eyes and a warmth in his chest that wouldn't go away.

He fell asleep eventually, still thinking about it.

Hyunjin fell asleep still thinking about silver mist and the strange look in Seungmin's eyes when he'd said Your eyes turned silver. He fell asleep expecting nothing but darkness.

Instead, he opened his eyes to warmth.

He was standing in a common room he'd never seen before. The walls were stone, like the Slytherin dungeons, but instead of green and silver, everything was soft and golden. Yellow hangings draped the windows, embroidered with badgers in dark thread. Squashy armchairs in buttery yellow were scattered around a crackling fire, some occupied by students in various states of relaxation. Plants lined the windowsills, real plants, green and thriving, not the dark ivy that crept through the dungeons.

Hufflepuff, Hyunjin realized. This is the Hufflepuff common room.

He'd never been inside it. Never even seen a glimpse. The entrance was hidden behind a stack of barrels in a corridor near the kitchens, and only Hufflepuffs knew the password. But here he was, standing in the middle of it, invisible to the students around him.

A group was playing Exploding Snap near the fire, shrieking with laughter when the cards detonated. A girl with bushy hair was curled in an armchair, reading a book thicker than her head, occasionally muttering to herself. Two boys were having an intense discussion about Quidditch, their voices rising and falling in friendly argument.

And there, half-hidden behind a stack of books, sat Kim Seungmin.

He wasn't doing anything remarkable. Just sitting, watching his housemates with a small smile, his glasses slightly askew, a mug of tea cooling beside him. But something about the scene made Hyunjin's chest ache. The way Seungmin looked comfortable. At ease. Surrounded by people who clearly loved him, even if he wasn't in the middle of things.

This is where he belongs, Hyunjin thought. This warmth. This safety. This is what he gets to come home to every night.

He watched as a boy with bright eyes bounded over to Seungmin, flopping onto the arm of his chair and stealing his tea. Seungmin didn't even flinch—just rolled his eyes and reached for the mug, and the boy laughed and gave it back, and it was so easy, so natural, that Hyunjin felt something twist in his chest.

He didn't have this. His common room was beautiful, yes, all green velvet and dark wood, the lake pressing against the windows, silver and elegance. But it wasn't warm. Not like this.

Then Seungmin looked up.

Straight at Hyunjin. Right where he was standing, invisible, impossible to see.

Their eyes met.

And Seungmin smiled, a small, private smile, like he knew something no one else did.

Hyunjin woke with a gasp.

He lay in his four-poster bed, staring at the canopy above him, his heart pounding. The Slytherin dormitory was dark and cold, greenish light filtering through the lake-water windows. Normal. Familiar.

But he could still see Seungmin's smile, feeling the warmth of that yellow common room. He could even still hear the laughter of students who hadn't known he was there.

What the hell was that?

It had felt so real. More real than any dream he'd ever had. He could remember details, the pattern on the hangings, the titles of the books on the shelf near the fire, the way Seungmin's hair had fallen across his forehead. Dreams weren't supposed to be like that. Dreams were fuzzy, indistinct, fading the moment you woke.

This felt like a memory.

Stop it, he told himself firmly. It was just a dream. A weird dream because of the Potions accident. That's all.

He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But the warmth lingered, wrapped around him like a blanket, and it was a long time before his heart stopped pounding.

Across the castle, in the Hufflepuff basement, Seungmin woke with a start.

His dormitory was warm and cosy, round windows looking out onto soft earth and tangled roots. His roommates slept peacefully, their breathing steady. Everything was normal.

So why did his chest feel so heavy?

The dream had been strange. Vivid in a way dreams never were. He'd been in a manor: cold and grand, with high ceilings and portraits that watched him with stern, disapproving eyes. The walls were lined with dark wood, the windows tall and narrow, letting in grey light that seemed to drain all warmth from the world.

He'd walked through corridor after corridor, searching for something, though he didn't know what. Then he'd found a room, a nursery, by the look of it, though it was sparse and cold, nothing like the cosy children's rooms in Muggle catalogues.

And in that room, a boy.

Small, maybe six or seven years old, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones and eyes that looked too old for his face. He was sitting on the floor, alone, surrounded by toys he wasn't playing with. His expression was blank, but his eyes were wet.

"Why can't I be friends with him, mother?"

Seungmin turned. A woman stood in the doorway—beautiful, elegant, dressed in expensive robes. She looked at the boy with something that might have been love, buried deep beneath layers of control.

"Friends with whom, darling?"

"The boy at the station. The one in the yellow scarf. He smiled at me." The boy's voice was small, hopeful. "He looked nice. Can I write to him? Can he come visit?"

The woman's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes hardened. "He seems like he’s going to be a Hufflepuff, Hyunjin."

Seungmin's breath caught. Hyunjin. The boy was Hyunjin. Younger, softer, but unmistakably the same person he saw every day in Potions, on patrols, in the corridors.

"We don't associate with Hufflepuffs," the woman continued. "Not because they're bad people, but because they're... not our kind. Do you understand?"

The boy—young Hyunjin—didn't answer. Just looked down at his hands, small and still.

"Hyunjin." The woman's voice was sharper now. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good." She turned to leave, then paused. "You'll forget about that boy. He's not important."

She left. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

And young Hyunjin sat alone in his cold nursery, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

Seungmin wanted to go to him. Wanted to kneel beside him and say I'm here, I'm the boy, I would have been your friend, I would have written back. But he couldn't move. Could only watch as the boy cried alone, learning his first lesson about the cruelty of the world.

Then Hyunjin looked up. Straight at him, through him.

"You were the boy," young Hyunjin whispered. "At the station. With the yellow scarf. I never forgot you."

Seungmin woke up.

He sat up in bed, gasping, his hand pressed to his chest where his heart was trying to escape. The dream was still there, every detail sharp and clear. The cold manor. The stern-faced mother. Young Hyunjin, crying alone because he wasn't allowed to be friends with a Hufflepuff boy.

That boy was me.

The realization hit him like a Bludger to the chest. Hyunjin had seen him at King's Cross. Had wanted to be friends. Had been forbidden because of their houses. And he'd never forgotten—Seungmin could see it in the way young Hyunjin had said I never forgot you, like it was a secret he'd carried for years.

Why am I dreaming about this? he wondered. Why now? Why Hyunjin?

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling, the dream playing on repeat in his mind. Young Hyunjin's tears. His mother's cold voice. The way he'd looked at Seungmin like he was something precious, something worth remembering.

He never forgot me.

The thought made something ache in Seungmin's chest, something warm and painful and completely confusing.

At breakfast, Hyunjin found himself scanning the Hufflepuff table before he'd even sat down.

There, Seungmin was sitting with his friends, eating porridge, looking perfectly normal. Nothing about him suggested that he'd spent the night in Hyunjin's dreams, warm and golden and surrounded by love.

Stop staring, Hyunjin told himself. It was just a dream. He doesn't know. He can't know.

But he couldn't look away. Couldn't stop thinking about the way dream-Seungmin had looked at him, had seen him, had smiled like they shared a secret.

"Hyunjin?" Jisung was waving a hand in front of his face. "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine." The words came automatically. "Just tired. Weird dreams."

Jisung nodded sagely. "Probably the treacle tart before bed. Does it to me every time."

"Probably," Hyunjin agreed, and forced himself to look at his toast instead of the Hufflepuff table.

Across the Great Hall, Seungmin was having the same problem.

Hwang Hyunjin was sitting at the Slytherin table, eating breakfast like a normal person, his beautiful face perfectly composed. Nothing about him suggested that he'd spent the night in Seungmin's dreams as a crying child, alone in a cold manor, forbidden from making friends with Hufflepuffs.

But Seungmin knew. He'd seen it. That memory, that painful, private moment, had played out in his head like a film, and he couldn't un-see it.

Why am I dreaming about his childhood? he wondered. Why do I feel like I was actually there?

"Seungmin?" Felix was looking at him with concern. "You've been staring at the Slytherin table for five minutes. Is something wrong?"

"No." Seungmin blinked, forced himself to look away. "Just tired. Weird dreams."

Felix nodded. "Hate those. Last week I dreamed I was a fish. Couldn't breathe properly for days."

Seungmin managed a small laugh, but his mind was elsewhere. Across the hall, Hyunjin was talking to Jisung, his profile sharp and elegant. He looked nothing like the crying child from the dream. Nothing at all.

But Seungmin couldn't forget the way young Hyunjin had whispered I never forgot you. And.. how could a dream possibly talk back?

The dreams continued.

Night after night, Hyunjin found himself in the Hufflepuff common room, watching Seungmin live his life. He saw him struggle with a Potions essay, muttering to himself as he crossed out paragraphs and started again. Saw him comfort a homesick first-year, his voice soft and patient, his hand steady on the child's shoulder. He even saw him laugh with his friends, bright and unguarded, his whole face transformed by joy.

And every night, at some point, Seungmin would look up, would look directly at Hyunjin. Would smile that small, private smile.

Then Hyunjin would wake up, and the warmth would linger, and he'd spend the rest of the day trying not to think about it.

He didn't tell anyone. How could he? Hey, I've been dreaming about Kim Seungmin every night, and in the dreams he can see me, and it feels more real than real life—that wasn't a conversation he was prepared to have.

Seungmin's dreams were different, but no less vivid.

He dreamed of Hyunjin at different ages: a lonely child in a cold manor, a quiet boy in Slytherin robes, a teenager sitting alone in the library, surrounded by books he didn't seem interested in. He dreamed of family dinners where no one spoke, of letters from home that made Hyunjin's face go blank, of long nights staring at the lake through the Slytherin common room windows.

He dreamed of the day at King's Cross, seen through Hyunjin's eyes. Young Hyunjin, excited and nervous, clutching his mother's hand as they walked through the barrier. Then spotting a boy his age withdark hair, bright smile, yellow scarf and feeling something light up in his chest.

He looks nice, young Hyunjin thought. I hope he's in my house. I hope we can be friends.

Then his mother's hand tightened on his, and her voice cut through: Don't stare, Hyunjin. It's rude.

And the moment passed, and young Hyunjin looked away, and the boy with the yellow scarf was forgotten.

Except he wasn't forgotten. Seungmin could feel it, even in the dream, the way young Hyunjin had tucked that memory away, had revisited it in quiet moments, had wondered over the years what might have happened if he'd been brave enough to say hello.

That boy was me, Seungmin thought again, watching the memory play out. He wanted to be my friend, and his mother said no, and he never forgot me.

He woke from those dreams with his chest aching, his eyes a little wet, his heart reaching for someone he saw every day but barely knew.

"You've been staring at Kim Seungmin a lot lately," Jeongin observed one afternoon in the library.

Hyunjin's head snapped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "I have not."

"You have." Jeongin's voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp. "At meals. In the corridors. During patrols, I assume, though I'm not there for those." He tilted his head. "Something going on?"

"No." Hyunjin forced himself to look back at his Transfiguration essay. "We're just patrol partners. That's all."

"Mmhmm." Jeongin didn't sound convinced. "And the staring?"

"I don't stare."

"You literally just got caught staring."

Hyunjin's jaw tightened. "It's nothing. Just... weird dreams."

Jeongin's expression shifted—curiosity, now, instead of teasing. "Weird how?"

"I don't know." Hyunjin shrugged, aiming for casual. "Vivid. He's in them sometimes. It's probably just because we spend so much time together on patrols."

"Probably," Jeongin agreed, but his eyes said he wasn't buying it. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it..."

"I'll let you know."

Jeongin nodded and returned to his essay, and Hyunjin tried very hard not to look at the Hufflepuff table at dinner.

He failed, obviously. But he tried.

Thursday patrol arrived, and with it, the familiar sight of Seungmin waiting at the seventh floor junction, exactly on time.

"Evening, Hwang."

"Kim."

They fell into step together, same as always. But the silence between them felt somewhat different now, charged with things unsaid, with dreams they couldn't mention, with the strange intimacy of having seen each other's lives.

"How was your week?" Seungmin asked.

"Fine. Yours?"

"Fine."

Silence. They walked past the sleeping knight, past the bowl of fruit, past the door to the broom cupboard.

"I've been having strange dreams lately," Seungmin said.

Hyunjin's heart stopped. Then started again, racing. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Seungmin was looking straight ahead, his voice carefully casual. "Really vivid. Feels like I'm actually there, you know? Remembering things that aren't my memories."

Hyunjin's mouth went dry. "That's... strange."

"Yeah." Seungmin glanced at him. "You?"

"What about me?"

"Have you been having strange dreams?"

Hyunjin opened his mouth to lie. Closed it. Opened it again. "Maybe."

Seungmin nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. They walked in silence for a few more steps.

"In my dreams," Seungmin said quietly, "there's this boy. Tall, dark hair. Always alone. He looks sad, even when he's not doing anything." He paused. "He looks like you."

Hyunjin stopped walking.

Seungmin stopped too, turning to face him. In the torchlight, his eyes were dark and serious, searching Hyunjin's face for something.

"Well, in my dreams," Hyunjin heard himself say, "there's a common room with yellow hangings. And a boy who sits by the fire, reading. He looks..." He swallowed. "He also looks like you."

They stared at each other. The torches flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a portrait snored.

"That's weird," Seungmin said finally.

"Yeah," Hyunjin agreed. "Weird."

Neither of them said anything else about it. They finished the patrol in silence, the weight of unspoken questions pressing between them.

At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

Seungmin nodded and turned to go. Then he paused, looking back. "Hwang?"

"What?"

"If you ever want to talk about your dreams..." He shrugged. "I'm here."

Hyunjin watched him disappear around the corner, the faint scent of honey lingering in the air behind him.

I'm here, he'd said. Like he meant it. Like Hyunjin's strange dreams mattered.

Hyunjin stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, his chest doing something complicated.

He was in trouble. He was definitely in trouble.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed again.

But this time, the dream was different.

He was in the Hufflepuff common room, same as always. Warm fire, yellow hangings, laughing students. Seungmin was sitting in his usual spot, half-hidden behind books, watching his housemates with that small, fond smile.

Then he looked up. Saw Hyunjin. And instead of looking away, he stood.

He walked toward Hyunjin through the crowd of students who didn't notice either of them. Stopped right in front of him, close enough to touch.

"You're here again," Seungmin said. In the dream, his voice was soft, wondering. "You're always here. Watching."

Hyunjin couldn't speak. Could only stare.

"I saw you," Seungmin continued. "When you were little. At King's Cross. You wanted to be friends with me, but your mother said no." His eyes were searching, intense. "You never forgot me."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "How do you know that?"

"I dreamed it." Seungmin's voice was barely a whisper. "Your memory. It was in my head."

They stood there, inches apart, in a common room that wasn't real but felt more real than anything Hyunjin had ever known.

"I never forgot you either," Seungmin said. "I just didn't know it was you."

Hyunjin opened his mouth to respond—

And woke up.

He lay in the darkness, gasping, his heart pounding. The dream was already fading, but Seungmin's words echoed in his mind.

I saw you. When you were little. At King's Cross.

He remembered that day. Remembered the boy with the bright smile and the yellow scarf, the one his mother had told him to forget. He'd carried that memory for years, a small warmth in the cold of his childhood.

And now Seungmin knew about it. Had seen it. In his dreams.

What is happening to us?

Hyunjin didn't have an answer. Only the lingering warmth of Seungmin's gaze, and the certainty that something had begun—something strange and terrifying and wonderful—and there was no going back.

November settled over Hogwarts like a grey blanket, cold and damp and endless. The castle grew darker, the days shorter, and the dreams continued without pause.

For Hyunjin, each night was a door into Seungmin's life. He stopped being surprised by it now, stopped telling himself it was just weird dreams, just his brain being strange. He knew, on some level he couldn't explain, that what he was seeing was real. Was Seungmin's. Was being given to him night after night for reasons he didn't understand.

He saw Seungmin at eleven, small and nervous, standing in the Great Hall for the first time. Watched the Sorting Hat hover over his head for barely a second before shouting "HUFFLEPUFF!" and saw the relief flood his face, relief at being chosen, at belonging somewhere.

He saw Seungmin in his first Potions class, wide-eyed and eager, his hand shooting up with answers before anyone else could speak. Saw the other students' annoyance, the whispers of teacher's pet and try-hard, and saw the way Seungmin's smile faltered just slightly before he forced it back into place.

He saw Seungmin alone in the library at midnight, studying for exams he didn't need to study for, because studying was easier than being in the common room where everyone else seemed to know how to be friends without trying.

But the dreams that hit hardest were the ones about Seungmin's insecurities.

In one dream, Hyunjin found himself in a corridor near the Hufflepuff common room. Seungmin was standing just around a corner, hidden from view, and two older students were talking nearby—too loudly, too carelessly.

"Seungmin? Yeah, he's nice enough, I suppose. But he's not exactly... memorable, is he? Just sort of... there."

"I know what you mean. He's good at Potions, but so are loads of people. Nothing really stands out about him."

"He'll probably just fade into the background after Hogwarts. Get some ordinary job, live an ordinary life. Nothing special."

The voices faded as the students walked away. And Seungmin, hidden around the corner, stood perfectly still. His face was blank, but his hands were shaking.

Hyunjin wanted to go to him. Wanted to grab those students and shake them, tell them they were wrong, that Seungmin was everything, kind and smart and warm and special in ways they couldn't begin to understand. But he couldn't move. Could only watch as Seungmin pressed his lips together, took a breath, and walked away like he hadn't heard a thing.

He woke with his chest tight, his eyes wet, his heart aching for someone he couldn't reach.

Across the castle, Seungmin's dreams were no gentler.

He saw Hyunjin at sixteen, standing in his family's manor, a letter trembling in his hands. His father's voice echoed from somewhere nearby, cold and precise:

"Your O.W.L. results were adequate, I suppose. But adequate is not what our family requires. You will do better. You will be better. Or you will find that the privileges you enjoy become... limited."

He saw Hyunjin in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by housemates but utterly alone. Saw him laugh at jokes that weren't funny, agree with opinions he didn't share, perform the role of the perfect Slytherin heir until his face hurt from smiling.

He saw Hyunjin in front of a mirror, late at night, staring at his own reflection with an expression of pure loathing.

"You're becoming exactly what he wants," Hyunjin whispered to himself. "Cold. Cruel. Empty. Congratulations."

But the dream that shattered something in Seungmin was different.

He was in the Hwang manor again, but this time it was years ago—Hyunjin was maybe eight, small and thin, sitting alone in that cold nursery. A house-elf appeared with a tray of food, placed it on the table, and disappeared without a word.

Young Hyunjin looked at the food, then at the door, then the windsor,, where grey sky pressed against the glass.

Then, very quietly, he began to hum. A tune Seungmin didn't recognize, something soft and sad, a child's attempt to fill silence with something less lonely than nothing.

And then young Hyunjin stopped humming. Looked directly at Seungmin—right at him, through the dream, through time—and said:

"Are you real? Or are you just another dream I made up to keep myself company?"

Seungmin woke with a gasp.

- - - - - - - - -

"I think something's wrong with me."

Jisung looked up from his Charms essay, eyebrows raised. It was Saturday afternoon, and they were in the Slytherin common room, the fire crackling against the November chill. Around them, other students read or talked or dozed, the comfortable hum of weekend activity filling the space.

"What do you mean, wrong with you?" Jisung asked. "Like, medically wrong? Because Madame Pomfrey—"

"No." Hyunjin hesitated. How could he explain this? How could he put into words what was happening to him every night? "I keep having these dreams. Really vivid ones. About... someone."

Jisung's expression shifted — curiosity, now, instead of concern. "Someone? Like, a specific someone?"

Hyunjin nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Anyone I know?"

A longer hesitation.. "Kim Seungmin."

Jisung's eyebrows shot up. "The Hufflepuff? Your Potions rival? That Kim Seungmin?"

"Yes."

"Wow." Jisung leaned back, processing this. "Okay. And these dreams... are they, like, dreams dreams? Or are they—"

"They're not like that," Hyunjin said quickly, his face heating. "They're... I don't know how to explain it. They feel real. Like I'm actually there, watching him live his life. I've seen his childhood. His memories. His..." He swallowed. "His worst moments. The things that hurt him."

Jisung was quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully, "That sounds intense."

"It is." Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And the worst part is, when I wake up, I can't stop thinking about him. I see him in the corridors and I want to—" He stopped.

"Want to what?"

"I don't know. Go to him. Make sure he's okay. Tell him he's not what those people said."

Jisung's eyes widened. "What people? What did they say?"

Hyunjin told him. About the dream where Seungmin overheard those students calling him forgettable, ordinary, nothing special. About the way Seungmin had stood there, perfectly still, absorbing their words like he'd heard them before.

When he finished, Jisung was staring at him with an expression Hyunjin couldn't read.

"Hyunjin," he said slowly, "that's not a normal dream."

"I know."

"That's like... that's really not a normal dream. That's the kind of thing that happens in—" He stopped, frowning. "Actually, I don't know what that kind of thing is. But it's not normal dreaming."

"I know that too."

They sat in silence for a moment. The fire crackled. Someone laughed across the common room.

"What are you going to do?" Jisung asked finally.

Hyunjin shook his head. "I don't know. What can I do? It's not like I can just go up to him and say 'hey, I've been watching your most private memories while you sleep, want to be friends?'"

Jisung winced. "Yeah, that would be weird."

"Weird doesn't even begin to cover it."

In the Hufflepuff common room, Seungmin was having a similar conversation.

"So you're telling me," Felix said slowly, "that you've been dreaming about Hwang Hyunjin's childhood. His actual childhood. Like, specific details you couldn't possibly know."

Seungmin nodded miserably. They were tucked into a corner near the fire, ostensibly studying, but Seungmin hadn't looked at his textbook in an hour.

"And in these dreams," Felix continued, "you see him sad. Alone. Treated badly by his family."

"Yes."

"And you wake up feeling..." Felix prompted.

"Like I want to find him and hug him and never let go." Seungmin's voice was small. "Like I know him. Like I've always known him."

"Seungmin, that's not normal."

"I know."

"That's like... soulmate-level not normal."

Seungmin's head snapped up. "Soulmates aren't real."

"Are you sure?" Felix's eyes were serious. "Because what you're describing, shared dreams, seeing each other's memories, feeling connected to someone you barely know, that sounds an awful lot like a magical bond to me."

Seungmin stared at him. "A magical bond?"

"I don't know." Felix shrugged. "I'm not an expert. But my grandmother used to tell stories about things like this. About people who got linked by accident like a spell gone wrong, a potion explosion, something like that and started sharing dreams. Started feeling each other's emotions. Started..." He trailed off.

"Started what?"

Felix met his eyes. "Started falling in love whether they wanted to or not."

Seungmin's heart stopped. Then started again, racing.

"That's not— we're not—" He shook his head. "I don't even like him. He's my rival. He's annoying. He's—"

"He's what?" Felix asked gently.

Seungmin opened his mouth to list all the reasons Hyunjin was infuriating. All the reasons they couldn't possibly have anything in common. All the reasons this was just weird dreams and nothing more.

Instead, what came out was: "He looked at me at King's Cross. When we were eleven. He wanted to be friends, and his mother said no, and he never forgot me. He carried that memory for five years, Felix. Five years of being alone in that cold manor, and he still remembered the boy with the yellow scarf."

Felix's expression softened. "Oh, Seungmin."

"I don't know what to do with that." Seungmin's voice cracked. "I don't know what to do with any of this."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Around them, the common room hummed with comfortable noise—laughter, conversation, the crackle of the fire. But in their corner, something heavy hung in the air.

"Maybe," Felix said finally, "you don't have to do anything yet. Maybe you just... let it be what it is. See what happens."

"And if what happens is terrifying?"

Felix smiled slightly. "Then at least you won't be terrified alone. Sounds like he's right there with you, even if you're not talking about it."

Thursday patrol arrived, and with it, the familiar tension.

Hyunjin arrived early, as always. Seungmin arrived exactly on time, as always. They fell into step together, as always.

But nothing about this patrol felt like always.

They walked in silence for several minutes, the weight of unspoken dreams pressing between them.

"How have your dreams been?" Seungmin asked quietly.

Hyunjin's step faltered. "What?"

"Your dreams." Seungmin was looking straight ahead, his voice careful. "Have they been... strange?"

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment. But he answered, "Yes."

"Mine too."

They walked a few more steps.

"In mine," Hyunjin said, "there's a boy who overhears people saying he's forgettable. Ordinary. Nothing special." His voice was steady, but Seungmin could hear the pain underneath. "He pretends he didn't hear. But he did."

Seungmin’s throat tightened. "That was you."

"Yes."

"I saw that." The words came out before Seungmin could stop them. "I was there. Watching. I wanted to—" He stopped.

"Wanted to what?"

"I wanted to find those people and curse them into next week." Hyunjin's voice was fierce. "You're not forgettable. You're not ordinary. You're—" He stopped again, his face heating.

Seungmin had turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. "I'm what?"

You're everything, Hyunjin thought. You're the warmest thing I've ever seen. You're the reason I look forward to Thursdays. You're in my head every waking moment and every sleeping one too.

"Nothing," he said. "Just... you're not what they said."

Seungmin studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly, "In my dreams, I see you too. A boy alone in a cold manor. A mother who tells him he can't be friends with Hufflepuffs. A father who thinks 'adequate' is an insult." He paused. "I saw you at King's Cross. When we were eleven. You wanted to be friends with me."

Hyunjin went very still.

"You remembered me," Seungmin continued. "All those years. In that cold place. You remembered the boy with the yellow scarf."

"I never forgot you," Hyunjin whispered. "I couldn't. You looked so... happy. Even alone. I wanted to know how."

Seungmin's eyes were almost wet. "Hyunjin—"

"Don't." Hyunjin's voice cracked. "Don't say anything. I can't—" He pressed his hand to his chest, where his heart was trying to escape. "This is too much. You're too much."

They stood in the dim corridor, torches flickering, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them.

Then Seungmin reached out. Slowly, carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hand closed around Hyunjin's wrist—just a touch, just skin against skin.

But the effect was immediate.

A rush of warmth flooded through Hyunjin, not his own warmth, but Seungmin's. He could feel it, the steady beat of Seungmin's heart, the softness of his concern, the terrifying tenderness of being cared about.

And from the way Seungmin's eyes widened, he could feel it too.

"Did you—" Seungmin started.

"Yeah." Hyunjin's voice was barely a whisper. "I felt you."

They stood there, connected by a single touch, feeling each other's heartbeats like they were their own.

Then, slowly, Seungmin let go.

"We should finish the patrol," he said quietly.

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice.

They walked the rest of the rounds in silence. But something had changed. Something had shifted, deep and irreversible.

At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked. Same words. Same question. But everything else was different.

"Same time," Hyunjin agreed.

Seungmin nodded and turned to go. Then he paused, looking back. "Hyunjin?"

It was the first time he'd used Hyunjin's first name.

"What?"

"Thank you. For remembering me."

He disappeared around the corner before Hyunjin could respond.

Hyunjin stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, his wrist still warm where Seungmin had touched him.

Thank you for remembering me.

As if Hyunjin could ever forget.

Then that night, Hyunjin dreamed again.

But this time, the dream was different.

He was in the Hufflepuff common room, but Seungmin wasn't sitting apart from the group. He was at the center, surrounded by friends, laughing at something. His whole face was bright with joy.

Then he looked up. Saw Hyunjin. And instead of walking toward him, he beckoned.

Come here, he mouthed. Join us.

Hyunjin hesitated. This wasn't his place. He didn't belong here.

But Seungmin kept looking at him, kept smiling, kept beckoning. And slowly, Hyunjin moved forward.

The crowd of students parted as he approached, and suddenly he was standing beside Seungmin, close enough to touch.

"You're here," Seungmin said. "Finally."

"I'm always here," Hyunjin replied. "Watching."

"I know." Seungmin's smile softened. "But now you're here. With me."

He reached out and took Hyunjin's hand.

And Hyunjin felt it, the warmth, the belonging, the safety he'd been watching from afar for weeks. It was real. It was his.

He woke with Seungmin's name on his lips and the ghost of his hand still warm in his own.

And across the castle, Seungmin woke with a smile.

He'd dreamed of Hyunjin, not sad, not alone, not crying in a cold nursery. He'd dreamed of Hyunjin in the Hufflepuff common room, surrounded by warmth, holding his hand. He'd dreamed of Hyunjin happy.

And somehow, that felt like the most real thing of all.

Maybe Felix was right, he thought, staring at the ceiling. Maybe this is something. Maybe he's something.

He fell back asleep still smiling, and dreamed of nothing at all.

- - - - - - - - - -

Then, another dream began, as they always did now, with Hyunjin somewhere he didn't belong.

But this time, it wasn't the Hufflepuff common room.

He was in a house, a real house, not a manor. Small and warm and cluttered in the way that meant people actually lived there. A sofa with blankets thrown over the back. Books stacked on every available surface. Photographs on the walls, Muggle photographs that didn't move, capturing moments frozen in time.

A kitchen, bright with afternoon light. The smell of something cooking—savoury and rich, making Hyunjin's mouth water even though he knew this was a dream. The sound of laughter.

He followed the laughter.

Through the kitchen door, into a cosy room where a family sat around a table. Not a grand dining table like the one at the manor, long and cold and lonely. A small wooden table, slightly scratched, covered with plates and bowls and the chaos of a meal in progress.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Seungmin.

Younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, with the same dark hair, the same glasses, the same small smile. He was laughing at something, his whole face bright, and across from him, a woman with the same smile was laughing too. His mother. Hyunjin knew it instantly, the way you know things in dreams.

Beside her, a man, Seungmin's father, was telling some story, his hands moving expressively, his eyes crinkled with amusement. And next to Seungmin, a little girl, his sister, the one who wrote him letters, was stealing food off his plate while he pretended not to notice.

They were so ordinary. So normal. So utterly, painfully warm.

Hyunjin stood in the corner of the kitchen, invisible, watching. A plate of food sat untouched in front of an empty chair—a place set for someone who wasn't there. For him, maybe. For the guest who didn't belong.

"Seungmin-ah," his mother said, her voice soft with affection, "eat your vegetables. You'll never grow if you don't."

"Mom, I'm twelve. I've grown!"

"You could still get taller."

"I really couldn't."

His father laughed. "Leave him alone, woman. He's perfect exactly as he is."

Perfect exactly as he is.

The words hit Hyunjin like a physical blow. When had anyone ever said that to him? When had anyone ever looked at him with that kind of unconditional love, that absolute acceptance?

Never. The answer was never.

He watched as the meal continued—as Seungmin's mother reached over to ruffle his hair, as his sister stole more food and got caught, as his father told another story that made everyone groan and laugh at the same time. He watched as Seungmin smiled, really smiled, relaxed and open in a way Hyunjin had never seen him at Hogwarts.

This is what he gets to go home to, Hyunjin thought. This warmth. This love. This family that actually likes each other.

Something twisted in his chest. Jealousy, sharp and ugly. He'd never had this. Never even come close. His family dinners were silent affairs, three courses of nothing, his father reading letters at the table and his mother staring at nothing and Hyunjin learning to make himself small and quiet and invisible.

But underneath the jealousy, something else stirred. Like relief and gratitude. Because Seungmin had this. Seungmin was loved. Seungmin would always have a place where he belonged, people who thought he was perfect exactly as he was.

At least one of us gets that, Hyunjin thought. At least he's not alone.

As if sensing his presence, young Seungmin looked up. Looked directly at the corner where Hyunjin stood, invisible.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

His family didn't seem to hear. They continued laughing, talking, being warm.

But young Seungmin kept staring. Kept seeing.

"You look sad," he said. "Why are you sad?"

Hyunjin opened his mouth to answer but was woken up instead.

He lay in the darkness, his face wet.

He hadn't realized he was crying until he felt the tears on his cheeks, cold against his skin. The dream was still there, every detail sharp. The warm kitchen, the laughing family, Seungmin's father saying he's perfect exactly as he is.

Perfect exactly as he is.

Hyunjin had never been perfect. He'd been adequate. He'd been acceptable. He'd been what's expected of a Hwang. But never perfect. Never just... himself.

He pressed his hand to his chest, where the jealousy and gratitude tangled together, impossible to separate. He was jealous of what Seungmin had. But he was also, somehow, glad. Glad that Seungmin had this warmth to return to. Glad that someone in this world was loved like that.

At least he's not alone, he thought again. At least he has that.

It took a long time to fall back asleep.

The dream stayed with him all through Friday.

In Potions, he kept glancing at Seungmin, trying to see him through the lens of that warm kitchen. The boy who sat beside him, carefully measuring ingredients, was the same boy who'd stolen food and laughed at his father's bad jokes. He carried that warmth inside him, even here, even in the cold dungeon classroom.

"You're staring again," Seungmin murmured, not looking up from his cauldron.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Just... you look different today. Sad, maybe." A quick glance. "Everything okay?"

Hyunjin opened his mouth to say fine, the automatic response, the shield he'd been using for years. But the words wouldn't come.

"I dreamed about your family," he said instead, quietly, so no one else could hear.

Seungmin's hand stilled on his stirring rod. "What?"

"Your family. Your house. The kitchen with the scratched table." Hyunjin's voice was barely a whisper. "Your father said you were perfect exactly as you are."

Seungmin went very still.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The potion bubbled gently between them, forgotten.

"My father," Seungmin said finally, his voice strange, "says that all the time. Every time I go home. Every time I write. 'You're perfect exactly as you are, Seungmin-ah. Don't let anyone tell you different.'"

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice.

"How did you—" Seungmin stopped. Swallowed. "How do you keep seeing these things?"

"I don't know." Hyunjin met his eyes. "But I do. And I..." He trailed off.

"What?"

"I'm glad." The words came out rough, honest in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. "I'm glad you have that. A family who loves you like that, a place where you belong."

Seungmin's expression shifted, surprised, then something softer, then a complicated mix Hyunjin couldn't read.

"Hyunjin," he said quietly.

"I know." Hyunjin looked away. "It's weird. I'm weird. You don't have to—"

"I was going to say thank you."

Hyunjin looked back, startled.

"Thank you," Seungmin repeated. "For being glad, for caring." A small, tentative smile. "Most people wouldn't. Most people would just think it was strange."

"It is strange."

"Maybe." Seungmin's smile grew, just slightly. "But maybe strange isn't always bad."

They returned to their potion. But something had shifted between them—something warm, something almost fragile, something that felt a little bit like being seen.

That night, Seungmin dreamed.

But this time, the dream was different.

He was in a grand manor, cold and beautiful, with high ceilings and portraits that watched him with disapproval. He walked through corridor after corridor, searching for something, until he found a door slightly ajar.

Inside, a boy sat alone.

Young Hyunjin, maybe nine or ten, was curled in a window seat, staring out at grey grounds. A book lay open beside him, but he wasn't reading. He was just... sitting, waiting for something that never came.

The door opened. An elf appeared with a tray of food, placed it on a table, and disappeared without a word. No "how are you." No "can I get you anything else." Just... nothing.

Then, very quietly, he began to hum. The same tune from before, soft and sad, filling the silence with something less lonely than nothing.

Seungmin wanted to go to him. Wanted to sit beside him in that window seat and hum with him, fill the silence together. But he couldn't move. Could only watch as the boy sat alone, learning that this was what love looked like for him: trays of food and closed doors and silence.

Then young Hyunjin looked up, saw him.

"You're here again," he whispered. "The boy from my dreams. The one with the warm family."

Seungmin nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I saw them," young Hyunjin continued. "Your family. The kitchen. The way your parents looked at you." His voice cracked. "Is that what it's like? To be loved like that?"

Seungmin's heart broke.

"Yes," he whispered. "That's what it's like."

Young Hyunjin's eyes filled with tears. "I don't think I've ever had that. Not really."

Seungmin moved then—crossed the room, sat beside him in the window seat, close enough to touch. "I know."

"I'm glad you have it." Young Hyunjin's voice was small. "I'm glad someone gets to feel that. Even if it's not me."

Seungmin reached out and took his hand.

In the dream, young Hyunjin's hand was cold. Seungmin held it anyway, trying to warm it with his own.

"You will," he said. "Someday. You'll have people who love you like that. I promise."

Young Hyunjin looked at him, really looked, like he was trying to memorize his face.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

They sat together in the window seat, holding hands, as the grey afternoon faded into grey evening. And for the first time in the dream, the manor didn't feel quite so cold.

Seungmin then woke with tears on his face and the ghost of Hyunjin's hand in his.

He lay in the darkness, his heart aching. He'd seen Hyunjin's loneliness up close now — not just the cold manor, not just the demanding father, but the deep, bone-level certainty that he wasn't loved the way children should be loved.

I promise, he'd said in the dream. You'll have people who love you like that.

But what if those people could be him? What if he could be part of that warmth for Hyunjin?

The thought was terrifying. And also, somehow, the most right thing he'd ever felt.

Thursday patrol then arrived, and with it, the familiar anticipation.

Hyunjin arrived early, his heart already racing. Seungmin arrived exactly on time, his eyes slightly red-rimmed in a way that suggested he hadn't slept well.

They fell into step together, but the silence between them was different now, charged with dreams shared, with promises made, with the terrifying intimacy of having seen each other's souls.

"I dreamed about you again," Seungmin said quietly. "Last night."

Hyunjin's step faltered. "What did you see?"

"You, as a child. In that cold manor. Waiting for someone who never came." Seungmin's voice was gentle. "You asked me what it was like. To be loved like my family loves me."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "I remember."

"I told you you'd have that someday." Seungmin stopped walking, turning to face him. "People who love you like that. I meant it."

They stood in the dim corridor, torches flickering, the weight of the moment pressing between them.

"Seungmin," Hyunjin started.

"I know we barely know each other." Seungmin's voice was urgent now, like he needed to say this before he lost his nerve. "I know this is strange and weird and neither of us understands it. But I—" He stopped, took a breath. "I want to be one of those people. The ones who love you like that. If you'll let me."

Hyunjin stared at him. The words hung in the air between them, impossible and wonderful and terrifying.

"You don't even know me," he whispered. "Not really."

"I know you remembered me for five years." Seungmin's eyes were steady. "I know you watch me in dreams and feel glad that I'm loved. I know you're kind when you don't think anyone's watching, and sad when you think no one can see, and lonely in ways you don't know how to fix." He stepped closer. "That's not nothing, Hyunjin. That's not nothing at all."

Hyunjin's eyes were wet. He could feel it, the tears threatening, the crack in his chest splitting open.

"No one's ever—" His voice broke. "No one's ever wanted to love me before. Not like that. Not just... me."

Seungmin reached out and took his hand. The same gesture from the dream, but real now. Solid and warm.

"Then let me be the first."

They stood there in the corridor, holding hands, as the torches flickered and the castle settled around them. It wasn't a kiss nor a declaration,iIt was just two boys, holding on to each other in the dark, trying to be brave.

And it was enough.

They finished the patrol hand in hand, not speaking, just being. At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked, smiling slightly.

"Same time," Hyunjin agreed.

Seungmin squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Goodnight, Hyunjin."

"Goodnight."

Hyunjin watched him disappear around the corner, the warmth of his hand still lingering. For the first time in years, the cold didn't feel quite so cold.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed again.

But this time, he wasn't watching Seungmin's life. He was in the Hufflepuff common room, and Seungmin was beside him, holding his hand, introducing him to his friends.

"Everyone, this is Hyunjin. He's important to me."

And the Hufflepuffs—warm and welcoming and utterly terrifying—smiled at him like he belonged.

He woke with a smile on his face and warmth in his chest.

Someday, he thought. Someday this could be real.

For now, the dream was enough.

The morning after the patrol, Hyunjin woke with the ghost of Seungmin's hand still warm in his own.

He lay in bed for a long moment, staring at the canopy above him, replaying every second of the previous night. The way Seungmin had looked at him in the corridor. The way he'd said let me be the first. The way his hand had felt, solid and real, holding on like Hyunjin was something precious.

What does this mean? he wondered. What are we now?

He didn't have an answer. Only the warmth, and the terror, and the desperate hope that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

In the Great Hall at breakfast, he found himself scanning the Hufflepuff table before he'd even sat down. There, Seungmin was sitting with his usual group, eating treacle tart, laughing at something Felix was saying. He looked normal, ordinary even. Like he hadn't spent the previous night holding Hyunjin's hand in a dark corridor.

Maybe it didn't mean the same thing to him, Hyunjin thought, and the warmth in his chest flickered dangerously. Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe—

Then Seungmin looked up.

Across the hall, their eyes met. And Seungmin smiled, small, private, just for Hyunjin, before looking away.

The warmth flared back to life.

However, the days that followed were strange.

They saw each other in class, in the corridors, in the library. They nodded hello. They exchanged the usual pleasantries. But underneath the surface, everything had shifted.

Hyunjin found himself hyperaware of Seungmin's presence in a way he hadn't been before. Like the way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckles and the way he bit his lip when concentrating.

And every time Seungmin caught him looking, he'd smile that small, private smile. Like they shared a secret, like Hyunjin was someone worth smiling at.

But they didn't talk about it. Didn't mention the patrol, or the hand-holding, or the promises made in the dark. It was like they'd both decided to pretend it hadn't happened—or at least, to let it sit, unexamined, until they figured out what to do with it.

This is fine, Hyunjin told himself. We're just... figuring it out. No need to rush.

But every night, the dreams continued.

That week, Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin's first day at Hogwarts.

He was standing on the platform, invisible among the crowd, watching an eleven-year-old Seungmin cling to his mother's hand. The woman was crying, not loudly, just silently, tears streaming down her face as she tried to smile.

"Mom, it's okay," young Seungmin said, his voice small but brave. "I'll write every week. I promise."

"I know, baby." She pulled him into a hug, fierce and tight. "I'm not sad for you. I'm sad for me. I'm going to miss you so much."

His father joined them, wrapping his arms around both of them. "You're going to be brilliant, Seungmin-ah. The best wizard Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Mom's the best wizard Hogwarts has ever seen," Seungmin mumbled, and they all laughed, even through the tears.

Hyunjin watched, invisible, his chest aching. This was what it looked like, to be sent off with love. To have people who would miss you, who believed in you, who thought you were brilliant before you'd done anything to prove it.

He'd never had that. His first trip to Hogwarts had been cold and efficient, his mother checking his trunk, his father listing expectations, no tears, no hugs, no we'll miss yous.

At least he has this, he thought again. At least he knows what it feels like.

Young Seungmin boarded the train, waving until his parents were out of sight. Then he found a compartment, sat down alone, and let himself cry, just for a moment, just until he could pull himself together.

Hyunjin sat across from him, invisible, watching. Wanting to reach out. Wanting to say it's okay, you're allowed to be scared, you're allowed to miss them.

But he couldn't. He could only watch.

Then young Seungmin looked up, straight at him.

"You're here again," he whispered. "The sad boy from my dreams."

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice.

"You look older now." Young Seungmin tilted his head. "Are you... are you from the future? Is that why I keep seeing you?"

"I don't know," Hyunjin whispered back. "I don't understand any of this."

Young Seungmin studied him for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"That's okay," he said. "I don't understand it either. But you feel... familiar. Like I've known you my whole life."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "You don't even know my name right now."

"I will." Young Seungmin's smile widened. "Someday. When we're supposed to."

The train whistle blew. The compartment door slid open, and another first-year appeared, asking if the seat was taken. Young Seungmin turned to answer, and when he looked back, Hyunjin was gone.

He woke with the ghost of that smile burned into his memory.

When we're supposed to, young Seungmin had said. Like it was inevitable. Like they were always going to find each other, eventually.

Hyunjin didn't know if he believed in inevitability. But lying in the darkness, with the warmth of the dream still wrapped around him, he found himself hoping.

And across, Seungmin was having his own dreams as well.

This time, he was in the Slytherin common room, not the real one, but a version filtered through Hyunjin's memory. It was late at night, the fire burned low, and most of the students had gone to bed.

But Hyunjin was still there, sitting alone by the window, staring out at the dark water of the lake. His reflection stared back at him, pale and tired.

"You should be asleep," a voice said.

Hyunjin didn't turn. "So should you."

A girl slid onto the bench beside him, older, with sharp features and darker skin. Seungmin didn't know her name, but he could feel Hyunjin's feelings about her through the dream: respect, wariness, a complicated sort of affection.

"Nightmares again?" she asked.

Hyunjin shrugged.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" The girl's voice was softer now. "I know your family's... complicated. But you're not alone here."

Hyunjin was quiet for a long moment. Then, "Do you ever wonder what it would be like? To have a normal family? One that actually... I don't know. Likes each other?"

The girl sighed. "Every day."

They sat in silence, watching the lake. Seungmin watched them both, invisible, his heart aching for the loneliness in Hyunjin's eyes.

"I dreamed about a boy last night," Hyunjin said suddenly. "A Hufflepuff. He was on the train, his first year. Crying because he missed his parents."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "You're dreaming about Hufflepuffs now?"

"I don't know why. He just... he felt familiar. Like I knew him."

"Sounds like more than a dream."

Hyunjin looked at her. "What do you mean?"

The girl shrugged. "Dreams are just dreams, usually. But sometimes..." She trailed off. "Sometimes they're more. Sometimes they're connections. Messages even. Things we're not supposed to ignore."

"And if I don't want to ignore it?"

"Then don't." She stood, stretching. "Find him, talk to him, see what happens." She paused at the dormitory door. "Life's too short to ignore the things that feel important, Hyunjin. Trust me."

She left. Hyunjin sat alone by the window, staring at the lake.

And Seungmin, invisible, watched him and thought: Find me. Please find me.

He woke with those words echoing in his head.

Find me. Please find me.

It was his own voice, he realized. His own desperate hope, projected into Hyunjin's dream.

This is insane, he thought. We're literally dreaming each other's lives and still too scared to talk about it.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe the dreams were teaching them to be brave.

Thursday arrived, slow and inevitable.

Hyunjin arrived at the seventh floor corridor at ten to eight, his heart already racing. He'd spent all week thinking about the dreams, about the hand-holding, about the terrifying possibility that something real was happening between them.

Seungmin arrived at exactly eight o'clock. Same as always. But his eyes were softer today, his smile less guarded.

"Evening, Hyunjin."

"Evening, Seungmin."

They fell into step together, and for a few minutes, neither spoke. The silence was comfortable, familiar, but charged with something new. Something that made Hyunjin's skin tingle where his arm occasionally brushed against Seungmin's.

"I dreamed about you again," Seungmin said finally. "Last night. You were in the Slytherin common room, talking to some girl about... about finding someone."

Hyunjin's step faltered. "You saw that?"

"Yeah." Seungmin glanced at him. "The girl said you shouldn't ignore things that feel important."

"She was right." Hyunjin stopped walking. Turned to face him. "Seungmin, I don't understand what's happening between us. I don't understand the dreams, or the hand-holding, or why I can't stop thinking about you. But I—" He swallowed. "I don't want to ignore it. Whatever it is."

Seungmin studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Me neither."

They stood there in the dim corridor, close enough to touch but not touching. The weight of everything unsaid pressed between them, but it didn't feel heavy anymore. It felt like potential. Like possibility.

"We don't have to figure it out tonight," Seungmin said quietly. "Or next week. Or even this term. We can just... let it be what it is. See where it goes."

Hyunjin nodded, his throat tight. "See where it goes."

They finished the patrol side by side, not holding hands, but closer than before. At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

Seungmin turned to go, then paused. "Hyunjin?"

"Yeah?"

"The dreams. They're not just dreams, are they?"

Hyunjin shook his head slowly. "No. I don't think they are."

Seungmin nodded, like he'd expected that answer. Then he smiled—that small, private smile that felt like a secret shared.

"Good. I'm glad it's you."

He disappeared around the corner before Hyunjin could respond.

Hyunjin stood there for a long moment, alone in the corridor, those four words echoing in his head.

I'm glad it's you.

He walked back to the Slytherin common room with a smile he couldn't wipe off his face.

That night, the dreams were softer.b

Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin studying in the library, his quill moving steadily across parchment. Nothing dramatic, nothing painful, just Seungmin being Seungmin, focused and precise and utterly himself.

And in the dream, Seungmin looked up, saw him, and smiled.

No words, just a smile, warm and real, like Hyunjin's presence was something to be glad about.

He woke feeling lighter than he had been in weeks.

And on the other side, Seungmin dreamed of Hyunjin walking by the Black Lake, alone, watching the sunset. His expression was peaceful, not sad or lonely, just... present.

Seungmin walked beside him, invisible, matching his pace.

"You're there, aren't you?" Hyunjin said quietly, not looking at him. "In my dreams. You're always there now."

Seungmin nodded, even though Hyunjin couldn't see him.

"I'm glad," Hyunjin continued. "I don't know why this is happening. I don't know what it means. But I'm glad it's you."

I'm glad it's you too, Seungmin thought. I'm glad it's always been you.

They walked together by the lake, invisible and visible, until the sun sank below the horizon and the dream faded into nothing.

Soon enough, December arrived, bringing with it the first real snow of the year.

Hyunjin stood at the window of the Slytherin common room, watching flakes drift through the dark water of the lake. They looked like stars falling, slow and silent, disappearing into the murky depths. It was beautiful, in a melancholy way. Everything felt melancholy lately, or maybe that was just him, caught in the strange in-between of knowing Seungmin and not knowing what to do about it.

Weeks had passed since the forehead-touching. Weeks of Thursday patrols, of stolen moments in corridors, of dreams that grew more intimate with each passing night. Weeks of almost—almost touching, almost saying something, crossing whatever line lay between them.

But neither of them had crossed it. Not yet.

What are we waiting for? Hyunjin wondered, watching the snow. What am I so afraid of?

He knew the answer, even as he asked. He was afraid of wanting too much. Of needing too much. Of reaching for something and having it slip through his fingers, like everything else in his life.

Better to hover in the in-between. Safer to almost have something than to lose it completely.

The common room door opened behind him. He didn't turn.

"You've been standing there for an hour," Jisung's voice said. "It's snow. It's not that interesting."

"It's peaceful."

"It's cold. Come sit by the fire. You're making me depressed just looking at you."

Hyunjin smiled slightly and turned from the window. Jisung was sprawled on one of the green velvet sofas, a textbook open on his chest that he was clearly not reading.

"Have you heard from your family?" Jisung asked, too casually. "About the holidays?"

Hyunjin's smile faded. "My father wrote. I'm expected home for Christmas."

"Expected." Jisung's nose wrinkled. "Not invited, expected."

"That's how it works in my family."

"Sounds miserable."

"It is." Hyunjin sat on the opposite end of the sofa, pulling his knees up. "But it's only two weeks. I've survived worse."

Jisung stayed quiet, then followed along, "Kim is staying, you know. For the holidays. I heard Lee talking about it in the library. Something about his family going to visit his grandmother's grave, and him not wanting to miss too much school."

Hyunjin's heart did something complicated. "Oh."

"Yeah." Jisung's voice was carefully casual. "So if you wanted to, I don't know, write him letters or something over the break, you could. Since he'll be here."

"I don't even know if he wants letters from me."

"Hyunjin." Jisung sat up, fixing him with a look. "You hold hands on patrol. You stare at each other across the Great Hall. You've been walking around with that dreamy expression for two weeks. I think he wants letters."

Hyunjin's face heated. "I don't have a dreamy expression."

"You absolutely do. It's disgusting." But Jisung was smiling. "Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do. But if there's someone you care about, and they're going to be alone over the holidays... maybe don't let them be alone. Even if it's just words on paper."

Hyunjin was quiet for a long moment, watching the fire.

"I'll think about it," he said finally.

Jisung nodded and returned to his fake reading. But Hyunjin could feel his approval, warm and wordless, and it made the in-between feel slightly less lonely.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin's Christmas.

He was in a small house—the same warm kitchen from before, but decorated now with tinsel and lights. A tree stood in the corner, covered in mismatched ornaments, each one clearly holding memories. Presents were stacked underneath, wrapped in bright paper.

Seungmin's family was gathered around the table, laughing, talking over each other. His mother was trying to serve something while his father told a story that made everyone groan. His sister was sneaking sweets when she thought no one was looking.

And Seungmin, sixteen now, the same age as real life, was in the middle of it all, his face bright with joy.

Hyunjin stood in the corner, invisible, watching. The jealousy was there, sharp as ever. But so was the gratitude. So was the warmth of knowing that somewhere, in some house, Seungmin was loved like this.

Then Seungmin looked up, saw him, and instead of looking surprised or confused, he smiled.

"Come here," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Mom, Dad, this is Hyunjin. He's my—" A pause, a slight blush. "He's my friend from school."

Hyunjin's heart stopped.

Seungmin's mother turned, beaming. "Hyunjin! Seungmin's told us so much about you in his letters! Come, come, sit down, have some food you're too thin, is Hogwarts not feeding you properly?"

Before Hyunjin could process what was happening, he was being pulled to the table, a plate pressed into his hands, questions thrown at him from all sides. What's your favourite subject? Do you play Quidditch? Are your family magical too?

And through it all, Seungmin sat across from him, watching with that small, private smile.

"You did this," Hyunjin managed, between bites of food he couldn't taste. "You told them about me."

"Of course I did." Seungmin's voice was soft. "You're important to me. They should know about the people who are important to me."

Important. The word echoed in Hyunjin's chest, warm and terrifying.

"Seungmin—"

"Eat your food," Seungmin interrupted, still smiling. "You can talk later."

Hyunjin ate. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it felt like to be part of a family Christmas.

He woke with tears on his face and the ghost of warmth still wrapped around him.

The Slytherin dormitory was dark and cold, his roommates asleep, the lake pressing against the windows. But Hyunjin could still feel it: the love, the laughter, the absolute certainty of belonging.

He told his parents about me, he thought. He said I'm important.

He lay in the darkness, staring at nothing, and let himself hope.

The next day, he found a moment between classes to slip a note into Seungmin's bag.

Nothing dramatic. Just a few words, scribbled on a scrap of parchment:

I dreamed about your Christmas, it’s not real, I know, but thank you for including me. —H

He didn't expect a response. Didn't know if he wanted one. But when he sat down in Potions that afternoon, there was a folded piece of paper on his seat.

You don't have to thank me. You're always included. —S

Hyunjin read it three times, then folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket, close to his heart.

Thursday patrol arrived, and with it, the first real snow, thick, on the ground.

They met at the seventh floor junction, same as always. But this time, when they fell into step, their hands found each other immediately—not planned, not discussed, just natural.

"Thank you for the note," Seungmin said quietly.

"Thank you for yours."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the snow visible through the high windows, their breath misting in the cold corridor air.

"I dreamed about your Christmas too," Seungmin said eventually. "Your real ones, I mean. Not the one I made up."

Hyunjin's step faltered. "What did you see?"

"Cold. Silence. A table set for one." Seungmin's voice was gentle, careful. "You, alone, pretending you didn't mind."

"That's what they're like. Every year."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's just... how it is."

Seungmin stopped walking, pulling Hyunjin to a stop with him. Turned to face him fully.

"It doesn't have to be," he said. "How it is, I mean. Things can change."

Hyunjin met his eyes. In the dim torchlight, Seungmin's face was soft, earnest, utterly beautiful.

"Seungmin—"

"I know we're not..." Seungmin gestured vaguely between them. "I know we haven't figured out what this is. But I want you to know, like, if you ever need somewhere to go. Someone to be with. My family would welcome you. In a heartbeat. No questions asked."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "You can't promise that."

"I can." Seungmin's voice was steady. "I know my parents. I know what they're like. If I told them about you—really told them—they'd adopt you on the spot. Mom would start knitting you jumpers. Dad would tell you his terrible jokes. My sister would steal your food." He smiled, soft and warm. "You'd fit right in."

Hyunjin couldn't speak. Could only stand there, holding Seungmin's hand, feeling the words settle into his chest like seeds waiting to grow.

"You don't have to decide anything now," Seungmin continued. "I just wanted you to know. The option exists. If you ever want it."

"Seungmin." Hyunjin's voice cracked. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll think about it." Seungmin squeezed his hand. "That's enough for now."

They stood there in the cold corridor, holding hands, while snow fell silently outside and something shifted between them—something that felt a lot like possibility.

They finished the patrol slowly, taking their time, not wanting it to end. At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

Neither of them moved.

"Hyunjin?" Seungmin's voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Can I... would it be okay if I..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly in the torchlight.

Hyunjin's heart hammered. "What?"

Seungmin stepped closer. Close enough that Hyunjin could feel his warmth, could count his eyelashes, could see the tiny mole on his left cheek.

"Just for a moment," Seungmin whispered. "Just to see what it feels like."

He leaned in. Hyunjin's eyes fluttered closed.

And Seungmin pressed his lips to Hyunjin's cheek—soft, brief, barely there. A kiss that was almost nothing and everything all at once.

Then he pulled back, his face bright red, his eyes wide.

"Sorry," he breathed. "Was that— I should have asked— I didn't mean to—"

Then Hyunjin kissed him too.

On the lips. Just as soft, just as brief, just as terrifying. A brush of warmth that sent electricity through his entire body.

When he pulled back, they stared at each other, both breathing hard.

"Oh," Seungmin whispered.

"Yeah," Hyunjin agreed. "Oh."

They stood there for a long moment, the kiss still tingling on their lips, neither knowing what to say.

Then Seungmin smiled—that small, private smile, but bigger now, brighter.

"Goodnight, Hyunjin."

"Goodnight."

Seungmin turned and walked away. Hyunjin watched him go, one hand pressed to his own lips, his heart soaring.

We kissed, he thought. We actually kissed.

He walked back to the Slytherin common room in a daze, replaying the moment over and over. The softness of Seungmin's lips. The warmth of his breath. The way he'd looked at Hyunjin afterwards, like Hyunjin was something precious.

We kissed.

He fell asleep still smiling, and dreamed of nothing at all.

The next morning, Hyunjin woke with the ghost of that kiss still warm on his lips.

He lay in bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, letting himself feel it. The joy. The terror. The absolute certainty that everything had changed.

What now? he wondered. What are we now?

He didn't have an answer. But for the first time in his life, he didn't mind the not-knowing. Because whatever came next, it would involve Seungmin. And that made it worth waiting for.

Across the castle, Seungmin woke with the same thought.

He pressed his fingers to his lips, remembering. The softness, the warmth, the way Hyunjin had kissed him back like he'd been waiting his whole life for it.

We kissed, he thought. We actually kissed.

He smiled so hard his face hurt.

Felix, in the bed next to him, cracked an eye open. "Why are you smiling at the ceiling like an idiot?"

"No reason."

"You're blushing."

"Am not."

"You absolutely are. What happened?"

Seungmin turned his face into his pillow to hide his smile. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

But Felix was already sitting up, grinning. "Something happened. Something good. Tell me."

Seungmin buried his face deeper in the pillow. "I kissed Hyunjin."

Felix's shriek of joy woke half the dormitory.

The kiss hung between them like a secret too big to contain.

In the days that followed, Hyunjin found himself touching his lips at random moments like in class, in the common room, in the middle of meals, reliving the soft pressure, the warmth, the way Seungmin's breath had hitched against his mouth.

They hadn't talked about it. Not really. The morning after, Hyunjin had woken with his heart racing and no idea what to do. Did he find Seungmin at breakfast? Did he pretend nothing happened? Did he write another note?

In the end, he'd done nothing. Just sat at the Slytherin table, pushing food around his plate, hyperaware of the Hufflepuff table across the hall.

Seungmin was there, surrounded by his friends. He looked normal, laughing at something Felix said, stealing food from the person next to him. But every few seconds, his eyes would drift across the hall. Would find Hyunjin and hold for just a moment before flickering away.

It was driving Hyunjin insane.

"You're going to burn a hole in him if you keep staring like that," Jisung muttered beside him.

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. Maybe go talk to him instead of doing the creepy eye thing from across the room."

"And say what?"

Jisung shrugged. "I don't know. 'Nice kiss the other night'? 'We should do that again'? 'Your lips are very soft'? Anything's better than this."

Hyunjin's face heated. "We're not— it's not—"

"It's clearly something." Jisung's voice softened. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you. But you've been walking around in a daze for days. Whatever's going on between you two, maybe it's time to actually deal with it instead of just... staring."

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he stood.

"Where are you going?"

"To deal with it."

He crossed the Great Hall before he could lose his nerve. Students parted around him, too focused on breakfast to notice much. Seungmin's friends certainly noticed, though, Felix's eyes went wide, and the others went suddenly, suspiciously quiet.

"Seungmin." Hyunjin stopped beside their table. "Can I talk to you? For a minute?"

Seungmin looked up, his expression carefully neutral. But his ears were pink. "Sure."

He stood, ignoring Felix's barely-suppressed grin, and followed Hyunjin out of the Great Hall.

They ended up in an empty corridor near the entrance, cold and drafty, morning light filtering through high windows. Neither spoke for a long moment.

"So," Seungmin said finally.

"So," Hyunjin agreed.

"This is awkward."

"Very."

A pause. Then both of them laughed—nervous, relieved, slightly unhinged.

"I didn't know what to do," Seungmin admitted. "After. I kept thinking I should find you, talk to you, but then I thought maybe you'd changed your mind, or regretted it, or—"

"I didn't regret it." Hyunjin's voice was firm. "Not for a second."

Seungmin's breath caught. "You didn't?"

"No. Did you?"

"No." Seungmin shook his head quickly. "I was just scared. I've never— I mean, I've liked people before, but not like this. Not someone I see every day. Not someone who's in my dreams every night."

Hyunjin stepped closer. "I'm scared too. All the time. But I keep thinking—" He stopped, struggling to find words. "I keep thinking that being scared with you is better than being calm alone."

Seungmin stared at him. His eyes were bright, suspiciously wet.

"Hyunjin," he whispered.

"I know it's fast. I know we don't understand what's happening with the dreams or the bond or any of it. But I know how I feel when I'm with you. I know how I feel when I see you across the Great Hall. I know how I felt when you kissed me." Hyunjin's voice cracked slightly. "And I want more of that, if you do."

Seungmin closed the distance between them. Reached up and cupped Hyunjin's face in his hands, gentle, reverent, like Hyunjin was something precious.

"I want more," he said. "So much more. I've been wanting it for weeks. I just didn't know how to say it."

"Then don't say it." Hyunjin's hands found Seungmin's waist, pulling him closer. "Show me."

Seungmin kissed him.

It was different from the first kiss—longer, slower, more certain. Seungmin's lips moved against Hyunjin's like he was learning them, memorizing them. His hands slid into Hyunjin's hair, soft and warm.

Hyunjin pulled him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them. Until he could feel Seungmin's heartbeat against his chest, fast and real and alive.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

"Wow," Seungmin whispered.

"Yeah." Hyunjin smiled, giddy and terrified and happier than he'd been in years. "Wow."

They walked back to the Great Hall hand in hand, not caring who saw.

Felix spotted them first. His face split into a massive grin, and he gave Seungmin an exaggerated thumbs-up that made Seungmin choke on a laugh.

Jisung, across the hall, caught Hyunjin's eye and mouthed finally with such dramatic relief that Hyunjin had to look away to keep from laughing.

They separated at the doors, Hufflepuff table, Slytherin table, their usual places. But everything was different now. Everything was brighter.

Hyunjin sat down across from Jisung, who was grinning like a maniac.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So you talked? You kissed? You're officially disgusting now?"

Hyunjin smiled—a real smile, wide and helpless. "I think so."

Jisung whooped quietly, earning looks from nearby students. "Finally! I've been watching you two dance around each other for weeks. I thought I'd die of secondhand tension."

"Oh, shut up."

"Never. This is the best thing that's happened all term."

Across the hall, Seungmin was getting the same treatment from Felix. Hyunjin could see him blushing, waving his hands, trying to get Felix to be quiet. But he was smiling too with that small, private smile, but bigger now. Happier.

That's mine, Hyunjin thought. He's mine.

The thought was terrifying. And wonderful. And absolutely real.

Thursday patrol then arrived, and with it, a new kind of anticipation.

Hyunjin arrived early, as always. But this time, when Seungmin appeared at exactly eight o'clock, Hyunjin was waiting with open arms.

Seungmin walked straight into them.

They stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, breathing each other in. The torchlight flickered with somewhere in the distance, the sleeping knight snored.

"Hi," Seungmin murmured against Hyunjin's shoulder.

"Hi yourself."

"This is nice."

"Yeah."

They pulled apart eventually, but not far. Hyunjin kept one hand tangled with Seungmin's as they started their rounds.

"So," Seungmin said, "what do we do now? About the dreams, I mean. About the bond."

Hyunjin paused a while. "I don't know. Keep dreaming, I suppose. Keep watching. It's not like we can stop it."

"Do you want to stop it?"

"No. There’s no disadvantage for now." The answer came instantly, without hesitation. "Do you?"

"No." Seungmin squeezed his hand. "It's strange, and I don't understand it, but... I like seeing you. Even the sad parts. Even the hard parts. I like knowing you."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "Even when I'm crying in cold nurseries?"

"Especially then." Seungmin's voice was soft. "Because then I get to be there. I get to hold your hand and tell you it'll be okay."

They walked in silence for a few steps, the weight of those words settling between them.

"Seungmin," Hyunjin said finally, "I don't know how to be in a relationship. I've never... my family isn't exactly a good model. I don't know how to do this right."

Seungmin stopped walking and turned to face him.

"Neither do I," he said. "My parents are great, but that doesn't mean I know how to be a boyfriend. I'm probably going to mess up. Say the wrong thing and be awkward." He smiled slightly. "But I want to try. With you. If you want to try with me."

Hyunjin looked at him, this boy who'd been in his dreams for weeks, who'd held him through grief and loneliness, who'd kissed him like he mattered.

"I want to try," he said. "I really, really want to try."

Seungmin's smile widened. "Good. Then we'll figure it out together."

They kissed again, soft and sweet, there in the dim corridor with portraits watching and torches flickering. It wasn't perfect, Hyunjin's nose bumped Seungmin's glasses, and Seungmin laughed against his mouth, but it was theirs. Real and messy and absolutely right.

They finished the patrol slowly, taking their time, talking about nothing and everything. Seungmin told Hyunjin about his sister's latest letter, full of drawings and questions about Hogwarts. Hyunjin told Seungmin about a book he'd read over the summer, the first one in years that had made him feel something.

At the junction, they stopped.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked, smiling.

"Same time." Hyunjin pulled him close for one more kiss. "And maybe sooner, if you're free."

"I'm always free for you."

They parted with one last squeeze of hands, and Hyunjin watched Seungmin disappear around the corner, his heart full to bursting.

I have a boyfriend, he thought. I have a boyfriend and he's perfect and he's mine.

He walked back to the Slytherin common room in a daze, smiling so hard his face hurt.

Later that night, the dreams were different.

Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin—not a memory, not a moment from his past, just Seungmin. Lying beside him in a bed that belonged to neither of them, in a room that didn't exist. They were facing each other, close enough to count eyelashes, and Seungmin was smiling that small, private smile.

"Hi, I can’t believe this worked." Seungmin whispered.

"Hi."

"I wanted to see you. In a dream that was just ours. No memories, no pain, just... us."

Hyunjin reached out and traced the line of Seungmin's jaw. "This is nice."

"Yeah." Seungmin leaned into his touch. "I don't know how long we have. Dreams never last. But I wanted—" He hesitated. "I wanted to say it. In a place where it's just us."

"Say what?"

Seungmin's eyes held his, steady and sure. "I think I'm falling for you. Not because of the dreams, not because of the bond. Because of you. The way you look at me across the Great Hall. The way you remembered me for five years. The way you held my hand when I was sad. I think I'm falling for you, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin's heart swelled until he thought it might burst.

"Good," he whispered. "Because I've already fallen."

Seungmin laughed, bright and happy, and kissed him there in the dream. It was soft and warm and just.. perfect.

They lay together in that imaginary bed, holding each other, until the dream faded and they woke in their separate dormitories, smiling at ceilings, knowing the other was smiling too.

December brought with it the final stretch of term before the Christmas holidays, and with it, the most anticipated Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.

"Patronus Charms," Professor Grymm announced, her voice carrying across the classroom. She was a stout witch with sharp eyes and no patience for nonsense—a stark contrast to the more flamboyant professors Hogwarts had employed in recent years. "One of the most advanced and useful defensive spells you will learn at this level. Effective against Dementors, Lethifolds, and other dark creatures that feed on human emotion."

Hyunjin sat at the back of the classroom, his quill poised over his parchment. Beside him, Jisung was already doodling in the margins.

"The Patronus is not an easy spell," Grymm continued. "Many fully qualified witches and wizards cannot produce a corporeal Patronus. There is no shame in producing only silver mist, or in not managing it at all. What matters is the attempt."

She waved her wand, and an image appeared in the air, a silver hare, magnificent and bright, galloping across an invisible field.

"This is a corporeal Patronus. It takes the form of an animal, often one with personal significance to the caster. The spell requires a happy memory — not just any happy memory, but one that is powerful enough to ward off despair."

Hyunjin's quill scratched across parchment, taking notes mechanically. Happy memory. He had those, didn't he? Everyone had happy memories.

But as he sat there, listening to Grymm explain the mechanics of the spell, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered: Do you? Do you really?

He pushed it away.

"The key," Grymm was saying, "is to focus not on the memory itself, but on the feeling it produces. The happiness. The warmth. The absolute certainty that, for that moment, everything was right with the world."

She had them practice the incantation first—Expecto Patronum—repeating it until the Latin rolled off their tongues with ease. Then, one by one, she called students to the front to attempt the spell.

Most produced nothing. A few managed silver mist, thin and wispy, that dissipated almost instantly. One Hufflepuff girl produced something almost solid, a shimmering shape that might have been a bird before it vanished.

Then it was Seungmin's turn.

Hyunjin watched, his heart suddenly in his throat, as Seungmin walked to the front of the classroom. He looked calm, collected, his expression focused.

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Kim," Grymm said.

Seungmin closed his eyes. Took a breath. Raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum."

Silver light burst from his wand—bright and warm and solid. It coalesced into a shape, four-legged and graceful, and then the shape was moving, running, alive.

A doe. Slender and beautiful, with silver light shimmering along its flanks. It trotted once around the classroom, head high, then stopped and looked directly at Seungmin with something like recognition in its glowing eyes.

The room was silent.

Then someone gasped, and someone else whispered "bloody hell," and Grymm's face broke into a rare smile.

"Excellent, Mr. Kim. Excellent. A corporeal Patronus at your age, that's remarkable work. Five points to Hufflepuff."

Seungmin dismissed the doe with a wave of his wand and returned to his seat, his cheeks slightly pink. He didn't look at Hyunjin, but Hyunjin couldn't look away from him.

A doe, he thought. His Patronus is a doe.

Something about that felt significant. Important. He didn't know why.

The lesson continued. More students attempted, more failed. Hyunjin watched, his stomach slowly tying itself into knots.

He'd never had trouble with spells before. Charms came naturally to him. Transfiguration took practice but always yielded results. Even Potions, his ongoing rivalry with Seungmin aside, he was excellent at.

But this felt different. This felt like something that couldn't be learned, couldn't be practiced, something that came from inside, from a place he wasn't sure he had access to.

"Mr. Hwang."

His name. Grymm was looking at him expectantly. The rest of the class turned to watch.

Wonderful, Hyunjin thought. Everyone gets to watch me fail.

He walked to the front of the classroom, his legs feeling strangely unsteady. Raised his wand. Closed his eyes.

Happy memory, he thought. Think of something happy.

He thought of his grandfather's watch, the one his father had given him. But that wasn't happy: that was pressure, expectation, the weight of legacy.

He thought of the Slytherin common room, warm and quiet late at night. But that wasn't happy either, that was escape and the absence of pain rather than the presence of joy.

He thought of Seungmin.

Seungmin laughing with his friends. Seungmin reading in the library, his lips moving slightly. Seungmin kissing him in a dark corridor, soft and warm and real.

That was happy. That was more than happy. That was—

"Expecto Patronum."

Nothing happened.

A super faint wisp of silver smoke curled from his wand, then dissipated. That was all.

Hyunjin stared at his wand, his face burning. Behind him, someone snickered—Bletchley, probably, enjoying his moment of triumph.

"Again," Grymm said, her voice neutral.

He tried again. Nothing.

Again. A flicker of silver, there and gone.

"That's enough for today, Mr. Hwang." Grymm's voice wasn't unkind, but it wasn't warm either. "The Patronus is difficult. Keep practicing. You'll get there."

Hyunjin nodded and returned to his seat, not meeting anyone's eyes. Jisung patted his arm sympathetically. Across the room, he could feel Seungmin's gaze on him, not pitying, just... watching and probably concerned.

He didn't look up.

After class, Hyunjin was the first one out the door.

He walked fast, not knowing where he was going, just needing to move. His face was still hot. His chest was tight. He'd failed. In front of everyone. In front of Seungmin, most importantly.

"Hyunjin!"

He ignored the voice and kept walking.

"Hyunjin, wait!"

A hand caught his arm, pulling him to a stop. He turned and there was Seungmin, slightly out of breath, his eyes worried.

"What?" Hyunjin's voice came out sharper than he intended.

Seungmin didn't flinch. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You just—"

"I know what I just did." Hyunjin pulled his arm away. "I failed. In front of everyone. You don't need to rub it in."

"I'm not rubbing it in." Seungmin's voice was gentle. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Hyunjin stared at him. The anger was still there, hot and shameful, but underneath it, something else was stirring. Something that recognized Seungmin's concern for what it was: care, like genuine care.

"I couldn't do it," he said quietly. "I couldn't find a happy memory. Any of them. I tried and I tried and there was nothing strong enough."

"That's not true."

"What?"

"You found one. At the end, I saw it. your wand flickered, more than before. You found something."

Hyunjin blinked. He had, hadn't he? Just before casting, he'd thought of Seungmin. Of kissing him, of the way Seungmin made him feel.

But that memory, that feeling, hadn't been enough. Not yet.

"It wasn't strong enough," he said.

"It will be." Seungmin stepped closer. "The Patronus isn't about the happiest memory you've ever had. It's about one that's purely yours. One that no one can take from you."

Hyunjin looked at him—this boy who'd been in his dreams, who'd held his hand through grief, who'd kissed him like he mattered.

"And if I don't have one?" he asked quietly. "A memory that's purely mine?"

Seungmin held his gaze.

"Then we find one."

They stood there in the corridor, students streaming past them on their way to next classes, neither caring.

"Seungmin," Hyunjin whispered.

"I mean it." Seungmin reached out and took his hand, brief and warm. "We'll find one. Together. However long it takes."

Hyunjin's throat was tight. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because you're important to me." Seungmin's voice was simple, honest. "Because I've seen you, all of you, and I know you're worth caring about. Because I want to be there for you, the way you've been there for me."

The way you've been there for me. In dreams. In memories. In moments of grief and loneliness that Seungmin had never asked for but Hyunjin had witnessed anyway.

"Okay," Hyunjin said finally. "Okay."

Seungmin smiled and squeezed his hand once more before letting go.

"I have to get to Astronomy," he said. "But... Thursday?"

"Thursday."

Seungmin nodded and walked away. Hyunjin watched him go, the warmth of his touch lingering on his skin.

We'll find one together, he'd said. However long it takes.

For the first time since the failed spell, Hyunjin felt something like hope.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin's Patronus.

Not the doe itself, but the moment of casting. He was inside Seungmin's memory, feeling what Seungmin had felt—the warmth and certainty, the absolute rightness of the spell.

The memory Seungmin had used was simple: his family, gathered around the scratched kitchen table, laughing at one of his father's terrible jokes. The feeling was pure, uncomplicated joy with the knowledge that he was loved, that he belonged and was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Hyunjin felt it like it was his own. The warmth spread through his chest, filled his lungs, made him feel like he could do anything.

Then the memory faded, and he was standing in an empty white space, and Seungmin was there.

"That's what it feels like," Seungmin said quietly. "For me. That's the memory I use."

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice.

"You'll find yours," Seungmin continued. "I know you will. And when you do, it'll be beautiful. Just like you."

Hyunjin reached for him, and Seungmin came willingly, and they held each other in the dream until it faded.

The next morning, Hyunjin woke with the echo of that warmth still in his chest.

He lay in bed, staring at the canopy, and thought about what Seungmin had said. We'll find one together.

Maybe he didn't need a perfect happy memory yet. Maybe he just needed to believe that one was possible.

The last week of term passed in a blur of exams and goodbyes.

Hyunjin watched students board the carriages for Hogsmeade station, their trunks floating behind them, their faces bright with anticipation of home. He should have been among them. His father's letter had been clear: You will return for Christmas. Family obligations cannot be ignored.

But standing in the entrance hall, watching the exodus, Hyunjin felt nothing but dread.

"You're still here."

He turned. Seungmin was walking toward him, a book tucked under his arm, his expression carefully neutral.

"So are you."

"Family's visiting my grandmother's grave. I told them I'd rather stay and study." Seungmin shrugged. "They understood."

Hyunjin nodded. They'd talked about this already, Seungmin's decision to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays and Hyunjin's lack of choice in the matter. But somehow, seeing the castle emptying around them made it more real.

"When do you leave?" Seungmin asked quietly.

"Tomorrow morning. Floo from Professor Flitwick's office."

"Ah."

Silence fell between them. Around them, the last few students hurried past, eager to catch their carriages.

"I'll write," Hyunjin said suddenly. "If you want. I don't know how often I'll be able to, but—"

"I want." Seungmin's voice was firm. "Write as often as you can. I'll write back."

Hyunjin nodded, his throat tight. Two weeks. Fourteen days without seeing Seungmin, without patrols, without stolen moments in corridors. It seems like it would feel like an eternity.

"Seungmin—"

"Don't." Seungmin stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Don't say goodbye like it's permanent. It's two weeks. We've survived worse."

Have we? Hyunjin wanted to ask. Have we survived anything at all?

But he didn't. Instead, he reached out and took Seungmin's hand, brief and warm.

"Same time in January," he said. "Seventh floor corridor. Eight o'clock."

Seungmin smiled, again that small, private smile that always made Hyunjin’s heart secretly melt. "I'll be there."

They parted without a kiss as too many people still around, too many eyes. But the warmth of Seungmin's hand lingered on Hyunjin's skin all the way back to the Slytherin common room.

Then that night, the dream was different.

Hyunjin found himself in a place he didn't recognize. It’s not a memory, not Seungmin's life, just... space. White and empty and quiet.

And Seungmin was there, waiting for him.

"I wanted to see you," Seungmin said. "Before you left. In a place that's just ours."

Hyunjin crossed the empty space and took his hand. "Is this a dream? Or is this—"

"Both, I think." Seungmin's brow furrowed. "I don't understand it either. But I wanted to give you something. Before you go."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone, smooth and grey, warm from his touch.

"It's from the Black Lake," he said. "I found it ages ago, kept it because it felt... important. I want you to take it. To have something of mine while you're away."

Hyunjin stared at the stone. It was nothing special, just a rock, worn smooth by water. But it was Seungmin's. Seungmin had kept it, had thought it was important, was giving it to him now.

"I can't take this," he whispered. "It's yours."

"It's ours now." Seungmin pressed it into his palm. "When you miss me, hold it. Maybe I'll be able to feel it too. Maybe not. But at least you'll have something real."

Hyunjin closed his fingers around the stone. It was warm, impossibly warm, like it held some of Seungmin's warmth inside it.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Seungmin smiled and leaned in, and they kissed there in the empty white space, soft and slow and full of everything they couldn't say.

Hyunjin woke with the stone in his hand.

He sat up slowly, staring at it. It was real, how was this even possible he hadn’t known, but it was smooth and grey and warm, just like in the dream. Seungmin had given it to him. Across the castle, in his sleep, Seungmin had found a way to reach him.

He pressed it to his chest and lay back down, smiling in the darkness.

The next morning, Hyunjin packed the stone carefully in his pocket before anything else.

The Floo journey was quick and uncomfortable with green flames, spinning rooms, the sickening lurch of arrival. Then he was standing in his father's study, coughing soot, while older Mr. Hwang watched from behind his desk with cold, assessing eyes.

"You're late."

"The Floo was crowded." Hyunjin straightened his robes, meeting his father's gaze. "Happy Christmas, Father."

His father's lips pressed into a thin line. "We don't do sentiment, Hyunjin. You know that."

Yes, Hyunjin thought. I know.

The manor was exactly as he remembered—cold, grand and empty. The house-elves moved silently through the corridors, invisible and efficient. Meals were taken alone, in his room or in the vast dining hall where his father's presence was more absence than company.

By the third day, Hyunjin thought he might go mad.

But every night, he dreamed.

Some nights, he dreamed of Seungmin's life like small ordinary moments: Seungmin reading in the Hufflepuff common room, the fire crackling beside him, or him walking the empty corridors, trailing his fingers along the stone, even Seungmin eating alone in the Great Hall, surrounded by silence but seeming not to mind.

Other nights, they met in the white space. The place that belonged only to them.

"How are you?" Seungmin would ask, taking his hands.

"Surviving." Hyunjin would squeeze back. "You?"

"The same."

They'd talk for what felt like hours—about nothing, about everything. About the books Seungmin was reading, about the dreams Hyunjin was having, about the strange magic that kept bringing them together even when they were apart.

"I miss you," Hyunjin admitted one night, his voice rough. "More than I thought I would."

Seungmin's eyes softened. "I miss you too. But we're almost halfway through. Just a few more days."

"A few more days of cold manor and silent meals."

"Just a few more days," Seungmin repeated. "And then you'll be back. And I'll be waiting at the seventh floor corridor. Eight o'clock. I'll be early."

Hyunjin laughed despite himself. "You're never early."

"I will be. For you."

They kissed in the white space, and Hyunjin held onto the warmth long after he woke.

Christmas morning arrived cold and grey.

Hyunjin woke to a pile of presents at the foot of his bed—expensive things, clearly chosen by someone who didn't know him. Clothes that would never fit right, books he'd never read, and a new wand holster made of dragon hide, because his father believed in practical gifts.

He opened them mechanically, setting each aside. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone.

It was still warm.

He held it close and thought of Seungmin, alone in the castle, maybe opening presents from his family by owl post. Thought of the warm kitchen he'd dreamed about, the scratched table, the mismatched ornaments.

Next year, he promised himself. Next year, I'll be there. Somehow.

He didn't know how. Didn't know if it was possible. But holding the stone, feeling its warmth against his palm, he let himself believe.

That night, the dream was different again.

He was in the white space, but Seungmin wasn't alone. Behind him, faint and shimmering, were figures Hyunjin recognized from his dream, Seungmin's mother, his father, his sister. They were ghosts, almost, their forms barely visible, but their presence was warm.

"Merry Christmas," Seungmin said, smiling. "I brought my family. Sort of."

Hyunjin stared at the shimmering figures. "How—"

"I don't know. I was thinking about them, and they just... appeared. I think the bond is getting stronger."

Seungmin's mother, she look translucent but still beautiful, smiled at Hyunjin. Thank you, she seemed to say, though no sound came out. Thank you for being his friend.

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "I should be thanking him. He's—" He stopped, unable to find words.

Seungmin's father stepped forward, his ghostly hand reaching out. It passed through Hyunjin's arm, but Hyunjin felt it anyway—a warmth, a blessing, a welcome.

You're family now, the gesture seemed to say. Whether you know it or not.

Then the figures faded, and Hyunjin and Seungmin were alone again.

"What was that?" Hyunjin whispered.

"I think..." Seungmin's voice was wondering. "I think they wanted to meet you. Even like this."

"They don't even know me."

"They know enough." Seungmin took his hand. "They know you're important to me. That's enough for them."

Hyunjin closed his eyes, letting the warmth wash over him. For the first time in his life, on Christmas Day, he felt like he belonged somewhere.

He returned to Hogwarts on the first of January.

The castle was still quiet, most students not yet back, but Seungmin was waiting at the entrance when he arrived. Standing in the cold, breath misting, eyes bright.

"You're here," Seungmin said.

"You're here." Hyunjin dropped his trunk and crossed the distance between them in three steps. "You're actually here."

They couldn’t kiss, it was too public, too exposed. But they stood close, closer than necessary, drinking each other in.

"I missed you," Seungmin whispered.

"I missed you too. So much."

They walked into the castle together, shoulders brushing, the stone warm in Hyunjin's pocket.

That evening, they met at the seventh floor corridor.

Not Thursday. Not their usual time. Just... because they could.

Seungmin was already there when Hyunjin arrived, leaning against the wall, watching him approach with that small, private smile. Hyunjin felt like he could just melt into liquid right now, that smile never failed.

"You're early," Hyunjin said.

"I told you I would be."

Hyunjin crossed the distance and kissed him properly, deeply, with two weeks of missing pouring into it. Seungmin kissed back just as fiercely, his hands fisting in Hyunjin's robes.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

"Happy New Year," Seungmin murmured.

"Happy New Year."

They walked their patrol hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. And when they parted at the junction, it was with the certainty that this—whatever this was—was only just beginning.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed of a silver doe, running free through moonlit woods.

And somewhere in the castle, Seungmin dreamed of a stag, watching it with something like recognition.

Sooner, February arrived at Hogwarts with icy winds and skies the color of old pewter. The castle huddled under a blanket of snow, students rushing between classes with scarves wrapped tight and cheeks stung pink by the cold.

For Hyunjin, the month brought something else entirely: the day everything changed.

defense Against the Dark Arts had become, paradoxically, both his most dreaded and most anticipated class. Dreaded because every Thursday brought the possibility of another failure. Anticipated because every Thursday brought Seungmin, sitting three rows ahead, his presence a quiet warmth at the edge of Hyunjin's awareness.

Today, Professor Grymm had announced, would be the final Patronus assessment of the term. Those who had yet to produce a corporeal Patronus would have one last chance. Those who had would serve as witnesses.

Hyunjin's stomach had been in knots since breakfast.

"You'll get it," Jisung whispered as they took their seats. "I can feel it."

"You can't feel anything."

"I can feel this. It's going to happen today. I'm manifesting it."

Hyunjin managed a weak smile, but his hands were shaking.

Three rows ahead, Seungmin turned slightly—just enough to catch his eye. Just enough to mouth two words: You're ready.

Hyunjin wanted to believe him.

The lesson began with demonstrations. Students who'd already mastered the spell took turns casting, their Patronuses filling the classroom with silver light. A badger, a swan, a bounding hare. Each one beautiful, each one a reminder of what Hyunjin couldn't do.

Then Grymm called his name.

"Mr. Hwang. Front and centre."

Hyunjin rose on legs that didn't feel like his own, he walked to the front of the classroom on feet that seemed to belong to someone else. Turned to face his classmates with their curious eyes, their expectant faces, Bletchley's barely-suppressed smirk.

He didn't look at any of them. He looked at Seungmin.

Seungmin nodded once. So small but sure.

Hyunjin closed his eyes.

The Patronus isn't about the happiest memory, Seungmin had said, that night in the corridor after the first failure. It's about one that's purely yours.

But that wasn't quite right either. He'd learned that over weeks of practice, weeks of trying and failing and trying again. It wasn't about purity, itt was about truth.

So Hyunjin stopped trying to find a perfect memory. Stopped trying to separate happiness from fear, joy from terror, trying to be someone he wasn't.

Instead, he thought about Seungmin.

Not a single moment. Not one memory. Just... him. All of him. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle. The way he laughed with his whole body. The way he'd held Hyunjin in that empty corridor, told him they'd figure it out together. The way he looked at Hyunjin like he was something precious, something worth staying for.

He thought about the fear too because it was part of it. The terror of caring this much, the dread of losing someone so important, and weight of loving another person with your whole chest, knowing they could be taken away.

All of it. The happiness and the fear and the hope and the desperation. All of it was his. All of it was real.

Expecto Patronum.

The words left his lips not as a shout, but as a prayer.

And then,

Light.

Not the thin, wispy mist of his previous attempts or the flicker of almost-success. This was different, it poured from his wand like water from a spring, silver and bright and warm. It filled the space in front of him, coalescing, taking shape.

A shape that grew and solidified and became..

A stag.

Massive and beautiful, with antlers that branched like ancient trees and eyes that held the light of stars. He stood in the center of the classroom, silver steam rising from his flanks, and he was magnificent.

The room was silent.

Hyunjin stared at his Patronus, at this creature that had come from somewhere deep inside him, from all the tangled, messy, terrifying feelings he'd tried so hard to control. The stag turned his head, met Hyunjin's eyes, and something passed between them, like recognition and understanding.

Then the stag moved.

He walked through the classroom slowly, deliberately, as if greeting each student. When he reached Seungmin, he stopped.

The room held its breath.

The stag lowered his head—a bow, a gesture of respect—and stood there, waiting. And Seungmin, without seeming to think about it, raised his wand.

Expecto Patronum.

His doe appeared beside him, silver and graceful. She stepped forward, and the stag raised his head, and for a long moment, the two Patronuses simply looked at each other.

Then the stag bowed to the doe.

It was unmistakable, a formal gesture, ancient and deliberate. The doe responded in kind, dipping her head. And then they began to run.

Together, side by side. Their silver light weaving and intertwining as they circled the classroom, faster and faster, until they were less two creatures and more one continuous stream of light.

When they finally slowed and stopped, they stood pressed together, stag and doe, flank to flank and looked at their creators.

No one spoke.

Professor Grymm broke the silence first. "Mr. Hwang." Her voice was strange, awed, almost. "I have been teaching defense Against the Dark Arts for thirty years. I have never seen a Patronus react to another that way. Never."

Hyunjin couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

"Stag and doe," Grymm continued softly. "They're a matched set. A pair. I've read about this, but I've never witnessed it." She looked at Hyunjin, then at Seungmin, then back. "Whatever bond exists between you two... it's extraordinary."

The class erupted.

Questions, exclamations, demands for explanation. Hyunjin heard none of it. He was looking at Seungmin, at the tears standing bright in Seungmin's eyes, at the smile trembling on his lips.

Stag and doe, he thought. Matched set. A pair.

His Patronus had bowed to Seungmin's. Had recognized her. Had chosen her.

He didn't know what it meant, not fully, but he knew it was everything.

After class, they found each other in an empty corridor.

No words. Just hands reaching, bodies colliding, mouths meeting in a kiss that said everything they couldn't.

When they finally broke apart, Seungmin was laughing and crying at the same time.

"A stag," he managed. "Your Patronus is a stag."

"And yours is a doe." Hyunjin's voice was rough. "They bowed to each other. They ran together."

"I know. I saw." Seungmin pressed his forehead to Hyunjin's. "I don't know what it means. But it's— it's us. It's us."

Hyunjin pulled back just enough to look at him, go really look.

"Do you remember," he said quietly, "what you told me? Months ago. About finding a happy memory that was purely mine?"

Seungmin nodded.

"I couldn't find one. Not a single one that didn't come with fear attached. But today, when I cast, I wasn't thinking about a memory. I was thinking about you. All of you. All of us. The happiness and the fear and the hope and the terror. All of it together. And it worked."

Seungmin's eyes were bright. "Because it was yours. All of it was yours."

"Yeah." Hyunjin smiled, wide and helpless. "Because it was mine. Because you're mine. Because we're—"

"Ours," Seungmin finished. "We're ours."

They kissed again, soft and slow, there in the empty corridor. And somewhere, in a place beyond seeing, a stag and a doe ran together through silver light.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed.

He was standing in an empty white space—the place that belonged only to them. Seungmin was there, waiting.

"You did it," Seungmin said.

"We did it." Hyunjin crossed the space and took his hands. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yes you could have. You just—"

"No." Hyunjin's voice was firm. "I couldn't. The memory I used, it was you. It was us. All of it. The good and the scary and the hope. You gave me that. You gave me something real enough to fight despair."

Seungmin's eyes welled. "Hyunjin."

"I love you." The words came easily now, like they'd always been there. "I love you, and my Patronus knows it. The whole world knows it. I love you."

Seungmin kissed him, and in the dream, the white space filled with silver light—two Patronuses, running together, free.

The days after the Patronus triumph should have been golden.

Hyunjin floated through them on a cloud of silver light and Seungmin's smile. Their Patronuses had become a quiet wonder between them, something they didn't talk about in public, but that hummed beneath every conversation, every stolen glance, every hidden touch.

But something was wrong.

It started small. A headache here, a moment of dizziness there. Nothing Hyunjin couldn't explain away, too little sleep, too much homework, the usual pressures of term.

Then the dreams changed.. Somewhat.

The first bad dream came on a Tuesday.

Hyunjin fell asleep thinking of Seungmin, as he always did. But instead of the warm common room or the white space they'd claimed as their own, he found himself in darkness.

Cold. Pressing. Absolute.

He couldn't see, move, nor breathe.

And somewhere, in the distance, he heard screaming.

Not just any screaming, it sounded like Seungmin's screaming. High and terrified and wrong.

Hyunjin tried to run toward it. Tried to move, to call out, to do something. But his body wouldn't respond. He was trapped, frozen, forced to listen as the person he loved most in the world screamed and screamed and—

He woke gasping, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst.

The Slytherin dormitory was dark and quiet. His roommates slept peacefully. Nothing was wrong.

But Hyunjin lay awake until dawn, the echo of Seungmin's screams ringing in his ears.

He found Seungmin at breakfast, looking pale and drawn.

"Are you okay?" they asked simultaneously.

Then both of them went quiet.

"You first," Seungmin said.

Hyunjin shook his head. "You look terrible. What happened?"

Seungmin hesitated. Then, quietly, "Bad dream. Really bad. I couldn't move, couldn't see, and somewhere— somewhere I heard someone screaming. It sounded like—" He stopped. Swallowed. "It sounded like you."

Hyunjin's blood ran cold.

"I had the same dream," he said slowly. "Except the screaming was you."

They stared at each other across the space between Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables, the weight of realization settling between them.

The bond, Hyunjin thought. It's not just memories anymore.

That night, the dreams were worse.

Hyunjin found himself in a place he recognized, the cold manor of his childhood. But something was wrong. The walls were crumbling, the portraits screamed, and shadows moved where shadows shouldn't be.

And Seungmin was there, trapped behind a wall of dark glass, pounding his fists against it, screaming Hyunjin's name.

Hyunjin ran to him. Threw himself against the glass. Felt it burn, actually burn, where his skin touched it.

"Seungmin!"

"Hyunjin, help me, please, I can't—"

The glass cracked. Not from Hyunjin's efforts, but from something else. Something dark pressing against it from the other side.

Hyunjin watched in horror as tendrils of black smoke began to seep through the cracks. Watched them wrap around Seungmin's ankles, his wrists, his throat. Watched Seungmin's eyes go wide with terror.

"No!"

He threw himself against the glass again, and this time it shattered—

And he woke with a scream caught in his throat, his hands burning, his heart crashing against his ribs.

He looked down at his palms.

They were red. Raw. Burned.

The hospital wing at three am was a lonely place.

Madam Pomfrey clucked over his hands, applying salve and bandages, asking questions Hyunjin couldn't answer. How did this happen? Were you experimenting with spells? Have you been near open flame?

He told her he didn't know. Then he fell asleep in the hospital bed and dreamed of nothing.

In the morning, Seungmin was there.

He sat in the chair beside Hyunjin's bed, looking like he hadn't slept either. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"You're here," Hyunjin said, his voice rough.

"You're hurt." Seungmin's voice cracked. "I felt it. When it happened. I was in the dream, and then I woke up, and my hands—" He held them out. "They hurt. They burned, and I knew. I knew something had happened to you."

Hyunjin looked at Seungmin's hands. They were fine and unmarked. But the pain had been real enough to cross the castle, to travel through dreams and bone and blood.

"This is getting worse," he said quietly.

Seungmin nodded, his jaw tight.

"We need to find out what's happening. Before—" Hyunjin stopped. Before what? Before one of them got hurt for real? Before the dreams became something they couldn't wake from?

Before they lost each other entirely?

"Before," Seungmin agreed.

They started researching in secret.

The library became their refuge—stacks of books piled high, notes scattered across tables, whispered conversations in corners where Madam Pince couldn't hear. Felix helped when he could, bringing obscure texts from the Hufflepuff common room. Jisung stood lookout, warning them when professors approached.

But the answers were slow to come.

"Soul bonds," one ancient text called them. "Deep magical connections formed through shared trauma, intense emotion, or accidental magical interference."

"Characteristics include shared dreams, emotional bleed-through, and in advanced cases, physical sympathy—pain or injury experienced by one partner felt by the other."

"Prolonged bonds may cause magical exhaustion, mental fragmentation, and in extreme cases, complete psychological merging."

Complete psychological merging. The words haunted Hyunjin. Losing himself. Becoming so tangled with Seungmin that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"Is that what's happening?" he asked Seungmin late one night, their heads bent together over a crumbling book. "Are we... merging?"

Seungmin paused, "I don't know. But I felt your pain. In my hands. Hands that were perfectly fine." He looked at Hyunjin, his eyes dark with fear. "That's not normal, that's not okay."

"No," Hyunjin agreed. "It's not."

They sat in silence, the weight of it pressing down on them.

The next Thursday patrol was different.

They walked the seventh floor corridor like always, past the sleeping knight, the bowl of fruit, and the door to the broom cupboard. But the silence between them was heavy, full of things unsaid.

"We should stop," Seungmin said finally.

Hyunjin's heart lurched. "What?"

"The dreams. The bond. Whatever this is." Seungmin's voice was steady, but his hands were shaking. "It's hurting us. It's going to keep hurting us. And I can't—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I can't watch you get hurt because of me."

"Seungmin—"

"I mean it." Seungmin turned to face him. "If this keeps going, what happens next? You wake up with burns again? I wake up unable to move? One of us gets hurt so badly we can't—" His voice broke. "I can't lose you, Hyunjin. But I also can't watch you fall apart because of something I'm part of."

Hyunjin grabbed his hands—gently, mindful of the bandages still wrapped around his own.

"Listen to me." His voice was fierce. "Whatever this is, it's ours. It's not just hurting us, it's part of us. Part of how we found each other and how we fell in love. I'm not giving that up because it's scary."

"Hyunjin—"

"I'm not." He squeezed Seungmin's hands. "But I also don't want to lose myself. Or lose you. So we keep researching. We find out what this is, and if there's a way to control it, and if there's not—" He took a breath. "If there's not, then we figure out what comes next, together."

Seungmin stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Together," he whispered.

They held each other in the dim corridor, the weight of the future pressing down on them, but holding on anyway.

That night, the dreams were gentler.

Hyunjin dreamed of Seungmin in the library, surrounded by books, his brow furrowed in concentration. Not a memory, just an image, a moment. And in the dream, Seungmin looked up and smiled.

"We'll figure it out," he said. "Whatever it takes."

Hyunjin believed him.

The days after the burned hands were a study in careful avoidance.

Neither of them said the words aloud like we need to find a cure but the thought hung between them, heavy and unavoidable. They spent every free moment in the library, side by side, books stacked between them like a barrier against the truth they were slowly uncovering.

The bond was getting stronger and with strength came danger.

It happened on a Thursday, three weeks after the burned hands.

They were walking their usual patrol, hands intertwined, when Seungmin stumbled.

Hyunjin caught him instinctively. "You okay?"

Seungmin nodded, but his face was pale. "Just dizzy. Probably didn't eat enough at dinner."

They kept walking. But a few minutes later, Seungmin stumbled again, and this time, when Hyunjin caught him, he felt it.

Cold, spreading through Seungmin's skin like ice water in his veins. And beneath the cold, something else. Something that felt like... fading.

"Seungmin." Hyunjin's voice was sharp with fear. "What's happening?"

Seungmin's eyes were unfocused. "I can't— I can't feel my hands."

Hyunjin looked down. Seungmin's hands, still clasped in his own, were turning grey.

No, not grey. Transparent.

For one horrible moment, Hyunjin could see the stone wall through Seungmin's fingers.

Then it stopped, color rushed back, and Seungmin gasped and sagged against him, trembling.

"What," Hyunjin breathed, "the fuck was that?"

Seungmin shook his head, unable to speak.

They didn't finish the patrol.

Instead, Hyunjin half-carried Seungmin to the Room of Requirement, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The room responded to his desperation—a soft couch appeared, a fire crackled to life, blankets materialized from nowhere.

He laid Seungmin down and knelt beside him, still holding his hands.

"Talk to me," he begged. "Please. What happened?"

Seungmin's eyes were wet. "I don't know. One moment I was here, and then—" He stopped and swallowed. "I could feel myself fading. Like I was becoming less real. Like the bond was— was pulling me somewhere else."

"Pulling you where?"

"I don't know. Into you, maybe. Into the dreams. Somewhere that wasn't here."

Hyunjin's blood ran cold. Complete psychological merging. The words from the book echoed in his mind.

"Seungmin." He gripped his hands tighter. "You have to fight it. Whatever's happening, you have to stay here. With me."

Seungmin nodded weakly. "I'm trying. I just— it's so hard. The bond wants—" He winced. "It wants us together. All the time. In every way. Like it doesn't understand separate."

It doesn't understand separate.

Hyunjin thought about the dreams. About the way they'd grown more intense, more connected, the burned hands, the shared pain, the moments when he couldn't tell where his feelings ended and Seungmin's began.

The bond wasn't just connecting them. It was trying to merge them.

"We need help," he said. "Real help. Not just library books."

Seungmin looked at him, fear and hope warring in his eyes. "Who?"

"I don't know. But someone has to know something. Someone has to have answers."

They found Felix first.

Not because they planned to, but because he found them. He appeared outside the Room of Requirement the next morning, his expression grim.

"You two look like shit," he said bluntly. "What's going on?"

Seungmin opened his mouth to lie. Closed it, then looked at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin made a decision.

"We need help," he said. "Something's wrong. With us, the bond, and we don't know what to do."

Felix's expression shifted, from casual concern to something sharper, more serious. He looked at them for a long moment, then nodded.

"Come with me."

He led them to an empty classroom on the third floor, one Hyunjin had never noticed before. Inside, sitting on a battered desk, was Professor Flitwick.

"Ah," the Charms master said, his voice gentle. "I was wondering when you two would come."

Hyunjin froze. "You knew?"

"I suspected." Flitwick gestured for them to sit. "The Patronus display was... remarkable. Stag and doe, bowing to each other, running together. I've only read about such things. They indicate a bond of rare depth and power." His eyes were kind but serious. "They also indicate potential danger."

Seungmin's hand found Hyunjin's under the desk. "What kind of danger?"

"The bond you share is not ordinary. It was formed through accidental magic, I assume the Potions accident, yes? And has been strengthened by your emotional connection. Such bonds can be beautiful. But can also be destructive."

Flitwick's voice softened. "Have you experienced any... unusual symptoms? Shared pain? Moments of disorientation? Feelings of fading or merging?"

Hyunjin nodded, his throat tight.

Flitwick sighed. "I was afraid of that. The bond is growing too strong. If left unchecked, it will eventually try to merge your consciousnesses completely. You would lose yourselves. Become something neither of you recognizes."

Seungmin's grip on Hyunjin's hand tightened painfully. "Is there a cure?"

"Yes." Flitwick's voice was heavy. "There is a ritual, an ancient one. It would sever the bond completely."

Sever the bond. The words hit Hyunjin like a physical blow.

"What would that mean?" he managed. "For us?"

"You would stop sharing dreams. Stop feeling each other's emotions. Stop experiencing each other's pain." Flitwick paused. "You would also lose the connection that brought you together. The bond would be gone. Completely."

Silence fell over the classroom.

Hyunjin looked at Seungmin. Seungmin looked at him. And in both their eyes was the same question:

Could we survive that?

They didn't decide that night.

Instead, they walked back to the Room of Requirement, sat by the fire, and held each other in silence.

"Hyunjin," Seungmin whispered finally.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"I don't mean—" Seungmin pulled back, meeting his eyes. "I don't mean lose you like break up. I mean lose you in the bond, lose myself. Become something that isn't me anymore."

Hyunjin's heart ached. "I know. I don't want that either."

"So what do we do?"

"We learn about the ritual. We find out everything we can. And then we decide. Together."

Seungmin nodded slowly. "Okay, together."

Then, they dreamed again, but it was difference.

Hyunjin found himself in the white space, but it wasn't empty anymore. Walls were forming, translucent, shimmering, but walls nonetheless. Dividing the space into two.

And on the other side of the wall, Seungmin.

"Can you see me?" Hyunjin called.

"Barely." Seungmin's voice was faint, distorted. "It's like... like something's separating us."

Hyunjin pressed his hand against the wall. It was cold. Solid. Real.

"I think," he said slowly, "I think this is what the bond wants. To separate us, to protect us."

"Or to prepare us." Seungmin pressed his hand against the other side. Their palms lined up perfectly, separated by a breath of shimmering light. "For the ritual. For losing this."

They stood there, connected and divided, and for the first time, Hyunjin understood what they might have to give up.

Everything.

The week that followed was the hardest of Hyunjin's life.

Not because of O.W.L.s, though they loomed on the horizon like hungry wolves. Not because of his father's letters, which arrived with increasing frequency and decreasing warmth. Or because of anything as simple as school or family or the ordinary pressures of being sixteen.

Because every moment he wasn't with Seungmin, he was terrified.

The fading incident had cracked something open in both of them. The knowledge that the bond could hurt them, could possibly erase them, sat between them like a third presence in every conversation, every stolen moment, every kiss.

So they threw themselves into research.

Flitwick had given them a list of texts, most of them restricted to the Restricted Section. He'd also given them a pass, along with a look that said I trust you, but I'm watching.

The Restricted Section became their second home.

It was cold down there, and damp, and the chains on the oldest books rattled when you walked past. But it was private, and it was full of answers, and it was theirs.

"This one," Seungmin said one evening, pulling a massive volume from a high shelf. "Rituals of Severance: A Comprehensive History. Sounds cheerful."

Hyunjin took it from him, their fingers brushing. Even that, even the simplest touch, sent a shiver through him now. Not just pleasure, but awareness. Like a reminder of how connected they were.

They settled into their usual corner, shoulders pressed together for warmth, and began to read.

The book was worse than they expected.

"Listen to this," Seungmin murmured, his finger tracing a yellowed page. "The Severance Ritual, also known as the Unbinding, is employed when a magical connection between two individuals becomes dangerous to either party. The ritual severs all magical ties, including shared dreams, emotional bleed-through, and physical sympathy."

"That sounds good," Hyunjin said. "That's what we want."

Seungmin kept reading. His face grew pale. "But the severance is not without cost. Participants will experience a period of profound disorientation and grief, as the bond has become integrated into their sense of self. Some describe it as 'losing a limb' or 'having a part of their soul removed.' In rare cases, the grief can lead to—" He stopped.

"Lead to what?"

Seungmin's voice was barely a whisper. "Permanent magical depression. Inability to cast certain spells. In extreme cases, complete emotional shutdown."

Hyunjin stared at him. "So we either merge into nothing or we lose a piece of ourselves forever?"

Seungmin closed the book. "That's what it sounds like."

They sat in silence, the weight of it pressing down on them.

That night, the dreams were walls.

Hyunjin stood in the white space, watching the translucent barriers grow thicker, more solid. On the other side, Seungmin was doing the same. They could see each other, barely. Could press their hands to the dividing wall and feel the faint echo of warmth.

But they couldn't reach each other. Couldn't touch. Couldn't kiss.

"It's getting worse," Seungmin said, his voice muffled by the barrier.

"I know." Hyunjin pressed his forehead to the cold surface. "I don't know how much longer we have."

"A few weeks, maybe. A month at most." Seungmin's voice cracked. "Flitwick said the bond accelerates as it gets stronger. The closer we get, the faster it grows."

The closer we get. They'd spent months getting closer, falling in love, building something beautiful and fragile and entirely, impossibly real.

And now that very closeness was destroying them.

"I don't want to lose this," Hyunjin whispered. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Seungmin's hand pressed against the barrier, trying to reach him. "Even if we do the ritual. Even if the bond breaks. You won't lose me. I won't let you."

"Seungmin—"

"I mean it." His voice was fierce, desperate. "We found each other once. We can find each other again. Without the dreams or the bond. Just... us. Choosing each other."

Hyunjin closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him.

Choosing each other. Not because they had to or because the bond forced them. But because they wanted to.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

They stood there, separated by walls that would only grow thicker, and held onto hope with both hands.

The next day, they found the ritual details.

It was in a book Felix had smuggled from the Hufflepuff common room—an old text, half falling apart, with annotations in the margins from decades past. The ritual required a full moon, a protected space, and both participants holding hands throughout.

"The severance is achieved through focused intent and the release of accumulated magical energy," Seungmin read aloud. "Participants must visualize the bond dissolving, the threads of connection unwinding, until nothing remains."

"And then?" Hyunjin asked.

"And then nothing. The bond is gone. They're separate again." Seungmin looked up, his eyes bright. "That's it. That's the cure."

Hyunjin should have felt relief. Instead, he felt nothing but grief.

They didn't talk about it that night. Or the next. Or even the next.

Instead, they held each other closer, kissed longer, and memorized every detail of each other's faces, voices, touch, everything.

The walls in the dreams grew thicker. The fading episodes grew more frequent. Twice, Hyunjin caught himself losing focus in class, only to realize he'd been experiencing Seungmin's emotions instead of his own.

They were running out of time. The full moon was in two weeks.

Flitwick confirmed it when they finally went to him, the ritual book clutched between them. He read the passages carefully, his face growing more serious with each page.

"This will work," he said finally. "It's ancient, but it's sound. You'll need a protected space, the Room of Requirement will suffice. And you'll need to be absolutely certain. Once the ritual begins, there's no stopping it."

Hyunjin looked at Seungmin. Seungmin looked at him.

"We're certain," they said together.

Flitwick studied them for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"Two weeks, then. I'll help you prepare."

That night, in the Room of Requirement, they held each other and cried.

Not because they were sad, though they were, or because they were scared, though they were that too. Because they were losing something precious, something that had brought them together, that had given them each other.

"I don't regret it," Seungmin whispered into Hyunjin's chest. "Any of it. The dreams. The bond. The fear. I don't regret any of it."

"Neither do I." Hyunjin pressed a kiss to his hair. "It brought me you. That's worth everything."

"Even losing it?"

"Even that."

They held each other as the fire crackled and the night stretched on, two boys on the edge of losing something beautiful, choosing each other anyway.

The days before the full moon passed like water through fingers, impossible to hold, impossible to slow.

Hyunjin found himself watching Seungmin constantly. In Potions, where they still sat together despite the whispers. In the library, where they studied with their knees pressed together under the table. Even in the corridors between classes, where stolen glances had to last hours until they could meet again.

He was memorizing. That was the only word for it, committing Seungmin to memory like a text he'd need to recite from forever.

The way his nose crinkled when he laughed. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle. The way his eyes went soft and distant when he was thinking about something important. The way he said Hyunjin's name, like it was something precious, something worth saying.

I need to remember this, Hyunjin thought, over and over. I need to remember all of it.

Because in three days, the dreams would stop. The bond would break, and he'd have only memories left.

"You're doing it again," Seungmin said quietly.

They were in the Room of Requirement, curled together on the couch by the fire. The room had become their sanctuary over the past weeks—a place where they could just be, without pretense or fear.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like I'm going to disappear."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "Aren't you? After Friday?"

Seungmin was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, turning to face Hyunjin fully. His eyes were bright, but his voice was steady.

"I'm not going to disappear. The bond might, or the dreams might. But I'm not going anywhere." He reached up and cupped Hyunjin's face in his hands. "You're stuck with me. Ritual or no ritual. You understand?"

Hyunjin's eyes burned. "How do you know? How do you know we'll still— that we'll be able to—"

"Because I'll choose you." Seungmin's voice was fierce. "Every day. With or without magic telling me to. I'll choose you."

Choose you. Such simple words, such an impossible promise.

But looking at Seungmin, with the absolute certainty in his eyes, the steadiness of his hands, and how warm he feels, Hyunjin found himself believing.

"I'll choose you too," he whispered. "Every day."

They kissed by the fire, slow and desperate and full of everything they couldn't say.

Then, the dream was different again.

Hyunjin stood in the white space, but the walls were gone. For the first time in weeks, the space between them was empty, no barriers, no separation, just open air.

And Seungmin was there, waiting.

"What's happening?" Hyunjin asked. "Where are the walls?"

"I don't know." Seungmin looked around, his brow furrowed. "Maybe the bond knows. Maybe it's giving us one last night. Before—"

Before Friday, the ritual. Before everything changed.

They looked at each other across the empty space. Then, without speaking, they crossed it.

Their bodies met in the middle—realer than real, warmer than warm. They held each other like they'd never have another chance. Because maybe they wouldn't. Maybe after Friday, even dreams would be just dreams.

"Hyunjin." Seungmin's voice was muffled against his shoulder. "I don't want to forget."

"Forget what?"

"This. Us. The way it feels to be this close." He pulled back, meeting Hyunjin's eyes. "Promise me you won't forget. Promise me that even without the bond, even without the dreams, you'll remember."

Hyunjin cupped his face in his hands, the same gesture Seungmin had used earlier, the same tenderness.

"I promise," he said. "I'll remember everything. The way you laugh. The way you say my name. The way you look at me like I matter." His voice cracked. "I'll remember it all."

Seungmin kissed him, and the white space filled with light, and for one perfect moment, they were whole.

The day before the full moon, they went to Flitwick for final instructions.

The ritual would take place at midnight, in the Room of Requirement. They would sit facing each other, hands clasped, and focus on letting go. Flitwick would guide them through the incantations, to ensure the magic flowed correctly, and be there if anything went wrong.

"It will hurt," Flitwick warned gently. "Not physically, but emotionally. The bond has become part of you. Letting it go will feel like loss. Like grief."

Seungmin nodded, his face pale but determined. "We understand."

"And after?" Hyunjin asked. "What happens after?"

Flitwick was quiet for a moment. "After, you will be separate. Truly separate, for the first time since the accident. You will still have your memories, the bond cannot take those. But the connection itself will be gone."

Gone. Such a small word for such a huge thing.

"Thank you, Professor," Seungmin said quietly.

Flitwick nodded, his eyes sad. "Be kind to yourselves tomorrow. Whatever you feel like grief, relief, confusion, it's all normal. The bond may be gone, but what you built because of it... that's real. That's yours."

They spent their last bonded night in the Room of Requirement.

Not talking about the ritual. Not talking about tomorrow. Just... being. Holding each other, laughing about nothing, and kissing like they had all the time in the world. At this point, Hyunjin got addicted to how sweet Seungmin’s lips taste against him.

At some point, Seungmin fell asleep against Hyunjin's chest. Hyunjin stayed awake, watching him, memorizing.

The softness of his face in sleep. The way his lips parted slightly. The small sounds he made when he dreamed. The warmth of him, solid and real and here.

I'll remember this, Hyunjin promised himself. I'll remember all of it.

He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

In the dream, they met one last time.

The white space was fading, Hyunjin could see it, the edges growing thin, the light dimming. Soon there would be nothing and the dreams would stop.

Seungmin stood before him, silver and beautiful, already half transparent.

"This is it," he said softly. "The last one."

Hyunjin nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I love you." Seungmin's voice was steady, sure. "I loved you before the bond, and I'll love you after. That doesn't change. Nothing changes that."

Hyunjin reached for him. His hands passed through, barely solid, barely there.

"I love you too," he whispered. "I'll find you tomorrow. In the real world. I'll find you and I'll choose you. Every day."

Seungmin smiled and faded.

The white space went dark.

Hyunjin woke alone.

The night of the full moon arrived cold and clear, stars scattered across the sky like salt on dark cloth.

Hyunjin stood at the window of the Slytherin common room, watching the moonlight silver the surface of the lake. In a few hours, everything would change. In a few hours, the bond that had brought him Seungmin would be gone.

He should have felt relieved. The fear was ending, the fading, the merging, the loss of self. After tonight, he would be himself again. Whole and separate.

Instead, he felt like he was walking to his own execution.

"You ready?" Jisung's voice came from behind him.

Hyunjin turned. His friend was leaning against the back of a sofa, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"No," Hyunjin admitted. "But I'm going anyway."

Jisung crossed the room and stood beside him, looking out at the lake. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. The bond was hurting you. Both of you."

"I know."

"But that doesn't make it easier."

"No," Hyunjin's throat tightened. "It doesn't."

Jisung turned quiet, then he did something unexpected—he pulled Hyunjin into a hug. Quick and awkward and so utterly Jisung that Hyunjin almost laughed.

"Go," Jisung said, releasing him. "Go be with him. And when it's over, come find me. I'll be here. With snacks."

Hyunjin managed a smile. "Snacks?"

"Obviously. This is a traumatic event. Snacks are mandatory."

For a moment, just a moment, the weight lifted. Then Hyunjin nodded, turned, and walked out of the common room.

The Room of Requirement was already warm when he arrived.

Seungmin was there, sitting on a cushion by the fire, his hands clasped in his lap. He looked up when Hyunjin entered, and his smile was small and sad and beautiful.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Hyunjin crossed the room and sat across from him, close enough to touch. They looked at each other for a long moment, drinking in the sight.

"Are you ready?" Seungmin asked.

"No. You?"

"No."

They laughed, though it was kind of empty.

"But we're doing it anyway," Seungmin continued. "Because we have to."

Hyunjin nodded. "Because we have to."

The fire crackled between them. Somewhere in the castle, a clock began to chime midnight.

Flitwick appeared from the shadows—he'd been there all along, Hyunjin realized, waiting. His face was gentle.

"It's time," he said quietly. "Take each other's hands."

They reached out. Their fingers intertwined, it felt warm.

"Close your eyes," Flitwick instructed. "Focus on the bond. Feel it, the connection between you. The threads of magic that tie your souls together."

Hyunjin closed his eyes. And there it was, the bond, glowing silver behind his eyelids. He could feel it pulsing, alive, real. Could feel Seungmin on the other end, warm and familiar and his.

"Now," Flitwick's voice continued, "I want you to let go. Not of each other, but of the bond. Visualize the threads dissolving. The connection fading. Let it go, piece by piece."

Hyunjin's chest tightened. Let go. How do you let go of something that had become part of you?

But he tried. He focused on the bond, on the silver threads, and imagined them loosening, breaking.

Beside him, he felt Seungmin do the same.

The bond screamed.

Not aloud, inside, a psychic shriek of protest as the magic that had tied them together began to unravel. Hyunjin gasped, his grip on Seungmin's hands tightening. He could feel Seungmin's pain echoing his own, could feel him fighting not to pull away.

"Stay with it," Flitwick urged. "You're doing well. Keep going."

Keep going. Keep destroying the thing that brought them together. Keep tearing apart the magic that had given them each other.

Hyunjin kept going.

The threads dissolved one by one. With each one, a memory flickered and faded, not lost, but dimmed. The dream of Seungmin's grandmother. The vision of young Seungmin on the train. The moments in the white space, holding each other, promising forever.

Each one hurt and each one felt like dying.

But he kept going.

And then, silence.

The bond was gone.

Hyunjin opened his eyes. Seungmin was staring at him, his face wet with light tears. They were still holding hands, gripping each other like lifelines, but the space between them felt different.

"It's done," Flitwick said softly. "The bond is severed."

Hyunjin couldn't speak. Could only look at Seungmin, at this boy he loved more than anything, and feel... nothing. No warmth or connection. Just the ordinary presence of another person.

Seungmin's face crumpled. "Hyunjin?"

"I'm here." His voice came out rough, broken. "I'm still here."

They fell into each other, clinging, crying, mourning something they'd chosen to lose. The fire crackled on, indifferent to their grief. Flitwick slipped away, leaving them alone.

They held each other for a long time.

When they finally pulled apart, the world felt different.

It felt quieter and smaller, like just two boys in a room, not two souls bound by magic.

"Can you feel me?" Seungmin whispered. "At all?"

Hyunjin searched inside himself. For the warmth, the connection, the familiar pulse of Seungmin's presence. There was nothing.

"No," he said. "It's gone."

Seungmin nodded, his eyes bright with fresh tears. "Me neither."

They sat in silence, grieving.

Then, slowly, Seungmin reached out and took Hyunjin's hand again. Not because the bond demanded it. Not because magic compelled it. Just because he wanted to.

"I still love you," he said quietly. "The bond didn't make that. It was always mine."

Hyunjin's heart—his own heart, not Seungmin's, just his—swelled.

"I still love you too," he whispered. "That's mine. That's always been mine."

They kissed by the fire, slow and tender, and it was different from before, ess magic and warmth. Just two people, choosing each other.

But it was enough.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, too exhausted to return to their dormitories.

When Hyunjin woke, grey dawn light was filtering through the Room of Requirement's windows. Seungmin was still asleep beside him, his face peaceful, his breathing steady.

Hyunjin watched him for a long moment. No bond or connection. Just... Seungmin. The boy he loved.

This is what it feels like, he thought. To love someone without magic forcing it. Just... love.

He pressed a kiss to Seungmin's forehead and waited for him to wake up.

That night, Hyunjin dreamed of nothing.

No white space. No Seungmin. No connection.

Just ordinary dreams, fuzzy and forgettable, gone by morning.

He woke feeling strange—lighter, somehow, but also heavier. Free, but also bereft.

This is what normal feels like, he realized. This is what everyone else experiences. It’s been long.

He wasn't sure he liked it.

Across the castle, Seungmin woke with the same thought.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time in months, his mind was completely his own. No Hyunjin's emotions bleeding through. No dreams of cold manors. Just... silence.

It was the loneliest thing he'd ever felt.

But when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Hyunjin was already there, waiting. Their eyes met across the room, and Hyunjin smiled, real and warm.

Seungmin smiled back.

This is enough, he thought. This has to be enough.

He crossed the hall and sat beside Hyunjin, their shoulders touching. And for the first time since the ritual, the silence between them felt not like loss, but like beginning.

The days after the ritual passed in a strange, hollow quiet.

Hyunjin woke each morning reaching for something that wasn't there. A warmth, a presence, the familiar pulse of Seungmin at the edge of his awareness. And each morning, he found nothing but empty space.

It felt like losing a sense. Like going blind or deaf, except the thing he'd lost was something most people never had, something he'd only just learned to treasure.

In class, he kept looking for Seungmin. Not with his eyes, with whatever had been taken from him. And every time he found nothing, the grief washed over him again.

"You're doing it again," Jisung said one afternoon in the common room.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you stare into space and look like someone died." Jisung's voice was gentle. "It's been a week, Hyunjin. Maybe... maybe it's time to start moving forward?"

Hyunjin wanted to snap at him. Wanted to explain that you don't just move forward from losing a part of yourself. But Jisung was trying, Jisung was always trying.

"I know," he said instead. "I'm working on it."

Jisung didn't look convinced, but he let it go.

Across the castle, Seungmin was having the same problem.

He sat in the Hufflepuff common room, surrounded by his friends, but feeling utterly alone. Felix was telling a story about something that had happened in Care of Magical Creatures. People were laughing and life was continuing.

Seungmin heard none of it.

He was too busy reaching for Hyunjin, reaching with something that no longer existed, coming up empty every time.

"You're quiet tonight," Felix observed, settling beside him.

"Just tired."

"It's more than tired." Felix's voice was soft. "You've been different since the ritual. We all notice. We're just waiting for you to talk about it."

Seungmin looked at his friend, at the genuine concern in his eyes, and felt something crack in his chest.

"I don't know how to explain it," he whispered. "It's like... there was this warmth. All the time. In the back of my mind. And now it's gone. And I keep reaching for it, and it's not there, and I don't know how to stop reaching."

Felix was quiet for a moment. "Does Hyunjin know you feel this way?"

"We haven't really talked. Since the ritual. We see each other in class, but—" Seungmin shrugged. "It's hard. Looking at him and not feeling him."

"Maybe that's exactly why you should talk." Felix squeezed his shoulder. "The bond is gone. But he's not. He's still there. Still the same person. Maybe you need to relearn how to be with him without the magic."

Relearn how to be with him. The words echoed in Seungmin's mind long after Felix had gone to bed.

Thursday arrived, and with it, the first patrol since the ritual.

Hyunjin stood at the seventh floor junction at ten to eight, his heart pounding. He didn't know what to expect. Didn't know if Seungmin would even show up, he idn't know if they could do this, be together, without the bond, without the dreams.

At exactly eight o'clock, Seungmin appeared.

He looked nervous, Hyunjin could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands were clasped behind his back. But he was there. He came.

"Hi," Seungmin said.

"Hi."

They stood there for a long moment, neither moving. Then, slowly, Hyunjin reached out.

Seungmin took his hand.

It was different. Just skin against skin, warmth against warmth. No magic or bond, just two people choosing to touch.

"I missed you," Seungmin whispered. "All week. I kept reaching for you and you weren't there."

Hyunjin's throat tightened. "Same. It's like... like something's missing. All the time."

"I know." Seungmin stepped closer. "But we're here now. In person. Real."

"Real," Hyunjin agreed.

They started walking, hands intertwined, the familiar route stretching before them. The sleeping knight, the bowl of fruit, the cupboard.

It felt strange but ordinary. Wrong and right at the same time.

"How do we do this?" Hyunjin asked quietly. "How do we be together without... without what we had?"

Seungmin hesitated, "I don't know. But I want to try. If you do."

"Of course I do. I just—" Hyunjin stopped walking and turned to face him. "What if it's not enough? What if without the bond, without the dreams, we're just... two people who don't actually work?"

Seungmin looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled—that small, private smile that had always been just for Hyunjin.

"Do you remember," he said, "what you told me once? About being scared with me being better than being calm alone?"

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes burning.

"It's still true." Seungmin squeezed his hand. "Even without the bond. Even without the magic. Being scared with you is still better than anything without you."

Hyunjin kissed him.

It was different from before, felt less desperate, less magical. Just two boys, kissing in a corridor, choosing each other.

When they pulled apart, they were both smiling.

"Same time next week?" Seungmin asked.

"Same time."

That night, Hyunjin dreamed of ordinary things.

Homework. Quidditch. The taste of pumpkin juice. Nothing special, nothing magical.

But when he woke, he was smiling.

Because somewhere in the castle, Seungmin was waking up too. And even without the bond, even without the dreams, they would find each other. Today. Tomorrow. Every day.

That's enough, he thought. That's more than enough.

Spring arrived at Hogwarts in a rush of color and warmth.

The grounds greened almost overnight, the lake lost its winter grey, and students abandoned the fireside for the shores of the Black Lake. O.W.L.s came and went in a blur of parchment and ink, leaving behind a strange, floating calm.

For Hyunjin and Seungmin, the weeks after the ritual had been a slow process of relearning. Relearning how to be together without magic, and how to trust ordinary touch, ordinary conversation, ordinary presence.

It had been hard. Some days, Hyunjin still reached for the bond and found nothing. Some days, Seungmin still looked at him with a flicker of loss in his eyes.

But they'd kept showing up. Thursday patrols, stolen moments in the library, hands finding each other under tables. Slowly, painfully, they'd built something new.

Something that was theirs alone.

Then a letter arrived on a Tuesday.

Hyunjin knew it was from his father before he even opened it—the cream-colored parchment, the precise handwriting, the Hwang family crest pressed into wax. He stared at it for a long moment, his breakfast growing cold beside him.

"What is it?" Jisung asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"My father." Hyunjin broke the seal. Unfolded the parchment. Read.

And felt the world tilt.

Hyunjin,

I have received concerning reports about your associations at Hogwarts. Rumours reach even here—whispers of inappropriate attachments, of time spent with those beneath our family's standing.

This ends now.

You will cut all ties with the Hufflepuff boy. You will focus on your studies. You will remember who you are and what our name demands.

I expect confirmation of your compliance by the end of term. Failure to comply will have consequences—for you, and for those you've chosen to prioritize over family.

Your father

Hyunjin read it twice. Three times. Each word settled into his chest like stones.

Consequences. For you, and for those you've chosen.

His father knew about Seungmin. His father was threatening Seungmin.

"Hyunjin?" Jisung's voice was worried now. "What does it say?"

Hyunjin couldn't answer. Could only stare at the parchment, his hands shaking, his heart pounding with a fear he hadn't felt in months.

He found Seungmin between classes, pulled him into an empty classroom, and handed him the letter without a word.

Seungmin read it. His face went pale.

"Hyunjin—"

"I won't do it." The words came out rough, desperate. "I won't cut ties with you. I don't care what he says."

"Hyunjin, listen to me." Seungmin's voice was steady, but his hands were shaking. "Your father has power, money, connections. If he decides to make trouble—"

"Let him." Hyunjin grabbed his hands. "I don't care. I don't care about any of it. The manor, the name, the expectations—I don't care. The only thing I care about is you."

Seungmin's eyes were bright. "You can't just throw away your family."

"Watch me."

They stared at each other, the weight of the moment pressing down.

"Hyunjin," Seungmin whispered, "I'm not worth—"

"Don't." Hyunjin's voice cracked. "Don't you dare say you're not worth it. You're everything. You've always been everything. And if my father can't see that, then he's the one losing something, not me."

Seungmin kissed him then, fierce and desperate and full of everything they couldn't say.

When they broke apart, Hyunjin was crying.

"I choose you," he whispered. "I choose you. Every time."

Seungmin pressed his forehead to Hyunjin's. "I choose you too."

That evening, they walked to the Black Lake.

The sun was setting, painting the water in shades of gold and rose. Students dotted the shore, laughing, talking, living ordinary lives. Hyunjin and Seungmin found a quiet spot near the water's edge and sat close together, shoulders touching.

"What are you going to tell him?" Seungmin asked quietly.

Hyunjin was silent for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his father's letter. Looked at it, at the cold words, the precise handwriting, the weight of expectation.

He tore it in half.

Then in half again.

And again, until nothing remained but scraps.

He stood, walked to the water's edge, and scattered the pieces across the lake. They floated for a moment, white against the gold, then sank.

Seungmin watched, his eyes wide.

"Hyunjin."

"I'm not going to tell him anything." Hyunjin turned back, his face set. "He doesn't deserve an explanation. He doesn't deserve my compliance. He doesn't deserve anything from me."

He walked back to Seungmin and held out his hand. Seungmin took it, and they stood together by the water, watching the sun sink below the horizon.

"Are you sure?" Seungmin asked softly. "About this? About us?"

Hyunjin looked at him—at this boy who had been in his dreams, who had held him through grief, who had chosen him even when it cost nothing and everything.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he said.

Seungmin smiled with that small, private smile and leaned in.

They kissed by the lake, soft and certain, as the last light faded from the sky.

Behind them, unbidden, two Patronuses appeared.

The stag and the doe, silver and bright, running together through the gathering dusk. They circled once, twice, then stopped—flank to flank, heads raised, watching the boys who had brought them into being.

Hyunjin and Seungmin pulled apart, staring.

"I thought—" Seungmin's voice was wonder. "I thought the bond was gone. I thought we couldn't—"

"Apparently," Hyunjin said slowly, "the Patronus doesn't care about bonds. It cares about us."

The stag bowed to the doe. The doe dipped her head in return. And then they ran, together, free, silver light weaving through the darkness.

Hyunjin looked at Seungmin. Seungmin looked at him.

"Ours," Hyunjin whispered. "Still ours."

Seungmin kissed him again, laughing against his lips.

"Always."

They stayed by the lake until the stars came out, holding hands, watching their Patronuses play in the moonlight. And when they finally walked back to the castle, it was together—not because magic forced them, but because they chose.

Every day. Every moment. Every choice.