Chapter Text
The first Monday of term began in complete darkness.
At least, that was what Minho believed when something violently collided with his bed at six in the morning.
He jerked awake instantly.
“Ow—”
“Wake up,” Felix whispered loudly from somewhere near the floor.
Minho squinted blearily toward the sound. “Why are you on the ground?”
“I tripped.”
“…On what?”
“Your trunk.”
“My trunk is across the room.”
A pause.
Felix sounded deeply offended. “Why are you judging me this early?”
Because it was six in the morning.
Because the sun was barely up.
Because Minho had slept maybe four hours after Jisung and Hyunjin somehow turned the common room into a debate over whether ghosts could technically commit tax fraud.
Minho buried his face back into his pillow.
“Go away.”
“We have classes.”
“That sounds fake.”
Felix yanked the blanket partly off him.
“Lix,” Minho groaned.
“You’re Quidditch captain now. Act responsible.”
“You’re literally sitting on the floor.”
“I’m thriving.”
“You fell.”
“Details.”
Despite his complaints, Minho slowly sat up anyway, brown hair sticking out in every direction. The Hufflepuff dorms were still dim and quiet around them, curtains drawn around most beds.
Felix stared at him for a second.
“…You look about twelve.”
Minho narrowed his eyes immediately. “I hate this school.”
“You love this school.”
“I tolerate this school.”
“Mm.”
Felix grinned and tossed him his sweater.
—
By the time they reached the Great Hall, Hogwarts had fully woken up.
Students crowded every table, owls swooping overhead while breakfast plates refilled themselves endlessly. The ceiling reflected heavy grey clouds again, rain tapping softly against the enchanted windows.
Minho barely made it three steps into the hall before hearing whispers.
“That’s him.”
“The Hufflepuff captain.”
“The one who moved up a year.”
“He’s shorter than I expected.”
Minho immediately reconsidered attending school at all.
“You’re sulking already,” Felix observed.
“I’m being persecuted.”
“No one is persecuting you.”
“Someone just called me short, to my face.”
“You are short.”
Minho looked at him flatly. “Traitor.”
Felix only laughed and steered him toward the Hufflepuff table.
The others were already there.
Chan sat at the Gryffindor table turned halfway around in his seat talking to Changbin while simultaneously trying to wave Minho over from three tables away. Hyunjin looked half asleep beside Seungmin at Slytherin, long blond hair falling into his eyes while Jisung animatedly explained something from the Ravenclaw table.
Minho hadn’t even sat down yet before Chan called loudly:
“There’s our captain!”
Half the hall turned to look.
Minho froze mid-step.
“Christopher Bang,” Seungmin said calmly across the hall, “lower your voice.”
Chan looked unapologetic. “I’m supporting him.”
“You’re humiliating him.”
“That too.”
Minho sat down quickly and hid behind Felix’s shoulder.
“You’re dramatic,” Jeongin said as he arrived beside Jisung carrying coffee.
“I learned from Hyunjin.”
“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Hyunjin gasped.
Jisung leaned across the table toward Minho with narrowed eyes. “You slept late again.”
“How do you know?”
“You have the face.”
“…What face?”
“The sleepy tiny angry face.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It’s not,” Seungmin said.
Minho looked betrayed immediately.
Seungmin finally glanced up from his tea, expression calm as ever.
Then his eyes softened slightly the second they landed on Minho.
“How long-”
“You’re agreeing with him now?”
Seungmin took a slow sip of tea. “I’m observing.”
“That’s worse.”
Across the table, Changbin laughed. “He really is the sleepy tiny angry face.”
“I am not a face,” Minho muttered.
"You have one though"
Hyunjin stretched lazily, leaning into Jisung’s shoulder. “He’s in denial again.”
“I’m not in denial.”
“You were also in denial about liking strawberries until last year,” Felix reminded him.
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“You stole mine every day.”
“Again. Misunderstanding.”
Jeongin flipped a page in his book. “You’re all loud before eight in the morning.”
Chan grinned from across the hall. “Some of us are productive.”
“You’re eating bacon,” Jeongin said flatly.
“And?”
“And nothing.”
—
Classes began with their usual controlled chaos.
Well—controlled was generous.
Professor Flitwick looked delighted to see Minho again, practically beaming when he arrived early to Charms. Professor Sprout immediately handed him a stack of revised notes “just in case he got bored.”
Minho accepted them with a tired nod.
Meanwhile, across the castle, whispers followed him.
Especially in Slytherin corridors.
Sanghoon watched him pass during a lesson break, expression tight.
“He’s not even supposed to be in our year,” he muttered.
Yongsun leaned against the wall. “And yet he is.”
“Because McGonagall favors him.”
“Because he’s better than you,” Minseo said without looking up.
Sanghoon shot her a glare. “Careful.”
Minseo finally met his eyes. “Or what?”
The tension simmered, then faded into something unspoken.
Minho, completely unaware of all of it, was currently trying to find Seungmin in the hallway.
Which wasn’t difficult.
Seungmin stood out in Slytherin green like he belonged there more than the castle itself, posture relaxed as he spoke quietly with Hyunjin near a window.
Hyunjin noticed Minho first.
“There he is,” he said, smirking slightly.
Seungmin turned immediately.
And just like that—his expression shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Like the world narrowed slightly.
“You’re late,” Seungmin said.
“I had Transfiguration,” Minho replied.
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It is if McGonagall kept asking me questions I didn’t want to answer.”
Hyunjin snorted. “She does that when she’s impressed.”
“I know.”
Seungmin stepped closer, adjusting Minho’s collar without thinking.
Minho didn’t move away.
He never did.
“You’re tired,” Seungmin said.
“I’m fine.”
“You said that last time and fell asleep in the library.”
“That was strategic.”
Hyunjin raised a brow. “How?”
“I was resting my eyes while researching.”
“That’s called sleeping,” Hyunjin said.
“It’s not.”
Seungmin’s hand paused at Minho’s collar for a second longer than necessary.
Then he stepped back.
“Eat properly later,” he said.
Minho nodded once. “I will.”
He probably would.
Eventually.
—
By midday, the first years had officially started staring.
It was unavoidable.
Minho noticed it during lunch when a group of them nearly dropped their trays just trying to sit near the Hufflepuff table.
“He’s real,” one whispered.
“He looks nicer in person,” another said.
“He’s shorter than I thought.”
Minho paused mid bite.
Felix immediately covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
“Don’t,” Minho warned quietly.
“I didn’t say anything,” Felix said, failing to sound innocent.
Chan leaned across the table again. “You’ve got fans.”
“I don’t want fans.”
“You have them anyway,” Jeongin said.
Minho sighed and poked at his food.
Seungmin, seated across the hall, was watching.
Not staring openly.
Just occasionally glancing over, it was just habit.
Like Minho was something he always checked on without meaning to.
—
That afternoon, the notice went out.
Quidditch captain responsibilities were being finalized.
The castle buzzed immediately.
Minho stood in the Hufflepuff locker room staring at the chalkboard schedule like it might rewrite itself if he stared hard enough.
“You’re overthinking,” Felix said, already putting on his gloves.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Minho didn’t respond.
Because he was.
Not about Quidditch.
About everything.
The way the castle felt louder this year.
The way people kept looking at him.
The way McGonagall had said it so calmly.
“You earned it.”
A knock came at the door.
Chan poked his head in first.
“There’s our captain.”
Minho groaned immediately. “Please stop saying that.”
Changbin followed behind him. “Why? It’s true.”
Hyunjin appeared next, hair slightly messy. “We came to make sure you didn’t run away.”
“I didn’t plan to.”
“Good,” Seungmin said from behind them.
Minho turned.
He hadn’t noticed him arriving.
Seungmin stepped inside the locker room fully now, hands in his pockets.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Seungmin said quietly.
Minho looked away slightly. “It’s loud this year.”
“It always is.”
“It feels worse.”
Seungmin didn’t respond immediately.
Then he walked closer.
Not crowding him.
Just enough to be there.
“You’re still the same,” Seungmin said.
Minho glanced up.
Seungmin’s expression stayed calm, but his voice softened slightly.
“Nothing changed about you. Only the year did.”
Minho was quiet for a moment.
Then nodded once.
“…Yeah.”
From the doorway, Jisung whispered to Jeongin:
“I give them two minutes before they start holding hands.”
“Three,” Jeongin corrected.
—
By evening, Minho had stopped overthinking.
Mostly.
The Quidditch pitch was cold, wind cutting across the field as teams gathered for early-season training. Lanterns flickered faintly along the stands.
Minho stood at the center of the pitch, clipboard in hand.
“Positions,” he called quietly.
And just like that—
He wasn’t the smallest student.
He wasn’t the youngest.
He wasn’t the one everyone looked at.
He was captain.
Focused. Calm. Precise.
Felix watched from the sidelines, grinning slightly.
“That’s our Min,” he said softly.
Chan nodded. “Yeah.”
Seungmin stood a little farther away on the opposite side of the pitch, arms crossed as he watched.
Not interfering.
Just there.
Always there.
Minho glanced up once during practice.
Caught Seungmin’s eyes across the field.
And for a second—just a second—everything felt steady again.