Chapter Text
The hills around Hogwarts had turned the color of old copper, soft and dull under the pale sweep of the autumn sun. The air smelled of brittle leaves and woodsmoke, and the sharp wind that came in off the lake was the kind that crept under collars and sleeves no matter how tightly you wrapped your scarf. The grounds were littered with leaves — some gold, some brown, and plenty still clinging to the last green of summer, stubborn and sour.
Euijoo always liked this part of the year best, usually. There was something steady about it. Predictable. But this autumn had felt different.
The exam period hung over the school like a damp curtain, and the castle had grown quieter, as if the stone walls themselves knew better than to disturb a stressed-out student. Library tables were crammed with parchment and ink bottles, and the fireplaces were always surrounded by muttering second-years trying to cram the basics of potion properties into their heads.
Euijoo had thought — assumed — that nothing about that part would change. That even if everything else kept shifting, some things would stay rooted. Like him, Maki, and Nicholas taking over the same old table in the library, heads bent low over books, whispering insults at each other instead of studying properly.
But this term, Nicholas hadn’t shown up.
Not once.
He’d drifted, instead, toward his other friends, Slytherins — the ones who lounged around the halls like they owned them, sneering at anyone too young or too soft. He’d started walking with them between classes too, hands shoved deep in his pockets, smirk sharpened like a blade. There was a new kind of swagger in his step, like he’d been practicing it in front of a mirror.
The worst part was that Nicholas didn’t even seem to notice.
Euijoo tried not to care. He and Maki still met up at the library like clockwork, still claimed their favorite corner table by the window where the dying sunlight always slanted across the pages like a warm hand. But there was a hollowness to it this time. The space across from him stayed empty.
“Don’t look like that,” Maki muttered one afternoon, flipping lazily through his notes while balancing a sugar quill between his teeth. “It’s just Nicholas. He’s always doing this.”
“Doing what?” Euijoo asked, sharper than he meant to.
Maki shrugged, the sugar quill bobbing slightly. “You know. Pulling away. Acting like he’s too cool. He’ll come crawling back when they get bored of him. Don't forget he's-”
"I know," Euijoo cut off before Maki could finish, voice distant.
That Saturday, with exams looming so close they could almost hear them breathing down their necks, Euijoo and Maki had snuck out to the orchard to study. The leaves there had turned to brittle paper, and the apples hung overripe, skin puckered and soft, some already fallen to the ground and rotting sweet into the grass. The sour scent still hung in the air, but now it was mixed with decay.
Maki sat against the base of a crooked tree, long legs stretched out in front of him, flicking through his Herbology guide as if he weren’t worried at all. Euijoo, sprawled on his stomach, was only half-reading his Care of Magical Creatures notes, more aware of the empty space beside them than the words on the page.
“Bet you he’s at The Three Broomsticks,” Maki said offhandedly, not looking up from his book. “With that ratpack of his, throwing pumpkin fizz around and pretending they know everything.”
Euijoo didn’t answer. He’d passed the pub earlier, heading back from the post office, and seen Nicholas through the window. Laughing. Elbows up on the sticky old table, his Slytherin tie loose and lopsided, surrounded by his new crowd.
Euijoo had stood there for a long moment, just watching. Nicholas hadn’t noticed him. Or maybe he had. Either way, he hadn’t waved.
The bitterness crept up slowly, like the cold did, settling somewhere behind Euijoo’s ribs.
When Maki noticed the silence, he looked over and tilted his head, studying him the same way he might study a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.
“You’re too soft, you know,” Maki said quietly. “That’s why it stings.”
Euijoo turned the page in his book without looking up, pressing his thumb hard into the corner until the paper creased.
“Doesn’t sting,” he lied.
The sky was bruising darker, pulling its pale lavender edges into deep indigo, when Euijoo and Maki finally left the orchard. The chill had grown sharper, biting through the thin gaps between scarf and collar. They wandered down the hill, books under their arms, boots kicking stray pebbles and crumbling leaves along the path, minds already heavy with the looming exam schedule.
The two of them were cutting across the courtyard — cold wind curling off the stone — when the sound of sharp laughter caught Euijoo’s ears. He didn’t have to turn to know who it belonged to. Wang.
Sure enough, he and the usual Slytherin crew were sprawled across the steps leading to the castle entrance like they owned the place — Asakura Jo, Koga Yudai, and that smug, sharp-faced Nora Prince, her arms folded tight and a too-sweet smile curling at the edges of her mouth.
Euijoo slowed, stomach tightening. Maki squared his shoulders out of instinct, already bracing for the kind of encounter they’d had before.
“Well, look what the wind dragged in,” Jo's voice rang out as soon as they were close enough, mockery already dripping from every word. “If it isn’t Maki and the Gryffindor charity case.”
K snorted, sharp and mean. “Studying so hard won’t help if you don’t have the brains to start with, Byun.”
Maki felt the flush rise hot in his ears, but he kept his mouth shut, staring hard at the scuffed toes of his boots. Euijoo, ever more defiant, lifted his chin.
“Rather be a charity case than a snake’s tail,” Euijoo shot back, his eyes falling sharply on Nicholas, voice dry as a dead leaf.
The laughter that followed wasn’t friendly. Nicholas stood at the edge of the group, hands deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. For a moment, Euijoo thought — hoped — Nicholas would say something. Just one word. But he didn’t.
He looked away.
The cold bit harder than before as Euijoo and Maki walked past, silent. The warmth they’d built in the orchard, the ease of old friendship, drained out like water through a cracked jug.
It was hours later, the castle finally sunk into its deep, late-night hush, when Euijoo heard the soft tap of knuckles against the library window. He looked up from his half-finished notes, surprised to see Nicholas standing on the other side, hair tousled from the wind, tie half-loosened, and the usual arrogance gone from his face.
He slipped inside a few minutes later, after sneaking in through the side door, looking like he hadn’t quite figured out what to say.
“Hey,” Nicholas muttered, rocking on his heels. His voice didn’t have its usual sharp edge, just the bare bones of it, stripped down and plain.
Maki, slumped across from Euijoo with his face half-buried in his sleeve, didn’t look up. Euijoo didn’t either, letting the silence stretch long enough that it felt like a punishment.
Nicholas shifted again, then finally sat down — not in his usual sprawl, but stiff, like a boy waiting for a scolding.
“I didn’t say anything earlier,” he started, and then stopped. Picked the words apart. “I should’ve, though.”
Maki’s eyes flicked open, watching him without saying a word.
Nicholas let out a long breath, shoulders sinking a little. “I didn’t mean for them to — I mean, it wasn’t funny. They’re just—” He broke off again, scowling at himself.
Euijoo finally looked up, his throat tight, the sharp ache of unsaid things pressing against the back of his tongue.
“I don't give two shits about them,” he said, voice flat but firm, his gaze steady even as the sting of it lingered.
Nicholas didn’t argue. He just sat there — silent, small, the usual sharpness in his posture dulled, as the cold draft from the window ghosted around their table. For once, he had no words to hide behind, no half-hearted joke to offer. Just quiet.
Euijoo dropped his gaze back to his parchment, the smudged ink from his half-written notes staring back at him like proof of how little he’d managed to focus all evening. His quill hovered, but he couldn’t bring himself to write. The sour knot in his chest was still there — sharp and unspoken — but the part that stung more was the way Nicholas had looked, standing there in the dark, trying to say something that wouldn’t fix anything.
"I'm sorry," Nicholas said at last, the words barely more than a whisper, too soft, too small, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to say them at all. His eyes stayed fixed on the table. "I’ll talk to them."
Euijoo’s sigh was heavy, almost exasperated, and he turned slightly in his chair, facing Nicholas fully. “No, don’t. Just—” He hesitated, swallowing the rest, “don’t ignore us that much, that’s all.”
Nicholas blinked, almost surprised by the plainness of it. A moment passed, then a lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Did you miss me?”
Before Euijoo could answer, Maki nudged Nicholas’ shoulder with his own, deadpan. “I didn’t,” he quipped.
Nicholas let out a quiet laugh — part relief, part something else — and gave Maki a playful shove back. His smile softened, and when Euijoo finally let the smallest ghost of a smile slip free, Maki rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.
“Well, that’s settled, then,” Maki muttered, voice dipped in dry sarcasm, though it lacked its usual bite. “Now if you’re done being a prat, Wang, help me sort out this bloody Herbology question before I fail and my mum disowns me.”
Nicholas let out another breath — half a laugh, half a silent apology wrapped in relief — and shuffled his chair closer, leaning over Maki’s parchment.
The castle beyond the frosted windows had grown quiet, the kind of deep, bone-settling silence that only came once curfew had wrapped the halls in stillness. Euijoo rested his chin on his palm, watching the two of them fall back into their usual rhythm, bickering softly over plant names and potion ingredients like nothing had ever frayed.