Chapter Text
Classes had officially been suspended for a week. But everyone knew—whispered in corridors, wrote in letters, said over cold cups of tea—that this was only the beginning. Hogwarts was no longer just a school; it was a battlefield. And no one was coming back to it anytime soon.
Euijoo hated being stuck at home. The walls felt too close, the rooms too quiet, the ticking clock louder than it had ever been. Worst of all, he was under constant scrutiny. His mother, already frayed with worry, hovered like a stormcloud. Her warnings were daily, sharp and cold, often slipping into thinly-veiled scoldings.
She hadn't forgiven him—not really. Not for staying in front, not for risking his life, and certainly not for climbing the Astronomy Tower the night everything fell apart.
“I already told you, Mum,” Euijoo said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He stood in the hallway, fists clenched. “I couldn’t just leave Taki. Or—or Dumbledore. I couldn’t.”
Her lips pursed, the lines around her eyes deepening as if she were holding back a thousand words. Words of fear, of fury, of heartbreak. Instead, she turned away, muttering something about recklessness under her breath.
His father, ever the peacemaker, tried to ease the tension. He’d place a calming hand on her shoulder, speak softly to her when Euijoo wasn’t listening—or when he pretended not to. But Euijoo saw it, saw how both of them were quietly breaking. They weren’t okay. None of them were.
By Wednesday, a letter arrived. A single parchment, folded and sealed hastily. It was from Nicholas.
Euijoo tore it open with too much force.
Euijoo,
Mother says it’s not safe to keep writing.
Someone could intercept the letters. You know how it is now.
I’m sorry. Please be careful.
—Nicholas.
That was all. No warmth, no reassurance, not even a joke at the end like he used to add when things got too heavy. Just a cold, clipped warning—and a farewell, temporary or not.
Euijoo stared at the parchment long after reading it, the words already committed to memory. He knew Nicholas was right. The war was spilling into every shadow now. But that didn’t make the silence easier to bear.
He needed to know Nicholas was okay. He needed connection, something solid, something familiar.
Now, even that had been stripped away.
It was utterly, completely ridiculous. And so damn lonely.
Then, by Thursday, the quiet in the house was shattered. It began with a knock—firm, deliberate—and then a steady stream of cloaked figures stepped over the threshold of their home in Godric’s Hollow. Wizards and witches, many of them strangers to Euijoo, moved through the rooms like shadows. Their voices were low, their expressions tight with concern. His parents had mentioned them before, in cautious tones: the Order of the Phoenix.
Now, apparently, the meetings were being relocated to their home.
Euijoo wanted to be part of them. Desperately. To understand what was being whispered behind closed doors, to feel less like a child being shielded and more like someone who could do something. Anything.
But his mother had other plans.
“No,” she said firmly the moment he asked. “This is not for you, Euijoo.”
He was about to protest when Uncle Joon stepped in, placing a steadying hand on Euijoo’s shoulder, his eyes meeting his sister’s with quiet defiance.
“Come on, he’s big enough to know what’s going on,” Joon said. “He’s lived it. He probably knows more than we do.”
There was a silence. Sharp and immediate.
His mother didn’t speak, but the glare she gave Joon was enough to silence the room for a moment. Then, with a reluctant sigh and a final searching look at Euijoo’s face, she nodded.
“Fine,” she said, voice clipped. “But not a word leaves this room. Not a whisper, not a breath. I mean it.”
“I promise,” Euijoo said, heart already pounding. It felt like stepping into something bigger than he could grasp, but also something he needed to be part of.
The living room had been cleared and bewitched for privacy. Candles flickered, casting shadows on the walls as more people gathered. Names flew in murmurs—strange ones, some he had only heard in fragmented conversations: new Death Eater movements, spy networks within the Ministry, missing witches and wizards whose names sparked fear.
And then, as he adjusted his eyes to the dim light and the serious faces, he saw him. Taki.
He sat quietly at the far end of the room, partially tucked behind two taller witches, his face pale but composed. His hands were folded in his lap, and his gaze was distant, focused on something far away—or maybe nothing at all.
"What are you doing here?" Euijoo whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the hum of hushed voices. He had crossed the room without thinking, drawn to Taki like gravity.
Taki didn’t look at him right away. His eyes remained fixed on the center of the meeting, where two older witches were discussing a new ambush tactic.
“McGonagall took me,” he replied, his tone low and even, though something in it felt older.
“You remember how she asked us at the start of the year what we wanted to do after Hogwarts?”
Euijoo nodded slowly, following Taki’s gaze. “You told me you wanted to be an Auror.”
Taki’s lips twitched, something between a grim smile and a ghost of the boy he used to be. “I told her I was going to fight. First.”
Their eyes met for a brief second. A current passed between them. Understanding. History.
No surprise in Euijoo’s face—just a heavy, silent acknowledgment. Of course Taki would do this. Of course he would throw himself into the storm. Just like he had planned to do too.
“So… you’re here to join the Order of the Phoenix?” Euijoo whispered again, glancing around them to make sure no one was listening.
“Yeah.” Taki shifted, barely. “I’m dropping school this year.”
That hit Euijoo harder than he expected.
It felt like the air had thinned around him, the room suddenly quieter even as the conversations continued. His chest tightened, a dull ache forming just beneath his ribs.
Dropping out. Just like that.
And not because of grades, homesickness, or rebellion. No, Taki was leaving because the world was breaking open at the seams, and he had chosen to plant his feet at the edge of that unraveling. To stand between it and everyone else. And somehow, that simple truth shattered something inside Euijoo too—something soft, uncertain, and waiting.
Because this was it.
The moment. The turning point.
And he didn’t hesitate. His voice came out quiet but firm, carried by something older than fear.
“Let me go with you.”
Taki turned, not wide-eyed or surprised—just steady, as if he’d always known Euijoo would say it, eventually. He met his gaze, and they didn’t need to say another word. That one look held more than any explanation ever could.
It was decided.
As the old grandfather clock struck midnight and its chimes echoed through the walls of the house in Godric’s Hollow, the Order members slowly trickled out, cloaks brushing against wood floors, voices fading into the wind outside. Plans had been whispered. Lines had been drawn. The war wasn’t waiting for anyone.
Euijoo had convinced his parents—though his mother had put up a weary fight—to let Taki stay for the night. “He has nowhere else to go,” Euijoo had said softly, which wasn’t entirely true, but also wasn’t a lie. Taki’s grandmother, the only family he had left, was now in a wizarding residence. And the shadow of what had happened to his parents lingered in the silence after every sentence. No one dared to mention them.
A mattress was rolled out on the floor of Euijoo’s room. The air between them was warm, heavy with the remains of everything unsaid. The soft flicker of the floating lanterns cast long shadows on the walls, dancing with the wind.
Lying side by side, their voices were no more than whispers, muffled by the dark and the safety of the quiet.
"You’ve got a plan," Euijoo said, not as a question, but a quiet confirmation. His voice was steady, and he shifted on his bed to face Taki more directly, the covers rustling softly in the silence between them.
Taki didn’t deny it. Instead, he gave a half-scoff, something between amusement and weariness, and mirrored the shift—sitting a little taller on the edge of the mattress, closer to Euijoo now.
Then, wordlessly, he reached beneath the collar of his pajama shirt and tugged out a necklace. A thin chain, delicate but not fragile, with a small, nondescript golden circle resting at the center.
"Do you know what this is?" Taki asked, his voice lower now—conspiratorial.
Euijoo leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he inspected the pendant. At first glance, it could’ve been anything. A family heirloom. A simple trinket. But then, with a faint click, Taki opened the pendant, revealing a small, crystalline core with softly pulsing runes etched into it.
Euijoo’s lips pulled into a grin of disbelief. “A bloody tracker?”
Taki smirked, a flicker of pride glinting behind his usual calm. He tucked the pendant back against his chest, letting it vanish beneath the folds of his shirt again.
“My father gave it to me,” he said, voice tinged with something Euijoo couldn’t quite name—reverence, maybe, or grief carefully buried beneath resolve. “Before everything happened. He always suspected this was going to happen.”
Euijoo’s brows lifted, intrigue prickling down his spine. “So...?”
Taki nodded, gaze sharpening. “Yeah. Harua lied to you.”
There was no bitterness in his voice—just quiet certainty.
“Dumbledore didn’t ask me to be at the Astronomy Tower that night. He didn’t even know I’d be there.”
Euijoo’s expression shifted, the pieces beginning to fall into place in his mind like a long-unsolved puzzle finally revealing its picture. “Then why—?”
“I was tracking them,” Taki interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Or trying to. That pendant—whatever magic’s in it—it reacts. I don’t know who exactly it follows, but when the group of Death Eaters entered Hogwarts, it lit up. Like it knew.”
There was a pause. Thick with implication.
“Maybe…” Taki hesitated, then pushed forward. “Maybe it tracks the one who… the one who did that to Dumbledore.”
Euijoo swallowed. His mouth had gone dry.
The room was suddenly too still, too quiet. Outside, wind rustled through the trees of Godric’s Hollow, and somewhere far off, an owl cried.
Neither of them slept. Not truly. They lay in the dark, wrapped in their own thoughts, the weight of everything that had happened—and everything that was coming—suspended between them like fog. The room around them felt cavernous, as if it had grown in size just to swallow the silence, heavy and thick with unspoken fears.
Still, they pretended. Eyes closed, breaths measured. But the illusion was thin.
Euijoo stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding in time with the clock ticking on his nightstand. His chest ached with the kind of restless energy that demanded movement. Action. For the first time since the funeral, he felt purpose settle into his bones like a second heartbeat.
He couldn’t stay here. Not when every newspaper headline screamed of disappearances. Not when the world outside his window was unraveling thread by thread. Not when people he loved were at risk simply for existing.
He wouldn’t let fear paralyze him. Not when there was still something—anything—he could do.
They didn’t need words. When the first light of dawn crept pale and cold across the floorboards, Euijoo and Taki moved in quiet coordination, like they'd rehearsed this moment in their heads a hundred times.
Taki packed light—he always did. Euijoo grabbed his Firebolt, brushing his fingers over the polished wood as if grounding himself with the touch. Then he turned to his desk and scribbled a short note for his parents.
Just a few lines. A soft lie wrapped in truth.
Don’t worry. I’ll be back before midnight.
—E.
He didn’t say where they were going. He couldn’t. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because he wasn't even sure what would happen, where they would go.
By the time the village stirred awake, the two figures were already disappearing into the clouds, the wind tugging at their robes, the horizon stretched wide and uncertain before them.
There was no map for what they were about to do.
But there was courage. And the echo of Dumbledore’s voice, somewhere in the back of Euijoo’s mind:
“It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
And so—they chose.
“We should get Maki and Harua first.”
“No,” Euijoo said, sharper than he meant to. “We’re going for Nicholas.”
Taki grabbed a handful of Euijoo’s robes as the broom angled steeply through the early morning sky, their flight hidden beneath a protective charm from Muggle eyes. The wind stung their faces, and below them, the landscape stretched out in fields of grey and green—still, silent, unaware.
“Look,” Taki muttered, frowning, “I admire your passion for him, really.” His tone was dry, bordering on sarcastic, but there was no malice behind it. “But flying straight to the bloody Wang Manor? That sounds like a suicide mission.”
Euijoo’s fingers clenched tighter around the broom handle, jaw locked. Of course Taki was right. He always was when it counted.
“I know,” Euijoo said quietly, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
“We don’t even know if his father’s back with them, or—”
“He isn’t. Alright?” Euijoo snapped, eyes still fixed forward.
Taki sighed, the sound quickly carried off by the wind. For a moment, they said nothing, only the whisper of air and the occasional creak of the broomstick filling the space between them.
“If we’re more of us,” Taki said eventually, quieter this time, “it’ll be easier to get Nicholas. And safer.”
Euijoo pressed his lips together and gave a slight nod, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Taki wasn’t trying to stop him. He was trying to keep him alive. And that was something Euijoo couldn’t ignore, no matter how much his heart screamed to turn east instead.
“Fine,” Euijoo muttered.
With a tug, he angled the broom southward, toward Maki’s countryside house, where the mist curled over the hills like ghostly fingers and a quiet hope began to unfurl beneath the thrum of the wind.
The countryside unrolled beneath them like a painted memory—drowsy fields, hedgerows trembling in the breeze, and rooftops veiled in soft, early mist. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the landscape as the broom cut through the chill morning air.
Maki’s home came into view slowly—a modest cottage nestled between tall oaks, ivy creeping up the stone walls, smoke curling faintly from the chimney. The house looked peaceful. Untouched. As if nothing terrible had ever happened in the world.
Euijoo slowed the broom and descended carefully, his feet crunching against the gravel path that led to the front door. Taki hopped off behind him, glancing around warily, his hand already near his wand.
“You sure this is a good idea?” he murmured.
“No,” Euijoo admitted. “But it’s the right one.”
He stepped up to the door and knocked three times, sharp and quick. They waited.
A shuffle from inside. Then a pause. Then the door cracked open just enough to reveal a sliver of dark hair, a wary brown eye.
“Maki—” Euijoo started.
The door flung open fully. Maki stood there in pajama pants and a Quidditch sweatshirt, a wand gripped tightly in his hand, his expression shifting instantly from shock to disbelief to alarm.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed. “It’s barely six—what happened? Are you both okay?”
“We’re fine,” Euijoo said quickly, stepping in, Taki close behind. “Sorry for showing up unannounced, but we need your help.”
Maki blinked. “With what?”
“Something big,” Taki said, crossing his arms. “We need to get Nicholas.”
Maki’s brows lifted slowly. “From the Wang Manor?”
Euijoo nodded. “But we’re not going there yet. We came for you—and Harua.”
Maki exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Gods, you two really are insane. You know that, right?”
“Probably,” Taki said with a grin.
The wind still clung to them as they soared through the morning sky, London’s sprawl growing larger beneath their feet. Maki trailed behind, his old broomstick wheezing with every gust, a sharp contrast to the smooth glide of Euijoo’s Firebolt. He kept asking questions—half out of curiosity, half out of nerves—but Taki fielded them all with clipped, practical answers. Euijoo stayed quiet, his eyes locked on the city skyline ahead, trying to retrace the hazy path he’d memorized years ago when Harua had casually invited them to his family's Muggle apartment.
His chest tightened the closer they got to the city. Tall buildings stacked like glass and concrete sentinels, and a dull gray morning light bathed the streets in a cold hush. The three finally descended behind a tall, rust-colored warehouse that loomed beside a narrow alley. The bricks were chipped, old graffiti peeling off the walls. A faint scent of oil and wet asphalt filled the air.
Euijoo touched down first, landing softly between two industrial dumpsters, the Firebolt’s handle still warm under his palm. Maki landed last with a thud and groaned, stretching his back as he clumsily dismounted.
“We shouldn’t go in there with the brooms,” Maki muttered, yawning as he scratched at the back of his unruly hair. “Too many Muggles. Way too risky.”
He glanced meaningfully at Euijoo, who was already moving to stash his broom behind a pile of old crates.
“Euijoo… do you mind…?”
Euijoo let out a quiet sigh, but his tired smile softened the sound. “Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and nudged Maki’s shoulder as he gathered Maki’s broom along with his own, carefully nestling them in the darkest shadow of the building, behind an old iron door.
"I'll stay and watch," Taki said as he adjusted the collar of his coat, pulling it up to cover the small golden pendant hidden beneath his shirt. “But be quick, you both. This street gets busy early. One wrong move, and someone’s going to report floating boys in robes to the Daily Mail.”
Euijoo gave him a short nod, already edging toward the sidewalk. The city was slowly waking—distant hums of traffic, footsteps echoing in alleyways, the clink of someone opening a shop gate nearby.
“Harua’s block is four streets down,” Euijoo murmured, glancing back at Maki. “You remember the one with the teal balcony?”
Maki huffed a breath, pulling his hood up. “I remember the curry shop under it. Let’s go.”
And with that, they melted into the thinning shadows of London, walking fast, heads down, as the day began to stir around them.
By the time they reached the apartment building, the sky was still clinging to the last threads of night. Maki pressed the doorbell with a wince, the shrill chime slicing through the silence like a knife. It was far too early for such noise, and the look on his face said he knew it.
A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Harua’s mother in a worn robe, her hair slightly askew from sleep, her eyes narrowed with irritation.
“Boys,” she sighed, her voice low and groggy. “Don’t you own clocks?”
Euijoo dropped his gaze to the floor, guilt rising in his chest. He started to mumble an apology, but Maki stepped forward, his voice quiet yet firm.
“We need to speak with Harua. It’s important.”
There was a pause—one heavy with maternal suspicion and fatigue. But before she could respond, Harua appeared behind her in the hallway, already dressed, wand concealed beneath the folds of his coat. His eyes met theirs with quiet resolve, as if he'd known they would come. As if he’d been waiting.
He gave his mother a small nod, barely more than a gesture, before brushing past her without a word. The chill of dawn followed him as he stepped outside. Maki and Euijoo exchanged a glance, then fell in behind him.
Harua paused only once—at the threshold.
He turned back to look at his mother. She stood there in the doorway, puzzled and worried, unable to see the battle unfolding behind her son’s calm demeanor. She couldn’t know the weight he now carried, the truths too dark for a parent to fully understand.
And Harua didn’t expect her to. He didn’t blame her.
Not even a little.
They rose into the sky once more, night air whipping around them like cold fingers. Taki and Euijoo shared a broom, flying in tight formation as Harua and Maki followed closely behind. The darkness was vast above them, but the world below felt even more uncertain.
"Is there a plan?" Harua called out over the wind, his voice taut. "Or are we just going to knock on his door?"
"We could do that," Maki replied, squinting into the distance. "Wang Manor is supposed to be safe."
Euijoo nodded, clutching the broom tighter. It was all they had. Or so he thought.
But Taki's voice cut through the air, sharper than the wind. “Yeah, maybe it used to be. You know the Manor was one of their old rendezvous points, right? Just like your house is the Order’s meeting place now.”
The words hit like a gut punch.
Euijoo swallowed, his voice thin. “We still gotta try.”
Taki didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, there was steel in his tone. “Yeah, we do. But maybe we should also start planning things that matter. Like our plan.The plan.You know, the reason why we—”
Euijoo turned sharply, glaring. “What the hell do you mean? We can’t just leave him. Nicholas is one of us.”
A heavy silence followed. Then Taki said, too calmly, “Are you sure about that?”
Euijoo’s breath caught. “Of course I am,” he snapped—but even as he said it, something in their expressions chilled him. He looked back. Maki’s face was pale, lips pressed thin. Harua looked away.
“What?” Euijoo asked, his heart thudding faster. “What is it?”
Taki exchanged a look with Harua before speaking, his voice low. “Euijoo… this might mean nothing. But—”
“But what?” Euijoo cut in, anxiety rising like a tide. “What?”
Taki hesitated only a moment before answering.
“The day before the attack at Hogwarts… whoever this tracking charm is following—it pointed straight at Wang Manor.”
The air grew colder as they flew, and even the stars above seemed to retreat into silence. Euijoo’s grip on the broom tightened, his thoughts racing—not with suspicion, but with concern. Nicholas. Was he safe? Was he hurt? Was that why he had stopped writing? The unanswered questions clanged like bells in his head. Perhaps that worry explained why Taki had gone quiet, curling inward against Euijoo’s back, while Maki and Harua increased their speed, their silence mirroring the unspoken dread that hung among them.
As they approached the looming silhouette of Wang Manor, time seemed to stretch and stall. The manor stood as it always had: stark and immovable, its windows black, its great bulk cloaked in shadow. The four descended silently, veering toward the treeline where tall, skeletal trees offered cover.
"What now?" Maki whispered, crouching as the others formed a tight circle around him.
"Check your pendant first, Taki," Harua said, his voice low.
Taki nodded and pulled the small charm from beneath his collar. It glowed faintly, but not enough.
"He isn’t here," he said.
A long breath slipped from Euijoo’s lips, the relief almost dizzying. For the first time since they took flight, he let his shoulders fall.
His eyes drifted to the manor.
It stood there in silence, tall and weathered, yet unchanged. The sight brought back a wash of memories—himself at fourteen, wandering its halls with Maki and Nicholas, laughter bouncing off the old walls. It felt impossibly close, like a memory that hadn’t had time to fade.
"Okay," Euijoo whispered, "I remember Nicholas' room has a big circular window. We could check if he's in there before risking going inside the Manor."
The others exchanged glances but nodded. It wasn’t much of a plan—but it was a start, and right now, that was enough.
Harua handed his broom to Taki and followed Euijoo from behind, the two of them cloaked under a hastily-cast hiding charm as they rose quietly into the air. The wind brushed their cloaks back as they flew toward the high window, just as Euijoo remembered it—tall, round, and framed by ivy.
To their quiet relief, there he was.
Nicholas sat inside, tucked comfortably beneath the golden pool of candlelight, a book open in his lap. His hair was slightly longer than before, and his posture relaxed, head tilted as he read. Peaceful. Completely unaware.
Without thinking, Euijoo knocked on the glass as a wide grin tugged at his lips, warm and instinctive. In that moment, Taki’s warnings faded from his mind like mist.
Nicholas looked up.
For a breath, his eyes widened—then softened. His face lit up with a smile so genuine, so real, it made something deep in Euijoo’s chest unravel. Because in that instant, he knew.
Taki was wrong.
If Nicholas had wanted to betray them—betray him—he’d have done it long time ago. But he hadn’t. He had made mistakes, sure. They all had. But not when it mattered. Not when it truly mattered.
Nicholas quickly pushed open the window. "What the hell are you two doing here?" he hissed, barely above a whisper—but he was smiling. And that was what mattered.
"We came for you," Euijoo said, guiding his broom until he was hovering right in front of Nicholas. "Hop on. We’ll explain on the way."
"On the way where?" Nicholas asked, his gaze flicking past Euijoo to Taki, eyes narrowing slightly at the boy’s sharp, unreadable expression.
"Taki's got a plan," Euijoo said, his voice steady, the spark in his eyes growing. "We've got something now, Nicholas. We're going to fight back. No more waiting. No more sitting around."
Nicholas didn’t answer right away.
His expression shifted—something caught between fear and the fragile pull of hope. His eyes were dark but not cold, wide but not afraid. Something in them shimmered—something old and hurt and tired—but also something alive.
"I..."
The words never finished.
Footsteps echoed from the hall. Someone was approaching the door to Nicholas' room. Maybe it was his mother, but Taki didn’t wait to find out.
"Ride or die, Wang," he snapped, fast and sharp, like the slam of a door behind them.
Nicholas’ expression turned somber, his hesitation growing heavier by the second. From the other side of the door, his mother’s voice called his name—soft, unaware—and something inside him splintered.
“I can’t,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on Euijoo. “I just... I can’t leave her with—”
And something cracked in Euijoo’s chest. Even though he understood. Even though it wasn’t betrayal—it still hurt.
Taki’s voice cut in, low and urgent. “We have to go. Now.”
But just as Euijoo was about to pull away, Nicholas grabbed his wrist. The sudden tug made him stumble slightly on his broom, breath hitching before he even registered the weight behind him.
“Go! Before she sees you!” Nicholas whispered harshly, arms wrapping tightly around Euijoo’s waist.
And just like that, Euijoo felt warmth flood through him. Relief, overwhelming and dizzying, as he kicked off the ledge and followed Taki back toward the others.
“What’s gotten into you?” Euijoo asked breathlessly, the wind rushing past them.
“I don’t know,” Nicholas muttered, his voice right by Euijoo’s ear, his heart thudding against Euijoo’s back like a war drum, hoping he wouldn't regret his impulsive action later. “You’ve made me go mental. Mental about you.”
And Euijoo wasn’t just flushed from the flight anymore.