Chapter Text
Beomgyu swooped through the air, gripping the Quaffle tightly as he leaned dangerously far off his broom to snatch it mid-pass. Without a moment's hesitation, he twisted his body and changed direction, weaving between the other players with practiced ease before launching the ball straight through the goal hoop.
Cheers echoed faintly below, but the wind was picking up fast—sharp and cold against his face. He could barely hear Jungkook calling out to the team from the ground, his voice laced with concern as he spoke to the others about possibly cancelling practice due to the worsening weather.
Beomgyu's shoulders sank.
He had been looking forward to this session all week—it was the last one before his first official match. And now, of course, Jungkook and the others were probably right. It was safer to stop than risk someone getting hurt before game day.
Still, it didn't stop the wave of disappointment curling in his chest.
Hobi floated over with a soft smile, ruffling Beomgyu’s wind-tousled hair. “Don’t worry, Beoms. We all know you’re going to do amazing.”
Beomgyu offered a small, grateful smile—but his nerves clung tight beneath the surface.
They all gathered in the Quidditch shed, the chill of the wind still clinging to their skin as they began removing their gear and storing their brooms.
Hoseok was the first to notice Jungkook pulling something from his locker—a small, tightly folded note that made his brow furrow deeply.
“That’s strange,” Jungkook muttered. “McGonagall usually calls me to her office for things like this.”
He carefully tore through the enchantment, and the moment the seal broke, a deep, gruff voice echoed through the shed—clearly magically altered for secrecy.
“There’s been a change in the Slytherin lineup. Keep your eyes open.”
The voice was unrecognizable, distorted to ensure its origin remained hidden. The parchment crumpled in on itself and immediately burst into ashes, leaving nothing behind but a faint trail of smoke.
Silence fell over the room.
No one spoke, but the tension was thick. Whatever that change was—it wasn’t something they could ignore.
“What? You can change team members with only a week left?” Hoseok said aloud, incredulous. “When did this newbie even have time to practice?”
Jungkook didn’t answer right away, just kept staring at the spot where the letter had burned to ash in his hand. His voice came out low and tense.
“Slytherin hasn’t changed their lineup once since I joined the team—six years ago. What the hell is going on?”
“Language, Jeon,” Sophia said flatly, not even looking up as she unbuckled her gear.
Lara rolled her eyes and tossed her gloves onto the bench. “Who cares if they swapped someone in last-minute? Like you said, it’s so sudden. Whoever it is probably sucks. We’ve got this.” Her tone was full of confident dismissal, like the idea of a surprise player didn’t faze her one bit.
But Jungkook’s silence—and the faint wrinkle of worry in his brow—told a different story.
Everyone slowly trickled out of the shed, their laughter and chatter fading with the wind. Hoseok lingered behind, slumped on the bench, a tired and worn-out look on his face that Beomgyu wasn’t used to seeing. His usually bright, upbeat hyung looked… off. And Jungkook was still frozen in place, staring blankly at the spot where the letter had burned.
“Hyung?” Beomgyu called softly, voice barely above a whisper. Neither of them responded.
He took a steadying breath, trying to channel the confidence his friends always believed he had.
“Hyung!” he said louder, standing straighter. “We’re a great team—and you’re the best leader we could ask for! I know if Professor McGonagall sent a warning, then something’s serious, but… I really believe we can do this. We can win!”
Both Jungkook and Hoseok turned to him, surprised. Their silence melted into soft, proud smiles.
Emboldened, Beomgyu added with a small grin, “And… if you let me, I could find out who the new Slytherin player is. I mean, I’m just a first year—no one would even think twice about me snooping around—”
“Nope.” Jungkook cut him off immediately, stepping forward and pulling Beomgyu into a tight hug before ruffling his hair. “You really think they wouldn’t notice? It’s always the first years they go after. And I’m not risking you.”
He pulled back slightly, his expression turning serious. “Forget that idea. I don’t want you anywhere near those snakes. Am I clear?”
Beomgyu gulped and nodded quickly. “Y-Yes, Hyung.”
A voice piped up behind them, lighter and full of renewed energy. “Besides, the kid’s right!” Hoseok grinned, finally pushing himself off the bench. “We’re gonna beat them into the ground. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
Beomgyu laughed, the tension slowly melting from the room. For now, they were still together and hopeful.
_____
Beomgyu spoke quietly as the three of them sat atop the Astronomy Tower that night, the stars glittering above them like tiny watchful eyes. He couldn’t hide the nervous energy in his voice. His first match was just around the corner—after four long weeks of practice—and he wasn’t just playing, he was one of the most important players on the team.
But no matter how hard he tried, a terrible thought kept gnawing at the edges of his mind.
"...What if it’s Yeonjun?" he whispered.
The words felt heavy, almost wrong to say aloud. A horrible, sinking fear. He remembered the relief he’d felt weeks ago when Jungkook had gone through the team line-ups from the other houses. There had been no Yeonjun. But what if he was the new player? The one Slytherin just added?
Before the fear could take root deeper, Kai gently bumped his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder, grounding him.
“I don’t think you need to worry, hyung,” he said softly. “I’m not saying we should ignore the headmistress’s warning... but I’ve watched you practice every week. And I genuinely believe you’re going to win.”
Taehyun nodded firmly beside them, his tone unwavering. “He’s right. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens, we’ll be right there cheering for you.”
Their belief wrapped around Beomgyu like a blanket in the cold night air. It didn’t erase the fear—but it made him feel a little less alone.
_____
That night, Beomgyu slipped into the Gryffindor common room just minutes past curfew. The fire was crackling low, casting soft amber light across the room where his roommates were sprawled on plush cushions, hunched over parchment and textbooks, trying to finish weekend assignments before Monday rolled around.
Beomgyu sighed. He always had to complete his homework earlier than everyone else—Quidditch practices took up most of his weekends.
“What are you guys working on?” he asked, leaning casually over Heeseung’s shoulder, eyes scanning the parchment. Or rather—pretending to. His expression stayed open and curious, but inside, he felt the familiar ache of defeat settle into his chest. No matter how hard he tried, the words just wouldn’t make sense. The letters seemed to swim on the page, dancing cruelly out of reach.
Heeseung didn’t answer, assuming Beomgyu had already read it and moved on.
Beomgyu bit his lip nervously and glanced around the room. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, he trusted Kai and Taehyun the most. They knew. And knowing they accepted him anyway had made the weight on his chest a little easier to carry.
But what if more people found out? What if the others laughed? What if they called him dumb?
"Beom—Beomgyu!"
He blinked, startled out of his spiraling thoughts. Jeongin was staring at him from across the cushions, looking half-dead from exhaustion.
“I asked if you knew what year Professor Edwin was born?”
“Oh! Uh… 1434?” Beomgyu guessed, only half-sure.
He hadn’t even finished speaking before Heeseung groaned and slapped a hand over his forehead.
“Seriously, Beomgyu?” His voice was sharp with frustration. “You better be wrong. I’ve written two whole pages with 1423—and you looked at my work and didn’t say anything?”
Beomgyu's stomach dropped. He took a step back instinctively, suddenly feeling small and out of place. Unsafe, even, in a room that was supposed to be home.
“I… I can help if you want…” he whispered, guilt burning in his throat.
But even as he said it, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t read the assignment, couldn’t correct anything—not without someone beside him, guiding him letter by letter.
He bit his lip harder, holding back the stinging behind his eyes.
He wanted to help. He really did. But how could he, when he couldn’t even help himself?
Jeongin’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if trying to fully process what had just happened.
“Heeseung, buddy… calm down,” he said gently, standing up and approaching him with his hands raised in a placating gesture.
But Heeseung—who had already spent hours in the library wrestling with his History of Magic assignment—was hanging by a thread. Frustration, exhaustion, and stress finally spilled over as his eyes welled up with tears.
He turned sharply toward Beomgyu, unaware that the glare he wore mirrored someone from Beomgyu’s past—someone who made him flinch on instinct.
“Here!” Heeseung snapped, shoving the half-torn parchments into Beomgyu’s arms and chest with more force than he likely intended. “Write them. I said write them right now. Or else—”
His voice broke on the last word, and he heaved a shaky breath as tears streaked down his cheeks. His body was trembling, his knees nearly giving out. His eyes fluttered, barely staying open from sheer exhaustion.
Without a second thought, Jeongin wrapped his arms tightly around Heeseung, steadying him. Even as he held his friend, his eyes were on Beomgyu, filled with growing concern.
“Hee, come on… Let’s just get to bed, okay?” Jeongin whispered. “History’s after breakfast. We’ll finish it together in the morning, I promise.”
He didn’t even get the chance to finish before Heeseung slumped fully into his arms—already fast asleep.
Jeongin looked back at Beomgyu, whose face had gone pale with shock. His eyes were wide and shimmering with unshed tears, like a kicked puppy bracing for more.
“Beom—” Jeongin started, but Beomgyu was already moving.
Without a word, Beomgyu stepped forward and carefully grabbed Heeseung’s legs to help lift him.
“Let’s get him to bed,” he said in a voice so small it was nearly inaudible.
His head was bowed low, hiding his expression, but Jeongin didn’t need to see his face to know—Beomgyu was crying.
They gently laid Heeseung down on his bed and pulled the blankets over him, careful not to wake him. The boy immediately curled into the warmth, his tear-streaked face finally at peace in sleep.
In their shared exhaustion and worry, neither Jeongin nor Beomgyu noticed that one bed remained empty—yet again.
Before Jeongin could speak, Beomgyu turned on his heel without a word and quietly slipped out of the room, down the staircase, and out of the Gryffindor common room.
For the second time since arriving at Hogwarts, he was breaking curfew.
And both times…
He was crying.
And he was alone.
🌙
Beomgyu didn’t know where he was going—only that he had to keep moving. His legs trembled with each step, and he relied on the cold stone walls to keep himself upright. His fingers brushed over the rough surface, grounding him just enough not to collapse.
His mind offered him memories of places that once felt safe. He wanted Kai and Taehyun—desperately. But he shoved the thought down. He couldn't keep running to them like this. He was a burden, always needing, always clinging. No matter where he went, he dragged that weight with him.
If his mother were here, she’d remind him exactly what he was: worthless. A mistake. A problem that never should’ve existed.
A soft sob escaped his lips, barely audible. He stumbled onto one of the moving staircases, not even registering which one. The castle was pitch dark, silent and empty, and the staircases—charmed to rotate at random and vanish without warning—shifted dangerously beneath his feet. If he were in his right mind, he would have known how risky this was.
But Beomgyu wasn’t in his right mind. He couldn’t think past the whirlwind inside his head.
Heeseung hated him now. And Jeongin—he would realize soon enough how broken Beomgyu really was. Once he did, he’d leave too. And if they could see it, then Soobin would see it. Then the whole school would see it. They’d avoid him. Whisper behind his back. And eventually, they'd send him away—send him home.
Back to her.
Beomgyu’s chest clenched. He stumbled forward, head spinning, thoughts drowning him in panic. And what about Kai and Taehyun?
He pictured Kai—kind, gentle Kai who couldn’t stand hurting a fly. Who once sulked an entire day because Taehyun stepped on a beetle by accident. Who looked at everyone like they were made of starlight. If he realized the truth… if he ever saw Beomgyu as he truly was…
And Taehyun. Who let very few people into his circle, who trusted so rarely. If Beomgyu shattered that trust—he couldn’t bear to think about it. Taehyun would feel betrayed, hurt. He’d blame himself for letting Beomgyu in. And Beomgyu couldn’t let that happen.
He was already too far gone in his spiral when he suddenly stumbled and felt a biting chill across his skin. The cold was sharp and sudden, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.
He blinked, disoriented, heart hammering. In front of him was a blank stone wall.
Where was he?
He turned around quickly, but the halls looked unfamiliar. There were no windows, no paintings—just long stretches of ancient stone. He couldn’t remember which staircase he had taken or how long he had been walking.
His hands began to shake. He looked around, throat closing up with panic.
He was lost.
And the castle was sleeping.
Beomgyu collapsed to his knees, trembling violently as the weight of everything came crashing down. His hands flew to his head, gripping his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He shook as sobs tore from his throat, quiet and desperate, like he was trying to hold the entire world together with a single breath.
“Stop, stop, stop—” he whispered to himself in a broken chant, his fists beginning to pound against his head. Anything to drown out the thoughts. Anything to silence the voices in his mind.
He thought of the bathroom mirror.
He remembered the pain—sharp, blinding—but it had made the thoughts stop, even if just for a moment. It had given him something real to hold on to.
Panic and desperation blurred his senses. His eyes flicked around the dark hallway until they landed on a soft glow at the far end—a wall torch burning with gentle, flickering flames.
He stumbled to his feet, body swaying, and staggered toward it like a moth drawn to a flame. His breath hitched, heart pounding in his ears. He didn’t stop to think.
Without hesitation, Beomgyu thrust his hand into the fire.
Nothing happened.
No pain. No heat. The flames licked harmlessly at his skin, soft and cool like air.
It was enchanted.
The fire was never meant to burn.
Beomgyu stared in shock, chest heaving. His hand hung limply in the flames for a few seconds more before he pulled it back, trembling all over. He stared at his unmarked skin as his vision blurred with tears.
It hadn’t hurt.
And for the first time tonight, he felt afraid—truly, deeply afraid—of himself.
“Beomgyu…”
The voice made him flinch like he'd been struck. He whipped around to find Soobin standing there, eyes wide, breathless. Beomgyu’s panic spiked instantly. He couldn’t read Soobin’s expression—was it horror? Disgust? Hatred?
Each step Soobin took toward him only made Beomgyu shrink back further, like a cornered animal. His back hit the wall. His hands flew up to cover his ears.
“No—no, no, no, Soobin, please—” Beomgyu cried out, voice trembling, before he let out a high, broken scream the moment Soobin raised his wand.
The sound barely reached his own ears. It was like he’d slipped underwater. He pressed into himself, whimpering, bracing for impact.
But nothing came.
When he finally peeked through his fingers, Soobin was on his knees across from him, clutching his wand tightly. A faint shimmer surrounded them—the edges of a silencing charm. It was thin, weak. And it was already fading.
“Soobin?” Beomgyu blinked, the adrenaline beginning to drain from his body. He noticed blood. A small pool on the stone floor.
Soobin’s nose was bleeding, likely from forcing the spell with more power than he had. He was panting hard, jaw clenched, eyes still on Beomgyu with a kind of desperation.
“Beoms,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “please…”
The panic slowly began to ebb as Beomgyu's mind cleared—just a little. The anxiety didn’t vanish, but now it had somewhere to go, something outside of himself to focus on.
He crawled over, body trembling from exhaustion, his face twisted in a sleepy, confused frown. Gently, hesitantly, he reached for Soobin’s shoulders and looked him over with trembling hands.
“Where are you hurt, Soobie?” he mumbled in a dazed voice, lips barely moving.
Soobin stared, stunned. The boy who had just been drowning in terror was now squinting at him like a tired kitten, trying to fix him. Before he could answer, Beomgyu’s body slumped forward.
He passed out quietly against Soobin’s shoulder, small hands still curled gently in the fabric of his robes.
Just like that—finally calm.
Finally safe.
Finally home.