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Chapter Text

The Hat settled on Cho’s head, warm and heavy. She thought it to be the the weight of centuries this object lived through.

“Ah,” it murmured. The voice was rich. “Now this is... unexpected.”

Cho let out a slow breath calmly. Her mother’s said to her before the train. “The beginning is half the task.” And was this not her beginning?

“I sense determination,” the Hat continued. “A sharp mind, disciplined and prepared to work... but oh, it is not for your gain. You are a constructor. aren’t you? A foundation for others, that is what you aspire.”

Cho slowly sent out a small trigger of thought - yes. Mind was a delicate thing.

“Interesting,” it mused. “You would thrive in Slytherin, you know. You have ambition, and those don’t need to be power or glory. But of course, your goals are very collaborative.”

Another soft thought - My lone work would be minuscular and ineffective, compared what people can do.

The Hat chuckled. “Wise words, indeed. Yet, I see the pull of many threads within you. Loyalty. Courage. A touch of cunning. You’d do well in any House. You’ll find no shortage of all your values in Ravenclaw, though.”

Cho’s mind flickered briefly to the blue, then green. It was tempting, in a way. She admired the drive, the vision. But they could only take one so far without roots, and every beginning was about the stones you laid out.

“In Ravenclaw, you will find all the tools you need to bring your vision to life,” the hat coaxed.

“I’ve made my choice,” she said quietly.

“So you have,” the Hat replied. “You are a RAVENCLAW, both by nature and by choice.”

The Hall erupted in polite applause as the Hat was lifted from her head. Cho glanced at the blue and bronze table, taking a steadying breath. The beginning is half the task, she reminded herself, standing tall as she walked to join her House.

Bronze, of course, is what made many of civilizations.

A faint rustle echoed through the halls. The Ravenclaw prefects scanned the corridor and found a small shadow. The male prefect sighed, half expectant, half annoyed.

"That’s Mrs. Norris," he cautioned the anxious first years who were fidgeting. "Filch’s cat. Don’t let her catch you doing anything suspicious. She’s got a... way of reporting things that are better left unspoken."

Cho, who was at the back of the group, gazed at the said cat. It was a thin, tabby with fur that looked as if it’s seen too many years. However, unlike its browbeaten state, the stares it gave were sharp and calculating.

The tail flicked. The rest stayed statue-still, focused on the newly-sorted Ravenclaws.

“Don’t think she’s just a cat,” the prefect adds quietly with a glance. “She’s more like Filch’s eyes and ears, and he’s always watching out for your hides."

Leaving the ominous mention, the group resumed walking.

Cho did not bothered adding onto the prefect. Her opinions were not wanted. However, one of the girls apparently did not believe so. Maybe it was induced by Cho's thoughtful expression, but whatever the reason was, Cho did not unwelcome it.

"Strange cat, isn’t she?" the girl muttered. Her voice was kept low, and others did not pay attention. "Filch must have done something to her, or maybe... magic?"

Cho realized most of the Hogwarts population did not know that Filch was considered a squib. However, the girl was true. Something about the cat's posture wasn’t quite the way typical cats act.

“I have heard before that magic could influence natural animal instincts to enhance,” Cho started casually but with deliberate precision. “But Mrs. Norris’s behavior seems… conditioned.”

“I don’t know much about cats. I like crups better, so. How is it conditioned, do you think?”

“It’s not how she watches us like a hawk. Cats are territorial, so that’s understandable. But she moves as if to expect something specific to happen.”

“Maybe she is a familiar.”

She cannot be, Cho thought to herself. Filch is a squib. He might own some latent magic to influence non-magical animals, but that is not enough for a familiar bond. However, she only replied back without that tidbit. “Maybe, or maybe not. Whichever it is, she could be a part of hyperawareness Filch possesses.”

“Hmm,” a thoughtful expression emerged to the girl’s face. “Never thought about it like that. It does seem a bit different compared to familiars I’ve seen. Hmm, a good mystery. I like it.”

Cho gave a small smile. A wizarding household, then. Definitely not muggle-raised.

“My, I forgot to introduce myself! I am Lucinda Ashcombe. What’s yours?”

“Cho Chang.”

Chapter Text

Now this looks real unnatural and magical, Cho thought, her feet dangling from the edge of the pure-white bed.

A potion accident had sent her to the infirmary. Snape was infuriated with her classmates and their lack of precision. To be honest, so was she. It can’t be that hard to chop everything evenly and throw it in at the right time. Since it was such a basic potion, they didn’t even have to measure the temperature—but of course, she did.

At least, the face Snape made seeing her result was hilarious. To be that sour-faced cannot be good for one’s life, her inner grandmother had chimed. He didn’t deduct points from her for not following the standard instructions, to her surprise.

Maybe he didn’t want to be at odds with her dad. She pondered for a second, then quickly dismissed it. He wouldn’t care about Chang family’s second son. Dumbledore was in charge of school potion supplies, not the professor. And as a Master of potions, no matter how sour he is, he surely knew her style, different from his own, was still valid.

“Miss Chang! I didn’t expect you so early in the year. Not you, certainly.”

Madam Pomfrey came into the unnaturally white room. She was carrying a tray of potions and levitating a huge bucket of something.

“A potion accident happened, madam.”

“Yes, and I can see that it was not your fault. The splashes are the worst, isn’t it? Let me fix you up in a minute dear. Hop in here.”

Cho sat inside of a now-recognizable tub, filled with gooey substance. She couldn’t help but scrunch her face. Madam smiled a little at her reaction.

“The skin burns should be gone in a moment. At least Professor Snape had the sense to freeze it before he sent you in,” Madam Pomfrey tried to distract her from the extreme itchiness the potion caused. Cho was grateful for the effort. It was not pleasant. Besides, this was an opportunity and she wasn’t going to pass it up.

“I’m glad that the accident wasn’t worse. I heard that the Gryffindor-Slytherin class had a huge explosion and most of the students had to be treated. One of the boys didn’t even know he had an allergy...” Cho recited the Hogwarts gossip mill’s newest news.

Madam pursed her lips to a thin line. “I don’t know who’s spreading such delicate information, but do not judge the poor boy!” Madam Pomfrey promptly added on. “It is not his fault that he didn’t know of his allergies. That often happens with wizard-borns, too.”

Cho smiled placatingly. “Ma’am, Ma is a muggleborn, too, you know. I would never think ill of him.”

Madam blushed slightly. “Oh, of course. I know Madam Cho. Such an excellent student, and a pride to the House of Ravenclaw. It is wonderful to see her make her way. How is she?” Madam diverted the subject.

“She is doing well, madam,” Cho said, shifting her tone. “Of course, there’s still some friction with the Reversal-Squad, but she is adamant to do good with other muggleborns. It’s really hard for the parents, especially when the children pick up magical diseases unknown to them.”

Madam clucked, thinking deeply. “I try to treat those poor dears better, but without their magical medical history, it is very hard…” She glanced at the clock. “Out now, Miss Chang. To the wash, it’s the right door. After that, you are free to go.”

“Thank you, madam. When should I come back for the… check-up?” Cho carefully accented the word check-up.

Madam Pomfrey, caught slightly off guard, seemed to pause for a moment before answering, her tone a little absent-minded. “Two days, dear.”

Cho heard a faint murmuring, heading to the bath. “Yes, we really should do a check-up… especially for the 1st years…”

Cho was a mere first year. This meant that the Hogwarts curriculum was sparse, compared to any other years, to give space to adjust to the massive castle and homesickness. However, she finished adjusting in the first month. All she needed was to get used to the moving staircase. By the way, she still hated the damn thing. God, even with all the rich British food, that had to be the main reason why almost everyone was fit.

Anyway, while all other first years were off writing to their parents, she could spare a lot of time experimenting magic. Homework themselves were not hard; she was used to reading academic passages and writing them. However, practicing magic was something she had no prior experience. Not to this level of academia.

If someone else was in her position, they might have chosen to practice alone in somewhere secluded. But why would she, when there existed the Ravenclaw common room?

Scattered across the room were various Ravenclaws, some relaxing and some studying. Cho sat down on the corner couch, spreading her notes on top of a large marble table. She took out her red crayon, and started to connect notes on spells that are theoretically related.

“So… if I say the incantation for the Smokescreen spell and use wand movement for Fire-making spell… what is the result? The wand movements are extremely similar, except for a point for the fire spell.”

Cho mused out loud. Their theory was quite similar, too. Fumos sent out smoke from the tip of the wand from nowhere, and incendio also shot out a fireball. And the smoke and the fire go together, both being the result of heat.

Someone heard her and replied. “Well, those two aren’t dangerous to test. Try.”

She smiled at the commenter and quickly headed to the practice section of the common room. It was warded off to absorb most spells.

“Fumos.”

The wand-tip did not circulate all the way but slowed down for a brief moment.

“Huh,” Cho lifted her eyebrows at the result. It was indeed, not dangerous. The smoke came out with the fire, but the smoke snuffed out the fire. And the smokes themselves were.. less.

“You’re not the first one to ask the question, you know. But you gotta be the only one who had to sense to not jab, but slow down,” the commenter, Penelope Clearwater stepped into the practice quarter. She was carrying a notebook with her.

“Thanks, and yeah, I can’t be the only 1st year,” Cho agreed. “Is there a way to make this combination powerful? Fire shot to the wand-point, and smoke in the air.”

Penelope readily answered. “You need to know the variation of Smokescreen first,” and handed her the notebook. “Take it. DADA studies aren’t going to be easy.”

“Penelope Clearwater…,” Cho read the front cover. “Is it yours?”

Penelope grinned. “Yup. I just finished writing, for the next year’s OWLs. It’s a copy, so don’t be worried,” She added, to reassure Cho.

“I’m Cho Chang. Thanks for helping!”

Experimenting magic in Ravenclaw’s common room was great because every Ravenclaw is quite eager to help and share their research. She got more information than she initially wanted, and also. Penelope Clearwater is a great bonus to today’s jaunt. She didn’t expect it, really.

Cho, walking out of the warded quarter with Penelope, asked. “Do you mind if I study next to you, Penelope? Can I call you Penelope?”

“Sure, call me Penny. It’s a mouthful. That’s why you call yourself Cho, right?”

Insightful. Didn’t expect that, Cho thought. “Yeah. So is this your 4th year? How are the electives? All the subjects seem interesting.”

Penny started to explain in-depth about the electives and the professors. Cho found herself immersed in her passion for magical theory.

In the end, they found each other to be an acquaintance and maybe a friend.

Chapter Text

“Okay, what now?”

The door slammed open with a force. Marcus Belby, who was leaning sideways on the seat, hit his head on the window seal. He grumbled, snapping his book shut.

Cho wordlessly handed him the Pumpkin Tart she was munching on. Lucinda plopped down on an empty seat and victoriously announced, regardless of everyone else’s nonchalant behavior.

“Harry Potter is on the train! He’s here to join Hogwarts.”

Marcus tried to look disinterested, but failed. He was only twelve, no matter how much he tried to copy his mother. However, the most surprising reaction was from Cho, and Lucinda did not let it pass.

“I know this is big, but wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this interested in other humans!”

Cho looked properly intrigued, quite unlike her usual self. “Where did you get the news from? Did you see him yourself, Lucy?”

Lucinda grinned. “Well… I might have overheard the news from the Twins, and saw him with my own eyes.”

“Of course the Twins would know,” Marcus said, swiftly finishing the tart. “Did you make an acquaintance with him? How’s he like?”

“I didn’t actually say hello, but guess what?” Lucy, happy that her usual too-calm friends are for once attuned with her gossip, told the grand story of how she found the famous boy.

She leaned back with a smug look that belonged on a Slytherin's face.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to see him. The Twins would’ve skinned me alive if I ruined their youngest brother’s first chance at a friend. Apparently, this one didn’t come pre-installed by their mother. Real milestone, you know.”

Marcus blinked. “Wait. I thought the youngest was a girl?”

“Yes, but, there’s one more in between. Ronald Weasley this year, the girl is next year. Saw her on the platform clinging to Mrs. Weasley like a mandrake root.”

“Weasleys are blessed,” Marcus muttered. “Most families struggle to have two in a hundred years, and they just keep sprouting babies like puffapods.”

“Exactly. Twins are even more terrible when they have younger sibling, by the way. So I didn’t ask where the Boy-Who-Lived was sitting, of course. I extracted.”

Cho raised an eyebrow. “From Lee?”

Lucinda grinned wickedly. “Easy mark. Dangled the tarantula in front of him.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. He was meant to use it on Ronald for a laugh, but backed out at the last second. Said it felt wrong. Developing a conscience, poor soul.”

“And the Twins didn’t blabber?”

“I’ve got something over their heads.”

“What is it?”

Lucinda just gave a closed-lip grin and shook her head.

Marcus leaned in. “It’s got to be big, if she’s acting all this way. Now I don’t know who I should be more terrified of, Lucy the Lady here or Double Trouble.”

“Anyway! I was just strolling past compartments when another firstie — a Blishwick, I think — was going around asking about a toad. He opened a door, and boom. Harry Potter.”

“That wouldn’t be a Blishwick, it’s Neville Longbottom,” Cho cut in. Lucinda snapped her fingers. “Ooh, right. Alice Longbottom née Blishwick. Shoot, I forgot.”

Marcus had started bouncing in his seat. “So Harry Potter?”

“Yes, Harry Potter. Black hair, glasses, and the scar. Subtle, by the way, not glowing. And yeah, he’s a Potter alright. Bit smaller than I thought he’d be.”

“Did he say anything?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not rude like you, Marcus.”

While Marcus was spluttering, Cho started to absently play with her nails, running the fingertip over the edges.

How peculiar that Lucinda saw the boy, and for him to not notice. He must be very excited about the school and having a friend to enjoy with. And the twins were actually giving space to Ron. Cho never knew that was something possible. Siblings are complicated, she concluded.

Marcus was now glancing sideways to Cho. It was that expression again, the contemplating one of a researcher. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what got his friend so intrigued.

Cho is definitely not the type to gush over a celebrity, he thought. She traveled better than most of us British people, and Changs just don’t gush. They are composed lot, and Cho even more. Must be Mrs. Chang’s influence. He shuddered. She is one scary witch, better her mum than mine.

The train jerked slightly—speeding through the last bend before Hogsmeade.

Lucinda pulled down the window to check if the lanterns were visible yet, then gave up and started repacking her bag. Marcus looked like he wanted to keep talking but hadn’t decided what about.

Cho stayed seated, one hand still resting lightly on the windowsill.

“Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat.

He waited.

While the hat was having a conversation with Boy-Who-Lived, Cho observed. He was, plainly, too small. He looked more like an 9-year-old, not eleven.

“I’m shocked Professor Snape isn’t raising an eyebrow, at least,” Cho muttered under her breath.

“What?” Lucy, still pleased to have caught an early glimpse of him on the train, didn’t catch it.

“Nothing.”

“Gryffindor!”

Harry took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm.

“That’s that, then,” said Penny, sighing with mock disappointment. “Another Gryffindor. So predictable.”

Laughter rippled through the Ravenclaws. It was predictable, and a bit cliché.

Yet Cho still stared at the boy intensely. The glasses were bent at the temple and scotch-taped at the bridge. They didn’t fit, and clearly didn’t function well either, judging by how he squinted toward the staff table.

The eyesight was to be expected, considering he was a Potter; the family was notorious for bad eyesight curse running in their blood. But glasses in that state? Even if his vision wouldn’t deteriorate further, living with that level of blur seemed unnecessarily difficult.

“Cho? Earth to Cho?”

She blinked. Cedric Diggory was nudging her, looking amused.

“Sorry. Zoning out.”

He slid her favorite dish toward her. “Feast’s started. Eat first. Scheme later.” He looked distractingly pretty, but she just grinned back and took a bite, then pulled out a coin purse.

“I’ve got errands. Before the snakes slither away.”

Marcus and Cedric, already in on the joke, laughed and passed her their coin pouches. Cho headed off toward the Slytherin table. It was time to collect on the hat stall bets.

The feast had barely begun when Harry noticed a girl from the Ravenclaw table walk over to the Slytherins. Not a first year, maybe a second or third. She had a happy and mischievous face, slipping past older students and tapping someone on the shoulder. It was a Slytherin girl and a boy, who were both studiously avoiding eye contact and chewing rather mechanically.

She said something he couldn’t hear. The two finally turned around with a grimace, and handed over a few coins. So did another one next to them. She tucked the money away without gloating, and turned to greet a girl with dark blonde hair who looked both friendly and mildly bored.

Who's that? Harry wondered, but didn’t ask. Most of his attention was still on the grand feast. So much food in one setting, he could hardly believe it.

Still, curiosity piqued, he kept watching. That was Malfoy, the smug git, saying something to her in a slow, drawn-out voice. Crabb and Goyle were beside him, same as before. The girl ignored him, at first. Then Malfoy said something louder. Harry caught one word — “mud” — and nothing else.

Whatever he said, it made the girl raise an eyebrow. Before she could say anything, the blonde girl next to her snapped something back at him. Another girl with neat black curls chimed in immediately after, clearly unimpressed.

Harry couldn’t hear the words, but he caught the tone: irritated, dismissive, and not in Malfoy’s favor.

Malfoy flushed. Definitely embarrassed. Harry secretly grinned. Malfoy could use being taken down a peg or two.

Harry looked away quickly, not wanting to cause trouble on the first night. Across the table, Hermione was looking at the same scene. She gestured toward the Slytherin end and asked Percy something about students crossing tables. Percy was chewing and gave a vague wave; Ron, surprisingly, answered instead.

“That's the Chang girl, I think. Dad said their family’s alright. Bit foreign, but proper.” He reached for a roll. “Changs do shipping. Potions, that kind of thing. One of them works at St. Mungo’s. And Madam Cho… she’s the Chief Obliviator, right? Married to that Healer bloke.”

Hermione frowned. “But what does that have to do with crossing to a different table? The rules in Hogwarts: A History say that we have to be seated at our own!”

“Uh?” Ron genuinely looked confused. “She’s not exactly sitting, innit?” He ignored Hermione Granger spluttering, and continued. “And Greengrass is also a trade family. They prolly know each other. I mean, it’s obvious?”

Harry didn’t think it was obvious at all, but kept his mouth shut. So many things worked differently here, in the wonderful magical world.

Chapter Text

December 25th, 1973. Before anyone called her Mrs. Chang.

Hye-myung “Clara” Cho was taking off her snow boots. Her mother, Eunja, was already heading into the sitting room to switch on the heater. The boots were a little too tight, and Clara had to tug harder than she liked.

“Hye-myung-ah. You need new boots.”

“It’s fine, Mum. I don’t wear them often.” Clara replied with practiced nonchalance. She finally got them off and hung her coat. A faint shiver passed through her as she reached, half by habit, for her wand, then withdrew.

“You think of staying in… magic life? That job, is it still open?” Eunja, holding a mug of coffee, settled on a stool by the kitchen counter.

Mrs. Eunja Cho knew her daughter well. She had raised Clara alone for fifteen years, and every major decision in her life had been toward that purpose. One look told her Clara was thinking. Concerned, but not alarmed. Not about the job, then. Something else. Maybe money.

“What do you need? For job. Oh-believe… I can’t pronounce that. You said, there’s training. Like nurse school. Do you need new books?”

She had already begun running the numbers. Hogwarts, thankfully, cost little thanks to Dumbledore’s stubborn insistence on student funding, even when the Governors pushed back. A blessing. Clara had stopped growing after OWLs, so there’d been no need for new robes or leather shoes. Eunja’s own pay stayed flat again (no surprise there) but stability was more important than a title. Food prices were rising, but perhaps she could arrange a bulk order with some church friends.

Clara smiled faintly at her mother. Mum is definitely thinking money, she thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“Obliviator Squad, mum. I don’t think I need anything other than my NEWTs grade. They are always low on new recuits, so they pay for every training. Unlike Aurors.”

“That is police? I wish they use normal words,” Eunja grumbled, but in a good sense. She was used to all these new words anyway. Other than Korean, let it be German or English, or magic words, they all were foreign to her.

“I’m pretty confident with the NEWTs too. I’m not going overboard with subjects, and the most important ones are my best ones, so if I keep up, it should be fine.”

Eunja frowned, but not at the mention of NEWTs. She trusted her only daughter. Clara had better work ethics than herself, which was saying something.

“So they pay for you. That’s good,” she said slowly, eyes still on her cup. “But why do they need new people so badly?”

Money never comes freely. Her own nursing school had accepted barely-sixteen-year-old girls because Korea was torn apart after the liberation. And she paid heavily for free lodging and education—later, with the Korean war.

Oh-beli-vee-ay-tor. Altering memories. She couldn’t imagine looking into other’s brain. All she could think of is a CT-scan.

Clara sighed, snuggling into warm blankets by the heater. “It’s a job without much glory, but essential to the Wizarding World. People get afraid when they see something like magic, mum. Not everyone can be like you, so we just help them rationalize the after-effect of magic.”

Eunja frowned even more. “Why no glory? It sounds hard. Difficult. Every brain looks different, so brain injury is the hardest. Is mind not the same?”

Is the job difficult but not rewarding? She hoped Clara wasn’t going into a career without good returns—money, recognition, or at least decent people. Of course, Clara would know better than she ever can. However, it was a mother’s duty to worry and catch small cracks youngsters might oversee.

Clara saw the worry clear in her mother’s eyes.

“I think… I think, the main reason why the Squad is always short of people, is because rich purebloods don’t really work. Not real work. Unless you count politics, which I don’t. And mind arts.. Well, it’s usually only pureblood families who teach those. Privately.”

“But you did. On your own,” Eunja said, flat.

Clara cracked a laugh. “Yes, because I’m a nerd. But I only stumbled into the subject in third year. And even when students do know about it, working-class kids rarely study it. The subject needs years of practice, so… Most graduates never even touch it. Which means the Department can’t recruit from the usual pool. They’re left with whoever’s already built some foundation. Like me.”

She added, catching the shift in her mother’s face:

“And they’re a solid branch of the Ministry. The pay is good.”

Eunja hummed softly. That was good. And even better, the job required real competency. Clara wouldn’t be passed over for promotion, not if that held true. Eunja had made peace with staying where she was. But Clara shouldn’t have to.

She nodded once, decisively. “Good. Where were the apples…”

She stood and took her empty cup to the sink.

Clara watched her mother’s back. It looked a little stiff.

I wish I could take her to St. Mungo’s, she thought.

Of course, even if it were possible, Eunja would refuse. Forty-one is not old, she’d say. But in Clara’s opinion, her mother needed more care than most—considering everything she did at work, and everything she’d already done before.

August of 1991, Cho Chang’s Family Home.

The fireplace flared green with a rush of Floo powder, and Wei Chang stepped out first. Clara Chang, née Cho, followed a second later—coat half-off, wand still in her hand.

“I cannot believe they’re telling me to wipe the whole bloody deal under the table,” she snapped. “A werewolf attack—in the middle of a city—and they think it’s that easy?”

Wei flicked his wand, summoning a cold water jug from the fridge. “Here. You’ve probably got soot in your throat.”

“Thanks.” Clara took a gulp, then slammed the glass down.

“Oh, the nerve of those hypocrites! Who thought banning werewolves from magical jobs was a good idea in the first place? Of course they’re working shit jobs in the Muggle world! What did they expect—that they’d all just starve and die quietly?”

Wei leaned against the wall, “The kid is at my ward, nobody wanted to take the were-bite case,” arms folded. His tone stayed even, but the heat was there.

“A Muggle child with werewolf bites, I can imagine,” Clara muttered, still pacing in the narrow space between the fireplace and the sofa. “Will he live? I saw a little too much blood on the site.”

“He’s stable,” Wei replied. He didn’t move from his spot. “Thankfully, I didn’t have to cut off his leg. He’ll have a limp—unless they approve periodic herbal treatment through me.”

Clara looked up sharply. “They won’t. I’m not even allowed to contact the guardians. Since they’re Muggles.” Her voice tightened. “What’s the point of being Head if I’m not allowed to make decisions within the department’s jurisdiction?”

“The parents weren’t on site?”

“No.” Clara exhaled, tugging her work robes off finally and tossing them onto the chair. “Which complicates things.”

Wei nodded slowly, already tracking ahead. “I was thinking of transferring the patient. If the parents can’t afford it, maybe France. If they can... my sister’s hospital might take him. They’ve treated long-term residue cases before.”

“Because it’s magical residue treatment, essentially.”

“Exactly.”

Clara frowned. “Wait—there might have been a relative. A girl? She didn’t see the event happen, but definitely in the area. Close enough they might count as ‘on site.’”

Wei tilted his head. “Didn’t see, but present?”

“Yes. Possibly. Close enough for a case file stretch, at least.”

A pause settled between them.

Clara broke it first. “I still don’t understand why the parents should be kept in the dark. The kid’s a werewolf now. He’ll transform every full moon.”

Wei’s face didn’t change, but the line of his jaw set slightly. “I think they want you to mark him as dead.”

Clara froze.

Then her voice dropped, low and guttural. “What? 이 미친새끼들이...”

Wei didn’t try to placate her. “The aurors are already acting like it, at least. Dead on muggle papers, and drop the patient off at Knockturn Alley afterwards,” He exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down. “I don’t know if that’s the official order, or shameless bravado talk from lower-level aurors, though.”

Clara shut her eyes. She did not know why she was surprised. As her husband said, either could be entirely possible.

“Let’s work towards transfer to Siam as plan A. The victim’s family seems to be well-off, from what I gather.”

“Oh, that’s good, I could never tell with the muggle clothings,” Wei admitted bashfully. “I am quite bad with it. The materials all look the same to me.”

Clara smiled fondly at him. He tiredly smiled back, relieved to see his wife de-stress.

“I have already contacted my sister. She should reply by the morning.”

“Then I need to re-check how close of a relative the baby-sitter is,” Clara said, picking up her work robes and threading her arms through the sleeves.

“Food first!”

Eunja appeared in the doorway, her expression leaving no room for negotiation. Clara paused, then sheepishly lowered her robes again.

“Important case, but you should eat,” Eunja said, already turning. “Or take food with you.” She gestured them both into the dining room. Clara and Wei obeyed without protest.

“Did you have a good dinner, Luuk?” Wei asked, settling into the seat beside Cho. She was hunched over a book titled Defending Strategy 1: For Beginners of Charms and Curses.

“Halmoni made Bossam,” Cho replied, without looking up.

“Ah, our Huimin’s favourite.”

“It’s Cho now, Dad.”

“Well, that’s for Hogwarts, isn’t it?” Wei grinned. “Huimin, Hye-Min, Cho—you’ve got three good names already. Humour your father with at least one.”

Clara gave Cho a brief pat on the back before turning to the table. She packed herself a portion of Bossam with practiced movements; steamed pork, rice, radish and greens, each step quick but careful. It wasn’t ideal, but she couldn’t stay and eat tonight. As she sealed the container, she gave her daughter and mother an apology. Eunja just passed her a second set of chopsticks to go.

Clara stepped into the Floo, and Wei helped himself to dinner.

“Are you fine? You don’t have to go to St. Mungo’s?”

Eunja asked gently. She’d heard enough of the conversation to know the situation didn’t sound good, but not unfamiliar.

In 1951, she’d walked past the rubble of a collapsed clinic, and seen an orphan boy lying against the wall. The soldiers didn’t move him. Said he wasn’t their responsibility. He was too young to be useful and too injured to survive.

In 1960, whispers like that still passed through the corridors of German hospitals. A bruised woman would return home without anyone asking what had really happened, because it was her business and not ours.

She glanced at Cho across the table. Her granddaughter was twelve years old, clever and thoughtful. Maybe she was little too good at hiding how much she understood. How long until someone tried to decide she was inconvenient, too?

“The patient’s under a sleeping draught,” Wei replied, still eating. “I thought it better to let him rest. My assistant’s on watch—he’ll contact me in three hours.”

Eunja noticed his hand on the chopsticks wasn’t as steady as usual. He must be drained from the healing magic, she thought.

“Eat up, eat up. From Hye-Min’s word, it taste good.”

Cho looked up from her book. “Yours is the best, Halmoni,” she said, then noticed her father at the table. He did look tired. She marked her page and put the book down.

“Dad, sleep a bit before you go back. You look dead.”

“Ahh.. Do I?” Wei smiled faintly. “But what about you, Luuk? Are you okay packing on your own? I wanted to help.”

“Halmoni said she’d help. Right, Halmoni?”

“그럼. Don’t worry, Wei. You really should take a nap.”

“I may well do so, then... Sorry, it was all so sudden. Didn’t expect today to be this hectic.”

Cho waited until her father’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, then reached for her book again. But after a moment, she closed it, flipped through the index, and pulled a different one from the pile beside her. Magical Creatures and Legal Classifications: A Comparative Study. She hadn’t finished it last year. Maybe it was time.

Chapter Text

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone.

Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

— Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

Halloween Feast is something to die for.

That was the general consensus of Hogwarts student body. However, the professors were of a different opinion. Especially, for one Severus Snape. Even setting aside what the day meant to him personally, the Feast was still everything he loathed. Obnoxious, loud, excessive, and worst of all, mandatory.

“Severus, do try to enjoy the food at least. Do you have a headache again, my boy?”

Why would anyone enjoy these greasy monstrosities? He grumbled under his breath. The sound bouncing off solid stone walls was enough to crack bone, and of course he had a migraine. He chose not to reply, but the Headmaster passed him a bowl of seafood stew regardless. He nodded briskly in thanks.

After a few sips of plain water and some careful bites, the migraine began to recede. Dehydration, of course. He felt briefly annoyed with himself for missing something so basic. It was his own body. With his thoughts clearing, another irritation surfaced.

“Where is the incessant gargling fool, Quirrell?”

Minerva shot him a disapproving look from the side, but still answered crisply.

“He said he’d be a bit late. Something in his classroom.”

“Next year, I shall also be late. About an hour and a half. I’m sure the grading will stack up terribly in that time.”

Septima Vector nearly choked on her drink. Minerva’s glare remained sharp but her mouth twitched, and he did not miss it.

Snape allowed himself the satisfaction of a small, smug win. It didn’t last long.

The doors, half-open to let late students in, burst open with a crash. Another spike of migraine hit him between the eyes.

Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Even for a fool like him, this was unusually dramatic. All students stopped chatting, and stared. The Idiot reached Headmaster’s seat, slumped against the table, and gasped,

“Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

The children went into full chaos, and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

Why Halloween. Why are you doing this to me.

The Headmaster stood. Sparks burst from his wand, cracking loud in the air like miniature fireworks.

“Prefects," his voice rang among the panicked silence, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

While students scrambled into lines, Albus Dumbledore didn’t waste a moment.

“Minerva, if you would initiate the lockdown procedures. Pomona, kindly escort your House through the secure passage — directly to the dormitories. Septima, I shall ask you to see the Slytherins to safety as well,” he now turned directly to Severus Snape. “Severus, Filius — with me, please. We must find our unwelcome guest.”

The professors scattered, moving with quiet precision and far more speed than usual.

Minerva, already halfway to the stairs, called back in a clipped half-shout. “I’ll sweep the upper floors. In case it’s already left the dungeons.”

Hermione was not crying. She was sniffling a little, but not outright crying. She was too exhausted for it, and not as upset as she was two hours ago. It was surprisingly hard to stay upset when this pretty girl kept telling her stuff she’d never even thought to ask.

“So your mum didn’t need her yearly grade at all?”

Cho Chang replied promptly. “Technically, no. The Ministry recruiters can’t view it through official channels. I’m sure they knew, vaguely. Definitely not from the transcripts.”

“How? Then it is still important?”

“It’s not, in the big picture,” Cho started tapping across the tiles. She was curled up next to Hermione, unbothered by the fact that the hem of her robes was soaking through.

“They probably heard it through their children. Hogwarts the only real institution of Magic in UK and Ireland, you see? It’s easy to pick up a few things about students. Their names, strengths, temperaments, those kind of things. The professors all know whomever’s in charge, too. They were students, or peers, or family friends.”

“But.. but Professor Snape hates me!” Hermione nearly wailed.

Cho smiled kindly at her. “He also hates everyone alive and breathing. His opinion of your personality does not count.”

Hermione let out a surprised giggle — then slapped her hands over her mouth.

Cho gave her a crooked grin, and added with dry precision. “His grades do. He’s the youngest Potions Master Britain’s had in over a century.”

He also really shouldn’t be teaching young children, for both his sake and ours, Cho added silently. Please, take a full-time apprentice, Master Snape. Just one. For all of us.

Hermione hesitated. Then curled up a little more, tucking her arms around her knees.

“Why can’t first-years be nice like you?” she asked softly.

In that moment, she sounded completely eleven. Cho sighed, just a little.

Being the odd one out was never fun, she knew that. But squeezing yourself into whatever shape the social rule said? That wasn’t good either, in the long run. And Hogwarts, of all places, was the long run. It really shaped what one’s future as a Witch would take after.

“Did you know Ronald Weasley has never been in a formal school before?”

Maybe this approach would work. Unlike the Ravenclaws, the Gryffindors did not share a dominant life-style one can bond over.

“But, primary schooling is mandatory!” Hermione looked up, shocked.

“Not for many purebloods,” Cho grimaced. “They’re not part of the Muggle system at all — not until after their OWLs, if ever. Most are homeschooled. Parents, tutors, sometimes older siblings.”

Hermione looked shell-shocked. Cho gently continued.

“This is his first time sitting in structured lessons. First time writing essays, managing his own time. And probably his first proper same-age friend group, too. Magical children are... sparse. Scattered. He wouldn’t have had a classroom cohort before.”

Hermione looked at Cho again, like she’s seeing her for the first time. Cho said she was a half-blood, with an old-family Thai (Siamese, Hermione reminded herself. I must remember that the borderlines rarely match) father and a muggle-born British mother. Did she go to primary school? Did she ever have a friend before Hogwarts?

“I’m not saying he wasn’t rude, because he was. I bet Mrs. Weasley would be very upset at his behavior,” Cho said it plainly. Hermione nodded vigorously.

“But go easy on the others, Hermione,” Cho said, softer now. “Most of them are learning how to learn.”

Hermione frowned slightly, puzzled.

Cho gazed at the entrance. “You already know how to organize time. How to take notes, revise, ask questions. That’s not magic — that’s school. Real school. Ron’s never had that. Neither have half the first-years, really.”

Hermione stared at Cho intensely, with a thoughtful expression on.

“I don’t mean you should explain things for them,” Cho added. “Just... let them have their first mistakes. It shows more than getting everything right.”

Hermione had just opened her mouth to speak when the bathroom door was yanked open — hard.

A wave of stench hit them first. Rot, sweat, mildew. Unmistakable. The thing that entered was at least twelve feet tall, skin the color of dull granite. It gripped a massive wooden club in one hand.

Hermione froze.

The door slammed shut behind it. A second later — they heard it.

Click.

Locked.

The troll snarled, ears twitching at the sound, then began smashing everything in sight. Porcelain shattered. A stall door flew off its hinges.

Cho shot to her feet.

“There are fucking people in here!” She shouted and pounded the door.

“Open the goddamn door!”

Penelope Clearwater didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the emergency Floo powder from the wall sconce near the fireplace — not decorative, never decorative — and threw a handful into the grate. The flames flared green.

“Hufflepuff Common Room,” she said sharply, already kneeling.

She thrust her head through the flame.

The scent of damp earth and mint hit her first — Professor Sprout’s domain. Penelope’s voice echoed against stone.

“Professor Sprout — urgent,” she said, barely keeping her breath steady. “Cho Chang — second year — she’s in the girl’s bathroom at the second floor, near the staircase. She was there before the feast. She doesn’t know.”

There was a brief pause before Sprout’s face swam into view, startled and already moving.

“Granger’s with her,” Penelope added quickly. “Hermione. First-year Gryffindor.”

Sprout’s expression tightened. “I’ll contact Professors Snape and Flitwick. Stay with your House, Miss Clearwater.”

Penelope straightened, the heat of the Floo still clinging to her face. Around her, a half-circle of Ravenclaws had gathered, eyes wide, voices rising.

She spoke before they could spiral.

“Professor Sprout got the message. She’s sending for Professors Snape and Flitwick — they’ll know to look for Cho and Granger.”

Marcus Belby spoke up. “But what if they’re too late?”

Penelope tried not to flinch, and mostly succeeded. “Then Professor Dumbledore will find them.”

She took a breath. “But for that to happen, we stay in the dorm. No wandering. No detours. Please.”

The troll from the third floor was still in place. Snape snarled in frustration.

He flew past Minerva’s massive enchanted chessboard and surged through the clinging threads of Pomona’s Devil’s Snare. The Cerberus — still chained, still furious — lunged at him as he crossed the threshold.

He whistled a sharp note. The beast faltered, eyelids drooping.

“Fuck!”

Not fast enough. Its claw scraped his leg, tearing through fabric and skin.

Snape landed hard outside the door. Pain shot up his thigh, but he didn’t stop, no matter the limp.

Then came Pomona Sprout’s Patronus: a glowing badger-shaped blur racing down the corridor, hovering beside him.

“Severus, Filius — two students. Miss Cho Chang and Hermione Granger, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Last seen at the girls’ bathroom, second floor. They don’t know.”

That made him stop. Then pivot.

Downstairs. Now.

He was too late. Apparently, so were Filius and Minerva.

The troll was already down. Smoke still hung in the air. Its club lay discarded beside its head, and a thin flame smoldered at one nostril — snot providing fuel.

Miss Granger was clinging tightly to Miss Chang, who stood frozen, eyes wide and unfocused. She wasn’t trembling like Granger, but she hadn’t moved since the smoke had cleared.

Mr. Weasley stood nearby, half-catatonic, staring at his wand like it had betrayed him.

And Potter.

His glasses were nowhere to be seen. His wand was embedded… in the troll’s ear.

Severus Snape wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Possibly all three. Something must have shown on his face, because Potter looked up at him with wide green eyes. Snape forced himself not to flinch, and instead took a look at the scene.

Fumos. Incendio. A direct blow to the head. Likely a levitation charm, then.

He turned back to Potter — who, unfortunately, seemed to be the only student in the room still capable of forming sentences.

“Explain.”

And he really should not have asked. That much was obvious, later. Potter — and the sheer absurdity of his life — was astonishing.

A troll had attacked Miss Granger. Miss Chang cast a smokescreen charm near its eyes, then followed with a modified Incendio — aimed at its snot, apparently. It hadn’t worked quickly enough. The creature continued smashing everything in reach.

So — naturally — Potter leapt onto its back and jammed his wand into its ear. And Weasley, of all people, levitated the club and struck the troll directly in the head.

He wanted to die on the spot. Filius and Minerva seem to share the sentiment.

Flitwick hopped forward and, with an impressively steady hand, gripped Potter’s wand. It was lodged in… deep. The troll twitched at the disturbance, muscles shifting. Not unconscious enough. Without a word, Flitwick snapped his wand upward. The residual flame in the troll’s nostril flared, combusted — and the beast gave one final, choking spasm.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, to the Hospital Wing, ” Minerva spoke at last, steadfastly ignoring the horrified expressions on the children’s faces at the troll’s death.

Snape added, “Chang, wand out of your hand, now.”

Miss Chang’s wand was still sparking faintly at the tip. She didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on something far behind him.

Snape crouched, placed a hand firmly on her shoulder. She blinked. Her fingers shook as she held out her wand.

He took it, then passed it to Filius.

“She’ll need to see Madam Pomfrey as well,” he said quietly. “Only return her wand after a Calming Draught.”

“Good idea, Severus.” Flitwick turned to her, voice light but steady. “Miss Chang — would you like to hold my hand?”