#niki ff

professor hong still doesn’t smile when he praises your work, but his hand always lingers a beat longer than necessary on your essays. last week, he gave you a recipe you’d never seen before, said it was from "an old experimental archive, pre-regulation." you copied it into your journal, all neat margins and underlined ingredients, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked you as you worked. in class, jeonghan sits across the room. he’s brilliant, even you’d admit that, but messy. his notes are chaos, his technique too relaxed. he never brews the same potion twice the same way, and somehow, it always works. he doesn’t speak to you much. just watches sometimes, with a slight smirk like he’s waiting for you to slip up. you don’t.

and that’s why you’re the one professor hong pairs with on “independent research” tasks. why your name always shows up at the top of the board. why some people avoid sitting next to you in the common room, whispering things like “teacher’s favorite” or “dangerous clever.”

so when a new student shows up midweek — tall, quiet, dark uniform that doesn’t match any of yours — of course he notices you.

you catch him watching you during breakfast, eyes flicking from your hands to your schedule to your badge. you hear he’s from durmstrang, that he was transferred for “security reasons,” whatever that means. you know his name before he says it: niki. slytherin, naturally. but he doesn’t sit with the others. doesn’t talk much. doesn’t ask questions in class, but always seems to be listening too closely.

you remember the first time you saw him, that morning in the great hall, when the sky above the enchanted ceiling was still streaked with sunrise. the professors were already gathered, and the students were buzzing, loud with end-of-summer energy, still full of stories and luggage and half-eaten toast.

then the doors opened. and everything got quiet. he walked in like he belonged somewhere else. posture straight, uniform crisp, movements sharp, like he’d been trained for something that didn’t involve desks or parchment. you remember how people leaned toward each other immediately, whispering behind cupped hands. a transfer student wasn’t unheard of, but from durmstrang? in the seventh year? weird.

you remember how jake nudged you with his elbow. “watch, he’s gonna be the brooding type. bet you he’s a total prick.”

heeseung didn’t even look up from his cereal. “he’s either cursed or annoying. maybe both.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched as he walked toward the front, where mcgonagall stood waiting with the sorting hat. he didn’t flinch when it was lowered onto his head. didn’t even blink. the hall was dead silent.

“slytherin.”

it didn’t take long for the whispering to start again. the usual things: that durmstrang taught dark arts instead of defending against them. that he must’ve done something to get kicked out. that he wasn’t here for school at all.

“security reasons,” sunoo at the ravenclaw table said. “what does that even mean?”

“spying,” jungwon guessed.

you didn’t realize until later that he’d been looking at you when the hat announced his house. like he already knew your name. like he already had questions.

next week, you arrive early to advanced potions. you always do. professor hong prefers punctuality, and so do you — the quiet of the room before it fills, the heavy smell of crushed roots and something faintly metallic in the air, the chalkboard still blank and waiting. you always take your usual seat: third row from the front, left side, closest to the ventilation charm. the room is familiar. reliable. you’ve had four years of top marks and no interruptions here.

which is why the parchment pinned to the door stops you cold.

“term pairs: assigned by academic record.” your name, clear and centered and right beside it: rishimura niki.

you blink once. read it again. it doesn’t make sense. advanced potions is restricted. only students who passed the O.W.L. with distinction, only those who survived hong’s brutal summer assessment essay. niki hadn’t been here for any of that.

you step into the room, still holding the parchment in your hand. you don’t notice him at first, but of course he’s already there, sitting at your table, back straight, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbows. there’s not a single book or quill on the desk. just him, waiting.

“this seat’s taken,” you say automatically, not looking at him.

“i know.” his voice is low, steady. foreign, but not clumsy. like someone used to giving orders quietly.

you glance at him. doesn’t look smug. doesn’t even smile. he just tilts his head, motioning to the board where professor hong is writing ingredients with quick, sharp strokes. niki + y/n. pair #3.

you sit, slow. the table feels smaller than usual. “you’re not supposed to be in this class,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

“i am now.”

you pull your notebook out with a little more force than necessary. “right. well. don’t get in my way.”

“wasn’t planning to.”

you don’t reply. professor hong starts the lecture, something about variable temperature thresholds in guilt-detection serum, but you barely register it. you feel niki’s eyes on you before you even see him turn. watching your hands again, the way you slice the asphodel root, the way you measure without double-checking.

“you’re precise,” he says quietly.

“that’s why i’m in this class.”

“gryffindor, right?”

you pause. “…yeah.”

“doesn’t track.”

you look up, eyebrows lifted. “what doesn’t?”

“you brew like a slytherin. methodical. calculated. no hesitation.”

“you’re stereotyping.”

“i’m observing.”

you roll your eyes, harder than necessary. “what, do they teach you arrogance at durmstrang, or is it just in the water there?”

he doesn’t smile. not even a twitch. “just asking questions.”

“well, don’t. i’m not interested in making friends.”

“i’m not interested in pretending.” you glance sideways. he’s watching you, yes, but not in that distracted, half-bored way other people do. it’s too direct. too sharp. like he’s picking you apart already, looking for cracks. “so,” he says, too casually. “your parents—also in potions?”

your stomach tightens. “what?”

“just curious. it runs in families sometimes.”

“what, brewing talent?”

“obsession.”

you set your pestle down too hard. the sound makes professor hong pause mid-sentence. you give a tight smile and mutter an apology. niki doesn’t flinch. “what’s your point?” you hiss under your breath.

he shrugs. “just strange, that’s all. someone as good as you, flying under the radar. no publications. no mentorships. no talk.”

“because i’m seventeen. and i’m in school.”

“still.”

you snap your head toward him. “are you always this invasive, or is it just me?”

his gaze doesn’t drop. “just you.”

you open your mouth to say something else, to say something biting, but professor hong claps his hands. “pair work. guilt serum base. i expect accuracy, not creativity. results on my desk by end of class.”

you grip the edge of the desk, pulse jumping. you don’t like being questioned. you really don’t like being watched. and you definitely don’t like the way niki moves, like he’s already two steps ahead of everyone, and like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s just starting to solve.

“fine,” you mutter, pulling ingredients toward you. “but if you mess this up, i’m reporting it.”

“you won’t have to.”

you ignore the way his tone makes your spine twitch.

professor hong paces past your table just as you reach for the silver scales and start weighing the powdered valerian root. his presence is like static, quiet but charged, sharp eyes sweeping over your measurements, nodding once before moving on.

you glance at the board.

veritaserum (skeleton base)

– jobberknoll feather (crushed)

– valerian root

– gillywater infusion

– moonstone shards

– whisper of wand essence

brew with absolute precision. contamination leads to useless result. or explosion.

you slide the jar of moonstone toward niki without looking at him. “you do the infusion,” you say. “gillywater, slow simmer. three stirs clockwise, pause, one counter. don’t mess it up.”

“don’t worry,” he murmurs. “i’ve done this before.”

“sure you have,” you mutter back.

he moves like he’s used to silence. his hands are steady, controlled, like someone trained to follow orders without hesitation, or someone who never needed to be taught twice. he handles the gillywater like it’s nothing, which only annoys you more.

“what were you doing at durmstrang?” you ask, casually. too casually.

he doesn’t answer right away. “learning things hogwarts doesn’t teach.”

you arch a brow. “like what? interrogation tactics?”

a flicker of something in his eyes. amusement? surprise? “maybe,” he says. “you’d be good at it.”

you scoff. “you’re really bad at compliments.”

“i wasn’t trying to be nice.”

“figures.”

you tip the crushed feather into the bubbling potion with precision, watching the surface turn a faint iridescent blue. it’s supposed to do that. still, you double-check the notes. he leans slightly closer, just enough for you to feel it.

“you always this paranoid?” he says under his breath.

you glance up sharply. “you’re the one interrogating me.”

“because you’re the only other person in this room who could’ve brewed something like that,” he says, too low for anyone else to hear. he doesn’t nod toward anything. doesn’t explain. 

“maybe you should mind your business.”

“maybe your business is my business.”

the simmering sound of the potion nearly drowns out the last line. nearly. you feel heat rise to your face — not from embarrassment, but from anger. and something else. something you can’t name yet. tension, maybe. or recognition.

you glare at him. “you don’t know me.”

“not yet,” he says simply.

you stab the stirring rod into the cauldron and begin the final stir sequence. you don’t look at him again. but you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

the dungeon air sticks to your skin as class ends. like it’s not just the potion steam but something heavier sitting in your chest. you pack your things slower than usual, not out of care but because your hands are tight with something you can’t name. annoyance. unease. that stupid static in the back of your neck from being watched too long.

you hear him behind you. still silent. still calm. he doesn’t say anything about the potion, or the fact that you were the only pair to get it right. professor hong gives your table the usual low-voiced approval, a faint nod, the same he gives to every decent result, but the weight of it lands different this time. like even the professor is watching something neither of you can name.

you latch your kit closed with a sharp snap. niki doesn’t even flinch. just wipes his side of the table with slow, precise movements, like he’s done this in labs stricter than this one. maybe he has. maybe he’s lying about half of what he is. or maybe he just makes everything feel like a lie — that steady face, those quiet questions, the way he looks at you like you’re a book he already started reading and didn’t ask permission for.

his hands are already clean. the station spotless. but he doesn’t move. not until you’re out of sight.

and even then, he’s slow about it. pulling a folded slip of parchment from the inside of his robe, the ink already half-dry on the note he started writing halfway through the lesson. your name isn’t on it. not yet. but he’s thinking about it.

weeks pass like molasses.

at first, you try to ignore him. it’s not hard, you’ve perfected the art of quiet disapproval. you sit next to him in advanced potions without looking directly at him, keep your comments to a minimum, stir counter-clockwise when he stirs clockwise. you don’t ask questions, and he doesn’t offer answers. for a while, that feels like enough. distant, tense, but manageable.

but then he shows up at the slytherin quidditch tryouts.

you don’t mean to watch. you’re just walking past the pitch with jake and heeseung, both of them halfway through arguing about who’s going to get bumped from the gryffindor lineup this year, when you hear the usual roar of the crowd, but this time it sounds different. more focused. people are watching someone specific. and of course it’s him.

niki’s in full gear, dark green robes catching the wind like he was born in them, cutting through the sky like a hawk. he’s fast, too fast. and worse, he’s good. he moves like he’s been playing for years, with that kind of ease that makes it look effortless. you glance at heeseung and see it, the immediate shift in his jaw, the quiet twitch of annoyance. he won’t say it, but you know. the last thing any gryffindor wants is to admit a slytherin is better. especially one who just dropped out of the sky and stole the show.

“he's so full of himself,” heeseung mutters, biting down on the words. “he’s not even that good. just fast. and tall. and probably on some weird eastern european broom charm.”

you don’t say anything, but your stomach twists. not because heeseung’s wrong — niki is good. but because you already know how this’ll go. girls from ravenclaw and hufflepuff will start showing up at slytherin games “just to watch.” someone’ll start writing about him in the hogwarts gossip paper. and you’ll be stuck next to him twice a week while everyone else acts like he’s the most fascinating thing to ever walk through the castle doors.

by the end of that week, it starts happening. you run into him everywhere.

first, it’s the greenhouses. you’re there late after class, picking up a special order of wormwood for your independent study project. professor sprout isn’t even there, but she left a note that it’d be waiting on bench three. you reach for it, turn your head, and he’s just there, already holding the exact same herb.

“need this?” he asks, like he hasn’t just stolen it from under your nose.

you scowl. “do you follow people, or is this just bad luck?”

he shrugs. says nothing. hands it over. smirking.

then it’s the care of magical creatures hut. you signed up to help professor galen monitor the growth of some hybrid firecrabs, mostly for extra credit and also because you actually like the weird little bastards. it’s quiet, peaceful work — or at least it was, until niki shows up with a pair of dragonhide gloves and a perfect excuse: “professor asked for a second assistant.”

you try not to scream. you fail a little. he laughs once under his breath, and you consider tossing a bucket of feed at his head.

and then there’s the library. and the owlery. and the great hall. and the narrow stairwell near the astronomy tower where you definitely weren’t expecting anyone at that hour.

it’s not like he’s following you, not really. but every time you think you’ve finally gotten a moment to breathe, he appears. silent, observant, eyes flicking over your hands, your books, your schedule. never saying much. never far.

jake thinks it’s hilarious, he calls it fate. heeseung calls it weird. you call it a problem. and yet, the worst part isn’t that you keep seeing him, it’s that he keeps seeing you. like he’s waiting for something. like there’s a piece of you he’s still trying to find. and you don’t know what he’s looking for, but you hate that part of you keeps wondering what he’ll do when he finds it.

and then, there's the first game. it’s the kind of match people talk about for years. slytherin versus gryffindor always pulls a crowd, but this one feels heavier before it even starts. there’s a tension in the air, charged like a storm’s about to hit, and maybe it is. maybe it always is when houses like these meet under the sky.

niki plays chaser. no one saw it coming. people assumed he'd be a seeker, sleek and quiet and fast, but he’s not. he’s sharp and ruthless, cutting through the field with a kind of precision that doesn’t feel fair. every pass, every goal, every feint is calculated. he moves like he’s already seen the play ten seconds before it happens. jake barely has time to call out strategies. heeseung’s fast, but not fast enough. the score climbs. fast. and it’s a massacre.

even the commentators start hesitating around the third goal. then the fifth. then the ninth. by the time slytherin hits two-hundred and twenty to forty, gryffindor’s cheering section is silent. people stop pretending it’s just a bad game. you watch from the stands with your jaw locked, hands frozen on the red-and-gold scarf you shouldn’t have bothered wearing. the worst part isn’t that gryffindor’s losing. it’s who they’re losing to. it’s how.

niki doesn’t smile once. he just plays. and wins.

and the dormitory that night is a graveyard. someone opens a few bottles of butterbeer in half-hearted consolation. the room smells like defeat and cinnamon. no one says anything loud. jake’s sitting with his head in his hands. heeseung’s sprawled on the couch, eyes on the ceiling like maybe if he stares long enough, the score’ll change. you’re pacing. you’ve been pacing since you got back.

"he had to have been training for years," jake mutters. “like, professionally. i don’t think normal students play like that.”

"oh, now you realize that?" you snap.

he lifts his head, blinking. "...you’re pissed."

"you think?"

"you’re more pissed than anyone. and you’re not even on the team." you shoot him a look that could fry a mandrake. "wait," he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “is this because your crush crushed us?”

"excuse me?!" heeseung makes a noise like he’s trying not to laugh. “i do not have a crush on him.”

“sure,” jake says, nodding like that’s exactly what someone with a crush would say. “you just talk about how shady he is every time we see him. totally normal.” you don’t dignify it with a response. you grab your cloak and stomp toward the door. “where are you going?” jake calls after you.

“somewhere you’re not,” you mutter, slamming the portrait shut behind you.

the night is cold. the castle's quieter than it should be. most people are at the slytherin common room, which you hear is loud enough to rattle the pipes. you don't care. you head toward the viaduct path, it’s far, and mostly empty at this hour, overlooking the black lake. the wind cuts through your robes and makes your cheeks sting, but the air helps. it feels real and grounding.

you sit on the stone ledge, just out of reach of the torchlight. your hands are in your lap. you close your eyes for a second and try to breathe. you don’t know how long you sit there. long enough for your anger to dull into something quieter. something closer to confusion.

and that’s when you hear footsteps behind you. you don’t have to turn around, you already know who it is.

“you’re following me again,” you say without opening your eyes.

“you’re predictable,” niki answers, stepping into view, voice calm. like he didn’t just humiliate your house in front of half the school.

you open your eyes and look at him. he’s not in his quidditch robes anymore, but his hair’s still wind-blown, and there’s mud on his boots. he doesn’t look tired. he doesn’t look sorry.

“come to gloat?”

“no.” he pauses. “you weren’t at the party.”

you blink. “why would i be?”

he shrugs. “you’re everywhere else.”

you scoff and look away, fingers tightening in your lap. the wind blows hair into your face, but you don’t bother moving it. not with him standing there, watching like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“why are you here?” you ask eventually, not bothering to sound friendly.

he leans against the ledge a few feet away, arms crossed. “too much in the common room. too loud.”

you glance at him. “bit dramatic, don’t you think? they’re celebrating you.”

he doesn’t answer right away. “i don’t like attention.”

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “right.”

his eyes flick over to you. “what?”

“you’re telling me,” you start, voice dry, “that the star transfer student from durmstrang, who just massacred gryffindor and has half the school drooling over him, doesn’t like attention?”

he shrugs again, but it’s more of a pause this time. less of a defense, more of a question mark. “i just figured you’d be at the party,” he says, softer.

you snort. “why? i hate parties.” he raises an eyebrow. you continue. “i go to maybe one if it’s in the gryffindor dorms. maybe ravenclaw if sunoo begs. but even then, it’s always the same thing. someone brings a sketchy bottle of something labeled ‘love potion’ or ‘euphoria draught’ or—god—forgets to dilute amortentia and suddenly i’m dragging someone to madam pomfrey again.”

he looks at you carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to decide something. “so you weren’t at that last ravenclaw party last year?” he asks.

“no.” you shake your head. “i had a paper due for hong’s class and heeseung caught a cold. why?”

he watches you for a second. long enough that you start to feel defensive. “there was a girl,” he says. “a ravenclaw. drank something. couldn’t remember anything for days.”

you blink, sitting up straighter. “you mean yeji?”

he nods. “that’s her.”

you look away, jaw clenched. “i knew her. not well, but… she sat near me in magical theory. always gave perfect answers. smart and cautious.” niki’s silent again, waiting. “she’s not the type to take a mystery potion just because someone said it’d make her feel good,” you continue. “she’d ask what was in it. make sure it was brewed properly. she wasn’t careless.”

“do you know what she took?”

you shake your head. “no. whatever it was… it wasn’t something i recognized. or i would’ve said something by now.” you pause. then your gaze snaps back to him. “why are you asking me this?” you say, sharper than before. “do you think i had something to do with it?”

niki meets your eyes, unreadable. “i think you know more about potions than anyone else here. and that makes you useful.”

you stand up slowly, heart beating harder. “useful?”

“not in a bad way.”

“you don’t even know me,” you say, and there’s an edge to your voice now that wasn’t there before. “you sit next to me in one class, and suddenly you think you can judge what kind of person i am? if i was someone who—who poisoned someone?”

he doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t look away, either. you step back, just once. the stone under your shoes is cold and solid, grounding.

“you can ask your little questions,” you mutter, voice low, “but don’t pretend you’re not doing it for a reason. and don’t pretend i’m not noticing.”

you start walking away before he can say anything else. but even as you leave the viaduct, the weight of his stare clings to your back. like he’s not done with you yet.

the following week is... confusing. because after that night, niki seems to vanish.

he’s still around, of course. you still see him in potions, where he sits next to you in silence, answering only when necessary, his eyes flicking toward your hands when you chop ingredients a little too fast. but he doesn’t hover in the same spaces anymore. he’s not suddenly behind you in the greenhouse when you’re picking murtlap, not crossing paths with you outside the care of magical creatures hut. if he was studying you before, now it feels like he’s keeping his distance on purpose.

but he’s not exactly alone. you start noticing him with sunghoon and jay — the slytherin beaters, loud and cocky and always surrounded by admirers. it’s hard not to see them, honestly, with their matching smug grins and perfectly polished brooms slung over their shoulders like fashion accessories. the three of them make an intimidating group, and niki fits in with a quiet ease that somehow makes it worse.

but what really makes your stomach twist is when you see him with jeonghan.

the first time is in the library. you’re at a corner table, flipping through advanced antidotal theory, and they pass by in the restricted section, speaking in hushed voices. jeonghan has that same unreadable look he always wears, like he’s two steps ahead and enjoying the view, and niki is just behind him, listening. not saying much. not needing to.

you try not to stare and you fail. because it’s not just once. you see them again two days later, walking out of the potions classroom long after class has ended. they don’t notice you around the corner, but you catch the end of the conversation. jeonghan laughing softly, niki saying something too low to hear. and something clicks, something uncomfortable.

niki is hanging around with the two best potion students in hogwarts: you and jeonghan. only he’s not talking to you anymore. and jeonghan… well. you’ve never trusted jeonghan.

your rivalry with him goes back years. you both excel in potionwork, but he’s manipulative. calculated. always finding loopholes, shortcuts, ways to twist instructions just enough to outshine you. professor hong praises both of you, but there's always that tension beneath the surface — the unspoken competition, the way you both rush to finish first or brew cleaner or get more points for your house. it’s not personal. but it’s never friendly.

so when you realize niki’s been spending time with him, choosing to spend time with him, it feels like a warning. and your mind won’t stop circling back to the rumors, the girl in ravenclaw, the potion no one could identify. it starts keeping you up at night. not in the dramatic, sleepless kind of way. more like you’re distracted. unfocused.

jake notices first.

“you haven’t insulted heeseung’s handwriting in days,” he says one afternoon in the common room, poking your arm with his quill. “are you sick?”

“shut up,” you mutter, flipping a page in your notes.

heeseung chimes in from across the table. “she’s just sulking because her mortal enemy replaced her.”

“excuse me?” you blink at him.

“niki,” he says simply, leaning back in his chair. “you’re obsessed.”

“i am not—”

“you’ve been zoning out since the game,” jake says. “don’t even deny it. you walked into the wrong classroom this morning. twice.”

“i had a lot on my mind.”

“yeah,” jake mutters. “specifically, one thing.”

you slam your book shut and stand up before either of them can say anything else. you don’t have time to explain what’s really bothering you, not to them. not yet. not when even you don’t fully understand what it is.

on the end of the week, professor hong had called you into his office at the end of double potions. most students had already filed out, voices trailing down the corridor, but he had looked up from his desk just as you were collecting your things and said, “miss y/l/n. a word.”

you’d hesitated, glanced once at sunoo, who gave you a curious look over his shoulder, but you stayed behind. it wasn’t unusual, professor hong had a habit of assigning you extra work, sometimes letting you help with his research, sometimes testing obscure theories through essays or unsupervised brewing experiments. you were used to it. used to the pressure. the quiet praise he offered only when absolutely necessary. you respected him — feared him a little, too, but mostly respected.

“you’re serious about pursuing mastery after hogwarts?” he’d asked you then, voice flat, as if the answer didn’t matter.

“yes,” you said immediately. “of course.”

he nodded once, turning the open pages of a leather-bound journal toward you. it was worn and scrawled in a cramped, spidery script — old, maybe even pre-hogwarts era. “this is a recipe for the draught of lucid recall,” he said. “a stabilizing agent for memory restoration, very rarely brewed these days due to one limiting factor.”

you leaned forward, reading the ingredients list. something flickered in your chest when your eyes caught on a line. glowing firevine from a duskwing nest.

“these plants grow from the residual magical energy left behind by duskwing shrike hatchlings,” he continued. “and duskwing shrikes, as you may know, nest exclusively on the western border of the forbidden forest. nocturnal creatures. extremely shy. the vines bloom only when the nest has been long abandoned. and only at night.” 

he closed the book with a soft snap and looked at you. “you want the experience, don’t you?” and you had nodded.

so now here you are, close to midnight, stepping past the boundary wards into the forest. you’d prepared carefully: protective charms on your boots, your wand lit just enough to catch your footing, your satchel laced tight across your chest. it isn’t your first time out here, but it’s the first time you’ve come alone. and the silence of it all — broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves, or the distant flutter of wings — feels different than it does during class or field assignments.

you move slowly, tracking the marks you’d memorized in hong’s notes. the duskwing nests are fragile, crater-like indentations of moss and twigs, and the vines curl through them like veins of molten light, gold and red and strangely pulsing. it takes you nearly half an hour, but you find one tucked into the roots of an old tree, exactly where he said it would be.

the firevine glows faintly under your wandlight. it’s warm when you pluck it. and you barely have time to admire it before you hear the voices. 

they come in like fog. low, urgent tones. two, maybe three. you freeze, instinct pulling your wand up, light gone in an instant. you drop low, heart hammering in your throat, breath caught somewhere just behind your teeth.

they’re not speaking english, not any language you recognize. but the tone is serious. focused. and whoever they are, they’re moving closer.

you slide behind a thick wall of brambles, the firevine clutched to your chest, breath shaky. you’re about to press a muffling charm to your mouth when you feel it. a hand. firm and fast, clamping over your lips.

you jolt, panic spiking white-hot in your veins, but you can’t scream. the hand is strong, and someone presses close behind you, other arm curling around your waist, holding you still. your wand is still in your grip, but you can’t raise it. not without stabbing blindly behind you. and then, you hear the whisper.

“don’t move,” a voice says, low against your ear.

you freeze. the hand loosens slightly, and the pressure around your waist fades just enough for you to breathe. you turn your head, only a little, just enough to see.

niki.

his eyes catch yours in the dark. unreadable, as always, but more focused than you’ve ever seen them. he’s got his wand out, too — already raised — his other hand still hovering near your shoulder, steadying you. he makes a motion with his fingers. quiet. then he turns back, gaze locked in the direction of the voices. and suddenly you realize, he knew they were coming. he wasn’t following you. he was already here.

you stay frozen there for a while, crouched low behind the thick underbrush, hidden under dark branches that rattle slightly with the wind. the voices are getting louder. closer. and niki hasn’t let go. his arm is still firm around your shoulders, fingers pressed against the curve of your arm, anchoring you in place. you feel his chest behind you, the slow rise and fall of it unnervingly calm. you’re trying to match it, to steady yourself, but your heart’s racing and your fingers are clenched so tightly around the firevine it’s starting to lose its warmth.

the men are near now. you hear the crunch of boots on forest floor, the drag of something heavy being pulled along the dirt. someone curses. another laughs. it sounds like there’s four of them, maybe five.

niki moves. he shifts just enough to slip his wand into his other hand and pull something from the inner lining of his cloak. it glimmers faintly in the dark, like silver water. before you can process what it is, he’s tossing it up and over you both. everything disappears. you blink. once, twice. the bushes around you remain, faint outlines in the dark, but your hands, your legs, niki’s arm — they’re gone.

a disillusionment charm wouldn’t do that. a concealment spell wouldn’t either. it’s a true invisibility cloak. a real one. old magic. rare magic.

you don’t say anything — can’t, not with the footsteps just meters away. but your breath catches. the fabric is soft where it touches your arms, heavy and cool and real. you tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing at the glint of the hem, and it clicks. this isn’t some hand-me-down replica. this is something ancient. expensive. possibly even enchanted. who the hell is he?

you feel the shift before you hear it, niki’s face turns slightly toward you, and for a moment, his forehead presses against yours. barely. just a touch. you’re both breathing shallow now, every inhale tight and quiet. his eyes are on yours. too close. too much.

you’re not sure how long it lasts. it feels like minutes, hours, your limbs locked in place, the sounds of the forest swallowed up by the murmuring of the men. but eventually, the voices start to fade, a few more bootsteps. a grunt. silence. they’re gone.

the stillness returns slowly, like the forest has to remember how to be quiet. niki doesn’t move at first, but then he carefully pulls the cloak off your heads, folding it down with one hand. you finally breathe fully, blinking as the shadows settle back around you.

then he speaks. “what were you doing here?” his tone isn’t curious. it’s sharp and suspicious.

you blink at him, still crouched. “excuse me?”

he stands now, brushing the dirt from his knees, his jaw tight. “it’s almost midnight. the forbidden forest. and you just happen to be walking around where a group of smugglers were about to meet?”

you stand too, anger rising instantly. “i wasn’t walking around, i was on assignment.” you dig into your satchel, still clutching the firevine, and pull out the folded parchment professor hong gave you. it’s damp around the edges, crinkled from your grip, but the seal is still visible. you thrust it at him. “here. read it.”

he doesn’t take it, just glances over quickly, then looks away.

“what were they doing here?” you demand, heart still racing. “who are they?”

niki pauses, eyes scanning the space where the men disappeared. “snatchers,” he says finally. “potion traffickers. illegal brew distribution, mostly. kidnapping, too. sometimes they use kids to run ingredients. sometimes they use… worse.”

you feel your stomach flip. “and you know that because…?” he doesn’t answer. you take a step closer. “niki.” still nothing. you laugh, bitter. “you think i’m suspicious? you’ve been lying about who you are since day one.” his jaw ticks, and you see the flicker of something in his eyes — guilt, maybe, or regret — but he still doesn’t explain. “what were you doing out here?” you ask, quieter now. “following them?”

he shrugs, but it’s stiff. rehearsed. “i just… heard something. figured it was worth checking.”

you don’t believe him. not for a second. you cross your arms. “you’ve been watching me since the first day of term. showing up in every class i’m in. now i find you with a cloak worth more than half the school, and you expect me to believe i’m the one with something to explain?”

you hate the way your voice cracks at the end. hate how shaken you still feel. hate how he’s looking at you like he knows something, something you don’t, something he’s not ready to say. 

niki runs a hand through his hair, breath heavy. “i wasn’t trying to—” he stops. you stare at him. waiting. “just… be careful,” he says finally. voice low. “you don’t know what kind of things people will do for potions like these.”

you stare at him for a moment, mouth parted like there’s more he could say, but he doesn't.  “fine,” you mutter, shouldering your satchel with more force than necessary. “if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, don’t. but don’t drag me into it.”

you turn on your heel and start walking, the firevine still pulsing faintly in your hand. the glow matches the simmer under your skin. you’re not even mad, not really, you’re just done. you just want to go back, hand the plant to professor hong, and forget you were ever crouched behind a bush with niki pressed against you under some ridiculously expensive cloak, waiting for smugglers to pass.

but you hear footsteps behind you. you don’t have to look. you already know. “you cannot be serious,” you throw over your shoulder.

“what?” niki says innocently, which is rich, coming from the boy who basically accused you of being in a criminal syndicate five minutes ago. “you’re going back to the castle. so am i.”

“no, you’re following me.”

“i’m escorting you,” he corrects, like he’s doing you a favor. “it’s dangerous out here.”

you shoot him a glare. “i just watched you pull a cloak out of nowhere and you were about to take on five potion smugglers with nothing but your wand and a death glare. i think i’m fine.”

“you didn’t see my real death glare,” he says, voice low and mock-serious. “that was my soft version. reserved for classmates i don’t suspect of dark deals in the forest.”

you whip around. “i swear to merlin, if you say one more word about that—”

he raises both hands, smiling. this is the first time you see him smiling. “okay, okay. i’ll behave.” you narrow your eyes at him and keep walking, faster this time. naturally, he keeps pace. “you know,” he starts again after exactly three seconds of silence, “it was kind of impressive. the way you stayed quiet. most people would’ve screamed when i covered their mouth.”

“yeah, well, i was too busy trying to figure out if you were about to murder me,” you snap.

“aw. you thought i was dangerous?”

you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “i think you’re annoying.”

“close enough.”

you mutter something unrepeatable and pull your cloak tighter around you. the forest’s thinning now, you can see the edge of the path that leads back to the castle, the soft orange glow of the torches in the distance. it should feel like relief, but you’re still buzzing with frustration. he walks beside you like it’s nothing. hands in his pockets. humming, even. 

you stop again, turning to him. “do you enjoy this?”

“what, the trauma of being ambushed in a forest?” he deadpans.

“no,” you hiss, “this. following me. provoking me. acting like you’re not hiding fifty secrets behind that smug face.”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second, just a flicker, something shifts in his expression. not playful. not teasing. soft. but then it’s gone. “maybe,” he says, with the faintest shrug. “you’re cute when you’re mad.”

you groan, loud and exasperated. “i cannot stand you.”

“you don’t have to stand me,” he says. “just walk next to me until we get back.”

you’re already walking, again, because if you stand there one second longer you might actually hex him. you trudge the last stretch of path in silence, or your silence, anyway. niki keeps talking. nonsense, mostly. how the moon’s extra bright tonight. how one of the smugglers had awful footwear. how professor hong would probably give you extra credit for surviving a kidnapping attempt. you don’t dignify any of it with a response, which only makes him talk more.

you reach the courtyard. then the stairs. then the long corridor to the entrance of gryffindor tower. you stop at the portrait of the fat lady and turn to him.

“you can leave now.”

he tilts his head. “are you sure? what if there’s more traffickers hiding in the tapestry?”

“niki.”

“what if the portrait password changed and you’re locked out forever?”

you take a deep breath, glaring up at him. he’s smiling again. like he’s having the best night of his life. you hate that it almost makes you laugh. “goodnight,” you grit through your teeth.

“goodnight, y/n.”

you just turn and mutter the password, stepping through the door before you can think about what just happened, or the way your heart’s still pounding, for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with firevine or smugglers or the forbidden forest.

the next day, you don’t know if you should tell anyone what happened. you keep replaying it in your head — the firevine glowing in your hands, the crunch of boots too close for comfort, the weight of niki’s hand over your mouth, the quiet snap of his cloak as it unfurled over you both like a second skin. how close you were. how still you had to be. how natural it felt to trust him, for a heartbeat, when every part of your brain screamed that you shouldn’t.

you didn’t sleep. you barely said two words at breakfast. not even when heeseung tried to give you a hard time about falling asleep in your toast. not now, heeseung, you wanted to say. i might have accidentally gotten myself tangled in an underground potion smuggling conspiracy and i think niki’s hiding something and i was in the forest illegally and maybe i’m in over my head.

but instead you just stared at your scrambled eggs like they might give you answers.

the guilt sits wrong in your stomach, heavy and unshaped. it’s not just the fact that you snuck out, it’s that you didn’t tell anyone. you still haven’t. not even professor hong. not even jake or heeseung, and you tell them almost everything. the silence feels dangerous, but there’s something stopping you from breaking it. something in the way niki looked at you when he said you don’t know what people will do for potions like these. something in the way he followed you all the way back to your common room with that stupid smirk, like he knew you wouldn’t say anything.

and the worst part is that he was right. so you go to the library. you tell yourself it’s just research. you are a good student. you do care about learning. but you don’t go to the advanced potions aisle. you don’t head for herbology or magical fauna or any of your usual corners.

you go straight to the restricted back row where the musty, half-forgotten books on potion-related crimes live. black bindings. cracked gold titles. old wizard photos that flicker and fade. you comb through chapter after chapter — trafficking, smuggling rings, black market sellers, memory charm abuse, corruption. you take notes. 

and when you’re tired of digging through other people’s crimes, you go deeper. durmstrang student records, class archives, yearbooks. you bite your lip. you search for names. you search for his name.

you find them stacked in chronological order, old leather-bound volumes organized by year and specialization. you scan the spines until your fingers land on the right one — last year’s upper division, potions track. you pull it down, careful, and let the weight of it settle on the table. you flip through pages. names. faces. accolades. best in year. graduated early. expelled for dueling. there’s a few others you half-recognize. but no niki.

you go through it twice. then a third time. he’s not in it. not in any of them. your brows furrow. how?

maybe he was homeschooled. maybe he studied abroad and came back. maybe his name is spelled differently. maybe there’s a perfectly logical reason. maybe there isn’t.

you’re still staring at the open book in front of you when you feel it — a prickle at the back of your neck. that sense of being watched. of someone’s presence folding quietly into the space behind you. you lift your head slowly. and there he is. niki’s across the library. leaning against the far shelf, a book half-open in his hands but clearly forgotten. next to him, jeonghan.

you don’t even try to pretend it’s a coincidence anymore. of course he’s with jeonghan. of course they’re in the potions section, and not looking at anything on the shelf. jeonghan says something to him, too quiet for you to hear, and niki doesn’t answer. his eyes are locked on you.

you think about the firevine. the heat of his breath against your cheek. the way he pulled you close like he’d done it before. like he knew how to hide. how to survive. how to keep secrets so well it was second nature. he looks at you like he knows you’re keeping one now. you close the book softly. don’t break eye contact. and you think, not for the first time, that this might all be bigger than you realized.

you leave the library with your thoughts tangling into knots.

every step echoes with the weight of it — the missing yearbook photo, the too-perfect invisibility cloak, the way he looked at you like he knew you’d keep quiet. and you did. but it’s too much now. something isn’t right, and it’s bigger than a smirk in the library or a close call in the forest. you can’t carry it alone anymore.

so you write a note in quick, messy strokes. tell heeseung to meet you in front of hagrid’s cabin after his practice. say it’s important. don’t say why.

the sun’s already low when you get there, gold spilling across the edge of the forest and setting the fields in firelight. you sit on the stone ledge near the pumpkins, hands tucked under your legs, bouncing your foot like that’ll make him come faster. heeseung’s the only person you trust with this. he’s loud and annoying and says the wrong thing nine times out of ten, but he listens. he keeps secrets. he knows you. and right now, that feels like the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

he shows up with his broom slung over his shoulder, sweaty and windblown, still in his quidditch robes. “what’s up?” he says, slowing when he sees your face. “you look like you saw a dementor.”

you just gesture for him to follow. you walk in silence. through the edge of the grounds, around the old greenhouses, to a little hollow between the divination tower and the west wall, quiet, shaded, always empty. you used to come here with him during second year when you wanted to skip classes without getting caught.

you sit, so does he. and then you start talking. you tell him about the forest. the task professor hong gave you. the firevine. the men. the way niki grabbed you and covered your mouth, how he knew what was happening before you did. the invisibility cloak. the questions. the silence. the way he's always with jeonghan. heeseung doesn’t interrupt. not once.

and then you tell him about the library. the records. the way niki and jeonghan were together, not doing anything, just watching. you expect him to laugh. or roll his eyes. maybe call you dramatic. but he just frowns.

“okay,” he says slowly. “okay, that’s… a lot.” you exhale. it’s the first time you’ve said any of it out loud. it still feels insane. “but like,” he continues, “niki being in the forest — that’s not just weird, that’s sketchy as hell. and if he did know those guys… like, know who they were…”

you nod, tension tightening your jaw. “i think he’s here for a reason. i don’t think he’s just some transfer from durmstrang.”

heeseung rubs the back of his neck. “well, jeonghan’s always been the guy with potions at parties, right?”

you blink. “what?”

“i mean—yeah,” he shrugs. “he always has something. headache cures, hangover things, dumb little confidence draughts—whatever. people go to him if they wanna feel something. he’s like the unofficial supplier.”

you shake your head. “i’ve never seen him do that.”

heeseung raises an eyebrow. “yeah, because he never does it when you’re around.”

you pause. let that sink in. you think back to the parties you did go to, the ones heeseung dragged you to. the times jeonghan was just a quiet shadow in the corner. and the other times, when you left early, or didn’t go at all, when something did happen, someone did get sick, someone did say they took something they shouldn’t have.

“shit,” you whisper.

heeseung leans back, whistling low. “you think niki’s here for that? like, actually investigating?”

you don’t say anything for a moment. just stare at the grass between your shoes. “it makes sense,” you say eventually. “but… i don’t know who he is. or who sent him. or why he won’t just tell me.”

“maybe he can’t.” you look at him. “if he’s undercover or whatever,” he adds. “maybe it’s dangerous.”

you nod, slowly. but it still doesn’t explain everything. it doesn’t explain why he’s so reckless with you. why he watches you like you might be the one hiding something. why, despite all your instincts, part of you still wants to trust him.

and worse — why it feels like he already trusts you.

a month passes, quiet and strange.

niki doesn’t talk to you. doesn’t look at you. doesn’t sit near you in potions, doesn’t show up where you are unless he absolutely has to. it’s like that night in the forest never happened — like the muffled breath against your temple, the brush of his jacket against your arm under the invisibility cloak, the tension crackling in the silence — like all of it was just something you imagined.

and if he’s pretending it didn’t happen, you figure you might as well do the same.

professor hong starts giving you more work than usual, like he’s testing you for something. special assignments, obscure texts to translate, herb samples to categorize and label. it’s not exactly punishment, but it feels like a spotlight is always on you. your grades stay high, but your patience wears thin.

when december rolls in, hogwarts gets colder, quieter. thick snow covers the grounds, and the halls echo in a way they never do during the rest of the year. most seventh years stay. it’s your last winter here, after all. you’re not going home either. your parents sent a letter that said something about a trip, something about being proud, something about sending your present by owl. 

you like the castle better like this. emptier. you can breathe.

one afternoon, you head into hogsmeade with heeseung, jake, sunoo, and jungwon. it’s snowing, the kind that sticks to your eyelashes and stings your fingers if you forget your gloves. the five of you end up at the three broomsticks, and the butterbeer’s warm.

you sit around a small round table near the back, laughing over something jake said, watching your breath fog in the cold air that slips in through the cracks in the windows. everything feels momentarily normal.

until you see him. niki walks in with jay and sunghoon, a sweep of snow still in his hair. he looks taller in winter clothes, sharper somehow, the dark green of his scarf marking him clearly as slytherin. you don’t know what you expect, maybe that he’ll ignore you again, just like he has for weeks.

but he sees you. and he smiles. it’s small, barely there, a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. and it throws you completely off. because that’s the first time he’s acknowledged you since the forest. no words, just a look. but it’s enough to make your heart beat a little off rhythm.

you glance around. jeonghan’s not with them. and somehow, that makes you more uneasy than his smile. you look away fast, pretending you didn’t see him. pretending it doesn’t matter. but the weight of his eyes doesn’t leave you for the rest of the night.

your mug is nearly empty, and so is sunoo’s, so you offer to get a new round. the others don’t protest. you push through the crowd toward the bar, cheeks still flushed, scarf tugged loose around your neck. the old barkeep grunts something unintelligible as you pass him the empty mugs.

and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’s there. niki.

he sidles up next to you, coat dusted with melting snow, hands shoved in his pockets. you can smell the firewood smoke on him. he doesn’t say anything at first. just stands beside you, eyes flicking toward the mugs, then toward your face. “why didn’t you go home for the break?” he asks, voice quiet, casual, like he hadn’t spent the last month acting like you didn’t exist.

you turn to him slowly, blinking once. your expression sharpens instantly. “you’ve been ignoring me for a month, and now you suddenly care?”

the words are colder than the wind outside. and you mean them to be. his jaw tightens just a little. he glances down, then back at you. “i was… busy.”

you let out a breath through your nose. “right.”

the mugs clink as the barkeep sets them down in front of you. you pick them up carefully, your fingers wrapping around the warm handles. niki watches you, but you don’t look at him again. you turn around and walk back to your table without another word, your shoulders stiff.

when you sit, sunoo instantly brightens. “yay, butterbeer delivery angel!” he beams, wrapping his hands around the mug.

jake notices your face first. “what was that?” he asks, tilting his head.

“what?” you say, too quickly.

jungwon raises an eyebrow. “niki. he was talking to you.”

you press your lips together and shrug. “it’s nothing.”

“seemed like not-nothing,” jake mumbles into his drink.

sunoo leans closer, chin propped on his hand, all teeth and glittering mischief. “honestly,” he says, “i still think you two would make a great couple.”

you roll your eyes and laugh. “you say that like we’re in a romance novel.”

“well,” sunoo says dramatically, twirling his mug, “you’re both always tense around each other. and smart. and annoying. it’s textbook chemistry.”

you’re about to retort when your eyes drift back across the pub, unbidden. niki is still at the bar with jay and sunghoon. his head is tipped slightly in jay’s direction, but he’s not paying attention to jay. he’s looking at you. and then, he smiles. crooked. like he heard. your breath catches for a second, and you whip your gaze back to your butterbeer. you don’t say anything else the rest of the night. but your heart won’t stop racing.

the three broomsticks was quieter now, the warmth of the fire lingering like a memory against the cold outside. snow tapped gently at the windows, and the room had thinned out to only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. most of your group had already trickled out — jake and heeseung left an hour ago, stumbling into the snow laughing, and now jungwon was tugging on his scarf as he stood beside sunoo.

“you sure you’re staying?” sunoo asked, peering at you with concern, already halfway bundled up.

you nodded, half-smiling. “just gonna get one more drink before heading back.”

sunoo hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. “okay. don’t freeze to death.”

“no promises.”

they left in a flutter of cloaks and bootfalls, and you turned back to the bar, waving the barkeep over again with a quiet thank you. your fingers curled around the warm ceramic of the mug just as it touched the counter.

but before you could lift it, a hand wrapped around your wrist. firm. your head snapped up. niki stood in front of you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. his grip wasn’t painful, but it was deliberate — insistent.

you blinked at him. “what the hell are you doing?”

he didn’t answer. his eyes flicked toward the drink, then toward the near-empty pub, then back to you. and without a word, he dropped a few galleons on the bar and pulled you with him, not harshly, but without giving you time to argue.

“niki—” you protested, stumbling slightly. “what are you doing? what’s going on?”

“come with me.”

“you could at least tell me where we’re going!”

“i’m protecting you.”

that shut you up. snow swirled around your boots as you stepped into the street. hogsmeade was blanketed in quiet, the kind that only existed this late, with windows glowing gold behind frost-lined panes and distant laughter fading into the hills. the sound of your footsteps echoed between buildings, fast and purposeful.

you kept pace beside him, heart thudding. “what do you mean, protecting me?” you hissed, teeth clenched. “from what? from a drink? are you serious right now?”

he didn’t answer. you realized, abruptly, where he was leading you. down the narrow alleyway past zonko’s, past the sweets shop, until you reached the worn wooden door of the hog’s head inn. a rusty sign swung gently above it, the boar’s head creaking in the wind.

“are you joking—” you started, but he was already opening the door, glancing once behind him to make sure you followed.

the air inside was thick with the scent of smoke and damp wool. it was mostly empty, just a couple old wizards huddled at the corner table, and aberforth himself behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag that looked older than you. niki didn’t stop. he guided you past the bar, toward a narrow hallway, and into a small back room you’d never noticed before — cluttered with potion crates and ancient tomes, but strangely warm. like it had been prepared. like he knew he’d bring you here.

“okay,” you said, voice sharper now, heart in your throat. “you’re officially freaking me out. what was that at the pub? why did you stop me from drinking?”

he turned to face you, closing the door behind him with a soft click. and finally he spoke. “because someone tried to slip you something.”

before you could even fully register what he’d just said — someone tried to slip you something — the door creaked open. aberforth dumbledore stepped into the room, frowning deeply, his wand already drawn, though low at his side. he gave you a brief, assessing look before turning to niki.

“what’s going on?” his voice was low, gravelly. “thought you said it was quiet tonight.”

niki ran a hand through his hair, still tense. “it was. until someone tampered with her drink.”

aberforth’s eyes flicked toward you again, his expression darkening. “are you sure?”

niki nodded once. “i saw it happen. the glass was swapped while she was talking to the bartender. didn’t get a good look at who, they were wearing an invisibility cloak.”

“bloody hell.” aberforth muttered. “i’ll alert the others.”

you blinked. “the others?”

he was already stepping out of the room, muttering something under his breath, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality. you turned slowly to face niki, the words boiling up before you could stop them.

“what the hell was that?” your voice was sharp now, shaky but cutting. “what others? why are you talking to aberforth like you’re… i don’t know, colleagues or something?” niki exhaled slowly, but didn’t answer. you took a step closer. “niki. who tried to poison me? what were they trying to give me? how do you even know it was poison? what did you see that i didn’t?”

still, silence. 

“i didn’t see anything,” you snapped, “so how the hell did you? you were on the other side of the room! do you have eyes everywhere now? what else aren’t you telling me?” he shifted slightly, jaw clenched, like he was trying to hold himself back. but you weren’t done. not even close. his fingers twitched at his sides. your pulse was hammering in your ears. the walls suddenly felt too close. the air too thin. “niki,” you said again, slower this time. “what are you really doing here?”

he looked at you then. really looked. and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and sharp and tired. “i’m supposed to be investigating you.” you froze. he continued, almost like the words had slipped out of him before he could stop them. “that’s why i came here. that’s the mission. you were the assignment.”

you felt like the floor had cracked under you. “what?”

“you’re one of the best in potions,” he said, eyes on you like he hated himself for it. “high marks. known for healing spells. access to ingredients. always in the right place at the wrong time. and yeah—jeonghan’s on the list too. but you? you were supposed to be watched.”

you took a step back. “you think i—?”

“i don’t anymore,” he snapped, cutting you off, frustration blooming in his chest. “that’s what i’m trying to tell you. i’m not supposed to care if you get poisoned. i’m supposed to observe. report. stay distant. but i didn’t. i can’t. and now this—this whole thing is a mess.”

your heart was pounding. breath catching. it felt like the ground had tilted under you. “so what, you’ve been lying this whole time?” your voice cracked despite yourself.

niki ran both hands through his hair, stepping back like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “i wasn’t trying to lie,” he said, quieter now. “i didn’t expect… you.”

the words sat heavy between you. and for the first time, you weren’t sure what to say. the room felt impossibly still. you could hear the wind outside rattling against the windows of the hog’s head, the muffled creak of the old wood shifting with the cold. niki sat down heavily on the edge of an armchair across from you, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together like he needed something to hold onto. his eyes met yours, tired and serious.

“i’m not a student,” he said, voice quiet but clear. “i mean—not really. i never was. i studied at home. full magical education, but private. passed my NEWTs last year, started working right after.”

you blinked, confused. he continued before you could interrupt. “i’m an auror. officially registered with the ministry.” he gave a humorless laugh. “youngest in my department, actually. i got recruited before graduation. they’ve been pushing younger operatives—people who blend in easier.”

your stomach twisted, but you stayed silent. you didn’t want to interrupt. not yet.

“they gave me this assignment right after i finished training. a deep-cover placement at hogwarts. the orders were clear: pose as a transfer student, infiltrate the school, keep a low profile.” his voice lowered. “there were… incidents. small, at first. potions going missing from the restricted stores. unauthorized brewing in abandoned classrooms. students showing symptoms that didn’t match any known potion—memory loss, euphoria spikes, uncontrolled magical surges. something darker. something new.”

he paused, letting that sink in.

“the ministry believes someone’s been developing illegal potions inside hogwarts. not just using them—creating them. testing them. distributing them. and not alone.” he looked at you with something like regret. “someone with power. influence. someone who knows how to stay hidden. maybe a student, maybe someone higher. we don’t know. all we know is that these potions are dangerous. they’re not just mind-altering—they’re manipulative. there’ve been whispers that someone’s trying to build a network inside the school. create dependencies. control.”

you felt cold all over.

“they thought it could be you,” he said quietly. “your name was one of the first i got. your record is spotless—too spotless, they said. top of your class in potions, outstanding marks in magical creatures, connections across all houses. you have access, respect. and you keep your nose clean.” your jaw tensed. “but then i met you,” he went on, not looking away. “and i watched. and waited. i read every report, every interview. i watched how you talk to people. how you help them. how you cover for them when they mess up. i watched you hand out hangover draughts after parties, not because you were pushing potions, but because you didn’t want anyone to get hurt. i watched you go into that forest alone for an assignment you didn’t even question, just because a professor asked. i watched you risk everything to stay curious. and it didn’t take me long to realize you’re not the one we’re after.”

you were quiet for a long moment. the fireplace in the room crackled once, soft and low. niki leaned back, his shoulders dropping a little, like confessing all this had taken something out of him.

“but that’s the thing,” he said. “you might not be the one behind this—but someone knows how powerful you are. someone’s trying to get close to you. or use you. and that’s why everything changed.” his voice dropped again, barely a murmur. “now, my mission’s not just to find who’s doing this. it’s to make sure you don’t become the next name on a list of victims.”

you stared at him, heart in your throat. “you’re not just a student anymore, y/n,” he said. “you’re a target.”

and somehow, even though he’d just shattered every truth you thought you knew about him, you believed him. your breath had barely settled after niki's last words when the fire inside you surged forward—quick, defiant, furious.

"fine," you said, standing up abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. "then let me help you."

his gaze snapped to yours. "no."

"no?" you scoffed. "you just told me i’m a target. that someone is using me. that my life might be in danger—and you expect me to do what? sit quietly in the common room while you go off being a secret agent?"

he didn’t flinch. "yes."

"niki," you stepped closer, not bothering to hide your frustration. "i’m not just some kid you’re babysitting. i’m a seventh-year. i’ve brewed antidotes that saved people from the hospital wing. i know the signs of potion manipulation. i can help."

"you could also get killed," he snapped back, voice sharp but low.

"so could you!" your eyes narrowed. "what’s the difference?"

"the difference is that i signed up for this," he said, jaw clenched. "you didn’t."

"but i am in it now!" you insisted. "don’t you see that? someone already tried to poison me. i’m not just a bystander anymore." he looked away, jaw working, as if trying to wrestle down a hundred arguments. you softened slightly, voice dipping. "niki, if i’m the one they’re trying to manipulate—don’t you think i’m the one who might be able to see it from the inside?"

"i don’t want you anywhere near them," he muttered, almost to himself.

"who is it?" you asked quickly. "who do you think it is? is it jeonghan?" he didn’t answer. "what about a professor? is there someone on staff—"

"stop."

"why won’t you tell me—"

"because i’ve already said too much!" he barked, finally looking at you again. "you weren’t supposed to know any of this. the only reason i told you is because someone tried to kill you, and you were about to drink something that would've landed you in st. mungo’s for a month—or worse."

you felt your heart beating too hard, breath caught halfway in your chest. "so what?" you hissed. "you drop this huge secret on me, shake up my entire world, and then decide to shut me out again? i'm the one being hunted, niki. me. and you're just gonna keep holding everything back?"

he stood up too quickly, chair tipping slightly behind him. you were face to face now. close. too close. your words hung between you, heavy, and his silence was louder than anything else in the room. niki looked at you like you had just said something dangerous, like the words themselves were too heavy to hold. his jaw was tight, brows furrowed, and you could see the way his fists were clenched at his sides.

“that’s why i’m doing this,” he said, voice rough. “to keep you safe.”

you didn’t move. didn’t blink. “then let me help.”

he shook his head once, sharp. “no. you’re not—this isn’t your job.”

“but it’s my life,” you shot back, stepping forward. “it’s my name they’re using, my skills they’re exploiting, my drink they tried to poison. and you want me to just sit back and let you handle everything on your own?” he didn’t answer, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder for a second, then it was back on you. eyes dark, unreadable. “you think you can protect me?” you said, voice lowering, a challenge. “by ignoring me for a month? by pushing me away?”

he flinched slightly at that, and something in your chest twisted. he exhaled through his nose, sharp, like he’d been holding it in for too long. “i was getting too close,” he muttered.

you blinked. “what?”

his jaw flexed again. “i was getting too close. to you.”

your breath caught, and for a second the room felt smaller. warmer. too full of things unspoken. “so what?” you asked. “you run every time you care about someone?”

“i don’t care about anyone,” he said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

you took a slow step forward. he didn’t move. “that right?” you asked quietly, almost smug, gaze flicking down to his mouth for just a second. “could’ve fooled me.”

“you’re impossible,” he muttered.

“you like that.”

“no,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to give himself away. “i don’t.”

you tilted your head. “you sure?”

he looked at you—really looked at you—and you could tell something in him was close to snapping. not in a dangerous way. in the way someone snaps when they’ve been denying themselves something for too long. he took a half step closer. “you’re not making this easy.”

“good,” you whispered. “i’m done being easy.”

his breath hitched. and just as his hand twitched like it might reach for you—

the door creaked open.

you both jumped back like you’d been caught red-handed, and aberforth stood there, arms crossed, a knowing look in his tired eyes.

“right,” he muttered, clearly unbothered by the tension he’d walked into. “i’ve got word.”

niki straightened immediately. “what kind of word?”

aberforth stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “ministry sent a message. they’ve confirmed another shipment of restricted potions coming in through knockturn alley. same magical signature as the ones popping up in school.” you could feel niki tense beside you. aberforth gave you a glance, then back to niki. “looks like you were right. and you’ve got more eyes on this now.”

niki nodded, sharp. “thanks.”

as soon as aberforth slipped out of the room, the door creaking softly behind him, silence settled like dust in the air. thick. tense. the quiet stretched between you and niki like a thread pulled taut. you stood still for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to feel. your hands were cold, and your heart was loud in your ears.

“this is too much,” you whispered, almost to yourself. the weight of it all—the secrets, the danger, the way his eyes had looked into yours—pressed down on you like a second skin. you stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going alone,” he said immediately, already moving to follow you.

you didn’t argue. maybe part of you wanted the company. maybe part of you was too tired to fight anymore.

the streets of hogsmeade were quiet, the snow falling in slow, lazy spirals from the sky. it was late enough that most windows were dark, the only sounds were the crunch of your boots on the snow and the soft whistle of wind through the trees. you walked in silence for a while, neither of you speaking, until niki finally broke it.

“you should go home for the holidays.”

you turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing at him. “the train already left.”

“i can get you there,” he said, a little too quickly. “i have… privileges. i can take you.”

you stopped walking. looked at him properly. “you want me to leave hogwarts?”

“i want you to be safe,” he said, voice low. “you’d be safer away from all of this. just for a while.”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one side. “i’ll think about it… if you answer some of my questions.”

he hesitated. then nodded once. “fine.”

“what’s it like?” you asked. “being an auror.”

he exhaled, glancing away like he hadn’t expected that to be your first question. “it’s… hard. it’s not as glamorous as people think. most of the time it’s waiting. watching. pretending. and then sometimes it’s not pretending at all, it’s running for your life.”

you blinked. “sounds awful.”

“it is,” he said, giving a small, humorless laugh. “but someone has to do it.”

“and why me?” you asked, more serious now. “why was i the suspect?”

“because you’re too good at what you do for someone your age. and people like that… they’re either recruited or eliminated.”

you swallowed. “that’s comforting.”

niki looked at you then, the wind pulling at his dark hair. “but i know it’s not you. i knew weeks ago.”

“then why the hell did you disappear?” your voice came out sharper than you meant, and you hated that it cracked a little at the end.

he looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time he didn’t have an answer ready. “because i was starting to care too much.” you froze. “i couldn’t think straight,” he went on, voice lower now. “i was supposed to be watching you. that was my job. to track you. report everything you did. but you kept… surprising me. being kind. being smart. being reckless. and then, you were in the middle of everything, and i wasn’t just trying to solve a case anymore. i was trying to keep you alive.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. the wind brushed past again, cold and biting, but you barely felt it. he was looking at you like he meant every word. like saying it hurt and helped all at once.

you were still halfway down the path back to hogwarts when he stepped a little closer. just a breath. barely a shift. but enough. “so yeah,” he added, almost a whisper. “i want you to be safe. not just because it’s my job. but because it’s you.”

and you stood there in the snow, the night holding both of you quiet and still, and everything between you had never felt more dangerous.

you walk the rest of the way in silence. hogwarts rises ahead of you, quiet and glowing against the snowy sky, but you barely notice the cold anymore. not with him walking beside you like that, close, warm, like he’s not quite ready to let you go either. every few steps, your arms brush, and every time it happens, your heart jumps. when you reach the portrait, you stop. your throat is tight, your thoughts spinning, and everything that’s happened tonight is pressing heavy on your chest. you turn to him slowly, unsure of what to say, unsure if you even can say anything at all.

he looks at you carefully, like he's memorizing your face. his voice is soft when he speaks. “just… think about it, okay? going home. not for me, or the ministry. for you. it might help.”

you don’t answer, not really. just a small nod, barely a movement. you’re not even sure if you mean it. you’re not sure of anything right now.

he steps closer, slowly. and then, gently, almost like he’s afraid to do it, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. it’s barely a second, but it breaks you. because it’s soft, and real, and it says things he hasn’t let himself say out loud. it feels like a goodbye, or maybe a promise. maybe both. and you don’t move until he’s already walking away.

and when you step through the portrait hole, you feel like the weight of the whole night catches up with you all at once. your chest feels too tight, your eyes sting, and you barely make it to the fireplace before the tears start welling up in your eyes. you try to hold it back. you tell yourself to just go upstairs, sleep it off, pretend nothing happened. but your legs move before your brain can catch up. you don’t even know why—only that you need someone. someone safe.

you find yourself at the boys’ dorm, barely thinking, barely breathing. and when you push the door open, there he is. heeseung. sitting on his bed with a blanket around his shoulders, book in hand, looking up the second he hears you. “y/n?” he says, surprised. but not annoyed. never annoyed.

you don’t answer. you just walk straight to him, crawl onto the bed without a word, and curl into him like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. he doesn’t question it. his arms wrap around you immediately, warm and careful, like he knows something cracked open inside you and he’s the only one who can hold the pieces together. you bury your face in his chest and the first sob escapes before you can stop it.

heeseung holds you tighter. strokes your back softly. doesn’t say much, just quiet things like “hey, i’m here,” and “you’re okay,” and “i got you.”

and you believe him. 

you didn’t take the train back home. even after everything, even after niki offered to take you himself, you stayed. you don’t really know why. maybe it’s the lingering fear, or the fact that you don’t want to explain to your family why your hands have been shaking a little more than usual lately. maybe it’s just easier to stay where things are complicated, but familiar.

and niki… well. he doesn’t leave you alone.

he doesn’t say that he’s watching you. but he is. always. whether it’s walking ten steps behind you on your way to the library or showing up conveniently five minutes after you sit down to lunch in the great hall, he’s there. a constant shadow. it would be annoying if it weren’t so… obvious. obvious that he’s trying. that he’s still scared for you.

heeseung notices it too. he sticks by your side almost as much as niki does, always a warm presence at your shoulder. he drags you out of bed when you don’t want to move, makes you laugh when your mind won’t shut off, and even tries to teach you how to charm a snowball to chase jake around the courtyard, which ends in disaster, obviously, but it makes you both laugh until your stomach hurts.

the days blur together. you and heeseung drink hot chocolate in the gryffindor common room, wrapped in thick blankets while enchanted snow falls outside the windows. you sneak into the kitchens and convince the house-elves to let you make gingerbread, which ends in a near food-fight that leaves flour in your hair and heeseung swearing he’ll never let you near powdered sugar again. you take long walks around the lake, watch the frozen water shimmer under the pale winter sun, and exchange stupid stories from your first years at hogwarts that you’ve both heard a hundred times.

through it all, niki stays close. never quite a part of it, but always hovering. sometimes, he and heeseung have these quiet little standoffs, nothing dramatic, just long glances and curt nods like they’re silently agreeing to disagree about something you’re not allowed to hear. you ignore it. mostly.

and then, before you even realize it, it’s new year’s eve.

you’re all gathered on the astronomy tower, just the few students left behind. someone’s enchanted a radio to play old wizarding songs, and the air smells like cinnamon and frost. there’s hot cider in your hands, your cheeks are pink from the cold, and you feel like you’re floating just a little above everything. like things are okay. like you’re allowed to breathe.

you’re leaning against the railing, watching tiny specks of light from hogsmeade in the distance, when niki appears at your side. as usual, silently.

he doesn’t say anything for a while. just stands there, the sleeves of his dark cloak brushing your arm. but then, without looking at you, he asks quietly, “are you and heeseung… together?”

you blink. “what?”

he turns to look at you, his face unreadable. “you’re always with him.”

you furrow your brow. “he’s my best friend. we grew up together. he’s practically my brother.”

he nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything else. and that’s when it hits you. the tone of his voice. the way he asked. the way he won’t meet your eyes now. he’s jealous.

the realization stuns you for a second, so out of place in everything that’s been happening, it almost makes you laugh. but you don’t. because now you’re the one staring, watching the slight shift in his expression, the tightness in his jaw. the way his fingers curl at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

you’re about to say something (tease him, maybe) but then he mutters something about needing a minute and disappears into the nearby hallway.

niki steps into the cramped bathroom off the astronomy tower, the door swinging shut behind him with a hollow click. the tiled walls are cold and unwelcoming, mirrors lining two sides of the small room. he flicks on the light and stares at his own reflection—the dark circles under his eyes, the suspicious crease between his brows, the way his lips form a hard line that he can’t seem to smooth out.

he splashes cold water on his face, breath catching as the droplets sting his skin. get it together, he tells himself. you’re here on a job. you’re an auror. but the echo of your reply still rings in his ears: he’s practically my brother. the memory stabs at him. jealousy? of heeseung? when he was supposed to be protecting you, keeping you safe from people who would use you… and he’d been worrying about whether you were spending too much time with someone else. the absurdity of it nearly makes him grimace. a professional? an agent? or just a boy who doesn’t know his own heart.

he straightens his collar, brushes his hair away from his face, and looks into the mirror again. he reminds himself that everything he’s done—lying about his identity, pulling you away from danger, keeping his distance for weeks—has been for your safety. not because he cared too much. he shakes his head, trying to clear the guilt and confusion. focus on the mission.

when he finally steps back into the hallway, the space feels emptier than before. he’s almost certain you were right here, leaning on the railing, breath misting in the cold. and niki knew something was wrong the moment he returned to the tower.

the spot where you had been sitting just minutes earlier still looked lived in: your coat slightly folded over the ledge, a half-finished cup of something warm left behind. but you weren’t there. not standing, not waiting, not hiding just out of sight with that amused look on your face. and the drink, whatever it was, wasn’t yours. not the kind of thing you ordered, not the kind of thing he trusted. something icy coiled in his gut. his fingers hovered above the rim of the cup, then pulled back. he didn’t like the smell. didn’t like the stillness in the air. 

at first, he tried to be logical. maybe you’d gone to meet sunoo or jake, maybe you got tired of waiting and decided to call it a night. maybe you were mad at him for the jealousy, the tension. maybe it was all just a misunderstanding.

but then the clock ticked past fifteen minutes, then twenty, and your name began to sound strange in his mouth. panic tickles at the edges of his chest. he moves swiftly along the corridor until he finds heeseung and jake outside the portrait frame, bundled in cloaks and looking half as comfortable without your presence.

“have you seen y/n?” niki asks, voice tight. “where did she go?”

“we saw her talking to you,” heeseung said slowly. “like, fifteen minutes ago. then nothing. why?”

niki’s mind races. you wouldn’t just wander off in the middle of the tower. not tonight, not with whatever he’d said to you. niki hesitated, the weight in his chest sharp and sudden. “someone tried to poison her,” he said flatly. “a few weeks ago. at the three broomsticks. i don’t know who. or why.”

heeseung’s eyes widened. “she came back that night crying. i thought it was because of you.”

niki blinked, thrown off. crying? because of him?

but there wasn’t time to unpack that. he pushes past them, retracing his steps along the icy parapets, calling your name softly into the night. the breeze carries his voice away, unanswered. he checks every alcove, every shadowed doorway, each balcony ledge that overlooks the courtyard. nothing.

he tore through the castle after that. every hallway, every floor. he sent word to professors under fake pretenses. he summoned maps, tried tracking spells, used enchanted mirrors. nothing. no sight of you. not a whisper of where you’d gone. you weren’t in the common room. you weren’t in the owlery. you weren’t with the nurse, or the librarian, or any of your usual hiding places. and no one had seen you leave. no one even saw you get up from that ledge.

niki finally leans against a wall near the great hall doors, head in his hands, mind spinning. you're supposed to be safe. i’m supposed to protect her. but right now, he’s failed. you're vanished into the night, and no one knows where you are. the cold pressurizes in his chest as he realizes how out of control everything has become, and how desperately, painfully, he needs to find you.

that first night, no one slept.

heeseung was the first one to run through the castle beside niki, breathless, calling your name through every corridor like it would echo back to them with an answer. jake and sunoo joined soon after, both pale and panicked, and jungwon practically tore the library apart with shaking hands and a cracked voice. it didn’t matter how many rooms they checked, how many secret passages they tried, how many portraits they begged for clues, but none of them could find you. not even a trace. you had vanished.

by sunrise, niki was at the headmistress's office. the weight of his badge—something he’d always carried with quiet pride—now felt like a curse. he revealed everything. the undercover mission. the threat of potion trafficking. the poisoning attempt. and now, your disappearance. the words came out raw and broken, like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

by the end of that day, the ministry was involved. by the second day, your name was on every professor’s lips. by the third, flyers were floating through the air in the great hall. by the fourth, the other aurors arrived.

and through it all, niki didn’t stop moving. he didn’t sleep. barely ate. he sat through interrogation after interrogation, trying to retrace your steps down to the minute. he fought with the head of security. he argued with the map-keepers. he wrote twelve different reports for the ministry. he went to the forest twice, alone, against orders, just in case.

because it wasn’t just a mission anymore. it hadn’t been for a long time. you were missing. and he was the one who should’ve protected you.

by the seventh day, he was called into a private office in the ministry’s underground headquarters. everything in him was vibrating with rage, with restlessness, with the hollow ache of not knowing. when choi soobin walked in in a sharp robe, calm face, senior auror energy radiating off him like controlled fire, niki barely looked up.

“you look like hell,” soobin said simply.

niki huffed a breath, almost laughed. “i feel worse.”

soobin sat across from him, silent for a moment. then he slid a file forward. thick, slightly worn, full of pages. “we’re making progress,” he said. “slow. but real.” niki didn’t answer. his jaw was clenched too tight. “you want to tell me what’s going on?” soobin asked. “not the case. not the mission. you.”

niki closed his eyes. “i was supposed to keep her safe,” he said, voice low. “that was the one thing i promised myself. and i let her slip away while i was busy arguing with my own feelings. i knew she was in danger. and i let her sit alone with a fucking drink.”

soobin didn’t interrupt.

“i stopped looking at her like a suspect weeks ago,” niki whispered. “i started—i don’t know. caring. too much. and now she’s gone. and i have no idea if she’s okay or if she’s—” he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

soobin let the silence settle before he spoke again. “we found something,” he said, more serious now. “a name, tied to the movement of illegal ingredients through knockturn alley. someone old money. old magic. yoon.”

niki looked up sharply. “jeonghan’s family?”

soobin nodded slowly. “we can’t prove anything yet. but the pattern’s there. shipments. contacts. and whoever took her—they didn’t take her at random. she was getting close. and she’s powerful.”

the fury that surged through niki’s veins was immediate. white-hot. suffocating. he stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “if they hurt her—”

“you’ll stay focused,” soobin interrupted calmly. “you want to find her? then keep your head. we’re going to bring her home, niki. but not if you lose yourself before we even get a lead.”

niki didn’t answer. because all he could see in his mind was your face—the way you smiled when you were teasing him, the crease between your brows when you were deep in thought, the look you gave him when you realized he was hiding something. he had memorized you. and he wouldn’t let this be the end.

niki had been watching jeonghan for weeks, long before you vanished.

at first, it had just been instinct. something sharp in the way jeonghan’s eyes shifted when he thought no one was looking. the way his tone changed depending on who was listening. the strange hesitations mid-sentence, the moments where he looked like he was about to say something and then didn’t. too controlled. too careful.

there was one day in particular, just before the winter break, when niki passed jeonghan in the hallway. the older boy was speaking to professor hong, the potions master. the conversation looked normal from afar. casual, even. but the second jeonghan turned to walk away, niki caught something in his expression. a flicker of something restrained and vacant. like someone who had been pressing on the same bruise too long.

it lingered with him. at first, he thought it might’ve been just house politics. pureblood pressure. the usual son-of-an-old-family expectations. but then the slip-ups started.

once, jeonghan had dropped a vial in class. it had shattered, hissing smoke into the air. and instead of reacting like a trained potioneer would, he flinched. visibly. like the sound of breaking glass meant danger. like he wasn’t used to handling potions at all. and that didn’t make sense. jeonghan was always top of his year in theory and practicals. but niki knew that look. the look of someone who was surviving something they couldn’t speak of.

then there were the disappearances. not major ones, not enough to alert the professors. just small gaps. study hours jeonghan missed. meals he skipped. days where no one saw him between classes, and he reappeared with excuses that felt a little too rehearsed. and every time niki tried to catch him alone, jeonghan either deflected or disappeared again.

still, it didn’t click. not until the week after your disappearance.

while combing through records in the ministry’s archives — mostly shipments, delivery logs, and restricted ingredient authorizations — niki came across an anomaly. three different orders of powdered root of asphodel, all signed off by the same person: professor hong. nothing illegal. not on the surface. but the quantities didn’t add up.

no professor needed that much unless they were brewing something… off-curriculum.

that’s when niki went deeper. he requested old reports. attendance records. student complaints. one name kept showing up at odd intervals: yoon jeonghan. nothing definitive. just traces. a detention here, a request for private tutoring there. all tied to professor hong.

what sealed it was a conversation he overheard in the restricted section of the library. he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he caught professor hong’s voice low and sharp behind a bookshelf. "you’ll do what i asked. no mistakes this time." silence.

then jeonghan’s voice, soft and monotone: "yes, sir."

it wasn’t the words. it was the delivery. too flat. too obedient.

the imperius curse.

it hit niki like ice down his spine. jeonghan was being controlled.

and professor hong — the quiet, highly respected, vaguely boring potions master — wasn’t just an accomplice. he was orchestrating everything. suddenly, it made sense. how the illegal potions were being smuggled. why none of the alarms ever triggered. how someone had slipped a hexed drink under niki’s nose. why you had been targeted in the first place.

you were powerful. too powerful. and you were curious. someone must have noticed how close you were getting to the truth, or how much professor hong feared what you’d uncover. niki had been so focused on you and jeonghan that he hadn't looked at the one person who’d been standing at the center of every circle: the professor no one questioned.

he sat with the realization for hours that night.

he didn’t report it immediately. not yet. not without proof. the ministry would need evidence. something solid. but the fury that twisted in his chest was hard to hold back. especially because he knew now, with horrifying clarity, that jeonghan wasn’t the villain. he was a victim. and worse: if hong had the power and precision to cast a long-term imperius on a student without detection, it meant this had been going on for a long time. maybe even before niki arrived.

and that meant you — the one person who had stumbled into this by accident, the one who’d been brave enough to question everything — were never supposed to be part of the game. and yet, now you were the most dangerous piece on the board.

but niki wasn’t going to let the game end without turning the table over completely. not this time. not with you still missing. not when he finally knew who had pulled the strings.

hong was careful. he always had been. too careful, even now. and sometimes, especially in the evenings, when niki was crouched in the dark corners of the dungeons using the invisibility cloak, the professor would pause, mid-step, and glance around. eyes narrowing. head tilting. like he could sense something… or someone.

niki’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs every time. he never moved. never breathed. not until the professor walked away.

but something else started happening too. jeonghan changed. at first, it was small. longer pauses before answering questions. forgetting his bag in class. moments where he’d stare off at nothing, blinking like he’d just remembered who he was. and then, more drastic shifts — confusion in the middle of conversations, outbursts in class, shaky hands. it was like the curse was slipping, losing its grip.

niki followed him too, from a distance. he didn’t approach. not yet. the boy was unraveling, and niki didn’t want to push him over the edge. not without knowing what secrets might fall out with him.

and then, one night, just before the second week of the new term, jeonghan vanished. no one knew where he went. no one even noticed, really. except niki. he knew the timing was too precise to be coincidence. something was happening.

he was halfway down the stairs to the dungeons, steps fast and silent under his cloak, headed toward hong’s office with the full intention of blowing this whole thing open, with or without permission, when someone grabbed his arm. heeseung.

“she’s back,” he said, panting slightly. “y/n. she’s in the gryffindor common room.”

niki froze. his blood ran cold. “what?”

“someone found her outside the castle. she looks— i don’t know— out of it. she’s not saying much.”

niki didn’t wait. he turned on his heel and bolted.

heeseung followed close behind, but all niki could hear was the ringing in his ears. this was impossible. you couldn’t have just… shown up. not like this. not without a trace. not without the world bending to make room for your return.

when he stepped into the common room, he saw you. you were sitting by the fire, wrapped in a thick blanket, your hair damp like you’d been caught in the snow. your eyes were tired. red. you looked up slowly when he entered. you. but not you.

niki felt it immediately. something was off.

your posture. your breathing. the way your fingers tapped against the fabric of the blanket — too rhythmic, too precise. your eyes flicked to him, but didn’t soften. didn’t change. didn’t widen the way they always did when you saw him, even when you were mad. and when you spoke, your voice was just a fraction too flat.

“niki,” you said softly. “you found me.”

he didn’t say anything. just walked closer, like he was under some spell himself. “do you… remember what happened?” he asked carefully.

you shook your head. “not much. i think i was lost. or taken. i’m not sure. it’s all blurry.”

“you remember the day at the three broomsticks?” he asked suddenly.

you hesitated. “yes.”

niki leaned forward, voice gentle. “what drink did i order for you?”

you blinked. “um… pumpkin juice?”

the silence that followed was sharp as broken glass. niki didn’t move. didn’t blink. he stared into your eyes like he was trying to see through them. and maybe he was. you had hated pumpkin juice. said it tasted like sugared mud. this wasn’t you.

“you’re not her,” he said quietly.

and for the first time, the thing pretending to be you looked afraid. just for a second. you froze. lips parted, eyes flicking around like searching for escape.

niki stood tall. “where is she?” no answer. his wand was in his hand in an instant. “where. is. she.”

the polyjuice was already starting to falter — niki could see it now. your features twitching at the edges, like they were being stretched too thin. the shimmer of magic unraveling under his stare. and soon enough, it wouldn’t be your face he was looking at anymore. it would be jeonghan’s.

the common room erupted in chaos. heeseung stepped back so fast he nearly tripped over the rug. sunoo gasped audibly, hand flying to his mouth. jake muttered something under his breath that sounded dangerously close to a curse. the fire cracked loud behind them, casting jagged shadows across the face that was no longer yours — that never had been.

in the flickering light, jeonghan's transformation completed. your features melted off like wax, reforming into his, pale and shaken, his skin damp with sweat, his limbs rigid, as though his body couldn’t keep up with what had just happened. he stared at all of them like a cornered animal, breath coming fast, eyes wide with something that wasn’t fear but something worse: total confusion.

“he’s under the imperius,” niki said quickly, stepping forward. “don’t touch him—”

but jeonghan’s hands had already started to tremble violently. his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor in front of the fire, gasping for air. like the spell was breaking piece by piece, like each second that passed was tearing apart the strings that had held him up for months.

niki crouched in front of him, lowered his wand gently, and without hesitation whispered the counter-curse.

liberare mentem.

a shimmer of silver burst around jeonghan’s head, thin like mist, curling upward before disappearing entirely. his eyes unfocused for a second. then, suddenly, they snapped to attention.

and he broke. “what— what did i do?” he whispered. “i didn’t know. i swear— i didn’t— where is— where’s y/n?”

“you’ve been controlled,” niki said, his voice steady, but his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his skull. “you weren’t yourself.”

“where is she?” jeonghan asked again, more desperately this time. he tried to sit up, but his body was shaking too much. “please—”

niki turned to jake. “get madam pomfrey. and professor mcgonagall. make sure someone watches him at all times, he’s still disoriented.”

“what are you gonna do?” jake asked, already halfway to the door.

niki stood up, eyes burning with the kind of fury that was too quiet to be anything but lethal. “end this.”

he didn’t run. he didn’t rush. but each step he took toward the dungeons was like gravity had shifted to pull him there. the corridor was colder than usual, like even the castle knew what was coming. portraits whispered as he passed, their painted eyes following him in silence.

when he reached the potion master’s office, he didn’t hesitate. the door was locked, of course, but a swift alohomora broke the spell. and just as he stepped inside, a flash of green light zoomed past his head, missing by mere inches.

professor hong was already standing at the far end of the room, wand raised, eyes hard. “you shouldn’t have come alone,” he sneered.

niki didn’t give him time for a second strike. “petrificus totalus!”

hong’s body stiffened instantly, limbs snapping to his sides like rope had been tied around them. he crashed to the ground, his face locked in a grimace, eyes still darting wildly.

niki didn’t flinch. instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small metallic coin etched with runes, a ministry-encoded auror flare. he pressed it hard between both hands and muttered a short, ancient phrase. it glowed crimson before disintegrating into dust, sending a silent signal across magical channels only the department of magical law enforcement could access.

reinforcements were coming. but niki didn’t wait.

he tore through the office, knocking over bookshelves, scanning every cabinet, ripping open floorboards. desperation clawed at his ribs, made his hands shake, made his breaths short. she had to be here. you had to be here.

and then he noticed a section of the stone floor that didn’t echo the same when his foot hit it. slightly hollow. a trick of old magic. he crouched, pried at the edge, and found a concealed latch beneath a false tile. the moment he yanked it open, cold air rushed up to meet him, damp and stale and too still.

a stone staircase spiraled down into blackness. his heart nearly gave out. wand gripped tightly, he descended fast but silent, each step feeling like a countdown.

and then, at the very bottom, the stairwell opened into a small, cold chamber, a dungeon with iron-barred walls and no windows. the air was freezing. and in the farthest corner, barely lit by the faint glow of his wand, he saw you.

curled in on yourself. knees to your chest. eyes half-open. breathing shallow.

“y/n,” he whispered, crossing the room in a flash. he dropped to his knees beside you, hands already reaching but not daring to touch.

you flinched slightly. but your gaze lifted. slowly. and locked on him. your voice came out barely a breath. “niki?”

“yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “yeah, it’s me. i’ve got you. i’ve got you now.”

and as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, the dungeon around you both finally felt like it could start to collapse, because the only thing that mattered was that you were alive.

and that he had found you.

the week after niki found you was a blur of adrenaline and exhaustion, of whispered reassurances in the infirmary and courtroom silence in the depths of the ministry. niki hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time — he didn’t want to. every time he left your side, it felt like a piece of him stayed behind, hovering over your still body, watching the slow, shallow rise and fall of your chest as madam pomfrey muttered healing charms with furrowed brows.

you didn’t remember much. not yet. only flashes. a room without light. the feeling of being watched. the sound of footsteps echoing above you. you remembered fear, but not the shape of it.

niki stayed beside you anyway. through the first night, when you only stirred twice, mumbling incoherently. through the second, when your eyes finally opened for more than a few seconds and you blinked up at him, confused, then whispered his name like it was the only thing you were sure of.

and he’d whispered back, "i’m here. you’re safe now." and your lips had curled into the faintest smile before sleep took you again.

when he had to leave, because duty pulled him back into the mess that had stolen you away, he did it reluctantly. always leaving word with jake or heeseung, who rotated shifts like clockwork. jake would sit by your bed and tell stories, some true, some wildly embellished, just to keep the room light. heeseung rarely said much, but he was always there, shoulder barely brushing yours as he read next to you, quiet and steady. sunoo would braid your hair with warm hands and soft humming, and jungwon brought small trinkets from the greenhouse — lavender sprigs, chamomile leaves, things he said would make you feel calmer.

but while you healed, niki fought.

he combed through every detail of the case. professor hong had orchestrated the entire scheme from inside hogwarts for years. under the guise of developing advanced curriculum for potion prodigies, he’d manipulated access to restricted ingredients, developed illegal variants of memory-altering draughts, and had them smuggled out through connections to the yoon family — most notably, jeonghan’s estranged uncle, a known trafficker.

jeonghan had been one of many students placed under the imperius curse to serve as pawns. hong had targeted him specifically because of his last name, knowing the ministry wouldn’t suspect anything with a yoon seemingly playing the part of a loyal student. but with the curse broken, jeonghan’s testimony became critical. niki sat with him more than once during debriefings, watching guilt twist through his face like it would never leave. he wasn’t just collateral damage, he’d been a tool, a mask, a weapon, and he couldn’t forgive himself for not knowing.

the ministry moved quickly once the truth unraveled. aurors raided hong’s personal storage units across wizarding britain, seizing thousands of galleons’ worth of contraband. students who had unknowingly taken part in trials — subtle mood swings, unexplained memory gaps, illnesses no healer could diagnose — were examined and treated. and at the end of that long, brutal week, hong was tried under full witness testimony and sent to azkaban for crimes against magical minors and potion trafficking of class-a restricted brews.

niki testified in full robes, standing tall and quiet, voice never wavering. he told them everything: what he saw, what he missed, how close it came to being too late. 

back at hogwarts, madam pomfrey began allowing short walks around the infirmary by day five. you were still weak, drained, quiet, but your strength was returning bit by bit. sometimes you reached out in your sleep and caught his sleeve like you were afraid he’d vanish again.

he never pulled away. the evening of the seventh day, he brought you a cup of honeywater and sat on the edge of your bed. the sun had set, painting the windows in gold and plum. you looked at him with clearer eyes, and for the first time, you asked: “was it really him? professor hong?”

niki nodded slowly. “we got him. he won’t hurt anyone again.”

you stared down at the cup, then up at him. your voice was barely a whisper. “thank you for finding me.”

he smiled softly, tiredly, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i never stopped looking.”

and for a moment, the whole world — the trials, the reports, the broken pieces of what had been done to you — faded into the background.

by the ninth day, you started remembering. not all at once, but like loose pages scattered by wind, settling slowly into your hands. fragmented flashes at first: music in your ears, the firelight, a voice laughing behind you. a cup being pressed into your palm. the scent — something sweet. unnaturally sweet. it smelled like amortentia. but not quite.

it hit you on the tenth morning, after your tea, when madam pomfrey left you alone to stretch your legs by the window. you remembered the warmth of the cup against your fingers that night, how your head went fuzzy a few minutes later, and how you smiled anyway, because nothing seemed wrong. you remembered walking, not entirely by your own will. your feet leading you somewhere while your thoughts floated miles behind, detached and weightless.

you remembered walking down the stairs. lower. lower. through a hidden passage behind a tapestry you didn’t know existed until your hand brushed it aside like you’d done it a hundred times. and then the stone door. the cold. the shadows.

by the time niki returned from a ministry meeting that afternoon, you were already sitting upright in bed, breath shallow, eyes wide with the weight of the memory.

"i remember," you said before he could even open his mouth.

he crossed the room in three strides, kneeling beside your bed like he’d been waiting his entire life to hear those words. “what do you remember?”

you told him everything. voice trembling, but steady.

the drink. the way your body responded without your mind’s consent. how you reached the door to the dungeon already forgetting why you were there. how every morning, the professor would appear in the doorway, soft-spoken, warm-eyed, placing another cup into your hands. how you drank it, over and over, because he told you it would help you focus.

and then the brewing began. you made potions. one after the other. your hands knew what to do, even if your mind felt like it was underwater. you stirred, you poured, you bottled. and in the haze, he said you were brilliant. gifted. necessary.

and you believed him. because the potion made you believe him.

“it wasn’t amortentia,” you said, rubbing at your arms like the chill from the dungeon still clung to your skin. “it smelled like it — but it was different. he labeled it ‘717 oblivira.’ not the real thing. it was… altered.”

niki’s face was carved from stone. “modified potion,” he murmured. “with mind control elements. twisted into a subjugation brew. that’s why it passed under the ministry’s radar — no known classification.”

you looked at him. really looked. “how long was i there?”

his jaw tensed. “almost a month.”

you nodded slowly, then said, “i want to testify.”

“y/n—”

“no,” you cut him off. “he used me. he violated my mind, my magic, my will. i need them to know what he did.”

niki didn’t argue. he just took your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“i’ll be there the whole time.”

and he was. two days later, when you were strong enough to walk on your own again, the ministry arranged a private hearing inside hogwarts. they brought in a pensieve, and under niki’s watchful eye — and heeseung and jake standing just outside the doors in case you needed them — you gave your testimony.

you described the scent. the mental fog. the pain when you tried to fight it, the way it made your limbs sluggish and your thoughts disintegrate. you told them about the dungeon, the instructions left for you each day, the ingredients labeled with strange numbers, the shimmering flasks that you weren’t allowed to touch once completed.

you said his voice had changed after the first few days. less gentle. more demanding. and most of all, you told them that you never once chose to stay.

the pensieve captured your memories with chilling clarity. you saw yourself through its silver haze, eyes vacant, lips parted in a dazed smile, hands moving automatically over cauldrons as hong whispered to you from the doorway.

when it was over, no one spoke for a long time.

the chief auror, soobin, turned to niki. “this confirms it. hong used class-x mind alteration methods on a minor. he’ll face trial under full magical manipulation statutes.”

you exhaled shakily, the weight lifting just enough to breathe.

that night, niki walked you back to the gryffindor common room for the first time since you’d returned. the castle was quiet, blanketed in winter's hush, torches flickering low in their sconces. the red and gold of the portrait door glowed warm in the dark hallway, but your feet hesitated, heart skittering.

you looked up at him, eyes tired but soft. “thank you,” you said again, voice barely above a whisper.

he shook his head, gaze falling to yours. “don’t thank me.”

you hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “i’m… kind of scared to go in.”

his eyes sharpened, concerned. “why?”

“i know it’s stupid, but… it’s the first night back. sleeping alone feels—wrong. like my body remembers being locked up even if i don’t.” he didn’t say anything for a beat, but the muscles in his jaw tightened. he hated that. he hated that you had to say that. you bit your lip, then added, “can you come in with me?”

niki glanced at the portrait. “if anyone sees me—”

“they won’t. it’s late, gryffindors sleep like rocks.” you gave a soft, fleeting smile, like you were trying to make light of it. “plus, it’s me. i break curfew at least once a week. the fat lady’s used to it.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “alright. just for a bit.”

the common room was dim and empty, the fire reduced to soft coals, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and leftover christmas pine. your steps were slow on the stairs to your dorm, and he followed without a word.

inside, the curtains on your four-poster were drawn back. your things sat untouched, like time had paused in the room while the rest of the world spun on. you sat on the bed, pulling the covers back. niki stayed near the door, eyes flickering across the room like he was still scanning for danger.

you laid down, turning your head to look at him. “are you gonna just stand there and stare at me like a creep?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “i’ve gotten used to it. at the infirmary, i just sat there while you slept.”

you smiled, sleepy and fond. “well… we’re not at the infirmary anymore.”

he didn’t answer right away. then, slowly, he stepped closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, then eventually lying down beside you, tentative and careful. you turned to face him, noses just inches apart. your eyes searched his face, trying to read all the things he never said out loud.

“why do you care so much about me?” you whispered.

his expression twisted, like you’d pressed a bruise. “because i do,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “because i started to before i even realized what was happening.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched him. watched the way he blinked slowly, like each word tasted bitter, like it scraped on the way out. you could feel the tension thrumming between you, delicate and electric.

“i thought i was prepared for this,” he continued, eyes fixed somewhere just past you. “i thought i could stay detached. do my job. figure out the case. keep you safe. that was it. that was supposed to be it.” his voice cracked a little, and he shut his eyes for a second, swallowing hard. “but you… god, you made it impossible.”

your breath caught in your throat.

“you’re funny,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “and reckless. and smarter than anyone gives you credit for. you talk about books and potions like they’re life and death. you argue with professors just because you know you’re right. and you care so much—even when it hurts you.” his eyes opened again, meeting yours, soft and devastating. “you got under my skin so fast i didn’t even notice until it was too late.”

you blinked, trying to process the weight of his words, how they settled warm and aching in your chest.

“when you disappeared,” he said, voice lower now, barely above a whisper, “i couldn’t sleep. i couldn’t eat. i kept seeing you in the corner of my eye, hearing your voice in places you weren’t. i thought i was losing it.” he let out a shaky breath. “and when i found you—when you looked at me like you knew me, even after everything they’d done to you—something in me just…” he paused, looking down at his hands. “snapped. i think that’s when i realized. i think i was already in love with you.”

your heart thudded so hard it almost hurt.  you could feel it in your fingers, your toes, the tip of your nose. that unbearable, beautiful pressure of something blooming far too fast.

he looked back at you then, eyes full of something sharp and scared. “but it’s wrong,” he said again, softer now. “you’ve been through so much. i was supposed to be your guard. your shadow. i shouldn’t feel like this. i shouldn’t want to kiss you right now more than i’ve ever wanted anything.”

you reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing the back of his hand. his breath hitched.

“it’s not wrong,” you whispered. “not if i fell too.”

you watched his whole body still. like time folded in on itself, holding its breath. he didn’t move, not right away. his fingers flexed beneath yours, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were real, that this was real. his eyes searched yours like he was trying to find the catch, the twist, the moment when you’d laugh and say just kidding.

you didn’t. and in that quiet, heavy moment, you could feel something shift. you didn’t kiss, but his hand turned, palm to palm with yours. and his pinky hooked around yours, just barely. like a promise. you were still lying side by side, not touching apart from that small, fragile link. but everything else, every unsaid word, every feeling that had been burning slow and steady for weeks, was between you, humming like a heartbeat.

his pinky stayed hooked around yours for a long time. neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. the space between you was still and warm, filled with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t need to say anymore.

his eyes kept flickering to yours like he was memorizing you. like he was still waiting for permission. and then, finally, you gave it.you leaned in slowly, like a tide rolling in. your forehead touched his first. and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. his nose bumped yours gently. your hand slid up, fingers brushing his jaw, and he leaned into the touch like it undid him.

“can i?” he whispered. so soft you barely caught it.

you nodded. and that was all it took.

his lips met yours like a sigh. like he’d been aching to do it for lifetimes and was only just now being allowed. there was nothing rushed in it. nothing messy or desperate. just care. just warmth. just him.

he kissed you like he was trying to say thank you and i missed you and i’m sorry and i love you all at once. and maybe he didn’t say the words yet, but you felt them. every single one. you kissed him back with all the pieces of yourself that had been cracked and patched and held together these past few weeks. you kissed him back like maybe this was the one thing that could stitch them all whole again.

his hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. and you didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to break the moment, so you didn’t. you just let it happen. you let yourself fall.

when you pulled back, barely an inch, your noses still brushed. you opened your eyes and he was already looking at you. smiling. not the smirk he wore when he was trying to tease you. not the grin he gave when he was covering something up. a real smile. soft. reverent. safe.

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let go. like he didn’t have to rush now that you were finally here. “you’re here,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper, like the words were fragile. like saying them too loud might break the spell. “you’re really here.” his eyes were wide, almost disbelieving, and they kept flicking between yours and your mouth like he was still trying to memorize you. like he didn’t quite trust that this wasn’t a dream. 

you nodded, blinking slowly, heart so full it almost hurt. “i’m here.”

something in him crumbled at that. the tension in his shoulders fell away, the worry in his eyes softened, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he met you. he pulled you close then, wrapping an arm around your waist, and you curled into him without hesitation. like gravity had decided for you. like maybe it had been pulling you toward this moment all along.

your face pressed against his chest, and his heartbeat was right there—steady and warm and human. your hand rested lightly against his ribs, feeling the rise and fall of each breath like proof. he’s here. i’m safe. he held you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you in his arms. like this was something he’d dreamt about but never thought he’d be allowed to keep.

and then, he leaned down again. slower this time. softer. his nose brushed yours, and your eyes fluttered shut. his hand cupped your jaw so gently, like you were something breakable. something sacred. his lips met yours again, but this time, slower. deeper. he kissed you like he wanted to stay in that moment forever. like he was pouring every piece of himself into it. everything he couldn’t say. everything he hadn’t dared to feel. every night he’d sat beside your bed in the infirmary and prayed you’d open your eyes.

and you kissed him back just as softly. your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. his other hand found your waist and stayed there, grounding. reassuring. you’re real. you’re here. you’re his.

you didn’t rush. didn’t pull each other closer too fast. you just stayed there, lips brushing and pressing and brushing again, over and over, learning the shape of each other’s mouths like it was something sacred.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed touching. your breaths mingled in the space between you, short and quiet and warm. you opened your eyes and he was already looking at you. his thumb traced the curve of your cheek, then lower, along your jaw. his touch feather-light. his lips still pink from kissing you.

“this isn’t wrong,” he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

“no,” you breathed, “it’s not.”

he smiled then, small and full of something quiet and glowing. not hope. not relief. something deeper than that. something that felt like beginning.

he laid back beside you, still close, but no longer needing to hold on quite so tightly. you both just stared at each other in the dark. nothing else existed. just the shape of his smile, the softness in his eyes, the warmth where your fingers still linked loosely.

no more spells. no more secrets. just you and him. safe. together. finally.

and outside the window, snow was just beginning to fall. a quiet, glimmering blanket over the castle. like the world was tucking you in. like something had ended.

and something new was just beginning.

author's note: this has been sitting on my drafts for ages!!! i wrote this fic months ago, but hogwarts aus always had a grip on me and i knew i had to do it eventually. this was my first time writing something with niki as the main character and honestly i loved how it turned out!! so if you made it all the way here, thank you for reading, it means so much to me!! send me an owl if you liked it 🦉✨

my masterlist | latest fic

pem taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff @gh9sty 

Her brows twitched. Riki? The name rolled around her head, faintly familiar, but distant. Kpop maybe? Some pretty boy with too much money and not enough pain tolerance. YN shrugged it off, uncaring. She wasn’t here for idols or fanservice—she was here for skin, ink, and the quiet satisfaction of bringing someone’s story to life.

Rolling her sleeves up, she set out fresh needles, prepped the stencil paper, and waited—oblivious to the storm about to walk through her door.

Ni-ki tugged his hoodie lower, ignoring the faint sting of Seoul’s summer evening heat. Jake had been the first to recommend this spot—talking it up like it was a hidden gem. Top-rated, private, no bullshit… and apparently, with a ridiculously attractive tattooist. Not the point, Ni-ki muttered to himself, fingers fidgeting with his phone. He was here for one thing: to finally get inked. Fans would scream, debates would trend, but he was so far past caring it wasn’t even funny. His skin, his choice—no approval needed.

He shoved those thoughts down as his feet finally stopped in front of the shop. With one deep breath, he pushed the door open.

A cool rush of air greeted him, way chillier than expected. Inside, the world shifted—walls adorned with dark, moody art, sleek matte black counters, splashes of crimson and gold, and the sharp clean smell of antiseptic and fresh ink thick in the air. The faint bass of an R&B track hummed in the background, matching the lazy buzz of a tattoo gun somewhere behind the walls. It was lowkey… his type of vibe.

“Riki?” a voice called from the counter, snapping him from his daze.

He looked up, greeted by YN’s coworker already motioning him over, walking through the usual rundown—what design, placement, payment, all the formalities. Ni-ki kept it short, direct, and before long, they pointed him toward the right.

“To the room on the right, she’s waiting for you.”

She? His jaw flexed, the tiniest hitch in his step before he headed in, unknowingly stepping straight into trouble.

Ni-ki stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. The room felt different—heavier, warmer, like the air itself was watching him. The low thrum of R&B filtered through sleek wall speakers, LED lights pulsing faintly in muted crimson and deep blue, making the space feel intimate… dangerous.

At the center, YN moved with quiet focus, back to him as she adjusted fresh needles and lined up her machine. She didn’t even glance his way when she spoke—voice smooth, a little tired from the long shift.

“Take a seat. Couch’s right there.”

Ni-ki swallowed, jaw tightening as he drifted to the leather couch. He let his bag fall beside him, fingers fidgeting on his knee while his gaze drifted—definitely not to her, just… the room. Yeah, the room.

The vibe was sick—rich walls, subtle artwork, the soft scent of ink and leather, everything drenched in low lighting. But his eyes kept pulling back to her. The way her cropped top lifted slightly when she leaned forward, revealing a glimpse of dark ink curling over her ribs—a rose. Delicate, bold. And just beneath it, a black-inked vine trailing down her spine, the tail end of something bigger—fuck, a back tattoo.

His weakness. Well, one of them.

Not the point. Ni-ki blinked hard, redirecting his stare to the framed flash pieces on the wall. Didn’t work. His focus stayed magnetized to the curve of her waist, the way her shoulder blades flexed beneath the soft fabric, the subtle scrape of her rings tapping against the metal tray.

And then she turned.

Fuck.

The moment their eyes met, time stalled. His body locked up, throat dry. He hadn’t expected her to look like that—soft but sharp, casual but captivating, the kind of attractive that wasn’t manufactured, just natural and devastating.

Her brows quirked up slightly, like something clicked behind her gaze. Recognition, maybe. Not the ‘fangirl’ kind—more like, ah… so that’s who you are.

She didn’t say it. Didn’t need to. YN kept it professional, but there was a flicker in her eyes, like she’d just realized she was about to tattoo someone very known… but she couldn’t care less about the fame.

Ni-ki inhaled slow through his nose, chest tight.

This was gonna be a long session.

YN shuffled through the stack of stencil papers on the tray, fingers grazing over the crisp outlines she’d printed just minutes ago. Clean, sharp linework. She pinched the edge of the sheet between her fingers, holding it up to the light to check the detailing, lips quirking.

“One of one?” Her voice cut through the haze, curious and just a little amused.

Ni-ki blinked, rubbing the back of his neck before letting out a quiet, awkward laugh. “Yeah… uh… I kinda… drew it,” he admitted, words tumbling out like a half-confession, half-deflection. “Wanted something… mine, you know?”

YN’s gaze lingered on the lines, genuinely impressed as she traced a finger near the design’s edge. “You’ve got clean flow… I’ll give you that.” Her lips curled in a grin, something playful tugging at her tone as she met his eyes. “Didn’t expect an idol to pull decent linework. Respect.”

Ni-ki’s ears warmed, tension folding deeper into the room as she stepped closer, hands fluid, confident. “So… placement?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Rib,” Ni-ki answered without hesitation, tapping his side lightly.

YN’s laugh cracked the tension—rich, amused, but still laced with something wicked underneath. “Oh, you’re cocky,” she teased, rolling her wrist as she set the stencil paper down. “Sure you wanna do ribs, rookie? Shit hurts like a fucking bitch.”

He chuckled softly, shoulders loosening, and for a moment, it felt easy… until her fingers brushed against his side, prepping the skin, touch light but precise. Ni-ki glanced down, curiosity winning over his nerves. “Yours… on your rib,” he motioned toward her side, “did it hurt?”

YN’s lips quirked, glancing down at the dark bloom of the rose peeking from under her shirt. “Pain tolerance’s decent,” she mused, voice lower, smoother, “but ribs? It’ll humble you real quick.”

Her words were casual… until her eyes dragged, just a second too long, from his face down to his covered frame—hoodie and shirt still clinging to his body. She clicked her tongue, stepping back just enough for the teasing grin to cut through.

“Gonna need you to take it off.”

Ni-ki blinked, stupidly. “What—?”

YN’s grin stretched wider, head cocking to the side. “Can’t tattoo you if you’re dressed, pretty boy,” she drawled, gaze sharp, tone smooth as velvet with a bite underneath. “Need skin to… work my magic.”

Ni-ki opened his mouth, closed it. Swallowed.

Yeah… he was in trouble.

Ni-ki peeled off his hoodie first, then tugged his shirt over his head in one swift motion—but it didn’t feel swift. It felt agonizingly slow under her gaze. He’d been shirtless in dance studios, at shoots, even on stage, but here… here he felt shy. Exposed in a completely different way.

YN didn’t even pretend to look away—her lips tugged into a grin, eyes dropping instantly to trace over the lines of his torso, sharp jaw tilting just slightly as her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip.

“Damn…” she hummed, eyes glinting, voice slick as honey. “You work out, pretty boy?”

Ni-ki nearly choked on air, swallowing hard and immediately regretting it when she bit back a smirk. Was this normal? Did tattoo artists flirt like this? Because it was doing things to his brain—bad things. His mouth opened, but all he could manage was a quiet, breathless, “Uh… I guess… yeah.”

YN just clicked her tongue, grabbing her gloves and snapping them on, her hips swaying lazily as she prepped the antiseptic. “Guess? You don’t accidentally get a body like this, sweetheart.”

Ni-ki short-circuited.

Then came the cold sting of antiseptic against his ribs, making him flinch slightly—YN’s gloved hands were confident, firm but gentle, wiping the area clean before grabbing a razor and getting to work, her touch practiced and unapologetically thorough.

“Gotta get it smooth, can’t have you patchy, pretty boy,” she teased, tone light but gaze sharp, focused.

Ni-ki swallowed again, jaw tight as his eyes followed every step like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—the fluid way she wiped down the area again, disinfected, grabbed the stencil, pressing it to his skin with steady, gloved fingers. Her head tilted, inspecting the placement before smoothing it out, pulling away slowly, revealing the crisp outline against his ribs.

YN gave him a once-over, stepping back, her grin damn near lethal. “You ready, pretty boy?” she asked, tone low, teasing, just a hint of challenge laced in her voice.

Ni-ki let out a shaky laugh, feeling the heat crawl up his neck, fingers flexing against the couch cushion. “Fuck… let’s do it.”

And just like that, the air snapped, tension thick and electric.

The second the needle kissed his rib, Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, a ragged breath spilling from his lips.

“Oh—fuck.”

His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the couch so tight his knuckles turned white. YN, meanwhile, barely glanced up, the corner of her lips curling into a slow, smug smirk.

“Didn’t peg you for a loud one, pretty boy,” she teased, her voice dipped in that dangerously low tone, the kind that slid under his skin and made his pulse spike.

He could barely get used to the sting when she suddenly paused, rolling her stool back and casually rummaging through one of the drawers. Ni-ki blinked, confused, before she turned back to him, offering a firm little stress ball.

“Here,” she grinned. “Thought you might need it.”

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate, snatching it from her hand like a lifeline… until she leaned in just a little closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

“Would’ve told you to grab my waist instead… but we’re not there yet.”

His head snapped up, a noise caught in his throat—half groan, half desperate laugh—while YN spun back to her machine like she didn’t just fry every fucking brain cell in his body. The needle buzzed back to life, and Ni-ki sat there—skin burning from ink and words alike.

He tried to focus on something, anything… but his eyes betrayed him, locking onto her face, the way her lashes fluttered when she focused, that adorable little scrunch of her nose as she worked the finer details into his skin.

The stress ball? Pointless.

Staring at her? Yeah… that somehow helped… or made it worse, he couldn’t tell anymore.

“Halfway there, pretty boy,” YN purred without looking up, her tone playful as she pressed the machine deeper into his skin.

Ni-ki could only nod, muscles twitching beneath her touch, mind miles away from the tattoo and all over her—her touch… her voice… her.

And then there was the touches—the featherlight sweeps of her gloved hand over his abs, the accidental-but-not-really grazes along his v-line, the occasional shift of her body as she pressed closer, the scent of warm vanilla sinking into his lungs, addictive, maddening.

The worst part? Every time a low, involuntary whine slipped past his lips, YN just smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief, murmuring soft little apologies like she didn’t mean to do it… like she wasn’t very much doing it on purpose.

The needle dragged against a fresh stretch of skin—deeper, sharper, a fuck-you kind of sting that shot straight to Ni-ki’s spine. His breath stuttered, muscles flinching hard, and before he could stop it, a brutal string of curses ripped from his mouth.

“F-fucking—shit—ah—fuck.”

YN eased off immediately, pulling the needle back with a low, teasing laugh that made his head spin worse than the pain.

“Alright, alright,” she grinned, setting her machine down, rolling her wrist lazily like she had all the time in the world. “Drama king—take five.”

Ni-ki leaned back, chest heaving, every nerve burning under the heat of her smirk. She didn’t go far—just leaned over slightly, grabbing something from a nearby tray, fingers rustling through a jar before she popped a wrapped candy in front of his lips.

“Here,” she purred, pressing it into his palm, fingers brushing his knuckles a little too long, a little too soft. “Sugar helps cool the sting. Or at least distracts you from cursing my name.”

He chuckled, chest still tight, tearing it open and tossing it into his mouth just to keep himself occupied—keep his mouth full before it said something stupider.

YN’s lips quirked, head tilting. “You think your fans would approve of this?” she teased, playful lilt in her voice but curiosity hiding behind it.

Ni-ki huffed, leaning his head back, letting the sugar melt on his tongue before smirking, sharp and shameless. “Couldn’t give two fucks, honestly.”

That earned a real laugh from her—loud, unapologetic, full. The sound danced between them, and weirdly… it eased some of the sting in his ribs.

“Respect,” she grinned, picking her machine back up, flicking on the switch again. “I like a man who knows it’s his body, not the internet’s.”

Her words dug deeper than the ink, something sticky and slow settling in his chest as the buzzing returned, but… it didn’t feel as bad now. The pain was still there, biting at the edges, but the tension? The tension was worse—deliciously worse.

They didn’t talk much after that. No words… just lingering, charged glances.

Every time Ni-ki dared a glance at her, she was already watching him—eyelashes heavy, mouth curling in the faintest smirk, knowing exactly what she was doing. Her hands moved over his skin like she owned it, light brushes across his abs, quick swipes against his v-line, knuckles grazing a little too soft… making him tense, making him squirm just enough for her to notice.

And she noticed. Oh, she definitely noticed.

Ni-ki swallowed thickly, dragging his eyes away, trying to focus on anything but the slick pull of her gloves and the way she leaned in too close, vanilla swirling around him like a slow suffocation.

When she finally sat back, machine off, Ni-ki barely realized he’d been holding his breath until it rushed out of him—like a goddamn dam breaking.

YN was grinning as she grabbed the aftercare gel, her fingers expertly smoothing it over the inked skin, touch gentle… but her thumb pressing just a little too close to his lower ribs, right where his abs clenched beneath her palm.

“Congrats, pretty boy,” she murmured, voice dipping dangerously low as she worked the gel in slow, agonizing circles. “You survived.”

Barely.

Ni-ki’s jaw was tight, body tense under her hands as she explained the aftercare, what to avoid, how to sleep without ruining it, how the peeling would start… but his brain barely processed a word.

He was too busy watching her lips move, too aware of the heat rolling off her skin, too conscious of the fact she looked ridiculously hot even when casually explaining healing time.

And when she pressed the protective film against his ribs, her palm flattening over the fresh tattoo, her fingers flexing lightly into his side… his heart fucking stuttered.

The tension? Unbearable.

Ni-ki’s eyes fell to the ink, still glistening under the wrap… but all he could think about was her—YN, with those smug little smiles, filthy comments, soft hands, and addictive vanilla scent… standing right in front of him like she didn’t just ruin every logical thought he had.

Yeah.

He was fucked.

Absolutely, utterly fucked.

Ni-ki tugged his shirt back over his head, muscles still buzzing from the aftershock of pain and the lingering heat of YN’s touch. The fabric felt rougher somehow, almost suffocating after being under her hands for so long. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly, glancing around the space—her space—where the air still smelled of antiseptic, ink… and her vanilla perfume that stuck to his skin like a fucking brand.

Across the room, YN moved with ease, snapping off her gloves and cleaning up her tools with that same confident rhythm. No hesitation. No nerves. Like tattooing him hadn’t meant a damn thing. Like she hadn’t just sent him into a fucking spiral.

Ni-ki cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

“Thanks… for this. Seriously.”

YN looked up, lips pulling into a lazy smile—soft, knowing, devastating. Her eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, locking with his, something wicked glinting behind them before she shrugged, effortlessly cool.

“Anytime, pretty boy. You sat through it like a champ… eventually.”

A breathy chuckle escaped him, chest feeling weirdly tight, fingers itching to say something—ask something. His gaze dropped to her hands, moving swiftly across the table, then back to her lips, and fuck—he needed to get out before he made a fool of himself.

But his feet wouldn’t move, caught in place as their eyes met again, sharp and intense, that same undercurrent of heat twisting between them. YN gave him a small, casual wave, fingers wiggling as she leaned back against the counter, completely unfazed.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she added, voice dipping just enough to make his heart skip.

Ni-ki swallowed hard, throat tight. Part of him wanted to turn back, lean against the doorframe, ask her out, ask for her number—anything. But something stupid—something cowardly—froze him in place.

He only managed a weak grin, awkward little nod, before stepping out into the hallway, the cool air slapping his face as the door clicked shut behind him.

Fuck.

His footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor, but after just a few paces, instinct kicked in—he looked back, one last glance at the door, the space where his world tilted slightly sideways for a few hours.

He didn’t know how or when, but something told him… this wasn’t the last time.

Not by a long shot.

The burn under his skin wasn’t just from fresh ink—it was her. And yeah, he was already planning his excuse to come back.

read part two here ! ONEOFONE

⌗ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — did I get this idea of niki’s rumoured tattoo? yes I did…. if you did enjoy do comment if you want a part 2!! Or if I should just leave it as a one shot…. ty for reading!!

tossing and turning. tossing and turning.

that’s all you could feel next to you. on the other side of you layed your boyfriend, riki. his body rustling through the sheets. pushing and pulling the covers. the fabric rising and falling against your body.

“can’t sleep?” you asked him. voice groggy, eyes barely open. the room was dark. only the moonlight shines through the window shining through. and you could only make out his figure next to you. 

“sorry.. i didn’t mean to wake you” the sound of his deeper tone filled the room when he spoke. he turned to face you, propped up on his forearms. 

he noticed your eyes were barely open, hair sticking in different directions. you looked tired. “you should go back to sleep..” he cooed, reaching over and stroking your hair gently. 

you were still rubbing your eyes trying to make out more of riki in front of you. “no.. can’t sleep unless you’re asleep.” you protest, finally sitting all the way up in bed and looking down at him. 

“let’s cuddle, maybe that’ll help?” you suggest, but not giving him any time to answer. instead you crawl into his arms. your head finds comfort in his chest. legs draping over his, fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt. 

“wait— y/n—" riki tries to object, but you didn’t exactly hear him before you were already snuggling into the crook of his neck. 

“what? this usually helps..” you hum in satisfaction, taking in the warmth of his body like a nice blanket. 

“it’s not that it’s just—"

riki argues again, but it’s too late. you could already feel him. 

he had an erection. 

you leaned up just a bit and looked him in the eyes with a daring gaze. eyebrow slightly cocked, though he couldn't see it in the dark, “so that’s why you can’t sleep,” you call out, clearly onto him. 

you don’t give him time to respond; instead, your hand trails down to his boxers where his clothed boner grew. palming it in your hand. 

riki squints his eyes shut tight from the sudden pressure. the heat of your hand rubbing his bulge, causing friction. he didn't expect you to touch him so suddenly. he looks at you with tired eyes. “baby..” he rasps, voice pleading. somewhere in between urging you that it’s okay, and he doesn’t need help, and please help me. 

your boyfriend riki, can’t even sleep next to you without getting turned on. he watches you sleep in his oversized hoodie. his scent swarms you, hoodie trailing up the curve of your ass, exposing your smooth thighs. leaving your lacy panties on display. it drives him crazy. 

it didn’t help that you gave him the best head. no one ever could compare to how well you took in his inches without giving up. he couldn’t help but want it every night. It was the best after all. 

you pull the covers back til they fall to the edge of the bed. crawling on top of him and pushing his boxers down enough to free his leaking and enlarged cock. taking it in your hand, you felt his veins twitch against your touch. 

riki bit down on his lip, as his eyes watched your every movement. the way your beautiful big eyes looked up at him through your eyelashes was gonna send him into cardiac arrest. and every little tease of your actions was the icing on the cake. 

the way you kissed his tip with a soft peck, letting the heat of your mouth brush his sensitive nerves. then guiding your tongue to lick a long strip too his cock. 

“shit.. such a fucking tease, you are.” riki growled out. it was taking everything in him to not grab you by your hair and thrust into your jaw. fucking your mouth silly till he came. but he let you take his time, this was your treat after all. 

you giggled, and that vibrated against his shaft. you could see he was impatient. after having your fun licking him like a lollipop you took him in completely. wrapping your lips around his girth and pushing him in until it reached the back of your throat. 

the more you started to bob your head on his cock, the more uncontrollable moans riki let out. they were deep and rough sounds of pleasure. the satisfaction of your warm and wet mouth slobbering on him felt beyond sensational. 

you pulled up with pop, using your hand to pump him. giving yourself a break to catch your breath.

“yeah? you like that?” you’d tease with a mocking tone. 

“shut up" riki answered through broken grunts. barely able to control the way his hips rutted into your hand.

“make me” you replied, with swollen lips. 

the teasing banter between you two was something you loved to initiate. you could feel his body tremble every time you tempted him with your brattiness. 

to that he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your mouth back around his dick. another wail leaving his throat. 

“y/n!” he’d moan your name. he fucked himself deep into your mouth now, feeling as the tip of his length reached your tonsils. causing you to gag; however, you didn't slow down. 

your eyes locked on his as you watched his face contort with bliss. his eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, and his hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. your hands gripping his toned thighs, sucking him into the depths of your mouth. 

“i’m close baby, don't stop--” he warned and you only took him deeper. flicking your tongue to his shaft and hollowing your cheeks around him. 

riki bucked his hips so that his tip was at the back of your throat and shot his sperm deep inside you. “fucking take it, baby” he whimpered as his hands tightly clutched your locks of hair. 

his head thrown into the pillow, eyelids squeezed shut. his body shaking underneath yours as his orgasm burst through him. his chest quivering after his release. you swallowed his seed, licking your lips of the pearly liquid. watching as his chest rose and fell. 

riki was content now after having his baby suck him off. he gently brought his hand to your nape and pulled you into a loving kiss. kissing your boyfriend back with a smirk on your lips.

“sleepy now?”  you asked.