#noah a

chapter: 2

houses: slytherin, gryffindor, hufflepuff, ravenclaw taglist: @levifiance, @osariin, @shintaru(sorry king), @dzvelinaskebiyars, @yuriaxx(your goat is umm..yea), @pantheonofbeauty, @nixruniii, @i-nssomniia, @wthphe1n, @bfwooin, @erisawrites, @thetreegeo456, @zyart-jpg, @hyukwwn, @kittsyspaw, @r31ra , @wooinslut, @wh0ish4jun,@thaliasnicket, @ilyviolent, @l0iip, @prepchii, @mscatheart masterlist includes pairings: poly!(shelly x jay), poly!(wooin x joker)|2397 words

⋆｡°✩

You woke with the sound of voices that weren’t supposed to be there.

At first, you thought it was a dream—the low murmur of conversation right outside your door, words bending in and out of clarity like a half-tuned radio. But when you sat up, the air was cold, your lantern still burning from last night, and the voices were still there.

Ghosts. Two of them drifted past your window, their chatter thin as frost.

The castle itself seemed to breathe with them. Light leaked through the curtains, pale and golden, crawling across stone walls still damp with the chill of morning. You dressed quickly, the fabric of your robes stiff from being new, the air biting at your arms until you pulled the sleeves down. When you fastened your cloak, your fingers brushed the folded timetable you’d been given.

Potions, Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic. 9:00 AM to 4:00 PM. No gaps to hide in. You might visit the Quidditch field after to check out the infamous Hogwarts Quidditch teams.

You slipped your wand into your pocket, gathered the few books you thought you’d need, and stepped out. The corridor stretched long and hushed, lined with portraits that wasted no time whispering the moment they noticed you. A knight raised his visor in a stiff salute; a woman with a quill cocked her head as though studying you for a sketch.

The staircases creaked and shifted with a life of their own, grinding against the walls as students crossed them. From below came the murmur of hundreds of voices all flowing toward the same place.

The Great Hall.

You followed the sound until the doors loomed tall above you, opening into a storm of chatter and clattering dishes. Four tables stretched down the length of the room, each marked with banners in jewel-bright colors. You crossed the threshold and almost immediately felt the air sharpen, eyes following you, the noise of conversation thinning just enough to notice.

“…that’s them, isn’t it?” “Exchange student…” “Why aren’t they at a table?”

You caught only fragments, but the weight of stares was harder to miss.

At the staff table, a seat had been set for you at the far end. You sat quickly, reaching for the nearest platter as though concentrating on food alone would dissolve the whispers. Eggs, some mushrooms, potatoes, a cup of tea. When you finally looked up, you forced yourself to study the room instead of the eyes studying you.

Gryffindor was the easiest to find—red banners overhead, laughter louder than most. Dom sat in the middle of it all, already cramming food into his mouth while still finding the energy to wave at you, grease shining at the corner of his grin. Across from him, Kaneshiro leaned in toward Ryohei, both half-turned your way like they couldn’t quite decide if you were worth staring at or not.

Further down, the Ravenclaw table glimmered with blue. Minu spotted you first, his nod bright and open. Jay followed with a quieter dip of his chin, while Shelly seemed less interested, caught between him and a pretty blond boy who spoke to her like the rest of the hall didn’t exist.

At the Hufflepuff table, June waved the moment he noticed you. His energy was easy, unbothered, like he didn’t mind at all that half his table turned when he did it. Among them, a girl with striking blue hair laughed at something the blonde giant beside her muttered, while further down sat a scarred tall boy with a blade tattoo carved beneath his eye, and an oni sleeve tattoo that peeked through his shirt . When his gaze snagged on yours, you looked away too quickly.

Finally, Slytherin.

Green banners draped their table, shadows pooling around the corners where a few already had their eyes on you. A tall redhead buried himself in food like the table might run out; beside him, a boy with messy black hair stared without blinking, his expression unreadable. Another leaned back with dyed-white ends catching the light, his tattoo curling sharp across his cheek. And one more—capped, pierced, yellow glasses shining and barely covering his snake-like eyes as a lollipop stick jutted between his lips—smiled at you like he already knew something you didn’t.

You dropped your gaze to your plate.

“Doing alright?” a voice asked at your side.

Professor Mahon stood there, hands folded behind his back, his sharp features softened just slightly in the morning light. You nodded quickly, offering something about the food being good, though your voice came out quieter than intended. He gave a single approving dip of his chin, then moved on, and the moment his attention left you, you realized how stiff your shoulders had been.

By the time the clock struck nine, the hall was emptying. Plates vanished in a shimmer, benches scraped back, and streams of students funneled toward the doors. You slipped out behind the Hufflepuffs, catching June’s eye as he slowed enough for you to fall in step with him.

“Potions first,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag as he walked. “Don’t worry, it’s just with us and Slytherin. Not too bad. Usually…Hopefully.”

The way he said it made you less sure.

The dungeons were colder than the rest of the castle, the walls sweating damp where lanterns flickered. The classroom was already half-filled when you stepped in, shelves lined with jars of ingredients casting warped shadows through greenish liquid. Cauldrons gleamed dully on every table. You sat beside June, grateful for the anchor of someone familiar.

Behind you, a tall boy with pale blond hair dropped into his seat, his eyes as sharp as glass. Another student—midnight blue hair, soft-featured,joined him a moment later, their conversation low but friendly. You caught only names exchanged in passing: Poel, Oliver.

The door creaked open, and a man swept in with long, deliberate strides. His robes brushed the stone like ink spilling behind him, his voice calm but edged as he introduced himself:

“Professor Michele Doss. Today, we’ll be preparing a basic Draught of Peace. Quiet focus will be expected.”

It might have stayed quiet—until the door slammed open again fifteen minutes later.

Two boys stepped in.

The first was unmistakable—the lollipop, the yellow glasses, the slow grin like he’d been waiting for this moment. He sauntered in, not hurrying at all, before slumping into the seat directly in front of you. The boy beside him was different. Scarred jaw, tattooed cheek, expression set in something harder. He didn’t bother with eye contact as he slid into his chair.

“Wooin Yoo,” Professor Doss said flatly. “And Hajun. Late again.”

The boy sitting behind you, 'Poel' muttered“Told you they’d get caught first day," underneath his breath.

Hajun dipped his head in silent apology. Wooin only rolled his eyes, dragging his bag onto the desk with a careless thud. The professor didn’t waste more breath, turning back to the chalkboard as though already tired of the exchange.

You tried to follow the instructions—ingredients, measurements, stirring clockwise, but Wooin’s voice carried just enough to reach you.

“Joker,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “You think they’d buy the powder straight, or we cut it with dittany to stretch it?”

Your eyes flicked down to your cauldron, then to June, who sighed like he’d heard this too many times before.

Then Wooin’s head turned, sharp and sudden. “Exchange student, right?” The words snapped the air like a whip. You blinked, caught off guard, then managed a short, “Yeah.” His grin widened. “Didn’t think Hogwarts was importing cuties. Where you staying at?” The room smelled sharp with herbs and ash, but beneath it, something colder crawled in—the weight of his gaze through yellow glass, the glint of metal at his tongue when he spoke. “…Faculty Tower,” you answered, quieter than you meant to. Wooin tilted his head, as though savoring that answer. “Fancy. Must be lonely though. Me and Joker could keep you company you know…” Your eyes flicked toward 'Joker', half-expecting some reaction. All you found was a glance—steady, unreadable, carrying more silence than words ever could.

You turned back to your cauldron. The potion inside had begun to hiss.The potion finished with a shimmer of green smoke, rising lazily from your cauldron. You let out a small exhale, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to look confident as Professor Doss passed by, his eyes lingering on your work. “Not bad for a first attempt,” she said, her tone neutral but slightly approving. You nodded, quietly pleased. Wooin, ever the storm of energy, leaned over your shoulder before the professor had fully moved away. “Could’ve used a pinch more unicorn hair,” he teased, letting the words brush past you like a soft caress. “But for an exchange student, I’ll let it slide.”

You looked up, blinking at him, and noticed the slight curl of Joker’s lips—not quite a smile, but an unmistakable warning. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Stop distracting them,” he muttered, voice low but sharp enough for Wooin to hear. Wooin only chuckled, licking the end of his lollipop before flicking a glance at you. “Oh yeah, and by the way,” Wooin said casually, leaning closer, “we’re dating, in case you were wondering.” His tone was playful, teasing, snake-like in its cadence, probably also sensed your confused glances between both of them. Joker’s glance met his, and you caught the barest flinch—a silent agreement to let him do it, if only for now. Your cheeks flushed, though you kept your attention on the now-still potion. Wooin winked, tipping his head toward you like he was letting you in on a secret. “Don’t get jealous now, okay?” After a few more murmured exchanges, the bell rang, a low, echoing chime that made the stone walls vibrate faintly. Students began gathering their things, and you followed June toward your next class he lead you to: Defense Against the Dark Arts. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared the session today. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom smelled faintly of dust and wax, sunlight filtering through the tall windows and catching on the polished wooden floor. You were assigned a partner—Owen Knight. He looked up as you approached, tall and composed, with that small, careful smile that seemed effortless, though something in his posture suggested he measured it. “Hi, I’m Owen,” he said, voice steady and polite. “Looks like we’re partners for this exercise.” You nodded, offering a small smile in return. “I’m [name]. Nice to meet you.”

As you practiced the defensive spells, you noticed his attention occasionally flicker across the room—toward Shelly, sitting nearby, and Jay, whispering something that made her laugh. The glances weren’t blatant, but there was an easy attentiveness to them, like he was silently keeping track of their movements. Across the classroom, Ryohei and Kaneshiro were already working through their task, their conversation low and animated. You fell into step beside Owen, discussing the spells and the peculiarities of Hogwarts—the way the enchanted ceiling seemed to shift with the sky, the odd squeaks from the floorboards, and the portraits that appeared to lean in closer when someone new entered the room. His tone was polite, friendly, and surprisingly easy to talk to, though you sensed an undercurrent of careful observation, like he noticed more than he let on. By the time the exercise ended, you felt the class had passed quickly, the spells and practice almost secondary to the quiet, unspoken rhythm of learning alongside someone who seemed to notice everything without needing to say it. By the time the bell rang again, signaling lunch, the room was buzzing with laughter and chatter. You followed June back to the Hufflepuff table, where he introduced you properly to Poel, Harry, and Noah. Poel’s calm charisma was immediately apparent—he shook your hand with a confident smile, undeniably a house prefect. Harry’s presence was … interesting, while Noah observed you with sharp, curious eyes, already asking some questions about yourself. The conversation drifted lightly over past experiences, shared jokes, and the smallest hints of the dynamics between their group.

Lunch passed with its own quiet rhythms. Plates passed, whispers shared, and the scent of roasting meat lingering in the air. Soon enough, afternoon classes began. Charms, Transfiguration, and History of Magic blurred past you, uneventful enough that your mind drifted now and then toward what you’d heard about Quidditch.

By late afternoon, you found yourself walking toward the Quidditch pitch. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the field in warm gold and long shadows. The stadium stood silent, empty save for the occasional student wandering about or practicing on their own. You found a patch of grass and sat, knees pulled close, eyes scanning the pitch. The size of the stadium made your chest tighten with awe.

Nearby, a group of students laughed and whispered among themselves. You couldn’t help but overhear snippets, curiosity drawing you closer without even thinking.

“Who do you think will win this Quidditch season? I’m placing my bets on Gryffindor—Kaneshiro, Dom, Monster, and Ryohei might be coming full force this year,” one voice said.

“Really? I’m placing mine on Ravenclaw. They have Jay and Owen, after all—they’re literally geniuses,” another countered, a teasing lilt in their tone.

“Hufflepuff is strong too,” a third argued. “Harry, Joker, Noah, Oliver, and their Chaser and captain, Poel. Don’t count them out.”

“Yeah, but Slytherin has monsters too. Take Hyuk, for example—he’s literally the Grim Reaper. And Chris, Hyouma… I’m afraid for the other teams. They’re ruthless,” someone added, voice low, reverent. A pause, then the quietest whisper reached your ears: “What about Vinny? He’s one of the stars too, right?” “The Half-Blood Prince?” “Yeah. I don’t know if they’ll let him be the Chaser this season. Think they’ll let a poor half-blood be the star of their team?”

You pulled your knees closer, the words lingering in your mind. 'Half-Blood Prince?'

The wind stirred faintly across the empty pitch, and the sun dipped lower, casting the grass in amber light. You didn’t move, not yet, letting the hum of the castle, the chatter, and the weight of unseen eyes settle around you as a quiet tension curled through your chest.