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joonkorre · 3 years

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The Winner Takes ____?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: the winner takes it all - abba

A Pyrrhic victory (/ˈpɪrɪk/ ( listen) PIRR-ik) is a victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat. A Pyrrhic victory takes a heavy toll that negates any true sense of achievement or damages long-term progress. (source: Wikipedia). AO3

“You said there’s something we have to discuss.”

Harry nods, suppressing a shiver. It’s cold out, middle of November, and one touch of Draco’s hand is enough to tell Harry that he’s fresh from the shop, sweaty and too warm. Squeezing the palm on his shoulder, he smiles up at Draco. The man watches at his expression for a second before retrieving his hand from Harry’s grasp.

He never does that. They always have to connect in some way, usually with over-the-table handholding.

Ah, Harry forgets; he started the habit in the first place.

“Alright,” Draco seats himself on the armchair, not eating the neatly arranged biscuits on the table, his favorite. Not even glancing at them.

“Let’s discuss.”

So Harry discusses. In better words, he talks and talks with no answer. What Hermione made him promise to say—even sat down and wrote a speech for him to remember—swirls in his head, syllables that don’t make noise, phrases that don’t make sense.

The flames in the fireplace crackle, a flare of heat and a pop of sound. A waterfall of pale-blonde hair, blue eyes that have lost their sparks, telling him that this has gone too far. Dean’s already paid, then Seamus, then Lavender, then most of the Gryffindor alumni. A bet between two festering into a conspiracy between all.

Molly’s shown him a picture of them on the front page and asked if he was sure. He’s only smiled, said ‘yes,’ and, unfortunately, meant it. Harry’s gone above and beyond for a couple of coins, to the point where he worries about abandoning what he’s worked so hard to cultivate.

“I grew a flower that can’t be bloomed in a dream that can’t come true,” croons a singer in a song Teddy likes these days. Harry wonders if Ron’s also heard of that song, so he could use it to snap Harry out of his delusion.

Harry takes a deep breath.

Everything he has to say has been painstakingly scrubbed out of him, scratching his throat raw and robbing him of air. At this point, he wonders if Hermione was right, that feigning disinterest and focusing on a promotion to work in Switzerland is better than being honest.

Draco’s eyes haven’t left Harry’s face throughout the explanation, and he doesn’t open his mouth once. Harry wishes he’d say something, do something other than bouncing his heel ever so often.

The tea’s gone cold when Harry takes a sip, giving his throat some relief. He waits.

Draco raises a hand from the armrest, calloused and huge. His index finger taps a stubbled cheek. Harry knows that finger, is familiar with its uncanny smoothness. Draco’s told him of the vicious accident that burned off three of his fingerprints during his time as an apprentice, a lesson to learn and a story to recount. Harry’s liked to rub them just because, and Draco’s let him with an indulgent smile.

“Okay.”

Harry blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Draco uncrosses his legs. “Let’s break up.”

“Oh,” Harry says, “that’s all?”

Draco spreads his hands and purses his lips, brows high on his forehead. “What more do you want me to say?”

Harry watches him brush nonexistent dust off his jean-clad knees and stand up.

“I don’t—you don’t have to say anything.”

“Good to know,” Draco grabs a handful of Floo powder. “I’m going to Pansy’s.”

“But you haven’t changed yet,” Harry frowns. Pansy loves people she considers hers dearly, but if one doesn’t at least attempt to look put-together, they can’t step a foot into her house without it getting chopped off.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be worrying about my clothes, Harry,” Draco says. He glances at the bits of Floo powder fluttering to the floor and continues.

“I’ll pack my things when I get back. Hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. Draco nods once and turns to the fireplace. Without thinking, Harry stands up. “Why’re you going to Pansy’s?”

Draco eyes him like he’s sick in the head. “To cry over being dumped by the Great Savior, why else?”

“Oh, of fucking course you still see me like that,” Harry can’t stop himself from snarling. “Have I ever been anything but The Fucking Boy Who Lived to you?”

Draco’s lips flatten to a thin line.

He’s exhausted, Harry realizes. His shift ended later than Harry’s at the Ministry today, yet he went home just to sit through this.

A weary sigh.

“You know the answer to that.”

Harry deflates. Does he?

Draco’s gaze lingers for another second.

“Bye, then,” he says. With a swift turn, he faces the fireplace, squaring his shoulders.

Draco’s voice doesn’t waver as he says, “Parkinson Estate.” With his old shirt stained with drying sweat, stuffed in a dirty pair of overalls, he walks forward, engulfed by a roar of green.

It’s quiet. The fireplace seems more subdued, as if it only deigns to burn enough to warm a single person instead of two. Harry falls back against his armchair, staring at nothing. His temples ache for some reason, like he’s spent the past hour stretching his unfocused eyes into slants to see better. If it is so, it doesn’t work. Harry feels like he’s blinder than ever.

Never mind, he has things to do. Has to take a shower, get dressed, trim his beard. Put on his best shoes and hit the Leaky, catching Seamus’s signature grin as he waits for Harry to get to the table and share the good news. Inform everybody that he’s done it, has cut things off and drawn this five-year epic of a ruse to a close. Order grumbling friends to pay up, their fault for betting that he wouldn’t have the balls to do it within 3 days.

Has to get some drinks to start, then head to a proper club, it’s nearly the weekend. Avoid the crushing disappointment that Luna has no qualm hiding from him. Make it back home after midnight, way after Draco’s returned to pack his bags—he doesn’t like to stay out past 11—and gone, gone, gone. Make it back home to a half-empty house, never again whole.

“Jesus,” Harry whispers.

His glasses have been pushed up without noticing, leaving space for his hands to press against closed eyes. Stars burst behind his eyelids, a squeezing pain. He presses harder like he’s got something to prove.

The vase on the coffee table is filled with blooms, pinks and whites galore, handpicked by Harry himself just last week. It was the first vase Draco’s blown for him, stained using cheap acrylic paint and glue. It was clumsily done and it shows, but it’s beautiful.

Harry’s hands can’t fall from his eyes, lest he imagines the damn thing cracking open and crashing onto the floor, leaving nothing left but millions and millions of tiny pieces. Delicate glass, delicate petals.

He curls into himself and doesn’t make a sound.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #the winner takes it all #ministry worker harry potter #glass blower draco malfoy #yes i read a book about stained glass 101 and the first thing i thought was draco working with glass yessir #now why the hell do i keep giving my dude so many cool careers and harry gets to be a werewolf at most #sorry to that man :P love him tho #there's a bts ref in here lmao i have to represent my boys it's simply my duty #pansy def got mad when draco came over w his work clothes still on but the moment she saw him break down it's over #she wouldn't let him out of her sight for the next few days ik that for a fact #harrys like #stupidly dumb for someone whos so attentive to his partner's likes & wants #give him time he'll get better #or will he???#joonkorre writes

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minhoinator · 7 years

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By My Side, A Hogwarts AU (1/?)

muggle-born - Minho and his family move to England for his father’s job. Before he can even adjust to the move, he gets a letter telling him that he’s a wizard and he’s been accepted at Hogwarts – whatever that is.

Kibum comes from a family of Hufflepuffs and is excited to start his first year at Hogwarts and carry on the legacy his parents and grandmother set.

They met on the train, and the rest is history...

read on AO3 / master list

* - * - *

The Hogwarts Express’ whistle sounded once, twice, and then a third time before it jolted forward, carrying students – both old and new – away from their families on Platform 9¾. Minho clasped his hands together, his whole body vibrating with nerves and excitement. He was going to be a wizard, an actual wizard. He never dreamed that this would happen. In fact, the thought had never even crossed his mind until two months ago.

* - * - *

The day his letter came was one filled with utter confusion. Minho and his family were moving into their new house in Manchester. His father had taken a position as coach for Manchester United, which meant that the Choi’s had to move from South Korea to England. Minho and his older brother, Minseok, had been dreading the trip. It would be hard to make new friends in a foreign country who all spoke a language they didn’t know.

He was not looking forward to it at all.

Minho tossed his backpack onto the bare floor of his new bedroom and slumped next to it, glancing around at the empty walls. Soon, of course, they would be filled with posters and pictures of his favorite athletes. For now, however, they were too depressing to look at. His bottom lip trembled as he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes scrunching shut so he wouldn’t cry. He missed Jinki and Taemin and Sooyoung and all his friends from back home.

Minho picked up his backpack and hugged it to his chest. Maybe if he wished very hard then this would all turn out to be a dream.

“Minho,” came his mother’s voice from downstairs. Minho squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. No, this was all a bad dream. “Minho, you have mail!”

Minho tossed his backpack across the room and slid to his bedroom door on socked feet. He clambered downstairs and to his mother, his hand open and waiting for the letter. “Is it from Sooyoung? Jinki?”

“I’m not sure. It came through the mail slot just now,” she said as she handed him the letter. On the front, there were pretty Latin letters written in a dark green ink. Minho flipped it over, confused, and turned it again to find that the letters had shifted to Hangul. It read: Choi Minho, Second Upstairs Bedroom On The Right, 10 Prism Lane, Greater Manchester, United Kingdom.

Frowning, Minho opened it and found that the letter inside was written in Hangul as well. He sank to the floor as he read it, and then read it again. He was a…wizard? Like, that was an actual thing? Minho licked his lips and he read it once more.

Dear Mr. Choi,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Patrick O'Neely

Minho brought the letter to his father, who looked it over and then called his mother down to the living room. She looked it over as well and called Minseok down from his room to see if he knew what this meant. None of them did, and there was no phone number in the rather ornate heading for them to call and figure this out. Minseok left them to go play outside but came running back in a moment later.

“There’s an owl out here?”

Minho ran to the front door, the rest crowding behind him as they looked at the owl sitting atop their mailbox. Its tawny head tilted as it inspected them, its wings fluttering out at the sides from what Minho felt was impatience.

“What should we do?”

“Should we send a letter back?”

Soon, they all sat huddled around Minho as he penned, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I applied for your school. I’m going to the middle school in Manchester in the fall. He paused for a moment before adding, Please explain what this means. He signed his name and folded up the letter. His family watched from the front door as he carried it out to the owl. It took the letter in its beak and startled Minho by flying away directly after.

The next day, another letter arrived.

Dear Mr. Choi,

I am sorry if my previous letter caused any sort of confusion. It was not my intention.

I have glanced over your file and now see that you are Muggle-born (which means having non-magical parents) but that you discovered your magic at approximately the age of four.

“What is he talking about?” his mother asked when both Minho and Minseok looked at each other.

They had been playing one day, and Minseok fell and scraped his knee on the gravel. Minho had helped him over to the garden hose and they washed off the cut. Before they went inside, Minho brushed away some of the rocks out of the scrape, only to find that the wound was healing itself. It freaked them both out, and they had promised not to tell their mother. Minho didn’t try to use it again, but sometimes things would just…happen.

It showed up most often when he and Minseok were playing football in their backyard. Whenever he kicked the ball and it would find its way between the two trees they used as goal posts. Even if his kick was off, it still made it between the trees.

Minho shrugged and continued reading.

Enclosed is a map of how to get to Diagon Alley, where your supplies for your first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry can be bought.

We look forward to having you further your magical education here and hope that you enjoy the rest of your summer.

Yours sincerely,

Patrick O'Neely

The following Saturday, Minho and his mother followed Mr. O'Neely’s instructions exactly, finding themselves in the center of a strange marketplace. “We’re just here to look around,” she told him as she took his hand and started walking down the cobblestone street. “Your father and I still aren’t sure if we’re going to let you go.”

They looked through the windows of all the shops, inspecting the wares without actually going inside. Some of the shop owners came out to greet them and invite them inside, and Minho did his best to tell them no, but thank you. He hoped they understood. When they passed by what appeared to be a candy shop, he pleaded with his mother to go inside this one, and she agreed.

Candy lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and he didn’t recognize any of the little delicacies. What drew his attention was the clear bin full of frogs hopping around inside. He pressed his hands and the tip of his nose against the glass, watching them jump around and around until the shop owner approached him.

“Would you like to try one?” His wide eyes met the shop owner’s, and he shook his head slowly before looking back at the frogs. Most were single shades of differing browns, but one stood out to him – one with darker skin and white marbled marking across its back.

He tapped the glass, looking up at the shop owner. “It’s…pretty,” Minho said, his brow scrunched in concentration as he thought of the right words. “Can I…hold it?” he asked, cupping his hands together in case his English was wrong.

“Jus’ be careful, lad,” the shop owner said, reaching inside with a gloved hand. “Might melt if you hold it too long.”

“Okay,” he held out his hands to the man, wondering if he had heard right. He dropped the frog into Minho’s hand, and he let out a surprised oh! as it hopped around in Minho’s now closed hands. He opened his hands after a second, surprised to see melted brown streaks across his palms. The frog hopped out of his hands and to the floor. Minho watched in amazement as it bounced out the door.

It was not long after they left the candy shop that his mother decided to take Minho home. She was quiet on the train ride home, despite Minho’s attempt at conversation. She sent Minseok and Minho to their rooms once they got home so that she and their father could discuss the situation alone. Both brothers sat huddled at the top of the stairs, listening to the conversation.

“So, what’d you think?” their father asked, his teacup clinking on the table top.

“I don’t know…it’ll be so different than anything he’s ever known.”

“How did he react to the – what was it called?”

“Diagon Alley.”

“Yeah. What’d he think of that?”

Their mother clicked her tongue, both Minho and Minseok scooting a little closer together at the sound. “He seemed interested, but…Honey, we’re talking about sending him away to a school that we know nothing about in a country where none of us really know the language.” She sighed. “It doesn’t seem fair to him.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“No, I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

Silence fell between their parents. Minho fiddled with the frayed hole in the knee of his jeans, waiting for his father’s decision on the matter.

Finally, his father cleared his throat. “I think he should go. It might be good for him. It might help him break out of his shell.”

“Don’t you think it might be too drastic of a change? What if it’s too much for him?”

“We can’t baby him forever, Honey.”

“I suppose.”

Minho and Minseok scrambled to their rooms when their parents pushed away from the table. At dinner, their father repeated what he said earlier and added that if it didn’t work out, Minho could always go to Minseok’s school. Minho simply nodded, his nerves mingling with a bit of excitement.

He couldn’t sleep that night.

He also couldn’t stop yawning the next day on the train ride to Diagon Alley with his whole family. They exchanged some of their money at the bank, his father giving him some of the copper and silver coins to keep for his school year away from them. They traveled all around Diagon Alley, searching for the items on the shopping list from the first letter.

His favorite stop was the wand shop where an eccentric old man kept handing him wands to swish around. The one he ended up getting was a long, unevenly carved wand. When the old man handed it to him, the curled base fitting neatly into his palm. It felt warm in his hand, a flurry of gold sparks spurting from the tip when he swished it through the air.

“A nice wand,” the man said, taking the wand from Minho’s hand. “Cedar with a unicorn hair core.” Minho blinked when it seemed like the man was trying to snap his wand in half. “Pliable. You’ll do good things with this wand.”

Minho had all his new things packed in his duffle bag and backpack two days before he had to leave for Hogwarts. He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze darting between his bags and his new charcoal gray owl with bright yellow eyes. Geum-nun, he named her. She was sort of cute, especially when she didn’t flutter her wings and scare him when he was trying to sleep.

The day finally came for his family to drop him off at King’s Cross Station. Minho read over the instructions for how to enter the platform. “I guess…I’m supposed to run through it?” he said, looking up at his dad. “I don’t know if you guys will be able to come with.”

“Then we’ll just say goodbye out here.”

“O-okay.”

His mother pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his forehead. “Be sure to write to us, sweetie.”

“If anything seems off about this place, let us know and we’ll bring you right back home.” Minho’s bottom lip trembled as he nodded. His father patted his back and Minho picked his duffle bag and Geum-nun’s cage off the station floor. “Good luck, son,” his father said as Minho ran toward the brick wall, wincing before he made impact.

None came.

Instead, sunlight streamed through the open gate at the far end of the platform. Gray smoke plumed from the cherry red train waiting to be boarded. It created a sort of haze around the myriad students milling about the platform. Many of them were saying goodbye to their parents, while others put their bags in a growing pile of luggage and boarded the train.

Minho placed his duffle bag with the trunks and said goodbye to Geum-nun before his hands found the straps of his backpack. He held onto them tightly as he boarded the train.

* - * - *

Minho watched the other students from the inside of his otherwise empty cabin. They were all waving goodbye to their families as the train pulled away from the station. He rocked back and forth in his seat, wringing his hands together in his lap. Was he excited? Yes? But now that he knew that this wasn’t actually an elaborate dream, his excitement was giving way to his nerves again.

What if he didn’t make any friends? What if nobody gave him the time of day because he couldn’t speak very much English? He had been studying as much as he could all summer - Minseok said he was improving, but…

There came a loud rapping at the door, the sound startling Minho. He turned to find a boy about his age who also happened to be Asian. Minho’s eyes widened and he opened the door slowly.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, Minho blinking several times before he nodded. The boy closed the door behind him and hopped onto the bench opposite Minho, scooting over until he was directly in front of him. “Hello!” he said, grinning.

The corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose bunched up with he smiled. His warm brown eyes twinkled brightly, and Minho couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m Kibum.” Minho’s heart stuttered in his chest. Were his ears deceiving him or was that a Korean name he just heard? “Kim Kibum. Who are you?”

“Minho,” he said, extending his hand for Kibum to shake, which he did. “Do you know…Korea?”

Kibum’s eyes brightened just a little more than Minho previously thought possible. “Yes,” he said, switching from speaking English to Korean. “It’s nice to meet you.”

#minkey #shinee drabble #shinee au #shinee fanfic #shineefic #hogwarts!minkey au #ff: By My Side #yeah so i might have lowkey sold my soul to this au #i know there is like minuscule interaction between them but i wanted to get the 'plot' set first and figure out minho's backstory a bit #next one i promise will be filled with them and their adorable selves #i'm super excited about this #but #because i'm an adult and have responsibilities i'll update when i can #mine #my writing #geum-nun means 'gold-eye' in korean according to my google searches #next part will be from kibum's pov i think #after that i'll probably alternate between them during each installment #we'll see

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