Chapter Text
The sun is barely peeking past the horizon when twenty-four year old Namjoon Kim lands at the entrance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At least, what’s left of it. He has to clench onto his broomstick till his knuckles turn white to stop the tears from falling. The Great Hall stood in shambles. The once magnificent enchanted ceiling, which had always reflected the sky, was now broken in patches, letting in the faintest light of dawn through cracks. Tables were overturned, debris scattered across the floor like memories of a battle that Hogwarts would never forget. Despite the hours that had passed since the final battle, the air still hung thick with smoke and the oppressive residue of dark, violent magic - a suffocating blanket that deepened the bittersweet weight of victory, relief, grief .
It takes more effort than he imagined to walk, stumble really, past the remains of the doors to the Great Hall. It’s chaos inside. The aftermath of a war, a final battle, fought in a school had left its mark. Hogwarts was supposed to be a place of warmth, peace, a home away from home. Hogwarts was never meant for war and, despite the victory, its effects were clear in the makeshift infirmaries throughout the Great Hall.
His eyes fall on stretchers bearing bodies far too small to belong to adults. Sixth and seventh years, barely older than the wounded they tended to, move through the chaos with haunted expressions. Namjoon is no stranger to seeing that look in war veterans, but in teenagers - mere children - it’s something he’ll never grow used to.
In the end, what breaks Namjoon’s resolve is the sight of a figure leaning against the far right wall, arms laden with potions, bandages, makeshift splints and so much more. Despite the years that had passed, Namjoon would recognise Kim Seokjin anywhere. He almost drops the scroll of parchment in his hands, barely able to fit it into his pocket before he’s all but running to meet Seokjin.
And Namjoon can spot the moment Seokjin sees him too. There’s a falter in his step, his arms shaking just the slightest with the surprise. Unfortunately, that slight shake is all it takes for the contents in his arms to start spilling, full to the brim as they are. Namjoon barely manages to catch the fragile items in time, an internal mantra of "don’t drop it, don’t break it" looping anxiously in his mind. Luckily he is not the only one there to catch the falling bottles and bandages. He isn’t alone. As his hand reaches for a bottle of skele-gro, wincing at the thought of the unfortunate soul needing it, it collides with someone else’s. Together, they stop the falling supplies from shattering. Namjoon looks up, and his breath hitches. Standing beside him, equally surprised, is Yoongi. Identical gasps slip from their lips.
But all of a sudden, it’s too much too soon. It’s been three years since he’s seen any of his friends from Hogwarts, inseparable as they were during those years. So to see two of his oldest and dearest, Seokjin and Yoongi, at the same time is enough to have the dam bursting.
Kim Namjoon is not one to usually cry. He can count on his fingers how many times he’s broken down like this, preferring logic over emotion. This is an exception though. Or perhaps it’s something that’s been building up for several years now. He allows himself a moment, and then a few more, to feel before blinking away the tears and trying to regain his composure. The din of the Great Hall fades into the background, replaced by the rush of emotions swirling within him. Seokjin’s face reflects a mixture of relief and concern, his eyes darting between Namjoon, Yoongi and the scattered supplies they collectively hold now.
“Namjoon,” Seokjin breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the moment. “I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t know if you were okay. You didn’t respond to my last owl.”
“I know, I’m sorry-I’m okay,” Namjoon replies, though his voice cracks slightly. “I’m just… it’s just been a lot.”
Yoongi, still recovering from his own surprise, steps forward, his expression softening. “It’s good to see you. Really good.” He glances around the chaotic hall, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. “But we need to focus. There’s a lot to do.”
The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of their reality. Namjoon nods, the urgency of the situation snapping him back to his senses. “Right. Let’s get to work.”
But as they begin to gather the fallen supplies, a heavy silence settles over the three friends. The enormity of their surroundings - the destruction, the loss, the fragility of what was once their home - settles in like a dense fog.
Namjoon picks up a vial of calming draught, its glass cool and smooth against his palm. “What do you need help with?” he asks, letting the remnants of his emotional episode fade away in order to take action, focus on the next important task at hand, in typical Namjoon fashion.
Seokjin meets his gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. “We’re running out of supplies. These are the last of them that I managed to get from the potions lab.” He looks away for a moment, confidence flickering. “I tried to brew as much as I could in preparation but they were getting more and more vicious as the end of the year came around. Even my emergency stash has been completely depleted.”
Not for the first time, Namjoon is reminded of how Seokjin, the Potions apprentice turned professor, was forced to take over after Slughorn fled back into hiding. Seokjin had been in the thick of the battle, and fighting in the shadows even before that. Namjoon knew that Seokjin and his potions were a significant factor in the reduction of fatal or permanent injuries during the battle and throughout the year. And where had Namjoon been? Hundreds and hundreds of miles away, on a mission far from Hogwarts. He hadn’t had a chance in the world of reaching Hogwarts in time for the battle. The guilt had plagued Namjoon for several hours and so, when he received an owl from none other than Minerva Mcgonagall, he hadn’t thought twice about grabbing his broomstick and making for the highlands.
Seokjin’s voice pierces through the cloud of guilt that had begun looming over him, “Yoongi, I know Potions or healing spells were never your strongest, but I think we’d appreciate any help we can get.” Yoongi doesn’t have to say anything, nodding and heading for the dungeons immediately after handing off the supplies in his arms to Seokjin. Namjoon takes the opportunity to do the same with his own potion bottles and bandages.
Then, Seokjin turns to Namjoon. “Minerva has been waiting in the Headmaster’s office for someone ever since she sent out an owl.” He eyed the scroll of parchment sticking out of Namjoon’s pocket. “I’m certain that’s you. Please see what she needs?”
Namjoon nods, taking a deep breath to steady the nerves suddenly causing shivers up his spine. Before he can start racing off, Seokjin takes hold of his arm. They meet eyes and then Seokjin whispers, “And Namjoon? Don’t lose your composure, please. She needs you right now more than ever.”
Before Namjoon can further question what in Merlin’s name would make Seokjin react like that , Seokjin turns around and starts heading for the makeshift infirmary in a corner of the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, Namjoon rushes for the Headmaster’s office.
§
As Namjoon strides through the wreckage of the Great Hall, the weight of Seokjin’s words lingers in his mind, amplifying the urgency coursing through him. The familiar stone walls, usually warm and inviting, now loom like spectres of the past. The echoes of laughter and joy have been replaced by silence. It’s eerie, depressing. Hogwarts was never quiet, not even during the night with Peeves, the ghosts, house elves and sneaking students. Now, the halls reek with death, pain, loss. It almost feels like Hogwarts herself is in mourning.
He pushes open the door to the Headmaster’s office, the creak of the hinges sounding like a mournful groan. The space feels foreign, even after all the times he’s been here as a student. Bookshelves line the walls, their once vibrant colours dulled by dust and neglect. The portrait of Dumbledore watches him with a sombre expression, his usual twinkle replaced by a solemn understanding.
Minerva McGonagall sits at the large oak desk, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. Her robes, once impeccably neat, are now rumpled, her hair pulled back in a loose bun that looks as if it hasn’t seen a proper comb in days.
“Namjoon,” she greets, her voice a soft blend of relief and concern. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”
“Professor McGonagall,” he replies, his heart ached with relief at the sight of her. “What can I do to help?”
She beckons him closer, and he follows, settling into the chair opposite her. Now that he’s near, Namjoon can clearly see the toll the battle has taken on her. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and her hands tremble slightly as they rest on the stack of paperwork piled high on the desk.
“Namjoon,” she begins, her voice steady despite the fatigue that hangs over her like a shroud. “You’ve always liked things straight to the point, so I’m not going to sugarcoat this. Hogwarts is falling apart.” At this her seemingly unshakeable voice starts wavering, the Scottish accent becoming more and more prominent. “Severus is dead. We’ve lost over half of the Board of Governors and the rest are demanding answers. I’ve been swamped with owls, messages and patronuses since the news got out.” Her voice is barely a whisper when she gets the last sentence out. “Hogwarts needs you. I need you.”
His stomach drops at the enormity of her request, one he’s not entirely confident he even understands to its full extent. “Me?” he asks, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. “W-why me? There are so many others you could ask.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe in you,” she insists, her gaze piercing yet filled with warmth. “You’ve accomplished more in your twenty-four years than most do in a lifetime. I’ve seen you flourish from a student to a master and then beyond. The school needs someone with your intellect and heart, someone who can rally the students and staff.”
Namjoon glances down at the paperwork scattered across the desk, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. “But you’re still here. You should lead. I—”
“—can barely stay awake,” she interrupts gently. “I’m too injured to manage the castle effectively. I will be here to guide you, but you must take the reins. The announcements, the recovery efforts, the plans for the new school year—all of it depends on you.”
He swallows hard, his heart racing at the thought of stepping into such a role. “And what about the students who missed out on their education this past year? We can’t let them fall behind.”
“We’ll consider offering a repeat year for those who need it,” McGonagall says, her voice a mixture of fatigue and determination. “But first, we need to stabilise the current situation. Gather our resources, contact the best healers, and assess the needs of our students. The quicker we can do this, the sooner we can move forward.”
Taking a deep breath, Namjoon nods, realising he has no choice. Well. That’s not quite true. He has a choice. He could always leave, go back to Southern England, or portkey to Seoul, or even join Jimin and Taehyung in Muggle America. He could always run away like he had all those years ago. But the guilt settles heavy in his heart, the desperation and defeat in Professor Mcgonagall’s eyes all but making the decision for him. He ran away once before but this is a pivotal moment for Hogwarts, and he can’t let his fears hold him back.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good,” she replies, a hint of relief softening her features. “I trust you, Namjoon. Start by contacting Phoenix Institute. I have it on good authority that Yoon Jeonghan is still working there.”
Namjoon nods, already recalling the healer’s calm demeanour and skilled hands from his own years at the Insitute. “I’ll reach out to him right away.” He pauses, taking one last look at McGonagall. “You’ll be okay, right?”
She offers a faint smile, though the worry in her eyes doesn’t fully dissipate. “I’ll rest, and I will be here to support you. You are not alone in this.”
As he stands to leave, he feels a mixture of excitement and trepidation churning in his stomach. This is not the homecoming he envisioned, but it is a call to action, and he can’t ignore it. He steps out of the office and heads toward the entrance of the Great Hall.
Taking a moment to compose himself, he reaches for his wand, the familiar weight grounding him. He whispers the incantation for the messaging charm Jimin had shared with them. It was a handy charm, inspired from Muggle mobile phones, an emerging technology that revolutionised communication amongst Muggles. Once the shimmering scroll is formed in front of him, Namjoon calls out, “Yoon Jeonghan.” Selecting the correct contact, Namjoon forms his message. He doesn’t take long, wary of the incredibly long list of tasks he has yet to accomplish. It won’t do to wear out his magic this early on. After all, Phoenix Institute is only in France. He’ll have to reach much further distances if he wants to action all the plans forming in his head. One way or another, he will do it. Once Namjoon Kim puts his mind to something, he doesn’t stop until he goes above and beyond. It’s what allowed him to become the youngest Mastery student in a century and what will allow him to become the youngest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen.