Monday, November 28th

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Monday, November 28th. 8:51 AM. Hogwarts, History of Magic Classroom. Choi San.

San plopped into his chair in the back of the classroom and let out an irritated huff. He slammed his textbook onto the wooden desk, earning a few judgemental glares from the Hufflepuffs. He ignored them and rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

A percussion of rain hammered against the ancient stone walls as the wind rattled the windows and wailed hauntingly through the corridors. Thick, black clouds occupied the sky, only brightened up by the occasional flash of lightning that electrified the air.

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject Hogwarts had to offer. It was devised by Professor Binns, who had taught until very old age when he fell asleep in the faculty room and died in slumber. After that he had simply continued to teach after he'd become a ghost, droning on about the Giant wars and Goblin rebellions to bored-to-death students. Everyone would nap on their desks, exchange notes with their seatmates, or finish work they had been assigned in other classes. A complete waste of time that only fueled San's anger today.

Mingi settled down in the seat next to him, sympathy written in his features.

San's mood had reached a new low this morning. There had been no sign of Wooyoung at breakfast again. San had gotten up extra early, entered the Great Hall as soon as it opened, and stayed until the food had vanished from the tables, just to be completely sure he wouldn't miss Wooyoung. He even went to look for him at the hospital wing again. The library, the study area, the bathrooms. But to no avail.

The only place San didn't - couldn't - check was the Gryffindor Common Room.

But what was he still doing in his dorm? He hadn't had a proper meal since Saturday. He hadn't even sent a cheeky reply to the message San had sent him at dinner yesterday, which he always did. Without fail.

Something had to be wrong. If he wasn't sick... perhaps he was upset? Had he not enjoyed his birthday party as much as San had assumed? Did he not want to see San? But why? And wouldn't he at least have talked to Yeosang about it?

Was he overthinking this?

San clawed a hand in his hair. Wooyoung had never acted like this before and the ambiguity of this situation slowly drove San insane.

He felt Mingi's eyes on him, concerned and unsure what to say. He'd been trying to comfort San all morning but even he seemed to be at his wit's end. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, bro," he said. "I don't know what's going on either. But I'm sure he'll have a perfectly reasonable explanation for you when you see him in Charms later."

"Yeah... maybe," grumbled San. He couldn't imagine what that perfectly reasonable explanation was supposed to be. He wasn't mad at Wooyoung. Just worried and confused.

And then there was another strange feeling that lingered in the back of his mind.

A feeling that seemed to stem from somewhere deep inside of him. It felt as though something was calling out to him, so desperately that it didn't feel like it came from himself. As if an invisible force from his very own soul was trying to tell him something.

San instinctively pressed a hand to his chest. He'd never felt something so uncanny before.

He didn't bother telling Mingi about it. He knew how insane he would sound trying to explain it to him and he didn't rule out the possibility that he was simply imagining things. Maybe it was but a byproduct of the lack of sleep he'd gotten last night.

San shook his head to clear it. He was going to see Wooyoung in Charms. He had to. Wooyoung was going to explain everything to him and they were going to laugh it off together.

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