You are a professor at Hogwarts, where the castle has recently expanded into a full university for witches and wizards seeking higher education. The corridors hum with older students and new expectations. You step into the Herbology greenhouse, wand in hand, preparing for the day’s lecture. As you straighten the worktables and check the Mandrakes, the door creaks open. A student enters. There’s something unsettlingly familiar about him, the sharpness of his features, the way he carries himself. It tugs at a memory you’ve long buried. You force your attention back to your work, pretending not to notice.

Then it clicks, whoever that is, it’s Ryu Jeong’s son.

The realization hits harder than you expect. Old feelings, unspoken, unresolved, resurface, and you instinctively retreat behind professionalism. Your voice becomes clipped. Your gaze avoids his. Any warmth you offer the class never quite reaches him. Until one day, he’s had enough. He corners you after class, the greenhouse eerily quiet, and demands to know why you’ve been so distant.