“Ugh...”

Minho glanced away from The Standard Book of Spells to look at Kibum for a second. He was digging around in Grandma’s latest care package, and Minho turned the page when he sighed again. “Something wrong?”

Kibum pulled out a pumpkin pastie with a frown, and Minho instantly frowned in return. “It’s the last one.”

He leaned back against the wall of the closet, the tiny flames from the candles on the shelves wavering. Another long sigh and he split it in half, holding one part out to Minho. Reluctantly, Minho took it and Kibum the cinnamon glaze off his fingers before he started to eat his.

“Okay, so you said you were having problems with the spell today?”

Minho’s shoulders sunk and he flipped back a couple pages in his textbook. “Yeah, with the pronunciation.” He clenched his jaw when he found Alohomora on the page. They learned this last year, so why was he still having problems with it?

“S’okay,” Kibum said around his mouthful of pumpkin pastie. “Latin is hard.” Minho let out a huff of a laugh, and Kibum chuckled as he finished his half of the pastry. “So, Flitwick was explaining more about the history of Alohomora and its uses today. I was taking good notes if you weren’t able to follow it?”

“I’ve been doing better with Charms lately.”

Kibum beamed at him before he brought Minho’s textbook over between them. “Do you remember the wand movements?” Minho nodded and Kibum gestured to his backpack.

After a catastrophic ink spill last year, they both decided to not use quills when they were up in their study closet. Mom had bought him two packs of pens when they went shopping for school supplies, and now, that’s all they used. Kibum clicked the pen several times as he brought Minho’s textbook fully onto his lap. “Uh-low-huh-mor-uh,” he said slowly as he wrote out each syllable, passing the book back to Minho.

Minho squinted at the pronunciation guide. “A...loho...mora.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it! Do it again.”

“A-alohomora. Alohomora!”

“See? You remember it!” Minho stared at the pronunciation guide, hiding his small smile. “Were you able to follow when O’Neely was talking about yetis?”

“Mostly.”

“Hmm...okay.” Kibum turned, shuffling through his textbooks for his notes.

They studied for quite a while until Minho was struggling to keep his eyes open and Kibum was yawning more often than he was speaking. Eventually, they started to pack up their books and straighten up the little study closet. When Kibum scooted forward to grab one of his parchment scraps, Minho glanced over at the box Grandma had sent.

Was that her address written on the wrapping?

While he knew Kibum’s address, Minho still didn’t have it memorized. Plus, the polaroid with it written on the back was back home and hiding under his pillow. Kibum was still leaning forward, arranging his books in his arms, so Minho slipped behind him and grabbed the empty care package. He tucked it away in his backpack before Kibum even noticed.

Soon, they were on their way from the seventh floor to the basement. They parted ways at the corner, their tired goodnight’s echoing down the empty corridors.

Once Minho was in his dorm room, he rummaged around beneath his bed for the notebook he used to write letters to his parents.

“You’re writing a letter now?” Gilbert whispered as he crawled under his covers, and Minho nodded. “But it’s almost ligh -- “

Before he could even finish saying lights out, the lanterns posted around the room dimmed, their flames soaking back into their wicks. Minho felt around his nightstand for his wand, and once he found it, said Lumos before he ducked under his own covers to block the light so the others could sleep. He popped his wand sideways into his mouth, holding it there so he could have both his hands free.

After a couple of clicks of his pen, he started to write.

Dear Grandma,

Hi! It’s just Minho this time. I hope you’re having a nice day when you get this letter. The reason I’m writing is because I was wondering if you could send me your recipe for pumpkin pasties? They’re the best and I love them but Kibum loves them more. We ran out today and he was sad and I was thinking that it would be nice if I could learn how to make them because they make him really happy and some days are hard here at Hogwarts and you might not know about it right away and anyways I think he’d really like them.

If you don’t want to share the recipe that’s okay I understand.

Thanks and I love you!

Minho

P.S. This is a secret so please don’t tell Kibum

He took his wand out of his mouth and tapped it on his chin as he re-read the letter. “Sounds good to me.” Carefully, he tore the page out of the notebook and folded it into thirds. “Nox,” he said before he pulled the covers back, and set the letter and his wand on the nightstand.

“Night,” Gilbert whispered.

“Good night.” Minho curled in and nestled his head in his pillow. He stared at the silvery moonbeam cutting through the darkness until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep.

The next morning, he woke quickly -- well, quicker than usual -- and was to and back from the owlery before breakfast started. His letter was well on its way to Grandma in the talons of Geum-nun. Hopefully, it would reach her by tomorrow.

Each day, when the owls would arrive, Minho would carefully watch for the arrival of his charcoal owl, but day after day after day, she didn’t appear.

Not until five days later.

A thick brown envelope plopped onto his plate of eggs and toast, and Minho thanked Geum-nun before she flew away. He tore into the letter, and skimmed the contents.

Dearest Minho,

You don’t know how happy I was to receive your letter! I am having a good day and your letter made it better still. I hope when Geum-nun returns that your day is also going well.

As for the recipe, of course I am happy to share. It’s sort of a family secret, but I think I can make an exception for you. Just be sure to read the instructions carefully! And if you need any help, don’t be afraid to write me. Or, you could even ask one of the kitchen elves. They’re very good at their job.

Good luck, my love! I’m sure you’ll do well with them.

Love,

Grandma

Minho smiled as he peeked into the envelope, seeing the card with the recipe.

“Is that from your parents?”

He jumped at the sound of Kibum’s voice and shoved the letter and envelope into his pocket. “What?”

Kibum’s brow furrowed as he chuckled. “The letter. Did your parents write to you?”

“Yes, uh...Minseok got first place at the science fair.”

Kibum squinted at him, his eyes darting down to his pocket for a second. “Ready to head to Transfiguration?”

“Yeah.”

Grandma’s letter and recipe seemed to burn a hole in Minho’s pocket during Transfiguration. All he wanted to do was pull it out and read it, but with Kibum right there...

He waited until Kibum disappeared behind the stairwell on his way up to Charms to pull the parchment out. As he skimmed the recipe, the furrow in his brow deepened.

This was going to be harder than he thought. Hopefully, Sookey would help him.

The rest of the day followed his usual routine -- class then lunch then classes again then practice with the team (even though the season was over, Tanner still wanted to keep their skills fresh in their minds) and finally going over today’s lessons with Kibum. Once they said their goodnights and Kibum was well on his way down the Slytherin corridor, Minho ducked down the hallway to the kitchen and let himself inside.

It was always eerie to be in the kitchen alone. Minho didn’t visit the kitchen often, and when he did there was usually a house elf or two to keep him company and point him in the right direction.

Out of all the Houses at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff had the unique right to enter the kitchen whenever they wished. When Rhys explained it last year, he mentioned an agreement between Helga Hufflepuff and the house elves that her students would always be allowed access, unless they disobeyed the house elves instructions. Her reasoning was that cooking was an important skill to have and that they should have the resources to do so. There were conditions, of course. The first was that they were to respect the rules of the house elves and help them if asked, and the second was to always clean up after themselves.

Many a Hufflepuff in Minho’s almost-two years at Hogwarts would go on a midnight snack run. Several would even sit at one of the magic tables and work on their homework. As for himself? He usually came to the kitchen to make hot cocoa after a stressful day.

Minho dug into his pocket, fishing out Grandma’s recipe as he walked over to the butcher block countertops. He heaved himself up onto the counter and smoothed the recipe out on his knee as he read through it again. He mumbled his way through the ingredients, pausing when he came to the instructions.

“Rub...the butter...into the flour mixture?” His forehead scrunched. “What does that even mean?” He skimmed the rest of the instructions for the dough and followed the tiny arrow to the margin where Grandma penned an aside.

Do be sure to chill the dough for at least an hour, dear. Often times, I will let it rest overnight.

“I guess I can just make the dough tonight?”

He set the recipe down on the counter before he walked over to the pantry. After a second of staring at the myriad ingredients, Minho walked back over to where he left the recipe and grabbed it.

“Flour, salt -- “ He grabbed them both off of the shelves, going up on his tiptoes to reach the can of salt. “Butter...” Minho rearranged the flour and salt in his arms as he reached for the tub of butter in the icebox. He set them down on the counter before he made his way to the sink, getting a cup of cold water.

Mom never really baked at home, and when she did, she never let Minho help. Well, one time she did. He had begged her to let him help with Dad’s birthday cake, but in the end, he had ended up accidentally burning the cake to an absolute crisp.

To say he was nervous about this was an understatement.

But, one thing working in his favor was that Kibum didn’t know. So he wasn’t expecting Minho to produce perfect pumpkin pasties by tomorrow. Or ever. He could take his time if he wanted to.

Which, he did.

Sighing, he started searching for a scale, and found one of the older ones that Professor Slughorn would use sometimes in Potions. At least he was somewhat familiar with that. Cradling the scale in one arm, Minho grabbed as many of the weights as he could hold and went back to where he had the ingredients. He placed a large bowl on one end and leveled it out on the other with the weights.

“Three hundred grams,” he said as he started spooning flour into the bowl. He watched the scale carefully, and once it leveled, he added the next set of weights and weighed out the salt. “Cube the butter?” Frowning, Minho looked around for a knife, but he wasn’t sure where the house elves kept them. Eventually, he shrugged and started tearing the butter into the bowl.

Once the block of butter was distributed, he stirred it around in the flour with his finger. “Rub the butter...” He picked up a chunk between his fingers, rubbing it into the flour. “Maybe?” Putting both hands into the bowl, he started rubbing them together, mixing the flour and the butter until it started coming together. He squeezed a bit in his hand and dropped the clump into the bowl.

“I...think that’s ready?”

When adding the water, do it a little bit at a time. You just need enough for the dough to come together. It should stick together but not be sticky.

He took the cup in one hand, stirring the flour mixture with the other as he started to pour the water. It was a slow process, probably slower than it needed to be, but eventually, the dough started -- maybe? -- looking right.

“Cover and chill for at least an hour. Uh...” He looked around for saran wrap, knowing full well that there would not be any at Hogwarts. “What spell did Sookey use?” After about ten minutes of searching, Minho found the spellbook and flipped through it, stopping after a couple of turns.

Use Segetenvis when you need to preserve leftovers until another time.

“What are the wand motions?” He scanned the page, finding none. “Swish and flick it is, then.” He grabbed his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at the ball of dough. “Segetenvis!”

A clear, slightly iridescent bubble shot out of his wand tip and enveloped the dough ball. There was a little whistle -- the last of the air escaping, he thought -- as the bubble sealed itself. He picked it up and carried it to the icebox, feeling somewhat proud of himself.

About five minutes later, he had cleaned up his mess and was on his way to his room. Just in time, too, as the lights dimmed as he was sliding into bed. His dormmates muttered their goodnights, and Minho smiled to himself, already imagining Kibum’s reaction to the pumpkin pasties.

“What are you so happy about?” Kibum asked as Minho sat down next to him after breakfast the next morning. He squinted in disbelief when Minho shrugged. “Does a girl like you or something?”

“What?” Minho’s smile faltered, looking over at Kibum. “What are you talking about?”

Kibum went back to his breakfast. “I don’t know. You’re just acting weird.”

“You always say I’m weird, though.” Minho smiled again when Kibum rolled his eyes to look at him. “I’m just happy.”

“That’s good.”

The bell rang, and they were off to Transfiguration.

The day passed by relatively smoothly, even though Minho felt like he might have failed his Potions quiz. At least it wasn’t the final. He hurried to the kitchen once he and Kibum were done studying for the night.

Once again, he found it empty. Minho smoothed his recipe on the countertop closest to the icebox and got right to work -- rolling out the dough as thin as he could. He had to stand up on his tiptoes to be able to roll it out, and his arms and legs were aching by the time he was satisfied.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he went off around the kitchen in search of a pan to bake the pumpkin pasties on. After quite a bit of shuffling and clanging, he found the pans he was looking for. He tucked them under his arm and hurried back to his counter, grabbing a porcelain bowl and a steak knife on his way.

He set the bowl down on the dough, tracing around the lip with the steak knife to make a practically perfect circle. He lifted the bowl, smiling to himself until he tried to lift the circle and transfer it to the pan.

It stuck.

Like, it was glued to the counter. He peeled it up, but it tore in several places. Crumpling up his failed first attempt, he tried again, only to have it happen. Again and again. Frowning, he pulled the recipe closer to him with dough-caked fingers and read it over again.

“Oh...flour first.”

Minho scraped up the dough as best he could, using the back of the blade for the particularly stuck spots. Once he got the flour, he dusted it over the surface and rolled it out again. He lifted the edge to make sure it didn’t stick and heaved a relieved sigh when it didn’t. He cut and transferred the circles to the pan, smoothing the little holes that appeared when he moved them.

“I guess I can make the filling now.”

It took longer than Minho would have liked to find all the ingredients for the filling, as it was dimly lit and the labels of the spices were hard for him to read. Once he had weighed and mixed them all, he plopped heaping spoonfuls on each circle of dough and folded them over, pressing his fingertip along the edge, like the recipe said.

He proudly carried both pans over to the oven, setting one down to open the door. The oven, Minho remembered Sookey mentioning, was cantankerous and was always preheated because the house elves did not have the patience to try to coax it to heat up every morning. He slid both pans into the oven and closed the door.

Instead of going to sit and wait, Minho stood in front of the oven, watching the pasties back through the yellowed glass of the window. The dough puffed up slightly, hopefully turning a nice golden brown.

As they continued to bake, however, his shoulders sunk. He watched the filling leak out through the seam and the cracks in the dough. It bubbled and pooled around the pasties until he was sure there was none left inside.

Minho grabbed the nearest towel and pulled the pans out of the oven, tossing the failed pasties into the nearest trash bin. He cleaned up his mess within ten minutes and was on his way to his room, Grandma’s recipe crumpled in his fist.

It was several days before he tried again.

This time, he told Kibum he wasn’t feeling well and that he couldn’t study that night. Kibum said he wasn’t feeling well either, and it would be good for them to get some extra rest. When Kibum was out of sight, Minho rushed to the kitchen, catching the house elves as they were cleaning up. Sookey waved to him, and he waved right back before he went over to the “Hufflepuff” table. He leaned against the edge while he waited.

There came a series of snaps and pops behind him, and Minho turned to find that Sookey was the only elf who remained, and she was standing on the table. “What can Sookey do for you, sir?”

She sat on the table beside Minho when he pulled out the recipe, she read it through twice, making comments as she did, and teleported back over to the kitchen. Minho jogged over to meet her as she was bringing all the necessary ingredients over to the counter. He rolled up his sleeves and started mixing the flour once she weighed everything. He followed every word she said, feeling much better about the finished dough once it was safe in the icebox.

“Now, while the dough chills, we’ll start on the filling.”

She showed him how to mix the filling thoroughly, which, he was pleased that he had gotten right the first time. While they waited for the dough to be ready, Sookey explained more about the process. Ah, he saw where he went wrong before. He didn’t seal the pasties properly and that’s why the filling leaked everywhere.

When the dough was ready, it didn’t take long for them to get the pasties in the oven and baking. Sookey had directed him to seal and brush them in what was called an egg wash, and they seemed to be browning up nicely. Once Minho could distinctly smell the pumpkin, Sookey directed him to pull the pans out of the oven and let them cool.

“You can finish these off with the glaze tomorrow, sir, once they’re cool.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Sookey. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She smiled as she bowed slightly. “It’s always a pleasure for Sookey to help you, sir.” With that, she winked out of the kitchen with just a flash of light and a quiet snap.

Minho stood still, waiting for her to reappear after a couple of seconds, as she was known to be forgetful. When she didn’t reappear, he hurried to clean up and grabbed a semi-cooled pastie on his way out. He hummed to himself as he ate it, happy that it tasted almost exactly like Grandma’s did.

Kibum would be so pleased.

The next morning, Minho was very distracted at breakfast, as he was constantly checking to see if Kibum had arrived yet. He hadn’t, not even by the end of breakfast, so he found Aaron when they were on their way to Transfiguration and pulled him aside.

“Where’s Kibum?”

“Oh, that’s what I was forgetting!” Aaron slipped inside the classroom and Minho followed on his heels. “Sorry, he’s sick!”

“Sick?” Oh, right, he had mentioned not feeling well last night.

“It’s nothing serious. Just a cold, I think.” Minho sunk into his seat, hugging his backpack before he set it in Kibum’s usual spot. “He’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.”

In between taking diligent notes to share with Kibum later, Minho kept checking the clock on the side of the room and had his books packed up five minutes early. Once the bell rang, he was out the door and running to the kitchen. The house elves all stopped what they were doing as he ran inside. He stuffed as many pasties into his robe pocket as he could and was out the door as quick as he came and was on his way to the infirmary.

He skidded to a stop inside, startling Madam Pomfrey and Kibum, who was tucked into the third bed on the left.

“Do you need more aereveli leaves, dear?” Pomfrey asked as Minho started walking toward Kibum’s bed.

“No, thank you. My head is feeling much better now.”

Kibum sniffled and wiped his nose with one of Pomfrey’s handkerchiefs as Minho sat down on the side of his bed. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you were sick.” Minho glanced over his shoulder; Pomfrey was busy tending to one of the other students. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pumpkin pastie. “I made you these last night.”

“You did?” His eyes were wide as Minho pushed it into his hands and reached for another one.

“Yeah. Grandma gave me the recipe.”

“She -- “ Kibum took a small bite of it as Minho placed another two beside him on the bed. “You did a really good job!”

Minho grabbed the last one out of his pocket when Kibum took another bite and set it beside the others. He brushed the flakes of the crust off on his trousers and looked down at the pasties. “Oh no! I forgot the glaze!”

“It’s okay, Choi, don’t worry. These are...they’re perfect, thank you.”

Minho beamed at him, relaxing as Kibum took another bite, only for the bell to ring a second later. “Gotta go! I’ll take good notes for you, okay!”

“Okay!”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Sit up for me?”

Kibum rubbed his bleary eyes and pushed himself up, holding back the hair on his forehead as Madam Pomfrey checked his temperature. 

“Feeling any better?”

“Mm, a little.”

Pomfrey went over to her cabinet of potions and poured one of them into a teaspoon. “Take this and go back to sleep. You should be right as rain in the morning.”

“Okay.”

She dimmed the lantern beside his bed and walked over to check on Charity Mills, who was quarantined for chicken pox. Kibum watched them for a second before he tucked himself back into bed. He slid his hand beneath his pillow, found one of the pasties Minho had brought him earlier and held onto it until he saw that Charity’s lantern was dimmed. Once the door clicked shut behind Madam Pomfrey, Kibum started to eat the pastie, sighing happily at the first bite.

Minho really had done a good job. It was slightly saltier than Kibum remembered, but that could be because of the lack of Grandma’s usual cinnamon glaze. It was just…so sweet – no pun intended – that Minho went out of his way to learn how to make them. 

Whatever made Minho want to learn how to bake and whatever possessed Grandma to relinquish one of her family-secret recipes, Kibum might never know. 

Whatever it was, he was very grateful.