Minho felt his eyes getting watery; but still, he couldn't afford to blink. His own pride depended on that, and he wasn't certainly going to give up that easily.

"Minho, that's just stupid", bluntly commented Seungmin, for what was probably the seventh time.

"Shut up Minnie, will you" replied the older, still focused.

"It's whatever!" snapped back the friend. "But seriously, why are you acting as if your whole reputation depends on a stupid game with your cat?"

"It's no stupid game!" explained fervently Minho. "She won for three times straight! Three. I can't let her beat me again!"

"Minho, in the name of the Bloody Baron, she's a cat! You can't beat her in a saring contest! That's all cats do!" he then added after a moment's thinking. "Sit down and stare at people!"

"You" sentenced Minho, finally blinking to turn towards Seungmin, sat at the same table, pointing his left index straight at his chest, "have no faith in me".

"You were fighting with a cat. How am I supposed to take you seriously?" Seungmin rolled his eyes. "And besides, you should be getting on with your homework – it's almost six, and you have Quidditch at seven".

Minho sighed – he didn't particularly enjoy training during dinner time, as he usually felt very hungry, but their leader always thought it best to train when there weren't many people around.

"Okay, mum" he replied mockingly.

"Take that back!" bossily replied the younger, sounding both offended and amused.

The grin on Minho's face just broadened, blatantly ignoring the threat: it was often like that between the two, always mocking each other – but Minho was genuinely grateful for the friend, and for how protective and supportive of him Seungmin could be.

"Do you want to go see the training, Minnie?" he questioned.

The friend flinched, visibly disgusted. "I'd much rather stay in, thank you. It's already a lot from my side to go to all of your dumb matches".

"All you want, Minnie, all you want" replied Minho. The sixth year then looked at the homework he had left: it was not a lot – hadn't he got distracted by Doori, he could've easily managed to finish it all before training, but he didn't really feel bothered by the thought. 

Either I'll finish it later or I won't do it at all, he thought to himself. As it was History Of Magic, he was not even too concerned: that old ghost catched as much chatting as his friend Chan when he was running on two mere hours of sleep (and that was: close to nothing).

"I think I'll go get ready" he commented after a few seconds. "You sure you don't wanna come?"

As a clear 'positive' was all he got as an answer, Minho got up from his chair, about to go change: he carefully removed his Quidditch robes, alongside the googles and shoes from his truck, that he had positioned against the wall on the right side of his bed. He then turned around: all he was missing was the broom.

His Quidditch broom was a real treasure to him: it had taken years of savings on the behalf of his dad to manage to get it, and the ladder had done it so secretly, Minho had never even suspected a single thing! 

And, while the boy completely understood why his dad had acted that way – had Minho known, in fact, he would've never permitted that to happen – he still felt almost resentful to his dad for keeping the truth away from him.

Minho remembered clearly the day his dad had got it – it was a sunny, breazy summer day, but close to September. The duo had used two small handfuls of Floo Powder to get safely to the Leaky Cauldron, had already bought most of the schoolbooks and was now heading to the Weasley's Wheezes to nose around a little (while they could not afford much, the experience itself was very funny and the two of them always had an absolute blast going through all the crazy products the owner always came up with), when Minho's dad had stopped abruptly: "Wait a sec! I think I forgot one of your books!" he made it look like he was searching through the bag he was holding. "Yep, totally forgot it. I'll go get it real quick. Go ahead, you, I'll be back in no time!"

"Wait – let me come, I can help!" had replied immediately the boy, grabbing hold of the father's bag, only now noticing that the man had been carrying it all along, and immediately getting super mad at himself – how had him allowed it? That thing was heavy! You dumbass, pay attention!, he'd thought. How could you miss it?

"No!" had screamed his father in response. He looked really tense, which was unusual – he was always so nice and friendly, and of course Minho was the one he was the most comfortable with. "Go, seriously; go! I can handle".

Minho, understanding that being alone was exactly what his father wanted, had agreed; but he was not leaving without a fight: "Only if you let me the bag. It's too heavy. I should be the one bringing it, I'm sorry I didn't catch it earlier".

His dad had handed it to him a bit hesitantly. A few tears had escaped his eyes. "You are too good for this world Minho" he'd said, his right hand leaning on his son's shoulder. He'd slightly shaken it. "You deserve everything it can give you. I'm proud to be your father".

"Dad!" had whined Minho in response – they were in an alley full of people; and while he definitely appreciated his father and what he was telling him, a feeling of uncomfortableness had started to take over him: he was a Slytherin, after all! What would people say if they had catched him crying?

"Oh, yeah, you're right" his father had mumbled, composing himself. "Stern. Emotionless. Teens' things. Be back in a minute then!"

In the ten minutes his dad had spent away, Minho had just roamed around the alley – so many great shops had their dwellings there, such as the Apothecary, the Weasley's Wheezes, Floréan Fortescue and Flourish and Botts. Far away, at the end of it, stood Gringott's, the wizarding bank. Minho had never been there, but he had been told that one of the vaults, which lay several feet below his own, already bore his name. The mere thought made shivers come down running on the his back.

Just when he was admiring an old owl in a cage hanging right from the shop's sign of the Eyelop's Owl Emporium– very probably the owner's – cleaning carefully his ivory feathers, his father had suddenly popped up on Minho's left side, making him jump out of fear.

"You're back, I see" had mumbled the Slytherin once he had recollected himself well enough. "Took you long enough".
Only then he had noticed the bag his father was holding – a bag way bigger than the one needed to carry a simple schoolbook. "Ahem... I'm pretty sure we weren't asked to buy a book this large. We would've never missed it, had that been the case", he pointed out suspiciously.

Minho had looked more carefully to try and see if there was any evidence of where his father had actually been – and there it was, quite seeable, in gold writing over the soothing maroon bag: QUALITY QUIDDITCH SUPPLIES.

"You've gone nuts!" had screamed the youngster. "What on earth made you go to to that unaffordable Quidditch place? And on top of it all, without me? What'd you get?" he'd then immediately asked.

His father had giggled. "Why don't you open it yourself, then?"

The duo had settled on a nice-looking bench almost halfway through the alley. The sun was starting go set, which they usually took as their clue to leave – but not this time: Minho was way too excited and felt like he couldn't wait longer.

Yet, his fingers weren't moving, the bag was still impact. "Dad", he'd said, his voice tone quite serious. "There's a reason if a called that shop unaffordable. Whatever's in here, it must've cost loads of galleons! You sure you're good? Wouldn't it be better if we made a refund – like, we go back there and hand it back in, untouched, and they give us the money back?"

"You're the one who's gone nuts now!" had teased Mr Lee. "Hand it back in! As if! Now tear it open and stop being such a gentleman, you're making me want to punch that pretty face of yours!"

Minho had authomatically tensed up: he was not used to being threatened by his own dad, and his words had had quite the impact on the boy, although he knew at heart that his dad was only joking. "I can really get started then?" he'd asked one more time, just to be sure.

"Go ahead, it's your party" had been the reply.

With trembling hands, the youngster had carefully unwrapped the paper – it was so thick and shiny, it would've been a sin to rip it; he was sure it could've been a great life-saver for things like future presents' paper.

When he'd finally come to the box underneath the wrapping, his hand were a straight up shaking mess – he was about to find out what his father'd got him, what he'd decided to spend the savings of a lifetime on. He'd let his fingers run on the lid, had closed his eyes and had lifted it with a sharp, neat movement.

And there it'd stood. A real Firebolt. Minho had taken the two pieces – that could be easily be put together, but were given that way to make it easier for buyers to carry around; and less recognizable for presents that were meant as surprises –, still not believing what he was seeing. It felt as if he was living the experience in third person, admiring a lucky guy getting the present of a his wildest dreams.

"So, d'you like it?" had asked his dad after a while. "I know it's not the best there is, of course. But it used to be, the shop assistant reassured me on that. And it's still pretty professional, a handful of international players are still using it and-"

"Dad" had cut in Minho, before the man could start one of the never-ending rants he was so known for. "Forget it, it's perfect!" he'd given it yet another long stare. "It's just perfect. All I ever wanted".

Then, suddenly, he'd wrapped his arms around the dad's shoulders and had pulled him in the warmiest, most felt hug he'd ever given anyone. "Thank you" he'd said, although those words were not enough to describe the incredible gratefulness he felt towards his father. "Oh God, thank you. How will I ever make up for that?"

"Just continue being yourself" had been the simple request of Mr Lee. "You're precious Minho; one of a kind! I'm the luckiest dad in the world to have you, I'd give you a hundred Firebolts if I just could. You're just so special!" Minho was sure tears had started to pour down on his dad's face – damn it, he was sure tears had started to pour down on his own face! But that time around, he hadn't cared, and he'd had just hugged the dad back even stronger.

The surface of his bed's mattress suddenly dropped a few inches on his left, ans immediately afterwards a whiny "Meow!" announced the arrival of Doori in the room.

Minho shook his head at the cat, that was looking insistently at his empty food bowl. "No need to get pissed, Lee", he murmured to himself, under his breath: she was a cat! She couldn't have known the very special moment that had created inside her owner's mind, and that she had been so quick to ruin, catapulting him right back to reality!

~🤍~
I'm sooooooo soft for this dad/son duo, like I live Minho's dad soso much, he's amazing~

Who knows if his mum is, too  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).
There'll be time for that, don't panick – hehe.

Enjoy the chapter lads, & sorry if it came out kinda late!

Vic🌙.