Chapter Text
“I hate her.”
Ominis leans against the foggy glass wall of the greenhouse, rolling his opalescent eyes in Sebastian’s direction. He cannot see him, but they’ve been friends long enough that he can sense Sebastian better than anyone else, save for his own twin.
”You don’t hate her,” he says lazily, drumming his finger tips against his arm. “You’re jealous of her.”
Sebastian runs a hand through his thick waves, made even more unruly by the damp air in the greenhouses. The two Slytherin boys are at the edge of the group, the rest of the class standing in the center of the room. That’s where she stands, smiling broadly as she feigns humility over the obscenely giant venomous tentacula she’s submitting for her final project of the term.
”What could I possibly be jealous about?” Sebastian asks bitterly, fingers digging so hard into his forearms that he might actually bruise.
Quite a bit, actually. The new girl (she’d always be the new girl to him, considering they’d hardly gotten to know one another upon her arrival in fifth year) was somehow now their class valedictorian, much to the chagrin of every Ravenclaw in their year. With barely three years of magical education under her belt, she’d not only saved the school from a goblin invasion, achieved all outstanding marks on her OWLs, become Head Girl, and was the youngest witch to earn both a chocolate frog card and an order of Merlin.
Worst of all, it was near impossible to hate her. How could hate someone with perfect manners and a kind heart? Someone who would direct first years in the right direction, who would always defer the first turn in Summoner’s Court to her opponent. She’d jumped headfirst into the Black Lake just to help Grace Pinch Smedley find a rusted old astrolabe, and had been the only person to actually return gobstones to Zenobia Noke. And when she wept in front of the whole school at Eleazar Fig’s funeral, nearly everyone cried with her. After all, it was easy to be sympathetic to someone who deserved it.
What did Sebastian have to show for the last three years?
A dead sister, died and buried without fanfare in a garden plot. A barely functioning relationship with his best friend, who stayed around even after Sebastian’s multiple attempts to push him away. Homeless, technically, considering Uncle Solomon’s speech to him the night before leaving for seventh year. The two of them had sat silently at the dinner table, a gaping, bleeding hole left at their sides from the empty third chair between them. Solomon had made Sebastian’s favorite fare, and had even opened one of the dusty bottles of scotch. Sebastian almost thought it was a celebration, but Solomon’s eyes had said otherwise. His obligation to Sebastian is complete; he is seventeen, educated, and no longer needing a guardian. Sebastian is unwelcome at the Feldcroft cottage upon graduation—character building, Solomon calls it. A chance for a young man to prove himself.
Sebastian kicks a rock under a table, stubbing his toe in the process. Fuck.
“I’ve never understood what you have against her.” Ominis says quietly. “It was one detention, Sebastian.”
”It was the first week of school.” Sebastian snarls. “Imagine, being nice to the new girl only to have her ditch you for Natsai Onai and get you detention for a week.”
”You were bound to get detention anyways,” Ominis shrugs. “It’s practically a facet of your personality at this point.”
“Bugger off,” he mumbles. He certainly hopes his detention record doesn’t follow his transcripts—at this point, he’s spent more time polishing the trophy room than actually in the classroom.
Sebastian won’t mince words. He hates her. Really, properly hates her. He hates the way the rest of the school moons over her, the way they’re surrounding her now with praise and accolades. He hates that her name will go into the trophy room he spends almost every Thursday night cleaning, be remembered by wizarding kind forever just because she can emit funny blue flames from her wand. He hates the way Andrew Larson is staring at her, the way she takes his hand to help her down from the steps of the greenhouse. He hates her shiny, long hair and the way it swishes as she breezes past him, the smell of lilacs and vanilla wafting behind her—
“Earth to Sebastian,” Ominis snaps. “Are you coming or what?”
Sebastian whips his head to the sound of his best friend’s voice. Everyone in the greenhouse is gone, off to walk to their next period. He scrambles out of his reverie, shoving his tattered secondhand textbooks into his bag. Slinging one strap over his shoulder, he follows Ominis up the stairs and out of the greenhouse.
“I hope there’s kidney pie for lunch.” Ominis rattles on, his wand stretched out in front of him as the double doors opened. Sebastian trails not far behind. At the top of the stairs, he knocks his bag into someone shorter.
”Oh, sorry—“ Sebastian starts, pausing when he saw who it is.
She stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and startled. There’s a flicker—barely, he notes—but for a moment he swears there’s something there. Recognition.
But how can she possibly know him when she’s put so much effort into ignoring him?
In a flash, she corrects herself. Brushing her robes, as if he’s gotten her dirty, she shrugs. “Hi Ominis,” she blurts, turning back to her conversation with Samantha Dale. The two walk off without hesitation, and before Ominis can even respond.
Sebastian stands in place, mouth agape as she walks away. The sight alone is an affront to him; the Hero of Hogwarts really truly can’t even give a shit about him, even when he’s bumped into her.
That’s how little he matters. Sounds about right.
“Sebastian,” Ominis barks. “We’ll be late for lunch, and I won’t miss any pie.”
“Coming,” Sebastian mumbles, following the blond down the hall. At the Slytherin table, Ominis loads his plate while Sebastian picks at a meager piece of chicken.
“You talk to her, don’t you?” Sebastian asks.
“Who?”
“Her,” Sebastian repeats, saying her name under his breath. “I’ve seen the two of you talk.”
Ominis frowns. “Are you bothered by the fact that I might actually have other friends?”
“No,” Sebastian scowls, crossing his arms. “But she doesn’t ignore you the way she ignores me.”
“She’s being polite to me, the same way she is to everyone else.” Ominis shrugs.
“But she’s not that way with me, at all.” Sebastian grumbles. He looks left, seeing her next to Imelda towards the front of the Great Hall. They’re laughing, bright sparkling sounds coming from the other end of the communal table.
“I think you’re taking your grudge from fifth year too far, Sebastian.” Ominis shrugs. “Frankly, I don’t think she even remembers.”
Sebastian does not hide his stare. He waits for her to catch his gaze; when she does, her lips purse in disapproval. But even her best efforts cannot hide the red flush down her neck, the way she moves her hair to cover it.
“I think she hates me,” Sebastian mutters. “And I’m going to find out, sooner or later.”
Ominis sighs, poking at a poached pear with his fork. “There is something to be said about your tenacity, Sebastian. You really can’t ever leave something alone, can you?”
“It’s what you find endearing about me,” Sebastian steals the pear from Ominis’s plate, eliciting a scowl from the blond. “And why you stick around.”
“You’re lucky I do,” Ominis huffs. Sebastian knows he means it jokingly, but he really is lucky that Ominis has stuck around. After all, not many people did. Not after Anne died.
“I know,” Sebastian mutters. “And I appreciate it.”
Ominis lifts a hand, resting it on his shoulder. He’s the last person Sebastian would go to for emotional support—Gaunts aren’t necessarily known for their nurturing personalities. But one squeeze of his palm tells Sebastian everything he needs to know. It says that he cares.
They spend the rest of the lunch period talking about classes and the career assessments coming up with Professor Ronen, their head of house. Students start filing out of the room, off to their afternoon classes. Sebastian almost doesn’t notice her walking past them, but her sleeve brushes against his back when she passes by. Head swiveling, he catches the sight of her slipping out the heavy doors.
His thumb twitches when she’s gone.
“You’re doing wonderfully this term,” Professor Onai says, settling into the chair across the fire. With a flick of her finger, two tea cups floating over from her desk. She takes the cup and saucer in hand, eyes crinkling in a smile as sugar cubes fall into her tea.
“Two sugar cubes, as if you’d knew I’d ask.” She laughs. “Thank you Professor.”
“That, my dear, did not take the sight. I should know my daughter’s best friend by now. And please, you must call me Mudiwa.”
“Mudiwa,” she recites, stirring her tea.
“Natsai said you wanted to meet over your independent studies.” Mudiwa adjusts in the chair. “I confess, I may not be as large of a help as Eleazar would have been, but whatever assistance I may offer, I’m glad to do it.”
She clears her throat, eyes still glued to the murky drink below her. She already knows what her tea leaves will settle as.
“I came to ask you about another idea,” She looks up at Mudiwa, cocking her head. “Something I read in a book in the Restricted Section. I couldn’t decide which subject it would pertain to, but I thought it might be something you could give me guidance on.”
Mudiwa laughs, an uneasy smile on her face. “What is it?”
“The thread of fate,” She declares. “What do you know about it?”
“Hardly Restriction Section material,” Mudiwa snorts. “But yes, it has been studied. Are you worried about your beau? Not that it’s any of my business, but you and Mr. Larson are still quite young…”
She ignores her professor’s teasing quip, pursing her lips into a tight line. “I know that. And Andrew is fine—it’s nothing to do with him.” She wishes it did. She wishes it could be as uncomplicated as her relationship with the kind, caring Ravenclaw. The boy who will be waiting outside of her common room to carry her textbooks, who has already planned a date for Valentine’s Day, two months away. Who had asked her to join him over the Christmas holidays, to introduce her to his parents.
She wants so badly for that thread to be tied to Andrew, yet it isn’t. Every day, she feels a tug in the wrong direction, stomach churning in an effort to turn her affections. It is an unsettling feeling to be so relieved whenever she sees his face. A complete stranger to her, by her own design.
“I wish to know if it’s real.” She blurts. And if there’s a way to go about severing it, she adds silently in her head.
Mudiwa raises a brow, but doesn’t question her further. She walks over to her desk, rifling through drawers for a fresh sheet of parchment. “One of my contemporaries is the Professor of Divination at Mahoutokoro. I believe she’s done some research into the subject. I’ll ask her for any insight.”
“Thank you,” she sighs, trying to feel a bit of relief. Perhaps someone has done proper research, can free her from the torment she feels—
Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the rope ladder unfurling itself, someone grunting as they climb up to the classroom.
“Come in,” Mudiwa calls out. A stack of books are pushed up through the trap door, followed by a head of messy brown hair.
“Apologies, Professor.” Sebastian Sallow rasps, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he pushes himself up. “Delivery from the library.” His eyes briefly flicker to hers, thick brows furrowing as he aims his gaze back on their professor. He unloads the large leather satchel strapped to his back, several more books in town.
“I see Madam Scribner has you working hard labor tonight, Mr. Sallow.” Mudiwa jokes, picking up the books she’d reserved. “My apologies—I wouldn’t have reserved such thick texts had I known she’d be assigning you to deliver by hand.”
“Better than the trophy room,” Sebastian smiles, eyes glinting in the light of the fire. “You’re my last stop of the day.”
“Is it that late already?” Mudiwa checks her wristwatch, eyes widening at the time. “Merlin’s beard, it’s nearly midnight! Mr. Sallow, it’s past your curfew.”
“Not a problem, professor.” Sebastian quips. “I should be just fine—“
“Thank goodness we have the Head Girl here. She’ll escort you to your dormitory.”
Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head, mouth opening in protest. However, it seems she is not the only one fighting Professor Onai’s direction.
“I’m quite capable of finding my own way, Professor.” Sebastian’s lip quirks, eyes avoiding her gaze. “If you could just write me a note—“
Mudiwa waves him off. “Out of the question, I’m afraid. The headmaster has a new rule against professor issued hall passes, thanks to Professor Ronen.” She sighs, redirecting attention back to her. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“No,” she chokes out. “I’m—I could.” Her stomach flips, heart traitorously pattering against her chest at the thought of being in such close proximity to Sebastian. Her body was already betraying her, feet dragging closer to him.
“Off you go,” Mudiwa waves them off. “Be quick about it.”
The pair of them careen down the ladder, Sebastian letting her down first. She toys with the end of her braid waiting for him, only looking up when she hears his boots thud on the flagstone floor. He spares her a glance before walking down the stairs, arms stretched overhead in a yawn.
“Well, hurry up then.” Sebastian calls out. “I’m not getting another detention on your behalf.”
Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, recalling the early days of fifth year. They had been friendly, Sebastian impressed by her dueling skills. Professor Fig had been away in London, testifying in front of the ministry; she’d needed access to the Restricted Section. Sebastian had boasted about his prowess, volunteering to help her in.
She had watched him from the staircase, waiting. He leaned against the railing, one foot resting atop the other, cool and collected. She watched as he waited, until the clock struck midnight. She then watched as he darted across the Central Hall, eventually apprehended by a prefect and delegated a week’s worth of detention for breaking curfew so early into the term.
“You still don’t forgive me, I take it.” The words don’t sound right coming out of her mouth.
Sebastian’s eyes are set forward, lips settling into a hard line. “Nothing to forgive.”
They are quiet, feet pattering against the marble floor. There’s hardly any noise besides their steps and the faint sound of a string quartet, enchanted to play all day and night for students. They pass a couple of prefects on the way, all of them nodding their heads politely to her and doing a double take when they see her companion.
“Is that why you don’t talk to me?” Sebastian blurts, breaking their silence.
“What?”
“You think I’m angry at you about the detentions in fifth year.” He says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not an idiot. I do see that you talk to quite literally everyone else in this school besides me.”
Guilt floods through her, settling in the pit of her stomach. Merlin, will she ever be free of the way her body feels around him?
“No,” she admits. “No, it’s not that.” *Just the raging impulse that I must know you, that I must ruin your life,* she screams in her head.
“Do I smell?” Sebastian jokes.
“Pardon?”
“Do I smell bad or something?” Sebastian asks, tilting his head down to her. “Or does Larson not let you talk to any other men?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. It is her first genuine reaction of the evening. “Andrew wouldn’t dare try to control me.”
Sebastian snorts. “As suspected.”
“What did you get detention for this time?” She asks, eager to turn the subject away from herself.
“Do I have a reputation?” Sebastian jests.
“I’m Head Girl, and I see the detention scrolls. I could roll yours down all the way to Hogsmeade.”
“Keeps me well rounded.” Sebastian shrugs. “I was out of the castle, after hours.”
“Why?” She asks curiously, her hands curled into fists in the pockets of her robes.
Sebastian’s face turns a shade of red, eyes glued to the floor as they descend the stairs past the mermaid statue. “Helps me clear my head. I don’t sleep well.”
He hadn’t slept well, she’d heard that much from the other seventh years in Slytherin. Sebastian Sallow and his nightmares, talking in his sleep. Flipping and flopping in the bed, sometimes falling out. Waking up, screaming, needing Ominis Gaunt to calm him—
“Not since my sister passed.” Sebastian grunts.
She hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming with it. Everyone at Hogwarts had known Anne Sallow passed at the end of sixth year. It had been why Sebastian missed exams, one seat clearly empty in all of their classes towards the end. He hadn’t returned to finish his course exams, being awarded standard passing grades in the wake of his loss.
“I heard about that.” She chokes out. “I’m very sorry.”
Sebastian gives her a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to lie, you know. You didn’t know her.”
Every fiber of her being is screaming, the very threads of her humanity tearing at itself. In another world, another life, she could’ve known Anne Sallow. She could have loved her, as both a friend and a sister. She could have fought for her.
Nothing would matter in the end, after all. She would have died regardless. They all would.
“I may not have known her, but she clearly meant a lot to you.” She points out. The snake slithers up the wall, revealing the doors to the Slytherin dormitory. Both she and Sebastian push through, the sound of the common room’s waterfall trickling against stone. “And it’s never lost on me that we would’ve known each other if she hadn’t gotten sick.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Sebastian says, slow and calculated. He looks at her curiously as they walk down the steps in unison.
Stop, her conscious is screaming. Stop engaging with him. Leave him alone. Let him know some peace.
Alas, she cannot.
“I think I would’ve liked her.” she blurts out. When Sebastian looks back at her, eyebrow raised, she quickly scrambles down the stairs ahead of him. “Just by what people have said about her.”
Perhaps that will be enough, she thinks. Enough to keep his curiosity at bay, to put some slack in the ever tightening twine that pulls him closer to her.
Instead, Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t think people talked about her at all.”
Fuck.
It’s so late, the only students left out in the common room are a gaggle of fifth years, their heads buried in books as they prepare for the final exams of term. She and Sebastian walk in careful, coordinated steps towards the seventh year dormitories, up the stone stairs and flanked by a statue of Salazar Slytherin himself. She doesn’t know what to say anymore, two and half years of thoughtfully curated distance between them snapped in half by Professor Onai’s request that she walk him back to the dorms. Already, she has been too familiar with him, too nice. The thread between them tightens around her hand, pinky finger aching from the tug.
“I’m sorry if you think I’ve been rude. I really don’t mean to be.” she says slowly, the two of them at the base of the staircase. “And for getting you in trouble at the start of fifth year.”
“Not a problem,” Sebastian mumbles. “You’ve seen my record—nothing new.”
It hurts now, the pull she feels to him. But she forces a polite smile, heels clicking on the stone steps as she puts distance between them. Sebastian stares at her, confusion brewing in those dark eyes of his. It’s better that way, she thinks. She’d rather Sebastian live with a detention record rather than the fate she knows will befall him if they ever get too close—
“Goodnight, Sebastian.” She says, and the way his name rolls off her tongue is still too familiar. Before he can respond, she runs up the steps, skipping every other one.
The heavy door shuts behind her, a breath caught in her throat.
“What’s gotten into you?”
She looks up, straightening her back. Most of her roommates are asleep already, but Imelda Reyes is sitting at her desk, rolling curlers into her hair.
“Nothing,” she mutters, kicking her shoes off next to her trunk. “Just had to walk Sebastian Sallow back to the dormitory so he didn’t get detention again.”
Imelda snorts, looking back into her mirror. “There’s something wrong with him, I swear. He just makes trouble for the hell of it, that one.”
“Right,” she says, an emotionless laugh following. Her uniform is stripped, stockings laid out next to the heater in the center of the room. For some reason, she cannot still herself—she tosses and turns in her bed, nightgown twisting in the sheets as she tries to calm herself. But when she closes her eyes, she sees dark eyes framed by constellations of freckles. Eyes she does not know, but yearns to.
It’s only after Imelda throws a pillow at her bed that she wills herself to drink another sleeping tonic. She’s been relying on them more than usual—the empty clink of her bedside table drawer is a reminder that she’ll have to stop in at J Pippin’s Potions this weekend before tea with Andrew.
The little purple vial helps her shut her eyes and drift into a fitful sleep, but even the strongest potion cannot stop the incessant lure she feels towards the room next door.
It is not like Sebastian to avoid Ominis. The longest they’ve ever avoided each other was three whole days during their fifth year, when Sebastian had gone too far pestering him for information on Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. Ominis had nearly chewed his head off, and Sebastian had stayed away for three days to lick his own wounds.
“You’re sulking again,” Ominis huffs. “You don’t have to stay at the castle for Christmas, you know.”
“I do,” Sebastian says dryly, tossing a balled up piece of parchment across the room. It hits the rim of the bin, bouncing off to the side. “Plus, I don’t have the finery to spend Christmas with your family.”
“You could always borrow a dinner jacket,” Ominis says eagerly. Even he isn’t enthused by the idea of going back home to the Gaunts for the holidays, but he at least has a house to go back to. Sebastian is sure Uncle Solomon has tossed every trace of him out, save for the pile of dusty books and blankets he keeps in the hay shed.
“I’ll be just fine,” Sebastian waves him off. “Don’t fuss over me. Isn’t the first holiday I’ve spent alone at Hogwarts.”
Ominis opens his mouth, slamming it shut quickly. Sebastian already knows what was on the tip of his tongue—that it is the first Christmas he’s actually spent alone. The first Christmas where he isn’t at least going home on Christmas Day to sit next to Anne’s bed, reading her books pilfered from the Restriction Section during one of his many detention-earning trips.
“Go,” Sebastian says softly. “I’ll be okay.”
Ominis does not hesitate a second time.
Sebastian doesn’t actually mind having the dormitory all to himself. With no classes, work, or roommates to mind, he spends the day laying in bed reading, wand flickering to the fancy gramophone one of the other seventh years had brought for the year. He does come up for air eventually, catching the tail end of dinner service in the Great Hall. The house-elves haven’t prepared much, considering few students have decided to stay over holiday break; he scoops up a heavy gold tray, piling on a lukewarm roast beef sandwich and mince pies to take back to his room.
It’s nearly midnight when Sebastian flops over in his bed, the gold tray landing on the floor with a thud. He’s made it through all the records and the mince pies are gone. The words on the pages of the book he’s reading are starting to blend together, but considering he’s been horizontal for the better half of the day, sleep is the last thing he wants. In fact, his limbs are aching—he could do with a walk.
Sebastian doesn’t bother with a disillusionment charm, Ominis’s velvet slippers thwacking against the marble floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower. The shortbread cookies from the tea service on the second floor are a bit stale, but it doesn’t stop him from pocketing a few, stealing a tea cup and saucer for his walk. He hums to the minuetto that plays on repeat, the enchanted string quartet completely oblivious to the lack of students or hour of the day.
His feet drag him through the hallways, hand trailing down the railing with every step. Sebastian is almost lost to the routine, chewing on a a tough biscuit as he balances the saucer in his other hand. He’s at the base of the steps when he hears a familiar sound—a clock chiming, gears twisting.
Sebastian hasn’t heard that sound since his fifth year. Not since he and Ominis had that horrible fight about the Scriptorium. He hasn’t bothered to go back ever since, the hideaway he’d shared with Anne and Ominis tainted by the memory of their spat. But no one alive knows about that room except for him and Ominis, who is likely back in London by now.
He remembers the charm Ominis taught him in first year, how to flick his wand and to tap on the stars to open the door. Perhaps he’s hearing things, he thinks, carefully walking down the steps. His stomach twists in knots when he sees light at the end of the staircase; he knows Ominis hasn’t been back, so who else could possibly know about the Undercroft?
The metal grate door lifts before he’s even cleared the last step, welcoming him home. The Undercroft is brighter than it’s ever been, a soft velvet couch conjured in the center of the room. The chalk boards are lined with notes written in a delicate, wispy handwriting, and on a once blank wall lives a large wooden frame missing a third panel of canvas. She sits in the center of the room, books piled at her side, oblivious to Sebastian’s entrance. Sebastian would’ve guessed she had family to go home to for the winter holidays, or at least be spending a part of the holiday with Larson and his family in the Cotswolds.
Instead, the Head Girl is sitting in the Undercroft of all places, humming to herself as she thumbs through a thick tome. The Head Girl, who had not spoken to him ever with the exception of the last week. Her words are embedded in Sebastian’s brain—that curious sympathy she has for both him and Anne. As if she knows them.
“What are you doing here?” Sebastian blurts, scuffing Ominis’s slippers on the dusty stone. His best friend will yell at him for borrowing them, that’s for sure, but he cannot stop.
She whips her head around, eyes wide with confusion. “What are *you* doing here?” She barks, pushing the textbooks away from herself. Again, she has that guilty look on her face, as if she owes him. For what, he does not know.
“I asked you first,” Sebastian demands. He drops the tea cup onto a crate, hands balled into fists as he walks towards her.
“I found it,” she blurts.
“Bullshit,” Sebastian seethes. “Try again.”
“I’m not lying.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Frankly, she looks like horrible. There are dark, purple circles under her eyes, lips chapped and cheeks ruddy. Her waves are frizzy, as if she’s been tossing and turning, and she has a look on her face that looks as if she’s in pain.
“No one finds the Undercroft.” Sebastian is towering over her, eyes narrowed as he searches her face. “Only the Gaunts—“
“I swear it,” she cuts him off. “I found it. I was exploring an abandoned mine in the highlands, one that used to be run by the goblins. When I got there, I found this canvas, and there was a passage way that led directly here.”
“How’d you get back in the next time?” Sebastian demands.
She raises a brow, scoffing slightly. “When I figured out the only way out was through a very suspiciously placed clock at a dead-end hallway? With a locking spell that a first year could sort out?”
“Okay,” Sebastian scoffs. “Still. This place was ours.”
“Ours?”
Sebastian goes rigid, jaw clicking. “Ours. Ominis, Anne, and me. No one has used it since.”
There is a beat of silence between them, her eyes softening in a sympathetic way. Sebastian can’t bear to look at her. Instead, he walks around the room, examining the half-empty frame on the Undercroft’s wall.
“I know this place,” Sebastian blurts. He runs a finger down the weathered canvas as he turns back to face her.
“Do you?” She perks up. “I’ve been searching maps for weeks.”
“It’s a mountain. In Marunweem.” His voice falters. “We used to go camping there during the summer holidays before the goblins took over.”
“You and Ominis?”
“Anne and me.” Sebastian clarifies. “With our parents. Before they—“
Before they died. The words are caught in his throat.
“And you know how to get here?” She asks.
“Of course I do.” Sebastian turns back to her. Perhaps he hasn’t properly looked at her since their walk back to the common room a few weeks back. Merlin, she looks like she needs a draught of living death. “Why?”
“Could you show me? On a map at least, so I can get down there during break.” She fidgets, playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’m looking for the other pieces of this triptych.”
“Why?” Sebastian furrows his brow.
“It’s important,” she shrugs. “For my research.”
“You shouldn’t go there alone.” Sebastian shakes his head. “Even if I showed you on a map, there’s still poachers and ashwinders down in the southern coast.”
“I can handle them.” She says fiercely. “Just show me on the map.”
“Listen, I hardly know you, but it’s not safe down the Poidsear Coast.” He clarifies. “Plus, with the horrible weather—“
“Just tell me how to get there, Seb.” She blurts.
Sebastian blinks at her. Seb. No one calls him Seb. No one but Anne.
“Why did you just call me—“
“Forget about it,” she snaps, gathering the maps and scrolls of parchment on the table. Sebastian walks over, finally getting a good look at the stack of books. A text about eastern divination practices, another thick tome about prophetic dreaming. There’s a skinnier book on sleeping draughts and restoration tonics, which she probably needs to brew next. “I don’t need you. I’ll get there on my own.”
“You can’t,” Sebastian says fiercely. He grabs her wrist, and it feels like electricity jolting in his fingertips. He gasps as he lets her go; when he looks up at her eyes, he swears they might be flickering bright blue.
He blinks again, and they’re normal. Tired, but normal.
“I’ll help you get there,” Sebastian offers. He doesn’t know why he feels inclined—just a few weeks ago, he thought he hated her. He’d thought she was odd for how she spoke about Anne. Hell, he still thinks she’s weird, considering she’s standing in his former secret hideaway speaking nonsense about a piece of canvas.
“Why?” She asks, letting the scrolls fall back onto the splintered table.
“Why what?”
“Why would you help me?” She narrows her eyes, palms resting atop the table. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. Why would you want to help me?”
Sebastian hesitates. He really shouldn’t. There’s no reason for him to put his own life in danger, especially for someone who has hardly spared him a glance over the past two years. Yet her tired eyes remind him of Anne. Anne, who would charge headfirst into any danger, even if it meant putting herself at risk. It’s the same as the girl in front of him, ready to fly at a moment’s notice to the Poidsear Coast just to find a scrap of canvas.
“It would be to my benefit to have the Head Girl in my debt,” Sebastian offers. He means to be charming, but given the way her face twists, he’s not sure it’s worked.
“And without me, you’ll never make it down there on your own. You can always wait for your Gryffindor friends to get back from holiday—“
“That’s too late.” She blurts, rubbing her temples. “I need to do it now.”
“Then we’ll make a plan tomorrow.” Sebastian insists. “You need to rest—you’ll have to be at your best to make the flight in this weather.”
Her mouth opens, snapping shut quickly. “Are you always this overbearing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sebastian shakes his head. “You don’t have to second guess me being nice. You seem to trust everyone at this school anyways, why not me?”
She has no rebuttal. With lips pressed in a flat frown, she leans over the table, a hand outstretched.
“You’ll help me get to Marunweem,” she recites slowly. “And that’s all.”
Sebastian’s hand slides against her warm palm, gripping it tight. “Deal.”
She is soft. For hands that have worked so hard, her skin is silky smooth. For a moment, he’s almost embarrassed of his calloused hands, roughened by summers spent tilling land and dueling competitions. She is warm, soft, and pretty, and her hand in his means nothing. She needs his help, that’s all, and it’s the only reason she’s even speaking to him.
Still, for some reason, Sebastian feels the urge to pull her closer. For the first time in ages, it feels like his heart beat has mellowed, as if being in such close proximity to her is a comfort—
“Okay,” she coughs, tugging her hand out of his. The imaginary bond he’s dreamt is severed, watching her rub her palms against her tartan trousers. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall tomorrow, and we’ll discuss strategy.”
“No,” Sebastian shakes his head. “We’ll meet down here. There’s not enough students around to keep the professors from snooping, and depending on the snow, we might get caught in Marunweem for the night. We should meet down here, start prepping supplies, and map it out here.”
She nods, stacking her papers in a neat little pile. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she looks up at him with a raised brow.
“Did you expect to walk back to the common room together?” She asks dryly.
Sebastian coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I didn’t.” He admits. Even though they’re going back to the same destination, they are not friends. It is a handshake agreement, a service at best. He’ll help her find whatever she’s looking for in Marunweem, and then they can go back to not knowing each other.
She walks towards the entrance, Sebastian standing under the flickering candlelight dumbly with his hands at his side. His chest hurts, for no reason at all. Perhaps he needs to get it checked out by Nurse Blainey. With a flick of her wand, the metal grate door to the Undercroft lifts, rattling as her steps echo from the staircase.
“Goodnight, Seb—uh, Sallow.” She calls out, the sound of her voice drifting down to him.
“Goodnight,” Sebastian chokes out. When he hears the whirling of the clock from faraway, he finally dares to breath. With a big gulp of air, he slumps against a column, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pajama pants.
Perhaps she does not hate him. She doesn’t know him well enough to hate him at all. But her ambivalence is palpable—running hot, then cold. Sympathy one minute, disdain the next. A nickname he hasn’t heard in a year cut off at the base of her throat, one she’s never known.
While he should be offended by her, he isn’t. If anything, it’s sparked a long dead fire inside him. Sebastian Sallow is curious about the Head Girl, and he’ll stop at nothing to find her out.
She’s never walked back to the dungeons faster. Actually, walk might be an understatement—if she hadn’t already known apparition was impossible within the castle boundaries, she might have claimed to have apparated right back to the Slytherin common room.
Her dorm room is empty, being the only seventh year to stay for the holidays. Whatever clothes she’s wearing are tossed in her laundry pile, a thin cotton nightgown pulled overhead. She wonders if Sebastian raced back to the dorms as well. Perhaps he’s on the other side of the stone wall, alone in his dormitory too—
Enough.
You’ve already said too much.
Laying back onto her silk pillows, she reaches out to her side table. As expected, the glass vials rattle until she finds one singular bottle of dreamless sleep potion. She’ll need to make the trek out to Hogsmeade tomorrow, another satchel full of every sleep potion Parry Pippin carries. He’ll give her his usual warning, to be careful with her consumption. The side effects may stay with her forever.
Better that than dreaming of sorrowful brown eyes.